Part 53 (2/2)

Papa listened and said little. I heard and was silent; with throbbing forebodings of trouble.

”Daisy is handsomer than ever,” my aunt remarked, when even politics had exhausted themselves. But I wondered what she was thinking of when she said it. Mamma lifted her eyes and glanced me over.

”Daisy has a rival, newly appeared,” she said. ”She must do her best.”

”There cannot be rivalry, mamma, where there is no compet.i.tion,” I said.

”Cannot there?” said mamma. ”You never told us, Daisy, of _your_ successes in the North.”

I do not think I flushed at all in answer to this remark; the blood seemed to me to go all to my heart.

”Who has been Daisy's trumpeter?” papa asked.

”There is a friend of hers here,” mamma said, slowly sipping her coffee. I do not know how I sat at the table; things seemed to swim in a maze before my eyes; then mamma went on, - ”What have you done with your victim, Daisy?”

”Mamma,” I said, ”I do not at all know of whom you are speaking.”

”Left him for dead, I suppose,” she said. ”He has met with a good Samaritan, I understand, who carried oil and wine.”

Papa's eye met mine for a moment.

”Felicia,” he said, ”you are speaking very unintelligibly. I beg you will use clearer language, for all our sakes.”

”Daisy understands,” she said.

”Indeed I do not, mamma.”

”Not the good Samaritan's part, of course. That has come since you were away. But you knew once that a Northern Blue-coat had been pierced by the fire of your eyes?”

”Mamma,” I said, - ”if you put it so, I have known it of more than one.”

”Imagine it!” said mamma, with an indescribable gesture of lip, which yet was gracefully slight.

”Imagine what?” said papa.

”One of those canaille venturing to look at Daisy!”

”My dear,” said papa, ”pray do not fail to remember, that we have pa.s.sed a large portion of our life among those whom you denominate canaille, and who always were permitted the privilege of looking at us all. I do not recollect that we felt it any derogation from anything that belonged to us.”

”Did you let him look at you, Daisy?” mamma said, lifting her own eyes up to me. ”It was cruel of you.”

”Your friend Miss St. Clair, is here, Daisy,” my aunt Gary said.

”My friend!” I repeated.

”She is your friend,” said mamma. ”She has bound up the wounds you have made, Daisy, and saved you from being in the full sense a destroyer of human life.”

”When did Faustina come here?” I asked.

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