the things
children--and young ladies--like, at four o'clock. We had better make
it four instead of five, as the afternoons are so short."

"If you are impertinent we won't come."

"Oh yes you will. Curiosity will bring you. Remember this will be your
last chance of seeing the Bluebeard chamber at Briarwood."

"Is there a Bluebeard chamber?"

"Of course. Did you ever know of a family mansion without one?"

Vixen was delighted at the idea of exploring her lover's domain, now
that he and it were her own property. How well she remembered going
with her father to the meet on Briarwood lawn. Yet it seemed a century
ago--the very beginning of her life--before she had known sorrow.

Miss McCroke, who was ready to do anything her pupil desired, was
really pleased at the idea of seeing the interior of Briarwood.

"I have never been inside the doors, you know, dear," she said, "often
as I have driven past the gates with your dear mamma. Lady Jane Vawdrey
was not the kind of person to invite a governess to go and see her. She
was a strict observer of the laws of caste. The Duchess has much less
pride."

"I don't think Lady Jane ever quite forgave herself for marrying a
commoner," said Vixen. "She revenged her own weakness upon other
people."

Violet had a new pair of ponies, which her lover had chosen for her,
after vain endeavours to trace and recover the long-lost Titmouse.
These she drove to Briarwood, Miss McCroke resigning herself to the
will of Providence with a blind submission worthy of a Moslem; feeling
that if it were written that she was to be flung head foremost out of a
pony-carriage, the thing would happen sooner or later. Staying at home
to-day would not ward off to-morrow's doom. So she took her place in
the cushioned valley by Violet's side, and sat calm and still, while
the ponies, warranted quiet to drive in single or double harness, stood
up on end and made as if they had a fixed intention of scaling the
rhododendron bank.

"They'll settle down directly I've taken the freshness out of them,"
said Vixen, blandly, as she administered a reproachful touch of the
whip.

"I hope they will," replied Miss McCroke; "but don't you think Bates
ought to have seen the freshness taken out of them before we started?"

They were soon tearing along the smooth Roman road at a splendid pace,
"the ponies going like clockwork," as Vixen remarked approvingly; but
poor Miss McCroke thought that any clock which went as