“I think I shall be.”
“But if not?”
“Well, that would be a telling in itself. If nothing happens before the year is up, I shall come up to London, and find some work. There’s plenty.”
“Yes,” said Agneta. She put her little pointed chin in her hands and gazed at Elizabeth. There was something almost fierce in her eyes. She knew very little about David Blake, but she guessed a good deal more. And there were moments when it would have given her a great deal of pleasure to have spoken her mind on the subject.
They sat for a little while in silence, and then Louis came in, and wandered about the room until Agneta exclaimed at him:
“Do, for goodness’ sake, sit down, Louis! You give me the fidgets.”
Louis drifted over to the hearth. “Have you ordered any meals,” he said, with apparent irrelevance.
“Tea, dinner, breakfast, lunch, tea, and dinner again.” Agneta’s tone was vicious. “Is that enough for you?”
“Very well, then, run away and write a letter to Douglas. I believe you are neglecting him, and there’s a nice fire in the dining-room.”
Agneta rose with outraged dignity. “I don’t write my love-letters to order, thank you,” she said “and you needn’t worry about Douglas. If you want me to go away, I don’t mind taking a book into the dining-room. Though, if you’ll take my advice—but you won’t—so I’ll just leave you to find out for yourself.”