Daisy In The Field

"This is nice, papa!" I said, as the cushions of one of them

received me.

"It is not quite the Mount of Olives," said papa.

"No indeed!" I answered; and my eyes filled. The bustle of the

fashionable world was all around me, the storms of the

political world were shaking the very ground where I stood,

the air of our little social world was not as on Lebanon sweet

and pure. When would it be again? Papa sat thinking in his

easy-chair.

"How do you like Paris, my child?"

"Papa, it does not make much difference, Italy or Paris, so

long as I am where you are, and we can have a little time

together."

"Your English friend has followed you from Florence."

"Yes, papa. At least he is here."

"And your German friend."

"He is here, papa."

There was a silence. I wondered what papa was thinking of, but

I did not speak, for I saw he was thinking.

"You have never heard from your American friend?"

"No, papa."

"Daisy," said papa, tenderly, and looking at me now, - "you

are strong?"

"Am I, papa?"

"I think you are. You can bear the truth, cannot you?"

"I hope I can, -any truth that you have to tell me," I said.

One thought of terrible evil chilled my heart for a moment,

and passed away. Papa's tone and manner did not touch anything

like that. Though it was serious enough to awake my

apprehension. I could not guess what to apprehend.

"Did you get any clear understanding of what your mother might

mean, one day at breakfast, when she was alluding to friends

of yours in America? - you remember?"

"I remember. I did not understand in the least, papa."

"It had to do with Miss St. Clair."

"Yes."

"It seems she spent all the last winter in Washington, where

the society was unusually good, it is said, as well as

unusually military. I do not know how that can be true, when

all Southerners were of course out of the city - but that's no

matter. A girl like this St. Clair girl of course knew all the

epaulettes there were."

"Yes, papa - she is always very much admired. She must be that

everywhere."

"I suppose so, though I don't like her," said papa. "Well,

Daisy, - I do not know how to tell you. She knew your friend."

"Yes, papa."

"And he admired her."

I was silent, wondering what all this was coming to.

"Do you understand me, Daisy? - She has won him from you."

A feeling of sickness passed over me; it did not last. One

vision of my beautiful enemy, one image of her as Mr.

Thorold's friend, - it made me sick for that instant; then, I

believe I looked up and smiled.