Affection is full of wiles. I followed the precept of drawing out just laid down by Miss O'Reilly, and said quietly—
"Is that all, Kate?"
"All!" she replied indignantly; "why, what more would you have? You ignorant little thing, don't you know that the human heart is made up of separate curious niches, and that in the heart of Cornelius you have quite a niche of your own. He loves me more than he loves you; and, alas! he loves Miriam more than us two put together; but for all that I am much deceived if he does not feel more of what is called friendship for you than for either of us; and let me tell you that friendship which is not exacted as the love of kindred, not interested like passion, is a very lovely thing. It is odd that a little girl like you should now be to him what is called a 'friend,' and yet it is so; but whether because of some secret sympathy invisible to me, or on account of your liking his pictures and painting so well, is more than I can tell."
She spoke positively: memory confirmed all she said; the words of Cornelius repeated by her gave additional proof,—for to be missed is one of the tokens love most prizes, and on which it relies most securely. The blood rushed to my heart; I looked up at Kate with mute gladness.
"Bless the child!" she exclaimed, "Daisy, what is the matter?" And she looked confounded.
"Nothing," I replied.
"Then do not look beside yourself. Oh, Midge, Midge! how will it end?"
She pushed back my hair to look into my face with a rueful glance; but my heart swam in a joy she could not check. Cornelius missed me, loved me, and loved me as his friend!
"Oh! Kate," I said, "how kind of you to tell me all this!"
"Then make much of it, for it is all you shall hear from me. No; it is no use kissing me, and looking pitiful. You are quite fond enough of him as it is."