her ridiculous game, and getting yourself into a most
unbecoming perspiration--to a quiet home evening with a few friends."

"You see, mamma, I know our quiet home evenings with a few friends so
well. I could tell you beforehand exactly what will happen, almost the
very words people will say--how your _jardinieres_ will be admired, and
how the conversation will glance off from your ferns and pelargoniums
to Lady Ellangowan's orchids, and then drift back to your old china;
after which the ladies will begin to talk about dress, and the
wickedness of giving seven guineas for a summer bonnet, as Mrs Jones,
or Green, or Robinson has just done; from which their talk will glide
insensibly to the iniquities of modern servants; and when those have
been discussed exhaustively, one of the younger ladies will tell you
the plot of the last novel she has had from Mudie's, with an infinite
number of you knows and you sees, and then perhaps Captain
Winstanley--he is coming, I suppose--will sing a French song, of which
the company will understand about four words in every verse, and then
you will show Mrs. Carteret your last piece of art needlework--"

"What nonsense you talk, Violet. However, if you prefer the children at
Stony Cross to the society of your mother and your mother's friends,
you must take your own way."

"And you will forgive me in advance, dear mamma?"

"My love, I have nothing to forgive. I only deplore a bent of mind
which I can but think unladylike."

Vixen was glad to be let off with so brief a lecture. In her heart of
hearts she was not at all sorry that her mother's friendly dinner
should fall on a day which she had promised to spend elsewhere. It was
a treat to escape the sameness of that polite entertainment. Yes,
Captain Winstanley was to be there of course, and prolonged
acquaintance had not lessened her dislike to that gentleman. She had
seen him frequently during his residence at the Hawbuck cottage, not at
her mother's house only, but at all the best houses in the
neighbourhood. He had done nothing to offend her. He had been
studiously polite; and that was all. Not by one word had he reminded
Violet of that moonlight walk in the Pavilion garden; not by so much as
a glance or a sigh had he hinted at a hidden passion. So far she could
make no complaint against him. But the attrition of frequent
intercourse did not wear off the sharp edge of her dislike.

Wednesday afternoon came, and any evil auguries t