“You have a right to think of your poor mother, even though you do not care for yourself or your father, Queenie,” exclaimed Mrs. Trevalyn, hysterically. “Brown is rich, and that covers a multitude of failings.”
There was something so utterly heartless in this speech, that the girl’s heart sank within her. Since her encounter with Ray Challoner, all her worldliness had disappeared, and she had learned life’s sweetest lesson, that it is Love that rules, and that, unless the lover whom she had sent from her for false Ray Challoner’s sake returned to her, the future would not be worth living to her.
Then and there she said to herself that she would win back John Dinsmore, and wed him, or go unwedded to the grave.
She had just discovered his worth, as well as the fact that she loved him with all the passionate love of her heart—and would love him to the end of her life.
It was wonderful how Mrs. Trevalyn recovered after the receipt of that letter, and announced herself quite well enough to take the next outgoing train, and insisted upon doing so, much to Queenie’s relief.
As the New York express moved out of the Newport depot, Queenie Trevalyn little dreamed that she was leaving all that she held dear behind her.
All the way back to the metropolis her thoughts were upon the lover for whom she now yearned so eagerly.
She was glad that she had had the forethought to put her New York address upon the note she had written him—recalling him; and she did not doubt that he would call upon her quite as soon as she reached home. Indeed, she expected to find a letter from him awaiting her there, and it was with almost feverish eagerness that she counted the miles as the train sped homeward.
There was the usual number of epistles from girl friends and acquaintances, but the one she longed for most was not among them.
“He will be sure to come this evening in person, and that is far better than writing,” thought the girl, ordering the servants to unpack her trunks at once.