She started. Preston was there on horseback, calling
to her. Daisy got up and took up her trowel.
"Good-bye," she said, with a little sigh for the lost vision
which Preston's voice had interrupted — "I'll come again, I
hope." And she ran out at the gate.
"It is time for you to go home, Daisy. I thought you did not
know how late it is."
Daisy mounted into her pony-chaise silently.
"Have I interrupted something very agreeable?"
"You would not have thought it so," said Daisy,
diplomatically.
"What were you doing, down there in the dirt?"
"Preston, if you please, I cannot talk to you nicely while you
are so high and I am so low."
Preston was certainly at some height above Daisy, being
mounted up in his saddle on a pretty high horse, while the
pony-chaise was hung very near the ground. He had been beside
her; but at her last words he laughed and set off at a good
pace in advance, leaving the chaise to come along in Loupe's
manner. Daisy drove contentedly home through the afternoon
sunlight, which laid bands of brightness across her road all
the way home. They seemed bands of joy to Daisy.
Preston had galloped ahead, and was at the door ready to meet
her. "What kept you so long at that dismal place?" he asked,
as he handed her out of the chaise.
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