“You can hardly imagine him to be dry,” remarked David. “If you stand under a shower-bath you generally get a trifle damp. And this—I guess fifty shower-baths would be nearer the reckoning than one.”
“A million I think,” said Molly, snuggling a wet hand through Elizabeth’s arm. “Isn’t it lovely!”
“To speak candidly,” said Elizabeth, “I could admire it better in a less cramped position, and if the rain were a little, just a trifle, less—wet.”
“Isn’t rain,” demanded Antony interested, “always wet?”
He was beginning to take a cheerier outlook on life.
“I believe it is,” remarked David reflectively, “but there are times when it appears infinitely wetter than others. This is one of them. Are you very wet?” he asked Elizabeth.
“On the contrary,” returned Elizabeth cheerfully, “owing to the position I mentioned, I am quite dry. If I were to relax it, however, I should doubtless become excessively wet.”
“We are all like beggars now,” said Molly gleefully.
David pricked up his ears.
“Beggars?” he queried politely.