“Come, my dear!” said she, with just a trace of impatience. “This is where we came in.”
“All right!” answered Olive, with a resigned sigh.
They squeezed past a row of people and went up the aisle and out into the lobby.
“Oh, mercy!” cried Olive. “Raining!”
Miss Torrance said nothing, but her brows met in an anxious frown.
The April rain was coming down in a steady torrent, drumming loud on the roof, and spattering on the pavement. The streets shone like deep, black water under the arc lights. Taxis spun by like incredibly swift motor boats. It hadn’t at all the appearance of a shower. It was obstinately and definitely a rainy night—chill, too, and windy, so that it was almost impossible to believe that only six days ago, on Saturday, spring had begun, and Miss Torrance and Olive had been irresistibly tempted to buy spring hats.
“We’ll take a taxi,” said Miss Torrance. “It’s cheaper than ruining our new hats.”
“All right!” said Olive.
So Miss Torrance advanced to the very limit of the covered entrance, and signaled to the taxis that went by, fleet and careless; but not one of them stopped—no, not one.
“Beasts!” said she.