“No, dear, for your sake as well as my own, I will do nothing to make myself disagreeably conspicuous. But he will not forget if I find my suspicions are true. You will say nothing to Uncle August or Aunt Alice regarding this encounter, please, until after I have seen him.” “No, certainly not, if you prefer I should not tell them,” Gladys readily promised. They turned to retrace their way to the hotel, both too much disturbed by the occurrence of the morning and by forebodings regarding the afternoon’s appointment, to care to prolong their stroll. They parted at the ladies entrance, Gladys going up stairs to her mother’s apartments, where she tried to busy herself with some fancy work until lunch time, although her heart was in a continual flutter of apprehension and miserable suspense. Geoffrey shut himself up in his own room, alone, for a season, but was too wretched to remain there inactive, and soon went out again. When the family went down to luncheon he was still absent, and his seat vacant. This was such an unprecedented occurrence that Mr. Huntress left the table to ascertain the reason. He soon returned with the information that Geoffrey had gone out, but had left word with the clerk, in case inquiries should be made for him, that he might not be back for several hours. Mrs. Huntress glanced at Gladys as her husband made this report, but she gave no sign of either surprise or disappointment. She had noticed an unusual reserve and quietness about her, ever since her return from her walk, and a suspicion crossed her mind that perhaps there might be some misunderstanding or lover’s quarrel, that had caused this unwonted break in the family party. She kept her suspicions to herself, however, resolving to await further developments. It was after six o’clock when Geoffrey returned. Gladys was watching for him, at one end of the veranda, and sprang from the chair to go to meet him, as he came up the steps and then stopped short as she caught sight of his face. It was as colorless as marble, and there was a look in his eye that actually made her tremble. He did not speak, or even smile, as he came up to her, but quietly drew her hand through his arm, led her within the house, and to a small reception-room, carefully shutting the door behind them. Then he turned again and faced her. “Gladys,” he said, in a hollow, unnatural tone, “it is as I feared——” “Geoffrey!” she cried, in a shocked voice, all her own bright color fading. “The worst is true,” he concluded, not heeding her interruption. “Have you seen him?—did he tell you so?” she asked. “No, I have not seen him.” “Then how do you know?” “He has fled.” “Fled?” “Yes. I went to the ‘United States’ at five this afternoon. I called a servant to show me the way to room number forty-five, and was told that the gentleman who had occupied it left at twelve to-day.” “How very strange!” said Gladys, astonished.