scolding was most injurious to her own cause.  “However, we will see,” she continued.  Then the bell was rung, and in a few minutes Violet was in the room.  In a few minutes more they were up-stairs together in Violet’s own room, in spite of the openly-displayed wrath of Lady Baldock.  “I almost wish she had never been born,” said Lady Baldock to her daughter.  “Oh, mamma, don’t say that.”  “I certainly do wish that I had never seen her.”  “Indeed she has been a grievous trouble to you, mamma,” said Miss Boreham, sympathetically.

“Brighton!  What nonsense!” said Lady Laura.

“Of course it’s nonsense.  Fancy going to Brighton!  And then they have proposed Switzerland.  If you could only hear Augusta talking in rapture of a month among the glaciers!  And I feel so ungrateful.  I believe they would spend three months with me at any horrible place that I could suggest,—­at Hong Kong if I were to ask it,—­so intent are they on taking me away from metropolitan danger.”

“But you will not go?”

“No!—­I won’t go.  I know I am very naughty; but I can’t help feeling that I cannot be good without being a fool at the same time.  I must either fight my aunt, or give way to her.  If I were to yield, what a life I should have;—­and I should despise myself after all.”

“And what is the special danger to be feared now?”

“I don’t know;—­you, I fancy.  I told her that if she went, I should go to you.  I knew that would make her stay.”

“I wish you would come to me,” said Lady Laura.

“I shouldn’t think of it really,—­not for any length of time.”

“Why not?”

“Because I should be in Mr. Kennedy’s way.”

“You wouldn’t be in his way in the least.  If you would only be down punctually for morning prayers, and go to church with him on Sunday afternoon, he would be delighted to have you.”

“What did he say about Madame Max coming?”

“Not a word.  I don’t think he quite knew who she was then.  I fancy he has inquired since, by something he said yesterday.”

“What did he say?”

“Nothing that matters;—­only a word.  I haven’t come here to talk about Madame Max Goesler,—­nor yet about Mr. Kennedy.”

“Whom have you come to talk about?” asked Violet, laughing a little, with something of increased colour in her cheeks, though she could not be said to blush.

“A lover of course,” said Lady Laura.

“I wish you would leave me alone with my lovers.  You are as bad or worse than my aunt.  She, at any rate, varies her prescription.  She has become sick of poor Lord Fawn because he’s a Whig.”

“And who is her favourite now?”

“Old Mr. Appledom,—­who is really a most unexceptionable old party, and whom I like of all things.  I really think I could consent to be Mrs. Appledom, to get rid of my troubles,—­if he did not dye his whiskers and have his coats padded.”