'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.' Her hand was hanging by her side, and Somerset's was close by.

He took it, and she did not draw it away.

Thus they stood a long while, the rain hissing down upon the grass-plot, and not a soul being visible outside the dancing-tent save themselves.
'May I call you Paula ?' asked he.
There was no answer.
'May I ?' he repeated.
'Yes, occasionally,' she murmured.
'Dear Paula!--may I call you that ?' 'O no--not yet.' 'But you know I love you ?' 'Yes,' she whispered.
'And shall I love you always ?' 'If you wish to.' 'And will you love me ?' Paula did not reply.
'Will you, Paula ?' he repeated.
'You may love me.' 'But don't you love me in return ?' 'I love you to love me.' 'Won't you say anything more explicit ?' 'I would rather not.' Somerset emitted half a sigh: he wished she had been more demonstrative, yet felt that this passive way of assenting was as much as he could hope for.