“A confession?” repeated Mr. Huntress, looking up quickly and anxiously. “Surely, Geoff, you haven’t been getting into any trouble at college?”
“No, sir; what I have to tell you, you may regard as far more serious than any college scrape—it may alienate your affection for me far more, but——”
“Out with it, Geoff, don’t beat about the bush; I fancy you won’t find me very obdurate, no matter what you have done,” Mr. Huntress interrupted, although he believed Geoffrey was making a mountain out of some molehill.
“I will, sir; confession is the only honorable course open to me, and yet if I offend you I shall dread to look my future in the face.”
“Good heavens, Geoffrey! you begin to frighten me; speak out—what have you been doing that is so dreadful?” exclaimed his friend, now looking thoroughly alarmed.
“I have dared to—love Gladys, sir.”
“You have dared to love Gladys! Well, of course, who could help it?” said August Huntress, his astonishment increasing, and not, on the instant, comprehending the full import of the words.
“But—but—Uncle August, you do not understand; I love her as a man loves the woman whom he wishes to make his wife,” said Geoffrey, with a very pale face, for the die was cast now, and he waited the result with fear and trembling.
“Humph! and this is your confession?”
“Yes, sir; I hope you will not regard me as a viper that turns and stings the hand that nourishes it,” the young man pleaded, with emotion.