“I do not wish Miss Wylie to do anything except what pleases her best.  It seems to me that writing letters to your tradespeople cannot be a very pleasant occupation.”

“Pray don’t mind me,” said Agatha.  “It is not the least trouble to me.  I used to write all Jane’s letters for her at school.  Suppose I write the letter first, and then we can have the duet.  You will not mind waiting five minutes?”

“I can wait as long as you please, of course.  But it seems such an absurd abuse of your good nature that I cannot help protest!”

“Oh, let it wait!” exclaimed Jane.  “Such a ridiculous fuss to make about asking Agatha to write a letter, just because you happen to want her to play you your duets!  I am certain she is heartily sick and tired of them.”

Agatha, to escape the altercation, went to the library and wrote the letter.  When she returned to the drawing-room, she found no one there; but Sir Charles came in presently.

“I am so sorry, Miss Wylie,” he said, as he opened the piano for her, “that you should be incommoded because my wife is silly enough to be jealous.”

“Jealous!”

“Of course.  Idiocy!”

“Oh, you are mistaken,” said Agatha, incredulously.  “How could she possibly be jealous of me?”

“She is jealous of everybody and everything,” he replied bitterly, “and she cares for nobody and for nothing.  You do not know what I have to endure sometimes from her.”

Agatha thought her most discreet course was to sit down immediately and begin “I would that my love.”  Whilst she played and sang, she thought over what Sir Charles had just let slip.  She had found him a pleasant companion, light-hearted, fond of music and fun, polite and considerate, appreciative of her talents, quick-witted without being oppressively clever, and, as a married man, disinterested in his attentions.  But it now occurred to her that perhaps they had been a good deal together of late.

Sir Charles had by this time wandered from his part into hers; and he now recalled her to the music by stopping to ask whether he was right.  Knowing by experience what his difficulty was likely to be, she gave him his note and went on.  They had not been singing long when Jane came back and sat down, expressing a hope that her presence would not disturb them.  It did disturb them.  Agatha suspected that she had come there to watch them, and Sir Charles knew it.  Besides, Lady Brandon, even when her mind was tranquil, was habitually restless.  She could not speak because of the music, and, though she held an open book in her hand, she could not read and watch simultaneously.  She gaped, and leaned to one end of the sofa until, on the point of overbalancing’ she recovered herself with a prodigious bounce.  The floor vibrated at her every movement.  At last she could keep silence no longer.

“Oh, dear!” she said, yawning audibly.  “It must be five o’clock at the very earliest.”