No brilliant analyst was needed to diagnose this case.  Surely any observer must have said:  “Here is a dry young lady, and at her side walks a wet young gentleman who carries an umbrella in one hand and a walking-stick in the other.  Obviously the young lady and gentleman were out for a stroll for which the stick was sufficient, and they were caught by the rain.  Before any fell, however, he found her a place of shelter—­such as a corner drug-store and then himself gallantly went forth into the storm for an umbrella.  He went to the young lady’s house, or to the house where she may be visiting, for, if he had gone to his own he would have left his stick.  It may be, too, that at his own, his mother would have detained him, since he is still at the age when it is just possible sometimes for mothers to get their sons into the house when it rains.  He returned with the umbrella to the corner drug-store at probably about the time when the rain ceased to fall, because his extreme moistness makes necessary the deduction that he was out in all the rain that rained.  But he does not seem to care.”

The fact was that William did not even know that he was wet.  With his head sidewise and his entranced eyes continuously upon the pretty face so near, his state was almost somnambulistic.  Not conscious of his soggy garments or of the deluged streets, he floated upon a rosy cloud, incense about him, far-away music enchanting his ears.

If Jane had not recognized the modeling of his features she might not have known them to be William’s, for they had altered their grouping to produce an expression with which she was totally unfamiliar.  To be explicit, she was unfamiliar with this expression in that place—­that is to say, upon William, though she had seen something like it upon other people, once or twice, in church.

William’s thoughts might have seemed to her as queer as his expression, could she have known them.  They were not very definite, however, taking the form of sweet, vague pictures of the future.  These pictures were of married life; that is, married life as William conceived it for himself and Miss Pratt—­something strikingly different from that he had observed as led by his mother and father, or their friends and relatives.  In his rapt mind he beheld Miss Pratt walking beside him “through life,” with her little parasol and her little dog—­her exquisite face always lifted playfully toward his own (with admiration underneath the playfulness), and he heard her voice of silver always rippling “baby-talk” throughout all the years to come.  He saw her applauding his triumphs—­though these remained indefinite in his mind, and he was unable to foreshadow the business or profession which was to provide the amazing mansion (mainly conservatory) which he pictured as their home.  Surrounded by flowers, and maintaining a private orchestra, he saw Miss Pratt and himself growing old together, attaining to such ages as thirty and even thirty-five, still in perfect harmony, and always either dancing in the evenings or strolling hand in hand in the moonlight.  Sometimes they would visit the nursery, where curly-headed, rosy cherubs played upon a white-bear rug in the firelight.  These were all boys and ready-made, the youngest being three years old and without a past.