Young Mapleson flushed an angry red the first time they met in the class, and returned Geoffrey’s courteous greeting with a haughty, supercilious nod. They had not met until then since the evening of Mrs. Loring’s reception, and the present year did not promise anything very pleasant in the fact that they would be members of the same class. During these two years Everet Mapleson had seen considerable of Gladys, for he had resolved that he would cultivate her acquaintance upon every possible occasion. During his long vacations he had managed to follow the Huntresses to the sea-shore or mountains, where, mingling in the same circles, they had been thrown much together. His shorter recesses always found the young Southerner in New York city, where, being a favorite in society, besides diligently cultivating Miss Loring’s acquaintance, he managed to see a good deal of the beautiful girl upon whom he had set his affections. But as yet he had not succeeded in establishing himself upon very intimate terms with her. Gladys always treated him courteously and in a friendly way, but still managed to hold him at a distance, and he had, as yet, never presumed to address one word of love to her. It chafed him that he had not been able to do so. It galled him to think that he could not conquer her unvarying reserve, and make her yield to the fascinations that had never failed to win wherever he had made up his mind to win. He still cherished his secret hatred for Geoffrey, and was always on the alert for some way to vent it upon him; but no opportunity had presented itself, and he was forced to conceal his feelings as best he could. He had tried several times, when in New York, to find the flower-woman, Margery. Indeed he never passed a flower-stand now without peering beneath the hat or bonnet of the vender in search of that sorrowful and wrinkled visage. But he had never seen it since that first time on Broadway, and he began to fear that she was dead, and thus he would never be able to learn the secret of Geoffrey Huntress’ early life. The first of April drew near. There were now only about three months before commencement at Yale, and every ambitious senior was doing his best to acquit himself honorably. Geoffrey, however, had not been obliged to work nearly so hard this year as during the two previous ones; those had been the test of his course, and he had strained every nerve. It had been a little doubtful at the close of his last year about his entering the senior class. The professors, fearing for his health, had advised him to relinquish his purpose to do so. Mrs. Huntress, too, was anxious about him, for he had been losing flesh and color for several months, but Geoffrey very quietly remarked, in the presence of the professors, that he would do his best during the summer vacation to prepare for his examinations for the senior class, and if he failed in them he would cheerfully remain the extra year.