I had not seen Mrs. Sandford, I must explain, for nearly a year; she had been away in another part of the country, far from New York.
"Why, Daisy!—is this Daisy?" she exclaimed.
"Is it not?" I asked.
"Not the old Daisy. You are so grown, my dear!—so—That's right, Grant; let us have a little light to see each other by."
"It is Miss Randolph—" said the doctor, after he had drawn up the window shade.
"Like her mother! isn't she? and yet, not like—"
"Not at all like."
"She is, though, Grant; you are mistaken; she is like her mother; though as I said, she isn't. I never saw anybody so improved. My dear, I shall tell all my friends to send their daughters to Mme. Ricard."
"Dr. Sandford," said I, "Mme. Ricard does not like to have the sun shine into this room."