There was a subtlety about Mowser this evening which her fellow-servants were hardly able to follow. They all liked Daphne, for her pretty looks and bright girlish ways, yet, with that love of slander and mystery which is common to humanity in all circles, they rather inclined to hear Mowser hint darkly at the girl’s unworthiness. They all preferred the slandered to the slanderer; but they listened all the same. * * * * * And now Christmas was over, and the night of the Hunt Ball at Stratford was approaching. It was to be Daphne’s first public appearance; first dance; first grown-up party of any kind. She was to see the county people assembled in a multitude for the first time in her life. A few of them she had seen by instalments at South Hill—callers and diners. She had been invited by these to various lawn parties: but her sister had refused all invitations of this kind, wishing that the occasion of Daphne’s _début_ should be something more brilliant than a mere garden party, a fool’s paradise of curates and young ladies. Daphne looked forward to the night with excitement, but excitement of that fitful kind which was common to her—now on the tiptoe of expectation, anon not caring a straw for the entertainment. There had been the usual talk about gowns; and Aunt Rhoda had insisted upon coming over to South Hill to give her opinion. ‘White, of course, for the _débutante_,’ said Madoline. ‘There can be no question about that.’ Mrs. Ferrers screwed up her lips in a severe manner, and looked at Daphne with a coldly critical stare. ‘White is so very trying,’ she said, as if Daphne’s were not a beauty that could afford to be tried; ‘and then it has such a bridal air. I daresay there will be half-a-dozen brides at the ball. I know of two—Mrs. Toddlington, and Mrs. Frank Lothrop.’ ‘I don’t think Daphne need fear comparison with either of those,’ answered Madoline, looking fondly at her sister, who was sitting on a cushion at her feet, turning over a book of fashion plates. ‘Well, darling, do you see anything there you would like?’ ‘Nothing. Every one of the dresses is utterly hideous; stiff, elaborate; fantastical, without being artistic; gaged and puffed and pleated, and festooned and fringed and gimped. Please dress me for the ball as you have always dressed me, out of your own head, Lina, without any help from Miss Piper’s fashion plates.’ ‘Shall I, dear? Would you really prefer that to choosing something in the very last fashion?’ ‘Infinitely.’ ‘Then I’ll tell you what it shall be. I will dress you like a portrait by Sir Joshua. The richest white satin that money can buy, made as simply as Miss Piper can possibly be persuaded to make it. A little thin lace, cloudlike, about your neck and arms, and my small pearl necklace for your only ornament.’ ‘Madoline, do you think it is wise of you to let Daphne appear in borrowed plumes?’ asked Mrs. Ferrers severely. ‘It may be giving her wrong ideas.’