"Some that are sick want comfort," I said, "and others who are not sick want help; and others, I think, want a little pleasure." I would fain not have spoken, but how could I help it? The doctor took his feet off the sofa and sat up and confronted me.
"In the meantime," he said, "you are to be 'comfortable and respectable.' But, Daisy, do you think your father and mother would be satisfied with such a statement of your condition?"
"I suppose not," I was obliged to say.
"Then do you think it proper for me to allow such to be the fact?"
I looked at him. What there was in my look it is impossible for me to say; but he laughed a little.
"Yes," he said,—"I know—you have conquered me to-day. I own myself conquered—but the question I ask you is whether I am justifiable."
"I think that depends," I answered, "on whether I am justifiable."
"Can you justify yourself, Daisy?" he said, bringing his hand down gently over my smooth hair and touching my cheek. It would have vexed me from anybody else; it did not vex me from him. "Can you justify yourself?" he repeated.
"Yes, sir," I said; but I felt troubled.