Her first womanly pity for Annette had prompted her to mail to Dallas the letter she had stolen from the young girl’s pocket, but on trying to get the address from Mrs. Fleming, the latter’s suspicions had been aroused, and she had persecuted Letty till she found out everything. This done, she exchanged a gold piece with the covetous maid for poor Daisie’s love letter.
“However,” thought Letty, “there’s no harm done, for I can tell him all about his pretty sweetheart, and maybe his cruel heart will turn back to her again.”
So, getting close to his ear, Letty poured out in moving terms the story of Annette’s accident, though she did not tell him the fate of the letter.
When she had ended, he sighed, and answered:
“Poor girl! I’m sorry for her; but there’s some mistake, surely, Letty, for little Annette was never my sweetheart—never! I never loved any girl in my life but Daisie Bell, and I want you to slip in there and get her to come out here and see me. Won’t you?”
Two big silver dollars pressed into her hand clinched the argument, and Letty tripped blithely away on her errand, leaving Dallas waiting with wild impatience for the coming of his little love.
And presently she came with a look of wonder on her fair face, for the maid had simply whispered to her that some one wanted to see her on the balcony, and she must just slip out without any fuss.
Daisie thought it might be a messenger from Aunt Alice about something, so she stole away, pretending she wished to lay aside the bridal veil.
In the hall she gave it to Letty to carry upstairs, and then glided out to the balcony, all unconscious of the joy that awaited her there.
When Dallas heard her coming he stepped back from the window into the screen of a climbing vine, where there was a seat for two, and waited.