"This is good for nothing, now, you see, Daisy."
"Yes, Daisy, it does; for it speaks of a man of last year, and my answer would go to a man of this year."
"I must be assured of that." He was folding up his letter, his own, and I saw the next thing would be to throw it into the fire. I laid my hand over his.
"Papa, let me have it. I will send it to Miss Cardigan - she loves me almost as well as you do - I will tell her; and if there is any truth in mamma's story, Miss Cardigan will know and she will burn the letter, just as well as you. And so you would escape doing a great wrong."
"Then Miss Cardigan will burn the letter, papa. I can trust her."
"Yes, papa, through me. Please let me have it. There shall come no harm from this, papa."
"Daisy, your mother says he is engaged to this girl."
"Then will be soon enough for my action."
"But papa, in the mean time? - think of the months he has been waiting already for an answer -"
I suppose the tears were in my eyes, as I pleaded, with my hand still upon papa's hand, covering the papers. He slowly drew his hand away, leaving the letter under mine.
"I am a little unwilling, Daisy; but I cannot deny you, child. I hope you are right."
"Then, papa, add that one word about letters, will you?"
Papa set his teeth for a moment, with a look which, however, wonted perhaps in his youthful days, I had very rarely seen called up in him. It passed then, and he wrote the brief word I had asked for, of addition to his letter, and gave it to me; and then took me in his arms and kissed me again.
"You are not very wise in the world, my Daisy," he said; "and men would say I am not. But I cannot deny you. Guard your letter to Miss Cardigan. And for the present all this matter shall sleep in our own bosoms."
"Papa," I asked, "how much did mamma know - I mean - how much did she hear about me that was true?"
"It was reported that you had been engaged."
I was silent a moment, pondering, as well I might; but then I kissed papa and thanked him, and went off and wrote and posted my letter with its enclosure. Sufficient to the day is the evil thereof.
I sent my letter, and waited. I got no answer. The weeks rolled on, and the months. It was palpable, that delays which had kept back one letter for a year might affect the delivery of another letter in the same way; but it is hard, the straining one's eyes into thick darkness with the vain endeavour to see something.