Mrs. Fitzgerald protested that she was not able to see any one, and excused herself to Cissy, who hurried down to the caller.
We have read in a former chapter of the result of that interview, so we will follow Cissy, after his departure, back to the presence of Mrs. Fitzgerald.
"I fear I shall have to return to New York in a few days," she remarked, feeling that delicacy would suggest her leaving after Geraldine's strange desertion.
But Mrs. Fitzgerald raised an indignant protest.
"No, Cissy, you must not go. I have grown very fond of you, and why should you not remain with me?"
Cissy thanked her for her cordiality, but said, blushingly, that she must go back to work. She was to be married in the spring, and she must earn her wedding clothes.
"Married? Oh, dear! And to the gentleman who was calling just now, I suppose?"
"Yes, madame," owned Cissy, with the loveliest rose glowing on her soft cheeks.
"Tell me all about it!" cried the lady, kindly.
Cissy thought that this would involve too long a story, so she said, simply, that she and Mr. Clemens had been engaged years before, and had quarreled and parted. Now they had made it up again, and she had promised to marry him in the spring.
"I have a charming thought," cried the lady. "You shall not return to New York. Stay with me as my companion and friend, and be married here."
"My dear lady, you are too kind--but it would be impossible. There is my trousseau to be thought of, you know."
"Certainly, child. I was thinking of that. Leave it to me to provide the trousseau as my wedding gift to you. What? Too proud? Why, aren't you to be my companion? And, of course, I shall owe you as much as you could earn at O'Neill's--and more," softly. "My dear girl, don't refuse. Think how unhappy I am, and what a comfort you can be to me."
Cissy saw that the offer was affectionate and earnest, and came from the depths of a noble heart, so she accepted it most gladly.
The days came and went, until it was almost two weeks since Geraldine's elopement.
They had looked every day for a letter from her, telling them where she was, and perhaps pleading for pardon, and to be permitted to see her mother again.
But not a line was received from the truant.
"She is cruel, heartless! her father's child, not mine," cried poor Mrs. Fitzgerald, trying to steel her heart against the truant.