"DAISY."
"I think you are a humbug," said George Wainwright to Paul as they landed at Calais, and Paul declared his inclination to have everything that could be procured to eat immediately; "you don't look a bit like a sick man."
"I'm sure I don't feel like one," returned Paul; "and it's great nonsense your father sending me away like this. But I am not going to complain or rebel; I mean implicitly to obey him----"
"And Daisy," interrupted George.
"And Daisy, of course."
The two young men enjoyed their tour, Paul very much more than George, as was natural. Paul's affairs were promising, though he did not see his way very clearly to the fulfilment of the promise. But he was full of hope and the gladsome spirits of returning health. There was as yet no rift in the cloud which overhung George's prospects, and he wearied sometimes of the monotony of anxiety and deferred hope.
Dr. Wainwright communicated punctually to his son such information as reached him from Mayence. He had not expected regular intelligence from Dr. Hildebrand, and had told George he must not expect any such concessions from the scientific old oddity, who had already done him exceptional grace. A formal report from Mrs. Stothard of the general health and spirits of Annette reached the Doctor at the appointed periods, but conveyed little real information. Such as they were, George hailed the arrival of these documents with eagerness, and Paul had the grace to assume a deeper interest in them than he really felt.
"By-the-bye," he said to George one evening, as they were resting after a day of laborious mountain-walking, "I don't think I ever told you about Mrs. Stothard, did I?"
"You never told me anything particular about Mrs. Stothard," replied George. "What is it?"
"Why, she's Daisy's mother!"