“I dare say you are right,” said her daughter. “But if my father were temperate by force of will so very long, is it not strange that temperance should not have become his habit, too strong a habit to be ever broken?” Her mother shook her head. “I don’t suppose, my dear, you’ve watched pigs in the styes and out; I have. They’ll put up with bran when they must, but lord, if they get out amongst the clams and the yams, twist their tails as you will they’ll ne’er leave off. When a man’s made his pile he’s just like a pig in a sweet potato patch.” With which apologue she sighed again and rose to go and dress for her daily drive behind those immensely tall and always-prancing horses, who always seemed to her as the winged beasts of the Apocalypse. “And as for temperance,” she said as she paused in the doorway, “well, my dear, ’tisn’t temperate as I’d call any man out West. Your father could drink deep like the rest; but he had always a very strong head; a very strong head indeed, my dear.” Was his strong head being turned by Lady Kenilworth? his daughter wondered. Would the brain which had never grown dizzy over the poisoned drinks and the delirious speculations of America be whirled out of its orbit by that which is the most intoxicating thing in all creation--a lovely woman who is also a woman of the world? She believed that Lady Kenilworth would do precisely what she pleased with him. Did not she and her roulette-wheel reign in triumph even in the arcana of Harrenden House? As far as a woman who is essentially honorable, candid, and single-minded can follow the moves and read the mind of one who is entirely without those qualities, she understood the character and the circumstances of her father’s _veneris victrix_. She had asked Framlingham what his opinion was of her and he had answered: “I never say anything but good of a woman, my dear; but if I had the choice between seeing one of my sons enamored of her, or shot by his own hand, I should choose the revolver, as less prejudicial to his reputation than the lady.” She was very sensible that her position as the daughter of the house did not permit her in any way to show her own disapprobation of one of its favored guests. She knew also that nothing she could have said or have done would have ever moved her father a hair’s breadth. She remained strictly passive and neutral, but to all the advances of Hurstmanceaux’s sister she was adamant; and now and then a caustic hint or phrase escaped her; usually when she saw her mother treated with unconcealed contempt by the lady of her father’s idolatry. “I am going on to the Duchess of Parminster’s reception; are you?” said Mrs. Massarene one evening, satisfied that this time, at least, she was saying the right thing. “Old Par’s Zoo? Not if I know it,” said Mouse, in her brusquest tone, and, turning her shoulder on her unfortunate interlocutor, resumed her interrupted flirtation.