bestow. Oh, could he let any one
take her out of his life!

Yet some one younger and richer loved her. Yes, he _must_ stand aside.

"My child,"--he would be grave and fatherly,--"I think you are making
yourself needless trouble. Why should you refuse a good man's love? You
have your beauty, and a gift that is really a genius, and though you may
not be as strong as some women, that is no reason why you should deny
yourself the choicest blessing of a woman's life."

"But"--she gave a little sob--"I thought you might blame me for being
heedless. We have all been such friends. And I don't want anything to
mar the perfect pleasantness. I know it is not right because--how can I
make you understand! It might wound you if I said it--I think it can
never be that kind of love--"

Did he hear aright, or was it some subtle temptation?

"You, of all other women, should be careful not to make a mistake. It
would mean more to you afterward--if matters went a little wrong."

"And he is so gay, so full of life and fun, and always wanting one to
keep up to the highest pitch. It would not be the right thing for him."

"But he is very gentle as well."

"Dr. Underhill, tell me that it isn't the right step for me to take,
_ever_," Daisy said decisively.

"I cannot tell you any such thing. I will not bar you out of any
happiness."

Perhaps he really approved of it. They were all in a way proud of the
younger brother. And Jim thought there was no such splendid man in the
world as the doctor. Oh, if she only knew! She was heroic enough to
please them all for the sake of the past and present friendship. But she
had a doubt of Mrs. Underhill's approval. She might give in as she had
to Delia; and now she had really begun to find virtues in Ben's wife.
But with Jim's brilliant nature always on the alert for amusement, she,
Daisy, would be worn out trying to keep up to his standard.

She rose slowly. "I ought not have come," she began in a despondent
tone. "I thought I could talk it all over with you; but I must decide,
and bear the pain. You may all feel hurt, even if you acknowledge the
wisdom of my decision. It would be a delight to come and live with you
all; I who have had no brothers or sisters. But I think Jim will soon
get over it, especially if _you_ point out the unwisdom of it all. Maybe
you will take me back into favour then, when the soreness is spent."

"Jim," he repeated, in a vague, absent sort of way. "Jim! Who are you