les."

"Oh, we are dreadfully ancient at Dundromond; almost as old as the
mountains, I should think," answered the Duchess. "Our walls are ten
feet thick, and we have an avenue of yew trees said to be a thousand
years old. But all that does not prevent the Duke getting bronchitis
every time he goes there."

Vixen was in attendance upon her mother, dressed in dark green cloth.
Very much the same kind of gown she had on that day at the kennels,
Rorie thought, remembering how she looked as she stood with quickened
breath and tumbled hair, encircled by those eager boisterous hounds.

"If Landseer could have lived to paint her, I would have given a small
fortune for the picture," he thought regretfully.

Lady Mabel was particularly gracious to Violet. She talked about dogs
and horses even, in her desire to let herself down to Miss Tempest's
level; praised the Forest; made a tentative remark about point lace;
and asked Violet if she was fond of Chopin.

"I'm afraid I'm not enlightened enough to care so much for him as I
ought." Vixen answered frankly.

"Really! Who is your favourite composer?"

Violet felt as if she were seated before one of those awful books which
some young ladies keep instead of albums, in which the sorely-tormented
contributor is catechised as to his or her particular tastes,
distastes, and failings.

"I think I like Mozart best."

"Do you, really?" inquired Lady Mabel, looking as if Violet had sunk
fathoms lower in her estimation by this avowal. "Don't you think that
he is dreadfully tuney?"

"I like tunes," retorted Vixen, determined not to be put down. "I'd
rather have written '_Voi che sapete_,' and '_Batti, batti_,' than all
Chopin's nocturnes and mazurkas."

"I think you would hardly say that if you knew Chopin better," said
Lady Mabel gravely, as if she had been gently reproving some one for
the utterance of infidel opinions. "When are you coming to see our
orchids?" she asked graciously. "Mamma is at home on Thursdays. I hope
you and Mrs. Winstanley will drive over and look at my new
orchid-house. Papa had it built for me with all the latest
improvements. I'm sure you must be fond of orchids, even if you don't
appreciate Chopin."

Violet blushed. Rorie was looking on with a malicious grin. He was
sitting a little way off in a low Glastonbury chair, with his knees up
to his chin, making himself an image of awkwardness.

"I don't believe Violet cares twopence for the best orchid you