Pluma saw him first.
“Rex!” she cried, in a low, hoarse voice, staggering toward him; but he recoiled from her, and she saw Stanwick’s letter in his hands; and she knew in an instant all her treachery was revealed; and without another word––pale as death––but with head proudly erect, she swept with the dignity of a princess from the scene of her bitter defeat, closely followed by her cowering mother.
Rex did not seek to detain her; his eyes had suddenly fallen upon the golden-haired little figure kneeling by Basil Hurlhurst’s chair.
He reached her side at a single bound.
“Oh, Daisy, my darling, my darling!” he cried, snatching her in his arms, and straining her to his breast, as he murmured passionate, endearing words over her.
Suddenly he turned to Mr. Hurlhurst.
“I must explain––”
“That is quite unnecessary, Rex, my boy,” said Mr. Tudor, stepping forward with tears in his eyes; “Mr. Hurlhurst knows all.”
It never occurred to handsome, impulsive Rex to question what Daisy was doing there. He only knew Heaven had restored him his beautiful, idolized child-bride.
“You will forgive my harshness, won’t you, love?” he pleaded. “I will devote my whole life to blot out the past. Can you learn to love me, sweetheart, and forget the cloud that drifted between us?”