“It would not be a very difficult thing for any man to do, would it?” he asked, trying to smile, yet with a ring of pain in his voice. “Is the family a good one?” “They stand well; they are received in the best society in New York, and I have been told that Mr. Huntress is a wealthy man.” “Well, he has a charming daughter, anyway. I’d like you to win a pretty girl like that for a wife, Everet,” said Mrs. Mapleson, wistfully. “I assure you it would give me a great deal of pleasure to gratify you, _ma chere_,” he responded, his lips curling with a bitter smile, as he thought of how he had tried and failed; then he abruptly changed the subject. “But time is flying, and if we are to be in New York to-night, we must be thinking about trains, while I have some packing to attend to yet.” Mrs. Mapleson signified her readiness to go, and they passed out of the museum and repaired to Everet’s rooms. That evening they were en route to the great metropolis, whence they were to go to Newport. Mrs. Mapleson had arranged to spend the greater portion of the season at this fashionable resort, where she expected to meet some friends, who were also coming from the South. But Everet had other plans for himself. He attended his mother to Newport, saw her comfortably and pleasantly settled there, and then informed her that he was going home to Virginia. She was amazed at this information, and protested indignantly against his departure. “Why, I am a total stranger here, Everet,” she said, “and it is too bad of you to desert me in this unceremonious fashion.” “But the Ainslies and Worthingtons will be here in a day or two, and then you will have plenty of company,” he told her. “But I want you for an escort. I do not like to be left alone.” “Then I’ll try and persuade father to come on, if he is at home when I reach Vue de l’Eau,” Everet returned, but without relenting in the least from his purpose. “But what is your object? It seems inexplicable to me. I supposed, of course, you were going to remain with me,” his mother said, searching his face curiously, and with some anxiety as well. “I have an object, but——” “But you do not wish to tell me what it is,” she interposed. “Everet, you shall! I suspect it is some love affair.” He colored crimson, and then was enraged at himself for doing so. “Well, and what if it is?” he demanded, somewhat defiantly. “Who is there at home in whom you are so deeply interested?” “No one; I am going to trace out that Annie Dale’s history, if you must know. I believe Geoffrey Dale Huntress is in some way connected with her, and,” he burst out excitedly, “I am going to know!” “Nonsense! What good will it do you? Everet,” she added, as a sudden thought came to her, “you are in love with that girl, Gladys Huntress, and you are jealous of _him_.” “Well?”