“I said she might have it, papa.”

“Unwillingly?”

“No, papa—­willingly.”

“In exchange for this doll?”

“O no, papa—­not in exchange for anything.  I did not want any exchange.”

“If I remember, Daisy,” said Mr. Randolph, “your aunt Gary desired to have that spoon the very day it was given to you; and I thought you did not wish she should have it?”

“No, papa—­so I didn’t.”

“Your mind changed afterward?”

“I do not think my mind changed,” said Daisy slowly—­“but I was willing she should have it.”

“Daisy, this whole affair is a mystery to me yet.  In this case, why was it not kind in your aunt to bestow this French doll upon you? it seems to me very kind.”

“Yes papa—­you do not understand.”

“Make me understand.  Daisy, I command you to tell me all that you have not told me.  You need not think of anything now, except my command.”

Daisy did, perhaps; for now her lip quivered slightly; and for a moment she hid her face in her father’s bosom.  Mr. Randolph wrapped his arms round her and stooped his head to hear the story which Daisy was obliged to give.  She gave it fully, and he heard it quite through in silence.  And he made no observation upon it when it was finished; he only asked her,

“Was there no resentment in your refusal of thanks to your aunt just now?”

“No, papa”—­said Daisy; with too sweet and artless utterance for him to doubt her.

“But then, Daisy, we come back to the cause of your mother’s displeasure.  Good breeding requires that people should not be rude, even by silence.”

“Papa, I did not know how to be polite with truth.”

“You could have said you were very much obliged to your aunt.”

“But, I was not, papa.”

“Not obliged to her?”

“No, sir.”

“But, Daisy, that is a civil form, of expression which it is usual to avail oneself of upon such occasions.  It does not necessarily mean much.”

“But, papa, would she not have thought I meant it, if I had said so?”

“Very likely.  That is the polite advantage gained.”

“But papa. I should have known that I did not mean it; and it would not have been true.”

“This is getting to be too deep a question for you to discuss to-night—­it is time for you to go to bed.  But I cannot have you rude.”

Daisy kissed her father, who had been extremely gentle and tender with her, and went off to her room.  Mr. Randolph’s brow looked moody.

“Have you brought Daisy’s ideas into order?” asked his wife, who had been engaged in conversation with Dr. Sandford.

“She has rather brought confusion into mine,” said the gentleman.

“What is the matter?”

“Truth and Daisy, versus civility and the world.  And it is not easy to make a child comprehend some of the fine distinctions we are accustomed to draw.  White and black are very white and black, to such eyes, and no allowance is made for a painter’s lights and shades.”