“A ole widder woman!  Good Lord!  I—­” here she stopped, and gulped.  An expression of resignation came over her countenance.  “Oh, all right.  You’ve done it an’ I’ll make the best of it,” she finished, not too graciously.

“It is not proper to refer to a lady as ’a ole widder woman’.”

“Well, but ain’t she?” And she asked:  “What else you know about her?”

“Mr. Vandervelde attended to the matter,” he repeated.  “He is thoroughly satisfied, and that is enough for me—­and for you.  I sent for you to inform you that she is to be here to-morrow.  See that you receive her pleasantly.  Your hours of study and recreation will be arranged by her.  She will also overlook your wardrobe.  And, I do not wish to hear any complaints.”

“I can’t even pick out my own clothes?”

“You lack even the rudiments of good taste.”

“What’s wrong with my clothes?” she demanded.

“Everything,” said he, succinctly, and with visible irritation.  He remembered the wedding-gown, and his face twitched.  She watched him intently.

“Oh, all right.  I said I’d obey, an’ I will.  I ain’t forgettin’,” said she, wearily.

“Very well.  I am glad you understand.”  He closed his eyes, and understanding that the interview was at an end, Nancy withdrew.

Mrs. MacGregor arrived on the morrow.  The attorney had been given explicit orders and instructions by his exacting client, who had his own notions of what a teacher for his niece should and shouldn’t be.  Vandervelde congratulated himself on having been able to meet them so completely in the person of the estimable Mrs. MacGregor.

Mr. Champneys demanded a lady middle-aged but not too middle-aged, not overly handsome, but not overly otherwise; an excellent disciplinarian, of a good family, and with impeccable references.

For the rest, Mrs. MacGregor was a tall, spare, high-nosed lady, with a thin-lipped mouth full of large, sound teeth of a yellowish tinge, and high cheek-bones with a permanent splash of red on them.  Her eyes were frosty, and her light hair was frizzled in front, and worn high on her narrow head.  She dressed in plain black silk of good quality, wore her watch at her waist, and on her wrist a large, old-fashioned bracelet in which was set a glass-covered, lozenge-shaped receptable holding what looked like a wisp of bristles, but which was a bit of the late Captain MacGregor’s hair.

Mr. Champneys had wanted a lady who was a church member.  He had a vague idea that if a lady happened to be a church member you were somehow or other protected against her.  Mrs. MacGregor was orthodox enough to satisfy the most rigid religionist.  Mr. Champneys gathered that she believed in God the father, God the son, and God the Holy Ghost, three in One, and that One a dependable gentleman beautifully British, who dutifully protected the king, fraternally respected the Archbishop of Canterbury and the Prime Minister, and was heartily in favor of the British Constitution.  Naturally, being a devout woman, she agreed with Deity.