The Bride of the Tomb and Queenie's Part 48

CHAPTER II.

Full of her suddenly conceived purpose, Queenie Lyle went to her room, attired herself in a neat walking-suit, and tied a blue tissue veil over her luxuriant golden ringlets.

Then carefully wrapping a paper about the box that held her painted fan, she set forth upon her errand, feeling sorry that she must part with the elegant trifle, yet determined to sacrifice it rather than forego the ball, which to her young, imaginative fancy appeared like a promised peep into fairy-land.

In the large city where she lived there were plenty of stores that dealt in fancy articles.

She entered one of these stores, and presented her fan for the merchant's inspection.

"How much will you give me for it?" asked she, childishly, coming straight to the point.

"Did you paint it yourself?" asked the man; unfurling the beautiful fan, and gazing admiringly at the delicate leaves and flowers painted upon it by a skillful hand.

Queenie laughed at the question, and the gay, musical chime attracted the attention of a gentleman a little further down the counter--a tall, dark, handsome man, who drew nearer as if fascinated, and glanced furtively at the young girl, revealing a lovely face as fresh and fair as a flower, the eyes as dark as pansies, the cheeks as pink as roses.

She was smiling that moment, and the stranger saw two dazzling rows of milk-white teeth between her parted crimson lips, and the loveliest dimples in the world in her rounded cheeks and chin.

"No, indeed," she said, in answer to the merchant. "My uncle sent it to me from Paris. It is quite French, I a.s.sure you. I would not part with it if I did not need the money very much."

"We are overcrowded with such articles, miss," said the man, carelessly, not wis.h.i.+ng to show his anxiety to possess the elegant fan, "but to oblige you, and because you need the money, I will give you five dollars for it."

"Very well, I will take it," said little Queenie, and as she spoke she looked up carelessly and suddenly encountered the fixed gaze of a pair of burning, dark eyes.

Blus.h.i.+ng crimson, she knew not why, Queenie dropped the sweeping lashes over her eyes, and taking her money from the merchant, hurriedly left the store.

"A pretty trifle--what will you take for it?" said the handsome stranger, stepping forward as Queenie went out.

"Twenty dollars," answered the merchant, coolly. "It is a real Parisian fan and worth more than that, but as I bought it so cheap I will let you have it at a small profit."

"Do you know the young lady from whom you bought it?" inquired the gentleman, as he laid down a twenty-dollar bill on the counter.

"No, I do not; but she was a little beauty," laughed the merchant, as he wrapped up the fan and handed it to his customer.

The handsome stranger bowed and hastily withdrew with his purchase. In the street he paused, and looked up and down.

Seeing Queenie's graceful little figure half a square ahead of him, he slowly walked on after her.

Little Queenie went into a dry goods store, and invested the price of her fan in a nice quality of white tarleton. She told the obliging clerk where to send the package, and dropping her veil over her sweet face, hurried homeward.

"Queenie, oh, Queenie, come in," called Georgina, as she was pa.s.sing the open door of the dressing-room. "Only think--something so perfectly splendid has happened. Guess what it is."

"You have been buying some more finery, I suppose," answered the young girl, seeing a large box in the center of the floor.

"Uncle Rob has sent us another box from Paris," announced Sydney, triumphantly.

"Dresses and jewelry both," added Mrs. Lyle, joyfully.

"You can go to the ball as fine as a queen now," laughed Georgina, diving down into the box and bringing out a parcel which she placed in Queenie's hands.

"It is for you," she said.

Queenie unrolled the tissue paper from the bundle and shook out the folds of a magnificent cream-colored brocade silk.

"Oh, how exquisite!" she exclaimed. "What has he sent you, girls?"

Sydney, who was a brilliant brunette, exhibited a rose-colored brocade as handsome as Queenie's dress. Georgina, a plump blonde, rejoiced in the possession of a costly azure satin.

"Uncle Rob is a dear darling," exclaimed little Queenie, delightedly.

"And only look here," said Mrs. Lyle, who held three jewel-cases in her lap, "he has sent you each a lovely set of jewels--diamonds for Sydney, opals for Georgina, pearls for you."

Little Queenie looked and admired until she was almost wild with delight. She clasped the pearls on her neck and arms, and held the rich brocade up before her, admiring the sheeny richness of the creamy folds.

"If you had only waited a little while you need not have sold your painted fan," said Georgie. "You can have this lovely dress to wear to Mrs. Kirk's ball."

"No, I cannot," answered Queenie, with a sigh. "Madame Dufarge would charge thirty dollars to make such a dress as this, and where could I get thirty dollars? No, I'll wear my five-dollar tarleton and the pearls to the ball, but I will put this lovely brocade away, and keep it for my wedding-dress."

"Only hear the child," exclaimed Sydney, who was twenty-five and unmarried yet. "She talks of marrying as confidently as if husbands grew on trees."

"They do for pretty girls like me," answered Queenie, with a saucy nod at her sister. "But, mamma, did Uncle Robbie write? Is he getting well?

Is he coming home soon?"

"Ah, the best of the news is yet to come," exclaimed Georgina, who was in brilliant spirits. "We are to go out to Uncle Robbie, you and I, and Syd, and mamma, and have a continental tour with him. Isn't that glorious news?"

Little Queenie's bright eyes danced with joy.

"Mamma, is it true?" she panted, breathlessly.

"Yes, dear, it is quite true," said Mrs. Lyle, looking quite happy. "He has sent us a check, and we are to go over in the _Europa_, which sails three months from now. We are to employ ourselves in the interim polis.h.i.+ng up our French."

"Hurrah for Uncle Rob!" exclaimed the delighted little Queenie, boyishly waving her hat around her head, "he is a perfect fairy prince.

The dream of my life has been to go to Europe."

"I think _you_ will need to polish more than your French, Queenie,"

exclaimed Sydney, peevishly. "Your manners are as rude as a school-boy's!"

"And yours are as prim as an old maid's!" retorted Queenie, maliciously, for Sydney's perpetual fault-finding was a thorn in the flesh to the petted little creature.

Sydney flushed crimson at the retort. Her years were verging so near to the line of old-maidenhood that she was particularly sensitive on the subject. She now said angrily:

"Mamma, can you sit silently there and permit Queenie to address me so disrespectfully?"

Mrs. Lyle looked at her youngest daughter imploringly.

"Queenie, how often have I scolded you for aggravating Sydney? Apologize to her immediately."