He stood meekly on the oil-cloth while Sylvia hurried through the sitting-room to her bedroom.
"Mr.Whitman has got home from Mr.Meeks's, and he's dripping wet," she said to Horace and Rose.

"I am going to get him some dry things and hang the wet ones by the kitchen stove." When she re-entered the kitchen with her arms full, Henry cast a scared glance at her.

She met it imperturbably.
"Hurry and get off those wet things or you'll catch your death of cold," said she.
Henry obeyed.

Sylvia fastened his necktie for him when he was ready for it.

He wondered if she smelled the leather in his drenched clothing.