What are you doing?"
"Nothing. I am waiting."
"What are you going to do, then?"
"I am going to drive."
"Do you usually carry a pot of geraniums for company?"
"No, not usually," said Daisy smiling at him.
"Well set out the pot of geraniums, and we will have a glorious ride,
Daisy. I am going to the Fish's, to see some of Alexander's traps; and
you shall go with me."
"O Preston--I am sorry; I cannot."
"Why?"
"I cannot this afternoon."
"Yes, you can, my dear little Daisy. In fact you _must_. Consider--I
shall be going away before very long, and then we cannot take rides
together. Won't you come?"
"Not now--I cannot, Preston! I have got something to do first."
"What?"
"Something which will take me an hour or two. After that I could go."
"Scarcely, this afternoon. Daisy, it is a long drive to the Fish's. And
they have beautiful things there, which you would like to see, I know
you would. Come! go with me--that's my own little Daisy."
Preston was on horseback, and looked very much in earnest. He looked
very gay and handsome too, for he was well mounted and knew how to
manage himself and his horse. He wanted to manage Daisy too; and that
was difficult. Daisy would have been tempted, and would have gone with
him at the first asking; but the thought of Molly and her forlornness,
and the words warm at her heart--"Whatsoever ye would that men should do
to you"--and a further sense that her visitations of Molly were an
extraordinary thing and very likely to be hindered on short notice, kept
her firm as a rock.
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