She expected Wareham to take advantage of her depreciation of their
host. He merely answered the question.
"This is it, with such a broad path that I hope you will not get wet."
"Oh, the rain has stopped," said Anne, and shut her umbrella
impatiently.
"I see water. Some one spoke of a lake, beautiful with rhododendrons in
spring, and a house by its side, where Lady Fanny and her friend Miss
Ravenhill spent a month together last year."
"That sounds very romantic. I wonder what they talked of all the time."
"I heard they were very happy," said Wareham.
His voice was under control. Anne, walking a little in advance, did not
know that his eyes, fastened on her, gathered torturing bliss from
watching her swift graceful movements. She pictured him for a moment
thinking of Millie, then conviction rushed over her again and checked
her steps.
As they reached the lake rain once more fell heavily, honeycombing the
glassy water with an infinite number of tiny depressions. The lake was
bordered with slopes of grass, and with magnificent clumps of
rhododendrons and kalmias. Sweeping down in noble curves, they formed
an island, and sent deep purple and green shadows into the water. On
the left, and close to the water, stood a long low house.
"Let us wait there until the storm has passed. It is only a storm,"
urged Wareham.
Anne hesitated. But they were as secure from interruption there as
anywhere else, and her umbrella hampered her. They went, and were made
instantly welcome. The house was kept always in order in case visitors
came from the big house, and a pleasant room received them--pleasant
now, it had to be owned, rather by right of a blazing fire and
comfortable chairs than from the situation which gave its charm in finer
weather. Wareham, accustomed to take note of all around him, observed
so much; Anne, absorbed, thought only that fate had brought them to the
best possible place for her purpose. He pulled a chair near the fire.
"Sit here, and get dry. That last downpour was wetting."