One would never have thought that Daisy was a mature girl until now. Small, slim, dark-haired, she still had the alertness and exuberance of a little girl while women her age were poised to become mature young matrons. When she sat there with her knees bent, she looked like a Chinese doll abandoned on the couch. It bothered Mr. Bowman as he watched his daughter hold the book in her lap with one finger sandwiched between the pages for bookmarks. Apparently she could patiently wait for him to finish so she could get back to it.