He rose as if to go, walked to the door as if in anger, then relented, and stood looking back with intense eyes that compelled her to look at him deprecatingly. Having gained this point, he said, gently: "We are going on the road with our company in one week, and as our soubrette can stay with us a few days longer, I'll give you three days to make up your mind whether you will take the place or not. For who knows but that you will change your mind again?" and still smiling kindly at her, he quoted: "'Tis helpless woman's right divine, Her dearest right--Caprice!" "Please go now," she answered, burying her face in her hands. "I am going now, but I shall come back to-morrow evening, and hope to find you in a brighter mood," he answered, going out softly and closing the door. He had purposely refrained from speaking of Harry Hawthorne, but he guessed well that it was he who had influenced her against the stage. "Curse his meddling! But it shall avail him nothing. I shall conquer in the end. I have sworn to make her mine, and mine she shall be, the coquettish little darling," he muttered, resolutely. The days came and went, while Geraldine waited patiently for the coming of Harry Hawthorne--waited all in vain, for he continued very ill at the hospital, and the note he had dictated to a nurse acquainting her with his accident she never received. It had fallen into the hands of his triumphant rival, Standish, who kept it hidden safely from that yearning young heart. CHAPTER IX. THE ACTOR MAKES HAY WHILE THE SUN SHINES. "Go! let me pray, pray to forget thee! Woe worth the day, false one, I met thee! Ever till then, careless and free, love, Never again thus shall I be, love. Through my soul's sleep thine the voice breaking, Long shall I weep, weep its awaking, Weep for the day when first I met thee, Then let me pray, pray to forget thee!" Two more days passed by, and still Geraldine heard nothing of Harry Hawthorne. "Is it not strange--the way he has acted?" she said, at last, to Cissy, who answered: "Yes; he has behaved so shabbily that you ought to put him out of your thoughts, dear." "Oh, Cissy, do you believe that he never meant to come? That he was unworthy?" almost piteously. "I'm afraid so, Geraldine, for even if something had happened to keep him away that evening, he has had ample time to explain and apologize since then; but he has not done so, and it looks as if he was a sad flirt, and only amused himself with you for the time, without giving you another thought since he left you." Cissy believed what she said, and meant only kindness, but her frank words quivered like a thorn in Geraldine's heart. Oh, how could she think of him as an unprincipled flirt, awakening an interest in a young girl's heart only for his own amusement? But still she knew that such men existed, and that many broken hearts lay at their door.