‘I suppose I must not ask for complete silence. That were too much. But if you could whistle, or stamp with your feet, or shriek or howl—anything to vary the monotony of your well-sustained conversation.’
Oswald said kindly, ‘We’re awfully sorry. Are you busy?’
‘Busy?’ said Albert’s uncle. ‘My heroine is now hesitating on the verge of an act which, for good or ill, must influence her whole subsequent career. You wouldn’t like her to decide in the middle of such a row that she can’t hear herself think?’
We said, ‘No, we wouldn’t.’
Then he said, ‘If any outdoor amusement should commend itself to you this bright mid-summer day.’ So we all went out.
Then Daisy whispered to Dora—they always hang together. Daisy is not nearly so white-micey as she was at first, but she still seems to fear the deadly ordeal of public speaking. Dora said—
‘Daisy’s idea is a game that’ll take us all day. She thinks keeping out of the way when he’s making his heroine decide right would be a noble act, and fit to write in the Golden Book; and we might as well be playing something at the same time.’
We all said ‘Yes, but what?’
There was a silent interval.
‘Speak up, Daisy, my child.’ Oswald said; ‘fear not to lay bare the utmost thoughts of that faithful heart.’