nderskirt of a
warmer colour in _poult de soie_, a picturesque costume that would
faintly recall Lely's portraits at Hampton Court."

"Dear mamma, what is the use of talking about dresses I am never going
to require? Not for all the finery that Theodore ever made would I
marry Lord Mallow, or anybody else. I am happy enough with you, and my
horse, and my dog, and all the dear old things, animal and vegetable,
that belong to this dear old place. I shall never leave you, or the
Forest. Can you not be content to know this and let me alone?"

"You are a very wilful girl, Violet, and ridiculously blind to your own
interests," remarked Mrs. Winstanley, throwing herself back in her
chair with a fretful look, "and you put me in an absurd position. The
duchess quite congratulated me about your brilliant prospects, when we
were chatting together on New Year's Eve. Anybody could see how devoted
Lord Mallow was, she said, and what a splendid match it would be for
you."

"Let the Duchess marry her own daughter, and leave me alone," cried
Vixen scornfully.

This was the kind of thing she had to endure continually during the
chill winter months that followed Lord Mallow's departure. Even her old
friends the Scobels worried her about the Irish peer, and lamented her
inability to perceive his merits. It was known throughout her
particular circle that she had been idiotic enough to refuse Lord
Mallow. Mrs. Winstanley had whispered the fact to all her friends,
under the seal of strictest secrecy. Of all Vixen's acquaintance,
Roderick Vawdrey was the only one who said no word to her about Lord
Mallow; but he was much kinder to her after the Irishman's departure
than he had shown himself during his visit.

Spring put on her green mantle; and when the woods were starred with
primroses, and the banks lovely with heaven-hued dog-violets, everyone
of any pretension to importance in the social scale began to flee from
the Forest as from a loathsome place. Lord Ellangowan's train of vans
and waggons set out for the railway-station with their load of chests
and baskets. Julius Caesar's baggage was as nothing to the Saratoga
trunks and bonnet-boxes of Lady Ellangowan. The departure of the
Israelites from Egypt was hardly a mightier business than this
emigration of the Ellangowan household. The Duke and Duchess, and Lady
Mabel Ashbourne, left for the Queen Anne house at Kensington, whereat
the fashionable London papers broke out in paragraphs