"You do take things so hard," continued she, "and it's no use taking things hard. Now, if you liked you might help father still, with Mr. Harrod, and he might be quite a pleasant addition to your life."
"That's ridiculous, Joyce," I answered, sharply. "You must see that he and I could never be friends. All I can promise is not to make it harder for him to settle down among the folk, for it'll be hard enough. However clever the squire may think him, he won't understand this country, nor this weather, nor these people at first, there's no doubt of that. He'll make lots of mistakes. But there, for pity's sake don't let's talk any more about him," cried I, hastily. "I'm sick of the man; and on our last evening too, when I've such a lot to say to you."
"What have you to say to me?" asked my sister, looking round suddenly, and with an uneasy look in her face.
"Oh, come, you needn't look like that," laughed I. "It's nothing horrid like what you have been saying to me. It's about Captain Forrester."
Her face grew none the less grave. "What about him?" asked she, in a low voice.
"Well, I'm going to fight for you, Joyce, while you're away," said I. "I don't think you've been over-pleased about having to go to Aunt Naomi, and perhaps you have owed me a grudge for having had a finger in settling it. It will be dull for you boxed up with the old lady and her rheumatism, but you must bear in mind that I shall be working for you here, better than, maybe, I could if you were by."
"Why, Meg, what do you want to do?" asked my sister, aghast.
"I'm going to get mother to make your engagement shorter," said I, getting up and standing in front of her, "and I'm going to make her allow you and Frank to write to one another."
"Oh, Meg, how can you?" gasped Joyce.
"Well, I'm going to," repeated I, doggedly. She did not reply. She clasped her hands in her lap with a nervous movement, and dropped her eyes upon them.