This time it was Mr. Randolph that did not answer, and the longer he waited the more the answer did not come. He put Daisy gently off his knee, and rose at last without speaking. Daisy went out upon the verandah, and sat down on the step; and there the stars seemed to say to her "If a man love Me, he will keep My words." They were shining very bright; so was that saying to Daisy. She sat looking at them, forgetting all the people in the drawing-room; and though troubled enough, she was not utterly unhappy. The reason was, she loved her King.
Somebody came behind her, and took hold of her shoulders. "My dear little Daisy!" said the voice of Preston, "I wish you were an India-rubber ball, that I might chuck you up to the sky and down again a few times!"
"Why? I don't think it would be nice."
"Why? why, because you want shaking; you are growing dull, yes, absolutely you are getting heavy! you, little Daisy! of all people in the world. It won't do."
"I don't think such an exercise would benefit me," said Daisy.
"I'd find something else then. Daisy, Daisy," said he, shaking
her shoulders gently, "this religious foolery is spoiling you.
Don't you go and make yourself stupid. Why I don't know you.
What is all this ridiculous stuff? You aren't yourself."
"What do you want me to do, Preston?" said Daisy, standing before him, not without a certain childish dignity. It was lost on him.
"I want you to be my own little Daisy," said he, coaxingly. "Come! say you will, and give up these outlandish notions you have got from some old woman or other. What is it they want you to do? sing? Come, promise you will. Promise me!"
"I will sing any day but Sunday."
"Sunday? Now, Daisy! I'm ashamed of you. Why, I never heard such nonsense. Nobody has such notions but low people. It isn't sensible. Give it up, Daisy, or I shall not know how to love you."