“She’s not here,” said Jane.
“I am seeking Sir Charles,” he said, withdrawing somewhat stiffly.
“What a lie!” said Jane, discomfited by his reception of her jest. “He was talking to Sir Charles ten minutes ago in the billiard room. Men are such conceited fools!”
Agatha had strolled to the window, and was looking discontentedly at the prospect, as she had often done at school when alone, and sometimes did now in society. The door opened again, and Sir Charles appeared. He, too, looked round, but when his roving glance reached Agatha, it cast anchor; and he came in.
“Are you busy just now, Miss Wylie?” he asked.
“Yes,” said Jane hastily. “She is going to write a letter for me.”
“Really, Jane,” he said, “I think you are old enough to write your letters without troubling Miss Wylie.”
“When I do write my own letters you always find fault with them,” she retorted.
“I thought perhaps you might have leisure to try over a duet with me,” he said, turning to Agatha.
“Certainly,” she replied, hoping to smooth matters by humoring him. “The letter will do any time before post hour.”