She went out and stood at the gate, waiting for Laurence, uneasy about him, troubled by many thoughts, oppressed. She was still crying when she heard his step down the sidewalk, firm and quick. The thin little moon was already sinking behind the trees, but there was bright starlight, so that Laurence could see her face.
"What's the matter, Mary?" he cried.
"Where have you been? Why did you run off like that?" she demanded with a sob.
She swung the gate open for him, but he took her hand and drew her out.
"It's early yet—come, we don't want to go in yet. Come, let's get away from everybody!"
She was quite willing at the moment to get away from everybody. Out of a vague sense of injury she continued to weep, and to Laurence's anxious inquiries she returned a sobbing answer:
"I don't think older people ought to interfere!... It's our own business, isn't it?... What do they know about it?..."
Laurence agreed passionately that they knew nothing about it and had better not interfere, and kissed her tearful eyes till she protested that they must go on now or somebody would be coming. She said softly:
"Poor Laurence! This isn't very gay, for your first evening home!"