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Rex could scarcely repress an exclamation of surprise as he saw the occupant was his young hostess, Pluma Hurlhurst of Whitestone Hall.
"I shall not touch a dollar of your money, Basil Hurlhurst. I despise you too much. I have lived with the trappings of wealth around me the petted child of luxury all in vain all in vain."
All the girls here had the same haughty way of tossing their heads and curling their lips and looking innumerable things out of their eyes, which reminded Daisy so strongly of Pluma Hurlhurst. Most of the girls had left the school-room, dividing off into groups and pairs here and there. Daisy sat watching them, feeling wretchedly lonely.
Basil Hurlhurst was the first to break the ominous silence. "It is unnecessary to tell you we have heard all," he said, slowly. "I shall not seek redress for your double crime. Leave this locality at once, or I may repent the leniency of my decision. I hold you guiltless, Pluma," he added, gently. "You are not my child, yet I have not been wanting in kindness toward you.
"Miss Hurlhurst," she called out, piteously, "I must see you for a few minutes. I shall die if you refuse me. My errand is one of almost life and death; if you knew how vitally important it was you would not refuse me," she panted. Pluma Hurlhurst laughed a little hard laugh that had no music in it. "What would a hundred lives or deaths matter to me?" she said, contemptuously.
Although Daisy had lived the greater portion of her life at John Brooks' cottage on the Hurlhurst plantation, this was the first time she had ever gazed upon the face of the recluse master of Whitestone Hall. He had spent those years abroad; and poor Daisy's banishment dated from the time the lawn fête had been given in honor of their return.
She fairly held her breath with intense interest. Then she heard the detective tell them the story of Rex Lyon's marriage with her, and he had come to Whitestone Hall to stop the ceremony about to be performed. Basil Hurlhurst scarcely heeded his words. He had risen to his feet with a great, glad cry, and pushed aside the silken curtains that led to the study.
She remembered how she had hid her happy, rosy, blushing face on his breast, and asked him if he was quite sure he loved her better than Pluma Hurlhurst, the haughty, beautiful heiress.
For a single instant the master of Whitestone Hall glanced into the detective's keen gray eyes for one ray of hope, as he silently grasped his extended hand. "I see we are alone," said Mr. Tudor, glancing hurriedly around the room "we three, I mean," he added. Suddenly Basil Hurlhurst thought of the young girl, quite hidden from view.
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.
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