"It was not so very long," said Daisy. "I did not think it was a long time. You must have deceived yourself."
"But do you not mean to tell me what you were about? What could you do, at such a place?"
Daisy stood on the piazza, in all the light of the afternoon sunbeams, looking and feeling puzzled. How much was it worth while to try to tell Preston of her thoughts and wishes?
"What was the attraction, Daisy? only tell me that. Dirt and ignorance and rudeness and disorder—and you contented to be in the midst of it! Down in the dirt! What was the attraction?"
"She is very unhappy, Preston."
"I don't believe it. Nonsense! All that is not misery to such people, unless you make it so by shewing them something different. Marble tables are not the thing for them, Daisy."
"Marble tables!" echoed Daisy.
"Nor fuchsias and geraniums either. That old thing's old flowers do just as well."
Daisy was silent. She could have answered this. Preston went on.
"She won't be any better with her garden full of roses and myrtles, than she is with her sunflowers now. What do you expect to do, little Daisy?"