“Are you feeling badly, dear?” she said.
“I am feeling more easy than a moment ago,” said the senator. “Bring a chair over here, Peggy; we must have a little talk.”
She brought a little upright chair and sat down facing him, her right hand nestling over one of his.
“The doctor,” said the senator, “considers that my condition is critical.”
“Papa”
“I disagree with him. I shall, I believe, live to see the end of this civil riot, but I cannot be sure. So it behooves me to ask my dear daughter a question.” St. John asked it with eagerness. “Which is it to be, Peggy?”
She blushed deeply.
“You are interested in Aladdin O’Brien?”
Her head drooped a little.
“Yes, papa.”