could
show her," he said. "I don't believe your _Dendrobium Formosum_ would
have any more effect upon her than it has upon me."

"Oh, but I do admire them; or, at least, I should admire them
immensely," remonstrated Vixen, "if I could see them in their native
country. But I don't know that I have ever thoroughly appreciated them
in a hothouse, hanging from the roof, and tumbling on to one's nose, or
shooting off their long sprays at a tangent into awkward corners. I'm
afraid I like the bluebells and foxgloves in our enclosures ever so
much better. I have seen the banks in New Park one sheet of vivid blue
with hyacinths, one blaze of crimson with foxgloves; and then there are
the long green swamps, where millions of marsh marigolds shine like
pools of liquid gold. If I could see orchids blooming like that I
should be charmed with them."

"You paint of course," said Lady Mabel. "Wild flowers make delightful
studies, do they not?"

Vixen blushed violently.

"I can't paint a little bit," she said. "I am a dreadfully
unaccomplished person."

"That's not true," remonstrated Rorie. "She sketches capitally in pen
and ink--dogs, horses, trees, you and me, everything, dashed off with
no end of spirit."

Here the Duchess, who had been describing the most conspicuous costumes
at the German baths, to the delight of Mrs. Winstanley, rose to go, and
Lady Mabel, with her graceful, well-drilled air, rose immediately.

"We shall be so glad to see you at Ashbourne," she murmured sweetly,
giving Violet her slim little hand in its pearl-gray glove.

She was dressed from head to foot in artistically blended
shades of gray--a most unpretending toilet. But to Violet's mind the
very modesty of her attire seemed to say: "I am a duke's only daughter,
but I don't want to crush you."

Vixen acknowledged her graciousness politely, but without any warmth;
and it would hardly have done for Lady Mabel to have known what Miss
Tempest said to herself when the Dovedale barouche had driven round the
curve of the shrubbery, with Roderick smiling at her from his place as
it vanished.

"I am afraid I have a wicked tendency to detest people," said Vixen
inwardly. "I feel almost as bad about Lady Mabel as I do about Captain
Winstanley."

"Are they not nice?" asked Mrs. Winstanley gushingly, when she and
Violet were alone.

"Trimmer's drop-cakes?" said Vixen, who was standing by the tea-table
munching a dainty little biscuit. "Yes, they are al