A tall, slender, perfect form, clad in a bewitching suit of modest gray, stood before him. Her small head was proudly poised on a pair of graceful shoulders, and crowned with a jaunty turban of gray velvet in which there gleamed a scarlet feather. The face was delicate in outline, with lovely features and a complexion of pure white and rose. Her eyes of dark blue were lighted with surprise and gladness, her lips wreathed with a tender smile of welcome which parted them just enough to reveal the small, milk-white teeth between. A look of admiration shot into the young man’s eyes, and then they began to gleam with amusement. He raised his hat with all the gallantry of which he was master, and bowed low, as he replied: “You have made a slight mistake, lady. I do not answer to the name by which you have addressed me, although I might be tempted to do so, perhaps, if I could thereby secure the pleasure of your acquaintance. Allow me,” he concluded, drawing a card from his pocket-book, and respectfully presenting it to her. At the first sound of his voice Gladys was conscious that she had made a dreadful blunder, and she was instantly covered with confusion. She knew at once that this man could not be Geoffrey, and yet who was he? So like him in face and form, with his very eyes and hair, and that familiar way of throwing up his head when suddenly addressed! “Everet Mapleson, Richmond, Virginia,” she read upon the card that he had given her, and instantly the startled thought shot through her mind: “Can it be possible that he and Geoffrey are related?” “I beg your pardon, Mr. Mapleson,” she said, recovering herself somewhat, while she searched his face for something by which she could distinguish him from Geoffrey. “I perceive that I have made a mistake, but you so strangely resemble my—Mr. Geoffrey Huntress that I mistook you for him.” She had been about to say “my brother,” but suddenly checked herself, for, since Geoffrey had shown so much of his heart to her and she had begun to analyze her own feelings toward him, she had been very shy about calling him brother. “Ah! Mr. Geoffrey Huntress,” repeated Everet Mapleson, with a quick flash from his eyes, while his keen mind at once made a shrewd guess, and argued therefrom that this beautiful girl must be either the sister or the cousin of his enemy. “I have met that gentleman, for I also am a student at Yale,” he continued, “and—pardon my boldness—I presume I now have the pleasure of meeting his sister, Miss Huntress.” “No, I am not his sister, Mr. Mapleson,” Gladys replied, her color coming and going in soft, little sunrise flushes, “but we are members of the same family, and I am Miss Huntress.”