When the bay steppers came prancing to the hall door, the visitor made a genial and general farewell, and so drove away. As the last rumble of his wheels was heard in the distance Mrs. Fenchurch turned and looked searchingly at Letty, as if she wished to ask her something. She fidgeted about the drawing-room, dusting little things with her handkerchief, taking up and laying down books; but before she could put her questions into words, her terrified niece had effected her escape. Mrs. Fen was well aware, that Letty had her reserves, and for the remainder of the afternoon she sat alone over the fire, with a book in her lap, but instead of reading, her eyes were fixed upon the coals, her active mind was elsewhere; she was lost in speculations. Had he said anything--or not? If her niece Letty were to marry the great catch--despair of many mothers--_how_ she would score! Already she was anticipating her triumphs. The dining-room would seat seventy with a squeeze; she would get the cake at Buzzards’; cards of invitation at the stores; and borrow a veil from Cecilia. A few days later, in glancing over _The Morning Post_, she came upon this paragraph: “Mr. H. Blagdon and party arrived at the Hôtel de Paris, Monte Carlo, on the 7th inst., for the season.” Alas, alas, alas! A castle in the air had toppled down, and great was the fall thereof! Mrs. Fenchurch’s first sensation was insensate fury with the girl; her second, a devout thankfulness that beyond her own household--that is to say, her husband and Cousin Maude--she had not trumpeted forth her hopes--since they had come to nothing. Her manner to her niece now underwent an abrupt change; the wind instead of blowing from the south had set steadily into the east, and there remained. Fires in Letty’s bedroom and other small indulgences came to an end, and this particular month of February was, for several reasons, the most miserable the girl had ever known. Nothing that she did, or said, or wore, seemed to please Aunt Dorothy, and one day, after an undeserved scolding, the poor worm turned at last and said: “I know, Aunt Dorothy, that I am one too many here.” “How dare you say such a thing, you impertinent minx!” stormed her relative. “But it is the truth,” argued Letty, plucking up some courage. “I am not happy, and you are not happy, and we really cannot go on in this way. I should like to return to Dresden; they will find me a place in the school as music teacher.” “I never heard such insolence and nonsense!” cried Mrs. Fenchurch, her face red with temper. “Do you suppose your uncle would allow his niece to go out as a governess--earn her bread--and have everyone talking?” “Well, many girls who are as good, or probably far better than I am, do it,” declared Letty, controlling her tears with difficulty; “and my master said that, with practice, I would make a professional singer.”