Transcriber’s Notes:

The Table of Contents was created by the transcriber and placed in the public domain.

Additional Transcriber’s Notes are at the end.

CONTENTS

Chapter I. A Stranger’s Love.

Chapter II. A Worshiper of Wealth.

Chapter III. The Course of True Love.

Chapter IV. The Midnight Duel.

Chapter V. The Power of Gold.

Chapter VI. A Man’s Fickle Heart.

Chapter VII. A Dread Alternative.

Chapter VIII. What Is Life Without Love?

Chapter IX. “A Little Rough Diamond.”

Chapter X. After Thirteen Years.

Chapter XI. Rebuked by a Girl.

Chapter XII. “Who Is Jess?”

Chapter XIII. Luck Smiles.

Chapter XIV. A Fateful Meeting.

Chapter XV. The Love That Is Sure to Come.

Chapter XVI. Cold and Heartless.

Chapter XVII. Was It the Decree of Fate?

Chapter XVIII. A Premonition of Coming Evil.

Chapter XIX. The Betrothal.

Chapter XX. “Do We Ever Love the Wrong One?”

Chapter XXI. How Easily Things Go Wrong.

Chapter XXII. The Rescue.

Chapter XXIII. Vain Regrets.

Chapter XXIV. Only an Impulsive Child.

Chapter XXV. “Will You Marry Me, Little Jess?”

Chapter XXVI. Love.

Chapter XXVII. Decisions.

Chapter XXVIII. The Darkening Clouds.

Chapter XXIX. “Leave My House.”

Chapter XXX. His Uncle’s Bride.

Chapter XXXI. In His Power.

Chapter XXXII. What Might Have Been.

Chapter XXXIII. To Wreck a Young Girl’s Life.

Chapter XXXIV. Under the Mask of Friendship.

Chapter XXXV. His Story.

Chapter XXXVI. The Web of Fate.

Chapter XXXVII. A Great Surprise.

Chapter XXXVIII. At His Feet.

Chapter XXXIX. A Test of Love.

Chapter XL. The First Love.

Chapter XLI. “Was It All a Dream?”

Chapter XLII. The Plot Thickens.

Chapter XLIII. The Love That Will Not Die.

Chapter XLIV. The Ways of Providence.

Chapter XLV. Naming the Day.

Chapter XLVI. Old Friends Meet.

Chapter XLVII. A Moment of Terror.

Chapter XLVIII. What Is to Be Will Be.

LAURA SERIES No. 2

BETROTHED FOR A DAY

BY LAURA JEAN LIBBEY

STREET & SMITH PUBLISHERS NEW YORK

BETROTHED FOR A DAY;

OR, Queenie Trevalyn’s Love Test

BY MISS LAURA JEAN LIBBEY

The Greatest Living Novelist, whose stories no author has ever been able to equal, and whose fame as the Favorite Writer of the People has never been surpassed,

AUTHOR OF “The Lovely Maid of Darby Town,” “What is Life Without Love?” “Sweet Dolly Gray,” “Sweetheart Will You be True?” “The Price of Pretty Odette’s Kiss,” “Sweet Kitty Clover,” “Ought We to Invite Her?” “Parted by Fate,” “Ione,” “We Parted at the Altar,” etc.

NEW YORK STREET & SMITH, Publishers 238 William Street

Copyright, 1901 By Norman L. Munro

Betrothed for a Day

BY LAURA JEAN LIBBEY

The Laura Series

Almost every reader, in the course of his or her experience, has read at least one of Laura Jean Libbey’s most enjoyable novels. Probably, upon finishing the tale the only regret the reader had was that it was not twice as long.

This may also be applied to the author’s new stories, all of which Messrs. Street & Smith have recently purchased at a round figure.

These, the best productions from the pen of an author, all of whose works may conscientiously be classed as excellent, will be published in a new line called the Laura Series.

These stories have never appeared in book form—they are not old ones. They are guaranteed to be the latest and best—representing the full talent of this remarkable writer.

We give herewith a list of those published and others scheduled.

By LAURA JEAN LIBBEY

1. The Lovely Maid of Darby Town.

2. Betrothed for a Day.

3. What Is Life Without Love?

4. Sweet Dolly Grey.

5. Sweetheart, Will You Be True?

6. Gladys, the Music Teacher’s Daughter.

7. Madcap Laddy, The Flirt.

8. The Prince of Pretty Odette’s Kiss.

9. Sweet Kitty Clover.

10. Ought We to Invite Her?

BETROTHED FOR A DAY.

CHAPTER I. A STRANGER’S LOVE.

It was on the last night of the season at gay Newport; on the morrow, at the noon hour, there was to be a great exodus of the summer guests, and by nightfall the famous Ocean House would be closed.

The brilliant season of 1901 would be but a memory to the merry throng—dancing, laughing, flirting to their hearts’ content to-night in the magnificent ballroom; and every one seemed intent upon making the most of the occasion.

As usual, “the beautiful Miss Trevalyn,” as every one called her, was the belle of the ball, as she had been the belle of the season, much to the chagrin of a whole set of beauties who had come this summer to take Newport by storm and capture the richest matrimonial prize. Even Miss Queenie Trevalyn’s cruelest enemy could not help but admit that she was simply perfect to-night as she floated down the plant-embowered ballroom, a fairy vision in pink tulle, fluttering ribbons and garlands of blush-roses looping back her long jetty curls. Here, there and everywhere flashed that slender pink figure with the lovely face, rosy and radiant with smiles and flushed with excitement, her red lips parted, and those wondrous midnight-black eyes of hers gleaming like stars.

[6]

“Who is the gentleman with whom Miss Trevalyn is waltzing?” asked an anxious mother—a guest from one of the cottages—whose four unmarried daughters were at that moment playing the disagreeable part of wall flowers.

Her companion, an old-time guest of the hotel, who kept strict tabs upon the other guests, and prided herself upon knowing pretty thoroughly everybody else’s business, leaned forward from her seat on the piazza and raised her lorgnette to her eyes, critically surveying the young lady’s partner.

He was a tall, handsome, distinguished man of at least thirty, bronzed and bearded, with a noble bearing that could not fail to attract attention anywhere. He was a man whom men take to on sight, and women adore.

His eyes were deep blue and his hair was a dark, chestnut brown—a shade darker perhaps than the trim beard and mustache were.

“That is just what everybody here has been trying to find out,” was the reply, “but no one seems to know; he came here quite a month ago, and the first evening of his arrival proved himself a hero. It happened in this way: The elevator boy, upon reaching the fourth floor, had stepped out of the car for a moment to lift a heavy satchel for a lady who had come up with him, to a room a couple of doors distant, and in that moment two persons had entered the elevator—Miss Queenie Trevalyn and the distinguished-looking new arrival. No one could tell just how the terrible affair occurred, whether one or the other brushed against the lever accidentally or not, but the next instant, with the rapidity of lightning, and without an instant’s warning, the car began to shoot downward.

“Wild cries of horror broke from the lips of the guests at each landing as it shot past. They realized what had happened; they could see that there was some one in the car, and they realized that it meant instant death to the occupants when the car reached the flagging below.

“Some one who heard the horrible whizzing sound from below, and knew what had occurred, had the presence of mind to tear aside the wire door. What occurred then even those who witnessed it can scarcely recount, they were so dazeny. Anyhow, seeing the clearing straight[7] ahead, the stranger made the most daring leap for life that was ever chronicled either in tale or history, through it; he had Miss Trevalyn, who was in a deep swoon, clasped tightly in his arms.

“Out from the flying, death-dealing car he shot like an arrow from a bow, landing headforemost among the throng, who fairly held their breath in horror too awful for words.

“The car was wrecked into a thousand fragments.

“By the presence of mind of the heroic stranger Miss Trevalyn’s and his own life were spared, and they were little the worse, save from the fright, from their thrilling experience.

“They would have made a great furore over Mr. John Dinsmore at the Ocean Hotel after that, but he would not permit it. He flatly refused to be lionized, which showed Newport society that he was certainly careless about being in the swim, as we call it.

“His heart was not proof against a lovely girl’s attractions, however. He finished by falling in love with Miss Trevalyn in the most approved, romantic style, and has been her veritable shadow ever since, despite the fact that there are a score of handsome fellows in the race for her favor, and one in particular, a young man who is heir to the fortune of his uncle, a multi-millionaire, who was supposed to be the lucky winner of the queen’s heart up to the day of the thrilling elevator episode.”

“I suppose she will marry the fine-looking hero who saved her life,” said the mother of the four unwedded maidens.

The other returned significantly:

“If he is rich, it is not unlikely; if he is poor, Queenie Trevalyn will whistle him down the wind, as the old saying goes. Lawrence Trevalyn’s daughter is too worldly to make an unsuitable marriage. Her father is one of the ablest lawyers at the New York bar, and makes no end of money, but his extravagant family succeeds splendidly in living up to every dollar of his entire income, and Miss Queenie knows that her only hope is in marrying a fortune; she is quite as ambitious as her parents. With her the head will rule instead of the heart, I promise you;[8] that is, if one can judge from the score of lovers she has sent adrift this season.”

“I really thought she cared a little for young Ray Challoner, the millionaire. I confess I had expected to see her pass most of her last evening at Newport dancing with him exclusively; but perhaps she is pursuing this course to pique him into an immediate proposal. A remarkably shrewd and clever girl is Queenie Trevalyn.”

“Is this Mr. Challoner deeply in love with her, too?” asked the mother of the four unwedded girls, trying to veil the eagerness in her voice behind a mass of carelessness.

“Hopelessly,” returned her informant, “and for that reason I marvel that he is not on hand to sue for every dance and challenge any one to mortal combat who dares seek the beauty’s favor.”

Meanwhile, the young girl who had been the subject of the above gossip had disappeared through one of the long French windows that opened out upon the piazza, and, leaning upon the arm of her companion, had floated across the white sands to the water’s edge.

For a moment they stood thus, in utter silence, while the tide rippled in slowly at their feet, mirroring the thousands of glittering stars in the blue dome above on its pulsing bosom.

Queenie pretends the utmost innocence in regard to the object he has in view in asking her to come down to the water by whose waves they have spent so many happy hours, to say good-by.

A score or more of lovers have stood on the self-same spot with her in the last fortnight, and ere they had turned away from those rippling waves they had laid their hearts and fortunes at her dainty feet, only to be rejected, as only a coquette can reject a suitor.

Yes, she knew what was coming; his troubled face and agitation was a forerunner of that, but her tongue ran on volubly and gayly, of how she had enjoyed Newport, and how sorry she would feel as the train bore her away to her city home.

And as she talked on in her delightful, breezy way, his face grew graver and more troubled.

[9]

“He is going to ask me to marry him, and it depends upon his fortune as to whether I say yes or no. He has been wonderfully silent as to what he is, but if I am good at guessing, I should say that he is a Western silver king—he must be worth twice as many millions as Ray Challoner,” Queenie said to herself.

She had adroitly led up to a proposal of marriage by knowing just what to say, and how to use her subtly sweet voice in uttering the sentiments low and falteringly, to arouse him to a declaration of the tender passion.

Standing there, he was thinking of the gulf which lay between him and this fair young girl whom he had learned to love, and that he should leave her without revealing one word of what was in his heart; but as he turned to her to make some commonplace remark, and suggest returning to the ballroom, she looked so irresistibly sweet and gracious, his heart seemed swept away from him by storm.

He never knew quite how it came about, but he found himself holding her hands crushed close to his bosom, while his white lips murmured:

“This has been a month in my life which will stand out clear and distinct—forever. In it I have tasted the only happiness which I have ever known; nothing will ever be like it to me again. Will you remember me, I wonder, after you have returned home?”

“Why should I not?” she murmured, shyly. “You have helped me to pass the happiest summer I have ever known.”

“Do you really mean that, Miss Trevalyn—Queenie!” he cried, hoarsely, wondering if his ears had not deceived him.

“Yes,” she sighed, glancing down with a tenderness in her tone which she intended that he should not mistake.

“I should not speak the words that are trembling on my lips, but your kindness gives courage to my frightened heart, and I will dare incur your displeasure, perhaps, by uttering them; but you must know, you who are so beautiful that all men love you—you whom to gaze upon is to become lost.”

“I—I do not know what you mean, Mr. Dinsmore,” she murmured, with shy, averted eyes and downcast, blushing[10] face, thinking how different this proposal was to the score of others she had received.

“May I dare tell you? Promise me you will not be very angry,” he said, humbly, “and that you will forgive me.”

But he did not wait for her answer, he dared not pause to think, lest his courage should fail him, but cried huskily:

“Pardon me if I am brusque and abrupt, sweet girl, but the words are forcing themselves like a torrent from my heart to my lips—ah, Heaven, you must have guessed the truth ere this, Queenie! I love you! I love you with a passion so great it is driving me mad. Let me pray my prayer to you, let me kneel at your feet and utter it. Ah, Heaven! words fail me to tell you how dearly I love you, my darling. My life seems to have merged completely into yours. I love you so dearly and well, if you send me from you, you will wreck my life—break my heart. I cast my life as a die upon your yes or no. Look at me, darling, and answer me—will you be my wife, Queenie. For Heaven’s sake say yes and end my agitation and my misery. Is your answer life or death for me, my love?”

CHAPTER II. A WORSHIPER OF WEALTH.

Queenie Trevalyn looked up archly into the handsome, agitated face bending over her, and blushed deeply.

[11]

“Before I answer you, let me remind you that you are quite a stranger to us, Mr. Dinsmore; you have not chosen to make a confidant of any one concerning your personal history—from whence you came, or—or—your standing in the community in which you reside,” she murmured, sweetly.

“I am aware of that fact,” he answered, gloomily, dropping her hands dejectedly, while a heavy sigh trembled over his pale lips. “The truth is, I dreaded telling you, lest I should, perhaps, lose your friendship at first, then, at last, your love; but no! you are too good, too noble, pure and true to let wealth and position weigh—against—love.”

His words gave the girl something like a fright. She had counted upon this handsome, bearded adorer being a man of great wealth. She had even fondly hoped that he might be a prince, traveling in disguise—a personage of superior order. No wonder his words—which seemed to bid fair to scatter these delicious hopes—alarmed the girl whose sole ambition was wealth.

She did not answer; for the first time in her life this girl, who was so witty, versatile and brilliant, was at a loss for words.

“It is but right that you should know who and what I am,” he pursued, slowly. “Indeed, I should have prefaced my declaration of love with that information. I am but a struggling author, Queenie—a man who is fighting hard to make his way in the crowded field of letters to future great achievements. I might have made money in the past had I grasped the opportunities held out to me. I have been of a roving disposition—nomadic in my tastes, eager to see the whole wide world, and give to the people who stay at home glimpses of foreign lands, through my pen.

“I was prodigal with the money I earned from this source. I gave it freely to the poor and needy, who were everywhere about. On the burning sands of Africa, or on the snowy plains of Russia, when I lay down to sleep, with only the sky above me, I was as happy as men who lie down in palaces. I had no care, I was as free from it as the joyous air that blows. I led a happy enough life of it until I came here and met you; from that hour the[12] world has seemed to change for me. I am no longer the careless, happy-go-lucky fellow of a few short weeks ago, leading a merry, Bohemian existence—just as content without money as with it.

“If you will say that there is hope for me I will remedy all that; I will go to work with a will and make something grand and noble out of my life, with the one thought like a guiding star ever before me: The woman I love shall be proud of me. I——”

The sentence never was finished. Glancing up at that moment he caught sight of her face, which she had turned so that the white, bright moonlight fell full upon it.

The scorn on the beautiful face, the anger that blazed in the dark eyes, the contempt the curling lips revealed, appalled him. He had much more to tell her that was important, but the words fairly froze on his lips, and died away unmuttered.

“Hush! not another word,” she cried, quite as soon as she was able to speak, through her intense anger. “You have basely deceived me, as well as every one else. You knew of the current report that you were a man of fabulous wealth and you let it go uncontradicted. You have sailed under false colors to force your way into society. You have cheated and deluded us into believing that you were a gentleman. Being what you are—a nobody—you insult me with your proposal of marriage. Conduct me back to the hotel at once, please.”

His face had grown white as marble—even his lips were colorless. His eyes were dim with a sorrow too intense for words, and his strong hands trembled like aspen leaves in the wind, and his bosom heaved. Her cruel, taunting words had struck home to the very core of his heart, and made a cruel wound there, like the stinging cut of a deadly, poisoned dagger.

There was no mistaking the meaning of her words, she spoke plainly enough. If he had been rich he would have stood a fair chance of winning her. The love of a great, strong, honorable heart did not count with her. Her affection was not for exchange, but for sale. The beautiful girl whom he had thought little less than the angels above was but common clay, a mercenary creature, who weighed[13] gold in the scale against marriage, and whose idea of a gentleman, one of nature’s noblemen, was measured by his wealth. To her a poor man was less than the dust beneath her dainty feet.

“You have heard what I have said, Mr. Dinsmore,” said Queenie Trevalyn, haughtily. “Pray conform with my request by taking me back to the ballroom at once. Were it not for appearances I would leave you and return myself.”

Like one dazed he turned slowly around, setting his miserable face toward the lights and the music, but his overwrought nerves could stand no more, strong man though he was, and without a moan or a cry he fell headlong upon the white sands at her feet—like a hero in a great battle falls when he has received his death wound, crying out: “When love has conquered pride and anger, you may call me back again.”

“Great heavens! what a dilemma!” cried Queenie Trevalyn, angrily. She did not pause a moment to lave his face with the cooling water so near at hand, or to take the trouble to ascertain if his headlong fall had injured him, so intent was she in hurrying away from the spot before a crowd gathered.