was in this month of March that an event impended which caused a
considerable flutter among the dancing population of the Forest. Lord
Southminster's eldest daughter, Lady Almira Ringwood, was to marry Sir
Ponto Jones, the rich ironmaster--an alliance of ancient aristocracy
and modern wealth which was considered one of the grandest achievements
of the age, like the discovery of steam or the electric telegraph; and
after the marriage, which was to be quietly performed in the presence
of about a hundred and fifty blood relations, there was to be a ball,
to which all the county families were bidden, with very little more
distinction or favouritism than in the good old fairy-tale times, when
the king's herald went through the streets of the city to invite
everybody, and only some stray Cinderella, cleaning boots and knives in
a back kitchen, found herself unintentionally excluded. Lady
Southminster drew the line at county families, naturally, but her
kindly feelings allowed a wide margin for parsons, doctors, and
military men--and among these last Captain Winstanley received a card.

Mrs. Scobel declared that this ball would be a grand thing for Violet.
"You have never properly come out, you know, dear," she said; "but at
Southminster you will be seen by everybody; and, as I daresay Lady
Ellangowan will take you under her wing, you'll be seen to the best
advantage."

"Do you think Lady Ellangowan's wing will make any difference--in me?"
inquired Vixen.

"It will make a great deal of difference in the Southminster set,"
replied Mrs. Scobel, who considered herself an authority upon all
social matters.

She was a busy good-natured little woman, the chosen confidante of all
her female friends. People were always appealing to her on small social
questions, what they ought to do or to wear on such and such an
occasion. She knew the wardrobes of her friends as well as she knew her
own. "I suppose you'll wear that lovely pink," she would say when
discussing an impending dinner-party. She gave judicious assistance in
the composition of a _menu_. "My love, everyone has pheasants at this
time of year. Ask your poulterer to send you guinea-fowls, they are
more _distingue_," she would suggest. Or: "If you have dessert ices,
let me recommend you coffee-cream. We had it last week at Ellangowan
Park."

Vixen made no objection to the Southminster ball. She was young, and
fond of waltzing. Whirling easily round to the swing of some Ger