The thought of seeing the wonderful dress and of possessing a real gold bangle were two circumstances enough to turn the slight brain of Fanchon Amberley. She did not confide to her sisters what her conversation had been, and managed that evening to elude them and to present herself at Brenda's door as the clock struck ten. The other two were sound asleep, so she had little difficulty in getting away from them, and, as Brenda was on the watch, she let her pupil in at once, immediately locking the door as soon as Fanchon got inside. "Now then," she said, "you just hop on to my bed, for I don't want you to catch cold. See--here's the dress." Madame Declasse was really an excellent dressmaker, and the pale blue silk would have looked lovely to any eyes, but the unaccustomed ones of Fanchon Amberley fairly blinked as they gazed at it. "I never imagined anything so lovely!" she cried. "But you must put it on--you promised." Brenda obeyed. She was gratified by the curious mixture of vanity and greed, envy and admiration which filled poor Fanchon's face, and she attired herself, not only in the dress, which gave her little figure such a "chic" appearance, but also put on the white hat and the dainty white lace scarf, and drew the long white gloves upon her slender arms. Finally, she slipped into the white serge coat which was to cover the finery, lest the Reverend Josiah should catch sight of it. "He won't see me to-morrow morning," she said, "and when I come back in the evening, he'll think that I am wearing a cotton dress underneath the serge. There now, Fanchon, you have seen everything, and you may rest satisfied that I shall have plenty to tell you when I return." "I am bewildered," said Fanchon. "Of course you look beautiful; of course the prince or the king, whenever either of them comes along, will fall in love with you, for you look like a princess or a queen yourself! I wish I were beautiful too. I hate--yes--I _hate_ being ugly!" and the poor child gave a sob of pain and disappointment. "Now listen, Fanchon. You won't be ugly when you are grown up. It doesn't matter a bit how you look now, for you are only a little girl. What you have to do now is to help me all you can, and then, when you come to be eighteen or nineteen years of age--I will help you, _petite_, and get you a good husband, and drew you in the colours that will make you look--oh--marvellous! Keep me as your friend and you will be a wise little girl: do the reverse, and you will rue it." Fanchon shed a few more tears, but finally yielded to Brenda's seductions and clasped her arms round her neck and kissed that young person's cool cheek with her own hot lips; then went to bed to dream of that wonderful vision in blue silk and the prince who was surely going to find her.