"Uncle Barton is coming to tell me about the new governess, Hilda; I expect him every minute." Hilda rose quickly. "In that case, dear, I had better go. Mr. Barton has no love for me." "He has no love for anyone. I never knew so selfish and stingy a creature. Don't go. I want you to stay and talk to me. Perhaps Gerald may come too." "Mr. Arkel's coming is nothing to me," replied Hilda, tossing her pretty head. "Really! I thought you liked him!" "So I do; but then you see I like many people--Major Dundas for instance." "John!" Mrs. Darrow became reflective. "Oh, yes; John is very nice, but not nearly so good looking as Gerald. Besides, Gerald is Uncle Barton's heir!" "That may or may not be; we don't know. But this I do know," said Hilda pettishly, "that should either of Uncle Barton's nephews become engaged to me, that one will not be the heir." "I don't see why not?" "Mr. Barton doesn't like me, that's why. Perhaps he'll even go the length of marrying the new governess to Major Dundas or Mr. Arkel to spite me." Then, after a pause, "What kind of woman is she?" Mrs. Darrow threw out her hands with a wail. "My dear, how should I know? I am quite in the dark. I have been told absolutely nothing about the woman. But if she is not a thoroughly satisfactory person, I'll have her out of this very soon, I can tell you. I'm not going to be imposed upon in my own house by any spy." "What is her name?" "Miriam Crane. It sounds Jewish. I hate Jews." "Is she pretty?" "He doesn't say. But knowing how Uncle Barton hates our sex, I quite expect he has chosen some raw-boned, prim, board-school monster, just to spite me. I am sure she's horrid. Her name sounds horrid." "Then she shan't teach me!" The interruption came from behind the window curtain, and Hilda laughed gaily. "Hiding in there, Dicky? Come and have a piece of cake." "You horrid child," cried his mother, as the pale-faced Dicky emerged from his retreat. "What a turn you gave me! Why can't you sit on a chair like a Christian instead of poking in window corners? What have you been doing?" "Reading 'Robinson Crusoe.'" "You should be at your lessons; really, I never knew so idle a child. You're breaking my heart with your horrid ways, you know you are! I'm sure I'm the most afflicted woman in the world. If I didn't bear up I don't know what would become of you!"