"Where have you been for a walk?" proceeded Mrs. St. Clare, who was evidently angry.
"Down the road," said Daisy, in an almost inaudible voice, the result of fear and emotion. "It—it is pleasant to walk a little before the heat comes on. I—I did not know it was going to rain."
"Pray, how long is it since you found out that it is pleasant to walk a little before the heat comes on?" retorted Mrs. St. Clare, with severe sarcasm. "How many mornings have you tried it?"
"Never before this morning, mamma," replied Daisy, with ready earnestness, for it was the truth.
"And pray with whom have you been walking?" put in Lydia, with astounding emphasis. "Who brought you home?"
"Not any one," choked Daisy, swallowing down her tears. "I walked home alone. You can ask Mrs. Hunt, who met me. Mamma, may I go up and change my things?"
Mrs. St. Clare said neither yes nor no, but gave tacit permission by stretching out her hand towards the staircase. Daisy ran the gauntlet of the three faces as she passed on: her mother's was stern, Lydia's supremely scornful, Tabitha's discreetly prim. The two ladies turned into the breakfast-room, and the maid retired.
"It is easy enough to divine what Daisy has been up to," spoke Lydia, whose speech was not always expressed in the most refined terms. She sat back in an easy-chair, sipping her chocolate, a pink cloak trimmed with swan's-down drawn over her shoulders; for the rain and the early rising had made her feel chilly.
"Oh, I don't know," said Mrs. St. Clare, crossly. She detested these petty annoyances.
"I do, though," returned Lydia. "Daisy has been out to meet Frank Raynor. Were I you, mamma, I should not allow her so much liberty."