Daisy sat in a corner and wondered at the people.  Hot? and suffocating? she had no recollection of any such thing all day.  How delicious it had been in that green dell under the walnut tree, with the grey squirrels!

“How has it been with you, Daisy?” said her aunt at last.

“Nice, aunt Gary.”

Two or three people smiled; Daisy’s favourite word came out with such a dulcet tone of a smooth and clear spirit.  It was a syrup drop of sweetness in the midst of flat and acid qualities.

“It has been satisfactory, has it?” said her aunt, in a tone which did not share the character.  “Come here, Daisy—­I have got something for you.  You know I robbed you a little while ago, and promised to try to find something to make amends.  Now come and see if I have done it.  Preston, fetch that box here.”

A neat wooden case of some size was brought by Preston, and set at his mother’s feet.  Mrs. Gary unlocked it, and went on to take out of its enveloping coverings a very elegant French doll; a real empress Eugenie.  The doll’s face was even modelled into some likeness to the beauty she was named after; a diadem sat gracefully on her head, and her robes were a miniature imitation of royalty, but very exquisitely fashioned.  Everybody exclaimed at the perfection of the beautiful toy, except Daisy herself, who stood quite still and quiet looking at it.  Mrs. Gary had not done yet.  The empress had a wardrobe; and such variety and elegance and finish of attire of all sorts rarely falls to the lot of a doll.  A very large wardrobe it was, and every article perfectly finished and well made as if meant for actual wear.  Mrs. Gary displayed her present; Daisy looked on, standing by her father’s knee and with one hand resting on it.

“Have you nothing to say to express your pleasure, Daisy?”—­This was Mrs. Randolph’s question.

Daisy at the word pronounced a sober “thank you, aunt Gary.”  But it was so very sober and passionless that Mrs. Randolph grew impatient.

“I do not hear you express any pleasure, Daisy,” she said meaningly.

Daisy turned her face towards her mother with a doubtful look, and was silent.

“Speak!” said Mrs. Randolph.

“What, mamma?”

“Whatever you choose, to shew your sense of your aunt’s kindness.”

“Do not concern yourself, my dear,” said her sister.  “I am sorry if I have failed in meeting Daisy’s taste—­that is all.”

“Daisy, speak, or leave the room”—­said Mrs. Randolph.

“Mamma,” said Daisy, pushed into a corner, “I would speak, but I do not know what to say.”

“Tell your aunt Gary she has given you a great deal of pleasure.”

Daisy looked again mutely at her mother, somewhat distressed.

“Tell her so, Daisy!” Mrs. Randolph repeated in a tone of command.

“I cannot, mamma—­” the child answered sorrowfully.

“Do you mean to tell your aunt that her exquisite present gives you no pleasure?”