"Thank you, Daisy," said the somewhat sorrowful voice of Kate.
I looked up. She was standing behind us; she had evidently overheard our last words. I felt myself crimsoning with shame, and hid my face on the shoulder of Cornelius.
"Don't hide your face, child," quietly observed Kate, "I do not prefer you: why should you prefer me? Besides, loving him more is not loving me less, and I was not so foolish as not to know it was thus: so look up."
"Yes, look up," said Cornelius, raising my face. "Kate is not vexed with you."
"But Kate is vexed with you, Cornelius," she remarked, very gravely: "do you mean to spoil that child, to—"
"Yes," interrupted Cornelius.
"Oh! you may make light of it," she continued very seriously; "I am not so blind as not to guess that you brought her home a little for her sake, and a good deal for your own."
"'Faith, then, you only guess the truth, Kate," said Cornelius, impatiently; "it is odd you never seem to understand what, heaven knows, I never seek to hide, nor dream to deny. I am fond of the child, very fond of her. I cared little for her when she came first to us, but she chose to take a fancy to me, and, though it would puzzle me to say how it came to pass, I found out in time that I had taken to her what must have been a very real fancy, for since she left I have never felt as if the house were the same without her. So after a week's hesitation and delay I went off and fetched her yesterday—and I don't repent it, Kate. She has provoked and tormented me—she will do so again, I have no doubt, perverse little creature! and yet I cannot help being glad at having her once more."
He laid his hand on my head and looked me kindly in the face as he said it.
"After that," resignedly replied Kate, "meddling of mine is worse than useless; but what did Mr. Thornton say?"