It is odd with what significance little things become endued,
from their connection with other things which are not little.
I remember the white dress mamma wore the next day, and the
red cashmere scarf she had wrapped round her. I remember how
happy and easy the folds of her drapery were, and how I
noticed her graceful slow movements, Surely grace is a natural
attribute of power, even though power be not always graceful;
at least any uncertainty of meaning or manner is fatal to
gracefulness. There was no uncertainty about mamma ever,
unless the uncertainty of carelessness; and that itself
belonged to power. There was no uncertainty in any fold of her
cashmere that morning; in any movement of her person, slow and
reposeful as every movement was. I knew by a sort of instinct
what it all meant. Indeed these were mamma's ordinary
characteristics; only appearing just now with the bloom of
perfection upon them. She was powerful and she knew it; I knew
myself naturally no match for her. It was always very hard for
me to withstand mamma. Nothing but the sense of right ever
gave me courage to do it. But striving for the right, the
Christian is not at his own charges, and has other strength
than his own to depend upon.
"You do not eat, my darling," papa said to me.
"Daisy has too much to think of," said mamma with a sort of
careless significance. "I will have another bit of chicken,
if you please, Mr. Randolph."
"What is she thinking of?"
"Girls' thoughts are unfathomable," said mamma.
"Is it thoughts, Daisy?" said my father.
"I suppose it may be, papa."
"Then I shall do something to break up thinking," he said.
But I knew I must not look for help so. To appeal to one of my
parents against the other, was what it would never answer to
do, even if I could have done it. I felt alone; but I was as
quiet as mamma. I had not so good an appetite.
In the course of the morning she had me up stairs to consider
the matter of dresses and fashions; and we were turning over a
quantity of laces and jewels. Mamma tried one and another set
of stones upon me and in my hair.
"Rubies and pearls are your style," she said at length.
"Diamonds are out of harmony, somehow. You are magnificent,
Daisy; and pearls make you look like the Queen of Sheba. I
cannot imagine why diamonds do hot suit you."
"I do not suit them, mamma."
"Pardon me. You do not know yourself. But girls of your age
never do. That is where mothers are useful, I suppose. Which
is it to be, Daisy?"
"I do not want either, mamma."