“You have conceived the idea that Annie Dale disappeared because of some wrong that she had done, and that this Geoffrey Huntress may be her child, and not of honorable birth. You believe, if you can prove this, that Miss Huntress will never marry him, and you will then be able to win her.” Mrs. Mapleson had said this looking straight into her son’s eyes, and seeming to read his soul like an open book. “Mother, your penetration is something remarkable. I could almost believe you to be a mind-reader,” he replied half guiltily. Then, after a moment of thought, he continued, excitedly: “Yes, I may as well confess it—I am madly in love with Gladys Huntress, and have been for more than a year. I have vowed that I will win her if it can be accomplished, even though I know that she loves this fellow, who has been nothing but a stumbling-block in my path since the day I first met him. I am going to Richmond, as you surmise, to trace Annie Dale’s history from the time of her disappearance, and I fully believe that I shall discover that this Geoffrey Dale is her son. If he is a child of shame, I do not believe that Gladys Huntress will marry him, and I may yet be happy.” Mrs. Mapleson looked deeply troubled over this confession. “Everet,” she said, gravely, “I am afraid that you are building upon a false foundation, and your hopes will come to naught. If this girl truly loves that young man, and he is worthy of her, she will marry him, or I am very much mistaken in my estimate of her character.” Everet Mapleson’s brow darkened. “I am going home, anyhow,” he said, doggedly. “It will be a wild-goose chase, I warn you,” returned his mother. “I cannot help it. I shall go mad if I sit idly down, and Gladys is lost to me forever,” he retorted, with quivering lips. Mrs. Mapleson seemed very unhappy. She loved her son as she loved no one else in the world, and she could not bear to think that he had learned to love unwisely, and was risking his future happiness in pursuit of an _ignis fatuus_. She did not believe he would ever win Gladys Huntress. The young girl’s face had haunted her ever since she had seen her with her lover, in the museum at Yale, and she knew, by the way she had looked up into Geoffrey’s eyes, that she loved him with her whole soul, and that no dishonor, save that of his own making, would ever alienate her from him. “Oh, Everet, pray give up this foolish infatuation,” she pleaded, laying her hand beseechingly on his arm. “Foolish infatuation, indeed!” he retorted, with an angry flush. “What can you know about it—you who never knew what it was to love a man as I love this peerless girl?” Mrs. Mapleson crimsoned to her brow, then grew white as the snowy lace about her neck; her lips quivered painfully, and hot tears rushed to her eyes. “Are you not somewhat harsh in your judgment of me, Everet? Surely, whatever else you may say of me, you cannot accuse me of lacking in affection for my son,” she said, sadly and tremulously.