Agatha was disconcerted. She had fallen into the habit of spending half an hour or longer in the little music-room every evening, with Wyllard standing near the piano; but now her friend’s question seemed to place a significance upon the fact.
“No,” she replied, “I don’t think I am.”
“Then the rest of them will wonder whether you have fallen out with him.”
“Fallen out with him?”
Winifred laughed. “They’ve naturally been watching both of you, and, in a general way, there’s only one decision they could have arrived at.”
Agatha flushed a little, but Winifred went on.
“I don’t mind admitting that if a man of that kind was to fall in love with me, I’d black his boots for him,” she said. She added, with a rueful gesture, “Still, it’s most unlikely.”
Agatha looked at her with a little glint in her eyes.
“He is merely Gregory’s deputy,” she said, with a subconscious feeling that the word “deputy” was not a fortunate one. “In that connection, I should like to point out that you can estimate a man’s character by that of his friends.”
“Oh,” rejoined Winifred, “then if Mr. Wyllard’s strong points merely heighten Gregory’s virtues, I’ve nothing more to say. Any way, I’ll reserve my homage until I’ve seen Gregory. Perfection among men is scarce nowadays.”