"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 passed 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.
"She has been here a month. Are you glad?"
"She was never a particular friend of mine, mamma."
"You will love her now," said mamma; and the conversation
turned. It had only filled me with vague fears. I could not
understand it.
I met Faustina soon in company. She was as brilliant a vision
as I have often seen; her beauty was perfected in her
womanhood, and was of that type which draws all eyes. She was
not changed, however; and she was not changed towards me. She
met me with the old coldness; with a something besides which I
could not fathom. It gave me a secret feeling of uneasiness; I
suppose, because that in it I read a meaning of exultation, a
secret air of triumph, which, I could not tell how or why,
directed itself towards me and gathered about my head. It grew
disagreeable to me to meet her; but I was forced to do this
constantly. We never talked together more than a few words;
but as we passed each other, as our eyes met and hers went
from me, as she smiled at the next opening of her mouth, I
felt always something sinister, or at least something hidden,
which took the shape of an advantage gained. I tried to meet
her with perfect pleasantness, but it grew difficult. In my
circumstances I was very open to influences of discouragement
or apprehension; indeed the trouble was to fight them off.
This intangible evil however presently took shape.
I thought I had observed that for a day or two my father's
eyes had lingered on me frequently with a tender or wistful
expression, more than usual. I did not know what it meant.
Mamma was pushing me into company all this while, and making
no allusion to my own private affairs, if she had any clue to
them. One morning I had excused myself from an engagement
which carried away my aunt and her, that I might have a quiet
time to read with papa. Our readings had been much broken in
upon - lately. With a glad step I went to papa's room; a
study, I might call it, where he spent all of the time he did
not wish to give to society. He was there, expecting me; a
wood-fire was burning on the hearth; the place had the air of
comfort and seclusion and intelligent leisure; books and
engravings and works of art scattered about, and luxurious
easy-chairs standing ready for the accommodation of papa and
me.