As he spoke the rain began to fall in torrents, hiding Miss Betty's house across the street from view. Suddenly a solitary figure with a dripping umbrella was almost swept into the shop.
"Why, Miss Celia!" cried Maurice.
"I began to think I would be drowned," she said, laughing breathlessly.
The magician dropped his shears and took her umbrella.
"You are wet; we must have a fire," he said.
Celia protested. A summer shower wouldn't hurt. It was too warm for a fire. Rosalind meanwhile sat in the shadow, Crisscross beside her, the thought of the rose and of Aunt Genevieve's words making her hope Miss Fair would not see her. Her face was gentle; was it possible she could be unkind and disdainful?
The magician came to the rescue. He didn't believe in quarrels anyway, and if he had considered the matter he probably would have argued that Rosalind could have no concern with those she knew nothing about; and observing her in the corner he said, with a wave of the dripping umbrella, "This is Mr. Pat's little girl, Miss Celia. You remember Mr. Pat?"
Celia, shaking out her wet skirts, turned in surprise. As her eyes met Rosalind's she smiled. "Yes," was all she said.
But after a while she came over and patted Crisscross, and said Rosalind must be a witch to have gained his affection so soon, and asked what she and Maurice were doing there, not as if she wanted an answer so much as just to be friendly.
Rosalind felt a great relief, and her eyes were soft as she responded shyly.