Yes, she had reached a stand beyond those hopes and fears. Nigel was hers, and she was his. She had indeed her anxieties and dreads, but they were different in kind, and as yet the joy of devoting herself to him outweighed all troubles. In the main she did not, would not, doubt his love, though at times she was nervously disposed to weigh the amount of it against her own for him.
Every one, who has watched with care, can tell how strangely things which were once of vivid importance may slip into the background of memory, unaccountably failing to spring up just when one would most expect that they should. Daisy's sudden question, called out in haste through the pouring rain, brought no recollections to Fulvia of the crumpled half-sheet. She was entirely absorbed with Mr. Carden-Cox's provoking unreasonableness in taking her from Nigel on this particular day. And oh, if Nigel had but cared more! That, after all, was the real pain!
[CHAPTER XXVI]
THE LOST "N.B."
"A pen—to register: a key—
That winds through secret wards:
Are well assigned to memory
By allegoric bards."—WORDSWORTH.
"WHERE are you going to sit?" demanded Daisy of Nigel.
"In the study for the present. Why?"
"May I come too? I won't disturb you, or be a bother. Do let me."
Nigel would have preferred an hour or two alone, but he hesitated to refuse, looking in Daisy's beseeching eyes. She was a very devoted younger sister, and had not had much of his company of late.
"If you like," he replied. "But why?"