“How is your friend this morning?”
“Addie? poor child! she is laid up with a wretched headache; the dancing and excitement were too much for her. Mrs. Loring was obliged to go out early to her dressmaker, and as Addie is compelled to keep very quiet in a darkened room, I was having quite a solitary time of it when you were announced,” Gladys explained.
Geoffrey was secretly delighted at this, although sorry for Miss Loring’s indisposition.
The coast was clear, so to speak, for him, and yet, now that everything seemed so propitious for his suit, he almost feared to put his fate to the test.
“I regret your friend’s illness,” he said, “but you are as bright and fresh as if you had not lost an hour of sleep.”
“Yes, I do not feel in the least wearied,” Gladys returned, “and I had a most delightful time. But the best of all was to have you here, Geoff. I began to fear my evening was to be spoiled, you were so late.”
“Was my presence so necessary to your enjoyment?” the young man earnestly questioned, a quick flush rising to his brow, as he searched her lovely face.
“Indeed it was; I had set my heart upon having you here—it was almost my first appearance in society, you know. How did I behave, Geoffrey?—like a novice?” Gladys asked, archly.
“No, indeed; you were quite the woman of the world, and entertained your admirers as composedly as if you had been accustomed to such homage for many a season. Do you imagine that you would enjoy a fashionable life, Gladys?”
“I think I would enjoy social life, to a certain extent, but I would not care to devote all my time to keeping up style, or to live in a fashionable whirl continually,” she replied, thoughtfully.