Roderick Vawdrey was standing in the porch smoking. He threw away his cigar as Vixen rode up, and ran down the steps to receive her.
"Why, Violet, what has happened?" he asked, with an alarmed look.
It seemed to him, that only sudden death or dire calamity could bring her to him thus, in the late gloaming, pale, and deeply moved. Her lips trembled faintly as she looked at him, and for the moment she could find no words to tell her trouble.
"What is it, Violet?" he asked again, holding her gloved hand in his, and looking up at her, full of sympathy and concern.
"Not very much, perhaps, in your idea of things: but it seems a great deal to me. And it has put me into a tremendous passion. I have come to ask you to do me a favour."
"A thousand favours if you like; and when they are all granted, the obligation shall be still on my side. But come into the drawing-room and rest—and let me get you some tea—lemonade—wine—something to refresh you after your long ride."
"Nothing, thanks. I am not going to get off my horse. I must not lose a moment. Why it must be long after nine already, and Captain Winstanley locks up the house at eleven."
Rorie did not care to tell her that it was on the stroke of ten. He called in a stentorian voice for a servant, and told the man to get Blue Peter saddled that instant.
"Where's your groom, Violet?" he asked, wondering to see her unattended.
"I have no groom. That's just what I came to tell you. Captain Winstanley has dismissed Bates, at a minute's warning, without a character."