Russia, and was expected daily. Feeling intuitively that it concerned
Daisy, Tom had opened it, and without a moment's hesitation packed his
valise, and, leaving a note for the McDonalds when they should return,
started for Rouen. Daisy did not know him, and in her delirium she said
things to him and of him which hurt him cruelly. Guy was her theme, and
the letter which went "too late, too late." Then she would beg of Tom to
go for Guy, to bring him to her and tell him how much she loved him and
how good she would be if he would take her back.

"Father wants me to marry Tom," she said in a whisper, and Tom's heart
almost stood still as he listened; "and Tom wanted me, too, but I
couldn't, you know, even if he were worth his weight in gold. I could
not love him. Why, he's got red hair, and such great freckles on his
face, and big feet and hands with freckles on them. Do you know Tom?"

"Yes, I know him," Tom answered sadly, forcing down a choking sob, while
the "big hand with the great freckles on it" smoothed the golden hair
tenderly and pushed it back from the burning brow.

"Don't talk any more, Daisy; it tires you so," he said, as he saw her
about to speak again.

But Daisy was not to be stopped, and she went on:

"Tom is good, though; so good, but awkward, and I like him ever so much,
but I can't be his wife. I cannot. I cannot."

"He doesn't expect it now, or want it," came huskily from Tom, while
Daisy quickly asked: