"The girl is insane. That explains everything."
He was a stern man, inured to trying scenes, but his heart stirred with pity for her, so young, so beautiful, and—insane.
He went up to her as she rose and sunk feebly into her chair. Touching her kindly on the shoulder, he said:
"I am very, very sorry for you, but it is better that you should return to your friends. They are almost broken-hearted over your disappearance, and have sent me here for you. Now, get your bonnet, like a good girl, and come with me."
"I can not go back to them. I would rather die," sobbed Daisy Lynn; and when he insisted, she grew frantic and rebellious. "I—will—not—go!" she cried. "They will put me in a horrible lunatic asylum, although I am not mad. Oh, Mr. Wren, have pity on a most unfortunate young girl! Go away and tell them you could not find me. Heaven will bless you for your goodness."
He thought it was a very good proof of her insanity that she expected Heaven to bless him for telling a falsehood for her sake, and smiled indulgently as he said:
"My dear young lady, think of the distress of your lover if I go back without you—the rich, handsome young man you have promised to marry."
An expression of blended pain and scorn crossed the lovely face.
"Do not speak to me of him," she cried, passionately. "It was his falsity that wrecked my life. But that brief madness has passed. I am sane now, and I scorn him as much as I once loved him."
Oh, the imperial scorn with which she drew her graceful form erect, the fire that flashed from her lovely eyes! He said to himself that she was the most beautiful girl he had ever beheld.