“Yes, to-night it is full,” said Elizabeth.
Edward and Mary came down to see their guests off. Edward shut the door behind them.
“What a night!” he exclaimed. But Mary came close and whispered:
“I’ve told her.”
“Have you?”
Edward’s tone was just the least shade perfunctory. He slid home the bolt of the door and turning, caught Mary in his arms and hugged her.
“O Mary, darling!”
Mary glowed, responsive.
“O Mary, darling, it really is a new spider,” he cried.
David and Elizabeth walked home in a steady downpour. Mary had lent her overshoes, and she had tucked up her dress under a mackintosh of Edward’s. There was much merriment over their departure with a large umbrella between them, but as they walked home, they both grew silent. Elizabeth said good-night in the hall, and ran up to her room. To-night he would not come. Oh, to-night she felt quite sure that he would not come. It was dark. She heard the rain falling into the river, and she could just see how the trees bent in the rush of it. And yet she sat for an hour, by her window, in the dark, waiting breathlessly for that which would not happen.