Mrs. 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. For all she knew--or all she wanted to know--it might refer to Agatha's self. "I am afraid I shall lose her, you know--horribly afraid," whispered Mrs. Ingham-Baker, knowing the value of competition in all things. Fitz looked genuinely sympathetic, and glanced at Agatha again, wondering what disease had marked her for its own. Mrs. Ingham-Baker thought fit to explain indirectly, as was her wont. "She is very much admired," she said under her breath, with a sigh and a lugubrious shake of the head. "Oh," murmured Fitz, with a smile. "Yes," answered Mrs. Ingham-Baker. She heaved a sigh, observed a decent pause, and then added, "Does it surprise you?" "Not in the least. It is most natural." "You think so--really?" "Of course I do," answered Fitz. There was another little pause, and Mrs. Ingham-Baker then said, in a tone of friendly confidence-- "I advise you to secure your dances early. She will be engaged three deep in a very short time--a lot of mere boys she does not want to dance with." Fitz thanked her fervently, and went to help Mrs. Harrington. Mrs. Ingham-Baker sat back in her chair, well pleased with herself. Like many of her kind, she began the social campaign with the initial error of underrating her natural foes--young men. CHAPTER V. THE TEAR ON THE SWORD. But over all things brooding slept The quiet sense of something lost. Agatha was singularly uncertain of herself. If it had not been for her education--at the Brighton school they had taught her that tears are not only idle, but also harmful to the complexion--she would have felt inclined to weep. There was something wrong about the world this evening, and she did not know what it was. Little things irritated her--such as the creak of Mrs. Harrington's rich silk dress as that lady breathed. Agatha almost hated Fitz, without knowing why. She wanted Luke to come and speak to her, and yet the necessity of limiting their conversation to mere social platitudes made her hope that he would not do so.