The giant past alone has sway,
Potential as the gods above,
To-night.”
“I do not understand you in the least, my dear,” exclaimed Mrs. Trevalyn, as Queenie still continued to wring her hands, weeping bitterly the while. “Your eyes will be in the back of your head if you keep on wailing and weeping in this way,” she added in annoyance, “and a pretty sight you will present then. Always remember to keep your face looking beautiful, no matter what else goes amiss.”
Thus admonished, Queenie dried her eyes, but she could not keep back the heavy sighs that arose to her lips at the very thought of Raymond Challoner and his hint that she must marry him.
“I had forgotten to tell you an interesting piece of news mother,” said Queenie, “and that is that I hear Raymond Challoner is the discarded nephew of—of my—my late husband.”
This was indeed news to Mrs. Trevalyn, and she said so, adding in the next breath:
“He broke his betrothal to you, Queenie, because your father had lost his fortune. I should not be a particle surprised if he were to attempt to renew his suit when he finds that you have money, my dear, but you can afford to whistle him down the wind. Why, my dear child, what is the matter? You look so woefully pale, quite as though you were going to swoon. Your nerves are overwrought, and no wonder. I must go now, for I never can bear to be about when there are such grewsome things going on as making arrangements for a funeral. I had almost forgotten to tell you a little piece of news which I was going to run over anyway to-day to tell you about.”
Queenie never raised her face from her hands, and her mother went on:
“The young girl whom old Lawyer Abbot wrote us about, asking that we receive her to visit you for a few weeks, arrived late yesterday afternoon. Her surprise was great to learn that you had married and left us, and were living in another part of the city.