“I can’t give you two husbands, if that’s what you want. There, child, don’t cry. Never mind me. Have another sniff.”
“I shall go home,” said Agatha. “Perhaps grandpapa may be able to advise me.”
“Your grandfather! Gracious goodness, girl, you’re never going to tell him?”
“Yes, I shall. Grandpapa’s had a lot of experience: he says so.”
“I should think he had!” whispered Mrs. Blunt with uplifted hands.
“Good-by, Mrs. Blunt. You don’t know how unhappy I am. Thanks, yes, a hansom, please. Mrs. Blunt, are you going to ask Mr. Merceron here again?”
Mrs. Blunt’s toleration was exhausted.
“Be off with you!” she said sternly, pointing a forefinger at the door.
By great good fortune Agatha found Lord Thrapston at home. Drawing a footstool beside his chair, she sat down. Her agitation was past, and she wore a gravely business like air.
“Grandpapa,” she began, “I have got something to tell you.”