“No, mamma—­she did not look as if she wanted anything, except to see me.  And yet she is very poor, mamma.”

At this speech Mr. Randolph burst into a round laugh, and even Mrs. Randolph seemed amused.

“Did she look as if she wanted to see you, Daisy?”

“Papa, I think she did,” said Daisy colouring; “she said so at any rate; but I could not find out what else she would like.”

“Daisy, I think she shewed very good taste,” said Mr. Randolph, drawing his little daughter into his arms; “but it would be safe to take something else with you when you go.”

“Your birthday is next week, Daisy,” said her mother; “and your aunt Gary and your cousins will be here.  What would you like to have, to celebrate the day?”

“I don’t know, mamma,” said Daisy, returning her father’s kisses.

“You may have what you please, if you will think and tell me.”

“Mamma, may I talk to Nora Dinwiddie about it?”

“Nonsense!  What for?”

“Only to consult, mamma.”

“Consult Ransom.  He would be a much better help to you.”

Daisy looked sober and said nothing.

“Why not?” said Mr. Randolph.  “Why not consult your brother?”

“Papa,” said Daisy slowly, “Ransom and I do not understand each other.”

“Don’t you,” said her father laughing; “what is the cause of that, Daisy?”

Daisy was not very willing to answer, but being pressed by both father and mother she at length spoke.  “I think, papa, it is because he understands so many other things.”

Mr. Randolph was excessively amused.  “Ransom!”—­he called out to the hall.

“Please, papa, don’t!” said Daisy.

“Ransom!—­come here.—­What is this? your sister says you do not understand her.”

“Well, papa,” said Ransom, an exceedingly handsome and bright-looking boy and a great pet of his mother,—­“there are things that are not deep enough to be understood.”

Daisy’s lips opened eagerly and then closed again.

“Girls always use magnifying glasses where themselves are concerned!” went on Ransom, whose dignity seemed to be excited.

“Hush, hush!” said his father,—­“take yourself off, if you cannot maintain civility.  And your mother does not like fishing-tackle at the breakfast-table—­go!  I believe,” he said as Ransom bounded away, “I believe conceit is the normal condition of boyhood.”

“I am sure,” said Mrs. Randolph, “girls have enough of it—­and women too.”

“I suppose it would be rash to deny that,” said Mr. Randolph.  “Daisy, I think I understand you.  I do not require so much depth as is necessary for Ransom’s understanding to swim in.”

“If you do not deny it, it would be well not to forget it,” said Mrs. Randolph; while Daisy still in her father’s arms was softly returning his caresses.

“What shall we do on your birthday, Daisy?” said her father without seeming to heed this remark.