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Blackmore, R. D. (Richard Doddridge), 1825-1900

"Springhaven : a Tale of the Great War"

"
"But, my darling--all these grand things?" said the father, gently
fingering but half afraid to look at her, because of what had been in
his own mind; "the sweetest Navy blue, and the brightest Army red, and
little bits of silver lace so quiet in between them! I am sure I don't
know what to call a quarter of it; but the finest ship ever seen under
full sail, with the sun coming through her from her royals to her
courses--"
"Now, papa, don't be so ridiculous. You know that I am not a fine ship
at all, but only a small frigate, about eighteen guns at the outside, I
should say--though she would be a sloop of war, wouldn't she?--and come
here at any rate for you to command her, if you are not far too lofty an
Admiral."
"Do you love your old father, my dear?" said he, being carried beyond
his usual state by the joy in her eyes as she touched him.
"What a shame to ask me such a question? Oh, papa, I ought to say, 'Do
you love me?' when you go away weeks and months almost together! Take
that, papa; and be quite ashamed of yourself."
She swept all her breast-knots away anyhow--that had taken an hour to
arbitrate--and flung back her hair that would never be coiled, and with
a flash of tears leaping into laughing eyes, threw both arms round her
father's neck, and pressed her cool sweet lips to his, which were not at
all in the same condition.
"There, see what you've done for me now!" she cried. "It will take
three-quarters of an hour, papa, to make me look fit to be looked at
again.


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