"Now, Pauline, such nonsense!" said the
young girl, still in protest. "I am sure I don't
mind him in the least."

The brother suddenly dropped his pencil,
jumped up, and caught her by the wrists. "Do
you believe that?" he said to the audience, and
turning her round to the light. "Is that like
blushing?"

He was the detective of the family, and in
truth the tide was surging up violently in her
round cheeks.

She shook herself free, with a pretty little
pettishness. "When you are all looking at me
so," she said, "it is very hard for one not to get
red. He scarcely spoke a word to me."

"I wish he did talk a little more," said her
brother.

"Except when he gets upon horses," said her
sister, "and then he is fluent enough."

"No, indeed," said Violet, in a low voice. "I
think he hates the subject; for he said to me,
that to be riding a horse round a drawing-
room——-"

"That was Captain Fermor?" said the detective,
quietly, so as not to scare her from making
the admission.

"Yes," she said.

There was an awful pause for a few seconds.
The elder sister bent down her head in deep
distress. "We have been speaking of Hanbury,"
he said. "Who were you thinking of?"
(Another pause.) "Upon my word, we do make
discoveries."

In the other faces there was something like
pain and consternation. The eldest sister's foot
beat impatiently on the ground. The brother
sketched with fierce strokes, and put in vindictive
shading. The young girl stood there at the
bar, guilty and penitent, her face glowing like
one of Mr. Turner's sunsets.

"So this is what is going on," he said. "This
is what we are blushing for."

But her sister, who saw that she was in real
trouble and sadly humiliated, hurried up to
assist. "Stop, Louis," she said. "We are
always teasing her, and I saw that you laid a
trap for poor Violet."

The brother shook his head. "She would not
have fallen into it, if she had——-"

A hasty rustle interrupted this sentence.
Violet had fled to her room. The whole was of
ridiculously small moment; but, somehow, it left
a blank feeling among them, for they were all
bound to Hanbury, and were his sworn and most
affectionate allies. They were disappointed, and
with a grotesque mixture of feeling, were half
inclined to laugh and half inclined to despond.
While she was away, they talked Captain Fermor
over.

"The very look of him," said Louis, "is
enough. I never felt so inclined to quarrel with
any man. As he passes in the street he almost
sneers at you. The other day I could have
turned back and struck him."

"I am afraid," said Pauline, hesitatingly, "he
has cast his conceited eye upon Violet. He is so
vain and empty, and so idle in this place."

"He had better not bring his idleness here,"
said her brother. "I suppose he would like
nothing better than amusing himself in this
house. If he comes here again, I'll insult
him."

"Nonsense, Louis. You must not be violent.
That sort of thing does not do in this age. No;
the acquaintance is scarcely even begun, so we
can drop it quietly, and without any fuss."

At tea-time Violet was obliged to come down
and present herself, which she did with a pretty
confusion, and a wish to hide her head in
the ground under the gay contract carpet, if
that were possible—like a pursued ostrich. An
act of indemnity, however, had been passed.
Later, however, Captain Fermor was skilfully
introduced, without causing alarm, and depreciated
with all the powers of his combined enemies.
He was ridiculed and jeered at, sacrificed
in a hundred different ways. His sayings of the
day were collected and set in a comic light. They
were thinking how well contempt can kill, and
went to bed that night convinced that they had
happily succeeded in making him appear utterly
contemptible in Miss Violet's eyes. Most
probably they had; for she was seen to laugh very
often, especially when her brother sent round a
very broad caricature of the wretched Fermor,
very cleverly drawn.

CHAPTER VII. THE NIGHT BEFORE THE STEEPLECHASE.

THE National Eastport Race was fixed for a
certain Tuesday. Inland, some five miles away,
there was a broad tract of rather shaggy country,
ragged as a well-worn hair trunk, and broken up
in swellings here and there, known, in short, to
agricultural men as hopelessly "bad" land. But
it did famously for a rough race-course.

Some of the military gentlemen, with a very
skilful person, named "J. Madden, Esq.," who
seemed to be always generated specially a couple
of days before every race—an amphibious species,
almost wholly professional and yet accepted as
gentlemanly—had been over the ground and laid it
out pleasantly, with a judicious eye for difficulties
and well-selected dangers. A hundred yards
from the starting-place, there was a fine opening
in the shape of a low fence, and a good fall or
"drop" behind it; further on, there was a quiet
brook, which had often been fished for trout, but
which the scientific eye of "J. Madden, Esq.,"
saw had wonderful capabilities, and, by a little
divergence, could be included in the course. It
was so timid and narrow that it offered only poor
opportunity for accident; but it was arranged
that half a dozen labourers should be set to work
to widen it into a handsome and dangerous jump.
Then the ground unhappily became smooth for a
run of nearly three-quarters of a mile; but the
well-trained eye of "Mr. J. Madden," marked
down a suitable spot for an artificial jump; and