"Tell you—that—that,—Daisy is,—that he has,—that,—oh, believe me, it was not my wish at all, and I don’t know now why it was done," Mrs. McDonald said, still trying to detain Guy and keep him in the room. But her efforts were vain, for shaking off her grasp, Guy opened the hall door, and with a cry of joy caught Daisy herself in his arms. In a state of fearful excitement and very curious to know what was passing between her mother and Guy, she had stolen down stairs to listen, and had reached the door just as Guy opened it so suddenly. "Daisy, darling, I feared you were sick," he cried, nearly smothering her with his caresses. But Daisy writhed herself away from him, and putting up her hands to keep him off, cried out: "Oh, Guy, Guy, you can’t,—you mustn’t. You must never kiss me again or love me any more, because I am,—I am not,——Oh, Guy, I wish you had never seen me; I am so sorry, too. I did like you. I,—I,—Guy,—Guy,—I am not your wife any more I Father has got a divorce!" She whispered the last words, and then, affrighted at the expression of Guy’s face, fled half way up the stairs, where she stood looking down upon him, while, with a face as white as ashes, he, too, stood gazing at her and trying to frame the words which should ask her what she meant. He did not believe her literally; the idea was too preposterous, but he felt that some thing horrible had come between him and Daisy,—that in some way she was as much lost to him as if he had found her coffined for the grave, and the suddenness of the blow took from him for a moment his powers of speech, and he still stood looking at her when the street door opened, and a new actor appeared upon the scene in the person of Mr. McDonald, who had hastened home in obedience to the message from his wife. It was a principle of Mr. McDonald never to lose his presence of mind or his temper, or the smooth, low tone of voice he had cultivated years ago and practiced with so good effect. And now, though he understood the state of matters at once and knew that Guy had heard the worst, he did not seem ruffled in the slightest degree, and his voice was just as kind and sweet as ever as he bade Guy good-morning, and advanced to take his hand. But Guy would not take it. He had always disliked and distrusted Mr. McDonald, and he felt intuitively that whatever harm had befallen him had come through the oily-tongued man who stood smilingly before him. With a gesture of disgust he turned away from the offered hand, and in a voice husky with suppressed excitement, asked: "What does all this mean, that when, after a separation of months, I come for my wife, I am told that she is not my wife,—that there has been a—a divorce?" Guy had brought himself to name the horrid thing, and the very sound of the word served to make it more real and clear to his mind, and there were great drops of sweat, upon his forehead and about his mouth as he asked what it meant.