Was it really _Afy_ who stood before her Afy, the erring?Īfy it was. Joyce, always pale, turned paler still, as she gazed in blank consternation. A pretty woman, vain and dashing, threw up her white veil at her entrance.

Joyce looked at the man but she put down her work and proceeded to the gray parlor. 'Who is it? Some one to see the children, perhaps.' 'Miss Joyce, there's a lady asking for you,' said the man.

Joyce remained as upper maid, partially superintending the servants, attending upon Lucy, and making Miss Carlyle's dresses as usual. He showed her into a small parlor, and went upstairs to the nursery, where Joyce was sitting with Wilson for there had been no change in the domestic department of East Lynne. He had deemed it a visitor to the house, and was prepared to usher her to the drawing-room, at least but it seemed it was only a visitor to Joyce. 'Miss Hallijohn Miss Joyce Hallijohn,' somewhat sharply repeated the lady, as if impatient of any delay. 'Miss Hallijohn is residing here, I believe. One of the men-servants answered it, not Peter and, seeing somebody very smart before him, bowed deferentially. She went boldly up to the broad entrance of the house, and boldly rang at it, drawing her white veil over her face as she did so. A very pretty woman, tall and slender was she, and she minced as she walked, and coquetted with her head, and, altogether contrived to show that she had quite as much vanity as brains. If not a lady, she was attired as one a flounced dress, and a stylish looking shawl, and a white veil. There went, sailing up the avenue to East Lynne, a lady, one windy afternoon.

East Lynne by Mrs. Henry Wood