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.