"Oh, mamma, you do not know how fondly I love him!" sobbed the daughter, and for a little while there was a painful silence.
Mrs. Fitzgerald was a woman of strong will and high ambition.
She could not forego her plans for Geraldine.
So presently she said, soothingly:
"My darling girl, I know you would not wish to have me break my plighted word. When I was in Europe, at the time when you were two years old, I spent two months at the home of a New York cousin of mine who had married a rich lord. They had a son seven years old—a bright, manly little lad—who fairly worshiped you; and one day his mother said, gayly: 'Leland, why don't you ask little Geraldine to be your wife when she grows up?'
"The pretty blue-eyed boy laughed and knelt down by your side, repeating the question his mother had prompted, and you kissed him and lisped 'yes.'"
"But I was only a baby, mamma. Of course, such a betrothal was not binding," remonstrated Geraldine, though she was touched at the pretty, childish betrothal.
"Wait till I have finished, darling. Lady Putnam, my cousin, smiled at me with tears in her eyes, and said that she hoped that the childish love would endure till they were grown, and that they might indeed marry. I agreed to this, and we solemnly betrothed the children next day, buying a tiny diamond ring on purpose to fit your finger. Little Leland was delighted with his promised bride, and grieved bitterly when we left him and returned to New York."
Geraldine was about to speak, but her mother interrupted:
"Wait, dear, till I have finished the story I began. Then I will listen to your objections."