Joyce, who had endured bravely up to this moment, sprang towards her mother as if instinctively for protection, and Mrs. Falconer took her hand in hers.
"What is it, my dear, what is it? Piers came to call me; I thought you were distressed."
This was really the first time since her sorrow that Mrs. Falconer had roused herself to take an interest in anything; but Piers' summons, with the announcement that there was a man in the porch talking to Joyce, and that he knew by the sound of her voice she was frightened, had not been in vain. The maternal love, deep in Mrs. Falconer's heart, asserted itself, and put to flight for the time the selfish brooding over her sorrow, in which for so many weeks she had indulged.
"Joyce is very young," she said, tenderly, "and she has been left to bear a burden too heavy for her years. I beg you, sir, to say no more to hurt her and annoy her, but to leave the premises."
"My dear madam," Lord Maythorne said, "I came in a friendly spirit to discuss a little business about your elder and very hopeful son. He owes me some eight hundred pounds—a debt of honour, but at the same time a debt;" and, setting his teeth, "One I mean to have paid! It may seem a trifle to the owner of these broad acres, and to the inhabitants of this grand ancestral home, but to me it happens to be no trifle. Good morning."
Lord Maythorne turned away, raising his hat to Joyce, and saying:
"Adieu, mia bella! adieu! but au revoir! au revoir!"
Mrs. Falconer pressed Joyce, trembling and frightened to her side, saying, in a low voice:
"What does he mean? Who is he?"
"He means that Melville has lost money to him by gambling; I think he is Lord Maythorne."