Patsy and her father stared at one another with grave intentness.
Then the Major drew out his handkerchief and mopped his brow.
"You'd like to go, mavourneen ?" he asked, softly.
"Yes, daddy; but I won't, of course." "Tut-tut! don't you go putting yourself against your old father's will, Patsy.

It's not so far to Europe," he continued, thoughtfully, "and you won't be away much longer than you were when you went to Elmhurst after Aunt Jane's money--which you didn't get.

Mary takes fine care of our little rooms, and doubtless I shall be so busy that I won't miss you at all, at all." "Daddy!" She was in his lap, now, her chubby arms clasped around his neck and her soft cheek laid close beside his rough and ruddy one.
"And when ye get back, Patsy darlin'," he whispered, tenderly stroking her hair, "the joy of the meeting will make up for all that we've suffered.

It's the way of life, mavourneen.

Unless a couple happens to be Siamese twins, they're bound to get separated in the course of events, more or less, if not frequently." "I won't go, daddy." "Oh, yes you will.