Daisy was smiling at her. "Come," she said, "I want to show you my baby. He is just the wee-est bit fractious, as he is cutting a tooth. The doctor says he will be all right, but he still threatens to send us both to England."
"And you don't want to go?" questioned Muriel.
Daisy shook her head. "I want to see my cousin Blake," she said lightly, "when he comes marching home again. Did you hear the rumour that he is to have the V.C.? They ought to give it to Nick, too, if he does."
"Oh, I shouldn't think so. Nick didn't do anything. At least," Muriel stumbled a little, "nothing to be proud of."
Daisy laughed and caught her face between her hands. "Except save his girl from destruction," she said. "Doesn't that count? Oh, Muriel, I know exactly what made him want you. No, you needn't be afraid. I'm not going to tell you. Wild horses sha'n't drag it from me. But he's the luckiest man in India, and I think he knows it. What lovely hair you have! I'll come round early on your wedding-day and do it for you. And what will you wear? It mustn't be a black wedding whatever etiquette may decree. You look too pathetic in black, and it's a barbarous custom anyway. I have warned my husband fairly that if he goes into mourning for me, I'll never speak to him hereafter again. He is coming up to see us next week, and to discuss our fate with the doctor. Have you ever met Will?"
"Once," said Muriel. "It was at a dance at Poonah early last summer."
"Ah! When I was at Mahableshwar. He is a good dancer, isn't he? He does most things well, I think."
Daisy smiled tolerantly as she indicated the photograph of a boy upon the mantelpiece. "He isn't sixteen," she said; "he is nearly twenty-eight. Now come and see his son and the light of my eyes." She linked her arm in Muriel's, and, still smiling, led her from the room.