"In such weather?"
"Little woman! When I started the wind was in the right quarter. All at once it veered round and gave me a drenching. What odds? You can stand at the window, and I can proceed with the figure. It was tedious at the Ship. Between you and me and the post, I cannot get along with the fellows who come there to drink. You are the only person in Thursley with whom I can talk and be happy."
"Bideabout is not at home."
"I didn't come through the rain to see Bideabout, but you."
"Will you have anything to eat or drink?"
"Anything that you can give me. But I did not come for that. To tell the truth, I don't think I'll venture on the picture. The light is so bad. It is of no consequence. We can converse. I am sick of public-house talk. I ran away to be with you. We are old chums, are we not, dear Matabel?"
A fire of peat was on the hearth. She threw on skin-turf that flamed up.
Iver was damp. His hands were clammy. His hair ends dripped. His face was running with water. He spread his palms over the flame, and smiled.
"And so you were tired of being at home?" she said, as she put the turves together.
"Home is no home to me, now you are gone," was his answer.