"Do you think it will abate?" she rejoined.
"Honestly to confess it, I think it will get worse," said Lionel. "Lucy, you have thin shoes on! I did not see that until now."
"Don't you tell Lady Verner," replied Lucy, with the pretty dependent manner which she had brought from school with her, and which she probably would never lose. "She would scold me for walking out in them."
Lionel smiled, and held the great umbrella—large enough for a carriage—close to the trees, that it might shelter her as she came forth.
"Take my arm, Lucy."
She hesitated for a single moment—a hesitation so temporary that any other than Lionel could not have observed it, and then took his arm. And again they walked on in silence. In passing down Clay Lane—the way Lionel took—Mrs. Peckaby was standing at her door.
"On the look-out for the white donkey, Mrs. Peckaby?" asked Lionel.
The husband inside heard the words, and flew into a tantrum.
"She's never on the look-out for nothing else, sir, asking pardon for saying it to you."
Mrs. Peckaby clasped her hands together.