"I fear Cornelius is not quite equal to Captain MacMahon, yet I think you will like him, William."
"This is the second time you say so."
"Because I know it—just as I know that he will be delighted with you."
William gave me a look, half shy, half pleased, and muttered something that sounded very like:
"Did I care for him?"
"No," I replied, amused at the question, "not at all. How can I care for a friend who leaves me to go and get wrecked?"
"Not at all, Daisy," he echoed; "not at all."
He stooped, and looked very eagerly into my face. I drew back with a laugh that was checked by a voice observing behind me:
"Daisy, what are you doing here at this hour?"
I turned round—it was Cornelius. The moonlight fell full on his pale and angry face. I rose, without answering; 1 felt—and, no doubt, I looked— like a culprit. He gave me a glance in which sadness and severity blended: then, as it taking pity on my confusion, he silently held out his arm to me. As I took it, I attempted a justification, and said: