“He took you in to supper, dear, too,” continued Mrs. Fenchurch; “and, oh yes,” nodding her head and trying to look arch, “_I_ saw you sitting together in the long corridor. Tell me, what did you talk about?” and she gazed into the girl’s face with a pair of penetrating _asking_ eyes. How Letty wished she would not stare at her in this fashion, and breathe through her nose. Positively her aunt filled her with sheer physical terror--yes, and repulsion. “I really can’t remember, Aunt Dorothy. I think he said the supper was bad.” “But surely he paid you some pretty compliment?” persisted her tormentor. “Come now?” she urged coaxingly. “I daresay he did--I--I forget.” “Did he say anything about coming over here to call?” and her tone was anxious. “I--I’m not sure,” murmured the girl, who mentally writhed under this inquisition. Never in her life had she felt so mortally shamefaced and shrinking. She longed to pull the bedclothes over her head and hide herself away, from that inflexibly soliciting countenance. Her reluctant replies were so vague and unsatisfactory, that at last her chaperon realised she could not get much out of Letty as yet--all in good time! Again she gazed at her niece long and thoughtfully, as though seeing in her a multitude of new possibilities; then, rising, she said in her brisk, every-day manner: “I’ll tell Jones to bring up your bath water--it is nearly twelve o’clock,” and Mrs. Fen took her departure, leaving the girl with a grateful sense of pressure removed, and a happy consciousness of relief. When, an hour later, the beauty of the Hunt Ball descended to the morning-room, she found herself still surrounded by an atmosphere of indulgence and affection. Her aunt handed her a novel to read; as a rule light literature was tabooed till nightfall--and at lunch Mrs. Fen helped her poor relation to the liver wing, and commanded Hawkins to give Miss Glyn a glass of claret. When Hawkins had withdrawn, after serving the coffee, Mrs. Fenchurch cleared her throat and said: “The Bonhams are having a young people’s dance this day week, and Lady Bonham has asked me to go over and take you, Letty, and stay all night. How would you like that?” “It would be delightful--another dance!” and her eyes sparkled. “I’ve been talking to Fletcher this morning, and she thinks that if I have Mrs. Cope up from the village she may be able to make the white brocade and the green cloth. I daresay you won’t mind giving a little assistance yourself?” “No, indeed, Aunt Dorothy. I shall be delighted. I’m rather good at sewing.” “Oh, here comes Cousin Maude.” “Well, Letty, here I am,” said Mrs. Hesketh, as she entered. “I’ve come to hear about the ball, how everyone looked and behaved, what they wore, who sat out as wallflowers, or otherwise? and I particularly wish to see your programme. I haven’t had one in my hand for ten years. Where is it?”