“My dear child, you were perfectly right about the white _crêpe_, you looked charming--charming! I was proud of you!” and as she pinched her wrist, playfully, the girl, with the quick insight of youth, divined that here was an entirely different relative to the one who had told her she was a ‘pauper, and a burden.’ She now addressed her, as if she were an equal--and indeed there was actually a tinge of deference in her remarks. What did it mean? The Belle of the Hunt Ball toiled up to bed tired and footsore at five o’clock in the morning. She had enjoyed the evening immensely, and yet she had not enjoyed it! On the one hand, there was the dancing, the good partners, the charming things people had said to her, and the agreeable inward conviction of having been whispered about, and admired; on the other, there was the rich man, with his staring eyes and brusque, imperious manner--and the inexplicable rise in the temperature of her aunt’s affection. What did it mean? And still wondering, Letty tumbled into bed, and presently entered the land of dreams. CHAPTER V The morning after the ball, Letty was aroused from the profound sleep of youth and exhaustion by a stealthy, grating sound, and opening her eyes, to her amazement she beheld Jones, the under-housemaid, kneeling on the hearth-rug, intent on kindling a particularly sulky fire. As she raised herself on her elbow, blinking and bewildered, the maid sat up on her heels and proceeded to explain the situation with glib volubility. “Oh, miss, I’m sorry; the mistress gave orders you were not to be disturbed, and I was to light your fire; but there ain’t been one in the grate this forty year, and it’s a sore job. Hawkins is bringing up your breakfast.” As she spoke, the door-handle turned and Hawkins entered, bearing with unusual pomp and circumstance a heavily laden tray. Letty rubbed her eyes. Was she still dreaming? Why were the two maids in waiting upon _her_? She was well aware that her aunt considered bedroom fires unnecessary, and breakfast in bed a slothful indulgence. She, however, dissembled her surprise, and accepted these unexpected favours with commendable composure. Having nibbled at some buttered toast and swallowed a cup of tea, she sprang out of bed to search for her programme, and survey herself in the glass. In the glass she beheld an oval face, a pair of drowsy blue eyes, a pair of soft pink cheeks, and a mass of tumbled brown hair. Was she beautiful? she wondered. Mr. Blagdon had implied as much--indeed, more than implied. What bad manners to make blunt personal remarks! Well, _his_ opinion was of no consequence; but did other people think her pretty? (Other people naturally included Lancelot Lumley. She confessed to herself that she would like him to admire her.)