"Shall I tell him now—to-day?" she said, seriously.
"Yes, now, to-day," said Angela. "You will find him in the library."
"But he will think it so strange if I go to him there."
"Not at all. I would not send you to him if I did not know what he would feel. Kitty, he is not happy. Can you not make him a little happier?"
And then Angela, who had meanwhile led her guest to the library door, opened it and made her enter, almost against her will. She stood for a moment inside the door, doubting whether to go or stay. Then she looked at Rupert, and decided that she would stay.
He was alone. He was leaning his head on one hand in an attitude of listlessness, which showed that he was out of spirits.
"Is that you, Angela?" he said.
"No," said Kitty, softly. "It's not Angela: it's me."
She was very ungrammatical, but her tone was sweet, and Rupert smiled. His face looked as if the sunshine had fallen on it.
"Me, is it?" he said, half-rising. Then, more gravely—"I am very glad to see you—no, not to see you: that's not it, is it?—to have you here."