could romp with her dog, make her round of the
stables, work in the garden, ramble in the Forest, without fear of
dilapidated flounces or dishevelled laces and ribbons.

"Violet's morning-dresses are so dreadfully strong-minded," complained
Mrs. Winstanley. "To look at her, one would almost think that she was
the kind of girl to go round the country lecturing upon woman's rights."

"No ride this morning," said Captain Winstanley, coming into the hall,
with a bundle of letters in his hand. "I shall go to my den, and do a
morning's letter-writing and accountancy--unless you want me for a shy
at the pheasants, Mallow?"

"Let the pheasants be at rest for the first day of the year," answered
Lord Mallow. "I am sure you would rather be fetching up your arrears of
correspondence than shooting at dejected birds in a damp plantation;
and I am luxurious enough to prefer staying indoors, if the ladies will
have me. I can help Miss Tempest to wind her wools."

"Thanks, but I never do any wool-work. Mamma is the artist in that
line."

"Then I place myself unreservedly at Mrs. Winstanley's feet."

"You are too good," sighed the fair matron, from her arm-chair by the
hearth; "but I shall not touch my crewels to-day. I have one of my
nervous headaches. It is a penalty I too often have to pay for the
pleasures of society. I'm afraid I shall have to lie down for an hour
or two."

And with a languid sigh Mrs. Winstanley wrapped her China crape shawl
round her, and went slowly upstairs, leaving Violet and Lord Mallow in
sole possession of the great oak-panelled hall; the lady looking at the
rain from her favourite perch in the deep window-seat, the gentleman
contemplating the same prospect from the open door. It was one of those
mild winter mornings when a huge wood fire is a cheerful feature in the
scene, but hardly essential to comfort.

Vixen thought of that long rainy day, years ago, the day on which
Roderick Vawdrey came of age. How well she remembered sitting in that
very window, watching the ceaseless rain, with a chilly sense of having
been forgotten and neglected by her old companion. And then, in the
gloaming, just when she had lost all hope of seeing him, he had come
leaping in out of the wet night, like a lion from his lair, and had
taken her in his arms and kissed her before she knew what he was doing.

Her cheeks crimsoned even to-day at the memory of that kiss. It had
seemed a small thing then. Now it seemed awful-