e country life.'
Violet sighed as if town life was oppressive.

'To be sure! If one could be a farmer's daughter without the pretension
and vulgarity, what a life it would be! That was my favourite notion
when I used to make schemes with poor Georgina Gardner. Do you ever hear
what she is doing, Violet? They have quite left off writing to me.'

'Last time I heard of them they were in Italy.'

'Going on in the old way, I fear. Poor Georgina! she was sadly thrown
away. But, at least, that Mark is not with them.'

'O no,' said Violet, sighing more deeply this time; 'he is always about
in London.'

'Ah! you see more of him than you wish, I fear?'

'I see very little of him. Arthur would not ask him to our house at
Chichester for the Goodwood races, and it was such an escape!'

'I am glad at least Arthur does not trouble you with him.'

Violet sat with her forehead resting on her hand, and there was a short
space of thoughtful silence. It resulted in Theodora's saying, in a sad,
low, humble tone, her eyes looking straight into the red fire, 'Do you
ever hear of Mr. Fotheringham?'

'I believe he is still at Paris,' said Violet. 'I only hear of him
through John, who said he had been thinking of going to Italy. When he
came through London, after Lady Fotheringham's death, he left his card,
but we were at Chichester. Have you seen that last article of his?'

'What, that on modern novels? I was almost sure it was his, and yet I
doubted. It was like and yet not like him.'

'It was his,' said Violet. 'He always has his things sent to me. I am
glad you observed the difference. I thought it so much kinder and less
satirical than his writings used to be.'

'It was so,' exclaimed Theodora. 'There were places where I said to
myself, "This cannot be his; I know what he would have said," and yet it
was too forcible and sensible to have been written by any one else.'

'The strength is there, but not the sort of triumph in sarcasm that
sometimes made one sorry,' said Violet; 'and were you not struck by his
choice of extracts! I have fancied a different strain in his writings of
late.'

Theodora squeezed Violet's hand. 'I feared I had hardened him,' she
said. 'Thank you, good night.'

CHAPTER 2

St. Osyth's well is turned aside.

--CRABBE

On the first convenient day, Lord Martindale sent Violet to call at
Rickworth Priory, a visit which she was the more desirous of making,
as Emma's correspondence,