"There's mamma—" said Daisy.
It was very unconsciously on her part that the tone of these two words conveyed a whole volume of information to Juanita's keen wits. It was no accent of joy, like that which had announced her father last night; neither was it fear or dread; yet the indefinable expression of the two words said that "mamma" had been a trouble in Daisy's life, and might be again. Juanita went to have the door open; and the lady swept in. Mr. Randolph was behind her. She came to Daisy's side and the mother and child looked at each other; Daisy with the tender, wistful eyes of last night, Mrs. Randolph with a vexed air of dissatisfaction. Yet after looking at her a moment she stooped down and kissed Daisy. The child's eye went to her father then. Mrs. Randolph stood in his way; he came round to the head of the couch, behind Daisy, and bent over her.
"Papa, I can't see you there."
"You can feel, Daisy—" said Mr. Randolph, putting his lips to her face.
"How do you do?"
"This is a most maladroit arrangement of Capt. Drummond's!" said the lady. "What can we do to rectify it? A most stupid place for the child to be."
"She will have to bear the stupidity—and we too. Daisy, what would you like to have to help it along?"
"Papa, I am not stupid."
"You will be, my little daughter, I am afraid, before the weeks are over. Will you have June come to be with you?"
"Papa," said Daisy slowly,—"I think it would not be considerate."
"Are you comfortable?" said Mr. Randolph smiling, though his looks expressed much concern.