"Oh, ah,—yes, I forgot! No doubt,—quite correct. By-the-bye, I'm not sure about Mrs. Stirring, whether she can escort you, I mean. Turkey and plum-pudding, you know. Couldn't leave them, could she?" The Colonel was old-fashioned, and stuck to early dinner through all vicissitudes of fashion. "So I think you'll have to come out with me this morning, and be content to go to Church in the evening,—eh, my dear?"
"Father, I always go, morning and evening. I could not stay away. Won't you come too?"
"I—really, I should be happy to oblige you, but something at a distance requires my attention. Besides, week-days are not Sundays. Perhaps I'm not quite so much of a Church-goer as you. Now and then we will do it together,—on Sunday,—but I'm not so young as I was, and, in fact,—however, about this morning?"
"If Mrs. Stirring cannot go, I must go alone." She spoke in a resolute low voice. "It is so near; there cannot be any harm. I could not stay away on Christmas Day,—for no real reason."
"H—m!" her father said, in a dubious tone.
"I shall want to go often, when Mrs. Stirring is not free. Please don't make any difficulty. Let me have that one happiness," she pleaded. "Only two streets, and such quiet streets. And I look older than I am."
"Well, well!" the Colonel foresaw agitation, and feminine agitation was his abhorrence. "Well, well,—I suppose I must say yes. But mind, nowhere else, and never after dark. Not after dusk. The distance isn't much, as you say. Take another cutlet?"
The Colonel impaled one on a fork, and held it out.
"No? Why, you don't half eat." He landed the rejected article on his own plate, and disposed of the eatable portions in four mouthfuls. "Coming for a walk this morning?"
"No, I think not. I might be late for Church."