That very evening they set out for Netherglen.
Meanwhile, Percival Heron was calling at the Vivians' house in Kensington. Angela, who had hitherto seen him in very rough and ready costume, was a little surprised when he appeared one afternoon attired in clothes of the most faultless cut, and looking as handsome and idle as if he had never done anything in his life but pay morning calls. He had come, perhaps by accident, perhaps by design, on the day when she was at home to visitors from three to six; and, although she had not been very long in London, her drawing-room was crowded with visitors. The story of the expedition to the Rocas Reef had made a sensation in London society; everybody was anxious to see the heroes and heroines of the story, and Percival soon found himself as much a centre of attraction as Angela herself.
She watched him keenly, wondering whether he would be annoyed by the attention he was receiving; but his face wore a tranquil smile of amusement which reassured her. Once he made a movement as if to go, but she managed to say to him in passing:—
"Do not go yet unless you are obliged. Rupert is out with Mr. Fane."
"I did not come to see Rupert," said Percival, with a laugh in his brilliant eyes.
"I have something to say to you, too," she went on seriously.
"Really? Then I will wait."
He had to wait some time before the room was cleared of guests. When at last they found themselves alone, the day was closing in, and the wood fire cast strange flickering lights and shadows over the walls. The room was full of the scent of violets and white hyacinths. Percival leaned back in an easy chair, with an air of luxurious enjoyment. And yet he was not quite as much at his ease as he looked.
"You had something to say to me," he began, boldly. "I know perfectly well what it is. You think I ought to have come to the wedding, and you want to tell me so."