CHAPTER XXV
WHEN Forbes hastened after the hastening Persis and saw how distraught she was he felt the sharp cutting-edge of sympathy. It was his first sight of her in a mood of heartache, and his own heart ached akin.
When they reached the outer door they found to their amazement that it was raining hard. Within doors there had been such luxurious peace under such glowing lights that the sun was not missed and the rain was not heard. But along the street, gusts of wind swept furious, with long javelins of rain that made the awning almost useless. Women gathered their finery about them, and men clung to their hats while they waited for their cars, and then bolted for them as they came up dripping under the guidance of dripping chauffeurs.
While Persis waited for a taxicab Forbes tried to shelter her with his body. He ventured to hope that her father's absence would not distress her.
"Oh no," she answered, bravely, "not at all. He's going on business. He told me the other day he might have to leave town for a few days—on business."
Forbes hesitated over his next words.
"I hope this won't prevent you from going up to Mr. Enslee's."
"Oh no, quite the contrary," she said. "I'd be alone at home. I'll be glad of the—the diversion. Here's the taxi. It's really not necessary for you to go with me."
For answer he took her arm and ran with her to the door the footman opened. A blast of windy rain lashed them as they crept into the car. The door slammed and they were under way, running cautiously on the skiddish pavement.
At last he was alone with her. The rain made their shelter cozier, and for all its bluster it was a spring rain. With its many-hoofed clatter it was a battalion of police clearing the way for the flower procession.