The wheels of life, well oiled by a handsome income, ran very smoothly at The Towers. Sir Darcy Lorraine was a fine specimen of an English country gentleman—a splendid shot, a hard rider, interested in the improvement of his estates, and to a certain degree in the welfare of his tenants. He entertained well, subscribed liberally to local charities, supported the Church, and, as a magistrate and guardian of the poor, took what part he could in the affairs of the district without allowing the ensuing duties to monopolize too much of his time. Neither public school nor college had been able to endow him with any love for learning.
"My fly-book and my cheque-book are all the literature I want," he often declared; and though he occasionally sat in his well-furnished library, he rarely, if ever, took down the handsomely bound volumes from their shelves. With other ways of life than his own he had scant sympathy, regarding the arts and sciences as harmless diversions for amateurs who might like them, and a means of livelihood for those who were obliged to take up professions to earn their bread. A good landlord and a kind master, he liked to have everybody bright and cheerful around him, but did not care to be distressed by social problems or tales of outside misery. Always in easy circumstances himself, and never having experienced any reverses, he had a vague idea that misfortunes were mostly caused by people's own fault, and that lack of success was due to lack of merit.
Lady Lorraine had been a society beauty in her girlhood, and still retained enough of her former good looks to attract a considerable amount of attention at hunt balls and garden fêtes. In her way she really worked quite hard at local duties, being always ready to open bazaars, attend flower-shows, distribute prizes, and organize charity dances. She was mildly interested in the village school, where the little boys all respectfully touched their forelocks, and the little girls dropped bob-curtsies whenever she looked at them. She occasionally visited at some of the cleanest cottages, and could never resist putting her hand in her pocket; though the Vicar, who did not approve of indiscriminate charity, complained that she pauperized those of his parishioners who knew how to whine, while the deserving went unhelped.
Both Sir Darcy and Lady Lorraine idolized their only child. To dress Violet prettily, to take her to garden parties and flower-shows, to see her admired, and finally to bring her out successfully into society, was her mother's chief ambition; and her father, though he would have preferred a boy who could inherit his title, gloried in his little daughter's fearless riding and her achievements in the hunting field.
To Mildred the beauty and novelty of her surroundings at The Towers were a source of great pleasure. As the weeks went on, and her first shyness and homesickness wore away, she began thoroughly to enjoy herself. The motoring, the riding, the many tennis parties and other festivities made an ideal holiday time, and everything seemed new and entertaining. She had soon formed a friendship with the Somervilles at the Vicarage, an amusing family, consisting of three sons and a girl of her own age. Rhoda was pleasant and companionable; and with Rodney, the second boy, Mildred found a strong bond of sympathy, for he was to go to Kirkton in the autumn to study engineering at a large motor works, and was glad to hear all that she could tell him about the city.
Though Mildred thoroughly appreciated the advantages of her new life at The Towers, she nevertheless missed the Grahams continually. Generous as the Lorraines were to her in many respects, their conduct was sometimes lacking in thoughtfulness. They were people who could only be kind in their own way. They considered they had done her an immense service by taking her away from Kirkton, and they would refer to her past surroundings with a contempt which she found it very difficult to bear. Her cousin treated her with a kindly patronage. Violet was glad to have Mildred as a companion, but made her quite understand that she was to occupy a second place. Mildred, accustomed to the "give and take" of a big school, found this attitude decidedly trying, and often longed for the congenial society of Kitty Fletcher, Bess Harrison, Maudie Stearne, or other St. Cyprian's chums, whose friendships were conducted on terms of strictest equality.
In the midst of all the pleasant arrangements at The Towers Mildred found it very difficult to get in even the hour's daily work at the violin which she had faithfully promised Professor Hoffmann not to neglect. Practising by herself seemed so different from learning from her enthusiastic teacher. Away from his watchful eye, she felt as if all kinds of faults were creeping into her playing, and she had not sufficient courage to wrestle with hard passages when she knew there was no one to appreciate her exertions. She set herself with grim determination to master certain new studies; but it was only by constant effort, and the remembrance of what the Professor would expect from her, that she could keep up to anything like the mark of his high standard.
Towards the end of August Miss Ward, Violet's governess, returned from her holidays. She was a pleasant, amiable lady, not clever, but with a general smattering of a good many subjects. She was much appreciated by Lady Lorraine, as she did not attempt to work Violet too hard, and was extremely useful at arranging flowers, writing letters and addressing invitations, and keeping the accounts of local charities. As Miss Ward was considered to be musical, Violet one day asked Mildred to bring her violin into the schoolroom.
"Is this your fiddle?" said Miss Ward, catching it up. "It looks rather a nice one. Give me the bow and let me try it."
To hear her beautiful and priceless Stradivarius called a "fiddle" was a shock to Mildred's ears, but it was nothing to the sounds which followed when the governess began to play. Such scraping and rasping notes it had never before been her misfortune to hear, even from the very worst of Herr Hoffmann's pupils, and she could not have believed that her dear violin could give vent to those harsh and discordant tones. It was playing that would have caused the Professor to tear his hair; everything about it was wrong, from the bowing to the way the instrument was held. The Stradivarius seemed to be shrieking in an agonized protest at the indignity of its treatment, and so painful was the effect on Mildred's sensitive nerves that it was all she could do to sit still with a semblance of politeness.