She felt his coat to see what resistance it would offer to the rain. It offered none. It made no pretense about it.
"It'll be soaked, and it 'll never be the same again," she wailed.
But Ranny remained godlike in his calm. There was still one and sixpence of his sovereign left.
"You can keep your hat on. We're going to take a cab."
If he had said he was going to take an aeroplane she couldn't have been more amazed. It was only seven minutes' walk to Acacia Avenue. And it was not a common cab, it was Parker's fly that he was taking.
She surrendered because of the new suit.
"I can count the times I've ridden in a cab," she said. "This is the third. First time it was going to Father's funeral. Second time it was poor Mother's funeral. I've never been happy in a cab till now."
"Poor little girl! Next time it'll be coming from our wedding. Will you be happy then?"
"I'm so happy now, Ranny, that I can't believe it."
"It'll only be six months, or seven at the outside."