"Oh, that's all right. Chat's coming in a week. She'd have come with me, but Mrs. Simpson wouldn't let her go till a new governess could be got. Four girls, you see, and Mrs. Simpson thinks she's an invalid. Besides, Chat wouldn't come without a new black silk dress. So I had to give her most of that money--and she'll be here in a week--and I haven't got a new dress." I noticed that her black dress was far from new. It was, in fact, rather rusty. Her black straw hat, however, appeared to be new. It was a large spreading sort of hat. "Yes, Mr. Austin, the hat's new," she remarked. The girl seemed to have a knack of noticing where one's eyes happened to be. "I can give you lots of money," Cartmell assured her. "And--er--'Chat' was governess at the Simpsons', was she?" "Yes, she's been there for years, but she's very fond of me, and agreed to come and be my companion. She taught me all I know. I'm sure you'll like Chat." "You can only try her," said he, rather doubtfully. I think that he would have preferred, Miss Driver, to cut loose from the old days altogether. "But, you know, we can't call her just 'Chat.' It must be short for something?" "Short for Chatters--Miss Chatters. And she says Chatters is really--or was really--Charteris. That's pronounced Charters, isn't it?" She addressed the last question to me, and I said that I believed she was right. "I shall get on very well by myself till she comes." She questioned me again. "Do you live in the house?" "No, I live down at the Old Priory. But I have my office in the house." "Oh, yes. Now, if Mr. Cartmell must go, will you take me up?" She stopped a moment, though, to look at the pictures--old Mr. Driver had bought some good ones--and so gave me one word with Cartmell. "Depend upon it," he whispered. "Chat's a fool. People who keep telling you their names ought to be spelt like better names, when they aren't, are always fools. Why don't they spell 'em that way, or else let it alone?" There seemed to be a good deal in that. Cartmell gone, we went together up the broad staircase which sprang from the center of the hall. As we passed a chair, she took off her hat and flung it down. The rich masses old brown hair, coiled about her head, caught the sun of a bright spring afternoon; she ran swiftly and lightly up the stairs. "Nice, soft, thick, carpet!" she remarked. I began to perceive that she would enjoy the incidental luxuries of her new position--and that she did enjoy the one great luxury--life. I fancied that she enjoyed it enormously. We trod another "nice, soft, thick, carpet" for the length of a long passage and came to his door. I opened it, let her pass in, and was about to close it after her. But as we reached his room, a sudden shadow of trouble or of fear had fallen upon her--grief it could hardly be. "No," she said. "Come in, too. Remember--he's a stranger."