If there was effort, Millie did not show it. She said cheerily—
“Not in the least.”
“The woman is absurd, but I suppose one must humour her.”
“Of course. Besides, as she says, we have Mr Grey.”
“Why couldn’t she appeal to him?”
His reluctance contented her, and pacified himself.
Waterproofs were hastily pulled on, for the storm advanced rapidly; clouds, black as ink, brooded on the mountains, blotted out the sky, and before they had gone far, poured down torrents of rain. The turmoil was magnificent, and Wareham could not but excuse Mrs Martyn’s fears, when he noted the acute angles of the steep descent, and heard the thunder crashing overhead. He could see her grasping her companion’s arm, and looking round in terrified appeal, but in the hurly-burly, voice was mute. Yet so swift was the rush of the storm, that by the time they reached more level ground, it was fairly over, and, drawing up, Mrs Martyn was able to bewail herself under an outbreak of sunshine.
Wareham sprang out of his carriole, and went to theirs.
“Safely through it,” he said, smiling.
“But it was awful, awful!” moaned Mrs Martyn. “I have just told Anne that my one comfort was in knowing that you were close behind.”