"But Mr Trim is not like the print of Conrad," I put in pertly, "and
Cornelius is, is he not, Kate?"
Mr. Trim laughed; Kate gave me a severe look and rang for tea. Our guest rose; Miss O'Reilly civilly asked him to stay; but he declined, he had an engagement, he said. Scarcely had the street door closed upon him, when he knocked again. Deborah opened, and his head soon appeared at the parlour door.
"Dreadful memory!" he said, chuckling, "quite forgot Byron; Smalley was rather shocked at some passages, and says you are to read his notes on Manfred."
"Daisy, go and take that book from Mr. Trim," said Kate.
I rose, went up to him, and held out my hand for the volume. He stretched out his arm, caught me, lifted me up, and attempted to kiss me. As I saw his face bending towards mine, I slapped it with all my might, and cried out, "Cornelius!"
"Put that child down," said his somewhat stern voice behind us.
Mr. Trim put me down as if he had been shot. I ran to Cornelius, who looked dark and displeased, and clung to him for protection.
"Like him best—eh, Daisy?" said Mr. Trim, trying to laugh it off, "he is Conrad, eh? but I have no Medora. You foolish thing! why it is only a joke—who minds me?"
"Do not be alarmed, Daisy," observed Cornelius, addressing me, but giving
Mr. Trim an expressive look; "Mr. Trim will never do it again."
"Catch me at it!" rather sulkily answered our visitor, rubbing his cheek as he spoke, "I have enough of such valiant damsels. Well, well," he added, relapsing into his usual manner, "no malice; good night, I am glad to see you so happy and comfortable. God bless you all!" He cast a sullen look around the room, and vanished.