her usual incisiveness, and Luke was listening gravely. When the piece was done, Mrs. Harrington said over her shoulder -
"Go on. You get on splendidly together."
And she returned to her conversation with Luke.
The Count looked through his music.
"How devoted she is to her nephews!" said Agatha, tapping the ivory keyboard with a dainty finger.
"Yes."
"And apparently to both alike."
There was a little flicker beneath the Count's lowered eyelids.
"Apparently so," he answered, with assumed hesitation.
Agatha continued playfully, tapping the ivory notes with her middle finger--the others being gracefully curled.
"You speak as if you doubted the impartiality."
"I am happy to say I always doubt a woman's impartiality."
She laughed and drew the stool nearer to the piano,
louis vuitton outlet. It would have been easier to drift away into the conversational channel of vague generality which he opened up. He waited with some curiosity.
"Do you think there is a preference?" she said, falling into his small trap.
"Ah! There you ask me something that is beyond my poor powers of discrimination. Mrs. Harrington does not wear her feelings on her sleeve. She is difficult."
"Very," admitted Agatha, with a little sigh.
"I am naturally interested in the FitzHenrys," she went on after a little pause, with baffling frankness. "You see, we were children together."
"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,
http://www.google.com/, 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.
Mrs. Harrington's eyes came surreptitiously round. Luke also was looking at Agatha. And a queer little smile hovered across Mrs. Harrington's lips. The dream was assuming more tangible proportions. Mrs. Harrington began to see her way; already her inordinate love of power was at work. She could not admit even to herself that Luke FitzHenry had escaped her. Women never know when they have had enough.
"How long are you to be in London?" she asked, with a sudden kindness.
"Only a fortnight."
"Well, you must often come and see me. I shall have the Ingham- Bakers staying with me a few weeks longer. It is dull for poor Agatha with only two old women in the house. Come to lunch to- morrow, and we can do something in the afternoon."
"Thank you very much," said Luke.
"You will come?"
"I should like nothing better."
And so the music went on--and the game. Some played a losing game from the beginning, and others played without quite knowing the stake. Some held to certain rules, while others made the rules as they went along--as children do--ignorant of the tears that must inevitably follow. But Fate placed all the best cards in Mrs. Harrington's hand.
Luke and the Count Cipriani de Lloseta went out of the house together. They walked side by side for some yards while
相关的主题文章：
http://unfiny.com/joint/bbs/joyful.cgi/joyful.cgi http://baby.caregoods.org/interior_goods/item-509719
Chat Sentinela
