She had felt humiliated by his kindness to her (he was a generous giver of presents), and, with the instinct of an anarchist, had taken disparagement of his advice and defiance of his authority as the signs wherefrom she might infer surely that her face was turned to the light.  The result was that he was a little tired of her without being quite conscious of it; and she not at all afraid of him, and a little too conscious of it.

When she entered with her brightest smile in full play, Miss Wilson and Mr. Jansenius, seated at the table, looked somewhat like two culprits about to be indicted.  Miss Wilson waited for him to speak, deferring to his imposing presence.  But he was not ready, so she invited Agatha to sit down.

“Thank you,” said Agatha sweetly.  “Well, Uncle John, don’t you know me?”

“I have heard with regret from Miss Wilson that you have been very troublesome here,” he said, ignoring her remark, though secretly put out by it.

“Yes,” said Agatha contritely.  “I am so very sorry.”

Mr. Jansenius, who had been led by Miss Wilson to expect the utmost contumacy, looked to her in surprise.

“You seem to think,” said Miss Wilson, conscious of Mr. Jansenius’s movement, and annoyed by it, “that you may transgress over and over again, and then set yourself right with us,” (Miss Wilson never spoke of offences as against her individual authority, but as against the school community) “by saying that you are sorry.  You spoke in a very different tone at our last meeting.”

“I was angry then, Miss Wilson.  And I thought I had a grievance—­everybody thinks they have the same one.  Besides, we were quarrelling—­at least I was; and I always behave badly when I quarrel.  I am so very sorry.”

“The book was a serious matter,” said Miss Wilson gravely.  “You do not seem to think so.”

“I understand Agatha to say that she is now sensible of the folly of her conduct with regard to the book, and that she is sorry for it,” said Mr. Jansenius, instinctively inclining to Agatha’s party as the stronger one and the least dependent on him in a pecuniary sense.

“Have you seen the book?” said Agatha eagerly.

“No.  Miss Wilson has described what has occurred.”

“Oh, do let me get it,” she cried, rising.  “It will make Uncle John scream with laughing.  May I, Miss Wilson?”

“There!” said Miss Wilson, indignantly.  “It is this incorrigible flippancy of which I have to complain.  Miss Wylie only varies it by downright insubordination.”

Mr. Jansenius too was scandalized.  His fine color mounted at the idea of his screaming.  “Tut, tut!” he said, “you must be serious, and more respectful to Miss Wilson.  You are old enough to know better now, Agatha—­quite old enough.”

Agatha’s mirth vanished.  “What have I said What have I done?” she asked, a faint purple spot appearing in her cheeks.

“You have spoken triflingly of—­of the volume by which Miss Wilson sets great store, and properly so.”