Daisy seemed to take the words in a sense which the doctor had certainly not intended. She asked calmly:—
"Shall I never be well again?"
"Tut, tut! Nonsense!" said Mr. Bennet. "Why, you're ever so much better to-day."
Daisy smiled a little; not as if she were quite sure that he meant what he said. Mary Davis presently followed the doctor, as he left the room, and while opening the front door she asked anxiously: "Will Miss Daisy soon be up again, please, sir?"
"Can't say. Can't say at all," responded Mr. Bennet hastily. "There's no knowing. It has been a terrible shock to the nervous system altogether, and the head is a good deal affected,—no doubt about that. She's a delicate little creature. May pass off soon, or may not. How is your husband going on? You saw him yesterday, did you not?"
"Yes, sir. It's like to be a long business with him, they say; but he's been more himself than Miss Daisy has been. His arm is shocking bad, and he has a deal of pain."
"Well, well, the worst cases are not always those where there's most pain—not by any means," said Mr. Bennet. "Your husband will have gained experience for the future, when he comes out of the hospital."
"Yes, sir; in more ways than one, maybe," said Mary quietly. "He says he means to sign the pledge, and to turn over a new leaf."
"A good day for you if he does," said the doctor, aware of John Davis' propensities. "Good evening. Keep that child quiet, and don't let her old father bother her."
Mary returned to the bedroom, with this injunction full in her mind. To her astonishment, she found old Isaac Meads in the sick room, seated beside Daisy's bed, with his chin resting on the knob of his stick, and his eyes fixed solemnly upon Daisy. He had evidently crossed the passage unobserved, while she was speaking with the doctor. Daisy lay with shut eyes, unconscious of his presence.