Ragged clouds were moving overhead, pre-saging rain. They reminded him of his dream. He felt the impulse to shout a childish defiance at those faces in the sky.
An army truck rolled quietly by, recalling to his mind a little picture Evelyn Sawtelle had scribbled on a bridge pad. He followed it with his eyes. When he turned back, he saw Mrs. Carr.
"You've cut yourself," she said brightly, peering closely at his face.
"Yes, I have."
"How unfortunate!"
He did not try to answer. They walked together through the gate between Morton and Estrey. He could just make out the snout of the cement dragon poked over the Estrey gutter.
"I wanted to tell you last night how distressed I was, Professor Saylor, about that matter of Margaret van Nice, only I didn't think it was the right time. I'm dreadfully sorry that you had to be called in. Such a disgusting accusation! How you must have felt!"
She seemed to misinterpret his wry grimace at this, for she went on swiftly, "Of course, I never once dreamed that you had done anything the least improper, but I thought there must be something to the girl's story. She told it in such detail. Really, Professor Saylor, some of the girls that come to Hempnell nowadays are terrible. Where they get such loathsome ideas from is quite beyond me."
"Would you like to know?"
She looked up at him blankly.