The first thing Eleanor saw when she had pulled off her flat,—was that she was not in a kitchen. A table with writing implements met her eye; and turning, she discovered the person one of them at least had come to see, lying on a sort of settee or rude couch, with a pillow under his head. He looked pale enough, and changed, and lay wrapped in a dressing-gown. If Eleanor was astonished, so certainly was he. But he rose to his feet, albeit scarce able to stand, and received his visitors with a simplicity and grace of nature which was in singular contrast with all the dignities of conventional life.
"Mr. Rhys!" stammered Eleanor, "I had no idea we were breaking into your room. I thought Julia was taking me into Mrs. Williams's part of the house."
"I am very glad to see you!" he said; and the words were endorsed by the pleasant grave face and the earnest grasp of the hand. But how ill and thin he looked! Eleanor was shocked.
"It was beginning to rain," she repeated, "and I followed where Julia led me. I thought she was bringing me to Mrs. Williams's premises. I beg you will excuse me."
"I have made Mrs. Williams give me this part of the house because I think it is the pleasantest. Won't you do me the honour to sit down?"
He was bringing a chair for her, but looked so little able for it that
Eleanor took it from his hand.
"Please put yourself on the sofa again, Mr. Rhys—We will not interrupt you a moment."
"Yes you will," said Julia, "unless you want to walk in the rain. Mr.
Rhys, are you better to-day?"
"I am as well as usual, thank you, Julia."
"I am sorry to see that is not very well, Mr. Rhys," said Eleanor.