"But you must have announced him. He gave you his card or--something,
didn't he?"

"No, Miss. He announced 'imself over the telephone this afternoon. It
sounded like Blinkers, or, even more nearly, on his repeating it, like
Rasmussen. At any rate, Mr. Bingle was expecting 'im, and came out
into the 'all before I had the chance to learn his name proper, so to
speak, Miss."

She bit her lip, annoyed. "Was it Flanders, Diggs?"

Mr. Diggs reflected. "It was," said he. "Now that you mention it, it
was. Richard, I think."

Miss Fairweather lowered her eyes suddenly and grasped the back of a
chair as if to steady herself. The next instant, she had recovered,
except that a queer, hunted look had settled in her eyes.

"Thank you, Diggs. Please say to Mrs. Bingle that I shall not be down
again this evening. I have a splitting headache." She moved rapidly
toward the door.

"Won't you be here for the reading, Miss?"

"No. I always cry when I hear about Tiny Tim." "Beg pardon, Miss, but
as this is your first Christmas Eve 'ere, you'll excuse me for saying
that the entire 'ousehold is expected to be present for the reading.
It is a rule, Miss. Even the cook comes up."