“There has certainly been a pretty heavy shower,” he said, looking at me uncertainly, but, as I thought, with a dawning amusement.
“Hasn’t there? Awful!” I said, smearing my wet hair back behind my ears, and putting on the cap which I had clutched convulsively in my hand during my run across the field. “We had to shelter in a cottage for ever so long.”
“Who is we?”
I looked round for my late companion, but he was nowhere to be seen.
“Willy was with me,” I said; “but he declared that it was no use trying to catch you, and—and I suppose he has gone home.”
Nugent said nothing, but climbed on to the wall with as much dignity as his macintosh would permit, and helped me over it. I was very unfortunate, I inwardly reflected; I first got wet through, and then one cross young man after another dragged me over these horrible wet stone walls. However, I said aloud—
“You must come back and have some tea; it is quite early still.”
“Thanks, I am not sure if I shall have time; but perhaps, in any case, you had better let me drive you home.”
The step of the dog-cart was a very high one, and as I put my foot on it to get up, the full beauties and proportions of my boot—a shapeless mass, resembling a brown-paper parcel—were revealed. My eyes met Nugent’s, and we both laughed, he unwillingly, I with helpless realization of my appearance.