"Well Daisy," said Mr. Randolph that evening, "how do you like your new
play that you are all so busy about?"
"I like it pretty well, papa."
"Only pretty well! Is that the most you can say of it? I understood that
it was supposed to be an amusement of a much more positive character."
"Papa, it is amusing--but it has its disagreeablenesses."
"Has it? What can they be? Or has everything pleasant its dark side?"
"I don't know, papa."
"What makes the shadows in this instance?"
It seemed not just easy for Daisy to tell, for her father saw that she
looked puzzled how to answer.
"Papa, I think it is because people do not behave perfectly well."
It was quite impossible for Mr. Randolph to help bursting into a laugh
at this; but he put his arms round Daisy and kissed her very
affectionately at the same time.
"How does their ill behaviour affect your pleasure, Daisy?"
"Papa--you know I have to play with them."
"Yes, I understand that. What do they do?"
"It isn't _they_, papa. It is only Alexander Fish--or at least it is he
most."
"What does _he_ do?"
"Papa--we are in a tableau together."
"Yes. You and he?"
"Yes, papa. And it is very disagreeable."
"Pray how, Daisy?" said Mr. Randolph, commanding his features with some
difficulty. "What is the tableau?"
"Papa, you know the story of Priscilla?"
"I do not think I do. What Priscilla?"
"Priscilla and John Alden. It is in a book of engravings."
"O!--the courtship of Miles Standish?"
"Miles Standish was his friend, papa."
"Yes, I know now. And are you Priscilla?"
"Yes, papa."
"And who is Miles Standish?"
"O, nobody; he is not in the picture; it is John Alden."
"I think I remember. Who is John Alden, then?"
"Papa, they have put Alexander Fish in, because he has long curling
hair; but I think Preston's hair would do a great deal better."
"Preston is under some obligation to the others, I suppose, because he
is manager. But how does Alexander Fish abuse his privileges?"
"Papa," said Daisy unwillingly,--"his face is turned away from the other
people, so that nobody can see it but me;--and he winks."
Daisy brought out the last word with an accession of gravity impossible
fully to describe. Mr. Randolph's mouth twitched; he bent his head down
upon Daisy's, that she might not see it.
"That is very rude of him, Daisy," he said.
"Papa," said Daisy, who did not relish the subject, and chose a
departure,--"what is a _Puritan_?"
"A Puritan!"
"Yes, papa. What is it? Priscilla was a Puritan."
"That was a name given to a class of people in England a long time ago."
"What did it mean?"
"They were a stiff set of people, Daisy; good enough people in their
way, no doubt, but very absurd in it also."
"What did they do, papa?"
"Concluded to do without whatever is graceful and beautiful and
pleasant, in dress or arts or manners. The more disagreeable they made
life, they thought it was the better."
"Why were they called that name? Were they purer than other people?"
"I believe they thought themselves so."
"I think they look nice in the picture," said Daisy meditatively. "Are
there any Puritans now, papa?"
"There are people that are called Puritans. It is a term apt to be
applied to people that are stiff in their religion."
"Papa," said Daisy when an interval of five minutes had passed,--"I do
not see how people can be stiff in their religion."
"Don't you. Why not?"
"Papa, I do not see how it can be _stiff_, to love God and do what he
says."
"No--" said Mr. Randolph; "but people can be stiff in ways of their own
devising."
"Ways that are not in the Bible, papa?"
"Well--yes."
"But papa, it cannot be _stiff_, to do what God says we must do?"
"No,--of course not," said Mr. Randolph getting up.
He left her, and Daisy sat meditating; then with a glad heart ran off
and ordered her pony chaise. If tableaux were to be the order of the day
every afternoon, she must go to see Molly in the morning. This time she
had a good deal to carry and to get ready. Molly was in want of bread.
A nice little loaf, fresh baked, was supplied by Joanna, along with some
cold rolls.
"She will like those, I dare say," said Daisy. "I dare say she never saw
rolls in her life before. Now she wants some meat, Joanna. There was
nothing but a little end of cold pork on the dish in her cupboard."
"Why I wonder who cooks for the poor wretch?" said Joanna.
"I think she cooks for herself, because she has a stove, and I saw iron
things and pots to cook with. But she can't do much, Joanna, and I don't
believe she knows how."
"Sick, is she too?" said Joanna.
"Sick with rheumatism, so that she did not like to stir."
"I guess I must go take a look at her; but maybe she mightn't let me.
Well, Miss Daisy, the way will be for you to tell me what she wants, if
you can find out. She must have neighbours, though, that take care of
her."
"We are her neighbours," said Daisy.
Joanna looked, a look of great complacency and some wonder, at the
child; and packed forthwith into Daisy's basket the half of a cold
chicken and a broken peach pie. A bottle of milk Daisy particularly
desired, and a little butter; and she set off at last, happier than a
queen--Esther or any other--to go to Molly with her supplies.
She found not much improvement in the state of affairs. Molly was
gathered up on her hearth near the stove, in which she had made a fire;
but it did not appear, for all that Daisy could see, that anything else
had been done or any breakfast eaten that morning. The cripple seemed to
be in a down-hearted and hopeless state of mind; and no great wonder.
"Molly, would you like another cup of tea?" said her little friend.
"Yes, it's in there. You fix it,"--said the poor woman, pointing as
before to the cupboard, and evidently comforted by Daisy's presence and
proposal. Daisy could hear it in the tone of her voice. So, greatly
pleased herself, Daisy went to work in Molly's house just as if she was
at home. She fetched water in the kettle again and made up the fire.
While that was getting ready, she set the table for breakfast. The only
table that Molly could use was a piece of board nailed on a chair. On
this Daisy put her plate and cup and saucer, and with secret glee
arranged the cold chicken and loaf of bread. For the cupboard, as she
saw, was as empty as she had found it two days before. What Molly had
lived on in the mean time was simply a mystery to Daisy. To be sure, the
end of cold pork was gone, the remains of the cake had disappeared, and
nothing was left of the peaches but the stones. The tea-kettle did not
boil for a time; and Daisy looked uneasily at Molly's cup and saucer and
plate meanwhile. They had not been washed, Daisy could not guess for how
long; certainly no water had touched them since the tea of two nights
ago, for the cake crumbs and peach stones told the tale. Daisy looked at
them with a great feeling of discomfort. She could not bear to see them
so; they ought to be washed; but Daisy disliked the idea of touching
them for that purpose more than I can make you understand. In all
matters of nicety and cleanliness Daisy was notional; nothing suited her
but the most fastidious particularity. It had been a trial to her to
bring those unwashed things from the cupboard. Now she sat and looked at
them; uneasily debating what she should do. It was not comfortable, that
Molly should take her breakfast off them as they were; and Molly was
miserable herself and would do nothing to mend matters. And
then--"Whatsoever ye would that men should do to you,"--As soon as that
came fairly into Daisy's head, she knew what she ought to be about. Not
without an inward sigh, she gathered up the pieces again.
"What you going to do?" said Molly.
"I'll bring them back," said Daisy. "I will be ready directly. The water
is not boiling yet."
For she saw that Molly was jealously eager for the hoped-for cup of tea.
She carried the things out into the shed, and there looked in vain for
any dish or vessel to wash them in. How could it be that Molly managed?
Daisy was fain to fetch a little bowl of water and wash the crockery
with her fingers, and then fetch another bowl of water to rinse it.
There was no napkin to be seen. She left the things to drain as they
could, and went to the spring to wash her own fingers; rejoicing in the
purifying properties of the sweet element. All this took some time, but
Daisy carried in her clean dishes with a satisfied heart.
"It's bi'lin',--" said Molly as soon as she entered.
So the little kettle was. Daisy made tea, and prepared Molly's table
with a little piece of butter and the bottle of milk. And no little girl
making an entertainment for herself with tiny china cups and tea-set,
ever had such satisfaction in it. Twenty dinners at home could not have
given Daisy so much pleasure, as she had now to see the poor cripple
look at her unwonted luxuries and then to see her taste them. Yet Molly
said almost nothing; but the grunt of new expression with which she set
down the bottle of milk the first time, went all through and through
Daisy's heart with delight. Molly drank tea and spread her bread with
butter, and Daisy noticed her turning over her slice of bread to examine
the texture of it; and a quieter, soothed, less miserable look, spread
itself over her wrinkled features. They were not wrinkled with age; yet
it was a lined and seamed face generally, from the working of unhappy
and morose feelings.
"Ain't it good!--" was Molly's single word of comment as she finished
her meal. Then she sat back and watched Daisy putting all the things
nicely away. She looked hard at her.
"What you fetch them things here for?" she broke out suddenly. "H--n?"
The grunt with which her question concluded was so earnest in its demand
of an answer, that Daisy stopped.
"Why I like to do it, Molly," she said. Then seeing the intent eyes with
which the poor creature was examining her, Daisy added,--"I like to do
it; because Jesus loves you."
"H--n?"--said Molly, very much at a loss what this might mean, and very
eager to know. Daisy stood still, with the bread in her hands.
"Don't you know, Molly?" she said. "He does. It is Jesus, that I told
you about. He loves you, and he came and died for you, that he might
make you good and save you from your sins; and he loves you now, up in
heaven."
"What's that?" said Molly.
"Heaven? that is where God lives, and the angels, and good people."
"There ain't none," said Molly.
"What?"
"There ain't no good people."
"O yes, there are. When they are washed in Jesus' blood, then they are
good. He will take away all their sins."
Molly was silent for a moment and Daisy resumed her work of putting
things away; but as she took the peach pie in her hands Molly burst out
again.
"What you bring them things here for?"
Daisy stopped again.
"I think it is because Jesus is my king," she said, "and I love him. And
I love what he loves, and so I love you, Molly."
Daisy looked very childish and very wise, as she said this; but over
Molly's face there came a great softening change. The wrinkles seemed to
disappear; she gazed at Daisy steadily as if trying to find out what it
all meant: and when the eyes presently were cast down, Daisy almost
thought there was a little moisture about them. She had no further
interruption in her work. The dishes were all put away, and then she
brought her book. Daisy had her Bible with her this time, that she might
give Molly more than her own words. And Molly she found as ready to
listen as could be desired. And she was persistent in desiring to hear
only of that incredible Friend of whom Daisy had told her. That name she
wanted; wherever that name came in, Molly sat silent and attentive; if
the narrative lost it, she immediately quickened Daisy's memory to the
knowledge of the fact that nothing else would do. At last Daisy proposed
that Molly herself should learn to read. Molly stared very hopelessly at
first; but after getting more accustomed to the idea and hearing from
Daisy that it was by no means an impossible thing, and further that if
she could learn to read, the Bible would be forthcoming for her own use,
she took up the notion with an eagerness far exceeding all that Daisy
had hoped for. She said very little about it; nevertheless it was plain
that a root of hope had struck down into the creature's heart. Daisy
taught her two letters, A and B, and then was obliged to go home.
It was quite time, for little Daisy was tired. She was not accustomed to
making fires and boiling kettles, neither to setting tables and washing
dishes. Yet it was not merely, nor so much, the bodily exertion she had
made, as the mind work. The excitement both of pleasure and
responsibility and eager desire. Altogether, Daisy was tired; and sat
back in her chaise letting the reins hang languidly in her hands and
Loupe go how he would. But Loupe judged it was best to get home and have
some refreshment, so he bestirred himself. Daisy had time to lie down a
little while before her dinner; nevertheless she was languid and pale,
and disposed to take all the rest of the day very quietly.
The rest of the day was of course devoted to the tableaux. The little
company had got warmed to the subject pretty well at the first meeting;
they all came together this fine afternoon with spirits in tone for
business. And Daisy, though she was tired, presently found her own
interest drawn in. She was not called upon immediately to take any
active part; she perched herself in the corner of a couch and looked on
and listened. Thither came Nora Dinwiddie, too much excited to sit down,
and stood by Daisy's elbow. They had been practising "Alfred in the
neat-herd's cottage;" Nora had been called upon to be the girl blowing
the burnt cakes; she had done it, and everybody had laughed, but the
little lady was not pleased.
"I know I look horrid!" she said to Daisy,--"puffing out my cheeks till
they are like a pair of soapbubbles!"
"But soapbubbles are not that colour," said Daisy. "Your cheeks didn't
look like soapbubbles."
"Yes, they did. They looked horrid, I know."
"But the picture is so," urged Daisy quietly. "You want to be like the
picture."
"No I don't. Not that picture. I would like to be something handsome. I
don't like that picture."
Daisy was silent, and Nora pouted.
"What are you going to be, Daisy?" said Ella Stanfield.
"I am going to be Priscilla. No, I don't know whether I am or not; but I
am going to be Fortitude, I believe."
"That's pretty," said Ella. "What else? O, you are going to be the
angel, aren't you? I wonder if that will be pretty. It will be queer.
Nora, shall you like to be one of the little princes in the Tower? with
that featherbed coming over us? But we shall not see it, I suppose,
because our eyes have got to be shut; but I shall be afraid every minute
they will let it fall on us."
"My eyes won't be shut," said Nora.
"O, they must. You know, the little princes were asleep, when the men
came to kill them. Your eyes must be shut and you must be asleep. O,
what are they doing to Theresa?"
"Dressing her--" said Daisy.
"What is she going to be?"
"Portia--" said Daisy.
"Isn't that beautiful!--" said Nora with a deep breath. "O, what a
splen--did dress! How rich-looking it is. What a lovely purple. O, how
beautiful Theresa is in it. O--! Isn't that splen--did?"
A very prolonged, though low, breath of admiring wonder testified to the
impressive power, upon the children at least, of Theresa's new
habiliments. The purple brocade was upon her; its full draperies swept
the ground in gorgeous colouring; a necklace of cameos was bound with
great effect upon her hair; and on the arms, which were half bare, Mrs.
Sandford was clasping gold and glittering jewels. Theresa threw herself
slightly back in her prescribed attitude, laid her arms lightly across
each other, and turned her head with a very saucy air towards the
companion figure, supposed to be Bassanio. All the others laughed and
clapped her.
"Not that, Theresa, not that; you have got the wrong picture. You are
going with the Prince of Arragon now, to the caskets; and you ought to
be anxiously asking Bassanio about his letter."
Theresa changed attitude and expression on the instant; bent slightly
forward, lost her sauciness, and laid her hand upon Bassanio's arm with
a grave, tender look of inquiry. They all shouted again.
"Bravo, Theresa! capital!" said Preston.
"Hamilton, can you act up to that?" said Mrs. Sandford.
"Wait till I get my robes on, ma'am. I can make believe a great deal
easier when I am under the persuasion that it is not me--Hamilton Rush."
"I'd like to see Frederica do as well as that," said Alexander Fish, in
a fit of brotherly concern.
"Let us try her--" said good-natured Mrs. Sandford. Mrs. Sandford
certainly was good-natured, for she had all the dressing to do. She did
it well, and very patiently.
"There," said Nora, when Ella had left the couch to go to her
sister,--"that is what I like. Didn't she look beautiful, Daisy?"
"Her dress looked beautiful--" said Daisy.
"Well, of course; and that made _her_ look beautiful. Daisy, I wish I
could have a nice part. I would like to be the queen in that fainting
picture."
"You are going to be in that picture."
"But, I mean, I would like to be the queen. She will have the best
dress, won't she?"
"I suppose she will be the most dressed," said Daisy.
"I don't want to be one of the women--I want to be the queen. Hamilton
Rush said I would be the best one for it, because she was a Jewess; and
I am the only one that has got black eyes and hair."
"But her eyes will not be seen," said Daisy. "She is fainting. When
people faint, they keep their eyes shut."
"Yes, but I am the only one that has got black hair. That will shew. Her
hair ought to be black."
"Why will not other hair do just as well?" said Daisy.
"Why, because she was a Jewess."
"Do Jewesses always have black hair?"
"Of course they _ought_ to have black hair," said Nora; "or Hamilton
Rush would not have said that. And my hair is black."
Daisy was silent. She said nothing to this proposition. The children
were both silenced for a little while the practising for "Marie
Antoinette" was going on. The principal part in this was taken by
Frederica, who was the beauty of the company. A few touches of Mrs.
Sandford's skilful hands transformed her appearance wonderfully. She put
on an old-fashioned straight gown, which hung in limp folds around her;
and Mrs. Sandford arranged a white handkerchief over her breast, tying
it in the very same careless loose knot represented in the picture; but
her management of Frederica's hair was the best thing. Its soft fair
luxuriance was, no one could tell how, made to assume the half dressed,
half undressed air of the head in Delaroche's picture; and Frederica
looked the part well.
"She should throw her head a little more back,"--whispered Hamilton Rush
to the manager;--"her head or her shoulders. She is not quite indignant
enough."
"That handkerchief in her hand is not right--" said Preston in a
responding whisper. "You see to it--while I get into disguise."
"That handkerchief, Mrs. Sandford--" Hamilton, said softly.
"Yes. Frederica, your hand with the pocket-handkerchief,--it is not
quite the thing."
"Why not?"
"You hold it like a New York lady."
"How _should_ I hold it?"
"Like a French queen, whose Austrian fingers may hold anything any way."
This was Hamilton's dictum.
"But how _do_ I hold it?"
"You have picked it up in the middle, and shew all the flower work in
the corners."
"You hold it too daintily, Frederica," said Theresa. "You must grasp
it--grasp it loosely--but as the distinguished critic who has last
spoken has observed."
Frederica dropped her handkerchief, and picked it up again exactly as
she had it before.
"Try again--" said Mrs. Sandford. "Grasp it, as Theresa says. Never mind
how you are taking it up."
"Must I throw it down again?"
"If you please."
"Take it up any way but in the middle," said Hamilton.
Down went the handkerchief on a chair, and then Frederica's fingers took
it up, delicately, and with a little shake displayed as before what
Hamilton called the flowers in the corners. It was the same thing. They
all smiled.
"She can't hold a handkerchief any but the one way--I don't believe,"
said her brother Alexander.
"Isn't it right?" said Frederica.
"Perfect, I presume, for Madison Square or Fifth Avenue--but not exactly
for a revolutionary tribunal," said Hamilton.
"What is the difference?"
"Ah, that is exactly what it is so hard to get at. Hello! Preston--is it
Preston? Can't be better, Preston. Admirable! admirable!"
"Well, Preston, I do not know you!" said Mrs. Sandford.
Was it Preston? Daisy could hardly believe her ears. Her eyes
certainly-told her another story. Was it Preston? in the guise and with
the face of an extremely ugly old woman--vicious and malignant,--who
taking post near the deposed queen, peered into her face with spiteful
curiosity and exultation. Not a trace of likeness to Preston could Daisy
see. She half rose up to look at him in her astonishment. But the voice
soon declared that it was no other than her cousin.
"Come,"--said he, while they were all shouting,--"fall in. You
Hamilton,--and Theresa,--come and take your positions."
Hamilton, with a glance at the picture, went behind Preston; and putting
on a savage expression, thrust his clenched fist out threateningly
towards the dignified figure of Frederica; while Theresa, stealing up
into the group, put her hands upon a chair back to steady herself and
bent towards the queen a look of mournful sympathy and reverence, that
in the veritable scene and time represented would undoubtedly have cost
the young lady her life. The performers were good; the picture was
admirable. There was hardly anybody left to look when George Linwood and
Alexander had taken post as the queen's guards; and to say truth they
did not in their present state of undisguised individuality add much to
the effect; but Mrs. Sandford declared the tableau was very fine, and
could be made perfect.
The question of Cinderella came up then; and there was a good deal of
talk. Finally it was decided that little Ella should be Cinderella, and
Eloïse the fairy godmother, and Jane Linwood and Nora the wicked
sisters. A little practising was tried, to get them in order. Then
Esther was called for. Daisy submitted.
Hamilton Rush was made magnificent and kingly by a superb velvet mantle
and turbaned crown--the latter not perfect, but improvised for the
occasion. For a sceptre he held out a long wooden ruler this time; but
Preston promised a better one should be provided. The wooden ruler was
certainly not quite in keeping with the king's state, or the queen's.
Daisy was robed in a white satin dress of her mother's; much too long,
of course, but that added to the rich effect; it lay in folds upon the
floor. Her head was covered with a rose-coloured silken scarf wound
artistically round it and the ends floating away; and upon this drapery
diamonds were bound, that sparkled very regally over Daisy's forehead.
But this was only the beginning. A zone of brilliants at her waist made
the white satin dazzling and gathered its folds together; bracelets of
every colour and of great beauty loaded Daisy's little arms; till she
was, what Mrs. Sandford had said Esther must be, a spot of brilliancy.
Her two maids, Nora and Jane Linwood, at this time were not robed in
any other than their ordinary attire; perhaps that was one reason why
their maintenance of their characters was not quite so perfect as that
of the principal two. Hamilton stretched forward his wooden sceptre to
the queen with benignant haste and dignity. Daisy, only too glad to
shrink away, closed her eyes and lay back in the arms of her attendants
in a manner that was really very satisfactory. But the attendants
themselves were not in order.
"Jane, you must not laugh--" said her brother.
"I ain't laughing!"
"Yes, but you were."
"The queen is fainting, you know," said Mrs. Sandford. "You are one of
her maids, and you are very much distressed about it."
"I am not distressed a bit. I don't care."
"Nora, do not forget that you are another attendant. Your business is
with your mistress. You must be looking into her face, to see if she is
really faint or if you can perceive signs of mending. You must look very
anxious."
But Nora looked very cross; and as Jane persisted in giggling, the
success of that picture was not quite excellent this time.
"Nora is the most like a Jewess--" Theresa remarked.
"O, Nora will make a very good maid of honour by and by," Mrs. Sandford
replied.
But Nora had her own thoughts.
"Daisy, how shall I be dressed?" she inquired, when Daisy was disrobed
of her magnificence and at leisure to talk.
"I don't know. O, in some nice way," said Daisy, getting into her corner
of the couch again.
"Yes, but shall I--shall Jane and I have bracelets, and a girdle, and
something on our heads too?"
"No, I suppose not. The queen of course is most dressed, Nora; you know
she must be."
"I should like to have _one_ dress," said Nora. "I am not anything at
all. All the fun is in the dress. You are to have four dresses."
"Well, so are you to have four."
"No, I am not. What four?"
"This one, you know; and Red Riding-hood--and the Princes in the
Tower--and Cinderella."
"I am to be only one of the ugly sisters in Cinderella--I don't believe
aunt Frances will give her much of a dress; and I hate Red Riding-hood;
and the Princes in the Tower are not to be dressed at all. They are
covered up with the bed-clothes."
"Nora," said Daisy softly,--"would you like to be dressed as John
Alden?"
"As _what?_" said Nora, in no very accommodating tone of voice.
"John Alden--that Puritan picture, you know, with the spinning wheel. I
am to be Priscilla."
"A boy! Do you think I would be dressed like a boy?" cried Nora in
dudgeon. And Daisy thought _she_ would not, if the question were asked
her; and had nothing more to answer.
So the practising went on, with good success on the whole. The little
company met every other day; and dresses were making, and postures were
studied, and costumes were considered and re-considered. Portia and
Bassanio got to be perfect. So did Alfred in the neat-herd's
cottage--very nearly. Nora, however she grumbled, blew her cakes
energetically; Preston and Eloïse made a capital old man and woman, she
with a mutch cap and he with a bundle of sticks on his head; while
Alexander Fish with his long hair and rather handsome face sat very well
at the table hearing his rebuke for letting the cakes burn. Alexander
was to have a six-foot bow in hand, which he and Hamilton were getting
ready: and meanwhile practised with an umbrella. But the tableau was
very good. Most of the others went very well. Still Daisy was greatly
tried by John Alden's behaviour, and continued to look so severe in the
picture as to draw out shouts of approving laughter from the company,
who did not know that Alexander Fish was to be thanked for it. And Nora
was difficult to train in Queen Esther. She wore obstinately a look of
displeased concern for herself, and no concern at all for her fainting
mistress. Which on the whole rather impaired the unity of the action,
and the harmony of the general effect.
"How is your task proceeding?" Mrs. Randolph asked one evening when Mrs.
Sandford was staying to tea.
"Excellently well. We shall make a good thing, I confidently expect."
"Hamilton is a good actor," said Preston.
"And Master Gary also," said Mrs. Sandford. "Your old French wife is
perfect, Preston."
"Much obliged, ma'am."
"Not to me. My dressing has nothing to do with that. But Preston, what
shall we do with Frederica's handkerchief? She can _not_ hold
it--right."
"Like a queen--" said Preston. "I do not know--unless we could scare her
out of her propriety. A good fright would do it, I think. But then the
expression would not suit. How is the Game, Mrs. Sandford?"
"Perfect! admirable! You and Hamilton do it excellently--and Daisy is a
veritable angel."
"How does _she_ like it all?" Mrs. Randolph inquired.
"Aunt Felicia, she is as much engaged as anybody."
"And plays as well," added Mrs. Sandford.
"She has found out to-day, aunt Felicia," Preston went on, speaking
rather low, "that she ought to have a string of red stones round her
head instead of white ones."
Mrs. Randolph smiled.
"She was quite right," said Mrs. Sandford. "It was a matter of colour,
and she was quite right. She was dressed for Queen Esther, and I made
her look at herself to take the effect; and she suggested, very
modestly, that stones of some colour would do better than diamonds round
her head. So I substituted some very magnificent rubies of yours, Mrs.
Randolph; quite to Daisy's justification."
"Doesn't she make a magnificent little 'Fortitude,' though!" said
Eloïse.
"The angel will be the best," said Mrs. Sandford. "She looks so
naturally troubled. But we have got a good band of workers. Theresa
Stanfield is very clever."
"It will do Daisy a world of good," said Mrs. Gary.