all yet," answered Rorie, "and Vixen
seems determined I shan't find it."

"What, have you only just returned?"

"Only just,"

"And you have not seen Lady Jane yet?" exclaimed Miss McCroke with a
horrified look.

"It sounds rather undutiful, doesn't it? I was awfully tired, after
travelling all night; and I made this a kind of halfway house."

"Two sides of a triangle are invariable longer than anyone side,"
remarked Vixen, gravely. "At least that's what Miss McCroke has taught
me."

"It was rather out of my way, of course. But I wanted to see whether
Vixen had grown. And I wanted to see the Squire."

"Papa has gone to Ringwood to look at a horse; but you'll see him at
the grand dinner. He'll be coming home to dress presently."

"I hope you had an agreeable tour, Mr. Vawdrey?" said Miss McCroke.

"Oh, uncommonly jolly."

"And you like Switzerland?"

"Yes; it's nice and hilly."

And then Roderick favoured them with a sketch of his travels, while
they sipped their tea, and while Vixen made the dogs balance pieces of
cake on their big blunt noses.

It was all very nice--the Tete Noire, and Mont Blanc, and the
Matterhorn. Rorie jumbled them all together, without the least regard
to geography. He had done a good deal of climbing, had worn out and
lost dozens of alpenstocks, and had brought home a case of Swiss carved
work for his friends.

"There's a clock for your den, Vixen--I shall bring it to-morrow--with
a little cock-robin that comes out of his nest and sings--no end of
jolly."

"How lovely!" cried Violet.

The tall eight-day clock in a corner of the hall chimed the half-hour.

"Half-past five, and Starlight Bess not ordered," exclaimed Roderick.

"Let's go out to the stables and see about her," suggested Vixen. "And
then I can show you my pony. You remember Titmouse, the one that
_would_ jump?"

"Violet!" ejaculated the aggrieved governess. "Do you suppose I would
permit you to go out of doors in such weather?"

"Do you think it's still raining?" asked Vixen innocently. "It may have
cleared up. Well, we'd better order the cart," she added meekly, as she
rang the bell. "I'm not of age yet, you see, Rorie. Please, Peters,
tell West to get papa's dog-cart ready for Mr. Vawdrey, and to drive
Starlight Bess."

Rorie looked at the bright face admiringly. The shadows had deepened;
there was no light in the great oak-panelled room except the ruddy
fire-glow, and in this light Violet Tempest looked