"You don't mean that he—that he's like—"
"Yes, dear; I should not wish my youngest son to marry."
"Poor boy," said Margaret, softly.
"It's the Irish in him," said the senator. "He must do all things to extremes. There, in a word, lies all his strength and all his weakness."
"You would be sorry if I married Aladdin?"
"I should be afraid for your happiness. Do you love him?"
"I am not sure, papa."
"You are fond of Peter, aren't you?"
She leaned forward till her cheek touched his.
"Next to you and 'Laddin."
The senator patted her shoulder, and thus they remained for some time.
A great shouting arose in the neighborhood.
The senator sat bolt upright in bed. His nostrils began to quiver. He was like an old war-horse that hears bugles.
