"He wanted me to stay--yes. To stay and be educated in music and many things. It is so different there. I don't know that I can make you understand." "Dear," subjoined her mother, "he wrote to us. It was the kindliest letter. If he had persuaded you----" They clung more closely together, each answering with the pressure. But she made no mention of Mr. Bartram. The talk had not been meant for her ears, indeed, she did not rightly understand the real desire that underlay it. "Now you must rest awhile," said her mother. "There will be a crowd in to supper." Felix had been denied the pleasure of a half holiday. "You will have time enough to see your sister," Barbe said to the importunate boy. "She is going to stay at home now." Daffodil did have a nap and awoke refreshed, though she still looked tired and pale. "Put on one of your pretty frocks," said her mother, with a touch of pride. Indeed, much as she had missed her darling she had enjoyed the honor. Not every girl could have such an opportunity to see the great city where so many notable events had happened. There were few formal invitations in those early days. Evenings were generally given over to pleasure, for the day was devoted to work. You were sure of a welcome unless somewhere there was a family feud and even that was often overlooked after a few glasses of whiskey. So there were guests in--to supper. Daffodil was inspected, questioned, commented upon in a friendly fashion. They drank to her health, to the fact of her return safe and sound, for, after all, was not a big city where they had all sorts of dissipations dangerous. But all that was nothing to the evening. Then there was a crowd. Grandad did get very merry and dance a jig, the laughter grew uproarious. Dilly shrank with a fear that was half disgust. Barbe caught Norah's arm presently. "Ask them over to finish their merriment," she said persuasively. "Daffodil is very tired and must go to bed." She looked like a little ghost now and her eyes were heavy. "Yes, yes; we ought to have a little thought," and Norah rapped on the table and gave her invitation, which was cordially accepted. "Dear little daughter," began her father. "It's rather wild and rough, but it is their idea of a good, hearty welcome. And you must pardon grandad. He has a warm, loving heart." "Oh, yes; I know all that. But I _am_ tired." And her voice was full of tears. "Oh, child, it would be hard to have you outgrow us. And I love you so! I had such hard work to win your love in the beginning. But you don't remember." "Oh, yes, I do. Was I dreadful? I think I couldn't love any one all at once. And I didn't like mother to care so, when she had loved me best. But I know better now. Her love for me is different from her love for Felix and her love for you. Oh, I am glad to be back." And she clung to him convulsively.