“Are we really married, Rex?” she whispered, as he led her out again into the starlight; “it seems so much like a dream.”
He bent his handsome head and kissed his pretty child-bride. Daisy drew back with a startled cry––his lips were as cold as ice.
“Yes, you are my very own now,” he whispered. “No one shall ever have the right to scold you again; you are mine now, Daisy, but we must keep it a secret from every one for awhile, darling. You will do this for my sake, won’t you, Daisy?” he asked. “I am rich, as far as the world knows, but it was left to me under peculiar conditions. I––I––do not like to tell you what those conditions were, Daisy.”
“Please tell me, Rex,” she said, timidly; “you know I am your––your––wife––now.”
Daisy blushed so prettily as she spoke. Rex could not refrain from catching her up in his arms and kissing her.
“You shall know, my darling,” he cried. “The conditions were I should marry the bride whom my mother selected for me. I was as much startled as you will be, Daisy, when you hear who it was––Pluma Hurlhurst, of Whitestone Hall.”
“But you can not marry her now, Rex,” whispered the little child-bride, nestling closer in his embrace.
“No; nor I would not if I could. I love you the best, my pretty wild flower. I would not exchange you, sweet, for all the world. I have only told you this so you will see why it is necessary to keep our marriage a secret––for the present, at least.”
Daisy readily consented.