"Anything infectious, my dear Herbert?" Mrs. Presty inquired
appearing at the breakfast-room door.

Linley addressed his reply to his wife:

"Nothing more serious, Catherine, than want of strength. She was
in such a state of fatigue, after our long night journey, that I
had to lift her out of the carriage."

Mrs. Presty listened with an appearance of the deepest interest.
"Quite a novelty in the way of a governess," she said. "May I ask
what her name is?"

"Sydney Westerfield."

Mrs. Presty looked at her daughter and smiled satirically.

Mrs. Linley remonstrated.

"Surely," she said, "you don't object to the young lady's name!"

"I have no opinion to offer, Catherine. I don't believe in the
name."

"Oh, mamma, do you suspect that it's an assumed name?"

"My dear, I haven't a doubt that it is. May I ask another
question?" the old lady continued, turning to Linley. "What
references did Miss Westerfield give you?"