Oh, how cold it was! She curled up her delicate little toes, and, programme in hand, plunged once more into her comfortable nest. Here she prepared to study at leisure the exciting contents of her precious card--no easy task. The card was covered with scribbled names, sketches, initials, stars, hieroglyphics, corrections--and yet, on the whole, it made agreeable reading. In the midst of this interesting occupation the door opened very gently--the programme disappeared as if in the hands of a conjurer--and Mrs. Fenchurch advanced into the room showing all her upper teeth, a sure signal of unusual amiability. “Well, my dear girl,” she began, “how are you to-day? _Dead?_” “Oh no,” sitting erect; “I’m all right, thank you, Aunt Dorothy.” “I thought you’d better have a good sleep after your first ball. My!” as her glance fell upon a tattered garment, “look at your poor frock!” Yes, indeed, there was a large obtrusive rent in the skirt, and a streamer of ragged _crêpe_ made no attempt at concealment. Yet instead of the expected sharp scolding, Mrs. Fenchurch merely remarked: “_How_ you danced! You could have filled your card ten times over. By the way, may I look at your programme? I see the blue tassel sticking out under your pillow.” With much reluctance, and deep and guilty blushes, Letty produced the desired treasure and yielded it to her visitor, who was now staring at her so fixedly, that one would almost suppose that she beheld her for the first time! In her mind’s eye, Mrs. Fenchurch really was contemplating an absolutely strange niece! So this simple, timid, obedient, little schoolgirl, unconsciously possessed the fatal endowment, the wonderful, invincible power, that has moved armies and fleets. Unquestionably, Letty had the gift; and her relative was determined to turn it to the utmost advantage. With the record of her niece’s partners in her hand, Mrs. Fenchurch seated herself, squarely, comfortably, and sociably on the bed, and proceeded to discuss the ball, and its incidents, with all the zest and vivacity of one of the girl’s own contemporaries. “How well I remember _my_ first ball,” she said meditatively; “I was so frightened my teeth actually chattered as we drove to it, and, after all, I enjoyed myself enormously. I wore white, of course, looped up with water lilies, and I remember a spiteful cousin asking me if they were not spinach and eggs! Girls are so jealous! Now let me see who you danced with--um--um--um----” nodding her head as her eyes travelled over the card. “Lord Deloraine twice--but, of course, _he_ is married--and what about the Duke?” looking up quickly. “I had not a dance left.” “Who is V. K.? Oh yes, I know--the Austrian Attaché staying with the Beauvoirs. H. B., H. B., H. B. Oh, _Letty_! How often did you dance with Hugo Blagdon?” “Two or three times,” she answered stiffly, having made up her mind to give her aunt no satisfaction with respect to this overbearing odious partner.