She pushed the umbrella aside.
“No, no,” she answered. “I don't need it; I'm used to wet weather; truly I am. And I don't care for this hat; it's an old one. You have a long way to go and I haven't. Please, Mr. Ellery, I can't take it.”
“Very well,” was the sternly self-sacrificing reply, “then I shall certainly go with you.”
“But I don't wish you to.”
“I can't help that. I'm not going to let you go unprotected through this flood. Especially as you might have been at home before this if you hadn't stopped to speak with me.”
“But you mustn't.”
“I shall.”
Here was the irresistible force and the immovable object. They stood stock still in the middle of the road, while the rain drops jumped as they struck the umbrella top. The immovable object, being feminine, voiced the unexpected.
“All right,” she said; “then I suppose I shall have to take it.”
“What?”