“You are now a wealthy widow, my dear child,” murmured Mrs. Trevalyn, dropping her voice to a low whisper, and adding in the same breath, “you want your mourning made up in the most becoming manner, for there are no women so attractive as young and beautiful widows. The first six months you will want all black crape; at the end of the second six months you can introduce a little white or lavender here and there, and----” “For Heaven’s sake, hush, mamma,” cried Queenie. “I cannot endure it. I am thinking of something else, I assure you.” “Dear me!” cried Mrs. Trevalyn, in a very injured tone of voice. “One would think that you had just lost a very dear and loving husband, of whom you were foolishly fond, instead of an old man whom, you and I both know, you wedded for his money, and whom we cordially hated personally. Isn’t his death what you have been longing for ever since you turned away from the altar with him, I should like to know?” “Of course,” whispered Queenie; “but--well, to tell you the truth, I was thinking of John Dinsmore, and wondering how he would take the news when he heard that I am free again. He did not fancy widows. You remember how many there were at Newport, and all setting their caps for him.” “An old love who has become a widow is quite another matter,” declared Mrs. Trevalyn, energetically. “As soon as he hears of your bereavement, he will make that an excellent excuse to call upon you or write you, offering his condolence; that will pave the way for other sympathetic calls, and in a year from now, if you play your cards well, you can land the man you have always wanted, John Dinsmore.” “And whose wife I would have been to-day, had you not kept dinning continually into my ears that I must marry for wealth, and that love was not to be considered.” “My dear child, I thought you were sensible on such matters; do not grow sentimental at this late date. When you jilted handsome Mr. Dinsmore, he was not worth a penny, so consequently he was not to be considered in a matrimonial light; but now that his fortunes have changed and he is wealthy, why that puts a different face upon his prospects of winning a very lovely and brilliant girl like yourself.” For answer Queenie burst into a paroxysm of tears, crying, wildly: “But it can never be now, mamma--never, never! the Fates forbid!--and my future will be horrible to contemplate.” “Do not talk wildly and unreasonably, my child. Why should fate forbid your marrying John Dinsmore, should he come wooing a second time, which he is sure to do, he was so much in love with you?” For a moment Queenie was tempted to tell her mother all of her awful story, but on second thoughts she concluded that it would be safer to keep the horrible truth locked carefully in her own breast. An idea had come to her--perhaps she could buy Ray Challoner off by dividing the millions with him which she was sure to inherit as his uncle’s widow. CHAPTER XXXII. WHAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN.