Her lip quivered, and he relaxed a little of his sternness.
"I know you didn't mean to do wrong, my dear. I am not going to scold you; but there are a good many things I want to say to you,—things we can't say here. That is all."
To Theodora's mind, the day dragged perceptibly. She was conscious of her father's disapproval, conscious that, in her girlish impulsiveness, she had gone where she had no business to go. It was a relief when supper was over, and she followed her father into his office.
He pulled out a great easy-chair and sat down.
"Come here, my girlie, and cuddle in beside me, as you used to do," he said, with an inviting gesture. "Now tell me all about it."
Theodora poured forth her tale in an incoherent tide. Her father, listening and stroking the brown head, smiled a little, from time to time. When she had finished,—
"What is temperance, Teddy?" he asked abruptly.
"Not to drink rum," she answered, with glib promptness.
He smiled again.
"That is only a tiny little part of it, my girl."