"What is it you mean?"
"That he is a mere boy; Kate always called him a boy, and I always thought him one. You do not think I could have been so free with a young man. Indeed, no, Cornelius. And then he is a sailor!"
"Do you object to that?"
"Most decidedly."
"Why, what would you like, Daisy?"
"I don't know; but I know what I do not like, and a Lord Admiral himself would not tempt me."
"I had no idea you had so many good reasons for rejecting him," said Cornelius, smiling; "he is fair, a boy, and a sailor--have you anything else?"
"Yes, Cornelius," I replied, looking up into his face, "I have known him too long--almost as long as you."
"Indeed!" he said, abstractedly, "is old acquaintance so great a sin in your opinion, Daisy?"
"Not a sin, Cornelius; but I have liked William like a brother, and I cannot like him otherwise."
"Daisy, it seems to me that an old and known friend is in general much preferable to the stranger."
"That is a good reason, Cornelius, and I am talking of a feeling. Mine is so strong that, much as I like William, I feel a sort of relief in thinking we shall not meet in haste."
"Oh! Daisy," sadly said Cornelius, "do you impute that poor boy's affection for you, as a crime to him."
"Heaven forbid; but can I help feeling that the charm of our friendship is gone? He liked me one way, I liked him another; after that, what can there be between us? Could I again be free with him? I could not; and to be cold and constrained when I was once so trusting and so frank, would be worse than utter separation. I would rather never see him more, than feel my friendship for him breaking miserably away, Cornelius."
I spoke as I felt, with a warmth and earnestness that again made my eyes overflow. Cornelius heard me with an attentive look, then placing his hand on my arm, said, quietly--
"Oh, Daisy, what a lesson!"
"A lesson, Cornelius?"
"Yes, a lesson, which I, for one, shall not forget. If ever I find myself circumstanced as was your friend, Daisy, I shall have the wisdom not to cast away friendship before I am sure of love."
"Cornelius," I said, earnestly, "do you blame me?"
"No, no," he quickly replied.
"Because if you thought I should--"
"No," he interrupted; "not at all. Oh, Daisy! do you not see I am too selfish to wish to make a present of you to the first boy or man who chooses to take a fancy to you?"
"And I hope I know better than to leave you and Kate," I replied, confidently. "Oh, Cornelius!" I added, with sudden emotion, "how can daughters leave their father's house for that of a stranger?"
He was bending over me with the look and attitude which, even more than act or speech, imply the fond and caressing mood; but, on hearing this, he reddened, drew back, and said, in a short, vexed tone:--
"Don't be filial, Daisy."
"Don't be alarmed," I replied, smiling, "I have not forgotten that you called me your friend the other day, and I am going to avail myself of the privilege."
"Are you?" he answered, pacified at once.
"Yes, I am going to be very bold."
He smiled.
"To ask a great favour."
He looked delighted and inquisitive.
"You know," I continued, in my most persuasive accents, and passing my arm within his, "you know it is settled that I am always to remain with you and Kate; but--"
"But," he echoed.
"But is it settled that you are to remain with us?"
"Why not?" he replied, looking astonished.
"You spoke of Spain the other evening. What should you want to go to Spain for? I think it would be a great loss of time; besides--"
"Besides, Daisy?" he repeated, smoothing my hair.
"Besides, I want you to remain with us."
"For how long, Daisy?"
"For ever."
I said it, smiling, for I dreamt not he would consent.
"For ever," he repeated, with quiet assent.
I looked at him with breathless joy. He smiled.
"Ask me for something else," he said.
"I dare not," I replied, drawing in a long breath, "lest you should take back the first gift to punish my presumption."
"Your presumption! Oh, Daisy!"
I gave him a quick look; as our eyes met, I read in his the dangerous and intoxicating knowledge, that he who for seven years had been my master, now voluntarily abdicated that throne of authority where two so seldom sit in peace, and was calling me to something more than equality. My heart beat, my face flushed; I looked at him proudly.
"And so," I said, a little agitatedly, "I am really to be your friend.
How good!--how kind! But I am not to obey you now?" I asked, breaking off.
"Don't name the word," he replied, impatiently.
"How odd!" I observed, both startled and amused. "How odd that I, who used to feel so much afraid of you, when you used to chide, punish, turn out of the room--"