Meanwhile attention ceased to be filled with her particular affairs, and
conversation flowed off as usual, away from her. Preston still held his
station at the back of the sofa, where he dipped sponge cake in tea with
a wonderful persistency; in fact the question seemed to be whether he or
the cake basket would give out first; but for a while Daisy eat her
toast in happy quiet; watching everybody and enjoying everything. Till
Gary McFarlane drew near, and took a seat, as if for a regular siege.

"So what about those incantations, Daisy?" he said.

"I do not know what you mean, Mr. McFarlane."

"No? don't you? That's odd. You have been so long in the witch's
precincts. You have heard them, of course?"

"I do not know what you mean, Mr. McFarlane."

"Why you must have been bewitched. I wonder, now, if the witch's house
did not seem to you a palace?"

"It seemed a very nice place."

"And the witch herself a sable princess?"

"I think she is a great deal better than a princess."

"Exactly so," said Gary with a perfectly sober face. "The witch drew
water, didn't she?"

"I don't know what you mean. Mrs. Benoit used to bring pails of water