"Am I a liar?" I asked, looking full in his face; "have I ever been one?"
"Never," he replied, with some emotion, "and I will not consider this an act of deception, but as the result of fear, obstinacy, or mistaken pride. I will even add that I consider you incapable of deceit, for yesterday you betrayed your feelings concerning this picture and the original with singular imprudence, and both last night and this morning you have carried in your face the consciousness of your guilt. And now listen to me. You have defaced the work I prized, the image of her whom I loved; you have irritated, tormented, injured me, and yet I forgive you. Nay more; neither Kate nor Miriam shall know what has happened. I will spare one whom, spite of so many faults, I cannot help loving, this humiliation, and all on one condition—an easy one—confess."
"I cannot," I exclaimed passionately, "how can I?"
He interrupted me.
"Take care!" he said again, "do not persist. I speak calmly, but I am still very angry, Daisy. Do not presume—do not deny."
Oh yes! he was still very angry. His contracted brow—his restless look, that burned with ill-repressed fire—his lip, which he gnawed impatiently, told me that his wrath was only sleeping beneath seeming calmness. He would not let me deny, I could not confess; a strange sort of despair and recklessness seized me. I drew nearer to him. I flung my arms around his neck and laid my head on his bosom, feeling that if his wrath were to fall on me, it should at least strike me there. He did not put me away—very far from it—he drew me closer to him.
"Oh yes!" he said, looking down at me, "I am very fond of you, Daisy. Yes, I love you very much—you need not come here to tell me so—I know it, and never know it better than when you vex me: if you were to die to- morrow, I should grieve for days, weeks, and months, but for all that I am very angry, and you will do well not to provoke me."
Why did I find so strange a charm in his very wrath, that I could not resist the impulse which made me press my lips to his cheek?
"Yes," he observed, quietly, "you may kiss me too; but do not trust to that—not even if I kiss you—I am very angry."
"But you love me, Cornelius, you know you do; be as angry as you will, you cannot make me fear."