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All unconscious of the strange manner in which these two men's lives had crossed each other, I found Basil Hurlhurst had engaged my own husband, and your father, John Brooks, for his overseer." Pluma gave a terrible cry, but the woman did not heed her.
She raised her dark, proud face to his. There was a strange story written on it, but he could not tell what it was. "It it is nothing. The day is warm, and I am tired, that is all." "You are not like the same Pluma who kissed me when I was going away," he persisted. "Since I left this house something has come between you and me. What is it, Pluma?"
Lawn-tennis parties here and croquet-parties there, and lovers strolling under the blossoming trees or reclining on the rustic benches it was indeed a happy scene. Pluma leaned her dark head against the fragrant roses. The breeze, the perfume of the flowers, all told one story to the impassioned girl the story of her triumph and her mad, reckless love.
"A pretty, romantic school-girl, and some handsome, reckless lover," and something very much like an imprecation broke from his lips, thorough man of the world though he was, as he ruminated on the wickedness of men. Two days before the marriage of Rex and Pluma was to be solemnized, poor little Daisy awoke to consciousness, her blue eyes resting on the joyous face of Mrs.
Although it was early spring the mornings were chilly, and a cheerful fire burned in the grate, throwing a bright, glowing radiance over the room and over the exquisite morning toilet of white cashmere, with its white lace frills, relieved here and there with coquettish dashes of scarlet blossoms, which Pluma wore, setting off her graceful figure to such queenly advantage.
Pluma, the spoiled, petted, willful heiress, was fond of excitement and gay throngs. "Our marriage must be an event worthy of remembrance, Rex," she said, as they walked together through the grounds the morning before the wedding. "We must have something new and novel. I am tired of brilliant parlors and gas-light.
Pluma Hurlhurst, the wealthy heiress, had chosen Rex in preference to himself. He stood little chance with bright-eyed maidens compared with handsome, careless, winning Rex Lyon.
"I have heard that voice and seen that face somewhere," she ruminated, thoughtfully; "but where where? There seems to be strange leaks in this brain of mine I can not remember." A heavy, halting step passed the door, and stopped there. "What did that woman want, Mrs. Corliss?" She started abruptly from her reverie, replying, hesitatingly. "She wanted to see Miss Pluma, sir."
That all preparations might be completed for the coming morrow, Rex had gone down to meet the train, and Pluma strolled into the conservatory, to be alone for a few moments with her own happy thoughts. Out on the green lawns happy maidens were tripping here and there, their gay laughter floating up to her where she stood. Every one seemed to be making the most of the happy occasion.
Lester Stanwick made his way to her side just as the last echo of the waltz died away on the air, inwardly congratulating himself upon finding Rex and Daisy directly beside him. "Miss Pluma," said Stanwick, with a low bow, "will you kindly present me to the little fairy on your right? I am quite desperately smitten with her." Several gentlemen crowded around Pluma asking the same favor.
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