“Blessings on you, my darling,” faltered Mrs. Wylie, attempting a kiss, which Agatha dexterously evaded.
“I have promised to be very good, and studious, and quiet, and decorous in future. Do you remember my castanet song, Hetty?
“‘Tra! lalala, la! la! la! Tra! lalala, la! la! la! Tra! lalalalalalalalalalala!’”
And she danced about the room, snapping her fingers instead of castanets.
“Don’t be so reckless and wicked, my love,” said Mrs. Wylie. “You will break your poor mother’s heart.”
Miss Wilson and Mr. Jansenius entered just then, and Agatha became motionless and gazed abstractedly at a vase of flowers. Miss Wilson invited her visitors to join the tennis players. Mr. Jansenius looked sternly and disappointedly at Agatha, who elevated her left eyebrow and depressed her right simultaneously; but he, shaking his head to signify that he was not to be conciliated by facial feats, however difficult or contrary to nature, went out with Miss Wilson, followed by Mrs. Jansenius and Mrs. Wylie.
“How is your Hubby?” said Agatha then, brusquely, to Henrietta.
Mrs. Trefusis’s eyes filled with tears so quickly that, as she bent her head to hide them, they fell, sprinkling Agatha’s hand.
“This is such a dear old place,” she began. “The associations of my girlhood—”
“What is the matter between you and Hubby?” demanded Agatha, interrupting her. “You had better tell me, or I will ask him when I meet him.”