As Frank went out, he crossed Daisy's path on the lawn. They turned away side by side, walking slowly, talking apparently of the flowers; lingering over them, bending to inhale their perfume. Mrs. St. Clare, a new magazine and a paper-knife in her hand--for she did make a pretence of reading now and then, though it was as much a penance as a pleasure--glanced up indifferently at them once, and then glanced down again at her book. But Lydia, watching more observantly, saw signs and wonders: the earnest gaze of Frank's blue eyes as they looked into Daisy's; the shy droop in hers; and the lingering pressure of the hands in farewell. He went on his way; and Daisy, detecting in that moment her sister's sharp glance from the window, made herself at once very busy with the beds and the flowers, as if they were her only thought in life. "Mamma!" The tone was so sharp that Mrs. St. Clare lifted her head in surprise. Lydia's voice was usually as supinely listless as her own. "What is it, Lydia?" "Don't you think that Daisy wants a little looking after?" "In what way?" "Of course I may be mistaken in my suspicions. But I think I am not. I will assume that I am not." "Well, Lydia?" "She and Mr. Raynor are flirting desperately." Mrs. St. Clare made no reply whatever. Her eyes fixed inquiringly on Lydia's, kept their gaze for a moment or so, and then fell on the magazine pages again. Lydia felt a little astonished: was this indignation or indifference? "Did you understand me, mamma?" "Perfectly, my dear." "Then--I really do not comprehend you. Don't you consider that Daisy ought to be restrained?" "If I see Daisy doing anything that I very much disapprove, I shall be sure to restrain her." "Have you not noticed, yourself, that they are flirting?" "I suppose they are. Something of the sort." "But _surely_, mamma, you cannot approve of Mr. Raynor! Suppose a serious attachment came of it, you could not suffer her to marry him!" Mrs. St. Clare turned her book upside down upon her knee, and spoke in the equable manner that characterized her, folding her arms idly in the light morning scarf she wore. "It never occurred to me, Lydia, until one day, a week or two ago, that any possibility could arise of what you are mentioning. Mr. Raynor's visits here are merely professional. Even when he comes by invitation to dinner, I consider them as partaking of that nature: to look upon them in any other light never entered my mind. On this day, however, I saw something that, figuratively speaking, opened my eyes." "What was it?" asked Lydia.