hed. She had always a large selection of sighs in
stock, suitable to every occasion.

"I should have felt it much worse if I had sat in my old place at
dinner," she said; "but sitting at the middle of the table instead of
at the end made it less painful. And I really think it's better style.
How did you like the new arrangement of the glasses?"

"I didn't notice anything new."

"My dear Violet, you are frightfully unobservant."

"No, I am not," answered Vixen quickly. "My eyes are keen enough,
believe me."

Mrs. Tempest felt uncomfortable. She began to think that, after all, it
might be a comfortable thing to have a companion--as a fender between
herself and Violet. A perpetually present Miss Jones or Smith would
ward off these unpleasantnesses.

There are occasions, however, on which a position must be faced
boldly--in proverbial phrase, the bull must be taken by the horns. And
here, Mrs. Tempest felt, was a bull which must be so encountered. She
knew that her poor little hands were too feeble for the office; but she
told herself that she must make the heroic attempt.

"Violet, why have you such a rooted dislike to Captain Winstanley?"

"Why is my hair the colour it is, mamma, or why are my eyes brown
instead of blue? If you could answer my question, I might be able to
answer yours. Nature made me what I am, and nature has implanted a
hatred of Captain Winstanley in my mind."

"Do you not think it wrong to hate anyone--the very word hate was
considered unladylike when I was a girl--without cause?"

"I have cause to hate him, good cause, sufficient cause. I hate all
self-seekers and adventurers."

"You have no right to call him one or the other."

"Have I not? What brings him here, but the pursuit of his own interest?
Why does he plant himself at our door as if he were come to besiege a
town? Do you mean to say, mamma, that you can be so blind as not to see
what he wants?"

"He has come for the hunting."

"Yes, but not to hunt our foxes or our stags. He wants a rich wife,
mamma. And he thinks that you or I will be foolish enough to marry him."

"There would be nothing unnatural in his entertaining some idea of that
kind about you," replied Mrs. Tempest, with a sudden assertion of
matronly dignity. "But for him to think of me in that light would be
too absurd. I must be some years, perhaps four or five years, his
senior, to begin with."

"Oh, he would forgive you that; he would not mind that."

"And