He laughed—a grave, short kind of laugh, which, however, seemed to Lucy to suit him somehow.
"How wet you are!" he said. "Have you been standing here long?"
"Ever since it began," replied Lucy with a little shrug of her shoulders—a trick she had unconsciously caught from Leslie. "And we are waiting till it stops."
"I am afraid you will have to wait a long time," he remarked. "It has set for a wet evening. May I ask where you are going?"
"To Newfold," said Lucy.
"Newfold? Ah, yes! Will you let me offer you a lift? I am going there, or, at any rate, very near there—as far as the London road goes."
"Oh, no, thank you," said Lucy, flushing. He looked disappointed; then he glanced at Jenny.
"The little girl is getting very wet. She will take a chill," he said, gravely.
"Oh, do you think so?" exclaimed Lucy, with instant alarm. "Oh, dear! And I am afraid she is not very strong. It doesn't in the least matter so far as I am concerned, for I never take cold. I am used to the country and rough weather; but Jenny——."
Jenny grinned at the idea of her being in any danger from an autumn storm, but she was too wise to make any remark, for she was dying for a ride in the handsome dog-cart.