"Our poor father used to say just the same, Cornelius, only if one doubted, he would fly out."
"Then I do not; there is the difference."
"He was not bad-tempered; but disappointment—"
"Kate, your manner of supporting Daisy is getting less and less maternal; pray do not forget that you are very miserable about your darling. Daisy, my pet, your doll was put there to show you are too ill to enjoy it, not to look at."
The sitting was long; our attitudes were rather fatiguing: Kate lost patience.
"You will be late," she said, "and Daisy is tired."
"I am not tired," I observed.
"Don't you know, Kate," said her brother, smiling, "that if I were to ask her to jump out of that window, she would?"
"Nonsense!" shortly replied Miss O'Reilly.
"There," she added, as I reddened indignantly at what I considered an imputation on my devotedness,—"there, did you see the look the little minx gave me?"