"I wish papa's ghost would come in at that door and scare his hollow-hearted friends," she said to herself; and she felt as if it would hardly have been a surprise to her to see the door open slowly and that familiar figure appear.
"Well, Violet," Mrs. Temple said sweetly, when the guests were gone, "how do you think it all went off?"
"It," of course, meant the dinner-party.
"I suppose, according to the nature of such things, it was all right and proper," Vixen answered coldly; "but I should think it must have been intensely painful to you, mamma."
Mrs. Tempest sighed. She had always a large selection of sighs in stock, suitable to every occasion.
"I should have felt it much worse if I had sat in my old place at dinner," she said; "but sitting at the middle of the table instead of at the end made it less painful. And I really think it's better style. How did you like the new arrangement of the glasses?"
"I didn't notice anything new."
"My dear Violet, you are frightfully unobservant."
"No, I am not," answered Vixen quickly. "My eyes are keen enough, believe me."
Mrs. Tempest felt uncomfortable. She began to think that, after all, it might be a comfortable thing to have a companion—as a fender between herself and Violet. A perpetually present Miss Jones or Smith would ward off these unpleasantnesses.