“Do you think that Gladys cares for me?” Geoffrey asked, eagerly. “Go and find out for yourself. I’m not going to betray any of Gladys’ secrets,” Mr. Huntress retorted, with an assumption of loyalty, but with such a mischievous gleam in his eyes, that Geoffrey set off for New York with a strangely light heart. CHAPTER XV. A DECLARATION. Arriving at Mr. Loring’s, Geoffrey sent his name up to the young ladies, and a few minutes later Gladys came down alone. How his heart bounded as she came tripping into the room, looking as fresh and lovely as the morning itself. She was dressed in a morning robe of white flannel, relieved by quilted facings of pale blue silk, and fastened at the waist with a cascade of ribbons of the same hue. Her hair was carelessly knotted at the back of her head, where it was pinned with a small shepherd’s crook of silver, while a few light rings clustered lovingly about her forehead. In spite of the dissipation of the previous evening, her eyes were bright as stars, her cheeks flushed, and her manner animated. “Dear old Geoff,” she cried, springing forward with a glad smile to meet him, “I imagined you were on your way back to New Haven, to bury yourself in Greek verbs and Latin nouns! What good fairy has sent you here instead?” “Love!” was on Geoffrey’s lips as he gathered both her hands in his, but he restrained the word, and replied: “Oh, I wanted to have a little talk with Uncle August, and so concluded to remain over another day. I have come to act as your escort home.” “How good of you! I was dreading to go alone.” “How is your friend this morning?” “Addie? poor child! she is laid up with a wretched headache; the dancing and excitement were too much for her. Mrs. Loring was obliged to go out early to her dressmaker, and as Addie is compelled to keep very quiet in a darkened room, I was having quite a solitary time of it when you were announced,” Gladys explained. Geoffrey was secretly delighted at this, although sorry for Miss Loring’s indisposition. The coast was clear, so to speak, for him, and yet, now that everything seemed so propitious for his suit, he almost feared to put his fate to the test. “I regret your friend’s illness,” he said, “but you are as bright and fresh as if you had not lost an hour of sleep.” “Yes, I do not feel in the least wearied,” Gladys returned, “and I had a most delightful time. But the best of all was to have you here, Geoff. I began to fear my evening was to be spoiled, you were so late.” “Was my presence so necessary to your enjoyment?” the young man earnestly questioned, a quick flush rising to his brow, as he searched her lovely face. “Indeed it was; I had set my heart upon having you here—it was almost my first appearance in society, you know. How did I behave, Geoffrey?—like a novice?” Gladys asked, archly.