The Grey Lady Part 14

The door opened and disclosed Mrs. Ingham-Baker, stout and cringing, in a ludicrous purple dressing-gown.

"May I come and warm myself at your fire, dear?" she inquired humbly; "my own is so low."

"That," said Agatha, "is because you are afraid of the servants."

Mrs. Ingham-Baker closed the door and came towards the fire with surrept.i.tious steps. It would not be truthful to say that she came on tiptoe, her build not warranting that mode of progression.

Agatha watched her without surprise. Mrs. Ingham-Baker always moved like that in her dressing-gown. Like many ladies, she put on stealth with that garment.

"How beautifully the Count plays!" said the mother.

"Beautifully!" answered Agatha.

And neither was thinking of Cipriani de Lloseta.

Mrs. Ingham-Baker gave a little sigh, and contemplated her wool-work bedroom slippers with an affection which their appearance certainly did not warrant. There was a suggestion of bygone defeats in sigh and att.i.tude--defeats borne with the resignation that followeth on habit.

"I don't believe," she said, "that he will ever marry again."

The girl tossed her pretty head.

"I shouldn't think any one would have him!"

She was not of the campaigners who admit defeat. Mrs. Ingham-Baker sighed again, and put out the other slipper.

"He must be very rich!--a palace in Barcelona--a palace!"

"Other people have castles in Spain," replied Agatha, without any of that filial respect which our grandmothers were pleased to affect.

There was nothing old-fashioned or effete about Agatha--she was, on the contrary, essentially modern.

The elder lady did not catch the allusion, and dived deep into thought. She supposed that Agatha had met and danced with other rich Spaniards, and could have any one of them by the mere raising of her little finger. Her att.i.tude towards her daughter was that of an old campaigner who, having done well in a bygone time, has the good sense to recognise the deeper science of a modern warfare, being quite content with a small command in the rear.

To carry out the simile, she now gathered from this conversational reconnaissance that the younger and abler general at the front was about to alter the object of attack. She had, in fact, come in not to warm, but to inform herself.

"Mrs. Harrington seemed to take to Luke," said Agatha, behind her hair.

"Yes," answered Mrs. Ingham-Baker, proceeding carefully, for she was well in hand--"wonderfully so! Poor Fitz seems to stand a very good chance of being cut out."

"Fitz will have to look after himself," opined the young lady. "Did she say anything to you after I came to bed? I came away on purpose."

Mrs. Ingham-Baker glanced towards the door, and drew her dressing- gown more closely round her.

"WELL," she began volubly, "of course I said what a nice fellow Luke was, so manly and simple, and all that. And she quite agreed with me. I said that perhaps he would get on after all and not bring disgrace upon all her kindness."

"What do you mean by THAT?" inquired Agatha.

"I don't know, my dear, but I said it. And she said she hoped so.

Then I asked her if she knew what his wages or salary, or whatever they are called, amounted to, and what his prospects are. She said she knew nothing about his salary, but that his prospects were quite a different matter. I pretended I did not know what she meant. So she gave a little sigh and said that one could not expect to live for ever. I said that I was sure I wished some people could, and she smiled in a funny way."

"You do not seem to have done it very well," the younger and more scientific campaigner observed coldly.

"Oh, but it was all right, Agatha dear. I understand her so well.

And I said I was sure that Luke would deserve anything he got; that of course it was different for Fitz, because his life is all set out straight before him. And she said I was quite right."

The report was finished, and Agatha sat for some moments with the brush on her lap looking into the fire with the deep thoughtfulness of a cool tactician.

"I am SURE he was struck with you," said the mother fervently.

After all she was only fit for a very small command very far in the rear. She never saw the singular light in Agatha's eyes.

"Do you think so?" said the girl, half dreamily.

"I am sure of it."

Agatha began brushing her hair again.

"What makes you think so?" she inquired through the snaky canopy.

"He never took his eyes off you when you were playing the Count's accompaniment."

The girl suddenly rose and went to the dressing-table. The candles there were lighted, one on each side of the mirror. Agatha saw that her mother was still admiring her bedroom slippers. Then she looked at the reflection of her own face with the smooth hair hanging straight down over either shoulder. She gazed long and curiously as if seeking something in the pleasant reflection.

"Did she say anything more about Fitz?" she asked suddenly, with an obvious change of the subject which Mrs. Ingham-Baker did not attempt to understand. She was not a subtle woman.

"Nothing."

Agatha came back and sat down.

"And you are quite sure she said exactly what you have told me, about not expecting to live for ever."

"Quite."

Then followed a long silence. A belated cab rattled past beneath the windows. There was apparently a cowl on the chimney connected with Agatha's room, for at intervals a faint groaning sound came, apparently from the fireplace.

Agatha leant forward with her chin on her two hands, her elbows on her knees. Her hair hung almost to the ground. She was looking into the coals with thoughtful eyes. The elder tactician waited in respectful silence.

"Suppose-- " said the girl suddenly, and stopped.

"Yes, my darling."

"Suppose we accept the Danefords' invitation?"

"To go to Malta?"

"Yes, to go to Malta."

Mrs. Ingham-Baker fell into a puzzled, hara.s.sed reverie. This modern warfare was so complicated. The younger, keener tactician did not seem to demand an answer to her supposition. She proceeded to follow out the train of her own thoughts in as complete an absorption as if she had been alone in the room.

"The voyage," she said, "would be a pleasant change if we selected a good boat."