Agatha continued playfully, tapping the ivory notes with her middle finger--the others being gracefully curled.
“You speak as if you doubted the impartiality.”
“I am happy to say I always doubt a woman’s impartiality.”
She laughed and drew the stool nearer to the piano. It would have been easier to drift away into the conversational channel of vague generality which he opened up. He waited with some curiosity.
“Do you think there is a preference?” she said, falling into his small trap.
“Ah! There you ask me something that is beyond my poor powers of discrimination. Mrs. Harrington does not wear her feelings on her sleeve. She is difficult.”
“Very,” admitted Agatha, with a little sigh.
“I am naturally interested in the FitzHenrys,” she went on after a little pause, with baffling frankness. “You see, we were children together.”
“So I understand. I too am interested in them--merely because I like them.”
“I am afraid,” continued Agatha, tentatively turning the pages of the music which he had set before her, speaking as if she was only half thinking of what she was saying--“I am afraid that Mrs. Harrington is the sort of person to do an injustice. She almost told my mother that she intended to leave all her money to one of them.”