“That is certainly an astonishing piece of news,” said Bess, reflectively, smoothing out the folds of her white cashmere morning wrapper. “Now, here’s a plan for you, Gertie. Find out his address in some way, and we will write to him on some pretext or other. Rex has probably quarreled with the haughty heiress of Whitestone Hall, and one of us ought certainly to catch his heart in the rebound. Send him an invitation to your birthday party, Gertie.”
“I would be more likely to succeed than you, Bess,” said Gertie, rocking complacently to and fro, and looking maliciously at her sister. “You remember he once remarked he did not like tall ladies, and you are certainly tall, Bess.”
“Well, I’d rather be tall and willowy and graceful, than short and fat and dumpy,” jerked out Bess, spitefully.
“What! at swords’ points yet, eh? Ha, ha, ha!” cried Eve, suddenly, popping her head in at the door. “I’ll be back after awhile to see which one of you gets the best of it.”
Before either of the sisters had time to reply, the family carriage dashed suddenly up to the porch, and a moment later a slight, dark-robed little figure was ushered into their presence.
“This is Miss Brooks, mum,” said Jim, the coachman, addressing the elder sister.
“I’d like to know why you have brought her in here?” cried Bess, angrily. “Why did you not take her into the servants’ hall or into the kitchen?”
But Jim had disappeared.
“Well, now that you are here, you might sit down,” suggested 85 Gertie, wondering what kind of a face was hid behind the long, thick, clinging veil. “You may lay aside your bonnet and veil.”
Trembling and sick at heart with the cold greeting which had been given her, Daisy did as she was bid.