er to think over it again, and see if
there was not, as surely there must be, some other possibility of
detaching Daisy from the man whom it seemed certain she would
otherwise marry, and whom it was quite impossible she should marry.
Even now Daisy was standing near her, trusting her so implicitly,
loving her so well. That love and trust, so intensely dear to her,
she had to risk disturbing; indeed, it was scarcely a risk she ran,
it was a certainty she courted.

However quietly and well she did her part it was impossible that Daisy
should not see that she was encouraging Tom Lindfield, was using a
woman's power of attraction to draw him towards her. True, Daisy had not
as yet told her that she expected to marry him; officially, as far as
Daisy was concerned, she herself was ignorant of that. But supposing
Daisy confided in her? There was nothing more likely. Within the next
four-and-twenty hours Daisy would quite certainly see that her aunt was
very intimate with Lord Lindfield. That very intimacy would encourage
Daisy to tell her. Or, on the other hand, Lord Lindfield, while still
thinking that she was only a very pleasant, sympathetic woman, might
tell her his hopes with regard to Daisy. That was a very possible stage
in the process of his detachment.

Yet she knew that personally she could make no better plan than that
which she had already begun to carry out. She had thought over it, and
thought over it, and one consideration remained paramount, namely, that
Daisy must never know why this marriage was so unthinkably impossible.
If he proposed to her, it seemed certain that she would accept him. In
that case she would have to be told. Clearly, then, his proposal must be
averted. She could find no other plan to avert that than the one she was
pursuing, and already, partly to her relief, partly to an added sense of
the meanness of her own role, she believed that his detachment would
not be so difficult to manage. He had responded very quickly and readily
to her advances; he had come to the concert with her and was delighted
to miss the train, having told her also that he had "thought" of going
down early to Bray. He had said no more than that, and she had quite
legitimately laughed at the idea of his spending the day alone with two
girls, had professed herself as pleased to have upset so preposterous an
arrangement. Yet this, too, though she was glad to have stopped it,
added to her heart-sickness. He would not have