“Me? I feel just as usual.”
“But you’re so English, nothing would disturb you.”
Rose laughed aloud. “I should shriek if a digger touched me,” she said.
“But it was almost worth the fright, dear.” Rachel leaned forward confidentially. “First, he put me on his horse, and we forded the river together; then, he took me home and was so kind. I do think you’re such a lucky girl.”
“Me? Why?”
Suddenly Rachel’s manner altered. Bursting into a rippling laugh, she raised her parasol, and skittishly poked Rose in the ribs.
“How very close some people are,” she exclaimed. “But you might as well own the soft impeachment, and then all the girls could congratulate you.”
The thought went through Rose’s mind, that if the good wishes of her acquaintances were like this girl’s perhaps they might well be spared. She was completing her task by ladling the plums from the big pan into the array of jars, and she bent over her work in order to hide her annoyance.
“And I hear he’s so rich,” continued Rachel. “He’s had such wonderful luck on the diggings. Papa says he’s one of the best marks in Timber Town—barring old Mr. Crewe, of course.”
Rose gazed, open-eyed, at her visitor.