For a moment Nathalie was tongue-tied with astonishment, and was about to walk quickly away, when sudden resentment at the man’s impertinence overwhelmed her. Swinging about, with marked emphasis she answered in stiff formality, “Possibly I might—with friends.” The next second she was hurrying down the road, without waiting to see the man’s eyes darken with annoyance, as he emitted a low whistle. With the peculiar motion of the head already referred to, he started up the car, and a moment later whirled around the bend out of sight. Nathalie in her haste, caused by her anger and annoyance at the man’s impertinence, was oblivious to the fact that the clouds had been gathering for a thunderstorm, until she heard a loud clap of thunder and a drop of rain swirled into her face. She was tempted to start and run, for she was an arrant coward in a thunderstorm, but remembering that a swiftly moving object is apt to attract the lightning, she curtailed her speed, trying to make as much headway as she could by extra long strides. Oh, it was coming down in great big drops! What should she do? But with her heart thumping nervously, she kept resolutely on her way, covering her face with her hands in a spasm of terror every time a streak of lightning zigzagged before her eyes. Oh, she had reached the tea-house! She would take refuge on the wide veranda. The next instant she was racing across the road; but before she gained the desired haven, a deafening clap of thunder, followed by a blinding glare of red flame, came bolting through the trees, causing her to utter a loud, frightened scream, as she stumbled blindly up the steps. Another instant and the door of the house was flung wide, as a sweet-faced lady, with pleasant, smiling eyes, hurriedly beckoned for her to hasten in. Nathalie, with a little cry of relief, made a wild rush for the door. As the lady closed it, with shaking limbs and white lips, but with an attempt at a smile the girl cried, “Oh, you are very kind to let me come in, for I am just about drenched”; quickly pulling off her hat as she spoke, and then shaking her wet, clinging skirts. “Oh, my dear child! you must come in and take off your wet things,” at this moment came in sudden call from an adjoining room, whose door was standing ajar. Nathalie started in surprise, for the voice was singularly low and sweet, in strange contrast to the somewhat high-sounding, rather unpleasant voices of the few villagers whom she had heard conversing, when waiting for her mail in the post-office. Fearing she would be intruding,—she had noticed that the lady who had opened the door for her, although she smiled pleasantly, had not seconded the invitation,—she shook her head. “Oh, no,” she protested with evident embarrassment, “I shall not take cold. I can stand here until the storm is over. I am sure I shall be all dry in a moment or so.”