He lingered until the clock on the mantel struck ten; then he rose and took his departure.
To Gerelda's great chagrin, he made no offer to kiss her good-night at parting.
It was plainly evident that he wished her to understand that they were on a different footing from what they were on that memorable night when they were parted so strangely from each other.
When his footsteps had died away, Gerelda flung herself face downward on the divan, sobbing as if her heart would break; and in this position, a few minutes later, her mother surprised her.
"Why, Gerelda!" she cried. "I am shocked! What can this mean? It can not be that you and your lover have had a quarrel the very hour in which you have been restored to each other! Surely, there is no lingering doubt in his heart now, that you eloped!"
Gerelda eagerly seized upon this idea.
"There seems to be, mother," she sobbed.
Mrs. Northrup drew a cushioned chair close beside her daughter, and drew the dark, curly head into her arms.
"You must make a confidante of me, my darling, and tell me all he said," she declared. "I was quite amazed to hear the servants say that he had gone so early. I expected to be summoned every moment, to learn that your impatient lover had sent out for a minister to perform the delayed ceremony."
Gerelda raised her tear-stained face and looked at her mother.