It was a relief at last when the tea
was brought in. Miss Pinshon took the magazine out of my hand.
"She has a good voice, but she wants expression," was her
remark.
"I could not understand what she was reading," said my aunt
Gary.
"Nor anybody else," said Preston. "How are you going to give
expression, when there is nothing to express?"
"That is where you feel the difference between a good reader
and one who is not trained," said my governess. "I presume
Daisy has never been trained."
"No, not in anything," said my aunt. "I dare say she wants a
good deal of it."
"We will try —" said Miss Pinshon.
It all comes back to me as I write, that beginning of my
Magnolia life. I remember how dazed and disheartened I sat at
the tea-table, yet letting nobody see it; how Preston made
violent efforts to change the character of the evening; and
did keep up a stir that at another time would have amused me.
And when I was dismissed to bed, Preston came after me to the
upper gallery and almost broke up my power of keeping quiet.
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