"No," she interrupted, "that is quite an idea of yours, Daisy."
She seemed so positive that what I had not said must be "quite an idea of mine," that I abstained from saying it. She helped me to take off the dress, then looked at it a little scornfully, said it was pretty, but that she fancied me a great deal better with my old everyday merino, which did not make me look quite so much like a bunch of primroses in its leaves. I made no such picturesque comment, but I resolved that though I had not been able to refuse this dress, nothing save force should make me wear it. But my troubles with regard to this unlucky present were not over. When Miriam came in, Cornelius thanked her very warmly; was grateful for her kindness, and praised her taste. I sat by the table apparently absorbed in my books, and secretly hoping it might pass off thus; but it did not.
"Daisy," said Cornelius.
I looked up; there was no mistaking his gentle, admonishing glance, but as I did not seem to have understood it, he added—
"You have not thanked Miss Russell."
If the dress had been a becoming one, if I could have fancied that there was anything like kindness in the gift, I might have subdued my pride so far as to comply. But to thank Miriam for that which I had refused and which she had forced upon me; to thank her for that which I believed destined to make me look plainer than nature had made me, in the sight of Cornelius, and which, as I knew but too well, accomplished the desired object, was more than I could do.
"You have not thanked Miss Russell," again said Cornelius.
I did not answer; I hung down my head and locked myself up in mute obstinacy. Several times Cornelius said to me, in a voice that boded rising anger—
"Daisy, will you thank Miss Russell?"
I did not say I would not, but then I did not do it; and yet I felt sick and faint at the thought of his coming wrath and indignation. Well I might! Cornelius had the fiery blood of his race; but his temper was so easy and pleasant, that you could spend weeks with him and never suspect—save perhaps for too sudden a light in his eyes—that he could be roused to violent passion. Provoked beyond endurance by my obstinacy, he now turned pale with anger; he left by his work to stride up to me; I quailed before his look and shrank back. Miriam rose, swiftly stepped in between us, and placed me behind her, as if for protection.