He had hitherto treated all notion of love in a very off-hand, cavalier fashion. "Love is fate," he had always said. He knew Pluma loved him. Last night he had said to himself: The time had come when he might as well marry; it might as well be Pluma as any one else, seeing she cared so much for him. Now all that was changed. "I sincerely hope she will not attach undue significance to the words I spoke last evening," he mused. Rex did not care to return again among the throng; it was sweeter far to sit there by the murmuring fountain dreaming of Daisy Brooks, and wondering when he should see her again. A throng which did not hold the face of Daisy Brooks had no charm for Rex. Suddenly a soft step sounded on the grass; Rex's heart gave a sudden bound; surely it could not be--yes, it was--Daisy Brooks. She drew back with a startled cry as her eyes suddenly encountered those of her hero of the morning. She would have fled precipitately had he not stretched out his hand quickly to detain her. "Daisy," cried Rex, "why do you look so frightened? Are you displeased to see me?" "No," she said. "I--I--do not know--" She looked so pretty, so bewildered, so dazzled by joy, yet so pitifully uncertain, Rex was more desperately in love with her than ever. "Your eyes speak, telling me you _are_ pleased, Daisy, even if your lips _refuse_ to tell me so. Sit down on this rustic bench, Daisy, while I tell you how anxiously I awaited your coming--waited until the shadows of evening fell." As he talked to her he grew more interested with every moment. She had no keen intellect, no graceful powers of repartee, knew little of books or the great world beyond. Daisy was a simple, guileless child of nature. Rex's vanity was gratified at the unconscious admiration which shone in her eyes and the blushes his words brought to her cheeks. "There is my favorite waltz, Daisy," he said, as the music of the irresistible "Blue Danube" floated out to them. "Will you favor me with a waltz?" "Miss Pluma would be so angry," she murmured. "Never mind her anger, Daisy. I will take all the blame on _my_ shoulders. They are unusually broad, you see." He led her half reluctant among the gay throng; gentlemen looked at one another in surprise. Who is she? they asked one of the other, gazing upon her in wonder. No one could answer. The sweet-faced little maiden in soft, floating white, with a face like an angel's, who wore no other ornament than her crown of golden hair, was a mystery and a novelty. In all the long years of her after life Daisy never forgot that supremely blissful moment. It seemed to her they were floating away into another sphere. Rex's arms were around her, his eyes smiling down into hers; he could feel the slight form trembling in his embrace, and he clasped her still closer. With youth, music, and beauty--there was nothing wanting to complete the charm of love.