He opened his Montaigne and read on very happily for half an hour. The house seemed entirely deserted.
'All the servants gone too!' he said presently, looking up and listening. 'Anybody who wants the spoons needn't trouble about me. I don't leave this fire.'
And he plunged back again into his book. At last there was a sound of the swing door which separated Robert's passage from the front hall opening and shutting. Steps came quickly towards the study, the handle was turned, and there on the threshold stood Rose.
He turned quickly round in his chair with a look of astonishment. She also started as she saw him.
'I did not know any one was in,' she said awkwardly, the colour spreading over her face. 'I came to look for a book.'
She made a delicious picture as she stood framed in the darkness of the doorway; her long dress caught up round her in one hand, the other resting on the handle. A gust of some delicate perfume seemed to enter the room with her, and a thrill of pleasure passed through Langham's senses.
'Can I find anything for you?' he said, springing up.
She hesitated a moment, then apparently made up her mind that it would be foolish to retreat, and, coming forward, she said, with an accent as coldly polite as she could make it,—
'Pray don't disturb yourself. I know exactly where to find it.'
She went up to the shelves where Robert kept his novels, and began running her fingers over the books, with slightly knitted brows and a mouth severely shut. Langham, still standing, watched her and presently stepped forward.