“A young man from Boston. We met him in the Yellowstone.”
“Rosalie said—” began the visitor.
“Yes,” interrupted Betsy, returning to her seat with a repressed sigh. “I’ll explain.”
Then she told her caller the outline of Rosalie’s experience, foreseeing that much future heartburning would be averted by frankness.
“Rosalie and I came pretty close out there,” she finished, “and this house’ll be her headquarters next winter if she has idle times; which I don’t think she will.”
“But after Loomis is married—” began Mrs. Pogram.
“Yes, but you see we didn’t know Loomis was goin’ to be married, and Cap’n Salter’s very fond o’ Rosalie, and we’ve made our plans.”
“Oh!” said Mrs. Pogram reflectively. “She looks like a new girl. I didn’t know as she was so pretty.”
“Some evenin’ soon,” said Betsy kindly, “you’ll come over here to supper with me, and I’ll fix it up with Sam Beebe to let us go to the inn and sit in some corner outside an open window, and we’ll see and hear Rosalie give her little show. You’ll be real pleased with her.”
“I guess I shall,” returned Mrs. Pogram, in a sort of maze. “I guess I shall. There was always somethin’ out o’ the ordinary about her. I used to think it was that made Loomis mad.” Mrs. Pogram’s eyes looked into a void. “He’s goin’ to marry a real nice girl—poor thing!” she added.