And in all the changes and chances of her future life, Joyce could look back to that first spring afternoon, and say from her heart that it was the opening for her of a new and beautiful chapter. If the hopes of the earlier days of their acquaintance had lain dormant during the winter, they now sprang up with the coming life of the spring time, and were sweet with the promise of the future.
When once Gilbert had found voice to tell his story he was eloquent, and when once Joyce had given her response there was no further need for reticence.
"And why did you not write to me?" he asked.
"As I said, because you did not ask me; and then when your uncle came, he told me that you cared for Miss Anson; and I thought, half thought, it might be true."
Gilbert made an impatient gesture.
"You only half thought so; you knew, Joyce, you knew better. So," he went on under his breath, "that is the mischief he went to Fair Acres to work. My mother soon stopped him from daring to persecute you."
"Mr. Paget and Mr. Gill said there was no lawful claim on poor Melville, for the money had been lent him to gamble with, and that Lord Maythorne knew he had no just claim to it."
"Of course he knew it; he thought he would frighten you, and your poor mother. But let us not speak more of him."
"I wonder what will be done when Melville comes home, for I suppose he will come home in the summer."
"Yes; perhaps he may have turned over a new leaf, as the children say; anyhow, I can't help being grateful to Melville."