"But I did just as you told me with it, mamma," I said.
She kissed me again. "Did nobody ever tell you you were beautiful?" she asked archly. "Yes, I know that you did just as I told you. You always did, and always will. But did you not know that you were beautiful?"
"Speak, Daisy," said papa. Said as it was with a smile, it brought childish memories vividly back.
"Mamma," I said, "I have heard something of it - and I suppose it may be true."
They laughed, and mamma remarked that I was human yet. "There is a difference between the child and the woman, you will find, Mr. Randolph."
Papa answered, that it was no very remarkable token of humanity, to have eyes and ears.
"Daisy's eyes were always remarkable," said my mother.
"But, mamma," said I, "in other things there is no difference between the child and the woman. My outside may have altered - my mind is not changed at all; only grown."
"That will do," said mamma.
I was obliged to leave it to time, and hoped to make myself so pleasant that what I could not change in me might be at least tolerated, if it were not approved. It seemed an easy task! I was such a manifest subject of joy, to father and mother, and even Ransom too. A newly discovered land, full of gold, is not more delightfully explored by its finders, than I was watched, scrutinised, commented on, by my family.