‘It is not half so amusing, mother; but, oh, look at the violets, how thick they are under the trees!’ ‘About the ashen roots the violets blow,’ said Lady William. ‘I never knew any one have so many bits of poetry ready for all occasions,’ said Mab admiringly. ‘It’s a pity they’re only dog-violets, and not sweet at all; but they are pretty like that all the same.’ ‘Why, I wonder, should one speak of dog-violets, and dog-roses, and dog-daisies?’ said Lady William. ‘I suppose it is in contempt of things that grow wild.’ ‘A dog is the wisest thing that lives,’ said Mab; ‘there’s no contempt in such a name. Puppy! puppy! where are you going? I must run after him, mother, and keep him from frightening those ducks.’ ‘There’s contempt, if you please! The famous Swinford wild fowl!’ ‘Oh, I can’t bear them, the stupid things. Puppy! puppy! oh, don’t be a fool, they are not worth your while.’ ‘Nor yours either, puppy mine. You will be as red as a peony next, and what will Mrs. Swinford say?’ ‘I hate Mrs. Swinford,’ said Mab; but she walked soberly the rest of the way. Mrs. Swinford was in the same room and chair as she had occupied on the previous night: with flowers piled in the jardinières, on the tables, everywhere; a wood fire blazing very bright, but more bright than warm, and the mistress of the house arrayed, as always, in dark velvet, with a crimson tone in the lights, but without the lace which had softened at once her features and her age. Her hair, in which there was not a thread of white, was dressed high on her head; her back was, as usual, to the light. ‘Oh, you have brought your little girl,’ she said, in a tone almost of displeasure. ‘You are very perverse and contradictory, my dear, as you always were. I had something to say to you, alone.’ ‘Oh, as for that,’ said Mab, angry, ‘I can go away.’ Her mother gave her a restraining look. ‘There is so little,’ she said, ‘in my life that requires to be talked about _en tête-à-tête_, and Mab goes wherever I go.’ ‘That is to say, you bring her with you as young women sometimes bring their babies, in defence.’ Mrs. Swinford laughed, and, holding out her hand, added, ‘Come here and let me see you, little girl.’ ‘I am not a little girl,’ said Mab, still angry; but another glance from her mother to the lady of the house restored that reasonableness in which the girl was so strong. ‘And I am not much to look at,’ she added steadily, ‘but, as it does not much matter, here I am.’ Mrs. Swinford took her by the hand, and, drawing her forward, looked at her closely. Then she dropped the girl’s hand and laughed. ‘She proves her parentage, at least,’ she said; ‘no doubt upon that subject; she is a Pakenham all over. And she is like them, Emily, in temper and intellect, too.’