t pertaining to Lord Hardy
and Allen, the latter of whom hovered disconsolately near the door of
her room and sent her messages and a bouquet, and was radiant with
delight when after tea-time she was so far restored as to be able to
join the family upon the piazza. It was Allen who brought a pillow for
her, and a footstool, and asked if she was in a draught, and when she
said she was, moved her chair at her request nearer to Lord Hardy, who
scarcely looked at her, and did not manifest the slightest interest in
her headache, or in her. Nothing which Daisy could do was of any avail
to attract him to her, and she tried every wile and art upon him during
the next few days, but to no purpose. At last, when she had been at the
Ridge House a week, and she had an opportunity of seeing him alone, she
said, in a half playful, half complaining voice:

"What is it, Teddy? What has come between us that you are so cold to me?
Has the fair Gusty, as her mother calls her, driven from your mind all
thoughts of your old friend? You used to care for me, Teddy, in the good
old days when we were all so happy together. Don't you like me a little
now, and I so lonely and sad, and all the more so that I have to keep up
and smile before these people, who, kind as they are, bore me with their
vulgarities? Say, Teddy, are you angry with me?"

As she talked Daisy had put her hand on that of Lord Hardy, who once
would have thrilled at its touch, but who now shrank from it as
something poisonous. He knew the woman so thoroughly that nothing she
could do or say would in the least affect him now, and when she asked if
he were angry with her, he replied:

"Not angry, no--but, Mrs. McPherson--"

"Oh, Teddy, now I know you hate me when you call me Mrs. McPherson,"
Daisy sobbed, and he continued:

"Well, Daisy, then, if that suits you better, I am not angry, but you
must know that we can never again be to each other what we were in the
days when I was foolish enough to follow where you led, even to my ruin.
All that is past, and I will not reproach you more; but, Daisy, I must
speak one word of warning. I owe so much to these kind people, whose
vulgarities bore you, but do not prevent you from accepting their
hospitality. I am not blind to what you are doing."

"And what am I doing?" Daisy asked, and he replied: "Making a fool of a
boy, for mercenary purposes of your own. I have seen it ever since we
left Liverpool and I tell you I will not allow it