He did not press for an answer. Within a few minutes a long growl of thunder was heard. It was as if Jove could not refrain from testifying his jealousy of Somerset for taking this covetable woman so presumptuously in his arms. The dance was over, and he had retired with Paula to the back of the tent, when another faint flash of lightning was visible through an opening. She lifted the canvas, and looked out, Somerset looking out behind her. Another dance was begun, and being on this account left out of notice, Somerset did not hasten to leave Paula’s side. ‘I think they begin to feel the heat,’ she said. ‘A little ventilation would do no harm.’ He flung back the tent door where he stood, and the light shone out upon the grass. ‘I must go to the drawing-room soon,’ she added. ‘They will begin to leave shortly.’ ‘It is not late. The thunder-cloud has made it seem dark--see there; a line of pale yellow stretches along the horizon from west to north. That’s evening--not gone yet. Shall we go into the fresh air for a minute?’ She seemed to signify assent, and he stepped off the tent-floor upon the ground. She stepped off also. The air out-of-doors had not cooled, and without definitely choosing a direction they found themselves approaching a little wooden tea-house that stood on the lawn a few yards off. Arrived here, they turned, and regarded the tent they had just left, and listened to the strains that came from within it. ‘I feel more at ease now,’ said Paula. ‘So do I,’ said Somerset. ‘I mean,’ she added in an undeceiving tone, ‘because I saw Mrs. Goodman enter the tent again just as we came out here; so I have no further responsibility.’ ‘I meant something quite different. Try to guess what.’ She teasingly demurred, finally breaking the silence by saying, ‘The rain is come at last,’ as great drops began to fall upon the ground with a smack, like pellets of clay. In a moment the storm poured down with sudden violence, and they drew further back into the summer-house. The side of the tent from which they had emerged still remained open, the rain streaming down between their eyes and the lighted interior of the marquee like a tissue of glass threads, the brilliant forms of the dancers passing and repassing behind the watery screen, as if they were people in an enchanted submarine palace. ‘How happy they are!’ said Paula. ‘They don’t even know that it is raining. I am so glad that my aunt had the tent lined; otherwise such a downpour would have gone clean through it.’ The thunder-storm showed no symptoms of abatement, and the music and dancing went on more merrily than ever. ‘We cannot go in,’ said Somerset. ‘And we cannot shout for umbrellas. We will stay till it is over, will we not?’ ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘if you care to. Ah!’ ‘What is it?’ ‘Only a big drop came upon my head.’ ‘Let us stand further in.’