"Welcome, welcome, welcome, my dear!"

Randy Buck exclaims, his expression a benign smile, avuncular as he takes both her hands in his.

And Daisy looks at this suntanned bull of a man, with his iron grey crew cut, clad only in a short terrycloth robe, tied loosely at the waist, and rubber sandals.

"You'll pardon my appearance, I hope.

"We're very informal here and I was just sunbathing in the back yard.

"Where," he continues, retaining her hands in his but looking now at Cranston, "I understand we're soon to have a vegetable garden under your expert care and keeping."

"Well, I'm no expert or anything like that," Daisy replies, modestly, but I do have somewhat of a green thumb."

"Then the midwest's loss is my gain," Buck says, affably, releasing her hands.

"I can only hope and pray the nation's agriculture will survive the absence of your services."

"Pardon?"

"Bit of a joke. Never mind.

"Cranston will show you to your quarters.

"And once again, welcome aboard."

"Thank you… oh."

"Something else?"

"Could I call my folks an tell ‘em I got here okay an all?

"I kin reverse the charges, if-"

"That won't be necessary, my dear.

"Help yourself to the phone in your bedroom, anytime you wish.

"Anything else you may require, I can have Eric run you over to the nearest town.

"Run along now.

"I leave you in Cranston's able hands." And Buck leaves them in the grand entrance hall, at the foot of the marble staircase, disappearing into his den to the left.

Daisy looks all around herself, even up at the high, vaulted, ornately coffered ceiling as they ascend the stairs.