Peters had been on constant backing against walls.
"Don't shoot!" she cried, as Mr. Peters absent-mindedly dipped his
hand into the pocket of his coat. "Oh, please don't shoot!"
"What the deuce do you mean?" said Mr. Bennett, irritably.
He hated to have people gibbering around him in the morning.
"Wilhelmina, this man says that you told him you loved him."
"Yes, I did, and I do. Really, really, Mr. Peters, I do!"
"Suffering cats!"
Mr. Bennett clutched at the back of a chair.
"But you've only met him once!" he added almost pleadingly.
"You don't understand, father dear," said Billie desperately. "I'll
explain the whole thing later, when...."
"Father!" ejaculated Jno. Peters feebly. "Did you say 'father'?"
"Of course I said 'father'!"
"This is my daughter, Mr. Peters."
"My daughter! I mean, your daughter! Are--are you sure?"
"Of course I'm sure. Do you think I don't know my own daughter?"
"But she called me 'Mr. Peters'!"
"Well, it's your name, isn't it?"
"But, if she--if this young lady is your daughter, how did she know my
name?"
The point seemed to strike Mr.
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