"My love, that is no secret. I heard all about it day before yesterday. People have talked of nothing else since it happened. Lady Mabel has behaved shamefully." "Lady Mabel has behaved admirably. If other women were wise enough to draw back at the last moment there would be fewer unhappy marriages. But Lady Mabel's elopement is only the prologue to my story." "What can you mean, child?" "Roderick came to Jersey to make me an offer." "So soon! Oh, Violet, what bad taste!" "Ought he to have gone into mourning? He did not even sing willow, but came straight off to me, and told me he had loved me all his life; so now you will have my _trousseau_ to think about, dearest, and I shall want all your good taste. You know how little I have of my own." "Ah, Violet, if you had only married Lord Mallow! I could have given my whole mind to your _trousseau_ then; but it is too late now, dear. I have not strength enough to interest myself in anything." The truth of this complaint was painfully obvious. Pamela's day was done. She lay, half effaced among her down pillows, as weak and helpless-looking as a snowdrop whose stem is broken. The life that was left in her was the merest remnant of life. It was as if one could see the last sands running down in the glass of time. Violet sat by her side, and pressed her cold hands in both her own. Mrs. Winstanley was very cold, although the log had blazed up fiercely, and the room seemed stifling to the traveller who had come out of the cool night air. "Dear mother, there will be no pleasure for me in being married if you do not take an interest in my _trousseau_," pleaded Vixen, trying to cheer the invalid by dwelling on the things her soul had most loved in health. "Do not talk about it, my dear," her mother exclaimed peevishly. "I don't know where the money is to come from. Theodore's bill was positively dreadful. Poor Conrad had quite a struggle to pay it. You will be rich when you are of age, but we are awfully poor. If we do not save money during the next few years we shall be destitute. Conrad says so. Fifteen hundred a year, and a big house like this to maintain. It would be starvation. Conrad has closed Theodore's account. I am sure I don't know where your _trousseau_ is to come from." Here the afflicted Pamela began to sob hysterically, and Vixen found it hard work to comfort her. "My dearest mother, how can you be poor and I rich?" she said, when the invalid had been tranquillised, and was lying helpless and exhausted. "Do you suppose I would not share my income with you? Rorie has plenty of money. He would not want any of mine. You can have it all, if you like."