She was very silent this morning, and I could now see that the experiment of taking down an advocate inspired her with considerably less confidence than it had Dick.
“Confess the truth, Miss Shafthead,” I said to her, at last. “You fear I shall only make bad into worse.”
“I don't know what you will do,” she replied, with a smile that was rather nervous than encouraging.
“Command me, then; I shall say what you please, or hold my tongue, if you prefer it.”
“Oh no,” she said, “you had better say something—now that you have come with me; only don't be too sentimental, please.”
“I shall talk turnips till I see my opportunity; then I shall observe coldly that Richard is an affectionate lad in spite of his faults.”
Daisy laughed.
“I think I hear you,” she replied.
Well, at least, my jest served to make her a little more at her ease, and we now fell to planning our arrival. She had left a note before she started for town, saying only that she would be away for the night, but giving no intimation of when she might return, so that we expected no carriage at the station. This, we decided, was all the better. We should walk to Helmscote, attract as little notice as possible on entering the house, and then she would find out how the land lay before even announcing my presence; at least, if it were possible to keep me in the background so long.
“My father is rather difficult sometimes,” she said.