"You mustn't go and moon about by yourself, like this. You know you mustn't, don't you?"
"Yes, I know. But I couldn't stay indoors."
He had slid his hand downward, and was holding her arm above the elbow. "It is very disobedient. Often and often Mrs. Dale has told you that you mustn't come here."
"I know," she said humbly.
"So now, you see, I am sent to fetch you—and to tell you that you mustn't do it." He was struggling hard to speak in his ordinary tone of voice, but failing. And his imitation of his usual fatherly manner, as he held her arm and led her along, was clumsy and laborious. He stopped moving when they reached the prostrate beech-tree, but continued to talk to her, saying the same things again and again. "Norah, it can not be allowed. You mustn't be disobedient. We can't allow it."
They lingered by the tree, she looking at him all the time, and he scarcely ever looking at her, but glancing about him furtively. Then they sat down side by side on one of the great branches, and as if unconsciously he began to caress her.
"Is Mrs. Dale very angry with me?"
"Yes, Norah, she is angry. You can't be surprised at that."
"Not so angry that she won't never forgive me?"
"Oh, no, she's not so angry as all that."