“To one of your patients, Dr. Sandford?”

“Yes, one.  Not more than one.  But I think that one would like to see you.”

A light came into Daisy’s face, and colour started upon her cheeks, almost painfully.

“Dr. Sandford—­do you mean—­”

“I think so, Daisy,” said her friend quietly.  “It will do no harm,—­if you are a good child.”

He was so quiet, that it stilled Daisy’s feeling, which else might have been impetuous.  There was danger of that, as the child’s eye and cheek bore witness.  But she only said, “I’ll get ready, Dr. Sandford—­” and went off in orderly style till she reached the hall and was out of sight.  Then Daisy’s feet made haste up the stairs.  In three minutes she was back again, with her hat and gloves in her hand.

The doctor threw down his newspaper and drew her up to him.

“Daisy, can you be quiet?”

“I think so, Dr. Sandford.”

“I think so too; therefore I tell you beforehand that I wish it.  Your father has not fully recovered his strength yet; and it would not be good for him to be excited.  You will be very glad to see him, and he will be very glad to see you; that is quite enough; and it would be too much, if you were to shew him how glad you are.”

Daisy said nothing, but she thought within herself she could not do that!

“Can you command yourself, Daisy?”

“I will try, Dr. Sandford.”

“You must do it—­for my sake,” added the doctor.

“Dr. Sandford,” said Daisy, “was that what you meant?”

“When?”

“When you said, if I was a good child?”

“It must have been that I meant, I think.  I could have said it in no other connection.”

“The pony-chaise, ma’am, for Miss Randolph—­” said a servant at the door.

“The chaise may go away again, Daisy, I suppose,” said Mrs. Sandford.  “You will not want it.”

“Yes, she will,” said the doctor,—­“to drive to Melbourne.  Go, Daisy, since you are ready; I will follow you.  That little waddling fellow can be overtaken without any great difficulty.”

“Do you want me to drive slowly, sir?”

“Not at all,” said the doctor; “only drive well, for I shall come and see.”

If ever a little pride in her driving accomplishments had lodged in Daisy’s mind, she certainly did not feel it that afternoon.  She drove without knowing very well how she drove; she did not think of Dr. Sandford’s criticism, or admiration; what she thought of, was the miles of the road to Melbourne.

They were not very many, and unconsciously the eager spirit in Daisy’s fingers made itself known to Loupe’s understanding, through the medium of the reins.  He travelled better than usual, so that they were not more than half way from Melbourne when the doctor’s gig overtook them.  And then Loupe went better yet.