"My foot is getting well."
"Certainly. Don't be a Quaker, Daisy."
"What sort of doings are you going to have, Preston?"
"First thing—as soon as you are well enough for it—we are going to have a grand pic-nic party to Silver Lake."
"Silver Lake? what, on the other side of the river?"
"Yes."
"O how delightful! But I shall not be able to go in a long time,
Preston."
"Yes, you will. Aunt Felicia says you are coming back to Melbourne now; and once we get you there, we'll cure you up. Why you must have moped half your wits away by this time. I don't expect to find more than two-thirds of the original Daisy left."
"I haven't moped at all."
"There! that is proof the first. When people are moping and do not know they are moping, that is the sign their wits are departing. Poor Daisy! I don't wonder. We'll get you to rights at Melbourne."