"I wrote, - with papa's letter."
"When?"
"Oh, long ago - long ago; - I don't know, - a year or two."
"It never reached me," he said, a shadow crossing his bright brow.
"I sent it to your aunt, for her to send it to you; and she sent it; I asked her."
"Failed," he said. "What was it, Daisy?"
The question was put eagerly.
"Papa was very good," I said; - "and you were very right,
Christian, and I was wrong. He liked your letter."
"And I should have liked his?" he said, with one of those brilliant illuminations of eye and face.
"I think you would."