“But how does she do it?” Miss Betsey asked, and Mrs. Jerrold replied: 

“I hardly know, nor do the ladies themselves.  Sometimes, as in the case of Mrs. Smithers, the invitation is genuine and sincere, but oftener it is a mere form at which Daisy jumps at once, thanking the lady sweetly, and either asking her to fix a time, or more frequently fixing it herself to suit her own convenience.  She has a most wonderful talent, too, forgetting presents of clothes and jewelry for herself and Bessie, and that is the way they live, for they have no means, or, at least, very little, except what she manages to get from the men by philopoenas, or bets, or games at cards and chess, where they allow her to win, because she almost begs them to let her do so.  She even got five pounds from my husband on a wager, which he did not at first think in earnest.”

And again the black eyes flashed at Button, who now looked up from the orange he was peeling and said laughingly: 

“Yes, Daisy did me out of twenty-five dollars in the neatest possible manner, and would have fleeced me out of twenty-five more if I had not been on my guard against her.  She got twenty-five pounds out of Lord Hardy who was a guest at the Smithers’, but he acted as if it were a pleasure to be cheated by so pretty a woman, and she is the prettiest woman I ever saw.”

“Umph!” Miss Betsey said again, while Geraldine continued: 

“Yes, she is pretty, with a pink and white complexion, blue eyes and golden hair, which curls naturally, and which she still wears hanging down her back so as to show it to good advantage, and she a woman of thirty.”

“No, Geraldine, you are mistaken,” Mr. Jerrold said, quickly.  “You forget that she was married at seventeen, and Bessie is only eight; so, at the most, Daisy cannot be more than twenty-six.”

“I am glad you know her age so well,” Mrs. Geraldine retorted, “I think twenty-six too old to wear one’s hair streaming down the back.  We were all disgusted, and especially Lady Jane, whose room was just across the hall, directly opposite hers.  She told me herself that she would never have accepted Mrs. Smithers’ invitation had she known that adventuress was to be there.  And yet she was very kind to little Bessie.  Indeed, no one could look at that child and not love her at once, and pity her, too, for the influence with which she was surrounded.”

“Yes, Bessie—­tell me of her,” and Miss McPherson leaned forward eagerly.  “They pretend she was named for me.  Then why not call her Betsey, if that is her name?”

“Would you call a child Betsey?” Hannah asked, joining for the first time in the conversation.

“No, of course not.  I think it horrid, but if I was christened Betsey, no power on earth could turn me into a Bessie; but go on and tell me about her,” and she turned to Mrs. Geraldine, who continued: