"No, darling--wood. Ah, there's Fan," was Guy's reply, and the next
moment I had her in my arms.

Yes, literally in my arms. She is such a wee little thing, and her face
is so sweet, and her eyes so childish and wistful, and her voice so
musical and flute-like that before I knew what I was doing I lifted her
from her feet and hugged her hard and said I meant to love her, first
for Guy's sake and then for her own. Was it my fancy, I wonder, or did
she really shrink back a little and put up her hands to arrange the bows
and streamers and curls floating away from her like the flags on a
vessel on some gala day?

She was very tired, Guy said, and ought to lie down before dinner. Would
I show her to her room with Zillah, her maid? Then for the first time I
noticed a dark-haired girl who had alighted from the carriage and stood
holding Daisy's traveling bag and wraps.

"Her waiting maid, whom we found in Boston," Guy explained when we were
alone. "She is so young and helpless, and wanted one so badly, that I
concluded to humor her for a time, especially as I had not the most
remote idea how to pin on those wonderful fixings which she wears. It is
astonishing how many things it takes to make up the _tout ensemble_ of a
fashionable woman," Guy said, and I thought he glanced a little
curiously at my plain cambric wrapper and smooth hair.

Indeed he has taken it upon himself to criticise me somewhat! thinks I
am too slim, as he expresses it, and that my head might be improved if
it had a more snarly appearance. Daisy, of course, stands for his model,
and her hair does not look as if it had been combed in a month, and yet