“Well,” said Betsy, “when you take ’count o’ stock, what sort of a summer has it been?”
“Wonderful.”
“That may be,” returned Betsy, “but how about the net result. Would you like to live it over again?”
“Yes, indeed!” was the fervent reply. “No, Betsy! What am I talking about! No, I wouldn’t. I might not do so well again.”
“How do you mean?” asked the other, beginning to make a lattice-work across the vacant toe of a man’s sock. “Do you mean professionally?”
“Not altogether,” answered the girl slowly.
“Oh, you mean socially too, eh?”
“Yes.”
Silence, while the breakers struck and burst on the rock at the left of the cottage.
“Whom have you over here?” Rosalie rose and moved to the dresser where a flexible leather case stood in a semi-circle. “Captain Salter?” She picked up the case. “Irving!” she added in a different tone, and studied the six pictures with down-drooped face.