Rylton, getting out, takes her in his arms, and places her on the first step of the stones that lead to the hall.
Not one word has passed between them since that last reproach of hers.
And now they have reached the library. It is brilliantly lit. Tita, flinging off her wraps in a mechanical sort of way, looks round her. Nothing is changed—nothing! It is home. Home really—home as it always had been!
She is pale as a little ghost! Though she has looked at the room, she has not once looked at him! And, with a sort of feeling that he has made a bid for her favour, Rylton makes no attempt to go to her or say a word.
She is so silent, so calm, that doubts arise within him as to the success of his experiment—for experiment it must be called. He had bought in the old house expressly to please her the moment he was in a position to do so; had bought it, indeed, when she was showing a most settled determination to have nothing to do with him—directly after her refusal to accept a competence at his hands.
And now, how will it be? Her eyes are wandering round the room, noting each dear familiar object; at last they come to Rylton.
He is looking back at her—a little sad, a little hopeless. Their eyes meet.
Then all at once she gives way. She runs to him, and flings herself into his open arms.
"To do this for me! This!" cries she.
She clings to him. Her voice dies away.