"Well, you are right, it is not. If I had put myself into rivalry with Hugo Luttrell, of course, I should have to hold my tongue. But as I am only an outsider—an old friend who takes a kindly interest in the child that he has seen grow up—I think I am justified in saying, Kitty, that I do not consider young Luttrell worthy of you."
The calm, unimpassioned tones produced their usual effect on poor Kitty. She felt thoroughly crushed. And yet there was a rising anger in her heart. What reason had Rupert Vivian to hold himself so far aloof from her? Was he not Percival's friend? Why should he look down from such heights of superiority upon Percival's sister?
"I speak to you in this way," Rupert went on, with studied quietness, "because you have less of the guardianship usually given to girls of your age than most girls have. Mrs. Heron is, I know, exceedingly kind and amiable, but she has her own little ones to think of, and then she, too, is young. Miss Murray, although sensible and right-thinking in every way, is too near your own age to be a guide for you. Percival is away. Therefore, you must let me take an elder brother's place to you for once, and warn you when I see that you are in danger."
Kitty had risen from her knees, and was now standing, with her face still averted, and her lips hidden by a feather fan which she had taken from the mantelpiece. There was a sharper ring in her voice as she replied.
"You seem to think I need warning. You seem to think I cannot take care of myself. You have reminded me once or twice lately that I was a woman now and not a child. Pray, allow me the woman's privilege of choosing for myself."
"I am sorry to have displeased you," said Vivian, gravely. "Am I to understand that my warning comes too late?"
There was a moment's pause before she answered coldly:—
"Quite too late."
"Your choice has fallen upon Hugo Luttrell?"
Kitty was stripping the feathers ruthlessly from her fan. She answered with an agitated little laugh: