"No, no. They will look very nice, but not too handsome. Russell will show you how to alter them and you can sit in her room so as to be near whilst you are at work. Afterwards, I have no doubt you will be glad to render a little assistance in remodelling some of your cousins' gowns which had to be put aside, in a manner, on your account."
Mrs. Evans thought she had managed a somewhat delicate matter with great tact and success. She had planned to turn Joyce's time and good taste to account on behalf of herself and her daughters, from the first day that the girl, pale and worn with watching and weeping, arrived at The Chase.
There was a red spot on each of Joyce's cheeks which told of inward excitement; but she was outwardly calm as she replied—
"Thank you for offering me these dresses, but I cannot take, and I shall not need them. Besides, however willing my cousins might be to spare them, Russell will expect to have them when done with. When my one black gown is too bad to wear, I shall use those I had before my—I mean what I brought with me from Welton."
"But those are coloured. Respect for your relatives and for society demands that you wear black during at least a year, for your father. As to your cousins' dresses, they would not go to Russell whilst nearly as good as new; but I presume your pride will not let you be seen in them, though you have never been used to anything so handsome before."
"The dresses are very good," said Joyce; "but you will not see, and society does not know me. Has not my uncle told you that I am going to leave The Chase?"
"Going to leave! And pray where are you going? It is just like your uncle to know of your plans and say nothing, but I consider it disgraceful of you to act in such an underhand way, especially after having had such a home as this." And Mrs. Evans waved her hand, as if to indicate that all around her had been as much for Joyce's use and comfort as for her own.
"I do not want to seem ungrateful," replied the girl. "I have been sheltered here, and I have had far more dainty food than I needed, and been surrounded with many more beautiful things than my eye was ever accustomed to before. Yet, forgive me for saying it, I have not been happy. Nobody loves me, nobody wants me here, and I am very lonely. Perhaps, if my cousins and I had seen a good deal of each other when we were children, it would have been different; but I was really almost a stranger when I came. I hoped they would have liked me, but being relatives always at a distance from each other is not like growing up as playfellows and friends. I suppose people cannot like each other just because they wish to do, and Adelaide and Augusta have so many friends of their own without me. So I thought it would be better for me to try and obtain a situation—and work for my bread. I should like to feel that I have a place to fill, and something to do; to know that I am wanted, if only by little children. I have obtained a situation to which I shall go in two days. My uncle knows about it, but he only heard the particulars just before he was called from home so suddenly yesterday, and I suppose he had not time to tell you. He does not blame me for wishing to be independent of help and owe my livelihood to my own exertion. He has always been very good to me."
The girl's voice trembled a little at this allusion to her uncle, but Mrs. Evans showed no sign of sympathy. She sat and listened with the frigid manner which she deemed dignified and becoming, and Joyce continued—
"I once thought of leaving The Chase unknown even to him, but afterwards I felt sorry and ashamed that I could have entertained such an idea for a moment. I am sure I should never have carried it out, though I was going to ask a friend to tell him at once."