"What is it?"
"I have forgotten; but give me time to remember."
I laid my head on his shoulder as I spoke.
"Daisy," he asked, "what have you to say?"
I wept without answering; but saw his eye vainly looking over the table in search of something.
"I have it," I said aloud, "I have it, and I will not give it to you,
Cornelius, for you must not, no, you must not go."
"I knew it," he resignedly exclaimed, "I knew it would come to this; and yet," he added, looking down at me rather wistfully, "it is of no use, Daisy; I must go, and I will go too."
"No, Cornelius, you will not; you never could have the heart to do it.
Besides, why go?"
"For change."
"Change! what is change? If I were an artist I would make variety enough in my own mind to be the charm of daily life; and whilst I painted pictures, I would not care a pin for Spain or Italy. If I were an ambitious spirit, I would not go just when my fame was beginning, when glorious prospects were opening before me. If I were a brother, and had a good sister, who loved me dearly, I would not forsake her. If I were a kind-hearted man, and had adopted a poor little orphan girl, reared her, indulged her, made her my friend, and promised not to leave her, I would not break her heart by running away from her; but when she said to me: 'Stay, Cornelius!' I would just give her a kiss, and say: 'Yes, my pet, by all means!'"