He bit his lips, and said sharply: “You can't, Nollie!”
She got up, and before he could stop her, was gone. With the closing of the door, his anger evaporated, and distress took its place. Poor child! What to do with this wayward chicken just out of the egg, and wanting to be full-fledged at once? The thought that she would be lying miserable, crying, perhaps, beset him so that he went out into the passage and tapped on her door. Getting no answer, he went in. It was dark but for a streak of moonlight, and in that he saw her, lying on her bed, face down; and stealing up laid his hand on her head. She did not move; and, stroking her hair, he said gently:
“Nollie dear, I didn't mean to be harsh. If I were your mother, I should know how to make you see, but I'm only an old bumble-daddy.”
She rolled over, scrambling into a cross-legged posture on the bed. He could see her eyes shining. But she did not speak; she seemed to know that in silence was her strength.
He said with a sort of despair:
“You must let me talk it over with your aunt. She has a lot of good sense.”
“Yes.”
He bent over and kissed her hot forehead.
“Good night, my dear; don't cry. Promise me!”
She nodded, and lifted her face; he felt her hot soft lips on his forehead, and went away a little comforted.