‘Is—is she m-mad?’
The whisper,—if it was meant for a whisper—was more than sufficiently audible to catch his daughter’s ears. She started—raised her head—sprang to her feet—turned—and saw her father.
‘Papa!’
Immediately her sire was seized with an access of stuttering.
‘W-w-what the d-devil’s the—the m-m-meaning of this?’
Her utterance was clear enough,—I fancy her parent found it almost painfully clear.
‘Rather it is for me to ask, what is the meaning of this! Is it possible, that, all the time, you have actually been concealed behind that—screen?’
Unless I am mistaken the old gentleman cowered before the directness of his daughter’s gaze,—and endeavoured to conceal the fact by an explosion of passion.
‘Do-don’t you s-speak to me li-like that, you un-undutiful girl! I—I’m your father!’
‘You certainly are my father; though I was unaware until now that my father was capable of playing the part of eavesdropper.’