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."
"But she isn't fond of me, as she used to be."
"Yes, of course she is, Norah." His arm was round her waist, and he
lifted her upon his lap, and held her there. "We are both very fond of
you."
"_You_ are," she whispered. "I know that.... I should die if you ever
turned so as not to care for me;" and she nestled against him.
"Norah."
With a last assumption of the fatherly manner he stooped and kissed
her forehead. Then she raised her lips to his, and they kissed slowly.
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