Noel to him."
"The whole duty of woman," murmured Barbara, "includes a little
madness."
Agatha looked at her in silence.
"I can't make you out," she said at last; "you're not a fool!"
"Only a knave."
"You may think it right to joke over the ruin of Miltoun's life,"
murmured Agatha; "I don't."
Barbara's eyes grew bright; and in a hard voice she answered:
"The world is not your nursery, Angel!"
Agatha closed her lips very tightly, as who should imply: "Then it ought
to be!" But she only answered:
"I don't think you know that I saw you just now in Gustard's."
Barbara eyed her for a moment in amazement, and began to laugh.
"I see," she said; "monstrous depravity--poor old Gustard's!" And still
laughing that dangerous laugh, she turned on her heel and went out.
At dinner and afterwards that evening she was very silent, having on
her face the same look that she wore out hunting, especially when in
difficulties of any kind, or if advised to 'take a pull.' When she got
away to her own room she had a longing to relieve herself by some kind
of action that would hurt someone, if only herself. To go to bed and
toss about in a fever--for she knew herself in these thwarted moods--was
of no use! For a moment she thought of going out. That would be fun, and
hurt them, too; but it was difficult. She did not want to be seen, and
have the humiliation of an open row.
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