said, her emotional tones putting a constraint on him.

‘You know that a daisy is a company of florets, a concourse, become individual. Don’t the botanists put it highest in the line of development? I believe they do.’

‘The compositae, yes, I think so,’ said Ursula, who was never very sure of anything. Things she knew perfectly well, at one moment, seemed to become doubtful the next.

‘Explain it so, then,’ he said. ‘The daisy is a perfect little democracy, so it’s the highest of flowers, hence its charm.’

‘No,’ she cried, ‘no — never. It isn’t democratic.’

‘No,’ he admitted. ‘It’s