“If I live I will pay you some time,” he said; but that does not help me now.  I am a ruined man.  Elmwood must be sold, and I must work to earn my daily bread.  For myself I would not mind it much, and Fan, who, woman-like, saw it in the distance and warned me of it, behaves nobly; but it falls hard on Daisy.

Poor Daisy!  She never said a word when I told her the exact truth, but she went to bed and cried for one whole day.  I am so glad I settled that ten thousand on her when we were married.  No one can touch that, and I told her so; but she did not say a word or seem to know what I meant.  Talking or expressing her opinion was never in her line, and she has not of her own accord spoken with me on the subject, and when I try to talk with her about our future she shudders and cries, and says, “Please don’t!  I can’t bear it.  I want to go home to mother!”

And so it was settled that while we are arranging matters she is to visit her mother and perhaps not return till spring, when I hope to be in a better condition financially than I am at present.

One thing Daisy said, which hurt me cruelly, and that was:  “If I must marry poor, I might as well have married Cousin Tom, who wanted me so badly!” To do her justice, however, she added immediately:  “But I like you the best.”

I am glad she said that.  It will be something to remember when she is gone, or rather when I return without her, as I am going to Indianapolis with her, and then back to the dreary business of seeing what I have left and what I can do.  I have an offer for the house, and shall sell at once; but where my home will be next, I do not know, neither would I care so much if it were not for Daisy—­poor little Daisy!—­who thought she had married a rich man.  The only tears I have shed over my lost fortune were for her.  Oh, Daisy, Daisy!

CHAPTER III

EXTRACTS FROM DAISY’S JOURNAL

Elmwood, December 20, 18—.

Daisy McDonald Thornton’s journal, presented by my husband, Mr. Guy Thornton, who wishes me to write something in it every day; and when I asked him what I should write, he said:  “Your thoughts, and opinions, and experiences.  It will be pleasant for you some time to look back upon your early married life and see what progress you have made since then, and will help you to recall incidents you would otherwise forget.  A journal fixes things in your mind, and I know you will enjoy it, especially as no one is to see it, and you can talk to it freely as to a friend.”

That is what Guy said, and I wrote it right down to copy into the book as a kind of preface or introduction.  I am not much pleased with having to keep a journal, and maybe I shall have Zillah keep it for me.  I don’t care to fix things in my mind.  I don’t like things fixed, anyway.  I’d rather they would be round loose, as they surely would, if I had not Zillah to pick them up.  She is a treasure, and it is almost worth being married to have a waiting maid—­and that reminds me that I may as well begin back at the time when I was not married, and did not want to be, if only we had not been so poor, and obliged to make so many shifts to seem richer than we were.