Cissy Carroll made big eyes of surprise at Geraldine's charge.
"Married Daisy Odell? Harry Hawthorne? Why, certainly not! Whatever put such an idea into your dear little noddle?" she demanded, in wonder.
"Mr. Standish told me so before we came back to New York. He said he had an invitation to the wedding. And isn't Daisy married to him, after all? Oh, Cissy, don't try to deceive me, for I saw her—saw her in the box all in white—so bride-like—and Harry Hawthorne leaning over her chair," exclaimed Geraldine, clutching the other's arm with unconscious violence, her beautiful eyes dilated with doubt and entreaty.
"My darling Gerry, don't pinch me black and blue, please, and don't get so excited. Yes, Daisy Odell is certainly married."
"Oh-h-h!" groaned Geraldine, in anguish.
"She is married," pursued Cissy, "and married to one of the dearest fellows in the world, she says—Charlie Butler—but not to Harry Hawthorne. Why, I don't believe he wants to marry any one in the world but you!"
"Me—Cissy!" and Geraldine's face, so lugubrious a moment before, grew radiant with joy, while the girl continued:
"That wretch, Clifford Standish, has told you falsehoods about Mr. Hawthorne, dear, for he never thought of loving any one but you. Didn't you see him with me in the box to-night? I am the only girl he ever goes with, and that is just for your sake, dear, because I was your friend."
"Oh, Cissy!"
Such joy as there was in those two words, for new life came to Geraldine in the assurance that Hawthorne was free, and loved her still.