Then, suddenly, the weather changed. There was a spell of wet and wind.
Windows had to be shut; the wind howled down the chimneys, and soughed through the trees, and tore some delicate young plants in the flower-beds to pieces, scattering the fragments over the lawn. The loch churned itself into a grey muddy froth, the singing birds fled to their nests and stayed there.
Rowena looked out of her windows, and for three days watched the career of the storm with the greatest concern. It really seemed at times as if everything young and fresh would be swept away.
After a time the wind fell, but the rain continued, and then it began to pall upon her. Would it ever be fine again? Would the hills ever appear out of their thick well of mist? She read till her eyes ached. She worked at her rug till her fingers ached. She meditated till her head ached. She yawned, she fidgeted, and finally she came to the conclusion that she was becoming unutterably bored.
Shags was restless and was unaccustomed to the closed windows. Hitherto he had wandered in and out of his own free will, and he basely deserted Rowena for the kitchen. Depression settled down upon her on the fifth day of storm and rain. After she had had her lunch, she began to wonder how she could get through the winter, if a wet week in June affected her so sorely. Shags' appearance for a time distracted her, but after a little he left her, and lay against the window, his nose close to the glass, showing in every hair on his head how much he disliked the indoor life. Rowena took up a fresh book and tried to forget herself in it; but the rain and wind began to get upon her nerves. Her book did not interest her—she tossed it aside.
"And in India they are revelling in sunshine! Perhaps Ted will be playing polo, or he and Geraldine riding out together. Oh, it's hard lines I shouldn't be with them! I shall forget how to talk, if I am shut up here much longer. I might as well be doing my time in a Dartmoor prison, or at Broadmoor."
Then she started—sounds came to her of a car of some sort coming up the drive. Could it possibly be a visitor? Hardly—on a day like this. She was not long left in doubt. Granny appeared at the door, with signs of agitation.
"If ye please, mem, may we shelter two bodies who be fair drowned in this awfu' rain? I cam' right awa to ask ye—for wi' one o' the family here it is no' to be expected I should do otherwise! 'Tis a mon an' a woman, but they be fair shrouded in their waterproofs and oilskins, an' I've not had a peep at them yet. Ye'll no' need to see them, for the kitchen is good enow for the like o' any traveller be they who they may! An' they do but want a dry an' maybe a cup o' tea! They be quite respectable folk I reckon. I may bid them welcome in your name?"
"Certainly, Granny, and if the lady would like to come in and see me, I shall be delighted, whoever she may be—a Glasgow shop-girl or a duchess! I would welcome anybody on an afternoon like this!"
"Aye, mem, we get mony sich days in our year-r!"