"I cannot this afternoon."
"Yes, you can, my dear little Daisy. In fact you must. Consider—I shall be going away before very long, and then we cannot take rides together. Won't you come?"
"Not now—I cannot, Preston! I have got something to do first."
"What?"
"Something which will take me an hour or two. After that I could go."
"Scarcely, this afternoon. Daisy, it is a long drive to the Fish's. And they have beautiful things there, which you would like to see, I know you would. Come! go with me—that's my own little Daisy."
Preston was on horseback, and looked very much in earnest. He looked very gay and handsome too, for he was well mounted and knew how to manage himself and his horse. He wanted to manage Daisy too; and that was difficult. Daisy would have been tempted, and would have gone with him at the first asking; but the thought of Molly and her forlornness, and the words warm at her heart—"Whatsoever ye would that men should do to you"—and a further sense that her visitations of Molly were an extraordinary thing and very likely to be hindered on short notice, kept her firm as a rock. She had an opportunity now in hand; she would not throw it away; not for any self-gratification. And to tell the truth, no sort of self-gratification could balance for a moment in Daisy's mind the thought of Molly's wearing a crown of gold in heaven. That crown of gold was before Daisy's eyes; nothing else was worth a thought in comparison.
"Are you going to see that wretched old being?" said Preston at last.
"Yes."
"Daisy—dear Daisy—I do not know what to do with you. Do you like, is it possible that you can like, dirt and vulgarity?"