To-day she seemed sweeter than ever to him—now when he knew that she was pledged to Ambert.
And in truth there was great character in the small face; great gaiety, too, some humour, an immense wilfulness, and, alas! too much ambition.
"Ah! you underrate yourself," said she. She shrugged her dainty shoulders. "Every one's life is worth something. And one should prove it. That is the principal thing—to prove one's life worth something."
"How are you going to prove yours worthy?" Blount asked this question slowly, deliberately. She flushed crimson.
"Oh! To be rude is not to be argumentative," said she, and turned abruptly away from him, and crossed to where Mrs. Poynter stood, surrounded by a bevy of friends.
Blount stood still. He did not attempt to follow her. Why should he?
Every one was saying good-bye now; Mrs. Greatorex had beamed her sweetest on Mrs. Poynter, and had accepted Dr. Darkham's arm to the fly. How Agatha hated that fly! It was full of nothing but lectures, and scandals, and frowns—if one left out the moths and the must.
The poor child felt now there was electricity in the air, as, avoiding Darkham's hand, she sprang into the dingy vehicle, and seated herself beside Mrs. Greatorex. She had been quite aware that Dr. Darkham had spent the last half-hour with Mrs. Greatorex, and she felt certain that a catalogue of all her crimes during last night had been played upon her aunt's mind, with variations.
She sat looking as usual as possible until the entrance gate was passed, and then, by a sudden movement of Mrs. Greatorex's figure, she knew that wrath was about to descend upon her.
"What am I to understand by this, Agatha?"