“Good evening, Mrs. Bell. I see you know me. Is Miss Daisie at home?” he inquired eagerly.
“No; she has gone away,” curtly.
“May I ask where?” humbly.
“Certainly. She is up at Sea View, staying with her friend Mrs. Fleming, cousin to the gentleman she is engaged to marry.”
She saw Dallas give a great start of surprise and dismay, then he cried huskily:
“Is—she—engaged to him still?”
The old lady, seeing her opportunity to head him off, and pitiless to Daisie in her desire for the grand match, answered stolidly:
“Certainly she’s engaged to him still. What made you think the match could be broken off when they just dote on each other? Daisie’s been a bit of a flirt, I know, but she’s in dead earnest this time.”
“Good evening!” Dallas answered abruptly, turning from her, and stumbling down the steps, like a drunken man, so hardly had he been stricken by the remorseless blow of the woman, who banged the door shut after him, chuckling maliciously:
“Guess I paid him out for his meddling with that match I was so set on. ’Twasn’t a story I told, either, for Mr. Sherwood told me he didn’t consider the engagement broken at all, and hoped soon to persuade Daisie to wear his ring. Now I’ve sent that fellow off about his business, I hope, so he won’t interfere any more.”