After supper Gladys and Geoffrey stole away to a quiet corner, where they could have a little confidential chat before they separated, for each had much to tell the other about school and various other matters.
Geoffrey had been much disturbed inwardly to see how devotedly attentive young Mapleson appeared to Gladys.
He did not bear him any ill-will on account of the hazing to which he had been subjected so long ago, but he instinctively felt that he could not be a very noble-minded man to allow himself to be so controlled by passion as he had been at that time, and Gladys was too precious a treasure to be willingly yielded to one unworthy of her.
He wondered what opinion she had formed of him, and he meant to find out before he left her; and after they had chatted awhile he asked, smilingly:
“Well, Gladys, what do you think of my double?”
“I think it the most remarkable resemblance in the world; but why have you never written us anything about him?” she asked.
“I have had so many other things to write and think about, that I suppose it escaped my memory; besides, I seldom meet Mapleson, as he is not in my class. I am very glad, though, that he does not belong in New York,” Geoffrey concluded, with a wistful glance at his companion.
“Why?”
“Because I fear you might often make the same mistake that you did the other day in the cafe, and—I think I should hardly like to share your favors with him.”
Gladys shot a quick, inquiring glance into the young man’s face, and saw it was clouded.