Agatha thought her most discreet course was to sit down immediately and begin “I would that my love.” Whilst she played and sang, she thought over what Sir Charles had just let slip. She had found him a pleasant companion, light-hearted, fond of music and fun, polite and considerate, appreciative of her talents, quick-witted without being oppressively clever, and, as a married man, disinterested in his attentions. But it now occurred to her that perhaps they had been a good deal together of late.
Sir Charles had by this time wandered from his part into hers; and he now recalled her to the music by stopping to ask whether he was right. Knowing by experience what his difficulty was likely to be, she gave him his note and went on. They had not been singing long when Jane came back and sat down, expressing a hope that her presence would not disturb them. It did disturb them. Agatha suspected that she had come there to watch them, and Sir Charles knew it. Besides, Lady Brandon, even when her mind was tranquil, was habitually restless. She could not speak because of the music, and, though she held an open book in her hand, she could not read and watch simultaneously. She gaped, and leaned to one end of the sofa until, on the point of overbalancing’ she recovered herself with a prodigious bounce. The floor vibrated at her every movement. At last she could keep silence no longer.
“Oh, dear!” she said, yawning audibly. “It must be five o’clock at the very earliest.”
Agatha turned round upon the piano-stool, feeling that music and Lady Brandon were incompatible. Sir Charles, for his guest’s sake, tried hard to restrain his exasperation.
“Probably your watch will tell you,” he said.
“Thank you for nothing,” said Jane. “Agatha, where is Gertrude?”
“How can Miss Wylie possibly tell you where she is, Jane? I think you have gone mad to-day.”
“She is most likely playing billiards with Mr. Erskine,” said Agatha, interposing quickly to forestall a retort from Jane, with its usual sequel of a domestic squabble.
“I think it is very strange of Gertrude to pass the whole day with Chester in the billiard room,” said Jane discontentedly.
“There is not the slightest impropriety in her doing so,” said Sir Charles. “If our hospitality does not place Miss Lindsay above suspicion, the more shame for us. How would you feel if anyone else made such a remark?”
“Oh, stuff!” said Jane peevishly. “You are always preaching long rigmaroles about nothing at all. I did not say there was any impropriety about Gertrude. She is too proper to be pleasant, in my opinion.”
Sir Charles, unable to trust himself further, frowned and left the room, Jane speeding him with a contemptuous laugh.
“Don’t ever be such a fool as to get married,” she said, when he was gone. She looked up as she spoke, and was alarmed to see Agatha seated on the pianoforte, with her ankles swinging in the old school fashion.
“Jane,” she said, surveying her hostess coolly, “do you know what I would do if I were Sir Charles?”
Jane did not know.
“I would get a big stick, beat you black and blue, and then lock you up on bread and water for a week.”
Jane half rose, red and angry. “Wh—why?” she said, relapsing upon the sofa.
“If I were a man, I would not, for mere chivalry’s sake, let a woman treat me like a troublesome dog. You want a sound thrashing.”
“I’d like to see anybody thrash me,” said Jane, rising again and displaying her formidable person erect. Then she burst into tears, and said, “I won’t have such things said to me in my own house. How dare you?”
“You deserve it for being jealous of me,” said Agatha.
Jane’s eyes dilated angrily. “I!—I!—jealous of you!” She looked round, as if for a missile. Not finding one, she sat down again, and said in a voice stifled with tears, “J—Jealous of YOU, indeed!”
“You have good reason to be, for he is fonder of me than of you.”
Jane opened her mouth and eyes convulsively, but only uttered a gasp, and Agatha proceeded calmly, “I am polite to him, which you never are. When he speaks to me I allow him to finish his sentence without expressing, as you do, a foregone conclusion that it is not worth attending to. I do not yawn and talk whilst he is singing. When he converses with me on art or literature, about which he knows twice as much as I do, and at least ten times as much as you.” (Jane gasped again) “I do not make a silly answer and turn to my neighbor at the other side with a remark about the tables or the weather. When he is willing to be pleased, as he always is, I am willing to be pleasant. And that is why he likes me.”
“He does NOT like you. He is the same to everyone.”
“Except his wife. He likes me so much that you, like a great goose as you are, came up here to watch us at our duets, and made yourself as disagreeable as you possibly could whilst I was making myself charming. The poor man was ashamed of you.”
“He wasn’t,” said Jane, sobbing. “I didn’t do anything. I didn’t say anything. I won’t bear it. I will get a divorce. I will—”
“You will mend your ways if you have any sense left,” said Agatha remorselessly. “Do not make such a noise, or someone will come to see what is the matter, and I shall have to get down from the piano, where I am very comfortable.”
“It is you who are jealous.”
“Oh, is it, Jane? I have not allowed Sir Charles to fall in love with me yet, but I can do so very easily. What will you wager that he will not kiss me before to-morrow evening?”
“It will be very mean and nasty of you if he does. You seem to think that I can be treated like a child.”
“So you are a child,” said Agatha, descending from her perch and preparing to go. “An occasional slapping does you good.”
“It is nothing to you whether I agree with my husband or not,” said Jane with sudden fierceness.
“Not if you quarrel with him in private, as wellbred couples do. But when it occurs in my presence it makes me uncomfortable, and I object to being made uncomfortable.”
“You would not be here at all if I had not asked you.”
“Just think how dull the house would be without me, Jane!”
“Indeed! It was not dull before you came. Gertrude always behaved like a lady, at least.”
“I am sorry that her example was so utterly lost on you.”
“I won’t bear it,” said Jane with a sob and a plunge upon the sofa that made the lustres of the chandeliers rattle. “I wouldn’t have asked you if I had thought you could be so hateful. I will never ask you again.”
“I will make Sir Charles divorce you for incompatibility of temper and marry me. Then I shall have the place to myself.”
“He can’t divorce me for that, thank goodness. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Agatha laughed. “Come,” she said good-humoredly, “don’t be an old ass, Jane. Wash your face before anyone sees it, and remember what I have told you about Sir Charles.”
“It is very hard to be called an ass in one’s own house.”
“It is harder to be treated as one, like your husband. I am going to look for him in the billiard room.”
Jane ran after her, and caught her by the sleeve.
“Agatha,” she pleaded, “promise me that you won’t be mean. Say that you won’t make love to him.”
“I will consider about it,” replied Agatha gravely.
Jane