All this talk was about her. She just realized it. She had listened as if some one was reading out of a book. She started now, and light and fleet as a deer flashed across the porch and up to her own room, in a queer, frightened state, hardly knowing what it meant, and yet vaguely suspicious. She had not been especially drawn to Mr. Bartram. He treated her quite as a child, sometimes teased, and evoked quick, mirthful replies, at others passed her by indifferently. All her experience had been with boys, and men of middle age, and she had no idea of lovers. Did uncle de Ronville mean that she should come here and love, and then be married to Mr. Bartram!
She was suddenly and unreasonably homesick for ugly old Pittsburg. The shops and the drives, the gayeties and delights, had lost their charm. If she could fly home to her mother's arms! If she could sit on her father's knee and have him hug her to his heart, or even grandad's rough love. And Norah, and Felix, and grandfather Bradin, who took her out in his boat, and sang funny sea-going songs. No, she couldn't come here to live!
Yet it was curious the next morning. Everything seemed exactly the same. Uncle said, "Will you get ready for your ride?" in that gentle, courtly manner, and they went off together. Mr. Bartram had been very quiet, she had hardly ventured to raise her eyes to him.
Oh, maybe she had fallen asleep and dreamed it.
Mary Pemberton came over early. A host of girls were going to have a picnic up the river, and Belinda wanted her. They would bring her back by five in the afternoon. It was to be just a girls' party, only her brother would be there to see that Darius, the black servitor, attended to them properly.
It was a bright, jolly day, with swinging, and a gipsy campfire, playing tag and telling riddles, and even running races. And she was so joyous talking it all over that evening, M. de Ronville felt he could never let her go. Could he persuade her to stay? Young people were fond of pleasure, and after this Pittsburg would be dull.
All the week the desire in Daffodil's heart had grown into absolute longing to go home. Yet she cares so much for them here: Uncle, Mrs. Jarvis, Miss Wharton, and a number of other people. But how could the return be planned. No one had suggested such a thing.
Providence comes to her assistance, opening the way in the shape of Mrs. Craig, who stays to supper, as she has a matter to lay before M. de Ronville. And that is, that she has finished her visit, and desires to return before the autumnal rains set in, while the going is still good. And she will take Daffodil.
"I am afraid we can't spare her," returned M. de Ronville. "She has become such a part of our household."
"But I must go home sometime," said the child with a quick gasp in her breath.