ill come, if only
through politeness!" Again she laughed, that low, mocking laugh
peculiar to her, as she heard the peal of the bell. "It is Rex," she
whispered, clasping her hands over her beating heart. "To-night I will
sow the first seeds of distrust in your heart, and when they take root
you shall despise Daisy Brooks a thousand-fold more than you love her
now. She shall feel the keen thrust of a rival's bitter vengeance!"

Casting a last lingering glance (so woman-like!) at the perfect face
the mirror reflected, to give her confidence in herself for the coming
ordeal, Pluma Hurlhurst glided down to the parlor, where Rex awaited
her.

It would have been hard to believe the proud, willful, polished young
heiress could lend herself to a plot so dark and so cruel as the one
she was at that moment revolving in her fertile brain.

Rex was standing at the open window, his handsome head leaning wearily
against the casement. His face was turned partially toward her, and
Pluma could scarcely repress the cry of astonishment that rose to her
lips as she saw how pale and haggard he looked in the softened light.
She knew but too well the cause.

He was quite unaware of Pluma's presence until a soft, white, jeweled
hand was laid lightly on his arm, and a low, musical voice whispered,
"I am so glad you have come, Rex," close to his elbow.

They had parted under peculiar circumstances. He could fancy her at
that moment kneeling to him, under the glare of the lamp-light,
confessing her love for him, and denouncing poor little clinging Daisy
with such bitter scorn. His present position was certainly an
embarrassing one to Rex.

"I am here in accordance with your request, Miss Hurlhurst," he said,
simply, bowing coldly over the white hand that would cling to his
arm.

"You are very kind," she said, sweetly, "to forget that unpleasant
little episode that happened at the fete, and come to-night. I believe
I should never have sent for you," she added, archly, smiling up into
his face, "had it not been at the urgent request of your mother,
Rex."

Pluma hesitated. Rex bit his lip in annoyance, but he was too
courteous to openly express his thoughts; he merely bowed again. He
meant Pluma should understand all thoughts of love or tenderness must
forever more be a dead letter between them.

"My mother!" he repeated, wonderingly; "pardon me, I do not
understand."

For answer she drew his mother's letter from her bosom and placed