hing she could do, though he naturally thought
she would go home at once; and Mrs. Browne thought so, too, when she had
recovered from her encounter with the custom-house officers and could
think of anything. But she would not be the first to suggest it
outright. She merely said it was a pity that Mrs. McPherson could not
see anything of America except New York, which was much like any great
city.

"Yes," Daisy sobbed, "such a pity, and I had anticipated so much. Oh,
Mrs. Browne, I do want to do right, and you must advise me. Now that I
am here, and poor, dear Archie is dead and buried, and I can do him no
good by going back at once, do you think it would look very bad and
heartless in me if I stay a little while--just long enough to see your
lovely country home, and rest? I am so tired!" and as Allen happened to
be the nearest to her, she leaned her head against him and cried aloud.

Before Mrs. Browne could reply, Augusta asked:

"What of Bessie? Will she not be very lonely without you?"

"Nasty cat! She is as jealous as she can be, and I will stay to spite
her," Daisy thought, but she said: "Oh, yes, I ought to go home to
Bessie, though she would bid me stay now that I am here; she is so
unselfish, and I shall never come again. Her cousin's family in London
will take her directly home, so she will not be alone. Poor Bessie!"

Daisy knew that the London family would not take Bessie to their home,
but it answered her purpose to say so, and seemed some excuse for her
remaining, as she finally decided to do, greatly to Allen's delight and
somewhat to Mrs. Browne's surprise. Yet the glamour of Daisy's beauty,
and style, and position was over her still, and she was not sorry to
show her off to the people in the hotel, and anticipated in no small
degree what would be said by her friends at home when she showed them a
live lord and an English lady like Daisy. She was going to Ridgeville in
a day or two, but Daisy's mourning must first be bought, and in the
excitement of shopping, and trying on dresses and bonnets, and deciding
which shape was the most becoming, Daisy came near forgetting "poor,
dear, dead Archie," of whom she talked so pathetically when she spoke of
him at all.

"Don't, I beg of you, think that I ever for a moment forget my loss,"
she said to Mrs. Browne, when she had with a hand-glass studied the hang
of her crape vail for at least fifteen minutes. "It hurts me to speak
of him, but there is a moan in