He was male, so she
must exert some kind of power over him. They trailed home by the
fish-ponds, and Hermione told them about the quarrel of two male swans,
who had striven for the love of the one lady. She chuckled and laughed
as she told how the ousted lover had sat with his head buried under his
wing, on the gravel.
When they arrived back at the house, Hermione stood on the lawn and
sang out, in a strange, small, high voice that carried very far:
'Rupert! Rupert!' The first syllable was high and slow, the second
dropped down. 'Roo-o-opert.'
But there was no answer. A maid appeared.
'Where is Mr Birkin, Alice?' asked the mild straying voice of Hermione.
But under the straying voice, what a persistent, almost insane WILL!
'I think he's in his room, madam.'
'Is he?'
Hermione went slowly up the stairs, along the corridor, singing out in
her high, small call:
'Ru-oo-pert! Ru-oo pert!'
She came to his door, and tapped, still crying: 'Roo-pert.'
'Yes,' sounded his voice at last.
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