"Yes, I think you'd better."
"She never told me not to. You know I wouldn't be a sneak. I hate them. And she won't be home for hours. What shall I do till she comes? Could you read to me?"
"I should like to."
"I don't think I'll let you, thank you. If I went and met Grace from dancing, I'd get it over sooner, wouldn't I?"
"It's too soon yet."
"I'd rather start."
She left him with his fears—a small, grey, tortured man. His own boyhood and youth had been ascetic, with no companions except books. No pretty face but Nancy's had allured him, and to think of Grace courted by hobbledehoydom was, to his fastidious eyes, to see her tarnished. He hurried down the stairs to Nancy.
She laughed at him. "My dear, it's natural. And she's beautiful."
"Very beautiful. There—there are dangers, Nancy."
"Don't, Ned. That's horrid. She's a child."