tirred in his
heart.

He watched the graceful, fairy figure as Daisy tripped away--instead
of thinking he had done a very foolish thing that bright morning. Rex
lighted a cigar and fell to dreaming of sweet little Daisy Brooks, and
wondering how he should pass the time until he should see her again.

While Daisy almost flew up the broad gravel path to the house, the
heavy burden she bore seemed light as a feather--no thought that she
had been imprudent ever entered her mind.

There was no one to warn her of the peril which lay in the witching
depths of the handsome stranger's glances.

All her young life she had dreamed of the hero who would one day come
to her, just such a dream as all youthful maidens experience--an idol
they enshrine in their innermost heart, and worship in secret, never
dreaming of a cold, dark time when the idol may lie shattered in ruins
at their feet. How little knew gentle Daisy Brooks of the fatal love
which would drag her down to her doom!

CHAPTER III.

In an elegant boudoir, all crimson and gold, some hours later, sat
Pluma Hurlhurst, reclining negligently on a satin divan, toying idly
with a volume which lay in her lap. She tossed the book aside with a
yawn, turning her superb dark eyes on the little figure bending over
the rich trailing silks which were to adorn her own fair beauty on the
coming evening.

"So you think you would like to attend the lawn fete to-night, Daisy?"
she asked, patronizingly.

Daisy glanced up with a startled blush,

"Oh, I should like it so much, Miss Pluma," she answered, hesitatingly,
"if I only could!"

"I think I shall gratify you," said Pluma, carelessly. "You have made
yourself very valuable to me. I like the artistic manner you have
twined these roses in my hair; the effect is quite picturesque." She
glanced satisfiedly at her own magnificent reflection in the
cheval-glass opposite. Titian alone could have reproduced those
rich, marvelous colors--that perfect, queenly beauty. He would have
painted the picture, and the world would have raved about its beauty.
The dark masses of raven-black hair; the proud, haughty face, with
its warm southern tints; the dusky eyes, lighted with fire and
passion, and the red, curved lips. "I wish particularly to look my
very best to-night, Daisy," she said; "that is why I wish you to
remain. You can arrange those sprays of white heath in my hair
superbly. Then you shall attend the fete, Daisy. Remember,