“He does not like you.  He is the same to everyone.”

“Except his wife.  He likes me so much that you, like a great goose as you are, came up here to watch us at our duets, and made yourself as disagreeable as you possibly could whilst I was making myself charming.  The poor man was ashamed of you.”

“He wasn’t,” said Jane, sobbing.  “I didn’t do anything.  I didn’t say anything.  I won’t bear it.  I will get a divorce.  I will—­”

“You will mend your ways if you have any sense left,” said Agatha remorselessly.  “Do not make such a noise, or someone will come to see what is the matter, and I shall have to get down from the piano, where I am very comfortable.”

“It is you who are jealous.”

“Oh, is it, Jane?  I have not allowed Sir Charles to fall in love with me yet, but I can do so very easily.  What will you wager that he will not kiss me before to-morrow evening?”

“It will be very mean and nasty of you if he does.  You seem to think that I can be treated like a child.”

“So you are a child,” said Agatha, descending from her perch and preparing to go.  “An occasional slapping does you good.”

“It is nothing to you whether I agree with my husband or not,” said Jane with sudden fierceness.

“Not if you quarrel with him in private, as wellbred couples do.  But when it occurs in my presence it makes me uncomfortable, and I object to being made uncomfortable.”

“You would not be here at all if I had not asked you.”

“Just think how dull the house would be without me, Jane!”

“Indeed!  It was not dull before you came.  Gertrude always behaved like a lady, at least.”

“I am sorry that her example was so utterly lost on you.”

“I won’t bear it,” said Jane with a sob and a plunge upon the sofa that made the lustres of the chandeliers rattle.  “I wouldn’t have asked you if I had thought you could be so hateful.  I will never ask you again.”

“I will make Sir Charles divorce you for incompatibility of temper and marry me.  Then I shall have the place to myself.”

“He can’t divorce me for that, thank goodness.  You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Agatha laughed.  “Come,” she said good-humoredly, “don’t be an old ass, Jane.  Wash your face before anyone sees it, and remember what I have told you about Sir Charles.”

“It is very hard to be called an ass in one’s own house.”

“It is harder to be treated as one, like your husband.  I am going to look for him in the billiard room.”

Jane ran after her, and caught her by the sleeve.

“Agatha,” she pleaded, “promise me that you won’t be mean.  Say that you won’t make love to him.”

“I will consider about it,” replied Agatha gravely.

Jane uttered a groan and sank into a chair, which creaked at the shock.  Agatha turned on the threshold, and seeing her shaking her head, pressing her eyes, and tapping with her heel in a restrained frenzy, said quickly,