The girl stood silent for a moment. Robert had told her as much as he knew, which was the mere fact of the marriage. He had asked nothing of Irving, and had not mentioned Betsy’s flight; but Rosalie guessed enough to understand.
“You can tell them that my weddin’ was a very hurried one and that I’m busy, and will be all summer,” added Betsy.
The girl inspected the room.
“I was here once before,” she said. “How different it looks!”
Betsy smiled. “I guess Cap’n Salter kept the blinds shut a good deal,” she returned. “I calc’late to make it look real nice here before I get through.”
Rosalie looked at her wistfully. “Isn’t it fun!” she said. “It’s a pretty cottage, and as for what you see from here—why, the inn has nothing like it.”
A man’s step crunched the garden-path and a knock sounded at the door. Robert Nixon appeared.
“May I come in?” he cried cheerfully. “Mrs. Betsy!” he added, as the hostess started up, “I thought it would be a good time to run over and pay my respects, for I knew you had company anyway, and I wanted you to know that I bear no malice for your unkindness in the past.”
Betsy shook hands with him heartily. “Mrs. Pogram, this is Mr. Nixon,” she said.
Mrs. Pogram’s eyes had found their greatest width, and they remained there, unwinking, while Robert bowed.