“Were it so?” Kate looked up eagerly.
“Surely, without thou hadst passed word to do somewhat thou shouldst not.”
Kate’s face fell. She had thought she saw a way out of her difficulty; and it was closing round her again.
“It’s none so easy to tell what man shouldn’t,” she said, in a troubled tone.
“What hast thou done, Kate?”
“Nay, I’ve done nought yet. I’ve only passed word to do.”
“To do what?”
Before Kate could answer, Agatha whisked into the corner.
“Thank goodness they’re all gone, the whole lot of them! Won’t we have some fun now! Kate, run down stairs, and bring me up a cork; and I want a long white sheet and a mop. Now haste thee, do! for I would fain cause Father Jordan to skrike out at me, and I have scarce time to get my work done ere the old drone shall come buzzing up this gait. Be sharp, maid! and I’ll do thee a good turn next time.”
And Agatha fairly pushed Kate down the stairs, allowing her neither excuse nor delay—a piece of undignified conduct which would bitterly have scandalised Lady Foljambe, could she have seen it. By the time that Kate returned with the articles prescribed, Agatha had possessed herself of a lighted candle, wherein she burnt the end of the cork, and with it proceeded to delineate, in the middle of the sheet, a very clever sketch of a ferocious Turk, with moustaches of stupendous length. Then elevating the long mop till it reached about a yard above her head, she instructed Kate to arrange the sheet thereon in such a manner that the Turk’s face showed close to the top of the mop, and gave the idea of a giant about eight feet in height.