"What is it, Daisy? - my Daisy?" he asked with a tender inquisitiveness, though looking amused at me.
"I was thinking -" I answered, - "whether you are a great deal better than I am."
"Think it by all means," he said laughing. "I am certainly a good deal braver. But what else, Daisy? there was something else."
"That," said I. "I was thinking of my habit, all my life long, of keeping things back from my father and mother till I thought it was safe to show them."
"Are you going to let that habit live? What lessons you will have to learn, my little Daisy! I could never bear to have my wife afraid of me."
"Of you!" I said. "I never should." - But there I stopped in some confusion, which I knew my neighbour enjoyed. I broke up the enjoyment by standing up and declaring that it was now time to go.
We had a pretty ride home. My mind was disburthened of its various subjects of care which I had had to communicate to Mr. Thorold; and although I had not been able entirely to prevail with him, yet I had done all I could, and my conscience was clear. I let myself enjoy, and the ride was good. Mr. Thorold said we must have another; but I did not believe that feasible.
However, it fell out so. Dr. Sandford lingered on in the same disabled state; his sister-in-law was devoted to her attendance on him; I was left to myself. And it did come to pass, that not only Mr. Thorold and I had walks continually together; but also we had one more good ride. I did not try moving him again on the point of my father and mother. I had read my man and knew that I could not. And I suppose I liked him the better for it. Weakness is the last thing, I think, that a woman forgives in men, who ought to be strong. Christian was not weak; all the more he was gentle and tender and thoughtful for those who were. Certainly for me. Those days, those walks, - what music of thought and manner there was in them! The sort of protecting care and affection I had from him then, I never had from any other at any time. Care that seemed to, make my life his own; affection that made it something much before his own; but all this told, not in words, which could not have been, but in indescribable little things of manner and tone; graces too fine to count and measure. Once I had fancied I ought to put more reserve into my manner, or manage more distance in his; that thought fled from me after the first afternoon's ride and never came back. I did not take care for myself; he took care for me. The affection that held me as a part of himself, held me also as a delicate charge more precious than himself; and while he protected me as one who had a right to do it, he guarded me also as one whose own rights were more valuable than his. He never flattered, nor praised, nor complimented me; or with rare exceptions; but he showed me that he lived for me, and sometimes that he knew I lived for him.