"No. Lord Ambert will. He seemed very flatteringly anxious to clinch the nail. I expect he has more debts than he knows what to do with."
"But, Frida"—anxiously—"I hope you will take care that he does not make away with all your money."
"You bet!" said Elfrida, who really, perhaps, ought to have been behind that counter; "that's all right. I shall help him to clear the mortgages, of course, by degrees, but without touching a penny of my principal."
She seemed "all there."
"Oh, there's one thing," said she, trifling with the handle of the door: "I am sorry I told you of my engagement before Mr. Blount."
"I am not," said Agatha bluntly, a little sternly indeed. "I am glad he knows. You would never have told him until the last moment if you had had your own way." If she had thought to overwhelm Elfrida by this harsh judgement, or reduce her to a sense of shame, she found herself mistaken.
"You're a witch!" said that naughty little person, with a gay grimace. "I think I seldom met so nice a—a friend as Mr. Blount. What a pity I must lose him now!"
"You have Lord Ambert instead," said Agatha coldly. In her heart she loved Elfrida, but she was angry with her now.
"Ah, true, true!" cried the culprit gaily. She ran down the steps to where her ponies were waiting for her. Agatha, though angry, followed her. It hurt her to be offended with the pretty charming, lovable little creature, who was so wilfully making hay of her life; she even went down the steps and, without looking at Elfrida tucked the light rug round her.
Elfrida smiled, picked up the reins, and took the whip out of it socket. The ponies sprang forward. Suddenly she checked them.