"So I understand. I too am interested in them--merely because I like them." "I am afraid," continued Agatha, tentatively turning the pages of the music which he had set before her, speaking as if she was only half thinking of what she was saying--"I am afraid that Mrs. Harrington is the sort of person to do an injustice. She almost told my mother that she intended to leave all her money to one of them." Again that little flicker of the Count's patient eyelids. "Indeed!" he said. "To which one?" Agatha shrugged her shoulders and began playing. "That is not so much the question. It is the principle--the injustice--that one objects to." "Of course," murmured De Lloseta, with a little nod. "Of course." They went on playing, and in the other room Mrs. Harrington talked to Luke. Mrs. Ingham-Baker appeared to slumber, but her friend and hostess suspected her of listening. She therefore raised her voice at intervals, knowing the exquisite torture of unsatisfied curiosity, and Mrs. Ingham-Baker heard the word "Fitz," and the magic syllables "money," more than once, but no connecting phrase to soothe her aching mental palate. "And is your life a hard one?" Mrs. Harrington was asking. She had been leading up to this question for some time--inviting his confidence, seeking the extent of her own power. A woman is not content with possessing power; she wishes to see the evidence of it in the lives of others. "No," answered Luke, unconsciously disappointing her; "I cannot say that it is." He was strictly, sternly on his guard. There was not the faintest possibility of his ever forgiving this woman. "And you are getting on in your career?" "Yes, thank you." Mrs. Harrington's grey eyes rested on his face searchingly. "Perhaps I could help you," she said, "with my small influence, or--or by other means." "Thank you," he said again without anger, serene in his complete independence. Mrs. Harrington frowned. A dream passed through her mind--a great desire. What if she could crush this man's pride? For his six years' silence had never ceased to gall her. What if she could humble him so completely that he would come asking the help she so carelessly offered? With a woman's instinct she hit upon the only possible means of attaining this end. She did not pause to argue that a nature such as Luke's would never ask anything for itself--that it is precisely such as he who have no pride when they ask for another, sacrificing even that for that other's sake. Following her own thoughts, Mrs. Harrington looked pensively into the room where Agatha was sitting. The girl was playing, with a little frown of concentration. The wonderful music close to her ear was busy arousing that small possibility. Agatha did not know that any one was looking at her. The two pink shades of the piano candles cast a becoming light upon her face and form.