“Is it good?”

“Very good!”

“Confess you are hungry and cross, Daisy.”

“I am not cross.  And Preston, please!—­don’t!” Daisy’s fork fell; but she took it up again.

“What is the matter, then, Daisy?”

Daisy did not answer; she went on eating as diligently as she could.

“Is it that foolish business of the song?” whispered Preston.  “Is that the trouble, Daisy?”

“Please don’t, Preston!”—­

“Well I won’t, till you have had another waffle.  Sugar and cream, Daisy?”

“Yes.”

“That’s brave!  Now eat it up—­and tell me, Daisy, is that the trouble with you?”

He spoke affectionately, as he almost always did to her; and Daisy did not throw him off.

“You don’t understand it, Preston,” she said.

“Daisy, I told you my uncle and aunt would not like that sort of thing.”

Daisy was silent, and Preston wondered at her.  Mrs. Gary drew near at this moment, and placed herself opposite Daisy’s tea-cup, using her eyes in the first place.

“What are you talking about?” said she.

“About Daisy’s singing, ma’am.”

“That’s the very thing,” said Mrs. Gary, “that I wanted to speak about.  Daisy, my dear, I hope you are going to sing it properly to your mother the next time she bids you?”

Daisy was silent.

“I wanted to tell you, my dear,” said Mrs. Gary impressively, “what a poor appearance your refusal made, the other evening.  You could not see it for yourself; but it made you seem awkward, and foolish, and ill-bred.  I am sure everybody would have laughed, if it had not been for politeness towards your mother; for the spectacle was ludicrous, thoroughly.  You like to make a graceful appearance, don’t you?”

Daisy answered in a low voice,—­“Yes, ma’am; when I can.”

“Well you can, my dear, for your behaviour is generally graceful, and unexceptionable; only the other night it was very rough and uncouth.  I expected you to put your finger in your mouth the next thing, and stand as if you had never seen anybody.  And Daisy Randolph!—­the heiress of Melbourne and Cranford!”—­

The heiress of Melbourne and Cranford lifted to her aunt’s face a look strangely in contrast with the look bent on her; so much worldly wisdom was in the one, so much want of it in the other.  Yet those steady grey eyes were not without a wisdom, of their own; and Mrs. Gary met them with a puzzled feeling of it.

“Do you understand me, Daisy, my dear?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Do you see that it is desirable never to look ridiculous, and well-bred persons never do?”

“Yes, aunt Gary.”

“Then I am sure you won’t do it again.  It would mortify me for your father and mother.”

Mrs. Gary walked away.  Daisy looked thoughtful.

“Will you do it, Daisy?” whispered Preston.