"What _you_ mad at?" came Jimmy's voice, presently. "Who said they didn't 'feel like' marryin', and then went straight off and married money? Not me. You ain't got a thing in the world to be sore at: I have, an' I'm darned good and sore. I didn't think it was in you, Kid--honest, I didn't.... Here we are at your door. Get out! don't set there, with the servants maybe lookin' out of the windows." Daisy's face was red as she dismounted. She made a step away, then came back. "I'm--I'm--", she began, the color on her cheeks deepening. "Yes, you are," said Jimmy Knight, dryly, "good an' plenty. No use o' standin' there and chewin' the fat now. Get into the house, and get them wet duds off. You give me a pain, you do!" The car, with a scornful roar, shot off along the driveway of the Ware grounds, and Daisy was alone. Presently something rolled down her cheek and ran into the corner of her mouth. It had a salt taste. It was a tear. "Some folk wad still be findin' something tae greet about, even if they had the warld with a wire dike aboot it," remarked Jean, who was now chief (under Lady Frances, of course) in the Ware kitchen; regarding Daisy in her keen and kind scrutinizing way, as the latter, entering the room, sat down moodily in a chair, dropped her hands into her lap, and stared before her with pensive wet lashes lowered; "Man! lassie, but ye're ill tae suit!" CHAPTER XVIII. THE BLEAK TWO. The November draught swept frostily down from the tracks to the station subway where Daisy, in her smart furs, stood, some three months later, waiting for the passengers from the train which had just roared into the great iron-ceiled shed overhead. She could not help thinking of the day when, gazing wonderingly about her, she had trotted alongside the self-assured and patronising Fred Beatty through this very way--forgetting, on that occasion, her travel-soiled blouse, in her wonder and rapture as the city rose about her like a warm sun-glowing tide. Only six months ago!