ectly I saw any occasion for your presence," the
Captain answered coldly.

He now for the first time became aware of Mr. Vawdrey, who had got out
of the brougham on the other side and came round to assist in the
unshipment of Violet's belongings.

"Good evening, Mr. Vawdrey. Where in Heaven's name did you spring
from?" he inquired, with a vexed air.

"I have had the honour of escorting Miss Tempest from Jersey, where I
happened to be when she received your telegram."

"Wasn't that rather an odd proceeding, and likely to cause scandal?"

"I think not; for before people can hear that Miss Tempest and I
crossed in the same boat I hope they will have heard that Miss Tempest
and I are going to be married."

"I see," cried the Captain, with a short laugh of exceeding bitterness;
"being off with the old love you have made haste to be on with the new."

"I beg your pardon. It is no new love, but a love as old as my
boyhood," answered Rorie. "In one weak moment of my life I was foolish
enough to let my mother choose a wife for me, though I had made my own
choice, unconsciously, years before."

"May I go to mamma at once?" asked Vixen.

The Captain said Yes, and she went up the staircase and along the
corridor to Mrs. Winstanley's room. Oh, how dear and familiar the old
house looked, how full of richness and colour after the bareness and
decay of Les Tourelles; brocaded curtains hanging in heavy folds
against the carved oaken framework of a deep-set window; gleams of
evening light stealing through old stained glass; everywhere a rich
variety of form and hue that filled and satisfied the eye; a house
worth living in assuredly, with but a little love to sanctify and
hallow all these things. But how worthless these things if discord and
hatred found a habitation among them.

The door of Mrs. Winstanley's room stood half open, and the lamplight
shone faintly from within. Violet went softly in. Her mother was lying
on a sofa by the hearth, where a wood-fire had been newly lighted.
Pauline was sitting opposite her, reading aloud in a very sleepy voice
out of the _Court Journal:_ "The bride was exquisitely attired in ivory
satin, with flounces of old _Duchesse_ lace, the skirt covered with
_tulle_, _bouillone_, and looped with garlands of orange-blossom----"

"Pauline," murmured the invalid feebly, "will you never learn to read
with expression? You are giving me the vaguest idea of Lady Evelyn
Fitzdamer's appearance."

Vi