“The most beautiful and winning girl society has seen in years,” she said. “But at first some would have liked to put her down, you know, because she was only a poor girl--a New York teacher--though she looks like she was born to the purple. But, of course, her marriage to a Sherwood changed all that. And, really, Lutie Fleming stood by her grandly, and directly made her the fashion. I never liked the little widow, I own; but she has the true Sherwood grit, and never gives up what she sets her mind on. They say she helped Royall in his love affair, and he married the girl at her summer home down in Maryland last August. There was an awful tragedy about the case, you see, because Royall was shot in the grounds on his wedding night, by a jealous rival, it is supposed, though it never could be traced directly to him. Well, the young husband did not die; but he had better, for he has been paralyzed ever since, waist downward, and lives in a roller chair.” Dallas said huskily: “And the bride’s devotion--did it outlive his affliction?” “Why, they say that she is quite touching in her tenderness, and did not leave him at all for months until her health failed under the strain. So they made her go out with the widow, and she seems very gay, only there is something in her face at times--in repose, you know--that hints at secret grief. And, no wonder, with her husband struck down, almost the same as dead, on their bridal night, and she, poor girl! wedded, but a maiden wife, watching his slow descent into the grave, with what torture who can tell!” “But must he die? Can he never recover?” “It is supposed not. Poor fellow, it is such a shame! He used to be one of the best dancers in New York.” “Yes?” “You will see his wife to-night, if you come with me to see Calvé. Mrs. Fleming will have a box party that includes Daisie Sherwood and her guest, Miss Janowitz; and we will meet them at the Morton ball afterward, for they told me they were coming.” Lord Werter resolved at first that he would not attend either of these functions, not caring to renew the impression Daisie made on him first under the drooping wistarias--that picture that was graven on his heart. He hoped that time was effacing it now, since she was another’s wife; but insensibly there grew on him a wild longing to see her again. He explained it to himself on the score of curiosity as to how she would look in the garb of wealth and fashion--beautiful Daisie, who had been irresistible in the simple white gown with lavender ribbons.