ck to the fact that
none of us would like her so much down here."

Daisy considered this.

"How funny of Aunt Jeannie," she said. "I wonder----"

Then a whole collection of the things that poor Daisy had tried to put
away from her mind flashed into it again, giving her a feeling of
sickness and insecurity. What did it all mean?

"I wonder what she meant?" she added, truthfully enough.

"Don't know. Here she comes. By Jove! Miss Daisy, how splendid she
looks."

Aunt Jeannie certainly was looking her very best this morning. She was
walking hatless in the blaze of the sun, and somehow the sunlight seemed
not so much to shine on her as to shine from her. Flowers, garden,
river, sky, sun, were all so much less splendid than she.

"I love this heat," she said, "and it saps my moral nature and leaves me
a happy animal with no sense of responsibility. Daisy dear, you needn't
answer. I won't invade you for long. But I sat down at my table with all
the unanswered letters, I looked them through, and determined not to
answer one. I'm going to have a holiday from being good. I've been good
too long, I think. The joy of virtue palls. But there ought to be wind;
there is sun and sky and water and all nice things, except wind. Can't
you--what's the phrase?--can't you raise the wind, Lord Lindfield?"

Tom Lindfield clicked his finger and thumb together.

"Jove! Mrs. Halton," he said, "you always think of the right thing, or
make me do so." He jumped up. "I'll order the motor at once," he said.
"You and Miss Daisy and I, let's all go out for a run. Old Puffing Billy
always goes well up to speed limit the day after he's broken down."

Daisy's effort with herself that morning on the river suddenly came to
the limits of its energy. Once again she saw everything in that light
which she had tried so hard to extinguish. And now there was more added,
there were further features in the scene. Aunt Jeannie was too clever
for her; with how natural an air she had come out and said that only
wind was necessary to make the morning perfect; and how naturally and
how unconsciously had he responded to that subtly conveyed suggestion,
the very subtlety of which made him believe that he had thought of the
plan himself. But outwardly Daisy still was mistress of herself; it was
from the inside, not the outside, that her control was beginning to give
way. She put up the red umbrella again.

"Thanks awfully, Lord Lindfield," she said, "but I can't