ame appeared in the morning papers, Mrs. Winstanley
uplifted her voice at the breakfast-table, and made her wail about
Violet's folly in refusing such an excellent young man.

"It would have been so nice to be able to talk about my daughter, Lady
Mallow, and Castle Mallow," said Pamela in confidence to her husband.

"No doubt, my dear," he answered coolly; "but when you bring up a young
woman to have her own way in everything, you must take the
consequences."

"It is very ungrateful of Violet," sighed the afflicted mother, "after
the pains I have taken to dress her prettily, ever since she was a
baby. It is a very poor return for my care."

CHAPTER XV.

A Midsummer Night's Dream.

They were all back at the Abbey House again early in June, and Vixen
breathed more freely in her sweet native air. How dear, how doubly
beautiful, everything seemed to her after even so brief an exile. But
it was a grief to have missed the apple-bloom and the bluebells. The
woods were putting on their ripe summer beauty; the beeches had lost
the first freshness of their tender green, the amber glory of the young
oak-leaves was over, the last of the primroses had paled and faded
among the spreading bracken; masses of snowy hawthorn bloom gleamed
white amidst the woodland shadows; bean-fields in full bloom filled the
air with delicate odours; the summer winds swept across the long lush
grass in the meadows, beautiful with ever-varying lights and shadows;
families of sturdy black piglings were grubbing on the waste turf
beside every road, and the forest-fly was getting strong upon the wing.
The depths of Mark Ash were dark at noontide under their roof of
foliage.

Vixen revelled in the summer weather. She was out from morning till
evening, on foot or on horseback, sketching or reading a novel, in some
solitary corner of the woods, with Argus for her companion and
guardian. It was an idle purposeless existence for a young woman to
lead, no doubt; but Violet Tempest knew of no better thing that life
offered her to do.

Neither her mother nor Captain Winstanley interfered with her liberty.
The Captain had his own occupations and amusements, and his wife was
given up to frivolities which left no room in her mind for anxiety
about her only daughter. So long as Violet looked fresh and pretty at
the breakfast-table, and was nicely dressed in the evening, Mrs.
Winstanley thought that all was well; or at least as well as it ever
could be wi