I thought mamma would have broken my heart. I rose up in despair.
"To-day, Daisy," mamma repeated. "It must be done to-day."
"Mamma, it is not as you think. I do not care for Hugh Marshall."
"Is it De Saussure, then?" she asked, turning quickly upon me.
"Is it Preston Gary?" she asked, with a change in her voice.
"Then it is one of these. Daisy, I protest I have not skill enough to find out _which_ of them; but you know, and that is sufficient. And they must know too; there can be no more of this three-cornered game. It is time to put an end to it. I have read you, if you have not read yourself; and now, my child, you must be content to let the rose blossom, that you keep so carefully folded up in its green leaves. One of these gentlemen will leave us presently; and the other, whichever it is, I shall consider and treat as your acknowledged suitor; and so _must you, Daisy_. He will be going home to the war, he too, in a short time more; and he must go with the distinct understanding that when the war is over, you will reward him as he wants to be rewarded. Not; till then, child. You will have time enough to think about it."
My mother had shut my lips. I was afraid to say anything good or bad. She had read me; yes, I felt that she had, when she looked into my face and touched my cheeks and kissed my lips, which I knew well enough were trembling, as she had said. She had read me, all but the name in my heart. What if she had read that? The least movement now on my part might bring it to the light; what if it came? I did not know what then, and I was greatly afraid. An old awe of my mother and sense of her power, as well as knowledge of her invincible determination, filled me with doubt and fear. She might write to Mr. Thorold at once and forbid him ever to think of me; she might send him word that I was engaged to Mr. De Saussure. And indeed I might also possibly clear my own action to Mr. Thorold; but change hers, never. My faith failed, I believe. I was like Abraham when he went into Egypt and feared somebody would kill him to get possession of his wife. I did not, like him, resort to a fiction for my safety; but neither did I trust God and dare tell the truth.
My own will was as good as mamma's. I was not afraid of weakly yielding some time or other; I was only afraid of her outside measures.