“No, dearest, I do not,” Geoffrey replied, frankly, then continued: “Pray, do not misunderstand me—do not suppose that I am disturbed by a petty feeling of jealousy, but there are some traits in Mapleson’s character which make me feel that he is not a proper companion or escort for you.”
“Then, Geoff, I will never accept any attention again from him,” Gladys said, quickly. “He has never been very congenial to me in any way, and somehow I have always resented his resemblance to you.”
“Why should you?”
“I do not know—I cannot account for the feeling, but I have always had it. It may be because I have detected something not quite true in him, and did not like to have him look like you on that account, while it almost seems sometimes as if he were usurping a place that rightfully belongs to you.”
“That is impossible, dear, and I am afraid, a sort of morbid fancy,” Geoffrey replied, with gentle reproof. “I have never had such a thought, nor envied him either his high position in the world, or the immense wealth which I have heard will some time be his.”
Gladys raised herself on tiptoe and softly touched her lips to her lover’s cheek.
“How noble you are!” she whispered, “and I’d rather have my Geoff without a penny!”
“You will have your ‘rather,’ then,” the young man returned, laughing, although he fondly returned her caress, “for he hasn’t even a penny that is rightfully his own. But,” he added, drawing himself up resolutely, “that shall not be said of me long—another year, I trust, will find me established in something that need not make me ashamed to take my place among other men.”
“Oh, Geoffrey! who is indulging in morbid fancies now?” queried Gladys, chidingly.
“I do not mean to do so,” he replied, cheerfully, “but I long to begin to do something for myself and for you, my darling. But I must not keep you here—people will be wondering what has become of the fair valedictorian. There!” as steps were heard approaching the door, “I’ll venture that some one is looking for you now.”