Before I could answer there came a blinding flash of lightning, accompanied, nearly instantaneously, by a hideous din of thunder, which seemed to burst out just over us. A blank silence succeeded this ear-splitting crash, and Katherine said, “Some tree must have gone!” “I wish it had been this summer-house,” I muttered bitterly. She looked at me, her face grown graver. The flash was followed by no other, but the rain continued in a fierce downpour, beating through our flimsy shelter, and streaming down the paths in brown muddy rivulets. “I can’t understand why mamma should have made such a fuss,” Katherine went on, but no longer in the same tone, though I knew well enough the alteration in it was due merely to what I had said. “She is usually very sensible.” “How can you be so indifferent?” I asked, in a rough voice, for her calmness exasperated me. “I’m not indifferent. I’m sorry I wrote. But we should have been going in three or four days, at any rate. You know that.” Her manner was tinged with a faint reproach. I answered nothing, and she went on. “It is getting lighter――the rain will soon be over.” “Do you want to go?” I asked furiously. “Don’t let me keep you if you do!” “Why do you speak like that, Peter? I told you I was sorry.” “This is the last time I shall see you alone.” “Nonsense.” “If you are going to-morrow, will you promise to meet me to-night somewhere――here――or on the golf-links?” “I can’t possibly. There are people coming to dinner. Won’t _you_ come――or come in afterwards, at least?” “Shall I see you by yourself if I do?” “By myself?” “Will you come out here with me?” She sighed at my unreasonableness. “How can I? You know mamma and the others will be there, and how can I leave them? But say you’ll come.” “I certainly won’t,” I answered sullenly. “What does it matter to you whether I do or not?” I felt her lips touch my cheek. Her face was wet and cold with the rain. I put my arms round her very gently, and kissed her hair and her cheek, but no more than that, for I knew her own embrace had been given merely to console me, and because it was for the last time. Her dark eyes caressed me, and she smiled a little. She laid her hand on my shoulder. “Will you walk back to the house with me now, Peter? You are not angry with me?” “No,” I answered. “I can’t stay any longer, because mamma knows I came out, and she will suspect it was to meet you. She is not so bad about it as she was when she first arrived. I managed to convince her that she had been alarming herself unnecessarily.” “Very unnecessarily,” I thought, but I said nothing. I walked back with her, and then on down the drive and home. CHAPTER LVI