“You are very wise, Rex,” she said. “I will do just as you tell me.”
By this time they had reached Daisy’s home.
“I will meet you to-morrow at the magnolia-tree, where first I found my little wood-nymph, as I shall always call you. Then we can talk matters over better. You will be sure to come while the dew sparkles on your pretty namesakes?” he asked, eagerly.
Before she had time to answer the cottage door opened and Septima appeared in the door-way. Rex was obliged to content himself with snatching a hasty kiss from the rosy lips. The next moment he was alone.
He walked slowly back through the tangled brushwood––not to Whitestone Hall, but to an adjoining hostelry––feeling as though he were in a new world. True, it was hard to be separated from his little child-bride. But Rex had a clever 26 brain; he meant to think of some plan out of the present difficulty. His face flushed and paled as he thought of his new position; it seemed to him every one must certainly read in his face he was a young husband.
Meanwhile Daisy flitted quickly up the broad gravel path to the little cottage, wondering if it were a dream.
“Well!” said Septima, sharply, “this is a pretty time of night to come dancing home, leaving me all alone with the baking! If I hadn’t my hands full of dough I’d give your ears a sound boxing! I’ll see you’re never out after dark again, I’ll warrant.”
For a moment Daisy’s blue eyes blazed, giving way to a roguish smile.
“I wonder what she would say if she knew I was Daisy Brooks no longer, but Mrs. Rex Lyon?” she thought, untying the blue ribbons of her hat. And she laughed outright as she thought how amazed Septima would look; and the laugh sounded like the ripple of a mountain brook.
“Now, Aunt Seppy,” coaxed Daisy, slipping up behind her and flinging her plump little arms around the irate spinster’s neck, “please don’t be cross. Indeed I was very particularly detained.”