“That is your punishment”—­replied Mrs. Randolph, in a satisfied, quiet sort of way.  Daisy felt crushed.  She could hardly think.

“I am going to take you in hand and bring you into order,” said Mrs. Randolph with a smile, bending over to kiss Daisy, and looking at her lips and eyes in a way Daisy wished she would not.  The meek little face certainly promised small difficulty in her way, and Mrs. Randolph kissed the trembling mouth again.

“I do not think we shall quarrel,” she remarked.  “But if we do, Daisy, I shall know how to bear my part of it.”

She turned carelessly to her tetting again, and Daisy lay still; quiet and self-controlled, it was all she could do.  She could hardly bear to watch her mother at her work; the thought of “quarrels” between them was so inevitable and so dreadful.  She could hardly bear to look out of her window; the sunshine and bright things out there seemed to remind her of her troubles; for they did not look bright now as they had done in the early morning.  She lay still and kept still; that was all; while Mrs. Randolph kept at her work amusing herself with it an uncommonly long time.  At last she was tired; threw her shawl round her shoulders again, and stood up to go.

“I think we can soon have you home, Daisy,” she said as she stooped to kiss her.  “Ask Dr. Sandford when he comes, how soon it will do now to move you; ask him to-night; will you?”

Daisy said “Yes, mamma,” and Mrs. Randolph went.

CHAPTER XIX.

The day was a heavy one to Daisy and Juanita after that.  The little cottage was very silent.  Daisy lay still, saying nothing, and generally keeping her face turned towards the window so that her friend could not see at; and when Mrs. Benoit proposed, as she several times did, to read to Daisy or sing to her, she was always answered by a gentle, “No, Juanita,” which was as decided as it was gentle.  The last time indeed, Daisy had yielded and given assent to the proposition; but Mrs. Benoit did not feel sure that she gave anything else; either attention or approbation.  Daisy’s dinner she had prepared with particular care; but it was not enjoyed; Mrs. Benoit knew that.  She sighed to herself, and then sang to herself, in a softly kind of way; Daisy gave no heed, and only lay still with her face turned to the window.  By and by, late in the afternoon, the doctor came in.  He was not a favourite of Mrs. Benoit, but she was glad to see him now.  She withdrew a little out of the way and watched to see what he would say.

The doctor’s first care as usual was the foot.  That was going on well.  Having attended to that, he looked at Daisy’s face.  It did not seem to him satisfactory, Mrs. Benoit saw; for his next move was to the head of the couch, and he felt Daisy’s hand, while his eyes studied her.

“How do you do to-day?”

“I am getting better,” said Daisy.