"Whew!"
"She'd never do for un, Skipper John."
"No?"
"Never. They're not suited to each other at all. He'd be mis'able with her."
Skipper John grinned.
"Poor Dickie!" he sighed.
Peggy Lacey was in tears at last.
"Father John," she sobbed, "I'm jus' desperate with fear an' grief. I can't bear it no longer." She began to pace the floor in a tumult of emotion. "I can't breathe," said she. "I'm stifled. My heart's like t' burst with pain." She paused—she turned to Skipper John, swaying where she stood, her hands pitifully reaching toward the old man, her face gray and dull with the agony she could no longer endure; and her eyes closed, and her head dropped, and her voice fell to a broken whisper. "Oh, hold me!" she entreated. "I'm sick. I'll fall."
Skipper John took her in his arms.
"Ah, hush!" he crooned. "'Tis not so bad as all that. An' he's not worth it, the great dunderhead!"