disagreeableness in the eyes of her mother; neither could
Daisy get hold of any chain of reasoning by which she might
know beforehand what would meet her mother's favour and what
would not. The unconscious conclusion was, that reason had
little to do with it; and the consequence, that without being
untrue, Daisy had learned to be very uncommunicative; about
her thoughts, plans, or wishes. To her mother, that is; she
was more free with her father, though the habit, once a habit,
asserted itself everywhere. Perhaps, too, among causes, the
example of her mother's own elegant manner of showing truth
only as one shows a fine picture, — in the best light, — might
have had its effect. Daisy's diplomacy served her little on
the present occasion.

"Daisy!" said her mother, "look at me." Daisy fixed her eves
on the pleasant, handsome, mild face. "You are not to go
anywhere in future where Mr. Dinwiddie is. Do you understand?"

"If he finds you lost out at night, though," said Mr.
Randolph, a little humorously, "he may bring you home."

Daisy wondered and obeyed, mentally, in silence; making no
answer to either speaker. It was not her habit either to show
her dismay on such occasions, and she showed none. But when
she went up an hour later to be undressed for bed, instead of
letting the business go on, Daisy took a Bible and sat down by
the light and pored over a page that she had found.

The woman waiting on her, a sad-faced mulatto, middle-aged and
respectable- looking, went patiently round the room, doing or