"Oh, if you will. I've wished there was some way of bringing us nearer together. Yes, you shall be my niece. You won't forget?"
"Oh, no; I am so glad." She seemed to come a little closer, and he placed his arm around her. Oh why did he never know before how sweet love could be! Then he kisses down amid the golden hair. Even her cheek is sacred to him and her lips must be kept for some lover.
There was a little musical string of bells that summoned them to supper. A young man of three- or four-and-twenty stood just inside the door.
"For convenience sake Miss Carrick will be announced as my niece as she is my ward. Allow me to present Mr. Bartram."
Daffodil flushed and bowed. M. de Ronville placed her chair for her. The table was round and very beautifully appointed. She and the young man were opposite. He was rather tall, well looking without being especially handsome. Mrs. Jarvis poured the tea. The two men talked a little business.
"I shall lay the matter before the Wetherills to-morrow," de Ronville said. "I was surprised at the promise of the place and it has a most excellent location. At present it is rather wild, but after seething and settling down the real town comes to the surface. It will not be a bad investment if one can wait. And the Wetherills are not likely to lack descendants.
"I am glad you were not disappointed," returned the young man.
"We know so little about Pittsburg," said Mrs. Jarvis, "except the great defeat of Braddock in the old war. Your people are French, I believe," turning to Daffodil.
"Yes, on the one side. The town seems to be made up of all nations, but they agree pretty well. And they have many queer ways and fashions."
Daffodil did not feel as strange as she had been fearing for the last two or three days that she would. Mother and grandmere would stand a comparison with Mrs. Jarvis, who had the dignity and bearing of a lady.