"Let us go into your boudoir, cosiest of rooms, and question each other about everything and everybody."
The mother agreed, and the mutual questioning went on for some time.
"Now," said Major Caruth, "I want to know all about my dear old tutor's death. You told me very little beyond the bare fact when you wrote to me."
Mrs. Caruth gave all the particulars, adding, "I believe the loss of everything broke Mr. Mirlees' heart. But I was not at home when he died. I preferred remaining abroad for some time after you left me to facing home without you."
"But there was his little girl—Joyce. What became of her?"
"You forget, Alec, Joyce is now twenty-one. Her uncle, Mr. Walter Evans, took her to his home."
"Evans! Surely you mean a subdued-looking man with a rich, vulgar wife, and two very handsome daughters, whom we first saw when we were staying with the Clives at The Warren. Mr. Evans had a beautiful place near theirs. We afterwards met the family at Mentone."
"The same people. Mr. Evans was poor before his marriage, but a man of good birth, refined manners, and excellent education. Every one liked him, but the wife was tolerated for his sake, or by some, perhaps, on account of a full purse."
"So my little Joyce went to live with that vulgar, purse-proud woman; my playmate, whom I petted and protected when she was a child and I a man. Have you heard from her lately; I should like to know how she gets on with Mrs. Evans, seeing that she had a wonderfully tender nature, combined with a fine spirit of her own, which would ill brook a position of dependence on such a woman."
Mrs. Caruth could only answer truly, and she said—"I fear Joyce was unhappy at The Chase. Mr. Evans was fond of his niece, but he yielded to his wife, and was hardly master in his own house. Joyce grew tired of her position, and wrote to me for a character to enable her to obtain a situation."