Her voice had the warm little roughness of a thrush's, which sings
through a throat that is loosely strung with wires of soft gold.
"In _my_ day," began Miss Caroline; but here I rebelled, no longer
perceiving any good reason to be overborne by her daughter. I could
endure only a certain amount of that.
"Your day is to-day," I interrupted, "and to-morrow and many to-morrows.
You are a woman bereft of all her yesterdays. Let your daughter have had
_her_ day--let her have come to an incredible maturity. But you stay
here in to-day with me. We won't be fit companions for her, but she
shall not lack for company. Uncle Jerry Honeycutt is now ninety-four,
and he has a splendid new ear-trumpet--he will be rarely diverting for
Miss Lansdale."
But the daughter remained as indifferent to taunts as she had been to my
friendly advances. It occurred to me now that her self-possession was
remarkable. It was little short of threatening if one regarded her too
closely. I wondered if this could really be an inheritance from her
well-nerved father or the result of her years as teacher in a finishing
school for young ladies. I was tempted to suspect the latter, for,
physically, the creature was by no means formidable.
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