“May I ask if you understand your position here? Do you realise that but for me, you would be now out earning your bread as a nursery governess--are you aware, that ever since you were born, your father’s people have never given you a single penny, and that all the burden of your maintenance has fallen on us--or rather, I should say, on _me_? And here, instead of being grateful for a happy home, and for every luxury and indulgence, you are setting yourself up, and saying what you will wear, and defying me to my face. Go to your room--I hate the sight of you!” Letty had listened to this bitter indictment with rapidly changing colour; she knew that her aunt had never cared for her; but that she absolutely hated her, and felt her to be a burden and an interloper, came as a revelation. She left the room in silence, and Mrs. Fenchurch, who was trembling with passion, snatched up the brocade, carried it into the maid’s working-room, and commanded her to lose no time about making it up for Miss Glyn. But afterwards, when she had cooled, Mrs. Fen began to realise that she had gone too far; for once in her life she acknowledged to herself, that she had said too much. Colonel Fenchurch was surprised and concerned when he saw his niece at lunch with a very white face, and very red eyes. She ate scarcely a morsel, and seemed to find considerable difficulty in swallowing or speaking. On his wife’s brow there sat a heavy cloud, and he noticed the servants glancing significantly at one another--something had happened--there had been a blow up! But he, being a cautious and somewhat nervous little gentleman, talked about the weather and a lame horse, and withdrew as soon as possible into the shelter of his smoking-room; where he consoled himself with a recent copy of the _Field_, and a good cigar. During the afternoon, Mrs. Fenchurch, having fortified herself with a large glass of port and quinine, climbed up to the top of the house, to make the _amende_ to her niece. “Well, Letty,” she began as she entered, “I am sorry we have had a difference of opinion; but I suppose you will allow that you are little more than a child, and that _I_ am a woman of experience, and should know what should be done, and worn, better than yourself?” Letty stood up, her lips twitched, and her eyes filled with tears as she answered: “I am sorry, aunt, that you are displeased with me, and I--I--suppose I was impertinent. I meant no harm in sending for the _crêpe_ dress, and indeed I thought it would save you buying my ball-gown.” This was precisely the attitude of which Mrs. Fenchurch most warmly approved, and as the girl looked completely cowed, she said: