"O my Lady," quoth Agatha, "what seemed he to thee ?" The lady stood and turned and looked at her; she was slender and dark and sleek; and though her lips moved not, and her eyes did not change, a smile seemed to steal over her face whether she would or not.

The Lady stamped her foot and lifted her hand and cried out.

"What! dost thou deem thyself meet for him ?" And she caught her by the folds over her bosom.

But Agatha looked up into her face with a simple smile as of a child: "Dost thou deem him meet for thee, my Lady--he a thrall, and thou so great ?" The Lady took her hand from her, but her face flamed with anger and she stamped on the ground again: "What dost thou mean ?" she said; "am I not great enough to have what I want when it lieth close to my hand ?" Agatha looked on her sweetly, and said in a soft voice: "Stretch out thine hand for it then." The Lady looked at her grimly, and said: "I understand thy jeer; thou meanest that he will not be moved by me, he being so fair, and I being but somewhat fair.

Wilt thou have me beat thee?
Nay, I will send thee to the White Pillar when we come home to Utterbol." The woman smiled again, and said: "My Lady, when thou hast sent me to the White Pillar, or the Red, or the Black, my stripes will not mend the matter for thee, or quench the fear of thine heart that by this time, since he is a grown man, he loveth some other.