“And Regie and Beatrix are the best of children, aren’t they, old papa?” she asked, gravely.
He was quite distressed at not being able to reply truthfully in the affirmative.
“Well,” he said, “I’m sure they would be. Only somehow, I don’t know how it is, they seem to get a little too much indulged, I think.”
“Perhaps they do. I think they want a little more of your iron rule, papa,” said Olivia, who was hanging on to his arm, lovingly patting his cheek and turning up his coat collar and lavishing upon him all the caressing little attentions he loved from his adored daughter’s hands.
He began to laugh; her liveliness and demonstrative affection were dispelling the gloomy forebodings which had hung upon him all day on the entrance to this new and untried life.
“You don’t treat me with proper respect, Olivia. If you are going to be impudent, I shall take you indoors and get Mrs. Denison to talk to you.”
“What mortal man may dare, you dare; but you don’t dare that,” said his daughter, saucily. “Don’t you want to know how I’ve got on here all by myself?”
“Yes, but I’m afraid you’ll catch cold?”
“No, I shan’t. The excitement of this stolen meeting with the king of my heart will keep me warm. Besides, we’ll go in directly. Only when we do, you know what it will be. Nag, nag—oh, no, I forgot; that word is tabooed. I should say orate, orate, until all the ills that flesh is heir to have been exhausted.”
“What were you doing out on a day like this? You hadn’t gone to meet us, had you?”