"Supper's ready!" called Cissy, curtly, from the next room.
"I don't want any, thank you," Geraldine answered, coldly, and, indeed, her excitement ran too high for her to eat.
So Cissy ate her solitary meal in snubbed silence, while the radiant Geraldine entertained her caller, for Clifford Standish soon came, and spent a delightful half-hour, having to tear himself away at the last minute to return to his stage duties. Then she and Cissy patched up a kind of truce, and went together to the play, returning at the close, Cissy silent and disapproving, and Geraldine more determined than ever to go on the stage.
The girls were very distant to each other after that, but Geraldine carried a high head, and clung to her purpose, encouraged by the handsome young actor, who called on her for a short while every evening, and gave her tickets to every performance, declaring that she inspired him to his best work by the rapt gaze of her appreciative eyes as she sat in the audience.
But Cissy would not accompany her friend again to the play, doing all she could in a quiet way to wean her from her infatuation, but in vain.
She thought that Geraldine was weak and vain and silly, and the latter believed that Cissy was jealous of her good fortune. She hoped that she would soon be able to go on the stage, and part from the girl who had grown so selfish and cruel. The breach widened between their once loving hearts, and neither tried to bridge it over by a kind, forgiving word.
Toward the end of the week, Geraldine said, coldly:
"I am not going to work to-morrow morning, Cissy. I asked for a day's holiday before I left the store yesterday."
"Why?" asked Cissy, curiously.
"Mr. Standish has invited me to go with him on an excursion to Newburgh to witness the firemen's parade there. The firemen are having a grand celebration, you know, with splendid music, a grand parade, and all sorts of firemen's games. I wish you were going, too, Cissy!" wistfully.