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
surreptitious 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 attitude--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