"You are not Daisy!" he said. "I do not know you any more.
What has happened to you?"
"What do you mean, Preston?"
"Mean!" said he with a fling. "What do you mean? I don't know you."
I thought this paroxysm might as well pass off by itself, like another; and I kept quiet.
"What were you doing just now," said he savagely, "by that soldier's bedside?"
"That soldier? He is a dying man, Preston."
"Let him die!" he cried. "What is that to you? You are Daisy Randolph. Do you remember whose daughter you are? You making a spectacle of yourself, for a hundred to look at!"
But this shot quite overreached its mark. Preston saw it had not touched me.
"You did not use to be so bold," he began again. "You were delicate to an exquisite fault. I would never have believed that you would have done anything unwomanly. What has taken possession of you?"
"I should like to take possession of you just now, Preston, and keep you quiet," I said. "Look here, - your tea is coming. Suppose you wait till you understand things a little better; and now - let me give you this. I am sure Dr. Sandford would bid you be quiet; and in his name, I do."