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Updated: May 13, 2025
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.
Ingham-Baker's proud eyes rested complacently on her offspring. "Do you like her dress?" she asked in a whisper only audible to him. But Agatha knew the gist of it. The arm and shoulder nearest to them gave a little jerk of self-consciousness. "Very pretty," replied Fitz; and Mrs. Ingham-Baker stored the remark away for future use.
She listened to the music herself, but it did not seem to touch her. For sound ascends, and this was already above Agatha Ingham-Baker's head. The piece over, Mrs. Harrington selected another. "You did not go across to Mallorca?" she inquired, in a voice that did not reach the other room. "No," he answered, "I did not go across to Mallorca."
Ingham-Baker's motherly instinct would have narrowed itself down to her. But in the absence of her own child, Luke's sorry plight appealed to that larger maternal instinct which makes good women in unlikely places. Mrs. Ingham-Baker was, however, one of the many who learn to curb the impulse of a charitable intention.
Ingham-Baker's imagination was a somewhat ponderous affair, and, when she trusted to it, it usually ran her violently down a steep place. She concluded to say nothing more about the late Admiral FitzHenry. "The boy," said Mrs. Harrington, returning to the hapless Luke, "has had every advantage. I suppose he will try to explain matters when he comes. I could explain it in one word stupidity."
Harrington wrote at her desk, and Mrs. Ingham-Baker read the Times. "I have come," he remembered saying, "to bid you good-bye." He heard again the rustle of Mrs. Ingham-Baker's newspaper, and again he saw the look in Agatha's eyes as they met his. He would remember that look to the end of his life; he was living on it now. Agatha, in her rather high-pitched society tones, was the first to speak.
Beneath her black curls Mrs. Ingham-Baker's beady eyes were very much on the alert. "In the library, James," said Mrs. Harrington and the two jet ornaments bending over the silken needlework gave a little throb of disappointment. "Mr. Pawson," announced the lady of the house, "is the legal light who casts a shadow of obscurity over my affairs." And with that she left the room.
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