“Oh, Heaven knows,” said Steerforth. “Anything you like⁠—or nothing! I told you she took everything, herself included, to a grindstone, and sharpened it. She is an edge-tool, and requires great care in dealing with. She is always dangerous. Good night!”

“Good night!” said I, “my dear Steerforth! I shall be gone before you wake in the morning. Good night!”

He was unwilling to let me go; and stood, holding me out, with a hand on each of my shoulders, as he had done in my own room.

“Daisy,” he said, with a smile⁠—“for though that’s not the name your godfathers and godmothers gave you, it’s the name I like best to call you by⁠—and I wish, I wish, I wish, you could give it to me!”

“Why so I can, if I choose,” said I.

“Daisy, if anything should ever separate us, you must think of me at my best, old boy. Come! Let us make that bargain. Think of me at my best, if circumstances should ever part us!”