As I was not conscious of giving Cornelius any real cause of offence, I made light of his vexation or annoyance, of which, indeed, as I have felt since then, he showed me but that which he could not help betraying. Had he been more tyrannical or exacting, my eyes might have opened; but he could not bear to give me pain. He let me torment him to my heart's content, also disdaining, it may be, to complain or lament. Once only he lost all patience. It was towards the close of winter. Kate was out; we sat alone in the parlour by the fireside. Cornelius had made me put down my work, and sat by me, holding my two hands in one of his, smoothing my hair with the other, and telling me--he had an eloquent tongue that knew how to tell those things, neither too much in earnest, nor yet too much in jest--of his fondness and affection. But I was not just then in the endearing mood. I tried to disengage my hands, and not succeeding, I said a little impatiently:-- "Pray don't!" He understood, or rather misunderstood me; for he drew away, reddening a little, and looking more embarrassed than displeased, he observed:-- "Where is the harm, Daisy?" "The harm?" I echoed, astonished at the idea, for between him and me I had never felt the shadow of a reserved thought; "why, of course, there is no harm, since it is you," I added, giving one of his dark locks a pull; "but it gives me the fidgets." Cornelius looked exasperated. "Thank you, Daisy," he said, with an indignant laugh, "thank you! I am no one; but I give you the fidgets!" "Why, what have I done now?" I asked, amazed. "How is it, Cornelius, that I so often offend you without even knowing why?" "And is not that the exasperating part of the business?" he exclaimed, a little desperately. "If you cared a pin for me, you would know--you would guess." "If I cared a pin for you!" I began; my tears checked the rest. He stopped in the act of rising, to look down at me with a strange mixture of love and wrath. "I'll tell you what, Daisy," he said, and his voice trembled and his lips quivered, "I'll tell you what, it is an odd thing to feel so much anger against you and yet so much fondness. I feel as if I could do anything to you, but I cannot bear to see you shed those few tears. Daisy, have the charity not to weep." He again sat by me. I checked my tears. He wiped away those that still lingered on my cheek. I looked up at him and asked, a little triumphantly: "Cornelius, where was the use of your flying out so?" "You may well say so," he replied, rather bitterly. "Do you think I don't know that if 1 were cool and careless, you would like me none the worse; but what avails the knowledge, since I never can use it against you?" I laughed at the confession.