“I am, in my own time and way.”
“Does your own time and way include letting Rosalie work the rest of the season?”
“Perhaps,” said Betsy tersely. “You mustn’t interfere, Mr. Irving. You’ll only do harm.”
Irving gave an exclamation. “There is one thing I can do: go away to-morrow. I’m not going to stay here and watch it.”
“But Mrs. Bruce—” began Betsy, troubled.
“Can do as she pleases,” put in Irving. “I’ll go to Yellowstone Lake and fish till she gets ready to follow.”
“Oh, oh, oh! Mr. Irving!”
The exclamation was of joy, for in the earnestness of their talk Betsy had not noticed the preliminary spurts of water, and now the splendid captive stream burst its bonds and gushed skyward in the moonlight. Its banners of spray hung and floated cloud-like in the breeze; and while they gazed, all at once the pure white flushed to rose, then changed to violet, and presently a gauzy rainbow hung between earth and heaven, a thing of supernatural beauty.
“Do you suppose she is seeing this?” murmured Irving.