Agatha turned round upon the piano-stool, feeling that music and Lady Brandon were incompatible.  Sir Charles, for his guest’s sake, tried hard to restrain his exasperation.

“Probably your watch will tell you,” he said.

“Thank you for nothing,” said Jane.  “Agatha, where is Gertrude?”

“How can Miss Wylie possibly tell you where she is, Jane?  I think you have gone mad to-day.”

“She is most likely playing billiards with Mr. Erskine,” said Agatha, interposing quickly to forestall a retort from Jane, with its usual sequel of a domestic squabble.

“I think it is very strange of Gertrude to pass the whole day with Chester in the billiard room,” said Jane discontentedly.

“There is not the slightest impropriety in her doing so,” said Sir Charles.  “If our hospitality does not place Miss Lindsay above suspicion, the more shame for us.  How would you feel if anyone else made such a remark?”

“Oh, stuff!” said Jane peevishly.  “You are always preaching long rigmaroles about nothing at all.  I did not say there was any impropriety about Gertrude.  She is too proper to be pleasant, in my opinion.”

Sir Charles, unable to trust himself further, frowned and left the room, Jane speeding him with a contemptuous laugh.

“Don’t ever be such a fool as to get married,” she said, when he was gone.  She looked up as she spoke, and was alarmed to see Agatha seated on the pianoforte, with her ankles swinging in the old school fashion.

“Jane,” she said, surveying her hostess coolly, “do you know what I would do if I were Sir Charles?”

Jane did not know.

“I would get a big stick, beat you black and blue, and then lock you up on bread and water for a week.”

Jane half rose, red and angry.  “Wh—­why?” she said, relapsing upon the sofa.

“If I were a man, I would not, for mere chivalry’s sake, let a woman treat me like a troublesome dog.  You want a sound thrashing.”

“I’d like to see anybody thrash me,” said Jane, rising again and displaying her formidable person erect.  Then she burst into tears, and said, “I won’t have such things said to me in my own house.  How dare you?”

“You deserve it for being jealous of me,” said Agatha.

Jane’s eyes dilated angrily.  “I!—­I!—­jealous of you!” She looked round, as if for a missile.  Not finding one, she sat down again, and said in a voice stifled with tears, “J—­Jealous of you, indeed!”

“You have good reason to be, for he is fonder of me than of you.”

Jane opened her mouth and eyes convulsively, but only uttered a gasp, and Agatha proceeded calmly, “I am polite to him, which you never are.  When he speaks to me I allow him to finish his sentence without expressing, as you do, a foregone conclusion that it is not worth attending to.  I do not yawn and talk whilst he is singing.  When he converses with me on art or literature, about which he knows twice as much as I do, and at least ten times as much as you.” (Jane gasped again) “I do not make a silly answer and turn to my neighbor at the other side with a remark about the tables or the weather.  When he is willing to be pleased, as he always is, I am willing to be pleasant.  And that is why he likes me.”