“Mamma—­it was partly an accident,” Daisy repeated.  “I found out by accident that they were very poor—­and I carried them something to eat.”

“Whom do you mean by ‘them?’”

“That little girl and her mother—­Mrs. Harbonner.”

“When did you do this?”

“About the time of my birthday.”

“And you have kept up the acquaintance since that time?”

“I carried the woman work once, mamma.  I had papa’s leave to go.”

“Did you ask mine?”

“No, mamma.  It was papa who had forbidden me to go into any house without leave; so I asked him to let me tell her about the work.”

“What was this child here for to-day?”

“Mamma—­she is a poor child and could not go to school; and—­I was trying to teach her something.”

“What were you trying to teach her?”

“To read, mamma—­and to do right.”

“Have you ever done this before?”

“Yes, mamma—­a few times.”

“Can it be that you have a taste for low society, Daisy?”

Mrs. Randolph had been asking questions calmly while going on with her tetting work; at this one she raised her eyes and bent them full, with steady cold inquiry, on Daisy’s face.  Daisy looked a little troubled.

“No, mamma—­I do not think I have.”

“Is not this child very rude and ill-mannered?”

“Yes, ma’am, but—­”

“Is she even a clean child?”

“Not very, mamma.”

“You are changed, Daisy,” said Mrs. Randolph, with a slight but keen expression of disdain.  The child felt it, yet felt it not at all to the moving of her steadfastness.

“Mamma—­it was only that I might teach her.  She knows nothing at all, almost.”

“And does Daisy Randolph think such a child is a fit companion for her?”

“Not a companion, mamma.”

“What business have you with a child who is not a fit companion for you?”

“Only, mamma, to try to be of some benefit to her.”

“I shall be of some benefit to you, now.  Since I cannot trust you, Daisy—­since your own delicacy and feeling of what is right does not guide you in such matters, I shall lay my commands on you for the future.  You are to have nothing to do with any person, younger or older, without finding out what my pleasure is about it.  Do you understand me?”

“Yes, mamma.”

“You are to give no more lessons to children who are not fit companions for you.  You are not to have anything to do with this child in particular.  Daisy, understand me—­I forbid you to speak to her again.”

“O mamma—­”

“Not a word,” said Mrs. Randolph.

“But mamma, please! just this.  May I not tell her once, that I cannot teach her?  She will think me so strange!”

Mrs. Randolph was silent.

“Might I not, just that once, mamma?”

“No.”

“She will not know what to think of me,” said Daisy; her lip trembling, her eye reddening, and only able by the greatest self-control to keep from bursting into tears.