“No, it's not that,—nothing of the kind,” broke in Heathcote, hurriedly; “at another time I should be delighted! Who ever saw such rain as that!”
“Look at the river too. See how it is swollen already.”
“Ah! I never thought of the mountain torrents,” said Heathcote, suddenly.
“They 'll be coming down like regular cataracts by this time. I defy any one to cross at Borgo even now. Take my advice, Heathcote, and reconcile yourself to old Pan's cookery for to-day.”
“What time do you dine?”
“What time will suit you? Shall we say four or five?”
“Four, if you'll permit me. Four will do capitally.”
“That's all right And now I 'll just step down to Panini myself, and give him a hint about some Burgundy he has got in the cellar.”
Like most men yielding to necessity, Heathcote felt discontented and irritated, and no sooner was he alone than he began to regret his having accepted the invitation. What signified a wetting? He was on horseback, to be sure, but he was well mounted, and it was only twelve miles,—an hour or an hour and a quarter's sharp canter; and as to the torrents, up to the girths, perhaps, or a little beyond,—it could scarcely come to swimming. Thus he argued with himself as he walked to and fro, and chafed and fretted as he went. It was in this irritated state O'Shea found him when he came back.
“We 're all right. They 've got a brace of woodcock below stairs, and some Pistoja mutton; and as I have forbidden oil and all the grease-pots, we 'll manage to get a morsel to eat.”