Annoyed Mrs. Grey certainly was, but she was not readily offended. Her feeling was more that of extreme vexation at the introduction here of the very last person whom she would desire to see Letitia's governess, and a vague wonder as to how much Dr. Grey knew about the matter. Of course, engrossed as she was with the charge of Arthur, it was quite possible that, to save her trouble, he and his sisters might have arranged it all. Only she wished she had been told--merely told about it. Any little pain, however, died out when, on entering the drawing-room, she caught the warm delight of Arthur's eyes, turning to her as eagerly as if she had been absent from him a week instead of half an hour. "Oh, mother, I am so tired! Here have I been lying on this sofa, and Titia and somebody else--a great, big, red-checked woman--Titia says she isn't a lady, and I must not call her so--have been strum-strumming on your pretty piano, and laughing and whispering between whiles. They bother me so. Please don't let them come again." Christian promised to try and modify things a little. But she must come and practice here, Arthur. She is Miss Bennett--Titia's governess. "Governess--a nice governess! Why, she hardly teaches her a bit. They were chattering the whole time; and I heard them plan to meet in Walnut-tree Court at five o'clock every evening, and go for a walk with a gentleman--a kind gentleman, who would give Titia as many sweet things as ever she could eat." Mrs. Grey stood aghast. This was the sort of thing that had gone on--or would have gone on if not discovered--with the little Fergusons. "Are you sure of this, Arthur? If so, I must ring for Phillis at once." "Oh don't--please don't. Phillis will on'y fly into a passion and beat her--poor Titia! I'm very sorry I told of her. I wouldn't be a sneak if I could help it." "My dear boy!" said Christian, fondly. "Well, I will not speak about it just yet, and certainly not to Phillis. Lie here till I see if Titia is still in the nursery. It is just five o'clock." Yes, there the little damsel was, sitting as prim as possible over a book, looking the picture of industry and innocence. "Miss Bennett has left for the day, has she not, Titia? You are not going out with her, or going out again at all?" "No," said Titia, with her head bent down. It was always Christian's belief--and practice--that to accuse a child, unproved, of telling a lie, was next to suggesting that lies should be told. She always took truth for granted until she had unequivocal evidence to the contrary. "Very well," she said, kindly. "Is that a nice book you have? 'Arabian Nights?' Then sit and read it quietly till you go to bed. Good-night, my dear." She kissed her, which was always a slight effort; it was hard work loving Titia, who was so cold and prim, and unchildlike, with so little responsiveness in her nature.