"That is not a fair question. You had better ask him."
"I think I do not need," said Rupert. Then, in a low and rather ironical tone, he added, "Pray accept my congratulations." She bowed her head with a scornful smile, and let him leave the room without another word. What was the use of speaking? The severance was complete between them now.
They had quarrelled before, but Kitty felt, bitterly enough, that now they were not quarrelling. She had built up a barrier between them which he was the last man to tear down. He would simply turn his back upon her now and go his own way. And she did not know how to call him back. She felt vaguely that her innocent little wiles were lost upon him. She might put on her prettiest dresses, and sing her sweetest songs, but they would never cause him to linger a moment longer by her side than was absolutely necessary. He had given her up.
She felt, too, with a great swelling of heart, that her roused pride had made her imply what was not true. He would always think that she was engaged to Hugo Luttrell. She had, at least, made him understand that she was prepared to accept Hugo when he proposed to her. And all the world knew that Hugo meant to propose—Kitty herself knew it best of all.
The day came on which Rupert was to return to London. Scarcely a word had been interchanged between him and Kitty since the conversation which has been recorded. She thought, as she stole furtive glances towards him from time to time, that he looked harassed, and even depressed, but in manner he was more cheerful than it was his custom to be. When the time came for saying good-bye, he held out his hand to her with a kindly smile.
"Come, Kitty," he said, "let us be friends."
Her heart gave a wild leap which seemed almost to suffocate her; she looked up into his face with changing colour and eager eyes.
"I am sorry," she began, with a little gasp. "I did not mean all I said the other day, and I wanted to tell you——"
To herself it seemed as if these words were a tremendous self-betrayal; to Vivian they were less than nothing—commonplace sentences enough; uttered in a frightened, childish tone.
"Did you not mean it all?" he said, giving her hand a friendly pressure. "Well, never mind; neither did I. We are quits, are we not? I will not obtrude my advice upon you again, and you must forgive me for having already done so. Good-bye, my dear child; I trust you will be happy."