"Oh, I can drop 'em as well as any one, Mr. Diggs," said Hughes
scornfully. "'Ulloa! 'Ere comes the lidy governess!" He was peering
into the hall, the corners of his mouth drawn down in the most
approved English fashion.

Whatever may have been Mr. Bingle's taste in the selection of rugs and
furniture, he could be charged with no lack of it in his choice of a
governess for the young Bingles. Miss Fairweather was as pretty as a
picture. In fact, you would go a long way before you found a picture
as pretty as Miss Fairweather. Her serene beauty was disturbed,
however, by a perplexed frown, as she hurriedly entered the room and
paused just inside the door for a furtive, agitated glance down the
hall.

"Diggs, who is in the library with Mr. Bingle?" she inquired,
unconsciously lowering her voice as if fearing the sharpness of
distant ears. It was a very pleasing, musical voice, a fact which no
one appreciated more than Diggs, who boasted of his ability to know a
lady when he heard one.

"A newspaper chap, Miss Fairweather. To interview Mr. Bingle about
the--"(here he sighed faintly)--"about the Christmas jollities."

Miss Fairweather sent another futile look in the direction of the
library. She was plainly distressed by her failure to see through the
walls that intervened.

"What--what name did he give?"

"I can't say, Miss. I didn't quite catch it myself."