“There can be but one reason for such a persistent refusal, such a decided answer,” he said, in a low, concentrated tone; “you have given the wealth of your love to another!” Even by the dim light of the moon which came struggling in upon them through the network of vines upon the balcony, he could see the vivid color which shot up over her cheek and brow, and dyed even the fair shoulders, beneath their gauzy covering, at this direct charge. He grew pale as death. “It is true! I know it must be true!” he said, in the tones of one who has suddenly been calmed or benumbed by a terrible shock. “You never could have resisted an appeal like mine,” he went on, between his tightly shut teeth, “if it were not so. Tell me,” he continued, growing excited again, “is it so? have I guessed rightly?” There was so much of concentrated passion in his voice, and such an authoritative ring in his tone, that it aroused something of resentment and antagonism in Gladys’ heart, in spite of her sympathy for him. She turned and faced him, standing straight and tall and calm before him. “You have no right to speak in this way to me, Mr. Mapleson,” she said, with quiet dignity, “and I am under no obligation to explain why I do not favor your suit. The chief reason in any such case, I think, is that persons are not congenial to each other.” “Do you mean to tell me that I am not congenial to you, Miss Huntress?” the young man interrupted, almost fiercely. “You have it in your power to be a very pleasant friend, Mr. Mapleson; but more than that you could never be to me under any circumstances,” Gladys answered, coldly. Her tone more than her words drove him almost to despair. “Tell me, is it because you love another?” he persisted. “I could not truthfully give that as _the_ reason.” “That does not answer me. _Do you love_ some one else?” “Yes,” answered the beautiful girl, briefly and proudly. “Are you betrothed?” Gladys lifted her head haughtily. “Mr. Mapleson,” she said, “I question your right to interrogate me in this authoritative manner, but if a plain answer will convince you that there can be no change in my decision, I am willing to acknowledge to you that I am pledged to another.” “To Geoffrey Huntress?” Everet Mapleson demanded, hoarsely. “Yes, to Geoffrey,” she repeated, with a tender intonation of the name that betrayed how dear it was to her. At this confession the young man dropped the hand that he had clung to in spite of her efforts to release it, as if it had been a coal of fire, all the evil in his nature aroused by this triumph of his enemy over him. “That low-born beggar!” he hissed. “Sir!” He shrank for an instant beneath the word as if she had smitten him. Then his passion swept all before it once more.