“Nothing,” Johnstone answered, turning his face seaward. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”
“Oh!—you looked as though you were.”
“No,” he said. “I came out to get a breath of air, that’s all.”
“So did I. I—I think I’ve been out long enough. I’ll go in.” And she made a step towards the door.
“Oh, please, don’t!” he cried suddenly. “Can’t we walk together a little bit? That is, if you are not tired.”
“Oh no! I’m not tired,” answered the young girl with a cold little laugh. “I’ll stay if you like—just a few minutes.”
“Thanks, awfully,” said Brook in a shy, jerky way.
They began to walk up and down, much less quickly than Clare had been walking when alone. They seemed to have nothing to say to each other. Johnstone remarked that he thought it would not rain again just then, and after some minutes of reflection Clare said that she remembered having seen two thunderstorms within an hour, with a clear sky between, not long ago. Johnstone also thought the matter over for some time before he answered, and then said that he supposed the clouds must have been somewhere in the meantime—an observation which did not strike either Clare or even himself as particularly intelligent.
“I don’t think you know much about thunderstorms,” said Clare, after another silence.