“No,” returned Claudia mechanically, “but Pat doesn’t mind the weather.”
“Well, I guess that befits an Amazon. She’s a splendid specimen of English womanhood.”
Her sister nodded. Yes, she was; no wonder Colin admired her.
“A little too splendid for my taste,” smiled Littleton. “Who was it laid down the law that a woman should be just as high as the shoulder of the man she loves?” He looked at the dark, glossy head just on the level of his own shoulder, but she did not notice it. She was trying to adjust her ideas: “I reckon he was a cosy man, who ever he was.”
He wondered what had caused that curiously blank look on her face, a sort of half stunned surprise.
Just then Pat and Colin came laughing into the hall, she having, with her characteristic quickness, found and donned a tweed rain-proof coat.
“Claud, we’re going for a tramp. Come with us? It’s no good minding the wet. You look as if you’ve been in all day.”
Her sister pulled herself together and replied lightly, “I’m sure, from your tone, it’s an unbecoming look, but I refuse to let the rain wash it off. I hate walking in the rain.”
“It’s nearly left off,” said Paton, glancing out of the door, “the clouds are breaking.”
“I tell you I don’t want to go.... Run away, young people!”