SEPTEMBER 20, 18--.
Three months married. Three months with Daisy all to myself, and yet not
exactly to myself either, for except I go after her I confess she does
not often come to me, unless it is just as I have shut myself up in my
room, thinking to have a quiet hour with my books. Then she generally
appears, and wants me to ride with her, or play croquet, or see which
dress is most becoming, and I always submit and obey her as if I were
the child instead of herself.
She is young, and I almost wonder her mother allowed her to marry. Fan
hints that they were mercenary, but if they were they concealed the fact
wonderfully well, and made me think it a great sacrifice on their part
to give me Daisy. And so it was; such a lovely little darling, and so
beautiful. What a sensation she created at Saratoga, and still I was
glad to get away, for I did not like some things which were done there.
I did not like so many young men around her, nor her dancing those
abominable round dances which she seemed to enjoy so much. "Square
dances were poky," she said, even after I tried them with her for the
sake of keeping her out of that vile John Britton's arms. I have a fancy
that I made a spectacle of myself, hopping about like a magpie, but
Daisy said "I did beautifully," though she cried because I put my foot
on her lace flounce and tore it, and I noticed she ever after had some
good reason why I should not dance again. "It was too hard work for me;
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.