"My dear," he answered with evident embarrassment, "Kate and I should like it greatly; but would it be accomplishing the object in view?"
So it was to be a complete, a total exile! I looked at him; I did not want to move him, to appeal to his compassion, but my glance wanted to ask his if this could be true. That silent questioning look appeared to trouble him involuntarily.
"Shall Kate come and see me?" I asked after awhile.
"Certainly."
"And may I write to you, Cornelius?"
"No doubt you may. What makes you ask?"
"Because of course you will not come."
"Why not?" asked Cornelius, looking both surprised and hurt; "am I sending you away in anger? I am not, Daisy. I mean it as a cure,—painful perhaps, but short. I am to marry Miss Russell this summer. We will live next-door; you will be here with Kate. I trust that by that time good sense will have prevailed over exaggerated feelings; that you will learn to love and respect Miriam as my wife and the companion of my existence. This is the true reason of what you perhaps consider a very harsh measure—that your embittered feelings may have time and opportunity to soothe down in peace."
I understood him. This was but the beginning of a life-long separation.
Cornelius married, was lost to me. I felt it, but resistance was useless;
I heard him apathetically. Thinking perhaps to rouse and interest me, he
said—
"You do not ask to what school you are going?"