I was too big," she said, "and would tire easily. Cousin Tom was big,
and he never danced."

By the way, I have some little curiosity with regard to that Cousin Tom
who wanted Daisy so badly and who, because she refused him, went off to
South America. I trust he will stay there. Not that I am or could be
jealous of Daisy, but it is better for cousins like Tom to keep away.

Daisy is very happy here, though she is not quite so enthusiastic over
the place as I supposed she would be, knowing how she lived at home.
Well enough, it is true, and the McDonalds are intensely respectable, so
she says; but her father's practice cannot bring him over two thousand a
year, and the small brown house they live in, with only a grass plot in
the rear and at the side, is not to be compared with Elmwood, which is a
fine old place, everyone admits. It has come out gradually that she
thought the house was brick and had a tower and billiard room, and that
we kept more servants, and had a fishpond on the premises, and velvet
carpets all over the house. I would not let Fan know this for the world,
as I want her to like Daisy thoroughly.

And she does like her, though this little pink and white pet of mine is
a new revelation to her, and puzzles her amazingly. She would have been
glad if I had married Julia Hamilton of Boston; but those Boston girls
are too strong-minded and positive to suit me. Julia is nice, it is
true, and pretty and highly educated, and Fan says she has brains and
would make a splendid wife. As Fan had never seen Daisy she did not, of
course, mean to hint that she had not brains, but I suspect even now she
would be better pleased if Julia were here, but I should not. Julia is
self-reliant; Daisy is not. Julia has opinions of her own and asserts
them, too; Daisy does not. Julia can sew and run a machine; Daisy