“Kiss me, papa dear,” sobbed Maude.
“Yes, yes, my darling, and I am so glad to see you again; but what a devil of a wicked girl you have been to bolt.”
“Oh, but, papa darling, I couldn’t—I couldn’t marry that man.”
“Well, well, well,” chuckled Lord Barmouth, “he was a miserable screw for a girl like you. But I—I hear that he’s going to shoot him first time he sees him.”
“Oh, papa! Then they must never meet.”
“But—but I’m not saying what I meant to say—all I’d got ready for you, Maudey. How dare you disgrace your family like that?”
“Don’t—don’t blame me, papa darling. You don’t know what I suffered before I consented to go.”
“But, you know—”
“Oh, papa, don’t blame your poor girl, who loves you so very dearly.”
“But—but it’s such a doose of a come down, my darling. It’s—it’s—it’s ten times worse than any case I know.”