She stumbled in at the door, and stood in the revealing light of the hall, for the moment unable to answer, panting and drenched.
“What’s the matter?” he said suddenly in a different tone; and quickly stepping back he shut the door into the dining-room. “Has anything happened?”
“I’m—only—only—frightened,” she gasped between broken breaths. “Something frightened me.”
She reeled and caught against the door-post.
“I’m all wet,” she whispered with white lips; “don’t let them know. I don’t want any dinner.”
He put his arm round her and drew her toward the stairs. He could feel her trembling like a person with an ague and her saturated clothes left rillets along the stairs.
When they were half-way up he said:
“How did you get so wet? Have you been out in this storm without an umbrella?”
“I lost it,” she whispered.
“Lost it?” he replied. “Where’s your cloak?”