Half impatiently, as if amazed at her stupidity, he answered:
“Have I not told you that she was mine—my little sweetheart Floy, that the angels took away from me?”
“Floy Fane?” almost shrieked his mother; and he answered, wearily:
“Yes; did you not know?”
And so they stood face to face with the truth.
Bonny little Floy, the lovely Cupid of Alva’s picture, was St. George’s sweetheart, whom they had hated and reviled—without knowing!
The shock was so great for a moment that no one could speak, they simply looked at one another with joy, and wonder in their eyes.
They loved Floy in their hearts for her beauty and sweetness and pride. Oh, if they had only known it sooner, how much sorrow had been spared his suffering heart! Even their pride could not have rebelled against that lovely bride.
Mrs. Beresford found voice to exclaim:
“Why did you not tell me her name? Why did you say that she was dead?”