“How is your task proceeding?” Mrs. Randolph asked one evening when Mrs. Sandford was staying to tea.

“Excellently well.  We shall make a good thing, I confidently expect.”

“Hamilton is a good actor,” said Preston.

“And Master Gary also,” said Mrs. Sandford.  “Your old French wife is perfect, Preston.”

“Much obliged, ma’am.”

“Not to me.  My dressing has nothing to do with that.  But Preston, what shall we do with Frederica’s handkerchief?  She can not hold it—­right.”

“Like a queen—­” said Preston.  “I do not know—­unless we could scare her out of her propriety.  A good fright would do it, I think.  But then the expression would not suit.  How is the Game, Mrs. Sandford?”

“Perfect! admirable!  You and Hamilton do it excellently—­and Daisy is a veritable angel.”

“How does she like it all?” Mrs. Randolph inquired.

“Aunt Felicia, she is as much engaged as anybody.”

“And plays as well,” added Mrs. Sandford.

“She has found out to-day, aunt Felicia,” Preston went on, speaking rather low, “that she ought to have a string of red stones round her head instead of white ones.”

Mrs. Randolph smiled.

“She was quite right,” said Mrs. Sandford.  “It was a matter of colour, and she was quite right.  She was dressed for Queen Esther, and I made her look at herself to take the effect; and she suggested, very modestly, that stones of some colour would do better than diamonds round her head.  So I substituted some very magnificent rubies of yours, Mrs. Randolph; quite to Daisy’s justification.”

“Doesn’t she make a magnificent little ‘Fortitude,’ though!” said Eloise.

“The angel will be the best,” said Mrs. Sandford.  “She looks so naturally troubled.  But we have got a good band of workers.  Theresa Stanfield is very clever.”

“It will do Daisy a world of good,” said Mrs. Gary.

CHAPTER XVI.

All this while Daisy’s days were divided.  Silks and jewels and pictures and practising, in one part; in the other part, the old cripple Molly Skelton, and her basket of bread and fruit, and her reading in the Bible.  For Daisy attended as regularly to the one as to the other set of interests, and more frequently; for the practising party met only three times a week, but Daisy went to Molly every day.

Molly was not sick now.  Daisy’s good offices in the material line were confined to supplying her with nice bread and butter and fruit and milk, with many varieties beside.  But in that day or two of rheumatic pains, when Molly had been waited upon by the dainty little handmaiden who came in spotless frocks and trim little black shoes to make her fire and prepare her tea, Daisy’s tenderness and care had completely won Molly’s heart.  She was a real angel in that poor house; no vision of one.  Molly welcomed her so, looked at her