“Papa, for shame!” cried Maude, indignantly.
“Now—now—now, don’t you begin to bully me, Maudey my dear. I get so much of that at home.”
“Then you will forgive me, dear?” said Maude, nestling up to the poor weak old man.
“But—but I oughtn’t, Maudey, I oughtn’t, you know,” he said, caressing her.
“But you will, dear, and you’ll come and stay with us often. We are so happy.”
“Are so—so happy!” said the old man, with a look of perplexity on his countenance.
“Yes, dear. He loves me so, and—oh, papa, I do love him. You will come? Never mind what mamma and Tom say.”
“But Tom is like a madman about it, Maudey. He says he’ll have you back if he dies for it.”
“Oh, papa!”
“Yes, my pet, he’s in a devil of a rage, and it comes out dreadfully every time he grows tired.”