"You cannot be Agatha!" he exclaimed.

"Can I not? It happens that I AM Agatha Ingham-Baker--at your
service!"

She swept him a low curtsey and sailed away to the mantelpiece,
thereby giving him the benefit of the exquisite fit of her dress.
She stood with one arm on the mantel-shelf, looking back at him over
her shoulder, summing him up with a little introspective nod.

"I should like to know why I cannot be Agatha," she asked, with that
keen feminine scent for a personality which leads to the uttering of
so much nonsense, and the brewing of so much mischief.

"I never thought--" he began.

"Yes?"

He laughed and refused to go any farther, although she certainly
made the way easy for him.

"In fact," she said mockingly, "you are disappointed. You never
expected me to turn out such a horrid--"

"You know it isn't that," he interrupted, with a flash of his gloomy
eyes.

"Not now," she said quietly, glancing towards the door. "I hear
Mrs. Harrington coming downstairs. You can tell me afterwards."