When Paul left his mother's house, on the occasion when he had so gallantly helped his friend and his cousin out of their little difficulty, he went straight away to the village in Berkshire where Daisy was staying with an old friend; and having fully explained to her the present position of affairs, entreated her to permit him to announce to his parents that their marriage was immovably fixed. Paul found Daisy looking very handsome, very elegant, and very sweet--if there had existed a corner of his heart yet uninvaded by her power, she must inevitably have taken possession of it; but she was changed, changed in manner, and, as he found when he came to talk to her, in mind too. The self-deception in which the girl had indulged; the false estimates she had made of life, its responsibilities, and its real prizes; the sudden shock of the discovery of her great error, which had come to her with her first glance at Paul's fever-stricken face; the awful danger from which she had been snatched, a danger confronted with hardihood it filled her with shame to remember--these things had wrought the change. Paul did not question or speculate upon its origin, but he felt its presence with a keen sweet conviction, priceless to him. Daisy had learned to love him; she would not deliberate now with cold pride upon the pros and cons of a life to be shared with him; she would not speculate upon the chances of his repenting, and the certainty of his family being ashamed of her, as she had done, making him feel that the canker of worldliness had fastened upon her beautiful youth. Paul was a careless fellow enough, and as free from anything like heroism or enthusiasm as the most practical-minded of his friends could possibly have desired; but he was young, honest, and very much in love; and it was an unspeakable relief to him to find that the genuine fervour of his feelings and his hopes was no longer to be checked by caution or disdain on Daisy's part. She was not gushing, and she was not silly--no combination of fate could have made Fanny Stothard either--but she was "pure womanly," and the sweet undefined humility in her manner--of whose origin Paul must remain for ever ignorant--set the last touch of captivation to her charms. "You did not see my mother, then, to explain anything to her?" said Daisy, when Paul had told her the story of events, but with one important omission; he had said nothing of Annette's generous proposition. "No," replied Paul; "I thought it better to wait until I had seen you. But I shall go to her immediately, and ask her consent." "Poor mother!" said Daisy, with a sigh, "she is of a gloomy designing turn of mind; and I am sure she always had some scheme in her head about Miss Derinzy, and never intended she should marry you. But that her daughter should marry Miss Derinzy's cousin----" "And have half Miss Derinzy's fortune, if Annette gets her own way about it!" interrupted Paul.