"Fitz will have to look after himself," opined the young lady. "Did she say anything to you after I came to bed? I came away on purpose." Mrs. Ingham-Baker glanced towards the door, and drew her dressing-gown more closely round her. "WELL," she began volubly, "of course I said what a nice fellow Luke was, so manly and simple, and all that. And she quite agreed with me. I said that perhaps he would get on after all and not bring disgrace upon all her kindness." "What do you mean by THAT?" inquired Agatha. "I don't know, my dear, but I said it. And she said she hoped so. Then I asked her if she knew what his wages or salary, or whatever they are called, amounted to, and what his prospects are. She said she knew nothing about his salary, but that his prospects were quite a different matter. I pretended I did not know what she meant. So she gave a little sigh and said that one could not expect to live for ever. I said that I was sure I wished some people could, and she smiled in a funny way." "You do not seem to have done it very well," the younger and more scientific campaigner observed coldly. "Oh, but it was all right, Agatha dear. I understand her so well. And I said I was sure that Luke would deserve anything he got; that of course it was different for Fitz, because his life is all set out straight before him. And she said I was quite right." The report was finished, and Agatha sat for some moments with the brush on her lap looking into the fire with the deep thoughtfulness of a cool tactician. "I am SURE he was struck with you," said the mother fervently. After all she was only fit for a very small command very far in the rear. She never saw the singular light in Agatha's eyes. "Do you think so?" said the girl, half dreamily. "I am sure of it." Agatha began brushing her hair again. "What makes you think so?" she inquired through the snaky canopy. "He never took his eyes off you when you were playing the Count's accompaniment." The girl suddenly rose and went to the dressing-table. The candles there were lighted, one on each side of the mirror. Agatha saw that her mother was still admiring her bedroom slippers. Then she looked at the reflection of her own face with the smooth hair hanging straight down over either shoulder. She gazed long and curiously as if seeking something in the pleasant reflection. "Did she say anything more about Fitz?" she asked suddenly, with an obvious change of the subject which Mrs. Ingham-Baker did not attempt to understand. She was not a subtle woman. "Nothing." Agatha came back and sat down. "And you are quite sure she said exactly what you have told me, about not expecting to live for ever." "Quite." Then followed a long silence. A belated cab rattled past beneath the windows. There was apparently a cowl on the chimney connected with Agatha's room, for at intervals a faint groaning sound came, apparently from the fireplace.