Mrs. McKail was stopping with her, therefore could not tell her what she thought of her behavior; but she privately determined to cut short her visit and get away from this disagreeable old creature.
In the meantime Mrs. Parry, smiling like the wicked fairy godmother with many teeth, advanced to meddle with the Christmas tree and set the children by the ears.
She was a perfect Ate.
Giles said as much to Miss Denham, and she nervously agreed with him as though fearful lest her assent should reach the ears of Mrs. Parry.
"She has no love for me," whispered Anne. "I think you had better talk to Daisy, Mr. Ware."
"I prefer to talk to you," said Giles coolly. "Daisy is like her name—a sweet little English meadow flower—and I love her very dearly.
But she has never been out of England, and sometimes we are at a loss what to talk about.
Now you?"
"I am a gipsy," interrupted Anne, lest he should say something too complimentary; "a she-Ulysses, who has travelled far and wide.
In spite of your preference for my conversation, I wish I were Daisy."
"Do you?" asked Ware eagerly. "Why?"
Anne flushed and threw back her head proudly.
She could not altogether misunderstand his meaning or the expression of his eyes, but she strove to turn the conversation with a laugh.
"You ask too many questions, Mr. Ware," she said coldly. "I think Daisy is one of the sweetest of girls, and I envy her.
To have a happy home, a kind guardian as Mr. Morley is, and a——" She was about to mention Giles, but prudently suppressed the remark.
"Go on," he said quietly, folding his arms.
She shook her head and bit her lip.
"You keep me from my work.
I must attend to my duties.
A poor governess, you know." With a laugh she joined the band of children, who were besieging Morley.
Giles remained where he was, his eyes fixed moodily on the ground.
For more than five months he had fought against an ever-growing passion for the governess.
He knew that he was in honor bound to marry Daisy, and that she loved him dearly, yet his heart was with Anne Denham.
Her beauty, her brilliant conversation, her charm of manner, all appealed to him strongly. And he had a shrewd suspicion that she was not altogether indifferent to him, although she loyally strove to hide her true feelings.
Whenever he became tender, she ruthlessly laughed at him: she talked constantly of Daisy and of her many charms, and on every occasion strove to throw her into the company of Giles.
She managed to do so on this occasion, for Giles heard a rather pettish voice at his elbow, and looked down to behold a flushed face.
Daisy was angry, and looked the prettier for her anger.
"You have scarcely spoken to me all night," she said, taking his arm; "I do think you are unkind."
"My dear, you have been so busy with the children.
And, indeed," he added, with a grave smile, "you are scarcely more than a child yourself, Daisy."
"I am woman enough to feel neglect."
"I apologize—on my knees, dearest."
"Oh, it's easy saying so," pouted Daisy, "but you know Anne——"
"What about Miss Denham?" asked Giles, outwardly calm.
"You like her."
"She is a very charming woman, but you are to be my wife.
Jealous little girl, can I not be ordinarily civil to Miss Denham without you getting angry?"
"You need not be so very civil."
"I won't speak to her at all if you like," replied Ware, with a fine assumption of carelessness.
"Oh, if you only wouldn't," Daisy stopped—then continued passionately, "I wish she would go away.
I don't like her."
"She is fond of you, Daisy."
"Yes.
And a cat is fond of a mouse.
Mrs. Parry says——"
"Don't quote that odious woman, child," interrupted Ware sharply. "She has a bad word for everyone."
"Well, she doesn't like Anne."
"Does she like anyone?" asked Giles coolly. "Come, Daisy, don't wrinkle your face, and I'll take you out for a drive in my motor-car in a few days."
"To-morrow! to-morrow!" cried Daisy, her face wreathed in smiles.
"No.