rather pale, and very weary looking. Her old sailor hat was sodden and drooping with rain. She wore a fawn-coloured jacket of smooth cloth. This jacket was black-wet where the rain had beaten, her skirt hung sodden, and dripped on to her boots. The match went out.

“Why, you’re wet through!” he said.

She did not answer.

“Shall you stop in here while it gives over?” he asked. She did not answer.

“‘Cause if you will, you’d better take your things off, an’ have th’ rug. There’s a horse-rug in the box.”

He waited, but she would not answer. So he lit his bicycle lamp, and rummaged in the box, pulling out a large brown