Colgate, in dismay.

"Certainly! Where else? Oh, I see," he made haste to add, sensing her
expression; "it isn't the place to find high-grade governesses, eh?
Well, all the better for us! We'll head her off. Climb in, Miss--Miss--"

"Fairweather, Mr. Bingle," said she, and it was the first time in two
years that she had called herself by that name. Of all the millions of
human beings in New York, but one knew that her name was Fairweather--
and she had quarrelled with him. She had told Dick Flanders. He was
the kind of man that women tell things to without reserve or without
considering the consequences.

"Move up, Frederick," commanded Mr. Bingle. "Make room for Miss
Fairweather. She's going to be the new governess. Lively, Harkins! The
nearest telephone. No! Not that saloon over there. Tackle an apartment
house. Well, well, Miss Fairweather, this is just like a fairy story
after all. I told you that I believed in fairies, didn't I?"

And that is how Miss Fairweather came to be governess in the Bingle
family, a position for which she was suited by nature but for which
she was utterly unqualified when it came to experience. And that is
how she managed to disappear so completely that Richard Flanders,
love-sick and repentant, could find no trace of her. There were days--
and long, long nights--when she ate her heart out in the hunger for
him, but she could not bring herself to the point where starvation
made it imperative for her to go begging. There was always before her
the distressing fear that he might have ceased, to care for her--ay,
that he might have gone so far as to transfer his affections to some
one else as the result of her stupid notions concerning independence.