But it seemed that both his audacity and his respect were lost upon Miss Daisy Miller.
Winterbourne reflected for an instant as lucidly as possible-- "we" could only mean Miss Daisy Miller and himself.
And she saw Daisy thereafter, through days of alkali and heat, walking, stumbling, in the dust of the wagons, the little sick dog, like a baby, in her arms.
But most vivid of all, Saxon saw the fight at Little Meadow--and Daisy, dressed as for a gala day, in white, a ribbon sash about her waist, ribbons and a round-comb in her hair, in her hands small water-pails, step forth into the sunshine on the flower-grown open ground from the wagon circle, wheels interlocked, where the wounded screamed their delirium and babbled of flowing fountains, and go on, through the sunshine and the wonder-inhibition of the bullet-dealing Indians, a hundred yards to the waterhole and back again.
From beyond the curtain came a titter of children and women that grew into a roar and drowned out the voices of Dick and Daisy.
The audience, under the sway of the comic, ignored Dick and Daisy Bell.
So poor Meg sang and rocked, told stories and tried every sleep-prevoking wile she could devise, but all in vain, the big eyes wouldn't shut, and long after Daisy had gone to byelow, like the chubby little bunch of good nature she was, naughty Demi lay staring at the light, with the most discouragingly wide-awake expression of countenance.
No, but I'll save you some little cakies for breakfast, if you'll go bye-by like Daisy.
with a final burst of love triumphant, as she pressed the dishevelled daisy
to her lips and lifted her large eyes to the sophisticated countenance of the little brown Faust-Capoul, who was vainly trying, in a tight purple velvet doublet and plumed cap, to look as pure and true as his artless victim.
By this flickering light, which made the old room, with its heavy timbers and panelled walls, look as if it were built of polished ebony--the wind roaring and howling without, now rattling the latch and creaking the hinges of the stout oaken door, and now driving at the casement as though it would beat it in--by this light, and under circumstances so auspicious, Solomon Daisy
began his tale:
Yes; she is a peacock in everything but beauty," said Lord Henry, pulling the daisy
to bits with his long nervous fingers.
But as she drooped, in silent grief, She heard little Daisy
cry, "O sisters, look