Part 1 (2/2)

”Does he love her?”

”Oh, he's fond of her in a way, and he is anxious to obey the last wish of his father. But it seems to me that he is more in love with that black cat.”

”Hus.h.!.+ You will be heard.”

Mrs. Parry snorted. ”I hope so, and by the cat herself,” she said grimly. ”I can't bear the woman. If I were Mrs. Morley I'd have her out of the house in ten minutes. Turn her out in the snow to cool her hot blood. What right has she to attract Ware and make him neglect that dear angel over there? See, yonder is Daisy. There's a face, there's charm, there's hair!” finished Mrs. Parry, quite unconscious that she was using the latest London slang. ”I call her a lovely creature.”

Mrs. McKail did not agree with her venomous cousin. Daisy was a washed-out blonde with large blue eyes and a slack mouth. Under a hot July sky and with a flush of color she would have indeed been pretty; but the cold of winter and the neglect of Giles Ware shrivelled her up.

In spite of the warmth of the room, the gaiety of the scene, she looked pinched and older than her years. But there was some sort of character in her face, for Mrs. McKail caught her directing a glance full of hatred at the governess. In spite of her ethereal prettiness, Daisy Kent was a good hater. Mrs. McKail felt sure of that. ”And she is much more of the cat type than the other one is,” thought the observant lady, too wise to speak openly.

However, Mrs. Parry still continued to destroy a character every time she opened her mouth. She called the rector a Papist; hinted that the doctor's wife was no better than she should be; announced that Morley owed money to his tradesmen, that he had squandered his wife's fortune; and finally wound up by saying that he would spend Daisy Kent's money when he got it. ”If it ever does come to her,” finished this amiable person.

”Did her father leave her money?” asked Mrs. McKail.

”He!” snapped the other; ”my dear, he was as poor as a church mouse, and left Daisy only a hundred a year to live on. That is the one decent thing about Morley. He did take Daisy in, and he does treat her well, though to be sure she is a pretty girl, and, as I say, he has an eye.”

”Then where does the fortune come from?”

”Kent was a half-brother who went out to America, and it is rumored that he made a fortune, which he intends to leave to his niece--that's Daisy.

But I don't know all the details of this,” added Mrs. Parry, rubbing her beaky nose angrily; ”I must find out somehow. But here, my dear, those children are stripping the tree. Let us a.s.sist. We must give pleasure to the little ones. I have had six of my own, all married,” ended the good lady irrelevantly.

She might have added that her four sons and two daughters kept at a safe distance from their respected parent. On occasions she did pay a visit to one or the other, and usually created a disturbance. Yet this spiteful, mischief-making woman read her Bible, thought herself a Christian, and judged others as harshly as she judged herself leniently.

Mrs. McKail was stopping with her, therefore could not tell her what she thought of her behavior; but she privately determined to cut short her visit and get away from this disagreeable old creature. In the meantime Mrs. Parry, smiling like the wicked fairy G.o.dmother with many teeth, advanced to meddle with the Christmas tree and set the children by the ears. She was a perfect Ate.

Giles said as much to Miss Denham, and she nervously agreed with him as though fearful lest her a.s.sent should reach the ears of Mrs. Parry.

”She has no love for me,” whispered Anne. ”I think you had better talk to Daisy, Mr. Ware.”

”I prefer to talk to you,” said Giles coolly. ”Daisy is like her name--a sweet little English meadow flower--and I love her very dearly. But she has never been out of England, and sometimes we are at a loss what to talk about. Now you?”

”I am a gipsy,” interrupted Anne, lest he should say something too complimentary; ”a she-Ulysses, who has travelled far and wide. In spite of your preference for my conversation, I wish I were Daisy.”

”Do you?” asked Ware eagerly. ”Why?”

Anne flushed and threw back her head proudly. She could not altogether misunderstand his meaning or the expression of his eyes, but she strove to turn the conversation with a laugh. ”You ask too many questions, Mr.

Ware,” she said coldly. ”I think Daisy is one of the sweetest of girls, and I envy her. To have a happy home, a kind guardian as Mr. Morley is, and a----” She was about to mention Giles, but prudently suppressed the remark.

”Go on,” he said quietly, folding his arms.

She shook her head and bit her lip. ”You keep me from my work. I must attend to my duties. A poor governess, you know.” With a laugh she joined the band of children, who were besieging Morley.

Giles remained where he was, his eyes fixed moodily on the ground. For more than five months he had fought against an ever-growing pa.s.sion for the governess. He knew that he was in honor bound to marry Daisy, and that she loved him dearly, yet his heart was with Anne Denham. Her beauty, her brilliant conversation, her charm of manner, all appealed to him strongly. And he had a shrewd suspicion that she was not altogether indifferent to him, although she loyally strove to hide her true feelings. Whenever he became tender, she ruthlessly laughed at him: she talked constantly of Daisy and of her many charms, and on every occasion strove to throw her into the company of Giles. She managed to do so on this occasion, for Giles heard a rather pettish voice at his elbow, and looked down to behold a flushed face. Daisy was angry, and looked the prettier for her anger.

”You have scarcely spoken to me all night,” she said, taking his arm; ”I do think you are unkind.”

”My dear, you have been so busy with the children. And, indeed,” he added, with a grave smile, ”you are scarcely more than a child yourself, Daisy.”

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