By and by the little seed planted by Mrs. Hesketh began to peep above ground, and Letty Glyn’s will came to life. It made its first appearance on the arrival of certain patterns from London, and the question of a selection from among these, for a best afternoon, and two evening dresses. Mrs. Fenchurch was not disposed to allow her niece any choice in the matter. After looking at them critically, and fingering the textures, she said: “The dark green will make you a nice afternoon frock; and you will want a smart black evening dress, and a ball-gown. Fletcher can make them all with a little assistance from Mrs. Cope in the village. For the ball dress, I fancy this white brocade trimmed with apple-green satin. How do you think that will look?” “I don’t think I should care about it,” replied Letty. “What!” exclaimed her aunt, staring at her in glassy amazement, “it would be charming. I remember I had a ball dress something like it years ago.” “But fashions have changed since then,” objected the girl; “don’t you think a dress for a débutante should be soft, and all white, with perhaps a little silver?” “Now, my dear, what _can_ you possibly know about it?” “Not much, I admit; we were very plainly dressed at school, and our clothes, I must confess, were dowdy, yet now and then, one had a chance of seeing what was worn--for instance, at the opera.” “Do you mean on the stage?” “Oh no, I mean the lovely elegant Court ladies that were in the boxes.” “Then what is your own idea?” her aunt enquired sarcastically. “I should like a soft white _crêpe_ over white satin--with some silver embroidery on the body.” “Yes, I daresay you would!” sneered Mrs. Fenchurch; “why the materials alone of such a dress would cost at least ten pounds.” “I have ten pounds,” was the unexpected reply; then, colouring a little in answer to her aunt’s sharp interrogative glance, “uncle gave it to me for a Christmas box.” For a moment Mrs. Fenchurch was speechless; she had never heard a word of this present, and to tell the truth, Uncle Tom when he placed the ten-pound note in the girl’s hand had said: “This is just a little secret between you and me.” Now it was a secret no longer! Mrs. Fenchurch’s feelings were altogether too much for her. She hastily collected her patterns, rose, and without a word flounced out of the room. It seemed to Mrs. Fenchurch, that this simple schoolgirl was obtaining an extraordinary and disastrous ascendancy not only in the village, but in the household. The servants--little country chits, whom she had herself trained since they went out of pinafores--would do anything for Miss Glyn. Sam the pug (Mrs. Fenchurch’s own private dog) had handed over his heart to the girl, and attached himself to her exclusively--and as for Tom, he was her slave! It was Letty, Letty, Letty, all day; and when this girl began to make her appearance in a wider circle, would she, Mrs. Fenchurch--influential Mrs. Fenchurch--have to take a back seat?