It was as though time were repeating itself, and he was once more at issue with his daughter's childish wilfulness.
Ida did not move.
"Why won't you come ?" asked Mr.Woodstock sharply.
"I don't want to," was Ida's answer.
"Look here, then," said the other, after a brief consideration.

"You have the choice, and you're old enough to see what it means.

You can either come with me and be well cared for, or stay here and shift as best you can; now, be sharp and make up your mind." "I don't wish to go with you, I'll stay here and do my best." "Very well." Mr.Woodstock whistled a bar of an air, stepped from the room, and thence out into the streets.
It was not his intention really to go at once.

Irritation had made it impossible for him to speak longer with the child; he would walk the length of the street and return to give her one more chance.

Distracted in purpose as he had never been in his life before, he reached Marylebone Road; rain was just beginning to fall, and he had no umbrella with him.