“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: “That is the dreadful news which we received from papa last night. It explains itself. Oh, Raymond, in a few short hours we have been hurled down from affluence to--to---- Oh, how shall I say it?--to want!” He did not even hear her last words. He was so intent upon the perusal of the old lawyer’s heartbroken letter to his family. And as he read a low, incredulous whistle broke from his mustached lips. “Lost his fortune! That’s an amazing piece of business!” he cried. “By George, bad luck seems to follow me like an avenging demon; just as I am about to grasp a big thing, it invariably crumbles to dust in my grasp! Still, it’s lucky to find it out in time!” A ghastly white overspread the girl’s face. “Raymond,” she whispered, “does the loss of my fortune make any difference to you? Surely, you were not marrying me for that?” She spoke in a constrained voice, drawing herself away from his clasp. “Nonsense, Queenie!” he returned, impatiently. “You know better than that, but it is best to look the present unfortunate difficulty squarely in the face. I am not a very sentimental young man, and I will tell you the plain truth: I do love you, Queenie, better by far than any other girl I have ever met, and I would marry you within the hour, despite the fact of the loss of your fortune, if I could; but the truth of the matter is, I can’t! “You see, it’s this way with me, Queenie,” he went on. “I am the heir to my uncle’s millions, it is true, but he is the most cranky individual that ever lived. If I should marry any one short of an heiress, I have his solemn word for it that he would cut me off; make a new will, leaving me entirely cut out of it, before the next sun rose. It’s an ugly hitch, but the hitch is there. I am dependent upon my uncle, and I dare not go against the old curmudgeon’s wishes, as unreasonable as they may be.” “You desire to break the engagement, then?” she asked in a husky voice, looking him steadily in the eye. Her unnatural calm deceived him; he had expected hysterics at this juncture, reproaches, possibly a stormy scene. His face flushed, and he drew a long breath of relief, telling himself that he was fortunate that she left everything to him. “I have no wish to say farewell forever, Queenie,” he said; “but it would be selfish to keep you bound to me, and away from every one else for perhaps long years. For it might be fully that length of time ere my uncle took a notion to shuffle off this mortal coil. It’s a long wait, this waiting for dead men’s shoes.