Then he overtook her.
'Please, Miss Leyburn,' he said, stopping her.
There was an instant's mute contest between them.

The rain splashed on the umbrellas.

She could not help it, she broke down into the merriest, most musical laugh of a child that can hardly stop itself, and he joined.
'Mr.Elsmere, you are ridiculous!' But she submitted.

He put the mackintosh round her, thinking, bold man, as she turned her rosy rain-dewed face to him, of Wordsworth's 'Louisa,' and the poet's cry of longing.
And yet he was not so bold either.

Even at this moment of exhilaration he was conscious of a bar that checked and arrested.