“That’s Europe, right enough,” he said.  “And I don’t object, John, to your going there whenever you please.  You’re disgracefully countryfied and uninformed for a man of means, and Europe’ll open your eyes and prove to you how insignificant you really are.  I advise you to visit Ireland, sor, which I’m reliably informed is the centhral jewel in Europe’s crown of beauty.  Go; and go whinever you please, sor; but forbear the wickedness of putting foolish thoughts into our Patsy’s sweet head.  She can’t go a step, and you know it.  It’s positive cruelty to her, sir, to suggest such a thing!”

The Major’s speech had a touch of the brogue when he became excited, but recovered when he calmed down.

“Why, you selfish old humbug!” cried Uncle John, indignantly.  “Why can’t she go, when there’s money and time to spare?  Would you keep her here to cuddle and spoil a vigorous man like yourself, when she can run away and see the world and be happy?”

“It’s a great happiness to cuddle the Major,” said Patsy, softly; “and the poor man needs it as much as he does his slippers or his oatmeal for breakfast.”

“And Patsy has the house to look after,” added the Major, complacently.

Uncle John gave a snort of contempt.

“For an unreasonable man, show me an Irishman,” he remarked.  “Here you’ve been telling me how Europe is an education and a delight, and in the next breath you deliberately deprive your little daughter, whom you pretend to love, of the advantages she might gain by a trip abroad!  And why?  Just because you want her yourself, and might be a bit lonesome without her.  But I’ll settle that foolishness, sir, in short order.  You shall go with us.”

“Impossible!” ejaculated the Major.  “It’s the time of year I’m most needed in the office, and Mr. Marvin has been so kind and considerate that I won’t play him a dirty trick by leaving him in the lurch.”

Patsy nodded approval.

“That’s right, daddy,” she said.

Uncle John lay back in the chair and put the newspaper over his face again.  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.”