"Yes, dear, it is quite true," said Mrs. Lyle, looking quite happy. "He has sent us a check, and we are to go over in the _Europa_, which sails three months from now. We are to employ ourselves in the interim polishing up our French." "Hurrah for Uncle Rob!" exclaimed the delighted little Queenie, boyishly waving her hat around her head, "he is a perfect fairy prince. The dream of my life has been to go to Europe." "I think _you_ will need to polish more than your French, Queenie," exclaimed Sydney, peevishly. "Your manners are as rude as a school-boy's!" "And yours are as prim as an old maid's!" retorted Queenie, maliciously, for Sydney's perpetual fault-finding was a thorn in the flesh to the petted little creature. Sydney flushed crimson at the retort. Her years were verging so near to the line of old-maidenhood that she was particularly sensitive on the subject. She now said angrily: "Mamma, can you sit silently there and permit Queenie to address me so disrespectfully?" Mrs. Lyle looked at her youngest daughter imploringly. "Queenie, how often have I scolded you for aggravating Sydney? Apologize to her immediately." Queenie looked at Sydney's tearful eyes and flushed cheeks, and her tender little heart melted at once. She crossed over and put her round, white arms about Sydney's stately neck. "Sister, do forgive me," she said, sweetly. "I did not mean a word of it. Your manners are simply perfection, and I only wish that mine were half as polished!" "You should cultivate yourself," answered Sydney, coldly, as she put the clinging arms away from her neck, "I am ashamed of your hoydenish manners." "I _will_ try to cultivate myself, Sydney, indeed I will," answered Queenie, innocently. "I am so young yet, you know; I have time to learn a great many things!" Sydney bit her lip and made no reply. There was nothing she envied so much as Queenie's tender youth, and to have it thrust upon her notice like that, however innocently, was unendurable. The silence that fell was becoming awkward, when a servant entered the room with a small parcel which she laid in Queenie's hand. "A small boy left it at the door for you," she said, as she withdrew. Queenie stared at the parcel in bewilderment. It had a familiar look. "Open it, my dear," said Mrs. Lyle, curiously. Queenie tore off the paper and a box was revealed. She took off the lid with a trembling hand. Within the box lay the painted fan she had sold an hour ago to the dealer on ---- Street. "What is this?" said Georgina, stooping down. She picked up a card that had fallen from the box. Upon it was written in a clear, bold, manly hand: "From an unknown admirer of Miss Queenie Lyle." "Someone has sent your painted fan back to you," exclaimed Mrs. Lyle. "How kind! But who could it have been?" "Queenie has caught a beau!" said Georgina, laughing. Involuntarily Queenie's thoughts reverted to the dark-eyed stranger who had looked at her in the store, but she said nothing.