“Are you going to drown her?” asks Tita, catching him by the arm.

She is laughing still.

“I hope not—­I hope not,” says Gower gloomily.  “Circumstances may be favourable.  We must pray for the best.”

He tears himself away from her with a profound sigh, and she is still standing, laughing in the hall, when the library door opens, and Rylton comes into the hall.

Her laughter dies quickly.  Rylton, after a swift, careless glance at her, goes towards the letter-rack and places a letter in it, then goes back to the library.  As he reaches the door, however, he hears little running feet behind him.

“Don’t go—­don’t go,” says Tita.  She has laid one hand upon his arm, and is looking up at him.  “You are angry with me, and——­”

“Angry?  No!”

“You are—­you know you are!  And you want to scold me, and——­”

“You are quite mistaken,” says Rylton, shaking off her hand gently, but with decision.  “I have no desire whatever to scold you.  Why should I?”

He goes past her into the library, but she follows him—­a lovely little penitent—­with lowered eyes.

“Do scold me!” says she.  “I was wrong; and I did it on purpose, too.”

“On purpose?”

“Yes,” hanging her pretty head; “I did it to annoy you!  You were so—­so nasty about Tom the other night—­do you remember?  So I wanted to make you really mad this time—­just for revenge, you know; but, honestly, I didn’t mean to be late for breakfast.”

“Didn’t you?” drearily.

“No, I didn’t; you must believe that.”  She goes nearer to him, and slips her hand through his arm.  “Maurice!” whispers she.  He makes her no answer.  She moves even closer to him, and, leaning her little head against his shoulder, looks up at him. "Do scold me!” says she again.  The tender, childish voice touches him; it goes home to his heart—­the heart that is so full of another.  He looks down at her, and, stooping, lays his lips on hers.  It can hardly be called a kiss; yet it satisfies her, to whom, as yet, kissing means so little.  “Now I am forgiven,” cries she triumphantly.  “Is that your scolding?”

“I told you I couldn’t scold you,” says he.

As he says this he sighs heavily.

“What a sigh!” She pushes him from her with both hands.  “After all, I believe you hate me!”

“No, I don’t,” says Rylton.

He smiles.  After all, why not be friends with her?  Had he explained that indifference was the word she should have used for hate, would she be any the wiser?

“No—­really?” She has flung herself into a chair, and is looking at him with her hands clasped behind her head.  “Well,” thoughtfully, “I don’t hate you, either.  That’s a blessing, isn’t it?”

“A great one.”

He feels a little piqued, however, at the nonchalance of her manner.  Why should it occur to her that she might hate him?  She has, unknowingly certainly, but unquestionably, blocked his way to the fulfilment of his desires, but he——­ He changes colour; is he standing in her way, then?