When she found out how far matters had progressed between the lovers, she realized that she had scarcely called soon enough, but she was thankful, anyway, that she had driven Dallas away in wrath, and trusted to her woman’s wit to make the breach final.
Daisie’s wet eyes and quivering red mouth did not make her the least sorry for the wretched girl; she only persevered in her denunciations:
“What will Royall say when he hears of this shocking flirtation? He will want to break the engagement.”
“That is what I wish him to do!” returned Daisie courageously.
“Well, I never!” sighed the little widow; and added: “Why did you accept him, then, if you didn’t want him, Miss Bell?”
“I will tell you the truth, may I, Mrs. Fleming?” cried Daisie timidly, dashing the tears from her eyes, and blushing with shame as she continued: “I was persuaded into that promise when my heart wasn’t in it, because—because—first, Aunt Alice was wild with foolish joy because I had caught such a rich beau, and kept begging me over and over to accept him. And then, too, Mr. Sherwood was so much in love with me, and begged me so hard that I would marry him. At first I wouldn’t think of it, for—well, I had fallen in love with Mr. Dallas Bain at first sight, and as long as there was any hope of winning him I wouldn’t have listened to any one else—never! But he—Mr. Sherwood, I mean—must have suspected my preference, for he told me things that I found out to-day weren’t true—for instance, that Mr. Bain was engaged to you; but when I asked him about it to-day he laughed at the very idea!”
Mrs. Fleming winced with rage and pain, but the unconscious girl went on eagerly, pathetically, in her earnest self-exculpation:
“But before I knew how he had deceived me, I thought Mr. Sherwood very nice, indeed—for he is very amusing, really, and very good-looking, too—only, of course, not as handsome as Mr. Bain, who is perfectly grand, and no one else is worth looking at when he is by. But he did not seem to care about me in the least, although I found out that he had sent me an anonymous love poem; and I began to get piqued, and then hopeless, thinking he really did mean to marry you. And Aunt Alice kept coaxing and firing my ambition with your cousin’s riches, and he kept teasing and making himself agreeable—perhaps you know how a sore, aching heart may sometimes take comfort in the devotion of one it does not care for, and find in it some balm for wounded love and pride—so at last I consented, hoping I might learn to love him after, but stipulating that the engagement be kept secret a little while, for I feared that I might change, and, wish to break it, and did not want to make such a sensation public.”
She paused, and fixed her pleading eyes on the other’s face, but it was cold, white, and stony, betraying no sympathy.
Clasping her little hands piteously, Daisie Bell continued nervously: