Egger let his chair tilt forward, rose slowly, drew a yellow
handkerchief from his mouth and wiped his eyes with it, then
exclaimed, in the most pitiful voice--

"Mr. Waymark, I have made my possible!--I can no more!"

It was his regular phrase on these occasions; Waymark had always
much ado to refrain from laughter when he heard it repeated, but he
did his best to be seriously sympathetic, and to attempt consolation
in such German as was at his command. Egger's despondency only
increased, and he wept afresh to hear accents which were
intelligible to him. Mr. O'Gree re-entered the room, and the Swiss
retired to his comer.

Philip was hot with excitement and bodily exertion; he came in
mopping his forehead, and, without turning to Waymark, stood with
eyes fixed on the chalk caricatures. Very gradually he turned round.
Waymark was watching him, on his face an expression of subdued
mirth. Their looks met, and both exploded in laughter.

"Bedad, my boy," exclaimed O'Gree, "I'm devilish sorry! I wouldn't
have had it happen for a quarter's salary,--though I sadly need a
new pair of breeches. She's a supercilious cat-o-mountain, and she
loses no opportunity of insulting me, but after all she's a woman."

"By-the-by, Waymark," he added in a moment, "what a stunner the new
governess is! You're a lucky dog, to sit in the same room with her.
What's her name, I say?"