“I did not intend to tell her so,” Daisy answered in a low voice.  Another storm rising!  Storms seemed to get up very easily in these days.

“My dear,” said Mrs. Gary, “do not concern yourself.  It is not of the least consequence, as far as I am concerned.  Preston, remove this box.  If Daisy chooses to receive it, perhaps it will find more favour at another time.”

Mrs. Gary got up and moved off.

“Mr. Randolph, I will trouble you to dismiss Daisy,” said his wife.  “If she cannot behave properly she cannot be in the room with me.”

Daisy was still standing with her hand on her father’s knee.  The other little hand came for a moment across her brows and rested there; but she would not cry; her lip did not even tremble.

“First let me understand,” said her father; and he lifted Daisy on his knee kindly.  “Daisy, I never saw you uncivil before.”

“Papa, I am very sorry—­” said the child.

“Can you explain it?”

“Papa, I would have been civil if I could; but I had nothing to say.”

“That is the very place where a person of good manners shews himself different from a person who has no manners at all.  Good manners finds something to say.”

“But, papa, there was nothing true.”

“The doll gave you no pleasure?”

“No, papa,” said Daisy low.

“And you felt no obligation for the thoughtfulness and kindness of your aunt in getting for you so elegant a present?”

Daisy hesitated and flushed.

“Daisy, answer,” said her father gravely.

“No, papa,”—­Daisy said low as before.

“Why not?”

“Papa,” said Daisy with a good deal of difficulty and hesitation—­“that is all passed—­I do not want to say anything more about it.”

“About what?”

“About—­papa, I do not think mamma would like to have me talk about it.”

“Go on, Daisy.—­About what?”

“All that trouble we had, papa.”

“What I want to know is, why you did not feel grateful for your aunt’s kindness just now, which she had been at some pains to shew you.”

“Papa,” said Daisy wistfully,—­“it was not kindness—­it was pay; and I did not want pay.”

“Pay?  For what?”

“For my Egyptian spoon, papa.”

“I do not understand what you are talking of, Daisy.”

“No, papa,” said Daisy; so simply shewing her wish that he should not as well as her knowledge that he did not, that Mr. Randolph could not forbear smiling.

“But I mean to understand it,” he said.

“It was my old Egyptian spoon, papa; the doll was meant to be pay for that.”

A little explanation was necessary in order to bring to Mr. Randolph’s mind the facts Daisy referred to, the spoon itself and the time and occasion when it was bestowed on her.

“Did you give your Egyptian spoon to your aunt Gary?”