Then she stepped across the room to where she had cast the suit of clothes. They lay in a grey heap, with the spots of light avoiding them, dancing above them, but not falling on them.
Barbara stooped to pick them up.
‘Stay, Barbara,’ said her father. ‘I hear you. I see what you are doing. I know your purpose. Leave those things where they lie.’
‘O papa! dear papa, suffer me to put them away.’
‘Let them lie there, where I can see them.’
‘But, papa, what will the maids think when they come in? Besides it is untidy to let them litter about the floor.’
He made an impatient gesture with his hand.
‘May I not, at least, fold them and lay them on the chair?’
‘You may not touch them at all,’ he said in a tone of irritation. She knew his temper too well to oppose him further.