island--and
I should not like you to be shabby. Are you really positive that you
have dresses enough to carry you over next winter?"

This last question was asked with deepest solemnity.

"More than enough, mamma."

"And do you think your last winter's jacket will do?"

"Excellently."

"I'm very glad of that," said her mother, with a sigh of relief, "for I
have an awful bill of Theodore's hanging over my head. I have been
paying her sums on account ever since your poor papa's death; and you
know that is never quite satisfactory. All that one has paid hardly
seems to make any difference in the amount due at the end."

"Don't worry yourself about your bill, mamma. Let it stand over till I
come of age, and then I can help you to pay it."

"You are very generous, dear; but Theodore would not wait so long, even
for me. Be sure you take plenty of wraps for the steamer. Summer nights
are often chilly."

Vixen thought of last night, and the long straight ride through the
pine wood, the soft scented air, the young moon shining down at her,
and Rorie by her side. Ah, when should she ever know such a summer
night as that again?

"Sit down in this low chair by me, and have a cup of tea, dear," said
Mrs. Winstanley, growing more affectionate as the hour of parting drew
nearer. "Let us have kettledrum together for the last time, till you
come back to us."

"For the last time, mamma!" echoed Violet sadly.

She could not imagine any possible phase of circumstances that would
favour her return. Could she come back to see Roderick Vawdrey happy
with his wife? Assuredly not. Could she school herself to endure life
under the roof that sheltered Conrad Winstanley? A thousand times no.
Coming home was something to be dreamt about when she lay asleep in a
distant land; but it was a dream that never could be realised. She must
make herself a new life, somehow, among new people. The old life died
to-day.

She sat and sipped her tea, and listened while her mother talked
cheerfully of the future, and even pretended to agree; but her heart
was heavy as lead.

An hour was dawdled away thus, and then, when Mrs. Winstanley began to
think about dressing for dinner, Vixen went off to finish her packing.
She excused herself from going down to dinner on the plea or having so
much to do.

"You could send me up something, please, mamma," she said. "I am sure
you and Captain Winstanley will dine more pleasantly without me. I
shall see yo