"Very young, very slight. She is close to us now," said Fane, as he checked his horse.
Rupert bent forward with a look of eager expectation. He heard a footstep on the road; surely he knew it? He knew the voice well enough as it spoke his name.
"Mr. Vivian!"
"Kitty!" he said, eagerly. Then, in a soberer tone: "I beg your pardon, Mrs. Luttrell, I have just been calling at Netherglen and heard that you were ill."
"I am not ill, but I do not see visitors," said Kitty, in a constrained voice. "I wanted to speak to you; I saw you from the garden. I thought I should never make you hear."
"Will you wait one moment until I get down from my high perch? Fane will help me; I feel rather helpless at present."
"Can you turn back with me for a few minutes?"
"Certainly."
They walked for a few steps side by side, he with his hand resting on her arm for the sake of guidance. The soft spring breezes played upon their faces; the scent of wild flowers came to their nostrils, the song of building birds to their ears. But they noted none of these things.
Vivian stopped short at last, and spoke authoritatively.