“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 uttered a groan and sank into a chair, which creaked at the shock. Agatha turned on the threshold, and seeing her shaking her head, pressing her eyes, and tapping with her heel in a restrained frenzy, said quickly,