“Worse and worse. Why, you will be clamouring to go upon the stage next! Be so good as to understand, that you remain here, and do exactly as _I_ wish, until you are one-and-twenty. Of course, someone may marry you, but penniless girls haven’t much chance of that in these times.” Mrs. Fenchurch on every other subject was perfectly sane and reasonable; the exception was her husband’s niece. She was pretty, she was young, she was _de trop_, and her aunt sincerely hated her. Undoubtedly the unhappy young woman had got upon her nerves--the bitter disappointment after such exalted hopes, worked in her mind like a deadly poison. It was true that Letty had made an unexpected sensation at the ball, and at the Bonhams’ dance, but so far her triumph had borne no fruit. The weather had been dreadful, going about the country was out of the question, the roads were impassable with rain or snow, so Mrs. Fenchurch had been thrown back upon herself--there was no hunting, no gardening; Mothers’ Meetings and Village Choral Society failed to content her, and her sole outlet was Cousin Maude. To Oldcourt she carried her grievances, but Cousin Maude refused to see eye to eye with her, and generally took the part of Letty. If the girl was forgetful, if she had given a short answer, if she had slammed a door, after all, she was young; her life was not very exciting--and who is perfect? As for Letty herself, maddened by gibes, reproaches, and a lacerating tongue, at night she would wander round her room like a prisoner, wondering how she was to escape, wondering who could help her. Cousin Maude was her friend, but powerless; intercourse with Oldcourt was now strictly curtailed. Uncle Tom was attached to her, but entirely dominated by his wife. Colonel Fenchurch had not been insensible to the suppressed antagonism and strained relations between aunt and niece; inwardly and with all his sore heart, he sided with Letty; but though physically bold as a lion, the little man lacked moral courage; he could face the biggest fence without flinching, but he dared not face Doodie and stand between her and her unreasonable treatment of his sister’s orphan; the situation filled him with secret bitterness and self-contempt. Hitherto, he had been absolutely content with his comfortable, well-ordered home, his well-bred hunters, and his masterful invaluable Doodie, till the girl had come to make a third at The Holt; and now in his eyes, his watchful consort frequently read questions, protests, and reproach. And all on account of this detestable interloper! In spite of his breezy, jaunty manner, it was no secret in the house or village, that the Colonel had a fine grey mare in his stable, and it was whispered that lately there had been rows; loud talking and angry voices overheard in the drawing-room long after Miss Glyn had gone to bed--but vain was the effort to dislodge the yoke of years!