“I see,” Bertie said, making a pretense of withdrawal; but from that moment never took his eyes off Lucy and her attendant. The sky was gray, the wind was cold, the yellow leaves came tumbling down upon their plates, as they eat their out-door meal. Now and then a shivering guest looked up, asking anxiously, “Is that the rain?” They all spoke familiarly of “the rain” as of another guest expected; would it come before they had started on their return? might it arrive even before the refection was over? They were all certain that they would not get home without being overtaken by it. And notwithstanding this alarmed expectation of “the rain,” the ham and the chickens were gritty with the dust which had blown into the hampers. It was very hard upon poor Mrs. Rushton, everybody said.
“Come up and look at the water-fall,” said Ray to Lucy. “No, don’t say where we are going, or we shall have a troop after us. That fellow, that Russell, follows everywhere. Thank heaven he is looking the other way. He might know people don’t want him forever at their heels. Ah! this is pleasant,” Ray said, with as good a semblance of enthusiasm as he could muster, when he had safely piloted Lucy into a narrow leafy path among the trees. But Lucy did not share his enthusiasm; she shivered a little as they plunged into the shadow, which shut out every gleam of the fitful sun.
“It is a great pity it is so cold,” Lucy said.
“A horrid pity,” said Ray, with energy; but then he remembered his rôle, “for you,” he said; “as for me, I am very happy— I don’t mind the weather. I could go like this for miles, and never feel the want of the sun.”
“I did not know you were so fond of the woods,” Lucy said.
“Nor is it the woods I am fond of,” said Ray, and his heart began to thump. Now the moment had certainly come. “It is the company I—love.”
“Hallo!” cried a voice behind. “I see some one in front of us—who is it? Rushton. Then this must be the way.”
“Oh, confound you!” Ray said, between his teeth; and yet it was again a kind of reprieve. The leafy path was soon filled with a train of people, headed by Bertie, who made his way to Lucy’s side, when they reached the open space in which was the water-fall.
“Is not this a truly English pleasure?” Bertie said; “why should we all be making ourselves miserable eating cold victuals out of doors when we should so much prefer a snug cutlet at home? and coming to gaze at a little bit of driblet of water when we all expect floods any moment from the sky?”
“It is a pity,” said Lucy, divided between her natural inclination to assent and consideration for Raymond’s feelings, “it is a pity that we have so unfavorable a day.”