such conceited fools!"

Agatha had strolled to the window, and was looking discontentedly at the
prospect, as she had often done at school when alone, and sometimes did
now in society. The door opened again, and Sir Charles appeared. He,
too, looked round, but when his roving glance reached Agatha, it cast
anchor; and he came in.

"Are you busy just now, Miss Wylie?" he asked.

"Yes," said Jane hastily. "She is going to write a letter for me."

"Really, Jane," he said, "I think you are old enough to write your
letters without troubling Miss Wylie."

"When I do write my own letters you always find fault with them," she
retorted.

"I thought perhaps you might have leisure to try over a duet with me,"
he said, turning to Agatha.

"Certainly," she replied, hoping to smooth matters by humoring him. "The
letter will do any time before post hour."

Jane reddened, and said shortly, "I will write it myself, if you will
not."

Sir Charles quite lost his temper. "How can you be so damnably rude?"
he said, turning upon his wife. "What objection have you to my singing
duets with Miss Wylie?"

"Nice language that!" said Jane. "I never said I objected; and you have
no right to drag her away to the piano just when she is going to write a
letter for me."

"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 s