But to his surprise there were no such greetings. Mrs. Winstanley went on fanning herself vehemently, with a vexed expression of countenance, while Violet bent over and kissed her. Captain Winstanley swayed himself slowly backwards and forwards upon the heels of his boots, and whistled to himself sotto voce, with his eyes fixed upon some lofty region of empty air. He vouchsafed not the faintest notice of his stepdaughter or Mr. Vawdrey. "It's really too bad of you, Violet," the mother exclaimed at last. "Dear mamma," cried Vixen, in blank amazement, "what have I done?" "To go roaming about the country," pursued Mrs. Winstanley plaintively, "for hours at a stretch, nobody knowing where to find you or what had become of you. And my telegram lying there unattended to." "Did you telegraph, mamma?" "Did I telegraph? Should I come home without telegraphing? Should I be so mad as to expose myself knowingly to the outrage which has been offered to me to-day?" "Dearest mamma, you alarm me. What has happened?" "One of the deepest humiliations I ever had to endure. But you were roaming about the Forest. You were following the instincts of your wild nature. What do you care for my mortification? If I had telegraphed to my housekeeper, it would not have happened. But I trusted in my daughter." "Dear mamma," pleaded Vixen, looking anxious and bewildered, "if you would only explain. You make me miserable. What has happened?" "Violet, your stepfather and I had to drive home from the station in a fly!" "Oh, mamma!" cried Vixen, with a gasp. "Is that all?" "Is that all? Do you think that is not enough? Do you understand, child?--a fly--a common innkeeper's fly--that anybody may have for half-a-guinea; a fly with a mouldy lining, smelling of--other people! And on such an occasion, when every eye was upon us! No; I was never so degraded. And we had to wait--yes, a quarter of an hour, at least, and it seemed ages, while Pycroft's fly was got ready for us; yes, while a rough forest pony was dragged out of his wretched stable, and a man, whose face had not been washed for a week, shuffled himself into an old coachman's coat. And there were all the porters staring at me, and laughing inwardly, I know. And, as a last drop in the cup, Colonel Carteret drove up in his phaeton to catch the up-train just as we were getting into that disgraceful looking vehicle, and would stop to shake hands with us both, and insisted upon handing me into the horrid thing." "Dear mamma, I am more sorry than I can say," said Vixen gently; "but I was afraid it was something much worse." "Nothing could be worse, Vixen." "Then the telegram was to order the carriage to meet you, I suppose?" "Of course. We telegraphed from the Grosvenor at nine o'clock this morning. Who would imagine that you would be out of doors at such an hour?" "I am not often out so early. But something happened this morning to put me out of temper, and I went for a ramble."