But she had covered her face and he saw nothing but a slender figure, dark, damp, bobbed hair, and the small white hands with the thumbs that bent back like his.
"Sit down," she suggested politely, as the dark closed in on them.

"If you'll sit opposite me in this hollow you can have half of the raincoat, which I was using as a water-proof tent until you so rudely interrupted me." "I was asked," Amory said joyfully; "you asked me--you know you did." "Don Juan always manages that," she said, laughing, "but I shan't call you that any more, because you've got reddish hair.

Instead you can recite 'Ulalume' and I'll be Psyche, your soul." Amory flushed, happily invisible under the curtain of wind and rain.
They were sitting opposite each other in a slight hollow in the hay with the raincoat spread over most of them, and the rain doing for the rest.
Amory was trying desperately to see Psyche, but the lightning refused to flash again, and he waited impatiently.

Good Lord! supposing she wasn't beautiful--supposing she was forty and pedantic--heavens! Suppose, only suppose, she was mad.

But he knew the last was unworthy.