Peter put his hand on the front door-handle, to which this conversation had carried them, “You mustn’t go out,” he said.
“I’m going,” said Leonore, made all the more eager now that it was forbidden.
“Please don’t,” said Peter weakening.
“Let me pass,” said Leonore decisively.
“Does your father know?”
“Of course not.”
“Then you should ask him. It’s no weather for you to walk in.”
“I shan’t ask him.”
“Then I shall,” and Peter went hurriedly to the library.
“Watts,” he said, “it’s raining torrents and Leonore insists on going to walk. Please say she is not to go.”