“All Miss Wilson wants is an apology for the dreadful things you wrote in her book,” said Mrs. Wylie. “You’ll apologize, dear, won’t you?”
“Of course she will,” said Henrietta.
“I think you had better,” said Mrs. Jansenius.
“Perhaps I will,” said Agatha.
“That’s my own darling,” said Mrs. Wylie, catching her hand.
“And perhaps, again, I won’t.”
“You will, dear,” urged Mrs. Wylie, trying to draw Agatha, who passively resisted, closer to her. “For my sake. To oblige your mother, Agatha. You won’t refuse me, dearest?”
Agatha laughed indulgently at her parent, who had long ago worn out this form of appeal. Then she turned to Henrietta, and said, “How is your caro sposo? I think it was hard that I was not a bridesmaid.”
The red in Henrietta’s cheeks brightened. Mrs. Jansenius hastened to interpose a dry reminder that Miss Wilson was waiting.
“Oh, she does not mind waiting,” said Agatha, “because she thinks you are all at work getting me into a proper frame of mind. That was the arrangement she made with you before she left the room. Mamma knows that I have a little bird that tells me these things. I must say that you have not made me feel any goody-goodier so far. However, as poor Uncle John must be dreadfully frightened and uncomfortable, it is only kind to put an end to his suspense. Good-bye!” And she went out leisurely. But she looked in again to say in a low voice: “Prepare for something thrilling. I feel just in the humor to say the most awful things.” She vanished, and immediately they heard her tapping at the door of the next room.