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Updated: June 15, 2025
After all, what did it matter where she went? That scheme of being happy in Sweden with Miss McCroke was but an idle fancy. In the depths of her inner consciousness Violet Tempest knew that she could be happy nowhere away from Rorie and the Forest. What did it matter, then, whether she went to Jersey or Kamtchatka, the sandy desert of Gobi or the Mountains of the Moon?
"Do you find Briarwood much improved?" inquired Miss McCroke. Lady Jane had been doing a good deal to her orchid-houses lately. "I haven't found Briarwood at all yet," answered Rorie, "and Vixen seems determined I shan't find it." "What, have you only just returned?" "Only just," "And you have not seen Lady Jane yet?" exclaimed Miss McCroke with a horrified look.
The governess answered in her friendly matter-of-fact way. She would like much to travel with her dearest Violet. The life would be like heaven after her present drudgery in finishing the Misses Pontifex, who were stupid and supercilious. But Miss McCroke was doubtful about Africa. Such a journey would be a fearful undertaking for two unprotected females.
She had been poor, and he had made her rich; nobody, and he had elevated her into somebody. She loved him with a canine fidelity, and felt towards him as a dog feels towards his master that in him this round world begins and ends. "Yes," assented Rorie, with a sigh, "I'm going up to-morrow." "Why up?" inquired Miss McCroke, without lifting her eyes from her needles. "It isn't up on the map."
Tempest always called her governess Maria when she was anxious to conciliate her. "Violet is old enough to enter society, certainly," said Miss McCroke, with some deliberation; "but whether a public ball " "If it's on my account, mamma, pray don't think of going," protested Vixen earnestly. "I hate the idea of a ball I hate "
They were soon tearing along the smooth Roman road at a splendid pace, "the ponies going like clockwork," as Vixen remarked approvingly; but poor Miss McCroke thought that any clock which went as fast as those ponies would be deemed the maddest of timekeepers. They found Roderick standing at his gates, waiting for them.
"I hope they will," replied Miss McCroke; "but don't you think Bates ought to have seen the freshness taken out of them before we started?"
She attaches a good deal of importance to it, though for my own part I can't see what good it can do me. It won't make me farm my own land better, or ride straighter to hounds, or do my duty better to my tenants." "Education," said Miss McCroke sententiously, "is always a good, and we cannot too highly estimate its influence upon "
"The poor most of all," she said. "I know how good he was to them." Somebody knocked at the door and asked something of Miss McCroke, which obliged the governess to leave her pupil. Roderick was glad at her departure, That substantial figure in its new black dress had been a hinderance to freedom of conversation. Miss McCroke's absence did not loosen Violet's tongue.
"Are you aware, my dear, that we have wasted five minutes already in this discursive conversation?" remarked Miss McCroke, looking at a fat useful watch, which she wore at her side in the good old fashion. "We will leave the grammar for the present, and you can repeat Schiller's Song of the Bell." "I'd rather say the Fight with the Dragon," said Vixen; "there's more fire and life in it.
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