"My poor, poor little Daisy!"
"How do you do, Preston?" said Daisy, looking as clear as a moonbeam.
"There you are a prisoner!"
"It is a very nice prison."
"Don't, my dear Daisy! I'll believe you in anything else, you know; but in this I am unable. Tied by your foot for six weeks, perhaps! I should like to shoot Captain Drummond."
"It was not Captain Drummond's fault."
"Is it bad, Daisy?"
"My foot? It has been pretty bad."
"Poor Daisy! And that was all because you would not sing."
"Because I would not sing, Preston!"