Leonore had her choice of standing silent, of pushing passed Peter, or of speaking. If she had done the first, or the second, her position was absolutely impregnable. But a woman’s instinct is to seek defence or attack in words rather than actions. So she said: “You had no right, and you were very rude.” She did not look at Peter.
“It pained me far more than it could pain you.”
Leonore liked Peter’s tone of voice, but she saw that her position was weakening. She said, “Let me by, please.”
Peter with reluctance gave her just room to pass. He felt that he had not said half of what he wished, but he did not dare to offend again.
As it turned out, it was the best thing he could do, for the moment Leonore had passed him, she exclaimed, “Why! Your coat’s wringing wet.”
“That’s nothing,” said Peter, turning to the voice.
He found those big dark eyes at last looking at him, and looking at him without anger. Leonore had stopped on the step above him.
“That shows how foolish you were to go out in the rain,” said Leonore.
“Yes,” said Peter, venturing on the smallest smiles.
Leonore promptly explained the charge in Peter’s “yes.” “It’s very different,” he was told. “I put on tips and a mackintosh. You didn’t put on anything. And it was pouring torrents.”