ant there was a silence, in
which Percival felt shocked and embarrassed at his own want of thought.
He had forgotten. He had been thinking solely of Brian's relations with
Elizabeth. It had not occurred to him for a long time that Angela had
once been on the point of marriage with the man--the brother--whom Brian
Luttrell had shot dead at Netherglen.

He said, "I beg your pardon," in a constrained, reluctant voice, and sat
in silence, feeling that he ought to go, yet not liking to tear himself
away. For the first time he was struck by the beauty of Angela's
patience. How she must have suffered! he thought to himself, as he
remembered her sisterly care of Brian, her silence about her own great
loss, her quiet acceptance of the inevitable. And he had prosed by the
hour to this woman about his own griefs and love-troubles! What an
egotist she must think him! What a fool! Percival felt hot about the
ears with self-contempt. He rose to go, feeling that he should not
venture to present himself to her again very easily. He did not even
like to say that he was ashamed of his lapse of memory.

Angela rose, too. She would have spoken sooner, but she had been
swallowing down the rising tears. She very seldom mentioned Richard
Luttrell now.

They were standing, still silent, in this attitude of expectancy--each
thinking that the other would speak first--when the door opened, and Mr.
Vivian came in. Percival hailed his arrival with a feeling between
impatience and relief. Rupert wanted him to stay, but he said that he
must go at once; business called him away.

"There is a letter for you, Angela," said Vivian. "It was on the
hall-table. Fane gave it me. I hope my sister has been scolding you for
not coming to the wedding, Heron. It went off very well, but we wanted
you. Have you heard the latest news from Egypt?"

And then they launched into a discussion of politics, from which they
were presently diverted by a remark made by Angela as she laid her hand
gently on Rupert's arm.

"Excuse me," she said. "I think I had better show both you and Mr. Heron
this letter. It is from Mrs. Hugo Luttrell."

"From Kitty!" said the brother. Rupert's face changed a little, but he
did not speak. Angela handed the letter first to Percival.

"Dear Miss Vivian," Kitty's letter began, "I am sorry to trouble you,
but I want to know whether you will give a message for me to Mr. Brian
Luttrell. Mrs. Luttrell is a little better, and is able to say