The weekly Floridian. [volume] (Tallahassee, Fla.) 1867-19??, 1885-09-10

the language Of genuine feeling and the
poor counterfeits over which had Ia
bored 30 long and 90 sainlyr By this
time, too, we had somsvhat changed the
manner Of our interviewx At first had
taken copious notes, but latteriy Mr.. Ash
ford had persuaded me 70 leave the notes
until / was alone, aud 70 devote the time
spent with him to conversation q being
more suggestive. Besides was now,
also by his advice, playing the part of the
obdurate Daisy and receiving his entreat-
les and his avowals with studied coldness
and Indifference. At first I objected &C.
riously to this role as placing me in .
very unpleasant position, but Mr.. Ash
ford insisted that it was the only way in
which l could thoroughly understand ms
feelings or make my heroine perfectly
true to nature, and 50 yielded. He
made It rule after thai to call me Daisy,
and he soon suggested sAst should cali
| him Lyman, but that seemed unnecessary
and never tried it; at least, not in his
presence.
l would not have minded his calling
me Daisy, for he had such lovely way
of saying it, if had not begun to dislike
the girl so intensely. / was always won
dering how he happened to fall in love
with her, and why he was so constant to
such blind, ungratefql creature Often,
when he would say that his only hope of
happiness lay in winning her heart, I
would turn away my head to hide the
tears in my eyes, tears Of pity for him
and anger against her, poor fool.
1t may seem strange, but it is neverthe-
less true that found it quite impossible
to work at my story any more. Notwith-
standing the many advantages now en-
Joyed, found myself more at loss than
ever. My heroine, whom l had modelled
after Daisy, displeased me-my hero, who
was of course Mr.. Ashford, was entirely too
good for her-so how could marry them
at the end? l did think of introduc-
ing another character-a girl to whom his
heart should turn, because Of her sweet,
unselfish sympathy with all his sorrows,
but-well, put the whole thing aside, to
be finished in the winter.
One morning Mr. Ashford made his ap.
pearance with very melancholy air.
My work is completed" he said
"my vacation is over, and must go back
to the city. cannot tell you how sorry
| am, nor how much shall miss these
'sittin.s.' And, by the way, is not the
story nearly finished? l was hoping you
would read it to me before left.'
ooh, no not now-it-it is not ready
yet" l exclaimed; "I have not written
much lately and there l stopped, con-
fused by my own admission. But he went
on quietly: "You are quite right. Put
your work aside for time, and you will
take it up with new vigsr. And now, my
kind friend, will you let me occupy this
last hour of the many We have spent to-
gether with my own affairs l have
written to Daisy-for the last time, if she
still refuses me-and on her decision my
whole future now rests. If she is at last
won to say yes, you know how happy
shall be. II not, I cannot stay in the city
where | must meet her continually. /
shall accept my uncle's offer, give up my
profession, and go to Germany with him
probably for the rest of my life"
He paused, looking at me expectantly,
but was silent. OF course, suppose.it
was sympathy, but it seemed to me as if
| could never be so utterly wrctched in
all my life as | was at that moment. FL
nally, realizing that something must be
said, | contrived to get off two or three
sentences, with best Wishes" and "deep
interest in his welfare" and the like, but
it was very hard work.
However, he seemed quite satisfied, for
he thanked me, and then he added:
81 shall not hear from Daisy before
Friday, but whatever the result may be l
must come back to tell you. So please
meet me here on Saturday afternoon, and
then, if | am happy, l shall claim your
congratulations, and if am to be an ex-
lie, shall at least have the consolation of
hearing friendly goodbye. Au re0oir,
kindest of friends"
He was gone, but l burst into tears.
For long time remained sitting in the
little arbor where he had left me, trying
to compose myself sufficiently to return
to the house.
Then l went up to my room, and tell
ing Susan that had violent headache
and could not be disturbed, l shut myself
up and began to think.
My meditation during that day and the
next made one point perfectly clear to
me: / did not want Mr. Ashford to marry
Daisy. But then, on the other hand, !
uiu HO1 WoHt uiin w ~ w 0otihouy'
began to feel positive hatred for that
girl, and to wish that I could warn Mr..
Ashford against her, for was quite sure
she could never make him happy.
In this way the hours dragged on.
| Saturday afternoon came at last, and
found me in the arbor waiting for him
with almost uncomfortable anxiety.
He made his appearance punctually,
and as / watched him coming along the
path that led to the arbor l forgot in one
moment all the rules of conduct l had
laid down for myself-all the elaborate
speeches had prepared, and springing
up I held out my hand with breathless:
"Well ?'
"No it isn't WELL Daisy has not &C
cepted me-" he said, as he took my hand.
Now the only thing can do is to go
away as soon as possible. Don't you
| think So"
did not intend to say it. shall al
ways insist that nothing was further from
my intentions that moment, but ! sud
denly burst out with: "No don't don't 60. "
He was still holding my hand, and
when 1 said these words he put his other
arm very gently around me and whis-
pered: at you want me will stay"
am going to omit the greater part Of
our conversation that afternoon in the ar
Dor, as it was strictly personal and pri-
vate. But ought to say that Lyman
| 49,, f,osal << mo that hA had hoan cvuiltv