I looked up, amazed at the stern bitterness of his tone, at the cold and inexorable meaning of his face, which had turned of a sallow paleness.
"But Cornelius," I exclaimed, much hurt, "I like him—"
"I don't believe it," he interrupted, biting his lip. "It is a dream—a fancy—the dream of a girl, of a mere child; all girls think they are in love; you have done like the rest."
I felt a burning blush overspread my face; my look sank beneath his; the hand which he had taken and still held, trembled in his; he dropped it and said:
"And is this the end of it all, Daisy? and do you really like that rough sailor, a mere boy too? Oh, Daisy!"
I conquered my scruples and my shame.
"Cornelius." I said, looking up at him, "I must speak to you openly once for all. I wanted to do so yesterday; you would not hear me then; pray hear me now."
"Why so?" he replied, with evident pain, "I know enough, more than enough."
"You do not know all."
"Then I can guess."