“And what am I doing?” Daisy asked, and he replied:  “Making a fool of a boy, for mercenary purposes of your own.  I have seen it ever since we left Liverpool and I tell you I will not allow it, and if you persist in luring Allen to your side on all occasions, and throw over him the glamour of your charms, the family shall know all I know of your past life, even if it compromises me with you.  They think you pure and good.  What would they say if they knew you to be a professional gambler, an adventuress about whom men jest and smile derisively, even while they flatter and admire you in a certain way?  Bad, in the common acceptation of the word, you may not be, but your womanhood is certainly soiled, and you are not a fit associate for a young, susceptible man, or for an innocent girl.  If you were a true woman you would have gone home at once, to your daughter, who, rumor says, is as sweet and lovely as an angel.  Go back now to her, and by fulfilling the duties of a mother try to retrieve the past.  It is not impossible.  I do not mean to be harsh, and hardly know why I have said all this to you, except it were to save Allen Browne, who is each day becoming more and more in love with you.”

“In love with me!  A woman old enough to be his mother!  Absurd!” Daisy exclaimed, adding scornfully:  “Thanks for your lecture, which shall not be lost on me.  I have no wish to prolong my stay in this stupid place, and only wish I had never come here; and since my presence is so distastful to you, I will go at once and leave you to prosecute your suit with the fair Augusta, wishing you joy with your Yankee bride and her refined family.  Shall you invite them to your home in Ireland?  If so, may I be there to see! Addio!” and with a mocking courtsey she left the room, and going to her chamber wrote to Bessie that she was coming home immediately.  Daisy had lost her game, and she knew it.  She had nothing to expect from Miss McPherson, nothing from Lord Hardy, and as her deep mourning prevented Mrs. Browne from giving the party she had talked about so much, she might better be in Europe, she thought, and accordingly she acquainted her hostess with her decision.  There was a faint protest on the part of Mrs. Browne, but only a faint one, for she was beginning to be a little afraid of her fair visitor, whom Augusta disliked thoroughly.  Only Allen was sorry, for the wily woman had stirred his boyish heart to its very depths, and when at last he said good-by to her, and stood until the train which bore her away was out of sight, he felt, perhaps, as keen a pang of regret as a young man of twenty-two ever felt for a woman many years his senior.

Mr. Browne accompanied her to New York, and saw her on board the ship, and on his return home reported that he had left her in the cabin “a smellin’ of and admirin’ a basket of flowers most as big as herself, which she said a very dear friend had ordered sent to her with his love.”