"Exactly what I expected from your common sense, my dear child. My appreciation of you is higher than ever. When shall I hear?"
"If I don't write to you before, I will be here this day week at this time."
"So be it," said the Colonel, and he led her to the door. As she passed, he touched her forehead with his lips, and so they parted.
"I suppose I ought to be in a whirl of terror, fright, and shame," said Daisy to herself, as she walked towards the West; "but I feel none of these sensations. It is a matter which will require a great deal of thinking about, and must have very careful attention."
[CHAPTER XXIII.]
POOR PAUL.
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It is eleven o'clock in the morning on the first day of Paul's return to work, and business in the Principal Registrar's room at H.M. Stannaries is in full swing.
Mr. Courtney has just arrived, and is seated before the brightly-burning fire--the old gentleman used to harass the souls of the messengers in reference to this fire--reading The Morning Post. He looks much better for his holiday, and is wigged, and curled, and buckled, and girthed, and generally got up as much as ever.
George Wainwright is seated at his desk, with several sheets of manuscript before him, which he is scoring through with a pencil, and annotating marginally; from time to time uttering contemptuous grunts of "Pshaw!" and "Stuff!" and "No nominative case," greatly to the disgust of Mr. Billy Dunlop, who is the author of the work in course of supervision.