Gladys’ first impulse, upon beholding her lover, was to spring toward him, denounce the man who had so insulted her and him, and demand to be conduced from his presence.
But her judgement told her that this would be very unwise; there must be no scene in that public place; there must be no quarrel between these two men, and perhaps it would be better that Geoffrey should never know that Everet Mapleson held the secret of his birth. She knew that he would never rest until he had wrung it from him, and that, she believed, would never be done without bitter feelings, and perhaps strife.
So, with a mighty effort, she controlled herself, drew her cloak about her shoulders to hide the heaving of her bosom, as she arose and turned a smiling, though still pale face, toward her lover.
“You have come, Geoffrey; I am very glad. You will recognize an old classmate in Mr. Mapleson,” she said, as she moved her chair farther into the shadow of the draperies and made room for Geoffrey between herself and her other companion.
Everet regarded the girl with wondering admiration. He knew that she was laboring under intense excitement, and that it required no light effort on her part to conceal it. He understood her motives—that she wished to avoid a quarrel and a scene, and he thought her tact inimitable.
Geoffrey greeted his former college-mate courteously, which greeting Mapleson returned with a cold, rather supercilious bow. He was always conscious of his own moral inferiority when in Geoffrey’s presence, and the feeling galled him excessively.
Geoffrey saw at once, in spite of Gladys’ efforts to conceal it, that something had gone wrong with her, and he rightly guessed that Everet Mapleson had been the cause of it. He gently seated her, and then placed himself beside her, while Mr. Loring and his daughter returned at that moment, and the party settled themselves very comfortably for the remainder of the evening.
Everet devoted himself exclusively to Miss Loring, much to that young lady’s secret delight; her father gave his attention entirely to the stage, thus leaving Geoffrey and Gladys to themselves.
“What is it, dear? what has troubled you?” Geoffrey asked, bending tenderly toward his betrothed, as he became more conscious of the difficulty she was laboring under to retain her composure.
Gladys stole one little hand confidingly into his, under cover of her opera cloak.