"Why, Daisy," said my father, passing over the last part of my
speech, "how do you know all this? Have you been out into the
great world already?"
"No, papa; but if the little world has such effects what must
the great one do?"
"Pray, what little world have you seen?"
"The little world of West Point, papa. And something of the
world of Washington."
"That is not much like a European court," said my father. "How
did you like West Point?"
"Very much indeed."
"Did you go to balls there?"
"Oh, no, sir! only little hops, that the cadets have in the
evenings."
"Was Preston there then?"
"He was entering upon his last year at the Academy."
"Had he improved?"
"Papa. - I thought he had not."
My father smiled. "Which of these young friends of ours do you
like the best, Daisy?"
"Mr. Marshall and Mr. De Saussure, do you mean?"
"I mean them."
Something in papa's tone made my answer, I was conscious, a
little constrained. I was very sorry, and could not help it.
"Papa - I think - Don't you think, Mr. Marshall has the most
principle?"
"Do you always like people best that are the best, Daisy?"
said papa laughing. "Because, I confess I have a wicked
perverseness to do the other way."
After this conversation I seemed to see several clouds rising
on my horizon in different quarters. I thought it was wisest
not to look at them; but there was one that cast a shadow
always on the spot where I was. It was so long since I had
heard from Mr. Thorold! I had told him he must not write to
me; but at the same time he had said that he would, and that
he would enclose a letter to my father. Neither letter had
come. It was easy to account for; he might not have had a
chance to write; or in the confusions at home, his despatch
might have been detained somewhere; it might reach me after a
long interval, or it might never reach me! There was nothing
strange about it; there was something trying. The hunger of my
heart for one word from him or of him, grew sometimes
rapacious; it was a perpetual fast day with me, and nature
cried out for relief. That cloud cast a shadow always over me
now; only except when now and then a ray from the eternal
sunshine found a rift in the cloud, or shot below it, and for
a moment my feet stood in light. I had letters from the
Sandfords; I had even one from Miss Cardigan; it did me a
great deal of good, but it broke my heart too.
Mamma and I kept off the subject of the great world for a
while; I think my father purposely prolonged our stay at
Geneva, to favour my pleasure; and I hoped something after all
might prevent the discussion of that subject between mamma and
me, at least for the present. So something did.