“Oh, I am sure of it! and I should like to go so much!” she exclaimed, “but I don’t think papa will let me now; and I am sure I do not deserve that he should.”
“Well, we won’t despair,” he said cheerfully. “I know he doesn’t allow any coaxing from you, but that is not forbidden to me, and if necessary, I shall try my powers of persuasion.”
A call to the nursery had detained Rose, thus giving them time for this little talk; but now she was returning; they heard her light step coming down the hall, her voice and that of old Mr. Dinsmore in conversation.
“Grandpa! Oh, please excuse me, Mr. Travilla! I don’t want him to see that—that—I’ve been crying,” Elsie exclaimed, and slipped out of the room by one door as they entered by another.
Her eyes were so full of tears that she did not see that her father was near until he had her in his arms.
“What is the matter?” he asked tenderly.
Her only answer was a fresh burst of tears and sobs.
They were near the door of her boudoir. He took her hand, led her in there, sat down on a sofa and drew her to his knee.
“Tell me what ails you,” he said, and she knew by his tone that he would have the whole story; there was no escape for her; though, indeed, she was now and always ready enough to pour out all her griefs into his sympathizing ear.
So she told of her mamma’s request and the confession it had forced from her, that she was forbidden to go to his study in his absence; ending with, “O papa, please, please remove the prohibition and punish me some other way! won’t you, dear papa?”