“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.