"That's the very thing," said Mrs. Gary, "that I wanted to speak about. Daisy, my dear, I hope you are going to sing it properly to your mother the next time she bids you?"
Daisy was silent.
"I wanted to tell you, my dear," said Mrs. Gary impressively, "what a poor appearance your refusal made, the other evening. You could not see it for yourself; but it made you seem awkward, and foolish, and ill-bred. I am sure everybody would have laughed, if it had not been for politeness towards your mother; for the spectacle was ludicrous, thoroughly. You like to make a graceful appearance, don't you?"
Daisy answered in a low voice,—"Yes, ma'am; when I can."
"Well you can, my dear, for your behaviour is generally graceful, and unexceptionable; only the other night it was very rough and uncouth. I expected you to put your finger in your mouth the next thing, and stand as if you had never seen anybody. And Daisy Randolph!—the heiress of Melbourne and Cranford!"—
The heiress of Melbourne and Cranford lifted to her aunt's face a look strangely in contrast with the look bent on her; so much worldly wisdom was in the one, so much want of it in the other. Yet those steady grey eyes were not without a wisdom, of their own; and Mrs. Gary met them with a puzzled feeling of it.
"Do you understand me, Daisy, my dear?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Do you see that it is desirable never to look ridiculous, and well-bred persons never do?"
"Yes, aunt Gary."