“Did you wish it were a reality, Raymond?” she questioned, interrupting him with a little tremor in her voice, which was barely audible.
“How can you ask that, my adored one?” he asked, reproachfully.
“I—I thought if you really cared so much about it, the—the wedding might be arranged to take place this morning, as you pleaded so hard last night that it might.”
Girl-like, she dropped her eyes in maidenly confusion as she made this faltering admission.
If she had but glanced up at that moment, she would have beheld a very strange expression on the face of the man bending over her.
Raymond Challoner was wondering if he had heard aright, or if his ears were playing him false. Was it a trick of mistaken hearing, or did he hear her say that she would marry him ere she left Newport that morning? He had expected a hard battle to fight when he asked the astute, wealthy New York lawyer for his lovely young daughter.
It was easy to talk to women of his expectations, etc.; but it was quite another matter to stand before a keen-eyed man of the world, and explain to his satisfaction what he had to support his daughter with. The keen lawyer would want positive proof, in the shape of affirmation from old Mr. Challoner, the wealthy uncle, direct, acknowledging that it was his intention to make his nephew his sole heir. And no one knew better than Raymond Challoner that he was as far away from that old uncle’s millions as was the man in the moon, and he well knew why.
Queenie’s voice brought back his wandering thoughts.
“I have something to confide to you, Raymond,” she whispered in a fluttering voice, “and after you have heard it all, it is for you to decide if you desire the marriage to take place within the hour, or think it best to—to wait.”
As she spoke she drew forth the letter from the pocket of her dress and opening it, laid it in his hand, remarking: