"I didn't know it could rain," was her greeting. "Did you see the beginning of it? It was wonderful—like an eruption."
"I saw it," said Mr. Samson. "I got wet in it. It 'll be cool for your drive to the station, even if it 's a bit damp."
"There 's still half an hour to wait before the cart comes," said Margaret. "Where does one sit when it 's raining?"
"One doesn't," said Mr. Samson. "One stands about in draughts and one frets, one does."
"Come into the drawing-room," said Ford briefly.
Margaret looked at him with a smile for his seriousness and his manner of one who desires to get to business, but she yielded, and Mr. Samson ambled in their wake, never doubting that he was of their company. Ford, holding the door open for Margaret, surprised him with a forbidding scowl.
"We don't want you," he whispered fiercely, and shut the affronted and uncomprehending old gentleman out.
The drawing-room was forlorn and very shabby in the cold light of the rainy day and the tattoo of the rain-splashes on its window. Margaret went to the hearth where Dr. Jakes had been wont to expiate his crimes, and leaned her arm on the mantel, looking about the apartment.
"It 's queer," she said; "I shall miss this."
"Margaret," said Ford.