And even at that moment Daisie trembled in the clasp of her lover, and opened her dazed, blue eyes.
“I—oh, what is that matter?” she began; and, gently soothing her, Dallas placed her in her seat, and stood by her side, offering the other seat to Mrs. Fleming.
She took it, for the story she had to tell was enough to make her too nervous to stand.
Royall stood at the back of her chair, and Dallas by Daisie’s side, in a protecting attitude, but pale as death with dread of what was coming.
He said gently to his trembling little love:
“Do you feel better? For Mrs. Fleming has a confession to make, if you are strong enough to bear it.”
“I am better; let her go on,” Daisie faltered, with pallid lips.
Mrs. Fleming, strengthened by the wine she had taken, answered, with glib readiness:
“Let no one blame Royall Sherwood for what has been done. The plot was mine, and I did not know I was making a grave mistake. Of course, I knew that Daisie and Royall had broken their engagement, but I thought it was made up again, as he was going to see her the same every day. So when I knew that Daisie would help us with the entertainment to-night, and take the bride’s part in the mock wedding, I thought what a joke it would be—and not an unwelcome one, either—to marry them really. So I impulsively, without due thought, employed a real minister to read the ceremony, and—now they are tied fast, man and wife, as tight as law can bind them to each other.”
There was a moment’s blank pause; then Royall Sherwood bent the knee humbly before silent, stricken Daisie, crying out in pleading accents: