“You are an orphan, then?” suggested the sympathetic Sara. “Is there no one in all the world related to you?”
“Yes––no––o,” answered Daisy, confusedly, thinking of Rex, her young husband, and of the dearest relationship in all the world which existed between them.
“What a pity,” sighed Sara. “Well, Daisy,” she cried, impulsively, throwing both her arms around her and giving her a hearty kiss, “you and I will be all the world to each other. I shall tell you all my secrets and you must tell me yours. There’s some girls you can trust, and some you can’t. If you tell them your secrets, the first time you have a spat your secret is a secret no longer. Every girl in the school knows all about it; of course you are sure to make up again. But,” added Sara, with a wise expression, “after you are once deceived, you can never trust them again.”
“I have never known many girls,” replied Daisy. “I do not know how others do, but I’m sure you can always trust my friendship.”
And the two girls sealed their compact with a kiss, just as the great bell in the belfry rang, warning them they must be at their lessons again––recess was over.
CHAPTER VIII.
In one of the private offices of Messrs. Tudor, Peck & Co., the shrewd Baltimore detectives, stood Rex, waiting patiently until the senior member of the firm should be at leisure.
“Now, my dear sir, I will attend you with pleasure,” said Mr. Tudor, sealing and dispatching the note he had just finished, and motioning Rex to a seat.