She had taken up one of the photographs, that which represented her and Diana together.
"Here we are together," she said, "and we thank you. Here is Diana by herself----"
And then she stopped abruptly. Her eye had fallen on the photograph of Diana which she had given only last year to Jeannie. It was signed "Diana, 1907." She drew it out of its frame.
"Aunt Jeannie," she said, quickly, "in what year did Diana die?"
Jeannie turned to her suddenly at this most unexpected question, and saw what it was that Daisy held in her hand. She made a desperate effort to turn Daisy"s attention away at any cost.
"Daisy, we were talking about Lord Lindfield," she said. "What reason had he ever given you to make you think he loved you? And has he not given you a strong reason for showing he did not?"
Daisy looked at her for a moment, and then back to the photograph.
"She died five years ago," she said. "But this is signed 1907, last year."
Once again Jeannie tried to turn Daisy"s attention.
"And if he did fall in love with me, what then?" she said. "You a.s.sume it is all my fault."
Daisy looked at her steadily a moment, and then back at the photograph.
"Yes, yes," she said. "But you were with Diana when she died, were you not? When did she die?"
Jeannie covered her face with her hands a moment, thinking intently, and then Daisy spoke again.
"Why was I told she died five years ago?" she asked. "You told me so yourself. Were you hiding anything?"
Again Daisy paused.
"Her husband came to England after her death," she said. "He stopped with you, I remember, when I was living with you."
Once again she paused.
"Was there something dreadful, something disgraceful?" she asked. "Aunt Jeannie, I must know. I must!"
CHAPTER XXIV.
Jeannie got up out of her chair, where she had been sitting ever since Daisy entered. Daisy as she spoke had risen also from the writing-table, and, still holding the photograph of Diana in her hand, stood by her.
"You must give me a moment, Daisy," she said. "I have got to think. And, my dear, while I am thinking do not try to guess. I can"t bear that you should guess. I would sooner tell you than that."
Daisy was very white, and the bright spot of anger that burnt in her cheeks when she entered the room had smouldered away. She nodded without spoken reply.
Jeannie moved away from Daisy, and sat down in the window-seat at the far end of the room. Already Daisy had guessed that there was something disgraceful. Daisy remembered, too, that after Diana"s supposed death her husband had come to England. And then for one moment Jeannie"s spirit rose in impotent revolt against the bitter cruelty of this chance by which Daisy had seen Diana"s photograph. She herself, perhaps, had been careless and culpable, in putting it on her table; but she had been so preoccupied with all the perplexities of this last week that the danger had not ever so faintly occurred to her. But now by this fatal oversight Daisy had already guessed perilously near the truth.
She herself could invent no story to account for these things, and if Daisy was told the whole truth, of which she guessed so much, that other bitterness, the sense that Jeannie had cruelly betrayed her, would be removed. She could comfort Daisy again, and (this was sweet to herself also) show her how she loved her. She had done her very best to keep her promise to Diana, and she had not spared herself in doing so; and now, in spite of her efforts, so hard to make and so ungrudgingly made, half the truth was known to Daisy. It seemed to her that the other half would heal rather than hurt.
She went back, and, standing in front of the girl, held out her hands to her. But Daisy made no response to the gesture, and, indeed, moved a little away. That, again, cut Jeannie like a lash, but she knew the pain of it would be only temporary. In a few minutes now Daisy would understand.
"I am going to tell you," she said, "and as I tell you, my dear, I want you to keep on thinking to yourself that Diana was your sister, your only sister, and--and that you used to play together and love each other when you were children. And, dear Daisy, you must try to be--not to be a girl only when I tell you this. You are a girl, but you are a woman also, and you must bear this like a woman who is hearing about her sister."
Once again Jeannie longed to take Daisy in her arms and tell her, holding that dear head close to her bosom. But it was not time for that yet.
"You were told five years ago," she said, "that your sister was dead.
She was not, Daisy; she died last year only, soon after I went abroad.
And she died in my arms, dear, thank Heaven, because I loved her. And she loved me, Daisy. Oh, darling, you must bear this. I tried to spare you the knowledge, for I promised Diana that, but by ill-chance you have guessed so much that I think it better to tell you all. And you mustn"t judge Diana, poor dear, or condemn her. The time has quite gone by for that, and, besides, she was your sister, and at the end the thing she wanted most in all the world was that you should not know. Remember that. Women have a hard time in this world, Daisy. Some are married unhappily, and though Diana"s husband loved her very truly and tenderly it was not a happy marriage. At the time when you were told she was dead she was not, but she had left her husband. For the love he bore her he did not divorce her. Yes, dear, it was that."
Again Jeannie paused. As the moment came near it was all she could do to get the words out. Yet when Daisy knew all, out of the hurt would come some healing. Jeannie could make her feel how she loved her.
"She lived in Paris after she left her husband," she continued. "She lived for a time with the man for whom she deserted him. She wanted love--women do--you and I do. She--she got love. After a while there was another man. Yes, my dear, it was he. We needn"t name him any more than we did just now when we spoke of him."
Daisy sat quite still for a moment; for all that her face expressed she might never have heard. Then a sudden little tremor shook her, and she tore the photograph of Diana which she held across and across, and threw the fragments on the floor.
"Ah, Daisy, you are cruel," said Jeannie.
Daisy did not reply, and then suddenly her mouth began to tremble, and tears ready to fall gathered in her eyes. It had hurt her cruelly, and it was but the instinctive rebellion of one in sudden and incontrollable pain that had made her tear the photograph. But, as Jeannie had foreseen, with the hurt came healing.
It was not necessary to say any more, for she saw that already Daisy was beginning to understand all that she had thought so incomprehensible, and so vile when it was comprehended, in her, and the comprehension brought with it the knowledge of the love and tenderness from which these things sprang. And this time it was Daisy who held out her hands to Jeannie, but falteringly, as if doubtful whether she dared. But she need not have been afraid; next moment she was clasped close, and with the sense of love surrounding and encompa.s.sing her the tears came, and she sobbed her heart out. And even when the tumult of her weeping had abated, it was but disjointedly that the words came.
"And so it was because of that, Aunt Jeannie," she whispered, "because you had promised Diana that you would do your best to keep it from me?"
"Yes, my darling, but I have failed," said Jeannie.
"But how splendidly," whispered Daisy. "I should like to have f-failed like that. And you were content that I should think you a b-beast, and that he should?"
"No, dear, not content quite. But it was the best I could think of."
"And Mr. Braithwaite?" said Daisy. "Could you be content that he should think so?"
Jeannie paused a moment before she replied. What she must say, if she answered this, would hurt Daisy again, but again there was healing there.
"I knew he would never think me a beast," she said at length. "I knew he trusted me absolutely."
"And I didn"t," said Daisy.
"No, dear, you didn"t. But never mind that."
"I can"t help minding that. I thought--I thought everything disgusting about you. Oh, Aunt Jeannie, but I did try so much not to! I did try to behave well, to realize that you and he had fallen in love with each other, and that it was neither your fault nor his. But when Aunt Alice told me that you were engaged to Mr. Braithwaite, then I broke down. And when you told me you had known that I hoped to marry Lord Lindfield, then it was complete to my mind. I thought--oh! I have spoilt it all. It can never be the same again. And I did so long for you to come home a week ago. I did love you."
Jeannie stroked Daisy"s hair gently for a moment or two.
"You speak of spoiling love," she said. "That is not easy to do. In fact, it can"t be done. So don"t have any fears on that point, my darling."
Daisy was silent for a while.