CHAPTER VI.
A MAN’S FICKLE HEART.
“Do not, as some ungracious rascals do,
Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven;
While like a puffed and reckless libertine,
Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads.”
Yes, a most beautiful picture of lovely girlhood Queenie Trevalyn appeared in her traveling dress of dove gray, with the crimson rose nestling in her bosom, and her two bright eyes eager with expectancy as he approached.
“Good-morning, my radiant darling!” he cried, availing himself of the opportunity of addressing her as rapturously as he liked, there being no one else on the wide, shady veranda; most every one being busy over the packing of trunks and saying good-by to friends.
“How am I to thank you for giving me the opportunity of a tête-à-tête with you, sweet, on this morning of all mornings,” he whispered, seizing the two little white hands; and, as there was no one about to witness the gallant, loverlike action, raising them to his lips and kissing them repeatedly.
Before she had time to reply, he went on:
“From the hour we parted last night, sweet, I have done nothing but think of you; I could not sleep until far into the wee, sma’ hours, for thinking of you, and wondering over my amazing fortune in winning such a treasure. And when at last sleep did weigh down my eyelids, my dreams were full of you—and, oh, such glorious dreams, my angel! I thought we had just been wedded, and I was bearing you off to some fairy isle——”