"Not in the least."
"The woman is absurd, but I suppose one must humour her."
"Of course. Besides, as she says, we have Mr Grey."
"Why couldn't she appeal to him?"
His reluctance contented her, and pacified himself.
Waterproofs were hastily pulled on, for the storm advanced rapidly;
clouds, black as ink, brooded on the mountains, blotted out the sky, and
before they had gone far, poured down torrents of rain. The turmoil was
magnificent, and Wareham could not but excuse Mrs Martyn's fears, when
he noted the acute angles of the steep descent, and heard the thunder
crashing overhead. He could see her grasping her companion's arm, and
looking round in terrified appeal, but in the hurly-burly, voice was
mute. Yet so swift was the rush of the storm, that by the time they
reached more level ground, it was fairly over, and, drawing up, Mrs
Martyn was able to bewail herself under an outbreak of sunshine.
Wareham sprang out of his carriole, and went to theirs.
"Safely through it," he said, smiling.
"But it was awful, awful!" moaned Mrs Martyn. "I have just told Anne
that my one comfort was in knowing that you were close behind."
"A lightning conductor!" Anne said mockingly. "I believe I should have
preferred you at a greater distance, for if we had come to grief, you
would certainly have been on the top of us."
"I am afraid you are very wet?" He eyed her anxiously.
"Nothing to mind. But the others? Ought they not to be in sight?"
He felt a twinge of shame.
"I think they ought. I will go back and see."
Mrs Martyn called after him that she was sure they would be here in a
moment, and that it was only because their ponies were not so good that
they were behind, but he was already running back. She shrugged her
shoulders discontentedly.
"Manners!" she exclaimed. "Tell the man to go on, Anne. I don't mean
to wait in the road for Mr Wareham's pleasure."