September 20th, 18--.
Three months married. Three months with Daisy all to myself, and yet not
exactly to myself either, for of her own accord she does not often come
where I am, unless it is just as I have shut myself up in my room,
thinking to have a quiet hour with my books. Then she generally appears,
and wants me to ride with her, or play croquet or see which dress is
most becoming, and I always submit and obey her as if I were the child
instead of herself.
She _is_ young, and I almost wonder her parents allowed her to marry.
Fan hints that they were mercenary, but if they were they concealed the
fact wonderfully well, and made me think it a great sacrifice on their
part to give me Daisy. And so it was; such a lovely little darling, and
so beautiful. What a sensation she created at Saratoga! and still I was
glad to get away, for I did not fancy some things which were done there.
I did not like so many young men around her, nor her dancing those
abominable round dances which she seemed to enjoy so much. "Square
dances were poky," she said, even after I tried them with her for the
sake of keeping her out of that vile John Britton's arms. I have an
impression that I made a spectacle of myself, hopping about like a
magpie, but Daisy said, "I did beautifully," though she cried because I
put my foot on her lace flounce and tore it, and I noticed that after
that she always had some good reason why I should not dance again. "It
was too hard work for me; I was too big and clumsy," she said, "and
would tire easily. Cousin Tom was big and he never danced."
By the way, I have some little curiosity with regard to that Cousin Tom
who wanted Daisy so badly, and who, because she refused him, went off to
South America. I trust he will stay there. Not that I am or could be
jealous of Daisy, but it is better for cousins like Tom to keep away.
Daisy is very happy here, though she is not quite as enthusiastic over
the place as I supposed she would be, knowing how she lived at home. The
McDonalds are intensely respectable, so she says; but her father's
practice cannot bring him over two thousand a year, and the small brown
house they live in, with only a grass-plot in the rear and at the side,
is not to be compared with Elmwood, which is a fine old place, every one
admits. It has come out gradually that she thought the house was brick
and had a tower and billiard-room, and that we kept a great many
servants, and had a fish-pond on the premises, and velvet carpets on
every floor. I would not let Fan know this for the world, as I want her
to like Daisy thoroughly.
And she does like her, though this little pink and white pet of mine is
a new revelation to her, and puzzles her amazingly. She would have been
glad if I had married Julia Hamilton, of Boston; but those Boston girls
are too strong-minded and positive to suit me. Julia is nice, it is
true, and pretty, and highly educated, and Fan says she has brains and
would make a splendid wife. As Fan had never seen Daisy she did not, of
course, mean to hint that she had not brains, but I suspect even now she
would be better pleased if Julia were here, but I should not. Julia is
self-reliant; Daisy is not. Julia has opinions of her own and asserts
them, too; Daisy does not. Julia can sew and run a machine; Daisy
cannot. Julia gets up in the morning and goes to bed at night; Daisy
does neither. Nobody ever waits for Julia; everybody waits for Daisy.
Julia reads scientific works and dotes on metaphysics; Daisy does not
know the meaning of the word. In short, Julia is a strong, high-toned,
energetic, independent woman, while Daisy is--a little innocent,
confiding girl, whom I would rather have without brains than all the
Boston women like Julia with brains!
And yet I sometimes wish she did care for books, and was more interested
in what interests me. I have tried reading aloud to her an hour every
evening, but she generally goes to sleep or steals up behind me to look
over my shoulder and see how near I am to the end of the chapter, and
when I reach it she says: "Excuse me, but I have just thought of
something I must tell Zillah about the dress I want to wear to-morrow.
I'll be back in a moment;" and off she goes and our reading is ended for
that time, for I notice she never returns. The dress is of more
importance than the book, and I find her at ten or eleven trying to
decide whether black or white or blue is most becoming to her. Poor
Daisy! I fear she had no proper training at home. Indeed, she told me
the other day that from her earliest recollection she had been taught
that the main object of her life was to marry young and to marry money.
Of course she did not mean anything, but I would rather she had not said
it, even though I know she refused a millionaire for me who can hardly
be called rich as riches are rated these days. If Dick Trevylian should
fail to meet his payment I should be very poor, and then what would
become of Daisy, to whom the luxuries which money buys are so necessary?
[Here followed several other entries in the journal, consisting mostly
of rhapsodies on Daisy, and then came the following:]
----
December 15th, 18--.
Dick _has_ failed to meet his payments, and that too after having
borrowed of me twenty thousand more! Is he a villain, and did he know
all the time that I was ruining myself? I cannot think so when I
remember the look on his face as he told me about it and swore to me
solemnly that up to the very last he fully expected relief from England,
where he thought he had a fortune.
"If I live I will pay you sometime," he said; but that does not help me
now. I am a ruined man. Elmwood must be sold, and I must work like a dog
to earn my daily bread. For myself I would not mind it much, and Fan,
who, woman-like, saw it in the distance and warned me of it, behaves
nobly; but it falls hard on Daisy.
Poor Daisy! She never said a word when I told her the exact truth, but
she went to bed and cried for one whole day. I am so glad I settled ten
thousand dollars on her when we were married. No one can touch that, and
I told her so; but she did not say a word or seem to know what I meant.
Talking of anything serious, or expressing her opinion, was never in her
line, and she has not of her own accord spoken with me on the subject,
and when I try to talk with her about our future she shudders and cries,
and says, "Please don't! I can't bear it! I want to go home to mother!"
And so it is settled that while we are arranging matters she is to visit
her mother and perhaps not return till spring, when I hope to be in a
better condition financially than I am at present.
One thing Daisy said, which hurt me cruelly, and that was: "If I must be
a poor man's wife I might as well have married Cousin Tom, who wanted me
so badly!" To do her justice, however, she added immediately: "But I
like you the best."
I am glad she said that. It will be something to remember when she is
gone, or rather when I return without her, as I am going to Indianapolis
with her, and then back to the dreary business of seeing what I have
left and what I can do. I have an offer for the house, and shall sell it
at once; but where my home will be next, I do not know, neither would I
care so much if it were not for Daisy,--poor little Daisy!--who thought
she had married a rich man. The only tears I have shed over my lost
fortune were for her. Oh, Daisy, Daisy!