“Oh! oh! oh!” sobbed Maude, hysterically, for she could contain herself no longer.
“Eh! eh! eh!” ejaculated Lord Barmouth. “What the deuce! A lady in distress. Doosed fine woman too,” he added, raising his glass as he tottered to his feet. “I was a devil of a fellow among the ladies when I was a youngster. Can I, madam—suppose she don’t understand English—can I, madam, be of any service? What, Maudey, my darling? Is it you at last?”
“Oh, papa! papa!”
There was a burst of sobbing and embracing, ended by the old man seating himself in Maude’s chair, and the girl sinking at his feet.
“And—and—and I’ve—I’ve found you at last then, my dear, or have you found me? Is—is it really you?”
“Yes, yes, yes, my own dear darling father,” sobbed Maude.
“Yes, it is—it is,” he cried, fondling her and drawing her to his breast, till he seemed to recollect something.
“But, damme—damme—damme—”
“Oh, don’t—don’t swear at me, papa darling!”
“But—but I must, my dear. Here have I been searching all over Europe for you, and now I have found you.”