They danced together several times, and he managed to secure her company during supper, while afterward they had a social chat in Mrs. Brevort’s charming little picture-gallery, where there were several works of rare value. But the only picture which Everet Mapleson seemed to consider worthy of his regard was an exquisite face, framed in lustrous brown hair, with the bluest eyes that he had ever seen, and whose every expression only served to wind the silken chain of his bondage, the chain of love, more closely about him. Gladys, on her part, was strangely moved by the young man’s presence. He was Geoffrey and yet he was not. Several times she almost forgot herself and was on the point of addressing him in the old familiar way which she had always adopted toward her father’s _protege_, and only restrained herself in season to prevent herself from appearing bold and forward. Everet Mapleson found her eyes fixed upon him with great earnestness several times, and he knew that she was measuring him by her estimate of Geoffrey Huntress. It nettled him exceedingly, for he was only too conscious of his own inferiority. “Well, Miss Huntress, are you, like many others, trying to solve within yourself the mystery of my resemblance to your cousin, that you observe me so closely,” he asked, with an amused smile, upon finding her gaze riveted upon his face instead of the picture before which they were standing. Gladys blushed slightly. “I shall have to plead guilty, Mr. Mapleson,” she confessed. “I trust you will excuse me if I have appeared rude, but, really, to me it seems the strangest thing imaginable.” “It is, indeed,” he said, and added to himself: “and dusedly uncomfortable to _me_, too.” “I wonder if you are not in some way related,” Gladys said, musingly, and more to herself than to him. Everet Mapleson’s face darkened. “I do not think so,” he answered, curtly. “He is a Northerner—I was born at the South. _My_ father is a Southern _gentleman_, and has always resided near Richmond, Virginia, excepting during the war, when he was in the field or camp most of the time, and a year or two that he spent traveling in Europe.” Gladys was conscious of a slight feeling of resentment toward her companion during this speech. The emphasis which he had, perhaps unconsciously, expended upon his personal pronouns, and the fact of his father being a “Southern gentleman,” implied a sense of superiority which grated harshly upon her ear. “Is your mother also a native of the South?” she asked. “Oh, yes; and my mother is a most magnificent woman, too, Miss Huntress,” the young man returned, with a kindling face. Gladys’ heart softened a trifle toward him at this. If he loved his mother like that there must be some good in him, she thought. “Have you brothers and sisters?” she inquired. “No, I am the only child. I was born within a year after my parents’ marriage, and there have been no other children.” “Do you resemble your father or mother?”