It must be taken down into her heart and kept there; she and it must be always alone together; no one could come between them; no one could help her.
And so there was nothing to do but take that dreary journey home from Washington, come quietly back to Yorkbury, come back without father or mother, into the home that must be hers now, the only one left her in all the wide world; nothing to do but to live on, and never to see him any more, never to kiss him, never to creep up into his arms, or hear his brave, merry voice calling, "Joyce, Joyce," as it used to call about the old home.

No one called her Joyce but her father.

No one should ever call her so again.
Tom called her so one day, never thinking.
"I don't want to hear that--not that name," said Joy, flushing suddenly; then paling and turning away.
She was very still now.

Since the first few days she seldom cried; or if she did, it was when she was away alone in the dark, with no one to see her.

She had grown strangely silent, strangely gentle and thoughtful for Joy.