"Do not speak of MONEY at a moment like this!" cried the mortified lawyer.
"But ye said ye would let me have it!" persisted Peg.
"Don't you wish to know who the man is, whom I have just described, my dear Miss O'Connell?"
"No, I don't. Why should I? With me father waitin' in New York for me—an' I'm waitin' for that—" and again she pointed to his pocket-book.
"Miss O'Connell—may I say—Margaret, I was your uncle's adviser—his warm personal friend. We spoke freely of you for many weeks before he died. It was his desire to do something for you that would change your whole life and make it full and happy and contented. Were your uncle alive, I know of nothing that would give him greater pleasure than for his old friend to take you, your young life—into his care. Miss O'Connell—I am the man!"
It was the first time this dignified gentleman had ever invited a lady to share his busy existence, and he felt the warm flush of youthful nervousness rush to his cheeks, as it might have done had he made just such a proposal, as a boy. It really seemed to him that he WAS a boy as he stood before Peg waiting for her reply.
Again she did not say exactly what he had thought and hoped she would have said.
"Stop it!" she cried. "What's the matther with you men this morning? Ye'd think I was some great lady, the way ye're all offerin' me yer hands an' yer names an' yer influences an' yer dignities. Stop it! Give me that money and let me go."
Hawkes did not despair. He paused.
"Don't give your answer too hastily. I know it must seem abrupt—one might almost say BRUTAL. But I am alone in the world—YOU are alone. Neither of us have contracted a regard for anyone else. And in addition to that—there would be no occasion to marry until you are twenty-one. There!"