“I will be your wife, Rex,” she said, with a tremulous, wistful sigh.
“Thank you, Pluma,” he returned, gently, bending down and kissing the beautiful crimson lips; “you shall never regret 134 it. You are so kind, I am going to impose on your good nature. You have promised me you will be my wife––when may I claim you, Pluma?”
“Do you wish it to be soon?” she asked, hesitatingly, wondering how he would answer her.
“Yes,” he said, absently; “the sooner it is over the better I shall be pleased.”
She looked up into his face, at a loss how to interpret the words.
“You shall set the day, Rex,” she replied.
“I have your father’s consent that it may take place just as soon as possible, in case you promised to marry me,” he said. “Suppose it takes place in a fortnight, say––will that be too soon for you?”
She gave a little scream of surprise. “As soon as that?” she murmured; but ended by readily consenting.
He thanked her and kissed her once more. After a few quiet words they parted––she, happy in the glamour of her love-dream; he, praying to Heaven from the depths of his miserable heart, to give him strength to carry out the rash vow which had been wrung from his unwilling lips.
In his heart Rex knew no one but Daisy could ever reign. Dead, he was devoted to her memory.