The Butterfly House | Page 5

and
the glistening slant over which they were moving. Alice regarded her
not so much with pity as with a calm, sheltering sense of superiority
and strength. She pulled the inner robe of the coupé up and tucked it
firmly around Daisy's thin knees.
"You look half frozen," said Alice.
"I don't mind being frozen, but I do mind being scared," replied Daisy
sharply. She removed the robe with a twitch.
"If that old horse stumbles and goes down and kicks, I want to be able
to get out without being all tangled up in a robe and dragged," said she.
"While the horse is kicking and down I don't see how he can drag you
very far," said Alice with a slight laugh. Then the horse stumbled.
Daisy Shaw knocked quickly on the front window with her little,
nervous hand in its tight, white kid glove.
"Do please hold your reins tighter," she called. Again the misty blue
eyes rolled about, the head nodded, the rotary jaws were seen, the robe
dragged, the reins lay loosely.
"That wasn't a stumble worth mentioning," said Alice Mendon.
"I wish he would stop chewing and drive," said poor Daisy Shaw
vehemently. "I wish we had a liveryman as good as that Dougherty in
Axminister. I was making calls there the other day, and it was as
slippery as it is now, and he held the reins up tight every minute. I felt

safe with him."
"I don't think anything will happen."
"It does seem to me if he doesn't stop chewing, and drive, I shall fly!"
said Daisy.
Alice regarded her with a little wonder. Such anxiety concerning
personal safety rather puzzled her. "My horses ran away the other day,
and Dick went down flat and barked his knees; that's why I have
Fitzgerald to-day," said she. "I was not hurt. Nobody was hurt except
the horse. I was very sorry about the horse."
"I wish I had an automobile," said Daisy. "You never know what a
horse will do next."
Alice laughed again slightly. "There is a little doubt sometimes as to
what an automobile will do next," she remarked.
"Well, it is your own brain that controls it, if you can run it yourself, as
you do."
"I am not so sure. Sometimes I wonder if the automobile hasn't an
uncanny sort of brain itself. Sometimes I wonder how far men can go
with the invention of machinery without putting more of themselves
into it than they bargain for," said Alice. Her smooth face did not
contract in the least, but was brooding with speculation and thought.
Then the horse stumbled again, and Daisy screamed, and again tapped
the window.
"He won't go way down," said Alice. "I think he is too stiff. Don't
worry."
"There is no stumbling to worry about with an automobile," said Daisy.
"You couldn't use one on this hill without more risk than you take with
a stumbling horse," replied Alice. Just then a carriage drawn by two
fine bays passed them, and there was an interchange of nods.

"There is Mrs. Sturtevant," said Alice. "She isn't using the automobile
to-day."
"Doctor Sturtevant has had that coachman thirty years, and he doesn't
chew, he drives," said Daisy.
Then they drew up before the house which was their destination, Mrs.
George B. Slade's. The house was very small, but perkily pretentious,
and they drove under the porte-cochère to alight.
"I heard Mr. Slade had been making a great deal of money in cotton
lately," Daisy whispered, as the carriage stopped behind Mrs.
Sturtevant's. "Mr. and Mrs. Slade went to the opera last week. I heard
they had taken a box for the season, and Mrs. Slade had a new black
velvet gown and a pearl necklace. I think she is almost too old to wear
low neck."
"She is not so very old," replied Alice. "It is only her white hair that
makes her seem so." Then she extended a rather large but well gloved
hand and opened the coupé door, while Jim Fitzgerald sat and chewed
and waited, and the two young women got out. Daisy had some trouble
in holding up her long skirts. She tugged at them with nervous energy,
and told Alice of the twenty-five cents which Fitzgerald would ask for
the return trip. She had wished to arrive at the club in fine feather, but
had counted on walking home in the dusk, with her best skirts
high-kilted, and saving an honest penny.
"Nonsense; of course you will go with me," said Alice in the calmly
imperious way she had, and the two mounted the steps. They had
scarcely reached the door before Mrs. Slade's maid, Lottie, appeared in
her immaculate width of apron, with carefully-pulled-out bows and
little white lace top-knot. "Upstairs,