Originally published: 1901
Genres: Fiction
Goodreads link: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/201409467-betrothed-for-a-day---or-queenie-trevalyn-s-love-test
Gutenberg link: https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/68760
Chapters: 48
Warning: This may include outdated and derogatory language and attitudes.
CHAPTER I
A STRANGER’S LOVE.
“Her lips were silent—scarcely beat her heart,
Her eyes alone proclaimed, ‘we must not part;’
Thy hope may perish, or thy friends may flee,
Farewell to life, but not adieu to thee.”
It was on the last night of the season at gay Newport; on the morrow, at the noon hour, there was to be a great exodus of the summer guests, and by nightfall, the famous Ocean House would be closed.
The brilliant season of 1901 would be but a memory to the merry throng—dancing, laughing, flirting to their hearts’ content tonight in the magnificent ballroom, and everyone seemed intent upon making the most of the occasion.
As usual, “the beautiful Miss Trevalyn,” as everyone called her, was the belle of the ball, as she had been the belle of the season, much to the chagrin of a whole set of beauties who had come this summer to take Newport by storm and capture the richest matrimonial prize. Even Miss Queenie Trevalyn’s cruelest enemy could not help but admit that she was simply perfect tonight as she floated down the plant-embowered ballroom, a fairy vision in pink tulle, fluttering ribbons and garlands of blush-roses looping back her long jetty curls. Here, there, and everywhere flashed that slender pink figure with the lovely face, rosy and radiant with smiles and flushed with excitement, her red lips parted, and those wondrous midnight-black eyes of hers gleaming like stars.
“Who is the gentleman with whom Miss Trevalyn is waltzing?” asked an anxious mother—a guest from one of the cottages—whose four unmarried daughters were at that moment playing the disagreeable part of wall flowers.
Her companion, an old-time guest of the hotel, who kept strict tabs upon the other guests, and prided herself upon knowing pretty thoroughly everybody else’s business, leaned forward from her seat on the piazza and raised her lorgnette to her eyes, critically surveying the young lady’s partner.
He was a tall, handsome, distinguished man of at least thirty, bronzed and bearded, with a noble bearing that could not fail to attract attention anywhere. He was a man whom men take to on sight, and women adore.
His eyes were deep blue and his hair was a dark, chestnut brown—a shade darker perhaps than the trim beard and mustache were.
“That is just what everybody here has been trying to find out,” was the reply, “but no one seems to know; he came here quite a month ago, and the first evening of his arrival proved himself a hero. It happened in this way: The elevator boy, upon reaching the fourth floor, had stepped out of the car for a moment to lift a heavy satchel for a lady who had come up with him, to a room a couple of doors distant, and in that moment two persons had entered the elevator—Miss Queenie Trevalyn and the distinguished-looking new arrival. No one could tell just how the terrible affair occurred, whether one or the other brushed against the lever accidentally or not, but the next instant, with the rapidity of lightning, and without an instant’s warning, the car began to shoot downward.
“Wild cries of horror broke from the lips of the guests at each landing as it shot past. They realized what had happened; they could see that there was someone in the car, and they realized that it meant instant death to the occupants when the car reached the flagging below.
“Someone who heard the horrible whizzing sound from below, and knew what had occurred, had the presence of mind to tear aside the wire door. What occurred then even those who witnessed it can scarcely recount, they were so dazeny. Anyhow, seeing the clearing straight ahead, the stranger made the most daring leap for life that was ever chronicled either in tale or history, through it; he had Miss Trevalyn, who was in a deep swoon, clasped tightly in his arms.
“Out from the flying, death-dealing car he shot like an arrow from a bow, landing headforemost among the throng, who fairly held their breath in horror too awful for words.
“The car was wrecked into a thousand fragments.
“By the presence of mind of the heroic stranger Miss Trevalyn’s and his own life were spared, and they were little the worse, save from the fright, from their thrilling experience.
“They would have made a great furor over Mr. John Dinsmore at the Ocean Hotel after that, but he would not permit it. He flatly refused to be lionized, which showed Newport society that he was certainly careless about being in the swim, as we call it.
“His heart was not proof against a lovely girl’s attractions, however. He finished by falling in love with Miss Trevalyn in the most approved, romantic style, and has been her veritable shadow ever since, despite the fact that there are a score of handsome fellows in the race for her favor, and one in particular, a young man who is heir to the fortune of his uncle, a multi-millionaire, who was supposed to be the lucky winner of the queen’s heart up to the day of the thrilling elevator episode.”
“I suppose she will marry the fine-looking hero who saved her life,” said the mother of the four unwedded maidens.
The other returned significantly:
“If he is rich, it is not unlikely; if he is poor, Queenie Trevalyn will whistle him down the wind, as the old saying goes. Lawrence Trevalyn’s daughter is too worldly to make an unsuitable marriage. Her father is one of the ablest lawyers at the New York bar and makes no end of money, but his extravagant family succeeds splendidly in living up to every dollar of his entire income, and Miss Queenie knows that her only hope is in marrying a fortune; she is quite as ambitious as her parents. With her the head will rule instead of the heart, I promise you; that is, if one can judge from the score of lovers she has sent adrift this season.”
“I really thought she cared a little for young Ray Challoner, the millionaire. I confess I had expected to see her pass most of her last evening at Newport dancing with him exclusively, but perhaps she is pursuing this course to pique him into an immediate proposal. A remarkably shrewd and clever girl is Queenie Trevalyn.”
“Is this Mr. Challoner deeply in love with her, too?” asked the mother of the four unwedded girls, trying to veil the eagerness in her voice behind a mass of carelessness.
“Hopelessly,” returned her informant, “and for that reason I marvel that he is not on hand to sue for every dance and challenge anyone to mortal combat who dares seek the beauty’s favor.”
Meanwhile, the young girl who had been the subject of the above gossip had disappeared through one of the long French windows that opened out upon the piazza, and, leaning upon the arm of her companion, had floated across the white sands to the water’s edge.
For a moment they stood thus, in utter silence, while the tide rippled in slowly at their feet, mirroring the thousands of glittering stars in the blue dome above on its pulsing bosom.
Queenie pretends the utmost innocence in regard to the object he has in view in asking her to come down to the water by whose waves they have spent so many happy hours, to say goodbye.
A score or more of lovers have stood on the self-same spot with her in the last fortnight, and ere they had turned away from those rippling waves they had laid their hearts and fortunes at her dainty feet, only to be rejected, as only a coquette can reject a suitor.
Yes, she knew what was coming; his troubled face and agitation were a forerunner of that, but her tongue ran on volubly and gayly, of how she had enjoyed Newport, and how sorry she would feel as the train bore her away to her city home.
And as she talked on in her delightful, breezy way, his face grew graver and more troubled.
“He is going to ask me to marry him, and it depends upon his fortune as to whether I say yes or no. He has been wonderfully silent as to what he is, but if I am good at guessing, I should say that he is a Western silver king—he must be worth twice as many millions as Ray Challoner,” Queenie said to herself.
She had adroitly led up to a proposal of marriage by knowing just what to say, and how to use her subtly sweet voice in uttering the sentiments low and falteringly, to arouse him to a declaration of the tender passion.
Standing there, he was thinking of the gulf that lay between him and this fair young girl whom he had learned to love, and that he should leave her without revealing one word of what was in his heart; but as he turned to her to make some commonplace remark, and suggest returning to the ballroom, she looked so irresistibly sweet and gracious, his heart seemed swept away from him by storm.
He never knew quite how it came about, but he found himself holding her hands crushed close to his bosom, while his white lips murmured:
“This has been a month in my life which will stand out clear and distinct—forever. In it I have tasted the only happiness which I have ever known; nothing will ever be like it to me again. Will you remember me, I wonder, after you have returned home?”
“Why should I not?” she murmured, shyly. “You have helped me to pass the happiest summer I have ever known.”
“Do you really mean that Miss Trevalyn—Queenie!” he cried, hoarsely, wondering if his ears had not deceived him.
“Yes,” she sighed, glancing down with a tenderness in her tone which she intended that he should not mistake.
“I should not speak the words that are trembling on my lips, but your kindness gives courage to my frightened heart, and I will dare incur your displeasure, perhaps, by uttering them; but you must know, you who are so beautiful that all men love you—you whom to gaze upon is to become lost.”
“I—I do not know what you mean, Mr. Dinsmore,” she murmured, with shy, averted eyes and downcast, blushing face, thinking how different this proposal was to the score of others she had received.
“May I dare tell you? Promise me you will not be very angry,” he said, humbly, “and that you will forgive me.”
But he did not wait for her answer, he dared not pause to think, lest his courage should fail him, but cried huskily:
“Pardon me if I am brusque and abrupt, sweet girl, but the words are forcing themselves like a torrent from my heart to my lips—ah, Heaven, you must have guessed the truth ere this, Queenie! I love you! I love you with a passion so great it is driving me mad. Let me pray my prayer to you, let me kneel at your feet and utter it. Ah, Heaven! words fail me to tell you how dearly I love you, my darling. My life seems to have merged completely into yours. I love you so dearly and well if you send me from you, you will wreck my life—break my heart. I cast my life as a die upon your yes or no. Look at me, darling, and answer me—will you be my wife, Queenie? For Heaven’s sake say yes and end my agitation and my misery. Is your answer life or death for me, my love?”
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