isles, when Miss Tempest and her companion drew near the
Abbey House. They went in at the gate by the keeper's cottage, the gate
which Titmouse had jumped so often in the days when he carried his
childish mistress. They went through the wood of rhododendrons, and
past the old archway leading to the stables, and round by the shrubbery
to the porch. The door stood open as usual, and the Squire's old
pointer was lying on the threshold; but within all was commotion.
Dress-baskets, hat-cases, bonnet-boxes, gun-cases, travelling-bags,
carriage-rugs, were lying about in every direction. Mrs. Winstanley was
leaning back in the large chair by the fireplace, fanning herself with
her big black fan; Pauline was standing by in attendance; and the
silver tray, with the Swansee tea-set, was being brought in by Forbes
the butler, whose honest old face wore a troubled aspect.

Captain Winstanley was standing with his back to the hearth, his
countenance and whole figure wearing the unmistakable air of the master
of a house who has returned to his domicile in an execrable temper.

Violet ran to Mrs. Winstanley, every other thought forgotten in the
pleasure of seeing her mother again. These three weeks were the longest
parting mother and daughter had ever known; and after all, blood is
thicker than water; and there is a natural leaning in a child's mind
even to the weakest of parents.

Mr. Vawdrey stood in the background, waiting till those affectionate
greetings natural to such an occasion should be over.

But to his surprise there were no such greetings. Mrs. Winstanley went
on fanning herself vehemently, with a vexed expression of countenance,
while Violet bent over and kissed her. Captain Winstanley swayed
himself slowly backwards and forwards upon the heels of his boots, and
whistled to himself sotto voce, with his eyes fixed upon some lofty
region of empty air. He vouchsafed not the faintest notice of his
stepdaughter or Mr. Vawdrey.

"It's really too bad of you, Violet," the mother exclaimed at last.

"Dear mamma," cried Vixen, in blank amazement, "what have I done?"

"To go roaming about the country," pursued Mrs. Winstanley plaintively,
"for hours at a stretch, nobody knowing where to find you or what had
become of you. And my telegram lying there unattended to."

"Did you telegraph, mamma?"

"Did I telegraph? Should I come home without telegraphing? Should I be
so mad as to expose myself knowingly to the outrage which ha