Harbonner could have discovered in her. The comparison did not
seem flattering; also she pondered somewhat why it could be
that anybody found her queer. She said nothing about it;
though she gave Mrs. Benoit a little account of Hephzibah, and
the reason of the proposed series of visits. In the midst of
this came a cheery "Daisy" — at the other side of her; and
turning her head, there was Preston's face at the window.
"Oh, Preston!" — Daisy handed to Mrs. Benoit her unfinished
saucer of strawberries — "I am so glad! I have been waiting
for you. Have you brought my books?"
"Where do you think I have been, Daisy?"
"I don't know. Shooting! — Have you?"
Daisy's eye caught the barrel of a fowling-piece showing its
end up at the window. Preston, without replying, lifted up his
game-bag, and let her see the bright feathers of little birds
which partly filled it.
"You have! — Shooting!" — Daisy repeated, in a tone between
disapprobation and dismay. "It isn't September!"
"Capital sport, Daisy," said Preston, letting the bag fall.
"I think it is very poor sport," said Daisy. "I wish they were
all alive and flying again."
"So do I — if I might shoot them again."
"It's cruel, Preston!"
"Nonsense, Daisy.
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