Chapter 14

"What has come over Gertrude?" said Agatha one day to Lady
Brandon.

"Why? Is anything the matter with her?"

"I don't know; she has not been the same since she poisoned
herself. And why did she not tell about it? But for Trefusis we
should never have known."

"Gertrude always made secrets of things."

"She was in a vile temper for two days after; and now she is
quite changed. She falls into long reveries, and does not hear a
word of what is going on around. Then she starts into life again,
and begs your pardon with the greatest sweetness for not catching
what you have said."

"I hate her when she is polite; it is not natural to her. As to
her going to sleep, that is the effect of the hemlock. We know a
man who took a spoonful of strychnine in a bath, and he never was
the same afterwards."

"I think she is making up her mind to encourage Erskine," said
Agatha. "When I came here he hardly dared speak to her--at least,
she always snubbed him. Now she lets him talk as much as he
likes, and actually sends him on messages and allows him to carry
things for her."

"Yes. I never saw anybody like Gertrude in my life. In London, if
men were attentive to her, she sat on them for being officious;
and if they let her alone she was angry at being neglected.
Erskine is quite good enough for her, I think."

Here Erskine appeared at the door and looked round the room.

"She's not here," said Jane.

"I am seeking Sir Charles," he said, withdrawing somewhat
stiffly.

"What a lie!" said Jane, discomfited by his reception of her
jest. "He was talking to Sir Charles ten minutes ago in the
billiard room. Men are such conceited fools!"

Agatha had strolled to the window, and was looking discontentedly
at the prospect, as she had often done at school when alone, and
sometimes did now in society. The door opened again, and Sir
Charles appeared. He, too, looked round, but when his roving
glance reached Agatha, it cast anchor; and he came in.

"Are you busy just now, Miss Wylie?" he asked.

"Yes," said Jane hastily. "She is going to write a letter for
me."

"Really, Jane," he said, "I think you are old enough to write
your letters without troubling Miss Wylie."

"When I do write my own letters you always find fault with them,"
she retorted.

"I thought perhaps you might have leisure to try over a duet with
me," he said, turning to Agatha.

"Certainly," she replied, hoping to smooth matters by humoring
him. "The letter will do any time before post hour."

Jane reddened, and said shortly, "I will write it myself, if you
will not."

Sir Charles quite lost his temper. "How can you be so damnably