"Papa, I guess. I know what it was meant to be."
I was glad, and proud; that was what it ought to be; that was what I knew it suited papa that it should be. I stood by the mantelpiece, waiting.
"Mr. Thorold said he would write to you, papa. I had been afraid, and asked him not. I wanted him to wait till he could see you."
"One sees a good deal of a man in his letters," said papa; "and this is a man's letter. He thinks enough of himself, Daisy."
"I did not say too much; but enough; and a man who does not think enough of himself is a poor creature. I would not have a man ask me for you, Daisy, who did not in his heart think he was worthy of you."
"Papa, you draw nice distinctions," I said half laughing.
"That would be simple presumption, not modesty; this is manliness."
We were both silent upon this; papa considering the letter, or its proposal; I thinking of Mr. Thorold's manliness, and feeling very much pleased that he had shown it and papa had discerned it so readily. The silence lasted till I began to be curious.
"What shall we do now, Daisy?" papa said at last. I left him to answer his own question.
"Papa, - I hope you will give him a kind answer."
"I can enclose it to an aunt of his, whom I know. She can get it to him. She lives in New York."
"No one of them, papa, but this one; his mother's sister."
So I sat down and told papa about Miss Cardigan. He listened with a very grave, thoughtful face; asking few questions, but kissing me. And then, without more ado, he turned to the table and wrote a letter, writing very fast, and handed it to me. It was all I could have asked that it might be. My heart filled with grateful rest.
"Will that do?" said papa as I gave it back.
"Papa, only one thing more, - if you are willing, that we should sometimes write to each other?"
"Hm - that sounds moderate," said papa. "By the way, why was not this letter written and sent sooner? What is the date? - why, Daisy! -"
"My child, this letter, - it is a good year old, and more; written in the beginning of last winter."
It took me a little while to get the full bearings of this; then I saw that it dated back to a time quite anterior to the circumstances of Faustina St. Clair's story, whatever that amounted to. Papa was all thrown back.