Daisy, conceding a smile and a little toss of her head, went out. As she passed through the door, the Irishwoman murmured, half to herself, her voice warm with approval: "Straight as a string, the dear, an' able to take care of herself, right from the time she first knew a boy was a boy. Sure, if I didn't know that, do ye think I'd send her out with that--that what-iver-ye-want-to-call-him. He needs managin', the worst way. There's not half enough discipline and reshtraint in the sewing machine business, Lovina darlin'." Mr. Dex Coleman left the wheel of his buggy, upon which he had been draped gracefully, and came to meet Daisy, extending both hands. "Well, look who's he-ere!" he fluted, melodiously, "little one, little one! there _has_ been a pain where my heart is, you kno-ow, since some lying son of a seacook told me you were married. What, oh, what could you have been thinking about. Why-ee, I ain't slept a wink, not for days--not for da-ays, Dear." Daisy, looking at him, blushed a little. She blushed because she remembered that, not so very long ago, when the method of his approach was new to her, her heart _had_ fluttered a little in response to the addresses of this late-unripened, yodling, golden-noted, social abortion. But, now that she had become habituated to men, the blush was accompanied by a smile--a smile that wrinkled her nose a little, as the eau-de-cologned Coleman floated close. "Does the heart still beat true?" enquired Mr. Dexter Coleman, "crushing" her hands in fingers that were a workless white, except where cigarettes had stained them yellow, "does it--little one?" Studying the slight blush on Daisy's cheeks, Mr. Coleman missed those danger-lights, her eyes. For the imp of mischief had sprung up in the girl like a kindled flame, in which danced the two-horned and tridented devil of daring. "Shall we--s-shall we go for a little drive, Dexie?" she said, making her voice low, and leaning her head for a second against the lapel of the Coleman coat. "Shall we?" Mr. Coleman straightened his willowy six feet with a spring-like abruptness; "oh, shall we! We sure shall, Cutest. This way in, an' that way out--huh?" So saying, and with a not unmuscular arm, the speaker "boosted" Daisy into the buggy, sprang in himself, and pointed down the Toddburn trail. "More room, goin' south," he observed, pulling on a pair of smart driving-gauntlets, and jerking the whip out of its holder; "hey--shake yourself, old-timer," this last to the livery horse, as he cut it stingingly around the legs with the whip. The animal started; kicked out; then set back its ears and broke into an angry trot, its head aside and the white of an eye showing. "He don't love me a little bit," commented Mr. Coleman, complacently, his whip poised for another cut.