He saw Bill Dennant, posting after them, and, seized by a sense of the ridiculous, lifted his hat, and galloped off.
The rain was coming down in torrents now, and every one was scurrying for shelter.

He looked back from the bend, and could still make out Antonia riding leisurely, her face upturned, and revelling in the shower.

Why had n't she either cut him altogether or taken the sweets the gods had sent?
It seemed wicked to have wasted such a chance, and, ploughing back to Hyde Park Corner, he turned his head to see if by any chance she had relented.
His irritation was soon gone, but his longing stayed.

Was ever anything so beautiful as she had looked with her face turned to the rain?
She seemed to love the rain.

It suited her--suited her ever so much better than the sunshine of the South.