"How can you be so cruel?" she exclaimed. "Who can give back the past, or the freshness and brightness of one's youth? Of course I was happier with your dear father than I can ever be again. It is not in nature that it should be otherwise. How could you be so heartless as to ask me such a question?" She dried her tears slowly, and was not easily comforted. It seemed as if that speech of Violet's had touched a spring that opened a fountain of grief. "This means that mamma is not happy with her second husband, in spite of her praises of him," thought Vixen. She remained kneeling by her mother's side comforting her as best she could, until Mrs. Winstanley had recovered from the wound her daughter's heedless words had inflicted, and then Violet began to say good-bye. "You will write to me sometimes, won't you, mamma, and tell me how the dear old place is going on, and about the old people who die--dear familiar white heads that I shall never see again--and the young people who get married, and the babies that are born? You will write often, won't you, mamma?" "Yes, dear, as often as my strength will allow." "You might even get Pauline to write to me sometimes, to tell me how you are and what you are doing; that would be better than nothing." "Pauline shall write when I am not equal to holding a pen," sighed Mrs. Winstanley. "And, dear mamma, if you can prevent it, don't let any more of the old servants be sent away. If they drop off one by one home will seem like a strange place at last. Remember how they loved my dear father, how attached and faithful they have been to us. They are like our own flesh and blood." "I should never willingly part with servants who know my ways, Violet. But as to Bates's dismissal--there are some things I had rather not discuss with you--I am sure that Conrad acted for the best, and from the highest motives." "Do you know anything about this place to which I am going, mamma?" asked Vixen, letting her mother's last speech pass without comment; "or the lady who is to be my duenna?" "Your future has been fully discussed between Conrad and me, Violet. He tells me that the old Jersey manor house--Les Tourelles it is called--is a delightful place, one of the oldest seats in Jersey, and Miss Skipwith, to whom it belongs, is a well-informed conscientious old lady, very religious, I believe, so you will have to guard against your sad habit of speaking lightly about sacred things, my dear Violet." "Do you intend me to live there for ever, mamma?" "For ever! What a foolish question. In six years you will be of age, and your own mistress." "Six years--six years in a Jersey manor house--with a pious old lady. Don't you think that would seem very much like for ever, mamma?" asked Vixen gravely. "My dear Violet, neither Conrad nor I want to banish you from your natural home. We only want you to learn wisdom. When Mr. Vawdrey is married, and when you have learnt to think more kindly of my dear husband----"