Shelton laughed spasmodically; again he glanced askance at his future father-in-law. What did the waggling of his head mean, the deepening of his crow's-feet, the odd contraction of the mouth? And his eye caught Mr. Dennant's eye; its expression was queer above the fine, dry nose (one of the sort that reddens in a wind).
“I've never had much to do with farmers,” he said at last.
“Have n't you? Lucky fellow! The most—yes, quite the most trying portion of the human species—next to daughters.”
“Well, sir, you can hardly expect me—” began Shelton.
“I don't—oh, I don't! D 'you know, I really believe we're in for a ducking.”
A large black cloud had covered up the sun, and some drops were spattering on Mr. Dennant's hard felt hat.
Shelton welcomed the shower; it appeared to him an intervention on the part of Providence. He would have to say something, but not now, later.
“I 'll go on,” he said; “I don't mind the rain. But you'd better get back, sir.”
“Dear me! I've a tenant in this cottage,” said Mr. Dennant in his, leisurely, dry manner “and a beggar he is to poach, too. Least we can do 's to ask for a little shelter; what do you think?” and smiling sarcastically, as though deprecating his intention to keep dry, he rapped on the door of a prosperous-looking cottage.
It was opened by a girl of Antonia's age and height.