“Well, you take it quietly enough. You seem quite satisfied.”
“I am so.”
Mr. Grimes regarded her in perfect bewilderment. She showed no token of dismay or grief, but stood calmly by the open door.
“I'm not satisfied though,” cried he, at last growing heated—“I'm not going to have shareholders coming down upon me, and be hunted from London and from my profession, just because Major Harper”—
“I would rather not hear of Major Harper, or any one else, to-night. Once more—will you oblige me by leaving?”
Her thorough self-possession, her air of command—controlled the man in spite of himself. He moved away, bidding her a civil good-night.
“Good-night, Mr. Grimes; I will light you to the door.”
“Ugh!” He gave a grunt—seemed inclined to hesitate—looked up at Mrs. Harper, and—obeyed.
Agatha came slowly back through the hall, feeling all stunned and stupified. She sat down, smoothed her hair back with her hands, heaved one or two weary sighs, and tried to think what had happened to her.
“So, I am no heiress. I have lost all my money, and am quite poor. He knows it—knew it a long time ago, and did not tell me. Why did he not tell me, I wonder?”