The Luck of the Vails: A Novel

by E. F. Benson

"So am not I," he said.—"Well, Harry?"

"It certainly is raining," said the lad.

"Not a doubt of it," assented Mr. Francis.

Geoffrey turned to Harry suddenly.

"Fear both fire and frost and rain," he said, in a low tone.

Harry went briskly toward the door.

"Thanks, Geoff, that settles it," he said. "An excellent reason for going, and getting it over to-day if possible.—Yes, Uncle Francis, I'll put on my boots and come. I'm not made of paper any more than you."

Geoffrey followed him into the hall, a sudden vague foreboding filling him.

"Don't go, Harry!" he said.