C. N. Williamson and A. M. Williamson

“ If any one does that it must be you. And it ought to be you. You love each other. You belong to each other. You'd be divinely happy together. You're wretched apart.”
“You say that?” Robert exclaimed, when by sheer force of lungs I'd made him hear me through. “You—June's friend!”
“Yes. It's because I was her friend, and knew her so well that I want you to listen to your own heart; if you don't, you'll break Joyce Arnold's. June wouldn't want you to sacrifice your two lives on the shrine of her memory. She loved happiness herself. And she liked other people to be happy.” ”

“ If she'd slipped into loving her employer, and he had thought best to banish her for her own good, the wound in poor Joyce's self-respect must be as deep as that in her heart. Every sensitive nerve must throb with anguish, and only a wretch would deliberately probe the hurt with questions because of mere selfish curiosity. ”

“ How sweet must have been the air then, how blue the river background, and how melodious the low song of a distant weir!
To-day the air was faintly acrid with the scent of bonfire smoke, the odor of autumn, and the sounds of wind and water over the weir were sad as a song of homesickness.
I tapped an old-fashioned knocker upon a low green door. An elderly maid appeared. I saw by the bleak glint of a pale eye that she meant to say “Not at home,” and hastened to forestall her. ”

“ Joyce murmured. “The woods all golden, and mists like creamy veils across the blue distances. I know!”
There was a passion of suppressed longing and regret in her tone.
“Wouldn't you like to go with me?” I coaxed. “It's such lovely country for a spin. And I've never been there, but I suppose we must pass close to Robert Lorillard's cottage? We go through Stanerton village. We could stop and see if he's still at home, or if he's gone——”
“No—no, thank you, princess,” Joyce said hastily, “I don't care very much for motoring. ”

“ It was partly old admiration for Robert, and new affection for his secretary.
“Why should he want to get rid of such a girl?” I asked myself, as at last I ate the plum.
The fruit was more easily swallowed than the idea that he hadn't wanted Joyce Arnold to go on working for him. It wouldn't be human for man or woman—especially man—not to want her. ”

“ To me, a harmless, necessary fib isn't much more vicious than a cat of the same description, that is, if the fib is for the benefit of a friend. But I'd rather tell the truth if it can be managed, so I really intended to call on the duchess. The village of Stanerton—on the outskirts of which Lorillard lived—happened to be on my way to “Pergolas.” I couldn't help that, could I? So I told my chauffeur to ask for “River Orchard Cottage,” the address on Robert's note introducing Miss Arnold. ”

“ It burst like a bombshell in my brain; and the reason it hadn't burst before was because my mind always pictured June and Robert together.
I was lying deep among cushions on a sofa, and involuntarily I started up.
Joyce broke off her song abruptly.
“What's the matter?” she asked.
“Nothing,” I said. “Only it just popped into my head that I'd forgotten to telephone for—for a car to-morrow.”
“For a car?” Joyce echoed. “How stupid of me, if you mentioned it! ”