She found Henry leisurely coming towards the house.

"Where has he gone ?" she inquired, with a jerk of her shoulder towards the road.
"Mr.Allen ?" "Yes." "How should I know ?" "Don't you know ?" "Maybe I do," said Henry, smiling at Sylvia with his smile of affection and remembrance that she was a woman.
"Why don't you tell ?" "Now, Sylvia," said Henry, "you must remember that Mr.Allen is not a child.

He is a grown man, and if he takes it into his head to go anywhere you can't say anything." Sylvia looked at Henry with a baffled expression.

"I think he might spend his time a good deal more profitably Sunday afternoon than sitting under the trees and smoking, or going walking," said she, rashly and inconsequentially.

"If he would only sit down and read some good book." "You can't dictate to Mr.Allen what he shall or shall not do," Henry repeated.
"Why didn't you want Rose to go to Lucy's ?" asked Sylvia, making a charge in an entirely different quarter.
Henry scorned to lie.