“No,” he said, “I was so wretched and angry that I never thought to ask his name. When the servant told me he was gone, I turned on my heel and walked out of the house and have been walking ever since, trying to recover my composure.”
“That was an oversight, dear,” said his betrothed, gently; “you should have secured his name and address.”
“You are right; I will go back immediately and ascertain it.”
“Oh, Geoffrey, perhaps it will be better for you to leave it all just here,” the fair girl urged. “‘Where ignorance is bliss’—you know the rest.”
“But I know too much already; I can never rest until I sift this matter to the very bottom. Could you, darling? If you were not Uncle August’s own child, and knew there was some mystery connected with your birth, would you be satisfied until you knew the truth?”
“No, Geoff, I don’t believe I should,” Gladys replied, thoughtfully, “and—I know that such a discovery would make me very unhappy,” she concluded, with starting tears.
Geoffrey stooped and kissed her fondly, then turned abruptly and left the room.
The young girl sighed wearily as she slowly followed him.
“I am afraid there is trouble in store for him, for my heart is heavy with forebodings,” she murmured.
Half an hour later, Geoffrey returned, and there was now a savage glitter in his eyes, although his face was pale and full of pain.