"Aren't we getting a little—theatrical, my child?" he murmured mildly.
"You needn't call me that. I refuse to recognize the relationship," she flamed. "Perhaps we are getting theatrical—that woman said it was like a story-book. And perhaps you thought you could wipe it all out by adopting me. Adopting me, indeed! As if I'd let you! I can tell you it isn't going to end like a story-book, with father and mother and daughter—'and they all lived happily ever after'—because I won't let it!"
"What do you mean by that?" The man's face had grown suddenly very white.
Betty fixed searching, accusing eyes on his countenance.
"Are you trying to make me think you don't know I'm your daughter; that—"
"Betty! Are you really, really—my little Betty?"
At the joyous cry and the eagerly outstretched arms Betty shrank back.
"Then you didn't know—that?"
"No, no! Oh, Betty, Betty, is it true? Then it'll all be right now. Oh, Betty, I'm so glad," he choked. "My little girl! Won't you—come to me?"
She shook her head and retreated still farther out of his reach. Her eyes still blazed angrily.