Caroline sat by the library window, her chin in her hand, drearily watching the sleet as it beat against the panes, and the tops of the Park trees lashing in the wind.

Below, in the street, the trolleys passed in their never-ending procession, the limousines and cabs whizzed forlornly by, and the few pedestrians pushed dripping umbrellas against the gale.

A wet, depressing afternoon, as hopeless as her thoughts, and growing darker and more miserable hourly.
Stephen, standing by the fire, kicked the logs together and sent a shower of sparks flying.
"Oh, say something, Caro, do!" he snapped testily.

"Don't sit there glowering; you give me the horrors." She roused from her reverie, turned, and tried to smile.
"What shall I say ?" she asked.
"I don't know.

But say something, for heaven's sake! Talk about the weather, if you can't think of anything more original." "The weather isn't a very bright subject just now." "I didn't say it was; but it's _a_ subject.