The death of "Daisy" came to seem more and more annoying the more Robert
van Rensselaer thought it over. Open-handed man as he was, he would have
thought nothing of sending the girl a few thousand dollars; but now all
kinds of trouble might result from an attempt to do it. There were no
means of identification about the body; and if he were to ask the police
to find the woman's child, how long would it be then before scandal was
busy? There are so many people ready to believe evil about a wealthy
man; and besides, there were hundreds who had known about Daisy. To be
sure, they never thought of it, at this late date; but how long would it
take them to put two and two together, and to have the whole town
gabbling and winking? And if he were to turn the matter over to private
detectives, he would lay himself equally open to suspicion. One can
never tell about such men, he mused--they might find out the story, and
then anything could happen.
It was by no means pleasant to think of one's own flesh and blood
suffering poverty. But then van Rensselaer reflected that people would
probably take care of her; and that in any case she had never been used
to wealth, and would not feel the difference; also that if he sent her
money it would very probably serve but to teach her extravagance and
lead her into temptation. So it would seem to be his duty to let the
whole matter drop and forget it.