"Yes, you do. Like all girls, you are full of nonsensical fads, and"—slowly—"it is my opinion that you think he is in love with you."
"I can't congratulate you, then, on the girls you have known!" said Agatha coldly.
"No?" Mrs. Greatorex laughed the little irritating laugh that belonged to her. "A poor compliment to yourself! Still, I have been studying you a little of late, and I feel sure I am right. Get this latest fad of all out of your head, my dear girl, and as soon as possible."
"You should remember he has a wife," said Agatha coldly.
"Why, so I should." Again that irritating little cackle grated on the girl's ears. "But really, it is very hard to remember. He himself forgets it so persistently. Poor man! who can blame him? Bad as he is, and, of course, we know he rose from the rankest of the ranks, still she—- What a woman! A perfect annoyance to the neighbourhood."
"I can't see how she annoys anybody. One never sees her."
"You'll see her to-morrow night at the Firs-Robinsons', anyway. Mrs. Poynter told me this morning that she was going."
"What?" said Agatha. She paused. She even forgot the argument in question in the thought of seeing Mrs. Darkham at the dance to-morrow night. How strange! "Are you sure she is going?"
"Quite sure."
"As a rule, she refuses all invitations."