"Indeed, my dear, I am surprised at you. I shall have to insist on your returning that person's ring," she said, gravely.
Geraldine looked up with a lovely smile.
"Oh, mamma, you cannot think this ring was given to me by Clifford Standish? Oh, no; it was the gift of a lover I left behind me in New York—my promised husband, the noblest lover any girl ever had!" she breathed, enthusiastically.
"Geraldine!"
Surprise and disapproval breathed in the lady's voice.
"May I tell you all about him, mamma?"
"Yes; I'm anxious to hear. And, by the way, are these two the only ones to whom you have promised your hand, or have you any more disclosures to make in that line?"
"Oh, mamma, are you offended with me?" exclaimed Geraldine, alarmed at the sarcastic coldness of her mother's voice.
"I am only surprised, my dear. Go on with your story," Mrs. Fitzgerald returned, quietly.
And, curbing her impatience and disapproval under a mask of calmness, she listened eagerly to Geraldine's story of her love for Harry Hawthorne.