"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.
"Hey? What do you wish me to do?"
"Papa, - I hope you will give him a kind answer."
"How can I get it to him?"
"I can enclose it to an aunt of his, whom I know. She can get
it to him. She lives in New York."
"His aunt? So you know his family?
"No one of them, papa, but this one; his mother's sister."
"What sort of a person is she?"
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! -"
"What, papa?"
"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.
"This is good for nothing, now, you see, Daisy."
"Oh, no, papa."
"For the purposes of action."
"Papa, it does not matter, the date."
"Yes, Daisy, it does; for it speaks of a man of last year, and
my answer would go to a man of this year."
"They are not different men, papa."
"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, don't do that. Let me have it."
"I cannot send it."
"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."