I said yes.
"Daisy," said he, "you have conquered me to-day—I have yielded—I owned myself conquered; but won't you enlighten me? As a matter of favour?"
"About what, Dr. Sandford?"
"I don't understand you."
I remember looking at him and smiling. It was so curious a
thing, both that he should, in his philosophy, be puzzled by a child like me, and that he should care about undoing the puzzle.
"There!" said he,—"that is my old little Daisy of ten years old. Daisy, I used to think she was an extremely dainty and particular little person."
"Yes—" said I.
"Was that correct?"
"I don't know," said I. "I think it was."