and yet it isn't raining. Oh, for a little air!” Then she listened to the horse's hoofs — ”He has not told — he has not told.” That melody was blurred by the soft road. “CAN'T we have the hood down?” she demanded, and her mother, with sudden tenderness, said: “Very well, old lady, stop the horse.” And the horse was stopped, and Lucy and Powell wrestled with the hood, and squirted water down Mrs. Honeychurch's neck. But now that the hood was down, she did see something that she would have missed — there were no lights in the windows of Cissie Villa, and round the garden gate she fancied she saw a padlock.

“Is that house to let again, Powell?” she called.

“Yes, miss,” he replied.