" said her mother, handing her a cup of tea, and making believe
not to see the destruction of that exquisite antimacassar; "and I
should like to order your dress--for--the wedding. I have been thinking
that cream-colour and pale blue would suit you to perfection. A
cream-coloured hat--the Vandyck shape--with a long blue ostrich----"

"Please don't take any trouble about it, mamma," said Vixen, whose
cheek had paled at the word "wedding," and who now sat very erect in
her chair, holding her cup and saucer firmly. "I am not going to be
present at your wedding, so I shall not want a dress."

"Violet!" cried Mrs. Tempest, beginning to tremble. "You cannot mean
what you say. You have been very unkind, very undutiful. You have made
me perfectly miserable for the last seven weeks; but I cannot believe
that you would--grossly insult me--by refusing to be present at my
wedding."

"I do not wish to insult you, mamma. I am very sorry if I have pained
you; but I cannot and will not be present at a marriage the very idea
of which is hateful to me. If my presence could give any sanction to
this madness of yours, that sanction shall not be given."

"Violet, have you thought what you are doing? Have you considered what
will be said--by the world?"

"I think the world--our world--must have made up its mind about your
second marriage already, mamma," Vixen answered quietly. "My absence
from your wedding can make very little difference."

"It will make a very great difference; and you know it!" cried Mrs.
Tempest, roused to as much passion as she was capable of feeling.
"People will say that my daughter sets her face against my marriage--my
daughter, who ought to sympathise with me, and rejoice that I have
found a true friend and protector."

"I cannot either sympathise or rejoice, mamma. It is much better that I
should stop away from your wedding. I should look miserable, and make
other people uncomfortable."

"Your absence will humiliate and lower me in the sight of my friends.
It will be a disgrace. And yet you take this course on purpose to wound
and injure me. You are a wicked undutiful daughter."

"Oh, mamma!" cried Vixen, with grave voice and reproachful eyes--eyes
before whose steady gaze the tearful widow drooped and trembled, "is
duty so one-sided? Do I owe all to you, and you nothing to me? My
father left us together, mother and daughter, to be all the world to
each other. He left us mistresses of the dear old home we