it's Alfred's country."

"I remembered that."

"John Everard is living at Buddesby with his sister Constance. They are
two of the dearest people--the children, you know, of Alfred's brother
Matthew."

"Yes--yes, to be sure," said the old gentleman, who was not in the
slightest degree interested.

"And they will be nice for your Joan Meredyth to know," said Mrs.
Everard.

"That's it, that's it! Take her about; let her see people, young people.
Make her enjoy herself, and forget the past. I don't know what the past
held. Joan is not one to make confidants; but I fancy that her past,
poor child, has held more suffering than she cares to talk about. So try
and make her forget it. Get the Everards over from Buddesby, or take her
there; let her see people. But you know, you know, my dear. You're a
capable woman!"

Yes, she was a capable woman, far more capable than even General
Bartholomew realised. Clever and capable, kindly and generous of nature,
and the girl interested her. It was only interest at first. Joan was not
one to invite a warm affection in another woman at the outset. Her
manner was too cold, too uninviting, and yet there was nothing repellent
about it. It was as if, wounded by contact with the world, she had
withdrawn behind her own defences. She, who had suffered insult and
indignity, looked on all the world with suspicious, shy eyes.