“The English beauty would like to be a little more robust in her graces,” remarked Gary McFarlane.

“That is all Daisy wants,” her aunt went on; “but that will come, I trust, in time.”

“Daisy would do well enough,” said Mrs. Randolph, “if she could get some notions out of her head.”

“What, you mean her religious notions?  How came she by them, pray?”

“Why there was a person here—­a connexion of Mrs. Sandford’s—­that set up a Sunday school in the woods; and Daisy went to it for a month or two, before I thought anything about it, or about him.  Then I found she was beginning to ask questions, and I took her away.”

“Is asking questions generally considered a sign of danger?” said Gary McFarlane.

“What was that about her singing the other night?” said Mrs. Gary—­“that had something to do with the same thing, hadn’t it?”

“Refused to sing an opera song because it was Sunday.”

“Ridiculous!” said Mrs. Gary.  “I’ll try to make her see it so herself—­if I get a chance.  She is a sensible child.”

Mr. Randolph was walking up and down the room, and had not spoken a word.  A little time after he found himself nearly alone with Mrs. Randolph, the others having scattered away.  He paused near his wife’s sofa.

“Daisy is failing,” he said.  “She has lost more this week than she had gained in the two months before.”

Mrs. Randolph made no answer, and did not even move her handsome head, or her delicate hands.

“Can’t you get out of this business, Felicia?”

“In the way that I said I would.  You expect your words to be obeyed, Mr. Randolph; and I expect it for mine.”

Mr. Randolph resumed his walk.

“Daisy has got some things in her head that must get out of it.  I would as lieve not have a child, as not to have her mind me.”

Mr. Randolph passed out upon the verandah, and continuing his walk there, presently came opposite the windows of the library.  There he saw Daisy seated at the table, reading.  Her hand was over her brow, and Mr. Randolph did not feel satisfied with the sober lines of the little mouth upon which the lamplight shone.  Once too, Daisy’s head went down upon her book and lay there a little while.  Mr. Randolph did not feel like talking to her just then, or he would have liked to go in and see what she was studying.  But while he stood opposite the window, Capt.  Drummond came into the library.

“You here, Daisy!  What are you busy about?” he said kindly.  “What are you studying now?”

“I am reading the History of England, Capt.  Drummond.”

“How do you like it?”

“I have not got very far.  I do not like it very much.”

“Where are you?”

“I have just got to where it tells about Alfred.”

“Why do you read it, Daisy?  Is it a lesson?”

“No, Capt.  Drummond,—­but—­I think proper to read it.”