"We were not kind to her before, mamma. I think we all feel that now," said Adelaide, glancing at her sister, who assented. "If we might have the time over again, I think we should act differently. However, if you will not ask Joyce, I should think her friend Mrs. Caruth will invite her to Fernsclough. You know how anxious she was about Cousin Joyce, and how wishful for her to stay with her altogether. No fear but Joyce will have friends to think of her at Christmas."
And with this parting remark the girl left Mrs. Evans to meditate on her suggestion.
"Really, I think every one has gone mad about Joyce since she left, though no one cared much for her when she was here. It was no fault of ours that her father died and left her a mere beggar."
"But it was our fault that she was miserable here," said Augusta. "It told against ourselves, I know, for she is our cousin, and her parents were well-born and respected by people who care little enough about us."
This was Augusta's remark, and a certain amount of worldly wisdom which pervaded it had more effect on Mrs. Evans than all Adelaide's regrets for the past neglect and unkindness experienced by Joyce when at The Chase. She began to think that, for her own sake, it might be politic to extend the shelter of its roof to her husband's niece during the holiday season.
A few days later Mrs. Evans told Adelaide that she might invite "that girl" for Christmas, if she chose. "But send no message from me," she added.
"Too late, mamma. Joyce has already declined an invitation from Mrs. Caruth, and has decided to spend Christmas in what is a true home—Springfield Park. There will be a large gathering of friends, and I hope Joyce will have as happy a season as she deserves. I wish I could look forward to one such as hers promises to be."
It was quite true that Mrs. Caruth had written to invite Joyce to spend Christmas at Fernsclough. She did this unknown to her son, and immediately after that first conversation with him on the night of his return home. She was a generous-hearted woman, and his words about Joyce had touched her deeply. She looked back over the years during which the girl's parents had been her own most trusted friends. She recalled the wise advice Mr. Mirlees had given her during her early widowhood, and to the excellent influence he had exercised over her own son.
"But for him, Alec would never have been the noble man he is to-day," she owned to herself; and she was anxious to make prompt amends for anything that had been lacking in her own conduct to Joyce. "Mine has been but a poor, half-hearted friendship," she said to herself. "I fear I thought more of consequences than of doing what my better feelings prompted for that dear orphan girl. I may be mistaken in fancying that Alec cares more for her than for other girls, but if he does, what then? He has enough, and can afford to be indifferent about fortune in a wife."
"As his father was before him."