But she felt angry with Mrs. Gary, and as if she could never forgive
her. Daisy, though not passionate, was persistent in her character; her
gentleness covered a not exactly yielding disposition.
In the midst of all this, Dr. Sandford came in, fresh from his morning's
drive, and sat down by the bedside.
"Do you want to go down stairs, Daisy?"
"No, sir; I think not."
"Not? What's the matter? Are you of a misanthropical turn of mind?"
"I do not know. Dr. Sandford; I do not know what that is."
"Well, now you have got back to human society and fellowship, don't you
want to enjoy it?"
"I should not enjoy it to-day."
"If I do not see you down stairs, you will have to stay up till another
day."
"Yes, sir."
"What is the matter, Daisy?" And now the doctor bent over and looked
hard in her face. The wet spot in her pillow no doubt he had seen long
ago. Daisy's eyes drooped.
"Look up here, and give me an answer."
"I can't very well tell you, sir."
"Why do you not want to go down stairs?"
"Because, Dr. Sandford, I am not good."
"Not good!" said he. "I thought you always were good."
Daisy's eye reddened and her lip twitched. He saw that there was some
uncommon disturbance on hand; and there was the wet spot on the pillow.
"Something has troubled you," he said; and with that he laid his
hand--it was a fresh, cool hand, pleasant to feel--upon Daisy's
forehead, and kept it there; sometimes looking at her, and as often
looking somewhere else.
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