He had reached one of the crises of his life.
Peg looked at him and a smile broadened across her face.
"No, I didn't know it. When did ye find it out?"
"Just now--down in that room--when the thought flashed through me
that perhaps you really meant to leave us. It went all through me.
'Pon my honour, it did. The idea positively hurt me. Really HURT
me."
"Did it, now?" laughed Peg. "Sure, an' I'm glad of it."
"Glad! GLAD?" he asked in astonishment.
"I am. I didn't think anythin' could hurt ye unless it disturbed yer
comfort. An' I don't see how my goin' will do that."
"Oh, but it will," persisted Alaric. "Really, it will."
"Sure, now?" Peg was growing really curious. What was this odd
little fellow trying to tell her? He looked so tremendously in
earnest about something What in the world was it?
Alaric answered her without daring to look at her.
He fixed his eye on his pointed shoe and said quaveringly:
"You know, meetin' a girl round the house for a whole month, as I've
met you, has an awful effect on a fellow. AWFUL Really!"
"AWFUL?" cried Peg.
"Yes, indeed it has. It grows part of one's life, as it were. Not to
see you running up and down those stairs: sittin' about all over the
place: studyin' all your jolly books and everything--you know the
thought bruises me--really it BRUISES.
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