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MISS MCDONALD
BY
MRS. MARY J. HOLMES
AUTHOR OF "THE LEIGHTON HOMESTEAD," "MILLBANK; OR, ROGER IRVING'S WARD,"
"MILDRED; OR, THE CHILD OF ADOPTION," "EDITH LYLE'S SECRET," "ETHELYN'S
MISTAKE," ETC.
THE MERSHON COMPANY
RAHWAY, N.J. NEW YORK
CONTENTS
I. EXTRACTS FROM MISS FRANCES THORNTON'S JOURNAL
II. EXTRACTS FROM GUY'S JOURNAL
III. EXTRACTS FROM DAISY'S JOURNAL
IV. AUTHOR'S STORY
V. THE DIVORCE
VI. EXTRACTS FROM DIARIES
VII. FIVE YEARS LATER
VIII. DAISY'S LETTER
IX. DAISY, TOM, AND THAT OTHER ONE
X. MISS MCDONALD
XI. AT SARATOGA
XII. IN THE SICK-ROOM
XIII. DAISY'S JOURNAL
MISS MCDONALD
CHAPTER I
EXTRACTS FROM MISS FRANCES THORNTON'S JOURNAL
ELMWOOD, June 15, 18--.
I have been out among my flowers all the morning, digging, weeding, and
transplanting, and then stopping a little to rest. Such perfect
successes as my roses are this year, while my white lilies are the
wonder of the town, and yet my heart was not with them to-day, and it
was nothing to me that those fine people staying at the Towers came into
the grounds while I was at work, "just to see and admire," they said,
adding that there was no place like Elmwood in all the town of
Cuylerville. I know that, and Guy and I have been so happy here, and I
loved him so much, and never dreamed what was in store for me until it
came so suddenly and seemed like a heavy blow.
Why did he want to get married, when he has lived to be thirty years
old, without a care of any kind, and with money enough to allow him to
indulge his taste for books, and pictures, and travel, and is respected
by everybody, looked up to as the first man in town, and petted and
cared for by me as few brothers have ever been petted and cared for;
why, I say, did he want a change, and, if he must be married, why need
he take a child of sixteen, whom he has only known since Christmas, and
whose sole recommendation, so far as I can learn, is her pretty face?
Daisy McDonald is her name, and she lives in Indianapolis, where her
father is a poor lawyer, and Guy met her last winter in Chicago and fell
in love at once, and made two or three journeys West on "important
business," he said, and then, some time in May, told me he was going to
bring me a sister, the sweetest little creature, with such beautiful
blue eyes and wonderful hair. I was sure to love her, he said, and when
I suggested that she was very young, he replied that her youth was in
her favor, as he could more easily mold her to the Thornton pattern.
Little he knows about girls, but then he was perfectly infatuated and
blind to everything but Daisy's eyes, and hair, and voice, which is so
sweet and winning that it will _speak_ for her at once; and he asked me
to see to the furnishing of the rooms on the west side of the house, two
which communicate with his own private library, where he spends a great
deal of time with his books and writing. The room adjoining this he
would have for Daisy's boudoir or parlor, where she could sit when he
was occupied and she wished to be near him. This he would have fitted up
in blue, as she had expressed a wish to that effect, and he said no
expense must be spared to make it as pretty and attractive as possible.
So the walls were frescoed and tinted, and I spent two entire days in
New York hunting for a carpet of the desirable shade, which should be
right both in texture and design.
Guy was exceedingly particular, and developed a wonderful proclivity to
find fault with everything I admired. Nothing was quite the thing for
Daisy until at last a manufacturer offered to get one up which should
suit, and so the carpet question was happily ended for the time being.
Then came the furniture, and unlimited orders were given to the
upholsterer to do his best, and matters were progressing finely when
order number two came from the little lady, who was sorry to seem so
fickle, but mamma, whose taste was perfect, had decided against all
blue, and would Guy please furnish the room with drab trimmed with blue.
"It must be a very delicate shade of drab," she wrote, and lest he
should get too intense an idea, she would call it a _tint_ of a _shade_
of drab, or, better yet, a _hint_ of a tint of a shade of drab would
describe exactly what she meant, and be so entirely unique, and lovely,
and recherché.
Guy never swears, and seldom uses slang of any kind, but this was a
little too much, and with a most rueful expression of countenance he
asked me "what in thunder I supposed a hint of a tint of a shade of drab
could be."
I could not enlighten him, and we finally concluded to leave it to the
upholsterer, to whom Guy telegraphed in hot haste, bidding him hunt New
York over for the desired shade. Where he found it I never knew, but
find it he did, or something approximating to it, a faded, washed-out
color, which seemed a cross between wood-ashes and pale skim milk. A
sample was sent up for Guy's approval, and then the work commenced
again, when order number three came in one of those dainty little
billets which used to make Guy's face radiant with happiness. Daisy had
changed her mind again and gone back to the blue, which she always
preferred as most becoming to her complexion.
Guy did not say a single word, but he took the next train for New York
and stayed there till the furniture was done and packed for Cuylerville.
As I did not know where he was stopping, I could not forward him two
little missives which came during his absence, and which bore the
Indianapolis post-mark. I suspect he had a design in keeping his hotel
from me, and whether Daisy changed her mind again or not I never knew.
The furniture reached Elmwood the day but one before Guy started for his
bride, and Julia Hamilton, who was then at the Towers, helped me arrange
the room, which is a perfect little gem and cannot fail to please, I am
sure. I wonder Guy never fancied Julia Hamilton. Oh, if he only had done
so I should not have as many misgivings as I now have nor dread the
future so much. Julia is sensible and twenty years old, and lives in
Boston, and comes of a good family, and is every way suitable; but when
did a man ever choose the woman whom his sister thought suitable for
him? And Guy is like other men, and this is his wedding day; and after a
trip to Montreal, and Quebec, and Boston, and New York, and Saratoga,
they are coming home, and I am to give a grand reception and then
subside, I suppose, into the position of the "old maid sister who will
be dreadfully in the way."
SEPTEMBER 15, 18--.
Just three months since I opened my Journal, and, on glancing over what
I wrote on Guy's wedding day, I find that in one respect at least I was
unjust to the little creature who is now my sister and calls me Miss
Frances. Not by a word or look has she shown the least inclination to
assume the position of mistress of the house, nor does she seem to think
me at all in the way; but that she considers me quite an antediluvian I
am certain, for, in speaking of something which happened in 1820, she
asked if I remembered it! And I only three years older than Guy! But
then she once called him a dear old grandfatherly man, and thought it a
good joke that on their wedding tour she was mistaken for his daughter.
She looks so young--not sixteen even; but with those childish blue eyes,
and that innocent, pleading kind of expression, she never can be old.
She is very beautiful, and I can understand in part Guy's infatuation,
though at times he hardly knows what to do with his pretty plaything.
It was the middle of August when they came from Saratoga, sorely
against her wishes, as I heard from the Porters, who were at the same
hotel, and who have told me what a sensation she created, and how much
attention she received. Everybody flattered her, and one evening when
there was to be a hop at Congress Hall, she received twenty bouquets
from as many different admirers, each of whom asked her hand for the
first dance. They had ascertained that Guy was not a disciple of
Terpsichore, though I understand he did try some of the square dances,
with poor success, I imagine, for Lucy Porter laughed when she told me
of it; and I do not wonder, for my grave, scholarly Guy must be as much
out of place in a ball room as his little, airy doll of a wife is in her
place when there. I can understand just how she enjoyed it all, and how
she hated to come home, for she did not then know the kind of home she
was coming to.
It was glorious weather for August, and a rain of the previous day had
washed all the flowers and shrubs, and freshened up the grass on the
lawn, which was just like a piece of velvet, while everything around
Elmwood seemed to laugh in the warm afternoon sunshine as the carriage
came up to the door. Eight trunks, two hat-boxes, and a guitar-case had
come in the morning, and were waiting the arrival of their owner, whose
face looked eagerly out at the house and its surroundings, and, it
seemed to me, did not light up as much as it should have done under the
circumstances.
"Why, Guy, I always thought the house was brick," I heard her say as the
carriage door was opened by the coachman.
"No, darling--wood. Ah, there's Fan," was Guy's reply, and the next
moment I had her in my arms.
Yes, literally in my arms. She is such a wee little thing, and her face
is so sweet, and her eyes so childish and wistful, and her voice so
musical and flute-like that before I knew what I was doing I lifted her
from her feet and hugged her hard and said I meant to love her, first
for Guy's sake and then for her own. Was it my fancy, I wonder, or did
she really shrink back a little and put up her hands to arrange the bows
and streamers and curls floating away from her like the flags on a
vessel on some gala day?
She was very tired, Guy said, and ought to lie down before dinner. Would
I show her to her room with Zillah, her maid? Then for the first time I
noticed a dark-haired girl who had alighted from the carriage and stood
holding Daisy's traveling bag and wraps.
"Her waiting maid, whom we found in Boston," Guy explained when we were
alone. "She is so young and helpless, and wanted one so badly, that I
concluded to humor her for a time, especially as I had not the most
remote idea how to pin on those wonderful fixings which she wears. It is
astonishing how many things it takes to make up the _tout ensemble_ of a
fashionable woman," Guy said, and I thought he glanced a little
curiously at my plain cambric wrapper and smooth hair.
Indeed he has taken it upon himself to criticise me somewhat! thinks I
am too slim, as he expresses it, and that my head might be improved if
it had a more snarly appearance. Daisy, of course, stands for his model,
and her hair does not look as if it had been combed in a month, and yet
Zillah spends hours over it. She--that is, Daisy--was pleased with her
boudoir, and gave vent to sundry exclamations of delight when she
entered it and skipped around like the child she is, and said she was so
glad it was blue instead of that indescribable drab, and that room is
almost the only thing she has expressed an opinion about since she has
been here. She does not talk much except to Zillah, and then in French,
which I do not understand. If I were to write just what I think I should
say that she had expected a great deal more grandeur than she finds. At
all events, she takes the things which I think very nice and even
elegant as a matter of course, and if we were to set up a style of
living equal to that of the Queen's household I do believe she would act
as if she had been accustomed to it all her life; or, at least, that it
was what she had a right to expect. I know she imagines Guy a great deal
richer than he is; and that reminds me of something which troubles me.
Guy has given his name to Dick Trevylian for one hundred thousand
dollars. To be sure, it is only for three months, and Dick is worth
three times that amount, and an old friend and every way reliable and
honest. And still I did not want Guy to sign. I wonder why it is that
women will always jump at a conclusion without any apparent reason. Of
course, I could not explain it, but when Guy told me what he was going
to do, I felt in an instant as if he would have it all to pay and told
him so, but he only laughed at me and called me nervous and fidgety, and
said a friend was good for nothing if he could not lend a helping hand
occasionally. Perhaps that is true, but I was uneasy, and shall be glad
when the time is up and the paper canceled.
Our expenses since Daisy came are double what they were before, and if
we were to lose one hundred thousand dollars now we should be badly off.
Daisy is a luxury Guy has to pay for, but he pays willingly and seems to
grow more and more infatuated every day. "She is such a sweet-tempered,
affectionate little puss," he says; and I admit to myself that she is
sweet-tempered, and that nothing ruffles her, but about the affectionate
part I am not so certain. Guy would pet her and caress her all the time
if she would let him, but she won't.
"Oh, please don't touch me. It is too warm, and you muss my dress," I
have heard her say more than once when he came in and tried to put his
arm about her or take her in his lap.
Indeed, her dress seems to be uppermost in her mind, and I have known
her to try on half a dozen different ones before she could decide in
which she looked the best. No matter what Guy is doing, or how deeply he
is absorbed in his studies, she makes him stop and inspect her from all
points and give his opinion, and Guy submits in a way perfectly
wonderful to me who never dared to disturb him when shut up with his
books.
Another thing, too, he submits to which astonishes me more than anything
else. It used to annoy him terribly to wait for anything or anybody. He
was always ready, and expected others to be, but Daisy is just the
reverse. Such dawdling habits I never saw in any person. With Zillah to
help her dress she is never ready for breakfast, never ready for dinner,
never ready for church, never ready for anything, and that, in a
household accustomed to order and regularity, does put things back so
and make so much trouble.
"Don't wait breakfast for me, please," she says, when she has been
called for the third or fourth time, and if she can get us to sit down
without her she seems to think it all right, and that she can dawdle as
much as she likes.
I wonder that it never occurs to her that to keep the breakfast table
round, as we must, makes the girls cross and upsets the kitchen
generally. I hinted as much to her once when the table stood till ten
o'clock, and she only opened her great blue eyes wonderingly, and said
mamma had spoiled her, but she would try and do better, and she bade
Zillah call her at five the next morning, and Zillah called her, and
then she was a half-hour late. Guy doesn't like that, and he looked
daggers on the night of the reception, when the guests began to arrive
before she was dressed! And she commenced her toilet, too, at three
o'clock! But she was wondrously beautiful in her bridal robes, and took
all hearts by storm. She is perfectly at home in society, and knows just
what to do and say so long as the conversation keeps in the fashionable
round of chit-chat, but when it drifts into deeper channels she is
silent at once, or only answers in monosyllables. I believe she is a
good French scholar, and she plays and sings tolerably well, and reads
the novels as they come out, but of books and literature, in general,
she is wholly ignorant, and if Guy thought to find in her any sympathy
with his favorite studies and authors he is terribly mistaken.
And yet, as I write all this, my conscience gives me sundry little
pricks as if I were wronging her, for in spite of her faults I like her,
and like to watch her flitting through the house and grounds like the
little fairy she is, and I hope the marriage may turn out well, and that
she will improve with age, and not make so heavy drafts on my brother's
purse.