After that concession on her daughter’s part, Mrs. Trevalyn became more amiable, she did not know that Queenie had resolved to die rather than marry him, if they persisted in pressing her to that point. “You are becoming sensible at last, my love,” said Mrs. Trevalyn, with a beaming smile. Adding: “The woman who marries old Hiram Brown may consider herself very fortunate. He has no end of millions, as every one knows, and his wife can fairly roll in diamonds and point lace, and all the luxuries of a magnificent establishment. He is old, and cannot last many more years, and then his widow would be the most admired, courted and envied woman in all New York.” “For Heaven’s sake say no more, mamma!” cried the girl, bitterly. “I cannot endure the thought of marrying Hiram Brown; why, the very mention of his name, which calls up his image before me, makes me almost swoon with horror and disgust!” “You ought to be grateful and thankful for your good fortune, instead of railing at it!” declared Mrs. Trevalyn, energetically. “Think how many young girls of our set would envy you, if you were to become the wife of so wealthy a man!” “You mean they would pity me!” cried Queenie, curling her lip scornfully; “for they would know that I had been bartered body and soul for hollow gold. It is positive that no one would dream of calling it a love match, mamma.” CHAPTER VIII. WHAT IS LIFE WITHOUT LOVE? “How does a woman love? Once, no more, Though life forever its loss deplore. Deep in sorrow, or want, or sin, One king reigneth her heart within; One alone by night and day, Moves her spirit to curse or pray. Though loves beset her and friends deride; Yea, when she smileth another’s bride; Still for her love her heart makes moan. To love once is forever, and once alone!” “I do hope, Queenie, that you are not commencing to grow sentimental!” cried Mrs. Trevalyn, holding up her hands as though the very idea was a blow which she was warding off. “Would such a state of affairs surprise you very much, mamma?” retorted the girl, cresting her head defiantly. “Youth is the age of romance, of joy, and--and the mating of true hearts.” “Youth is the age of nonsense!” retorted her mother, spiritedly. “If I had been romantic instead of sensible when I was your age, Queenie, I should have had a sorry enough life of it. I say then, young as I was, that it was wealth that ruled the world, and not love. Why, I threw over a handsome young doctor, whose only wealth was his brains, for your father, who was accounted at that time the best catch of the season at Newport.” “And you married my father for his money, while your heart was the young doctor’s?” queried Queenie, gravely. “That was the way of it,” assented her mother, coolly; though she had the grace to flush a little under her daughter’s gaze.