Bessie and Gertie openly discussed their chagrin and keen disappointment, yet admitting what a handsome couple Rex and Pluma made––he so courteous and noble, she so royal and queenly.
“Of course we must call upon her if she is to be Rex’s wife,” said Gertie, spitefully. “I foresee she will be exceedingly popular.”
“We must also invite her to Glengrove,” said Bess, thoughtfully. “It is the least we can do, and it is expected of us. I quite forgot to mention one of their servants was telling Jim both Rex and little Birdie intend to accompany Miss Hurlhurst back to Whitestone Hall as soon after the funeral as matters can be arranged.”
“Why, that is startling news indeed! Why, then, they will probably leave some time this week!” cried Gertie.
“Most probably,” said Bess. “You ought certainly to send over your note this evening––it is very early yet.”
“There is no one to send,” said Gertie. “Jim has driven over to Natchez, and there is no one else to go.”
“Perhaps Daisy will go for you,” suggested Bess.
There was no need of being jealous now of Daisy’s beauty in that direction. Gertie gladly availed herself of the suggestion.
“Daisy,” she said, turning abruptly to the quivering little figure, whose face drooped over the lilac silk, “never mind finishing that dress to-night. I wish you to take a note over to the large gray stone house yonder, and be sure to deliver it to Mr. Rex Lyon himself.”