This is what I would invent.
The moment Adela caught sight of Harry, she cast one frightened glance up to her father's windows, and stood waiting. He lifted his hat; and held out his hand. She took it. Neither spoke. They turned together and walked along the terrace.
"I am very sorry," said Harry at last.
"Are you? What for?"
"Because I got you into a scrape."
"Oh! I don't care."
"Don't you?"
"No; not a bit."
"I didn't mean it."
"What didn't you mean?"