The wool merchant rose from his chair in the extremity of his astonishment.
"You meant that--that Mr. Roseleaf--was in love with Daisy!" he said. "And that she seemed to reciprocate his attachment?"
"I did. And also that a few weeks ago she asked him to cease his visits, giving no explanation of the cause of her altered demeanor. He is a most excellent young gentleman," continued Weil, "and one for whom I entertain a sincere affection. Her conduct is a great blow to him, especially as he does not know what he has done to deserve it. I trust the estrangement will not be permanent, as they are eminently suited to each other."
The face of Mr. Fern was a study as he heard this explanation.
"If he was an honorable man, why did he not come to _me_?" he asked, pointedly.
"He was constantly seeking Miss Daisy's permission to do so," replied Archie. "Which she never seemed quite willing to give him."
"She is too young to think of marriage," mused Mr. Fern, after a long pause.
"He is willing to wait; but her present attitude, giving him no hope whatever, has thrown him into the deepest dejection."
From this Mr. Weil proceeded to tell Mr. Fern all he knew about Roseleaf. He said the young man was at present engaged on literary work that promised to yield him good returns. He had a small fortune of his own beside. Everything that could be thought of in his favor was dilated upon to the fullest extent.
"I don't believe I can spare my 'baby,'" said Mr. Fern, kindly, "for any man. You plead with much force, Mr. Weil, for your friend. How is it that _you_ have never married. Are you blind to the charms of the sex?"
For an instant Archie was at loss how to reply.
"On the contrary," he said, at last, "I appreciate them fully. I have had my heart's affair, too; but," he paused a long time, "she loved another, and there was but one woman for me. Perhaps this leads me to sympathize all the more with my unfortunate young friend."
Mr. Fern said he would have a talk with Daisy, and learn what he could without bringing in the name of his informant.
"We fathers are always the last to see these things," he added. "It would be terrible to give her up, but I want her to be happy."
Millicent Fern lay wide awake a few nights later, at Midlands, when the clock struck two. She was thinking of her second novel, now nearly ready for Mr. Roseleaf's hand. There was a hitch in the plot that she could best unravel in the silence. As she lay there she heard a slight noise, as of some one moving about. At first she paid little attention to it, but later she grew curious, for she had never known the least motion in that house after its occupants were once abed. She thought of each of them in succession, and decided that the matter ought to be investigated.