"Neither Blanche nor Phil thought as I do about these things, though I brought them up. And, indeed, my views, as I said, have been somewhat modified. I do not approve of the indiscriminate theatre any more than I ever did, nor of frequent attendance. But occasionally, when there is a strictly moral play, presented by artists of acknowledged worth, I have found it necessary to let my children go; and I have, once or twice, yielded to Phil's coaxing, and gone myself."
"Aunt Mattie, it is Saturday evening."
"I know, my dear, and that part I regret. I do not, by any means, consider it the best preparation for the Sabbath; but the occasion, you know, is exceptional. It is this evening, or not at all, for this play; and I thought you would not mind making your little sacrifice for Phil's sake, when there may be so much at stake."
After that, Daisy was glad at the coming of callers who took her aunt to the parlor, and left her alone. She must think. What was her duty? What would mamma and papa say? It was certainly an exceptional case; she had never heard the line of argument which would have helped her to answer her aunt and cousin. She, too, believed that Mr. Easton's influence over her handsome and brilliant young cousin would be invaluable, and she knew only too well how much he needed influencing. Ought she not to help, when the way was plainly opened to her? This was an exceptional play; she knew enough about the theatre to be sure of it. She did not fear hearing or seeing what would cause her to blush.
Her pretty new dress was all ready to wear to some place demanding a brilliant costume. Her aunt would be bitterly disappointed if she failed her. Perhaps, just for this once, she ought to go.
Slowly, almost reluctantly, she came to this decision; but she opened the little box of delicate laces, and let herself think: "If I should go, I wonder if this, or this, would look the prettiest?" She opened her glove-box, and wondered whether she ought to get new kids.
Oh, there was her darling little hand-painted bouquet-holder. Phil ought to get her some lovely flowers to wear in it to-night. She wondered if he would think of it.
She reached down into the box for the pretty toy, and her hand touched a little book in a plain gray paper cover. What was this? Oh, she remembered; papa had brought it home on the evening before her departure, and had said: "There is something for you to study at your leisure, daughter. I don't know that you need it; but it is well for every Christian to be prepared to give a reason for his opinions."
She had thanked him, and kissed him, and dropped the book into the box she was packing, and had not thought of it since. There had been no occasion to go to the bottom of this particular box before.
Now she drew it out, and felt startled and flushed over the title: "Plain Talks About the Theatre." Could this be mere chance?