I have caught up with her at a hotel bar in Soho, peopled by ornamental Buddhas, to which Foy has been chaperoned by a BBC publicist. They have arrived early, and Foy has discreetly hidden herself away at a table in the corner. Dressed in layers of vests and baggy T-shirts, and with a twinge of estuary in her accent (she grew up in Aylesbury), she's a far cry from the girl in Little Dorrit's chocolate-boxy publicity stills. She looks like a student - which, until she graduated from the Oxford School of Drama last year, is what she was. Even so, she appears remarkably undazzled by the sudden fuss being made of her. 'It's all complete bollocks,' she says emphatically, wresting the lid off a bottle of water. 'I mean, someone said I was hotter than patterned tights! All that stuff is unreal. It's like a credit card; it doesn't mean anything.'