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 assure 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 wishing 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.
Blushing 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 passing 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
polishing 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."
Queenie looked at Sydney's tearful eyes and flushed cheeks, and her
tender little heart melted at once. She crossed over and put her round,
white arms about Sydney's stately neck.
"Sister, do forgive me," she said, sweetly. "I did not mean a word of
it. Your manners are simply perfection, and I only wish that mine were
half as polished!"
"You should cultivate yourself," answered Sydney, coldly, as she put the
clinging arms away from her neck, "I am ashamed of your hoydenish
manners."
"I _will_ try to cultivate myself, Sydney, indeed I will," answered
Queenie, innocently. "I am so young yet, you know; I have time to learn
a great many things!"
Sydney bit her lip and made no reply. There was nothing she envied so
much as Queenie's tender youth, and to have it thrust upon her notice
like that, however innocently, was unendurable. The silence that fell
was becoming awkward, when a servant entered the room with a small
parcel which she laid in Queenie's hand.
"A small boy left it at the door for you," she said, as she withdrew.
Queenie stared at the parcel in bewilderment. It had a familiar look.
"Open it, my dear," said Mrs. Lyle, curiously.
Queenie tore off the paper and a box was revealed. She took off the lid
with a trembling hand. Within the box lay the painted fan she had sold
an hour ago to the dealer on ---- Street.
"What is this?" said Georgina, stooping down.
She picked up a card that had fallen from the box. Upon it was written
in a clear, bold, manly hand:
"From an unknown admirer of Miss Queenie Lyle."
"Someone has sent your painted fan back to you," exclaimed Mrs. Lyle.
"How kind! But who could it have been?"
"Queenie has caught a beau!" said Georgina, laughing.
Involuntarily Queenie's thoughts reverted to the dark-eyed stranger who
had looked at her in the store, but she said nothing.