bless. He was quite genial and pleasant, greeting Mrs. Ingham-Baker
as an old friend, and thereby distinctly upsetting that lady's
mental equilibrium. She had endeavoured to prevent this meeting,
because she thought it was not fair to Fitz. She noted the approval
with which Mrs. Harrington's keen eyes rested on the young sailor,
and endeavoured somewhat obviously to draw Agatha's attention to it
by frowns and heavily significant nods, which her dutiful daughter
ignored.

Mrs. Harrington glanced impatiently at the clock.

"That stupid Count is late," she said.

"Is the Count de Lloseta coming?" asked Mrs. Ingham-Baker eagerly.

From the strictly impartial standpoint of a mother she felt sure
that the Count admired Agatha.

"Yes," answered Mrs. Harrington, with a cynical smile.

And Mrs. Ingham-Baker, heedless of the sarcasm, was already engaged
in an exhaustive examination of Agatha's dress. She crossed the
room and delicately rectified some microscopic disorder of the
snake-like hair. With a final glance up and down, she crossed her
arms at her waist and looked complacently towards the door.

The Count came in, and failed to realise the hope that apparently
buoyed Mrs. Ingham-Baker's maternal heart. He did not strike an
attitude or cover his dazzled eyes when they rested on Agatha. He
merely came forward with his gravest smile and uttered the pleasant