“I say, Mrs. Fen, have you noticed the lovely nymph in white and silver?” enquired the Secretary of the Hunt. “I haven’t seen anything so exquisite for years; _do_ let me show her to you?” “There is no occasion, thank you, she is my niece, Miss Glyn,” proclaimed the uplifted aunt. “What--your niece?” echoed a matron. “Why, my dear lady, where have you kept her all this time?” “She has only been with us about two months.” “And you have defrauded us of two months,” burst in a young man. “Mrs. Fen, how dared you?” “No, no,” protested Mrs. Flashman of the bold eyes and a scandalously _décolleté_ dress. “Mrs. Fenchurch is a clever woman. She understands the art of an effective surprise!” By this time the music had ceased, and Miss Glyn, a little breathless and looking radiantly happy, was brought back to her aunt--now encompassed by a number of men clamouring for introductions. In the midst of this triumphant scene, a square-shouldered individual, perfectly groomed, with the blue of his strong beard showing through his heavy, clean-shaven face, stepped up on the platform. It was the psychological moment! Here was the girl he had noticed at the gate, surrounded by competitive partners, and he said to himself, “No wonder!” This dazzling vision in white and silver, eclipsed every woman in the room! He accosted Mrs. Fenchurch with unusual _empressement_, and then glanced interrogatively at her companion. “Oh, let me present you to my niece--Mr. Blagdon--Miss Glyn,” she murmured with effusive haste. “Got any dances to spare?” he asked with an off-hand air. “Yes,” she answered; “I have two or three left--but----” “Are you engaged for the next?” he interrupted brusquely. As this happened to be a set of Lancers, she breathed a reluctant “No.” “Oh, then _I_ may have it?” he declared, confronting her with a bold and confident eye. As she yielded her card, he wrote himself down for this, as well as two others (which Letty had secretly been keeping for Lancelot Lumley). “H. Blagdon” was also marked before an extra; but a man with many thousands a year is granted a liberal margin. Mrs. Fenchurch was looking on; her eyes glittered, a real colour came into her thin cheeks. Supposing that he had taken a fancy to Letty? It would be too wonderful to think of! The most promising suitor she had allowed herself to expect, was some officer from a neighbouring depôt; but then, until that evening she had never fully understood the value of the treasure she had hidden at The Holt. Now, her ambition, determination, and energy, were stirred, and she was resolved that Letty should make a _great_ match. Everyone knew that Hugo Blagdon ‘barred girls’: he never noticed them, never danced with them--indeed, he rarely danced at all--generally he sat in a remote corner with some notorious married woman--yet here he was, filling up the programme of her niece, and devouring her shy beauty with his hard, bold eyes.