'No, no, Hubert.... I cannot; I promised Emily that I never would. I am
going back.'

'Then we must say good-bye. I will not go back.'

'You don't mean it. You don't really intend me to go back to Emily and tell
her?... She will not believe me; she will think I have sent you away to
gain my own end. Hubert, you mustn't leave me ... and in all this wet. See
how it rains! I shall never be able to get home alone.'

'I will drive you on as far as the lodge-gate; farther than the lodge I
will not go. Nothing in the world shall tempt me to pass it.'

At a sign from Hubert the little fly-man scrambled down from his box. He
was a little old man, almost hunchbacked, with small mud-coloured eyes and
a fringe of white beard about his sallow, discoloured face. He was dressed
in a pale yellow jacket and waistcoat, and they both noticed that his
crooked little legs were covered with a pair of pepper-and-salt trousers.
They felt sure he must have overheard a large part of their conversation,
for as he opened the carriage door he grinned, showing his three yellow
fangs.... His appearance was not encouraging. Julia wished he were
different, and then she looked at Hubert. She longed to throw herself into
his arms and weep. But at that moment the heavens seemed to open, and the
rain came down like a torrent, thick and fast, splashing all along the road
in a million splashes.

'Horrible weather, sir; shan't be long a-takin' you to Southwater. What
part of the town be yer going to--the railway station?'