“It is going to be a hot day,” he remarked to Juanita who attended upon him.  “Keep her quiet.  Do not let more than one other person be here at once.  Say I order it.”

“Will his honour say it to Miss Daisy’s father and mother?”

“I shall not see them this morning.  You are armed with my authority, Juanita.  Nobody is to be here to talk and excite her; and only one at a time beside you.  Have you got fruit for her?  Let her live on that as much as she likes; and keep the house empty.”

“I will tell papa—­” said Daisy.

“How do you do?” said the doctor.  It was the first question he had addressed to her; and the first attention he had given her otherwise than as a patient.  Now the two looked at each other.

“I am better, a little, thank you,” said the child.  “May I ask something?”

“Ask it.”

“Shall I be a long while here?”

“You will be a week or two—­till your foot gets strong again.”

“Will a week or two make it strong?”

The two pairs of eyes looked into each other.  The thoughtful grey eyes of the child, and the impenetrable blue orbs of the man.  There was mutual study; some mutual recognition.

“You must be a good child and try to bear it.”

“Will you come and see me again?” said Daisy.

“Do you desire it?”

“You would not come unless it was necessary,” said Daisy; “and if it is necessary, I should like to have you.”

The lips of the young man curled into a smile that was very pleasant, albeit a little mocking in its character.

“I think it will be necessary, little one; but if I come to see you, you must be under my orders.”

“Well, I am,” said Daisy.

“Keep still, then; do not talk to anybody any more than is needful to relieve your impatience.”

The doctor went away, and Daisy lay still musing.  The morning had gone on a little further, when carriage wheels stopped at the gate.

“There’s mamma—­” said Daisy.

It was very unconsciously on her part that the tone of these two words conveyed a whole volume of information to Juanita’s keen wits.  It was no accent of joy, like that which had announced her father last night; neither was it fear or dread; yet the indefinable expression of the two words said that “mamma” had been a trouble in Daisy’s life, and might be again.  Juanita went to have the door open; and the lady swept in.  Mr. Randolph was behind her.  She came to Daisy’s side and the mother and child looked at each other; Daisy with the tender, wistful eyes of last night, Mrs. Randolph with a vexed air of dissatisfaction.  Yet after looking at her a moment she stooped down and kissed Daisy.  The child’s eye went to her father then.  Mrs. Randolph stood in his way; he came round to the head of the couch, behind Daisy, and bent over her.

“Papa, I can’t see you there.”

“You can feel, Daisy—­” said Mr. Randolph, putting his lips to her face.  “How do you do?”