Mrs. Randolph moved off.

“Felicia—­” said her husband.  The lady paused.  “I intend that Ransom shall have a lesson, too.  I shall take away the remaining week of his vacation.  To-morrow he goes back to school.  I tell you, that you may give the necessary orders.”

“For this boy’s freak, Mr. Randolph?”

“For what you please.  He must learn that such behaviour is not permitted here.”

Mrs. Randolph did not share the folly with which she charged Daisy, for she made no answer at all, and only with a slight toss of her haughty head resumed her walk out of the room.  Daisy would fain have spoken, but she did not dare; and for some minutes after they were left alone her father and she were profoundly silent.  Mr. Randolph revolving the behaviour of Daisy as he now understood it; her willing silence and enforced speech, and the gentleness manifested towards her brother, with the meek obedience rendered to her mother and himself.  Perhaps his thoughts went deeper still.  While Daisy reflected with sorrow on the state of mind sure to be produced now both in Ransom and Mrs. Randolph towards her.  A matter which she could do nothing to help.  She did not dare say one word to change her father’s purpose about Ransom; she knew quite well it would be no use.  She stood silent by his sofa, one little hand resting fondly on his shoulder, but profoundly quiet.  Then she remembered that she had something else to talk about.

“Papa—­” she said wheeling round a little to face him.

“Well, Daisy?”

“Do you feel like talking?”

“Hardly—­it is so hot,” said Mr. Randolph.  “Set open that sash door a little more, Daisy.  Now come here.  What is it?”

“Shall I wait till another time, papa?”

“No.”

He had passed an arm round her, and she stood as before with one hand resting on his shoulder.

“Papa—­it was about—­what last night you said I might talk to you about.”

“I remember.  Go on, Daisy.”

“Papa,” said the child, a little in doubt how to go on—­“I want to do what is right.”

“There is generally little difficulty in doing that, Daisy.”

Daisy thought otherwise!

“Papa, I think mamma does not like me to do what I think is right,” she said very low and humbly.

“Your mother is the best judge, Daisy.  What are you talking about?”

“That, papa—­that you said I might talk to you about.”

“What is it?  Let us understand one another clearly.”

“About—­It was only that I liked to pray and give thanks a minute at meal times.”  Daisy spoke very softly and as if she would fain not have spoken.

“That is a mere indifferent ceremony, Daisy, which some people perform.  It is not binding on you, certainly, if your mother has any objection to your doing it.”

“But, papa,”—­Daisy began eagerly and then checked herself, and went on slowly—­“you would not like it if you were to give me anything, and I should not thank you?”