"You are a very cruel girl," wailed Pamela, "and your obstinacy is making my life miserable." "Dear mother, how do I interfere with your happiness? You live your life, and I mine. You and Captain Winstanley take your own way, I mine. Is it a crime to be out riding a little longer than usual, that you should look so pale and the Captain so black when I come home?" "It is worse than a crime, Violet; it is an impropriety." Vixen blushed crimson, and turned upon her mother with an expression that was half startled, half indignant. "What do you mean, mamma?" "Had you been riding about the Forest all those hours alone, it would have been eccentric--unladylike--masculine even. You know that your habit of passing half your existence on horseback has always been a grief to me. But you were not alone." "No, mamma, I was not alone. I had my oldest friend with me; one of the few people in this big world who care for me." "You were riding about with Roderick Vawdrey, Lady Mabel Ashbourne's future husband." "Why do you remind me of his engagement, mamma? Do you think that Roderick and I have even forgotten it? Can he not be my friend as well as Lady Mabel's husband? Am I to forget that he and I played together as children, that we have always thought of each other and cared for each other as brother and sister, only because he is engaged to Lady Mabel Ashbourne?" "Violet, you must know that all talk about brother and sister is sheer nonsense. Suppose I had set up brother and sister with Captain Winstanley! What would you--what would the world have thought?" "That would have been different," said Vixen. "You did not know each other as babies. In fact you couldn't have done so, for you had left off being a baby before he was born," added Vixen naively. "You will have to put a stop to these rides with Roderick. Everybody in the neighbourhood is talking about you." "Which everybody?" "Colonel Carteret to begin with." "Colonel Carteret slanders everybody. It is his only intellectual resource. Dearest mother, be your own sweet easy-tempered self, not a speaking-tube for Captain Winstanley. Pray leave me my liberty. I am not particularly happy. You might at least let me be free." Violet left her mother with these words. They had reached the lawn before the drawing-room windows. Mrs. Winstanley sank into a low basket-chair, like a hall-porter's, which a friend had sent her from the sands of Trouville; and Vixen ran off to the stables to see if Arion was in any way the worse for his long round.