Grief, and the sense of wrong, and the
feeling of anger strove together. Did she not appreciate her
old spoon? when every leaf of the lotus carving and every
marking of the duck's bill had been noted and studied over and
over, with a wondering regard to the dark hands that so many,
many years and ages ago had fashioned it. Would Mrs. Gary love
it as well? Daisy did not believe any such thing. And then it
was the gift of Nora and Mr. Dinwiddie, and precious by
association; and it was _gone_.
Daisy lay still on her pillow, with a slow tear now and then
gathering in her eyes, but also with an ominous line on her
brow. There was a great sense of injustice at work — the
feeling that she had been robbed; and that she was powerless
to right herself. Her mother had done it; in her secret
thought Daisy knew that, and that she would not have done it
to Ransom. Yet in the deep-fixed habit of obedience and awe of
her mother, Daisy sheered off from directly blaming her as
much as possible, and let the burden of her displeasure fall
on Mrs. Gary.
She was bitterly hurt at her mother's action, however; doubly
hurt, at the loss and at the manner of it; and the slow tears
kept coming and rolling down to wet her pillow.
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