"Yes," said Chandler, "that’s very kind of you, Mr. Bunting. But how about her—her herself?"
Bunting stared at him. It pleased him to think that Daisy hadn’t given herself away, as Ellen was always hinting the girl was doing.
"I can’t answer for Daisy," he said heavily. "You’ll have to ask her yourself—that’s not a job any other man can do for you, my lad."
"I never gets a chance. I never sees her, not by our two selves," said Chandler, with some heat. "You don’t seem to understand, Mr. Bunting, that I never do see Miss Daisy alone," he repeated. "I hear now that she’s going away Monday, and I’ve only once had the chance of a walk with her. Mrs. Bunting’s very particular, not to say pernickety in her ideas, Mr. Bunting"
"That’s a fault on the right side, that is—with a young girl," said Bunting thoughtfully.
And Chandler nodded. He quite agreed that as regarded other young chaps Mrs. Bunting could not be too particular.
"She’s been brought up like a lady, my Daisy has," went on Bunting, with some pride. "That Old Aunt of hers hardly lets her out of her sight."
"I was coming to the old aunt," said Chandler heavily. "Mrs. Bunting she talks as if your daughter was going to stay with that old woman the whole of her natural life—now is that right? That’s what I wants to ask you, Mr. Bunting,—is that right?"
"I’ll say a word to Ellen, don’t you fear," said Bunting abstractedly.
His mind had wandered off, away from Daisy and this
