Mr.
Randolph perhaps guessed at it. He said nothing; he held her
close to his breast; and the curtain drew at that moment for
the last tableau. Daisy did not see it, and Mr. Randolph did
not think of it; though people said it was very good. It was
only the head and shoulders of Theresa Stanfield as an old
country schoolmistress, seen behind a picture frame, with her
uplifted finger and a bundle of rods. Theresa was so
transformed that nobody would have known her; and while the
company laughed and applauded, Daisy came back to her usual
self; and slid out of her father's arms when the show was
over, all ready for supper and Nora Dinwiddie.
There was a grand supper, and everybody was full of pleasure
and complimentary speeches and discussion and praise of the
tableaux. That was among the elder portion of the company. The
four or five children were not disposed to such absolute
harmony. Grapes and ices and numberless other good things were
well enjoyed, no doubt; but amidst them all a spirit of
criticism was rife.
"Daisy, your wings didn't look a bit like real wings —" said
Jane Linwood.
"No," echoed Nora, "I guess they didn't. They were like — let
me see what they were like! They were like the wings of a
windmill.
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