“You are rather clever, Bess; I never thought of that.”
And straightway the perfumed little note was dispatched, bearing Gertie’s monogram and tender-worded sympathy to the handsome young heir, who sat all alone in that darkened chamber, wondering why Heaven had been so unkind to him.
An hour later Bess and Gertie were in the library arranging some new volumes on the shelves. Mrs. Glenn sat in a large easy-chair superintending the affair, while Daisy stood at an 118 open window, holding the book from which she had been reading aloud in her restless fingers, her blue eyes gazing earnestly on the distant curling smoke that rose up lazily from the chimneys of Rex’s home, and upon the brilliant sunshine that lighted up the eastern windows with a blaze of glory––as if there was no such thing as death or sorrow within those palatial walls––when Rex’s answer was received.
“It is from Rex!” cried Gertie, all in a flutter. “Shall I read it aloud, mamma?” she asked, glancing furtively at Daisy, who stood at the window, her pale, death-like face half buried in the lace curtains.
“It is certainly not a personal letter,” said Bess, maliciously glancing at the superscription. “Don’t you see it is addressed to ‘Mrs. Glenn and daughters.’”
“In a time like that people don’t think much of letters,” commented Mrs. Glenn, apologetically. “Read the letter aloud, of course, my dear.”
It read:
“Dear Ladies,––I thank you more than I can express for your kind sympathy in my present sad bereavement. I would gladly have accepted your offer of bringing my dear little orphan sister to you, had I not received a telegram this morning from Miss Pluma Hurlhurst, of Whitestone Hall, West Virginia, announcing her intention of coming on at once, accompanied by Mrs. Corliss, to take charge of little Birdie.
“Again thanking you for the courtesy and kindness shown me, I am
“Yours very truly,
“Rexford Lyon.”
There was a low, gasping, piteous cry; and the little figure at the window slipped down among the soft, billowy curtains in a deadly swoon; but the three, so deeply engrossed in discussing the contents of the note, did not notice it. At last Daisy opened her eyes, and the blue eyes were dazed with pain. She could hear them coupling the names of Rex and Pluma Hurlhurst. Rex––her husband!
Daisy was blind and stupefied. She groped rather than walked from the library––away from the three, who scarcely noticed her absence.