"
"I don't believe it. Nonsense! All that is not misery to such people,
unless you make it so by shewing them something different. Marble tables
are not the thing for them, Daisy."
"Marble tables!" echoed Daisy.
"Nor fuchsias and geraniums either. That old thing's old flowers do just
as well."
Daisy was silent. She could have answered this. Preston went on.
"She won't be any better with her garden full of roses and myrtles, than
she is with her sunflowers now. What do you expect to do, little Daisy?"
"I know what I would like if I were in her place," said Daisy.
"_You_,--but she is not you. She has not your tastes. Do you mean to
carry her a silver cup and fork, Daisy? You would certainly like that,
if you were in her place. Dear little Daisy, don't you be a mad
philosopher."
But Daisy had not been thinking of silver cups and forks, and she was
not misled by this argument.
"Daisy, do you see you have been under a mistake?"
"No, Preston,"--she said looking up at him.
"Daisy, do you think it is _right_ for you to go into houses and among
people where my uncle and aunt do not wish you to go? You know they do
not wish it, though they have given consent perhaps because you were so
set upon it."
Daisy glanced behind her, at the windows of the library; for they were
at the back entrance of the house; and then seizing Preston's hand and
saying, "Come with me," she drew him down the steps and over the grass
till she reached one of the garden seats under the trees, out of hearing
of any one.
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