"Here am I, a poor man--here are you, my daughter, a girl with the charm and the beauty of the spring, and here's Wallie Hine, rich, weak, and susceptible.

Oh, there's a story for a Barstow to embroider! But, Sylvia, he shall not so much as hint at the story.

For your sake, my dear, for your sake," cried Garratt Skinner, with all the emphasis of a loving father.

He wiped his forehead with his handkerchief.
"I was carried away by my argument," he went on in a calmer voice.

Sylvia for her part had not been carried away at all, and no doubt her watchful composure helped him to subdue as ineffective the ardor of his tones.
"Barstow has only to drop this hint to Wallie Hine, and Wallie will be off like a rabbit at the sound of a gun.