That school year had nothing to chronicle. I was very busy,
very popular, kindly treated by my teachers, and happy in a
smooth course of life. Faustina St. Clair had been removed
from the school; to some other I believe; and with her went
all my causes of annoyance. The year rolled round, my father
and mother in China or on the high seas; and my sixteenth
summer opened upon me.
A day or two before the close of school, I was called to the
parlour to see a lady. Not my aunt; it was Mrs. Sandford; and
the doctor was with her.
I had not seen Mrs. Sandford, I must explain, for nearly a
year; she had been away in another part of the country, far
from New York.
"Why, Daisy! — is this Daisy?" she exclaimed.
"Is it not?" I asked.
"Not the old Daisy. You are so grown, my dear! — so — That's
right, Grant; let us have a little light to see each other
by."
"It is Miss Randolph —" said the doctor, after he had drawn up
the window shade.
"Like her mother! Isn't she? and yet, not like —"
"Not at all like.
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