“And, unless my memory plays me false, there was a distinct promise that this should not occur again. Perhaps a lady’s promise--”
“Possibly.”
The Count contented himself with a derisive laugh beneath his breath, and waited for her to speak again. This she did as she moved towards the other room.
“I think five hundred pounds would suffice--at present. Agatha,” she continued, raising her voice, “come and play the Count’s accompaniment. He finds fault with me to-night.”
“No. I only suggested a little più lento! You take it too fast.”
“Ah! Well, I want to talk to Luke. Come, Agatha.”
“I tremble at the thought of my own temerity,” said Miss Ingham-Baker, as she seated herself on a music-stool with a great rustle of silks and considerable play of her white arms.
“Are you bold?” inquired the Count, with impenetrable suavity.
“I am--to attempt your accompaniments. I expect to be found fault with.”
“It will at all events be a novelty,” he answered, setting the music in order.