They had a gay time, for Mrs. Trent was very bright and chatty, and her husband had a fund of small-talk. Afterward they played cards, the amusement of the times. In two of the games Ned had Daffodil for a partner, but she was not an enthusiastic player. And she had accepted Andsdell's escort home, much to Ned's chagrin. "I did not know whether you would be at liberty," she said simply. "I'll have an afternoon off Thursday. Will you go for a walk?" She hesitated, and he remarked it. "I see so little of you now. And you always seem--different." "But you know I am quite grown up. We are no longer children. And that makes a change in every one." "But that need not break friendship." "I think it doesn't break friendship always," she returned thoughtfully. "Daffodil, you are the loveliest and sweetest girl I have ever known." "But not in the whole world," she rejoined archly. "In my world. That is enough for me. Good-night;" and he longed to kiss her hand. She and Andsdell came down from the Fort, crossed several streets, and then turned to the east. Philadelphia was their theme of conversation. "I was such a little girl then," she said, with almost childish eagerness. "Everything was so different. I felt as if I was in a palace, and the maid dressed me with so much care, and went out to walk with me, and Miss Wharton was so charming. And now she is in France." "Would you like to go to France--Paris?" "Oh, I don't know. You have been there?" "Yes, for a short stay." "And London, and ever so many places?" "Yes. But I never want to see it again." Something in his tone jarred a little. "I am glad you like America." Then they met her father, who was coming for her, but Mr. Andsdell went on with them to the very door. "Did you have a fine time?" asked her mother. "Oh, yes, delightful. Mrs. Trent was so amusing, and Bessy Lowy was like some one in a play. I wish my eyes were dark, like yours. I think they are prettier." Her mother smiled and kissed her. All the next morning Dilly sat and spun on the little wheel, and sang merry snatches from old ballads. She wished she were not going to walk with Lieutenant Langdale. "Is there any wrong in it, mother?" she asked, turning her perplexed face to Barbe. "Why, not as I see. You have been friends for so long. And it is seldom that he gets out now." The Post brought a letter from Archie. It was really very joyous. He had won a prize for a fine treatise, and had joined a club, not for pleasure or card playing, but debating and improvement of the mind. She was very glad they would have this to talk about. And when Ned saw her joyous face, and had her gay greeting, his heart gave a great bound. They went off together in a merry fashion. "Oh, you cannot think"--then pausing suddenly--"Did you have word from Archie in the post?" "No, but a letter came for mother."