They were bathed. And as a fact it took Agatha and Jack Dillwyn
quite an hour to get back to the others. The first two they met
were Elfrida and Mr. Blount sitting _tête-à-tête_ on an innocent
garden-chair.
It struck Agatha as a little peculiar that Elfrida, who usually
hailed her appearance with rapture, now let her go by with the
kindliest, the friendliest of nods. The thought struck her that
Elfrida, knew that she loved Jack, and would for that reason not
detain her, but afterwards it came to her that she merely wanted
to be alone with Mr. Blount.
But Elfrida was superior to criticism. As Agatha went by she
turned to her companion.
"I do love Agatha. Don't you?"
"I like her," said the curate.
"Oh, that!--one likes so many. Why don't you love her?"
"Because I can only love one," said he.
"It would be indiscreet, of course, to ask about the 'one,'" said
she. "No one, not even a stupid person like me, could go so far
as that."
Blount by this time had recovered himself. He showed her quite a
brave front. He was the saddest man on earth at that moment, I
believe, yet he told himself he would die rather than let her
know it.
"Your life!" said he. "Surely it is more valuable than all that
comes to. A question addressed to me by you could hardly endanger
your existence."
Perhaps she was a little chagrined at this sudden strength--at
his calm taking of her question. Certainly her face changed.
"How can I tell?" said she petulantly. "One never knows what
one's life is worth." She turned aside and stood with a frowning
brow, as if thinking. Suddenly she turned to him again. The frown
had gone. The smile was back again. The coquette was once more
herself.
"What is _your_ life worth?" asked she. Her face was radiant now;
her eyes were fixed on his; her little slender figure seemed
quite filled anew with hopeless frivolity.
"Nothing!" said Blount. He spoke the word quite evenly--with a
smile, indeed; but in spite of his effort a terrible sadness
underlay and dominated his intonation. What was life without
love? And love was a thing the Fates refused him. Whom could he
love, indeed, having once seen her?
To-day she seemed sweeter than ever to him--now when he knew
that she was pledged to Ambert.
And in truth there was great character in the small face; great
gaiety, too, some humour, an immense wilfulness, and, alas! too
much ambition.
"Ah! you underrate yourself," said she. She shrugged her dainty
shoulders. "Every one's life is worth something. And one should
prove it. That is the principal thing--to prove one's life
worth something."
"How are you going to prove yours worthy?" Blount asked this
question slowly, deliberately. She flushed crimson.
"Oh! To be rude is not to be argumentative," said she, and turned
abruptly away from him, and crossed to where Mrs. Poynter stood,
surrounded by a bevy of friends.
Blount stood still. He did not attempt to follow her. Why should
he?
Every one was saying good-bye now; Mrs. Greatorex had beamed her
sweetest on Mrs. Poynter, and had accepted Dr. Darkham's arm to
the fly. How Agatha hated that fly! It was full of nothing but
lectures, and scandals, and frowns--if one left out the moths
and the must.
The poor child felt now there was electricity in the air, as,
avoiding Darkham's hand, she sprang into the dingy vehicle, and
seated herself beside Mrs. Greatorex. She had been quite aware
that Dr. Darkham had spent the last half-hour with Mrs.
Greatorex, and she felt certain that a catalogue of all her
crimes during last night had been played upon her aunt's mind,
with variations.
She sat looking as usual as possible until the entrance gate was
passed, and then, by a sudden movement of Mrs. Greatorex's
figure, she knew that wrath was about to descend upon her.
"What am I to understand by this, Agatha?"
"By what, Aunt Hilda?" It was the old way of gaining time.
"You heard that child, I presume. Such an _exposé_. All children
are odious, but that child of Mrs. Poynter's--However, I have
nothing to do with her. It is with you, Agatha, I have to do. Am
I to understand that you are determined to take your own way--
to try your will against mine?"
"Why should you talk to me like that?" cried the girl with great
agitation. "Do I not know what you have done for me--how you
have saved me from starvation? But, Aunt Hilda, what can I do?
Would you have me marry a man I hate?"
"A man, however, whom you will marry," said Mrs. Greatorex with
cold decision. "The marriage is arranged, Agatha. Dr. Darkham and
I have been talking it over, and we have arranged that the
marriage is to take place next April."
"The marriage will never take place," said Agatha.
"You are a mere child, and do not know what is good for you,"
said Mrs. Greatorex. "You have insane fancies that can never come
to anything. I really believe you think yourself in love with
that young man whom Reginald Greatorex has foisted on us, and who
has not so much as done you the honour to ask you in marriage."
"You are wrong there," said Agatha, in a low tone, but such a
triumphant one. "Dr. Dillwyn _has_ asked me to marry him."
"He has!" Mrs. Greatorex turned upon her, her light brown eyes
flashing. "And you never told me. Is this your return to me for
all my goodness?"
"How could I speak?" Agatha was white to her lips. "How could I?
You would have been so angry--you would not listen--you---"
She would have tried to go on and explain, but Mrs. Greatorex
broke into her disjointed, terrified speech in a sort of fury.
"So it is true, then? I didn't believe it of you. But Dr. Darkham
told me of your disgraceful conduct last night. That you so far
forgot yourself as to receive him, alone in the arbour, up to
half-past eight without a soul near you?"
"He did not know your were to be away at first. It was I who told
him. He wanted to see you very much."
"And I want to see him very much." Her voice struck cold to the
girl's heart. "I am so desirous of seeing him that I have sent a
note to him"--she frowned, her brow darkened--"commanding his
presence at my house to-morrow at twelve o'clock, to inquire into
his flirtation with my niece."
"I hope you have not done that," said the girl, turning very
pale.
"Certainly, I have done it. And I wish you to be in, Agatha, at
that time."
"I shall be in," said Agatha. "But to summon him like that--to
insult him--in my presence." Her voice was unsteady, she was
trembling. "It will do no good!" said she despairingly.
"I think it will. At all events I shall try it. This silly
intrigue must be brought to an end at once, and after that you
shall marry Dr. Darkham."
"I shall not do that, Aunt Hilda," said Agatha, in a low but
determined voice.