forgot her haughty pride, in the one absorbing thought that Rex
was going from her. Her wild, fiery, passionate love could bear no
restraint.

"Rex," she cried, suddenly falling on her knees before him, her face
white and stormy, her white jeweled hands clasped supplicatingly, "you
must not, you shall not leave me so; no one shall come between us.
Listen--I love you, Rex. What if the whole world knows it--what will
it matter, it is the truth. My love is my life. You loved me until she
came between us with her false, fair face. But for this you would have
asked me to be your wife. Send that miserable little hireling away,
Rex--the gardener will take charge of her."

Pluma spoke rapidly, vehemently. No one could stay the torrent of her
bitter words.

Rex was painfully distressed and annoyed. Fortunately but very few of
the guests had observed the thrilling tableau enacted so near them.

"Pluma--Miss Hurlhurst," he said, "I am sorry you have unfortunately
thus expressed yourself, for your own sake. I beg you will say no
more. You yourself have severed this night the last link of
friendship between us. I am frank with you in thus admitting it. I
sympathize with you, while your words have filled me with the
deepest consternation and embarrassment, which it is useless longer to
prolong."

Drawing Daisy's arm hurriedly within his own, Rex Lyon strode quickly
down the graveled path, with the full determination of never again
crossing the threshold of Whitestone Hall, or gazing upon the face of
Pluma Hurlhurst.

Meanwhile Pluma had arisen from her knees with a gay, mocking laugh,
turning suddenly to the startled group about her.

"Bravo! bravo! Miss Pluma," cried Lester Stanwick, stepping to her
side at that opportune moment. "On the stage you would have made a
grand success. We are practicing for a coming charade," explained
Stanwick, laughingly; "and, judging from the expressions depicted on
our friend's faces, I should say you have drawn largely upon real
life. You will be a success, Miss Pluma."

No one dreamed of doubting the assertion. A general laugh followed,
and the music struck up again, and the gay mirth of the fete resumed
its sway.

Long after the guests had departed Pluma sat in her boudoir, her heart
torn with pain, love, and jealousy, her brain filled with schemes of
vengeance.

"I can not take her life!" she cried; "but if I could mar her
beauty--the pink-and-white beauty of Daisy Brooks, which has