stock still in the middle of the road, while the rain drops jumped as
they struck the umbrella top. The immovable object, being feminine,
voiced the unexpected.

"All right," she said; "then I suppose I shall have to take it."

"What?"

"The umbrella. I'm sorry, and you'll get dreadfully wet, but it's your
own fault."

He could feel her hand near his own on the handle. He did not relinquish
his grasp.

"No," he said. "I think, on the whole, that that is unreasonable. I
SHOULD get wet and, though I don't mind it when it is necessary, I--"

"Well?" rather sharply, "what are you going to do?"

"Go with you as far as your gate. I'm sorry, if my company is
distasteful, but--"

He did not finish the sentence, thinking, it may be, that she might
finish it for him. But she was silent, merely removing her hand from the
handle. She took a step forward; he followed, holding the umbrella above
her head. They plashed on, without speaking, through the rapidly forming
puddles.

Presently she stumbled and he caught her arm to prevent her falling. To
his surprise he felt that arm shake in his grasp.