Come Daisy — don't be silly."
"Mamma," whispered Daisy, trembling, "I will sing it any other
night but to night!"
"To-night? what's to-night?"
"To-night is Sunday."
"And is that the reason?"
Daisy stood silent, very much agitated.
"I'll have no nonsense of the kind, Daisy. Sing immediately!"
But Daisy stood still.
"Do you refuse me?"
"Mamma —" said Daisy, pleadingly.
"Go and fetch me a card from the table."
Daisy obeyed. Mrs. Randolph rapidly wrote a word or two on it
with a pencil.
"But where is the gypsy?" cried Gary McFarlane.
"She has not found her voice yet. Take that to your father,
Daisy."
Daisy's knees literally shook under her as she moved across
the room to obey this order. Mr. Randolph was sitting at some
distance talking with one of the gentlemen. He broke off when
Daisy came up with the card.
"What is it your mother wishes you to sing?" he inquired,
looking from the writing to the little bearer. Daisy answered
very low.
"A gypsy-song from an opera."
"Can you sing it?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then do so at once, Daisy."
The tone was quiet but imperative. Daisy stood with eyes cast
down, the blood all leaving her face to reinforce some
attacked region.
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