They talked a little at the other house and then retired for the night. And the next day was a busy one. Bernard Carrick took him about and they inspected the blast furnace on which high hopes were built, but the knowledge in those times was rather limited. It struggled along for some years and then better things came in its stead. The river front was quite a busy place. Yes, de Ronville admitted there was great promise of a thriving city. And over opposite might be another. He knew how the cities on the eastern coast had improved and grown in power. One had only to wait. And his ward was young. Though he wondered a little at the faith of his friend Duvernay. But the old man, not so old then, had in his mind the beautiful estates in the land of his birth, and this land commanding the river and what would sometime be a thriving town attracted his fancy. He had hoped so that Barbe's child would be a son, but he had loved Daffodil with the passion of declining years. Felix had come too late. M. de Ronville found much to interest him. The eastern shore would not be all of the country. Explorers were sending back glowing tales of western possibilities. Towns were springing up and this was the key to them all. There were large tracts of fertile lands that seemed to have been deserted by the Indians and that were of amazing fertility. After all Felix Duvernay had made no mistake. And Daffodil found her way to the guest's heart with very little effort. It might have been her beauty, that no one around seemed aware of, or her pretty, winsome manner. She accompanied him and her father on their rides about. She was a graceful and well-trained horsewoman. She had so many dainty legends of out-of-the-way nooks; most of them Norah had grafted on old country tales. And the evenings at home came to be quite a delight for them all, listening to the glories of his city and the strides it had made. Of the famous men, of the many incidents in the great struggle, its churches and various entertainments as well as the social aspect. Daffodil listened enchanted. They had come to be such friends that she sat on the broad arm of the chair, but he noted her wonderful delicacy in never dropping into familiarities, while they were so common with her father, and grandad was almost rough with her. True, Barbe had an innate refinement and it was the child's birth-right as well. She sat there one afternoon. Mother and grandmother were busy preserving fruit for winter use, it grew so plentifully, but they had not mastered the art of keeping some of the choicest through the winter uncooked. "Daffodil," he began gravely, "your parents have entertained me most delightfully. You have a charming home and I shall hate to leave it. But on Thursday there is a return post and I have overstayed the time I thought would be ample to transact the business I came about. And now I must return." "Oh!" she exclaimed. "Oh, I do not want you to go."