More than this, numerous floral tributes were borne forward and laid at her feet. These she acknowledged with blush, and smile, and bow; but when at the very last an exquisite bouquet of lilies of the valley followed the more pretentious offerings, she eagerly stretched forth her white-gloved hand and took it from the bearer. They were her favorite flowers, and she knew that Geoffrey had sent them, even without the evidence of the tiny note that lay twisted in their midst and concealed from every eye but hers. Everet Mapleson’s card was attached to an elaborate basket of japonicas, roses, and heliotrope. Mr. Huntress had sent up a harp of pansies and smilax, and two or three of Gladys’ admiring classmates had contributed lovely bouquets, but her little bunch of lilies, tied with snow-white ribbon, was prized above them all. It was all over at last; diplomas were presented, the usual remarks made and advice given, and then admiring friends crowded about to offer congratulations and express their pride and pleasure in their loved ones. In the midst of this confusion Gladys stepped aside a moment to ascertain what her little billet contained. “My darling,” she read. “I would not have missed this hour to have secured a fortune, and yet I came very near it. I will be in the reception-room below after the exercises are over. Come and receive my verdict there. GEOFF.” CHAPTER XVII. A DISAPPOINTED LOVER. Gladys stole away from the crowd as soon as she could do so without attracting attention, and sped down to the reception-room to find her lover. He was there and alone, fortunately, as nearly all the guests were still in the hall above, and his face lighted with a luminous smile as she sprang toward him, gladness beaming through every feature. “Dear old Geoff!” “My darling!” was all the salutation that passed between them, and then for an instant Gladys was folded close to her lover’s breast in a fond embrace. “Oh, Geoff, I thought you had not come; I never got a glimpse of you until almost the last minute, and was so disappointed that I was about ready to break down,” Gladys said, with a little nervous shiver, as she remembered how nearly her courage had failed her. “I was late, dear, and I knew you would feel it; but I do not believe you would have failed even if you had not seen me at all,” he answered, as he fondly smoothed back the clustering rings of hair from her throbbing temples. “No, I do not think I should, really; but I could not have done as well; it was like a sudden inspiration to me when I found you at last.” “Then I am thankful I was here, dear, for your effort was the grand event of the day,” Geoffrey said, smiling. “You are very good to say so, Geoff,” Gladys replied, modestly.