She had an opportunity now in hand; she would not
throw it away; not for any self-gratification. And to tell the truth, no
sort of self-gratification could balance for a moment in Daisy's mind
the thought of Molly's wearing a crown of gold in heaven. That crown of
gold was before Daisy's eyes; nothing else was worth a thought in
comparison.
"Are you going to see that wretched old being?" said Preston at last.
"Yes."
"Daisy--dear Daisy--I do not know what to do with you. Do you like, is
it possible that you can like, dirt and vulgarity?"
"I don't think I do," Daisy said gently; "but Preston, I like the poor
_people_."
"You do!" said Preston. "Then it is manifest that you cannot like me."
And he dashed spurs into his horse and sprung away, with a grace and
life that kept Daisy looking after him in admiration, and a plain mood
of displeasure which cast its shadow all over her spirit.
"Here is the trowel, Miss Daisy."
Her messenger had come back, and Daisy recalled to the business in hand
took up her reins again and drove on; but she felt deeply grieved. Now
and then her gauntleted hand even went up to her face to brush away a
tear that had gathered. It was not exactly a new thing, nor was Daisy
entirely surprised at the attempt to divert her from her purpose. She
was wise enough to guess that Preston's object had been more than the
pleasure of her company; and she knew that all at home, unless possibly
her father might be excepted, neither liked nor favoured her kindness to
Molly and would rejoice to interrupt the tokens of it.
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