"Reprove me not that still I change
With every passing hour,
For glorious nature gives me leave,
In wave and cloud and flower.
And you and all the world would do—
It all but dared—the same;
True to myself—if false to you
Why should I reck your blame?"
It made Clifford Standish secretly furious to see how near he had come to losing the charming little beauty on whom he had set his burning heart, and of whom he had felt so sure but a few days ago.
Her pale and pensive looks, her drooping eyes, her pathetic red mouth, all told that her heart was far away, and in his heart he cursed himself for inviting her to go on that fateful excursion to Newburgh, by which he had almost lost her forever.
But he had one chance now to retrieve his misstep, and he set about improving it.
"Well, I will tell you the promised good news!" he exclaimed. "I have at last secured you the wished-for position in my company."
"Oh!" cried Geraldine, starting, and clasping her little hands convulsively together.
But the exclamation was one of dismay rather than of joy.
His quick ear detected it, but he pretended to misapprehend her, and continued:
"I knew you would be delighted to hear it."
"Ye-es," she faltered, weakly; then bracing herself to escape the engagement. "But—but—perhaps I ought not to go on the stage. Cissy is opposed to it."