st had not come.
The entertainment was much too early for a lady who never left her
rooms till after noon.

Vixen looked lovely in her smart little habit. It was not the Lincoln
green with the brass buttons, which Lady Mabel had laughed at a year
ago. To-day Miss Tempest wore a dark brown habit, moulded to the full
erect figure, with a narrow rim of white at the throat, a little felt
hat of the same dark brown with a brown feather, long white gauntlets,
and a whip with a massive ivory handle.

The golden bay's shining coat matched Violet's shining hair. It was the
prettiest picture in the world, the little rider in dark brown on the
bright bay horse, the daintily quilted saddle, the gauntleted hands
playing so lightly with the horse's velvet mouth--horse and rider
devotedly attached to each other.

"How do you like him?" asked Vixen, directly she and Rorie had shaken
hands. "Isn't he absolutely lovely?'

"Absolutely lovely," said Rorie, patting the horse's shoulder and
looking at the rider.

"Papa gave him to me on my last birthday. I was to have ridden Titmouse
another year; but I got the brush one day after a hard run when almost
everybody else was left behind, and papa said I should have a horse.
Poor Titmouse is put into a basket-chaise. Isn't it sad for him?'

"Awfully humiliating."

Lady Mabel was close by on her chestnut thoroughbred, severely costumed
in darkest blue and chimney-pot hat.

"I don't think you've ever met my cousin?" said Rorie. "Mabel, this is
Miss Tempest, whom you've heard me talk about. Miss Tempest, Lady Mabel
Ashbourne."

Violet Tempest gave a startled look, and blushed crimson. Then the two
girls bowed and smiled: a constrained smile on Vixen's part, a prim and
chilly smile from Lady Mabel.

"I want you two to be awful good friends," said Rorie; "and when you
come out, Vixen, Lady Mabel will take you under her wing. She knows
everybody, and the right thing to be done on every occasion."

Vixen turned from red to pale, and said nothing. Lady Mabel looked at
the distant blue line of the Wight, and murmured that she would be
happy to be of use to Miss Tempest if ever they met in London. Rorie
felt, somehow, that it was not encouraging. Vixen stole a glance at her
rival. Yes, she was very pretty--a delicate patrician beauty which
Vixen had never seen before. No wonder Rorie was in love with her.
Where else could he have seen anything so exquisite? It was the most
natural thing in