She put on her dress with trembling fingers, crying:
"Oh, help me, Cissy, I'm so nervous—and—and tired, you know."
"Poor child! no wonder. And troubled, too, perhaps, for maybe you—loved that Standish!"
"Oh, no, no—never, Cissy!"
"Oh, I'm so glad, for that would have broken poor Hawthorne's tender heart, he loves you so much. And you, dear—didn't you care for him a little, too?"
Geraldine was all blushing, blissful confusion.
"I—I—you know how that was, Cissy. I liked him—just a little—at first, but when he did not come that night, or after"—she broke down, sobbing under her breath.
"Oh, Geraldine, he could not—he was hurt you know—and Standish intercepted his letter of explanation. But I mustn't rattle on like this, or I'll leave nothing for Hawthorne to tell you himself."
Geraldine looked at her with a glorified face.
"Oh, Cissy! Shall I see him soon?"