Agatha went slowly downstairs, and ate no breakfast. She went
into the garden after breakfast, and tried to do wonders with a
small bed of asters; but her heart was in nothing, and when she
came indoors about half-past one and changed her morning frock,
and made herself very pretty for luncheon, it was with a
shrinking heart, as she thought of meeting Aunt Hilda again.
But Aunt Hilda refused to appear--which perhaps frightened
Agatha more than all that had gone before. For Mrs. Greatorex to
miss her luncheon meant that she was really offended. Agatha got
through the sad little meal as quickly as possible, and then,
snatching her hat from the stand, told herself she would go for a
long, long afternoon upon the bank of the river. The Rickton
river was about half a mile from the town, and there were
charming little bits about it, good enough to satisfy the souls
of most.
As she reached the hall door, however, the maid threw it open,
and the Rev. Thomas Blount stepped in. Agatha could have hated
almost anybody else for his intrusion at this moment, but Blount,
somehow, always had a kindly boyish air about him that put an end
to criticism.
"Oh, you, Mr. Blount!" said she, as if greatly pleased, and she
took him into the small drawing-room, and sat down to entertain
him right royally. Poor thing! With her heart as heavy as lead.
She was delightful to him for five minutes, and then she felt the
strain was very great. It suddenly occurred to her that there
were some engravings hung in the little antechamber, where she
had so often--she shuddered now at the remembrance of it--so
often had to stand _tête à tête_ with Dr. Darkham whilst he gave
her instructions about her aunt's treatment.
Would Mr. Blount like to see these old prints? She had heard they
were valuable. Mr. Blount said he would like to see them very
much, and she led him into the little chamber. He and she were
standing on the threshold of it, however, when the opening of the
drawing-room door beyond caught Agatha's ear.
"Some visitors, I am afraid, Mr. Blount," she said gently.
"Forgive me for a moment. You can see the pictures there"--
pointing to them--"for yourself."
"Pray don't think of me," said Blount. "I shall give my whole
attention to these."
But did he? Agatha had gone back to the drawing-room to find
Elfrida rushing towards her.
"Isn't it beautiful?" cried that small person, precipitating
herself upon Agatha's neck. "Isn't it all it ought to be?" She
surrendered Agatha's neck here, and stood back from her, looking
at her in, evidently, brilliant spirits, and the latest Parisian
gown. "I'm going to be a bona-fide countess! A real live one,
too. You may put anything you like on that. Lively shall be the
word for me. If he thinks he's going to keep me down, and--Oh,
Mr. Blount! You here!"
Blount did not answer her; words, indeed, were beyond him. So it
was all over!
"I think I'll come and see your engravings some other day, Miss
Nesbitt," said he, as calmly as possible, though it went to
Agatha's heart to see the expression in his kind young eyes. "You
and Miss Firs-Robinson must have a good deal to say to each
other."
He turned to Elfrida. "You see I heard," said he gravely.
"Yes." Elfrida held out her hand to him in farewell. Agatha had
not made even an attempt at detaining him, the situation seemed
so full of briers. "And won't you---"
"No, I do not congratulate you," said he steadily.
When he had gone, Agatha said quickly, "It is not true!"
"It is, indeed. He proposed to me yesterday just before he left,
and I accepted him."
Agatha turned away from her.
"I thought better of you," she said.
"Now, that is always what puzzles me," said Elfrida, not in the
least offended by Agatha's ungracious reception of her news, but
with the air of one prepared to argue the question calmly, even
to the death. "Why should people always think better of me? I
don't see how I _can_ be better. What's the matter with me?"
Agatha looked at her sadly. Her own dull, miserable story was
before her.
How could a girl willingly sell herself for title, or money, or
position, or anything? And Elfrida, who was rich, who could defy
the world, _she_ to sell herself to that detestable man, for the
sake of hearing herself called Lady Ambert! In her present mood
it seemed hateful--unnatural--to Agatha. Oh, how gladly would
she _give_ herself for love--love only!
"There is nothing the matter with you," said she--- "nothing. I
won't believe there is. I won't believe, either, that you will
marry Lord Ambert."
"I expect I shall, however. And why not? Auntie is quite
delighted about it. Just fancy, she will be Ambert's 'auntie'
very shortly!"
"Your aunt is naturally ambitious for you," Agatha said; "but you
--you---"
"Well, I--- I"--mimicking her gaily--"what of me? Do you think
I can't see the glitter of diamonds as well as any one else?--
and I hear the Ambert diamonds are beyond praise."
"What are diamonds to you, who have so much money? Why, you could
buy them for yourself."
"Well, that's what I'm doing. I _am_ buying them. Now, don't tell
me I am not following your advice, after all." She spoke
mockingly.
"If you took my advice, you would see very little glitter in Lord
Ambert's diamonds."
"See here!" said Elfrida steadily; "it's no use your taking it
like that. I know exactly how you feel about it, but, then, I am
not you."
"But surely your father never intended---"
"Yes, he did; and I admire him for it. He said to himself, "What
is the good of my girl having all that money if she doesn't gain
something by it?" Remember how hard my grandfather had worked for
it, and they had their ambition, you see--it was to make me a
lady! I'm afraid they've failed there," said Elfrida, with a
sudden laugh. "But, at all events, I shall be a lady in another
sense. I shall be Lady Ambert!"
"I don't know how you can look at it like that. The throwing
away of your whole life's happiness---"
"Don't you? Ah! but you see, you have not been educated as I was.
Why, only look at the name! They evidently gave it to me at my
baptism with a view of my living up to it. Elfrida! quite early
English! It speaks of centuries of dead and gone ancestors of
illustrious origin, who, I hope, didn't sell soap."
"I don't believe you care," said Agatha reproachfully, who,
however, was now laughing in spite of herself. "To make a jest of
everything as you do---"
"Argues that I have no heart; and a good thing, too. Auntie
sometimes calls me Frid, an extra petting of my pet name Frida.
But really it should be Friv. I don't seem to care about
anything, and I seldom think. I don't allow myself. It brings
wrinkles--as I read the other day in one of those ladies'
papers. Well, I must be going. You are the first person I have
told of my engagement, but you needn't flatter yourself you are
the only person who knows it by this."
"Your aunt will, I suppose, publish it abroad!" said Agatha
sadly.
"No. Lord Ambert will. He seemed very flatteringly anxious to
clinch the nail. I expect he has more debts than he knows what to
do with."
"But, Frida"--anxiously--"I hope you will take care that he
does not make away with all your money."
"You bet!" said Elfrida, who really, perhaps, ought to have been
behind that counter; "_that's_ all right. I shall help him to
clear the mortgages, of course, by degrees, but without touching
a penny of my principal."
She seemed "all there."
"Oh, there's one thing," said she, trifling with the handle of
the door: "I am sorry I told you of my engagement before Mr.
Blount."
"_I_ am not," said Agatha bluntly, a little sternly indeed. "I am
glad he knows. You would never have told him until the last
moment if you had had your own way." If she had thought to
overwhelm Elfrida by this harsh judgement, or reduce her to a
sense of shame, she found herself mistaken.
"You're a witch!" said that naughty little person, with a gay
grimace. "I think I seldom met so nice a--a friend as Mr.
Blount. What a pity I must lose him now!"
"You have Lord Ambert instead," said Agatha coldly. In her heart
she loved Elfrida, but she was angry with her now.
"Ah, true, true!" cried the culprit gaily. She ran down the steps
to where her ponies were waiting for her. Agatha, though angry,
followed her. It hurt her to be offended with the pretty
charming, lovable little creature, who was so wilfully making hay
of her life; she even went down the steps and, without looking at
Elfrida tucked the light rug round her.
Elfrida smiled, picked up the reins, and took the whip out of it
socket. The ponies sprang forward. Suddenly she checked them.
"Agatha!" she called. Agatha looked up. "After all, I was
wrong.... I _have_ a heart.... if only for _you_!"
The little fair, merry face was pale now, and tears lay heavily
within her blue eyes. Agatha, startled, gazed at her, but there
was no time for more. The ponies where trotting up the tiny
avenue, and Elfrida did not look back.