"Mother, mother, I beg your pardon for interrupting--but--but--you said the girl's name was Geraldine," exclaimed the young man, starting to his feet and betraying for the first time an interest in the subject. The utterance of that dear and beloved name--Geraldine--had touched a vibrating chord in his sore heart, and he waited in breathless eagerness for her reply. Lady Putnam, not understanding his fiery impatience, replied, placidly: "Had you, indeed, forgotten the very name of your dainty little American sweetheart, Leland? Yes, it was Geraldine--Geraldine Harding." "Oh, Heaven!" and Lord Putnam sank back to his seat the picture of surprise. Here was a romance indeed! It was, it must be, his own loved Geraldine of whom his mother was telling him. They had been betrothed from their very childhood, he and pretty Geraldine. How sweet was the thought! No wonder their hearts had leaped to greet each other the first moment of their meeting in New York. But the thought of the mystery that surrounded her fate now forced a hollow groan from his lips. "What is it, my son? You are not ill?" exclaimed Lady Putnam, in alarm. "No, no; it was only a passing twinge of pain. Do not mind me, but go on, if you have any more to tell. But perhaps your story is finished." "No, indeed, for the best part is to come," smiled the lady. "The best part," he repeated, incredulously. "Yes, for I have a letter from Florence Fitzgerald, my cousin--the first letter in several years. I told you, did I not, that since her second marriage she has lived in Chicago--that great Western city where they held that wonderful World's Fair, you know, Leland." "Yes, I know. I was there." "Well, this letter from Chicago contains both good and bad news. Florence has lost her good and kind husband, and found her missing daughter." "Found her daughter! Found Geraldine Harding!" cried the young man, springing to his feet, in wild excitement. "Yes, or Geraldine Fitzgerald, as she calls her now. And, Leland, she will be a great heiress, for her mother's large private fortune will be given to her eldest daughter, as her second husband left her millions of money and a perfect palace of a home on Prairie avenue, the grandest location in the city." She paused again in alarm, for this time her son had fallen back in his chair, his face death-white, his eyes half-closed. Her words had been such a revelation to him that the joy of it all overcame him. He remembered instantly the day he had seen the beautiful girl getting into the carriage before the artist's studio. He had cried out that he knew her, but Ralph Washburn had said it was Miss Fitzgerald, a great heiress. So he supposed himself mistaken, and the cruel disappointment had made him actually ill. But now he knew that it was no mistake. It was Geraldine herself that he had seen--dear, beautiful Geraldine, his own betrothed, his heart's darling.