“Has Miss Brooks come yet?” asked a thin, querulous voice.
“Yes,” answered Bessie; “here she is, mamma.”
The room was so dark Daisy could scarcely distinguish the different objects for a moment or so. She saw, however, a dark figure on a couch and a white jeweled hand waving a fan indolently to and fro. A sudden impulse came over Daisy to turn and run away, but by a great effort she controlled her feelings.
“Step forward, if you please, Miss Brooks. I can not observe you well at such a distance; do not tread on the poodle on the rug or brush against the bric-à-brac placed indiscriminately about the room.”
“Oh, dear, if there were only a light,” thought Daisy, in dismay. She was afraid of taking a single step for fear some of the bric-à-brac mentioned, either at the right or left of her, should come crashing down under her blundering little feet.
“I always exclude the broad glare of early morning light, as I find it especially trying.”
As she spoke she threw back one of the shutters with the end of her fan, and a warm flood of invigorating sunshine poured into the room.
“Dear me,” she cried, staring hard at the beautiful little face before her. “Why, you are a child, scarcely older than my Eve. What could that stupid brother of mine mean by sending you to me? I have a notion to send you back again directly.”
“Oh, please do not, madame,” cried Daisy, piteously. “Only try me first; I will do my very best to please you.”
“But I did not want a young person,” expostulated Mrs. Glenn.