ing strip of point-lace, which
she had no hope of ever finishing, though it had been promised to Mr.
Scobel for his church. Captain Winstanley read the newspapers or the
quarterlies, and paced the room thoughtfully at intervals. He talked to
his wife just enough to escape the charge of neglect, but rarely spoke
to or noticed Violet. Sometimes Mrs. Winstanley asked for a little
music; whereupon Violet went to the piano and played her scanty
recollections of Mozart or Beethoven--all "tuney" bits, remembered out
of the sonatas or symphonies Miss McCroke had taught her; or, if asked
to sing, the girl sang a ballad or two, to order, in her full round
mezzo-soprano, which had a thrilling expression at times, when feeling
got the better of her proud reserve, and all the pent-up sorrow of her
heart broke loose into her song. But Captain Winstanley took no notice
of these efforts, and even her mother's praises were not enthusiastic.

"Very sweet, very nice," was the most Vixen ever heard from those
maternal lips as she closed the piano.

But here was Lord Mallow, passionately fond of music and singing, and
the beauties of nature, and all things that appeal to the sensitive
Hibernian character. It seemed a new thing to Violet to have someone
standing by the piano, turning over the leaves, applauding rapturously,
and entreating for another and yet another Irish melody. When she sang
"The Minstrel Boy," he joined in with a rich baritone that harmonised
finely with her full ripe notes. The old room vibrated with the strong
gush of melody, and even Captain Winstanley was impelled to praise.

"How well your voices harmonise," he said. "You ought to try some
duets. I remember that fine baritone of yours in days of old, Mallow."

Thereupon Lord Mallow asked Miss Tempest if she had any duets, and
Vixen produced her small stock of vocal music. They tried one or two of
Mendelssohn's, "I would that my love," and "Greeting," and discovered
that they got on wonderfully well together. Vixen fell asleep that
night wondering at her own amiability.

"To think that I should sing sentimental duets with him," she said to
herself. "The man who has Bullfinch!"

Lord Mallow's presence at the Abbey House had a marked effect upon
Captain Winstanley's treatment of his stepdaughter. Hitherto there had
been a veiled bitterness in all his speeches, a constrained civility in
his manners. Now he was all kindness, all expansion. Even his wife, who
admired