“No, no. I mean—don’t say the wrong thing all the time.”

“But I don’t know what is the wrong thing, Wally,” she assured him.

“I should say you didn’t! You just let me do the talking. If you like the one I’m interviewing, just nod; if you don’t, why shake your head. Get me?”

“Like this?”—with neck-breaking violence of the head.

“No—no. Gently, like this.”

They seated themselves in the agency room, and the governesses were presented. The usual drab, rather faded women, used to living in the background. Some of them resented Isabelle’s presence, some of them spoke to her as to a baby. After about three sentences had been spoken, her head would move violently, and Wally got rid of the candidate.

“Lord! they’re a sad lot,” he exclaimed.

“What makes them sad?” she inquired.

“Kids like you.”

They finished the first consignment without any luck, and went to the second place. It was simply a repetition. Isabelle seemed to sense their adhesion to type, for she finally burst out with:

“Wally, I’d like one with a wart on the nose.”

He finally approached the woman in charge.

“Look here,” he said, “we want a young one, with some pep.”

The woman stared in amazement.

“Isn’t there some place where the new ones go to register?” he continued.

“You might try the college agencies. Their graduates sometimes try governessing.”

She gave him some addresses.

“Thanks. I think we’ll try them. My daughter, here, is rather exacting.”

The manager peered over her desk at the child, hostilely.

“I don’t like you, either,” said Isabelle, promptly.

Wally hurried her out. He was about worn out with this unaccustomed and exhausting strain. It had been years since Wally spent a whole day boring himself. His rage at Max grew, and he vented it on Isabelle.

“For God’s sake, don’t sass the managers! We may have to go back there.”

“Does God care?”

“What?”

“You said, ‘for God’s sake.’”

“Did I? Excuse me. Now go easy this time. We’ve got to get somebody, and we won’t find an archangel, either.”

“I’d like an archangel,” she remarked earnestly, her flagging interest reviving. “But she couldn’t swim with wings, could she?”

Wally groaned, but made no reply. At the college agency, they telephoned for two applicants, and after what seemed to Wally a week of tedium, they arrived. The first one was pretty and she knew it. She talked a great deal, and was saccharine to the little girl. Isabelle shook her head twice, but Wally seemed hypnotized by the woman’s eloquence.

“Don’t let her talk, Wally; I won’t have her,” announced Isabelle.

It took considerable finesse on Wally’s part to get this explained and to get the young woman out of the room.

“One more remark from you, like that last one, and I will engage the next hatchet-face that appears,” he thundered.

“What is a hatchet-face?” she asked, with interest.

The other girl was tall, and undeniably plain. She was deeply tanned by the sun. She looked athletic, boyish in fact. She had a nice voice, and clear grey eyes. She met Isabelle’s inspection with a grin. The child slid off her chair and went over to her.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Ann. Ann Barnes.”

“Can you swim?”

“Yes,” smiled the girl.

Isabelle took her hand.

“I’ll take you,” she said.

The girl stared at Wally, who, so far, had made no explanation.

“Is she your child?” she inquired.

“Yes.”

“Is her mother dead?”

“No, Max is my mother,” explained the youngster.

“You see,” said Wally, “Isabelle is a little devil. You might as well know the worst at once. She’s got no manners at all, and she’s spoiled to death.”

“Wally, you don’t have to tell everything you know,” quoted Isabelle, sharply.

“Upon my word!” said Miss Barnes. “How old is she?”

“She’s just had her fourth birthday.”

“But she needs a nurse, not a governess.”

“I won’t have a nurse. I want you.”

“She’s had a lot of women, mostly old ones. I told Mrs. Bryce I thought she ought to have a young woman with her, and she told me that if I knew so much about it, I could get her a governess myself.”

“I see,” said Miss Barnes; “and just what do you want her governess to do?”

“Ride and swim with her, and keep her out of mischief. I suppose you would teach her something—letters and counting, and all that?”

“A governess usually does,” she smiled.

“You would have full charge of her. We live in the country from April till Thanksgiving, and in town the rest of the time.”

“Come on, Ann, let’s go; I’m tired,” interrupted Isabelle.

“But you aren’t letting this baby decide who is to take care of her?” she protested.

“I thought it was better. She gets rid of one a month, so in the end she does decide.”

“But it’s so absurd.”

“We’re—we’re an absurd family,” he admitted, gravely.

“Don’t talk, Wally; come on.”

“What does she call you?” Miss Barnes inquired.

“Wally. My name is Walter, but every one calls me Wally. She calls her mother Max. We try to break her of it, but we can’t.”

Miss Barnes shook her head.

“I want to be a governess, you know, not a nurse.”

Isabelle realized that a crisis was at hand.

“Sometimes I’m nice, aren’t I, Wally?” she appealed.

Miss Barnes could not have told why, but for the first time this abnormal, prissy child, with her self-assurance, and her impertinence, caught at her sympathies. Wally saw that she wavered.

“Suppose that we call it an experiment for a month. I’ll pay a hundred dollars a month. Come out with us this afternoon and try it. She’s the limit of a kid, but she’s got a lot of sense for her age, and maybe she’d be all right if somebody just gave her mind to her.”

“I’m willing to try it for a month, if I may have full charge of her. Would her mother agree to that?”

“Oh, Max is never home; besides, she never sees me,” spoke up the child.

“She does see you,” protested Wally.

Isabelle made no reply, but somehow Miss Barnes caught the situation—the sense of neglect, of the child’s loneliness.

“I’ll come for a month at the salary you mentioned.”

“Good. Can you pack a bag and go out on the 4:10 with us? We’ll send you home in a taxi and send for you.”

She considered a moment.

“All right.”

She rose, explained to the head of the bureau, and later they went out together.

“Wally, when’s lunch?” demanded Isabelle.

“Now. We’ll send Miss Barnes off in our cab, and pick up another. A cab will come for you at three thirty, Miss Barnes, and we’ll meet you at the Information booth.”

“I’ll be there. Good-bye, Isabelle.”

“Good-bye, Ann.”

Wally and Isabelle made their way to his club, where she insisted upon all the verboten things for lunch.

“Are you allowed to eat that?” he demanded.

“Oh, yes, at parties.”

“Don’t it make you sick?”

“Yes. You’re always sick after parties,” she replied.

A man stopped at the table to address a few jocose remarks to Wally, and he turned his glance upon the small girl.

“Who is your beautiful companion, Wally?” he inquired.