“None whatever.  And as I was the aggrieved party on that—­stay, don’t go.  I will never allude to it again.  I am growing afraid of you.  You used to be afraid of me.”

“Yes; and you used to bully me.  You have a habit of bullying women who are weak enough to fear you.  You are a great deal cleverer than I, and know much more, I dare say; but I am not in the least afraid of you now.”

“You have no reason to be, and never had any.  Henrietta, if she were alive, could testify that it there is a defect in my relations with women, it arises from my excessive amiability.  I could not refuse a woman anything she had set her heart upon—­except my hand in marriage.  As long as your sex are content to stop short of that they can do as they please with me.”

“How cruel!  I thought you were nearly engaged to Gertrude.”

“The usual interpretation of a friendship between a man and a woman!  I have never thought of such a thing; and I am sure she never has.  We are not half so intimate as you and Sir Charles.”

“Oh, Sir Charles is married.  And I advise you to get married if you wish to avoid creating misunderstandings by your friendships.”

Trefusis was struck.  Instead of answering, he stood, after one startled glance at her, looking intently at the knuckle of his forefinger.

“Do take pity on our poor sex,” said Agatha maliciously.  “You are so rich, and so very clever, and really so nice looking that you ought to share yourself with somebody.  Gertrude would be only too happy.”

Trefusis grinned and shook his head, slowly but emphatically.

“I suppose I should have no chance,” continued Agatha pathetically.

“I should be delighted, of course,” he replied with simulated confusion, but with a lurking gleam in his eye that might have checked her, had she noticed it.

“Do marry me, Mr. Trefusis,” she pleaded, clasping her hands in a rapture of mischievous raillery.  “Pray do.”

“Thank you,” said Trefusis determinedly; “I will.”

“I am very sure you shan’t,” said Agatha, after an incredulous pause, springing up and gathering her skirt as if to run away.  “You do not suppose I was in earnest, do you?”

“Undoubtedly I do. I am in earnest.”

Agatha hesitated, uncertain whether he might not be playing with her as she had just been playing with him.  “Take care,” she said.  “I may change my mind and be in earnest, too; and then how will you feel, Mr. Trefusis?”

“I think, under our altered relations, you had better call me Sidney.”

“I think we had better drop the joke.  It was in rather bad taste, and I should not have made it, perhaps.”

“It would be an execrable joke; therefore I have no intention of regarding it as one.  You shall be held to your offer, Agatha.  Are you in love with me?”

“Not in the least.  Not the very smallest bit in the world.  I do not know anybody with whom I am less in love or less likely to be in love.”