"Our dance, I believe," said some one to Elfrida at that moment. It was Elfrida's shadow during the past two months—Lord Ambert. He bowed to Agatha over Miss Firs-Robinson's head.
"Is it? Yes, of course," said Elfrida, glancing at her card. "But I have just one word to say to Miss Nesbitt." She smiled again at Ambert, very prettily.
"Do you know who has come to-night to stay with us for a month? Dicky—Dicky Browne. He met auntie and me last season in town. And auntie asked him to run down to us for a bit. He's a nuisance, certainly," shrugging her shoulders. "We all know that, in spite of everything; but I do love Dicky more than any one else, I think."
"I wish I could believe that," said Agatha, in a low tone. Lord Ambert was standing near, waiting for Elfrida. "Better love him than—-"
"Pouf! What a suggestion! Why should I love any one?" Elfrida's piquant face was now alight with mischief. "Do you think I am such a one as thyself? I tell you, Agatha, that I, for one, have no heart! I can't afford one."
"I should think you could afford anything," said Agatha. "You could, at all events, afford to marry the man who loved you."
"And where does he live?" asked Elfrida, laughing.
"You know," said Agatha slowly, earnestly.
"You're lovely; you're a perfect delight!" said Miss Firs-Robinson, her amusement now growing more apparent; "but really I don't. I know only that I—want to be—-"
"Happy?" said Agatha, answering.