enough to buy you!"
cried the Captain, starting up from his untasted breakfast, and leaving
Vixen mistress of the field.

CHAPTER XIV.

"Kurz ist der Schmerz und ewig ist die Freude."

Captain Winstanley said no more about Lord Mallow; but Violet had to
listen to much plaintive bemoaning from her mother, who could not
understand how any well-brought-up young woman could refuse an Irish
peer with a fine estate, and the delights of a _trousseau_ made by the
renowned Theodore. Upon this latter detail Mrs. Winstanley dwelt at
more length than upon that minor circumstance in a marriage--the
bridegroom.

"It would have been such a pleasure to me to plan your _trousseau_,
darling," she said; "such an occupation for my mind in these wretched
winter afternoons when there is no possibility of driving or making
calls. I should have attended to everything myself. Theodore's general
way is to make a list of what she thinks necessary, allowing her
customer to correct it; but I should not have been satisfied with that,
even from Theodore, though I admit that her taste is perfect. And then,
you know, she is hand in glove with Worth, and that alone is a liberal
education, as somebody says somewhere about something. No, dear, I
would have done it all myself. I know the exact shades that suit your
complexion, the dashes of colour that contrast with and light up your
hair, the style that sets off your figure. Your _trousseau_ should be
talked about in society, and even described in the fashion magazines.
And then Lord Mallow is really so very nice--and has such a charming
baritone--what more can you want?"

"Only to love him, mamma dearest, which I do not, and never shall. That
frank loud voice of his does not stir a fibre of my heart. I like him
extremely, and so I do Mr. Scobel, and Bates the groom. Lord Mallow is
no more to me than either of those. Indeed, Bates is much nearer and
dearer, for he loved my father."

"My dear Violet, you have the most republican ideas. Imagine anyone
putting Bates on a level with Lord Mallow!"

"I don't, mamma. I only say he is more to me than Lord Mallow could
ever be."

"Your travelling-dress," murmured Mrs. Winstanley, her mind still
dwelling on the _trousseau;_ "that affords more scope for taste than
the wedding-gown. Velvet suits your style, but is too heavy for your
age. A soft clinging cashmere, now, one of those delicious neutral
tints that have been so fashionable lately, over an u