mourned
her kind husband, she lamented him as the someone who had bought her
everything she wanted.

She had taken off her dinner-dress, and looked particularly fair and
youthful in her soft muslin dressing-gown, trimmed with Mechlin lace
which had cost as much as a small holding on the outskirts of the
Forest. Even in that subdued light Violet could see that her mother's
cheeks were pinker than usual, that her eyes were clouded with tears,
and her manner anxiously agitated.

"Mamma," cried the girl, "there is something wrong, I know. Something
has happened."

"There is nothing wrong, love. Bat something has happened. Something
which I hope will not make you unhappy--for it has made me very happy."

"You are talking in enigmas, mamma, and I am too tired to be good at
guessing riddles, just now," said Violet, becoming suddenly cold as ice.

A few moments ago she had been all gentleness and love, responding to
the unwonted affection of her mother's caresses. Now she drew herself
away and stood aloof, with her heart beating fast and furiously. She
divined what was coming. She had guessed the riddle already.

"Come and sit by the fire, Violet, and I will tell you--everything,"
said Mrs. Tempest coaxingly, seating herself in the low semi-circular
chair which was her especial delight.

"I can hear what you have to tell just as well where I am," answered
Violet curtly, walking to the latticed window, which was open to the
night. The moon was shining over the rise and fall of the woods; the
scent of the flowers came stealing up from the garden. Without, all was
calm and sweetness, within, fever and smothered wrath. "I can't think
how you can endure a fire on such a night. The room is positively
stifling."

"Ah Violet, you have not my sad susceptibility to cold."

"No, mamma. I don't keep myself shut up like an unset diamond in a
jeweller's strong-box."

"I don't think I can tell you--the little secret I have to tell,
Violet, unless you come over to me and sit by my side, and give me your
hand, and let me feel as if you were really fond of me," pleaded Mrs.
Tempest, with a little gush of piteousness. "You seem like an enemy,
standing over there with your back to me, looking out at the sky."

"Perhaps there is no need for you to tell me anything, mamma," answered
Violet, in a tone which, to that tremulous listener in the low seat by
the fire, sounded as severe as the voice of a judge pronouncing
sentence. "Shall I t