“In the canyon?” repeated Betsy mechanically. Then she repeated the words explosively. “What do you mean, Rosalie Vincent? Have you been out there this mornin’?”
Rosalie looked the picture of detected guilt.
“Well I guess you are a genius! You’re as crazy as the best of ’em.”
“You wouldn’t have had me leave this place without seeing it?” said the girl.
Betsy bit her lip. “Well, I guess that’s about so,” she said. “It would seem cruelty; but you see Mr. Derwent thought you’d better be ahead of us, and he and I both know, if anybody does, what it is to stir up a strife o’ tongues! And I s’pose in the hurried arrangement everything sort o’ slipped into insignificance compared to smugglin’ you out o’ the Park.”
Betsy’s tone had turned from accusation to apology. “So you really have seen the canyon,” she added, pausing, and regarding the pale face.
“I saw the sunrise there,” returned Rosalie.
“My stars!” ejaculated Betsy. “If I could see that, seems if I wouldn’t care if I never saw another sight in this world.”
“I don’t,” returned Rosalie quietly; and the blue gaze went far beyond Betsy’s sallow, wondering countenance. “I was born again in the canyon.”
Her look startled Betsy. “Be mejum, Rosalie,” she said. “You’ll wear yourself out if you feel too much. Be mejum. It’s a splendid rule.”