"Dicky's governess—Miss Crane."
"But who is she?—where does she come from?"
"London. You had better make further inquiries of her in person, for there's the fly driving up to the gate."
Dignity, or rather her exhibition of it, prevented Mrs. Darrow rushing to the window. She seated herself like a queen on the sofa, and spread out her sable skirts, so as to receive the ugly governess with the true keep-your-distance hospitality of the British matron. At the same time she remonstrated with Uncle Barton for his rash and unnecessary generosity.
"If you gave her twenty pounds a year it would be more than enough," she said snappishly. "I could do well with the other thirty."
"No doubt. But you don't teach Dicky, you see."
"I'm his mother."
"So I believe. But you don't want me to pay you for that, I suppose? Well, here is my Gorgon."
Hilda remained to see the new governess. Like Mrs. Darrow, she was devoured by curiosity; centred on this occasion solely upon the new-comer's physical attractions—or lack of them. It was quite possible of course that this creature might be better looking than Mr. Barton's eyes could judge. With Mrs. Darrow she continually glanced towards the door, and Barton chuckled. As his chuckle was invariably a prelude to something disagreeable, even Mrs. Darrow felt uneasy at the sound.
Outside, in the narrow passage, could be heard voices, and the bumping of heavy luggage being got in. Then the door opened, and the little maid-servant announced, "Miss Crane." Immediately afterwards the new governess entered the room.