The wet spot in her pillow no doubt
he had seen long ago. Daisy's eyes drooped.
"Look up here, and give me an answer.
"I can't very well tell you, sir."
"Why do you not want to go downstairs?"
"Because, Dr. Sandford, I am not good."
"Not good!" said he. "I thought you always were good."
Daisy's eye reddened, and her lip twitched. He saw that there
was some uncommon disturbance on hand; and there was the wet
spot on the pillow.
"Something has troubled you," he said; and with that he laid
his hand — it was a fresh, cool hand, pleasant to feel — upon
Daisy's forehead, and kept it there; sometimes looking at her,
and as often looking somewhere else. It was very agreeable to
Daisy; she did not stir her head from under the hand; and
gradually she quieted down, and her nerves, which were all
ruffled, like a bird's feathers, grew smooth. There were no
lines in her forehead when Dr. Sandford took away his hand
again.
"Now tell me," said he, smiling, "what was the matter? Shall I
take you down to the library now?"
"Oh, no, sir, if you please. Please do not, Dr. Sandford! I am
not ready. I am not fit."
"Not fit?" said the doctor, eyeing her, and very much at a
loss what to make of this.
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