ur to
send him a full history of the transaction, and after much grumbling, he
was obeyed. What he said to his daughter did not transpire, but Violet
gathered that the opinion at Martindale was, that she had not age or
authority sufficient for the care of the young lady. In this she
fully acquiesced, and, indeed, had some trouble in silencing repining
speculations on what might have happened if she had been older, or in
stronger health, or more judicious.

It was a universal failure, and she felt as if they were all to blame,
while it terrified her to recollect John's predictions as to the effect
on Theodora's disposition.

Another question was, how Mrs. Finch would feel on the matter. Theodora
had written to her, and received one of her warm impulsive answers,
as inconsistent as her whole nature; in one place in despair that her
friend's happiness had been sacrificed--in another, rejoicing in her
freedom from such intolerable tyranny, and declaring that she was the
noblest creature and the naughtiest, and that she must see her at once.

But she never came, and when Theodora called was not at home. Violet had
Jane to herself for an unpleasing hour of condolence and congratulation,
regrets and insinuations, ending with the by no means unwelcome news
that Mr. Finch was tired of London, and that they were going into the
country--and not Mark--going to set off in a week's time. Two more calls
failed, and Theodora only received a note, in which Mrs. Finch declared
herself "abimee desolee" that her husband would drag her off into the
country at such short notice, that her world of engagements had hindered
her from meeting her best of friends. Then, with a sudden transition to
slang, she promised excellent fun in riding, boating, &c., if Theodora
would come to see her, and plenty of admirers ready to have their heads
turned, ending rather piteously with 'Who knows but I might take a turn
for good? I know I wish I could, if it was not so horridly tiresome. You
won't forget your poor G. F.'

CHAPTER 18

Oh! woman is a tender tree,
The hand must gentle be that rears,
Through storm and sunshine, patiently,
That plant of grace, of smiles and tears.

--A. CLEVELAND COX

The height of the season was over, and London was beginning to thin.
Lady Elizabeth Brandon had accepted invitations for a round of visits to
her friends and relations, and Violet thought with regret how little she
had s