He smiled down at her and proceeded to fill the cups. "Did you say black?"
"Please."
Lifting the tray and turning round he found her eyes fixed upon him. With a smile of thanks she took a cup and dropped into it two lumps of sugar. She was still regarding him with serious eyes.
"Didn't you pass me on the road this afternoon?" she asked as he resumed his seat.
"With reluctance, yes."
"With reluctance?" she repeated.
"I wanted to know why you were sitting on a gate on such a day, apparently enjoying it and, frankly, I've been wondering about it ever since. May I smoke?" he concluded.
She smiled her permission as, opening a bag that hung from her wrist, she drew out a cigarette-case. "But why shouldn't any one want to sit on a gate in the rain?" she queried as he held a match to her cigarette.
"I don't know," he confessed, "except that no one seems to enjoy the rain just for the rain's sake."
"That's true," she said dreamily. "I love the rain, and I'm sorry for it."
"Sorry for it?"
"Yes," she replied, "so few people find pleasure in the rain. I've never heard any one speak well of it in this country. Farmers do sometimes, but" she paused.
"There's generally either too much or too little," he suggested.
