"Why shouldn't I acknowledge it?" interrupted Barbara. "She's a very clever teacher, and took the First Prize at the Conservatoire."
"You can't get out of it like that," said Jimmy hotly. "If there's a woman there's a man too. You said so. And what about the cab-driver, and the bobby, and the curate? It's a good deal too serious for me to keep it to myself, and I shall tell George everything you told me."
"Yes, you tell him all about it, dear," said Barbara. "I can't stay any longer. I must go to B. Good-bye, little man."
The time came for Beatrix to go off. A great crowd had collected in the hall, through which she made her way laughing, and round the carriage that was to take her to the station. Before her husband handed her into it she threw her arm round her father's neck. "Good-bye, my precious old Daddy," she said. "I'll write to you the very first thing."
[CHAPTER XV]
AN ACCIDENT
It was a wild wet day in late October. A terrific gale had swept over the country the night before, and strewn the coasts of England with wreckage. It had done great damage at Abington, and when Caroline looked out of her bedroom window in the morning she saw evidence of it in great trees lying prone here and there in the park, and the drift of leaves and branches scattered everywhere. The wind was still raging, though it had abated some of its fury, and even as she looked she saw a high elm that had towered above the beeches with which the slopes of the park were mostly planted come crashing to the earth.
After breakfast she went out to see what damage had been done. The wind was blowing over the house to the front, and when she got out of its shelter she was seized as if in the grip of something tangible, and held for a moment struggling. She laughed and went on, enjoying it, but had to hold on to her hat to prevent its being wrenched off her head; and her thick tweed skirt was blown all about her. In her young strength and resiliency she seemed as much at home in this wild weather as in days of blue sky and soft airs. She was no fair-weather girl, and the rain which drove against her fretted her as little as the wind.