"Come in," said the girl's clear voice with a wakeful sound.
"Ah!" thought Mrs. Tempest triumphantly, "obstinate as she is, she knows she is doing wrong. Conscience won't let her sleep."
Vixen was standing at her window, leaning with folded arms upon the broad wooden ledge, looking out at the dim garden, over which the pale stars were shining. There was a moon, but it was hidden by drifting clouds.
"Not in bed, Violet?" said her mother sweetly.
"No, mamma."
"What have you been doing all these hours?"
"I don't know—thinking,"
"And you never came to wish me good-night."
"I did not think you would want me. I thought you would be busy packing—for your honeymoon."
"That was not kind, Violet. You must have known that I should have many painful thoughts to-night."