"
Daisy was somewhat of a diplomatist. Perhaps a little natural
reserve of character might have been the beginning of it, but
the habit had certainly grown from Daisy's experience of her
mother's somewhat capricious and erratic views of her
movements. She could not but find out that things which to her
father's sense were quite harmless and unobjectionable, were
invested with an unknown and unexpected character of danger or
disagreeableness in the eyes of her mother; neither could
Daisy get hold of any chain of reasoning by which she might
know beforehand what would meet her mother's favour and what
would not. The unconscious conclusion was, that reason had
little to do with it; and the consequence, that without being
untrue, Daisy had learned to be very uncommunicative; about
her thoughts, plans, or wishes. To her mother, that is; she
was more free with her father, though the habit, once a habit,
asserted itself everywhere. Perhaps, too, among causes, the
example of her mother's own elegant manner of showing truth
only as one shows a fine picture, — in the best light, — might
have had its effect. Daisy's diplomacy served her little on
the present occasion.
"Daisy!" said her mother, "look at me.
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