Mr. Taynton had gone out without umbrella, and when he let himself in by his latch-key at his own house-door about half-past eight, it was no wonder that he wrung out his coat and trousers so that he should not soak his Persian rugs.  But from him, as from the charged skies, some tension had passed; this tempest which had so cooled the air and restored the equilibrium of its forces had smoothed the frowning creases of his brow, and when the servant hurried up at the sound of the banged front-door, he found his master soaked indeed, but serene.

“Yes, I got caught by the storm, Williams,” he said, “and I am drenched.  The lightning was terrific, was it not?  I will just change, and have a little supper; some cold meat, anything that there is.  Yes, you might take my coat at once.”

He divested himself of this.

“And I expect Mr. Morris this evening,” he said.  “He will probably have dined, but if not I am sure Mrs. Otter will toss up a hot dish for him.  Oh, yes, and Mr. Mills will be here at half-past nine, or even sooner, as I cannot think he will have walked from Falmer as he intended.  But whenever he comes, I will see him.  He has not been here already?”

“No, sir,” said Williams, “Will you have a hot bath, sir?”

“No, I will just change.  How battered the poor garden will look tomorrow after this deluge.”

* * * * *

Mr. Taynton changed his wet clothes and half an hour afterwards he sat down to his simple and excellent supper.  Mrs. Otter had provided an admirable vegetable soup for him, and some cold lamb with asparagus and endive salad.  A macedoine of strawberries followed and a scoop of cheese.  Simple as his fare was, it just suited Mr. Taynton’s tastes, and he was indulging himself with the rather rare luxury of a third glass of port when Williams entered again.

“Mr. Assheton,” he said, and held the door open.

Morris came in; he was dressed in evening clothes with a dinner jacket, and gave no salutation to his host.

“He’s not come yet?” he asked.

But his host sprang up.

“Dear boy,” he said, “what a relief it is to see you.  Ever since you left this afternoon I have had you on my mind.  You will have a glass of port?”

Morris laughed, a curious jangling laugh.

“Oh yes, to drink his health,” he said.

He sat down with a jerk, and leaned his elbows on the table.

“He’ll want a lot of health to carry him through this, won’t he?” he asked.

He drank his glass of port like water, and Mr. Taynton instantly filled it up again for him.

“Ah, I remember you don’t like port,” he said.  “What else can I offer you?”

“Oh, this will do very well,” said Morris.  “I am so thirsty.”

“You have dined?” asked his host quietly.

“No; I don’t think I did.  I wasn’t hungry.”

The Cromwellian clock chimed a remnant half hour.