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Updated: June 12, 2025
Ingham-Baker, with the soft blandness of one for whom money has absolutely no attraction. "About enough to pay their washerwoman." There was a pause, and then Mrs. Ingham-Baker heaved a little sigh. "I am sure, dear," she said, "that in some way you will be rewarded for your great kindness to these poor orphan boys."
"You are not polite," she said, with a glance at his stalwart person which might have indicated that there were atoning merits. "I must say you are not polite, Luke. I do not think I will tell you. It would be still more humiliating to learn that you have forgotten my existence." "You cannot be Agatha!" he exclaimed. "Can I not? It happens that I AM Agatha Ingham-Baker at your service!"
Ingham-Baker became lost in a maternal fit of admiration. She was looking at Agatha with her head on one side. At intervals she glanced towards Fitz an inviting glance, as if to draw his attention to the fact that one of Nature's most perfect productions was waiting to gladden his vision. "Look!" that little glance seemed to say. "Look at Agatha. IS she not lovely?"
There was a subtle suggestion of finality in her tone, a tiniest note of weariness which almost said "Now we have reached our goal." "I suppose," said Mrs. Ingham-Baker doubtfully, "that it is really a fine vessel?" "So I am told." "I really expect," put in Agatha carelessly, "that one steamer is as good as another." Mrs. Harrington turned on her like suave lightning.
As she passed up the stairs, she noticed two letters on the hall table awaiting postage; one was addressed to Mrs. Ingham-Baker, the other to Luke, at Malta. Mrs. Harrington had ordered the blinds to be pulled up, and the daylight showed her face to be little changed. It had always been grey; the shadows on it now were grey; the eyes were active and bright.
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.
Ingham-Baker had, in fact, wondered more than a thousand times why the Honourable Mrs. Harrington should do all for the FitzHenrys and nothing for Agatha. She did not attempt to attribute reasons. She knew her sex too well for that. She merely wondered, which means that she cherished a question until it grew into a grievance. The end of it she knew would be a quarrel.
Ingham-Baker fell into a puzzled, harassed reverie. This modern warfare was so complicated. The younger, keener tactician did not seem to demand an answer to her supposition. She proceeded to follow out the train of her own thoughts in as complete an absorption as if she had been alone in the room. "The voyage," she said, "would be a pleasant change if we selected a good boat." Mrs.
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.
He merely came forward with his gravest smile and uttered the pleasant fictions appropriate to the occasion. Mrs. Ingham-Baker was marked in her gracious reception of the Spaniard, and the hostess watched her effusions with a queer little smile. At dinner Mrs. Ingham-Baker was opposite to the Count, who seemed preoccupied and somewhat absent-minded.
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