Hetty was the first to recover. She advanced with a fair assumption of warmth in her manner. Her heart, belying her, was as cold as ice.
"Father!" she cried, holding out her hands.
He grasped them, and looked wildly about.
"Kiss me!" she whispered imperatively.
He stooped and brushed her cheek with his long moustache.
"Good God!" he muttered, still incredulous.
She turned to the excited Leslie with a quavering smile on her lips.
"We haven't seen each other in twelve years, Mr. Wrandall," she said.
"'Pon my soul!" added her father for the third time, thereby reaching the limit of emphasis, having placed it differently each time.
Leslie surprised himself by rising to the occasion. It occurred to him that they would like to be alone for a little while at least.