Rosamund had taken up the “Paradiso” and was shutting it.
“I think I’ll go alone,” she said gently but quite firmly.
“What are you reading?”
“Dante’s ‘Paradiso.’”
She put the book down on a table at her elbow.
“I don’t believe you meant me to be let in,” he said bluntly.
“I didn’t know it was you. How could I know?”
“And if you had known?”
She hesitated. His brows contracted till he looked almost fierce.
“I’m not sure. Honestly I’m not sure. I’ve been quite alone since Friday, when they went. And I’d got it into my head that I wasn’t going to see any one till to-morrow, except, of course, at the church.”