“Oh, well, I don’t suppose that _you_ do,” and she turned away and stared into the fire. For several minutes she did not speak, then at last she said: “You must promise never to take a fancy to anybody without giving me due notice, and the next time you go to a dance you are to leave your heart with me. You shall have it back with interest.” “I don’t think I have that kind of heart. I’m afraid my heart is hard; I don’t care for many people; but I am very very fond of uncle and of you--and of Sam.” “And where does your aunt come in?” “Well, you see, Aunt Dorothy is not--er--my own aunt. I don’t fancy that she has much sympathy with girls--her mind is taken up with other things.” “Yes, she is a born administrator and manager; not merely of her own affairs; she has a wide horizon. I believe one of her ancestors must have been a Prime Minister. Doodie is ready to take a hand in anyone’s life, and at a moment’s notice. Supposing a stranger were to fall ill in the village, she would come forward at once, find them a nurse and doctor; if they died, wire to their friends, arrange for the funeral, buy the grave, and see that they were laid in it! In your case, she is not contemplating a funeral--but a wedding!” “I--I--don’t understand,” stammered the girl. “Don’t you, my simple darling? Well, there is one fact that you may possibly grasp--your aunt is monstrously proud of you; the Chippendale sideboard, and the three-year-old thoroughbred are for the present languishing in the cold shade. Ah, here she comes!” * * * * * The white brocade (trimmed with lace instead of the despised green ribbon) was completed in good time, and Letty and her aunt, with their luggage on the carriage, drove off to Bonham Court in high spirits. It was a large, rambling old place, occupied by a childless couple who had a passion for the society of young people. First of all, there was a merry gathering at tea in the big hall. Here Mrs. Fenchurch was agreeably surprised to recognise Mr. Blagdon, who welcomed her and her niece with flattering cordiality. At dinner pretty Miss Glyn was his _vis-à-vis_; she was placed between two boys--an Etonian and a young fellow lately gazetted to the Guards--and they appeared to be enjoying themselves immensely. He had every opportunity of studying her at his leisure, ignoring his partner--who noticed, with smouldering resentment, that his whole attention was devoted to the little girl opposite--a Miss Glyn that everyone was talking about. She certainly had a wonderful complexion--if it was her own!--and a profile, clear cut as a cameo--yes--and youth! The neglected lady asked herself if it could be possible, that this hopelessly dull _parti_, who sat beside her drinking glass after glass of champagne, was thinking seriously of that simple and innocent child?