The Bishop turned quickly. Joyce almost thought she ought not to have spoken, and that the Bishop and Mrs. More would think her forward, but the good old man said:
"That is right, my dear young lady. It is well to remind our dear friend that the grains she has scattered are not all in vain. Some will fall on the good ground, and by God's blessing spring up and bear fruit. Who is Susan Priday?"
"Come nearer the Bishop, Joyce," Mrs. More said, kindly, "and tell him your experience of Mendip miners, and of Susan also."
Joyce did as she was told, and soon forgot her nervousness at being called upon to talk to so great a person as a Bishop, as she narrated with sweet simplicity, and yet with dramatic power, the story which we already know.
By degrees the voices of people in other parts of the room ceased, and Joyce found herself the centre of interest as she told her story.
"Who is she?" Sir Thomas Acland asked, as Joyce finished her story, and answered a summons from Miss Frowde at the further end of the room.
Failing a little in the good manners, on which Miss Falconer put so high a value, Charlotte answered a question not addressed to her.
"She is my cousin, sir—Joyce Falconer. She has led a very retired life at Fair Acres."
"There are many flowers that bloom unseen, and she is one of the fairest I ever saw. If a retired life produces such good effect, it strikes me, Mrs. More, we had all better go into retirement. But—"
He stopped, for Joyce, with a white face from which every vestige of colour had vanished, came back to her position by Mrs. More's chair. Her hands were clasped tightly together, her whole attitude one of repressed emotion.