"You're such a
quaint little body, you're a regular treat. I declare I ain't 'alf sure
I wouldn't rather talk to you, than read the Princess Novelettes.
Besides, I do get that tired of 'earin' nothin' but French, I'm most
sorry I undertook the job; and the Biby don't pick up English much yet."
"Don't you think he's a bright baby?" asked the child, sitting down on a
footstool, which was a favourite seat of hers.
"For a French biby, 'e 's as bright as you could expect," replied her
hostess, judicially.
"Are they different?"
"Well, they ain't Hinglish."
"_I'm_ half American," said the little girl.
"You don't talk through your nose. Far as I can see, you've got as good
a haccent as me."
"I suppose yours _is_ good?" asked Rosemary, as if she longed to have a
doubt set forever at rest.
"Rather! Ain't I been brought out from London on purpose so as this biby
can learn to speak Hinglish, instead of French? It's pretty near the
sime thing as bein' nursery governess. Madame wouldn't trust her own wye
of pronouncing the languidge. She must 'ave a Hinglish girl.
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