Hilda laughed, and glanced into a near mirror. Her complexion was her strong point, and she had no fear of its being criticised even by disagreeable Mr. Barton.
"I'm afraid my appetite is stronger than my vanity," she said.
"Then you must have the appetite of an ostrich," growled Barton, sitting down near his niece; "but Julia, poor dear, eats nothing."
"That I don't," murmured Mrs. Darrow. "I peck like a bird."
"What kind of a bird—a canary, or an albatross?"
"Uncle Barton!" cried the outraged Julia in capital letters.
"There, there, it's all right. Anyone can see you eat nothing. You are all skin and bone. Dicky, come here, sir. Your new governess will be here in ten minutes."
"In ten minutes!" screeched Mrs. Darrow, bounding from the sofa with more energy than might have been expected. "She can't—she mustn't. I'm not ready to receive her. Oh, Uncle Barton!"—the irrepressible feminine curiosity would out—"what is she like?"
"Very ugly, small, dark-haired, dark-skinned."
"I knew it. I knew you would choose an ugly woman!"