"DAISY, MY DARLING!"
It was Roseleaf's full intention to say something about this adventure
to his instructor in the art of love, Mr. Archie Weil, but somehow he
was not able to summon the requisite courage. He had a delicate sense
that such a thing ought not to be repeated, where it might by any
possibility bring a laugh. And about this time the novelist's attention
began to be attracted toward the younger sister, who had till then
almost entirely escaped his observation.
He noticed particularly the ceaseless devotion that the black servant of
the family exhibited toward her. She might have been a goddess and he a
devotee; a queen and he her slave. Hannibal moved about the girl like
her very shadow, ready to anticipate her slightest wants, while Daisy
seemed to take this excess of attention as a matter of course.
Millicent constantly showed her dislike for the servant.
"I don't see how you can endure to have him touch you," she said to
Daisy. "He knows better than to lay his hands on me. I have told papa
often that I want him discharged, and he ought to consider my wishes a
little."
To this Daisy answered that the boy, as she persisted in calling the
giant, meant well and was certainly intelligent. Her father did not like
to change servants, for it took him a long time to get used to new
ones. So Millicent tossed her head, returned to her collaboration with
Mr. Roseleaf, and things went on as usual.
Imperceptibly Shirley began to take an interest in Daisy. She did not
run away from him, and he discovered, much to his surprise, that she was
worth talking to. She was not exactly the child he had supposed, and she
had the full value of her eighteen years in her pretty head. He got into
the habit of taking short strolls with her, on evenings when Millicent
was occupied with Archie, and when, as often happened, Mr. Fern was away
with Hannibal in the city. There was a sequestered nook at the far end
of the lawn, in which the pair found retreat. Before he realized it,
Roseleaf had developed a genuine liking for these rambles, and was
pleased when the evenings came that brought Mr. Weil to dinner.
Daisy was ingenuous, to a degree, if surface indications counted for
anything. The words that flowed from her red lips were as unstudied as
the pretty attitudes she assumed, or the exceedingly plain but very
becoming dresses that she wore. After she once got "used" to Roseleaf
she treated him quite as if she had been five years his senior.
"Are you a rich man?" she asked him, on one of those early autumn
evenings that they passed together.
Her manner was as simple as if she had said that it looked like rain,
and his answer was hardly less so.
"No, Daisy. I have not much property, but I intend to earn more,
by-and-by. Did you think, because I seem so idle, that I was a
millionaire?"
"No," she answered, a shade of disappointment in her face. "I only
wanted, in case you had plenty of money, to get you to lend me some."
He stared at her through the half-light. Her features were turned in a
direction that did not reveal them very well. What did she want of
money!
"How much do you need?" he inquired, wondering if it was within his
power to oblige her.
"Oh, too much, I am afraid. And I cannot answer any questions, because
the object I have is a secret. I don't think my plan very feasible, for
it might be years and years before I could pay it back. You won't mind
my speaking of it, will you?"
Curiosity grew stronger, and as politely as possible he renewed his
question as to how much the girl needed to carry out her plan.
"I don't know, exactly," she said, thoughtfully. "Perhaps a thousand
dollars a year for five or six years; it might take less."
"It is a great deal," he admitted. "Does your father know what you
contemplate?"
The girl changed color at once.
"Oh, no. I should not like to have him, either. He would say it was very
foolish. And yet I am sure it would not be. The money would do much
good--yes, ever so much."
The young man thought hard for a few moments. A desire to see a brighter
light flash into those young eyes possessed him. He debated seriously
the idea of handing her his patrimony, as he would have given her a
pound of candy if she had wanted it.
"I might give you part," he said, after a pause. "Perhaps your thousand
for the first year or two."
She looked him full in the face, and put both her hands in his
impulsively.
"You are too good," she exclaimed, with fervor. "But you cannot afford
so large a gift. No, I would only take it if you had a very large sum,
and could not possibly miss it. I asked carelessly. I should not have
done so--I was selfish to think of such a thing."
"I want to speak to you about something, also," said Roseleaf, after a
strained pause. "I have noticed of late that your father has some
trouble on his mind."
She started suddenly.
"Ah!" was all she said.
"And I have wondered if there was anything I could do to--to aid
_him_--to relieve him. Because, I would like it very much if I could, on
account of--of--"
She looked up inquiringly.
"I have been so much a member of your family, in a certain way, that a
grief like this appeals strongly to me," he said, haltingly.
She paled slightly as she repeated his words.
"A grief?"
"Well, distress, annoyance, whatever it may be called. If there is
anything I can do, I shall be more than happy."
The girl sat for some moments with her eyes on the ground.
"He _is_ troubled," she said, finally. "I am glad to talk with you, for
I cannot get him to tell me anything. He is greatly troubled, and I am
worried beyond expression. I can't understand it. He has always confided
in me so thoroughly, but now he shakes his head and says it is nothing,
trying to look brighter even when the tears are almost ready to fall.
What can it be, Mr. Roseleaf? He has no companions outside of his office
and this house? He sits by himself, and isn't a bit like he used to be
and every day I think he grows worse."
Roseleaf asked if Daisy had talked much with her sister about it.
"No," she said, with a headshake. "I don't believe Millie has noticed
anything. She is so occupied with her literary matters"--there was a
sarcastic touch upon the word, that did not escape the listener--"she
has no time for such things. I hope you won't think I mean to criticise
her," added the young girl, with a blush. "I know you care a great deal
for my sister, and--"
She stopped in the midst of the sentence, leaving it unfinished. And
Roseleaf thought how interesting this girl had become.
"Let me confide in you, Daisy," he said, in his softest tone. "I do not
care 'a great deal,' nor even a very little for your sister. You see,"
he went on, in response to the startled look that greeted him, "I am to
be a novelist. To be successful in writing fiction, I have been told
that I ought to be in love--just once--myself. And I came here and tried
very hard to fall in love with Miss Millicent; and I simply cannot."
Daisy's fresh young laugh rang out on the air of the evening.
"Poor man!" she cried, with mock pity. "And hasn't she tried to help
you?"
"No. She hasn't. And as soon as I get the work done I have commenced for
her, I am going away."
The child--she was scarcely more than that--grew whiter, but the shadows
of the evening hid the fact from her companion.
"You ought not to go," she said, slowly, and rather faintly, "until you
have made another trial."
"Oh! It is useless!" he replied.
"Is it that you cannot love--Millie--or that you cannot love--any one?"
He hesitated, puzzled, himself, at the question.
"I never did love any one--any woman," he confessed, "and perhaps I
never shall. But your sister seems peculiarly hard to love. Yet she is a
very handsome girl and equipped with a mind of unusual calibre."
Daisy acknowledged this description of her sister's charms. She remarked
that it was strange that such a combination did not suffice to
accomplish the desired result.
"There are people who do find her entertaining," she added. "Mr. Weil is
one of them."
"Oh, Archie!" said Roseleaf. "He finds everything entertaining. It is
nothing worth remarking. She is the exact description of his ideal in
feminine face and form. He once gave me the list of the excellencies of
a 'perfect woman,' and your sister has them all."
The younger Miss Fern had her own opinions about this matter. She
thought the innocent man at her side had not quite gauged the interest
that Mr. Weil took in her family.
"I will make a proposition," she said, with a light laugh, when they had
talked longer upon the subject. "I am afraid it won't seem worth much to
you, and perhaps you can do better; but why can't you stay here, and--if
Millie won't do--make love to _me_?"
Darkness is responsible for many things. In the light, Daisy could not
have uttered those words, even in jest. There, when the sun had set and
the stars were not yet on duty, she found the courage to make that
suggestion.
"You are very kind," he stammered, when he grasped her meaning. "But I
do not think it will answer. I am afraid love cannot be pushed to any
point without its own initiative."
"That is probably the case with _real_ love," replied the girl, "but an
imitation that would serve your purpose might be evolved in the way I
have indicated. For instance, you could take my hand in yours--like
this--and I could lean toward you in--this way. And then, if you had
sufficient courage--"
Before he dreamed of doing it, it was done! He had kissed her on her
tempting lips, placed within an inch of his own.
"You are too good a scholar," she pouted, rising to her feet in some
confusion. "I did not give you leave to do that."
"I beg your pardon most humbly," he answered, with intense contrition.
"May I assure you that the act was wholly involuntary and that I am very
sorry for it?"
She turned and surveyed him in the shadow.
"Are--you--_very_--sorry?" she repeated.
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because I have made you angry."
"Do I seem angry?"
"At least, I have injured your feelings."
Her face was close to his again.
"Well, I forgive you. There, let us make up."
She raised herself on the tips of her toes and kissed him twice.
All the blood in this young man's body seemed to rush to his head and
then back with violence to his heart.
"_Daisy!_" he stammered. "_Daisy!_"
But she sprang away as he tried to embrace her, and standing two yards
off, tauntingly cried that he did not know what love was, and that no
one could ever teach him. Taking up the challenge he started toward her.
She ran away, he in pursuit. She had gone but a few steps when she
tripped over an object in the path and went down. In trying to stop
himself Roseleaf fell by her side.
"Daisy!" he cried. "Are you injured?"
She did not answer. In the darkness he saw her lying there so still that
he was frightened. He caught her passionately in his arms, and knew no
better way to bring her to consciousness than to rain kisses on her
cheeks. As might be expected this only served to prolong her swoon,
which was not a very genuine one, if the truth must be told, and it was
some seconds before she opened her eyes and caught him, as one might
say, in the act.
"How dare you!" she demanded, shrinking away from him.
"Daisy, my darling!" he answered, his voice tremulous. "I thought you
were dead, and I knew for the first time how dearly, how truly I loved
you!"
She laughed, not very heartily. She had hurt herself truly in her fall,
and her feminine nerves were jarred.
"You are doing nicely," she said. "For a beginner, one could ask nothing
better. And now, if you will help to rise, I think it would be more
proper."
"No." He spoke with force and passion. "You must not think I am
trifling. _I love you!_ Yes, I love you! _I worship you!_"
"I do not see," she remarked, insisting in spite of him that she must
assume a standing position, "how you differ in your expressions from the
lovers I have read of in novels. It is quite time that we returned to
the house. To-morrow, if you like, I will give you another lesson."
Shirley was a picture of utter despair. His new sensations almost
overwhelmed him. In one second the dead arteries in his body had leaped
into the fullest life. The touch of that young maiden's lips had
galvanized him. He could not bear to leave her with those mocking words.
But at that moment a voice was heard in the direction of the residence.
"Miss--Dai-sy! Miss--Dai-sy!"
It was Hannibal, who had returned from a drive with Mr. Fern. They could
see him dimly coming across the lawn with the girl's cloak in his hand.
Daisy, with one quick grasp of the fingers that hung close to hers, said
good-night to her companion, and started in the direction of the
servant. If she intended--as seemed probable--to pretend she was out
alone, Roseleaf did not mean to share in that deception, and he followed
close behind her.
"Here I am, Hannibal," called Daisy. "Ah, you have my coat. It was very
kind of you. Has papa come home? I am coming in. I did not think how
late it was."
The negro stopped as he saw the strollers, and knew that they had
undoubtedly been together. What more he suspected no one can say with
certainty. But he threw the cloak upon the grass that bordered the
pathway and turned on his heel without a word.
"Confound his impudence!" exclaimed Roseleaf, when he had recovered
sufficiently from his surprise to speak. "I have a good notion to
follow him and box his ears."
The soft hand of the girl was on his sleeve in a moment.
"Say nothing to him--_please!_" she answered. "He--he is very thoughtful
for me--of my health--and I was careless. Papa must have sent him."
The touch on his arm mollified the young man at once. He tried to make
out the lines of the pretty face that was so near him and yet so far
away.
"We are to study again to-morrow, then," he said, taking up her
statement with an assumed air of gayety. "At what hour?"
But she broke away from him abruptly, and ran into the house without a
word. Hannibal stood in the doorway and Roseleaf thought he
distinguished harsh sounds from the negro's lips; but this seemed so
incredible that he conceived his senses at fault.
Looking at his watch the novelist saw that it was still early enough to
take a stroll by himself and ponder over his new happiness--or misery,
which was it?--under the open sky. It was two hours later that his
latchkey turned in the door, and in that time he had resolved either to
make Daisy Fern his wife or commit suicide in the most expeditious
fashion.