“Won’t your mother go up there, Nixie?” asked Irving.
Mrs. Nixon refusing, her son put Miss Maynard up, the young woman climbing to the place with alacrity.
Rosalie turned her head to gaze fixedly at the other side of the road. She grew warm as she felt some one climb into the seat beside her, but did not turn her head back, even when the coach started.
Finding herself not addressed, presently she turned about and looked squarely into the eyes of Betsy Foster.
“How do you do, Rosalie?” said the latter composedly.
“O Betsy!” exclaimed the girl softly, and seized the older woman’s hand with an appealing grasp.
Betsy gave her one-sided smile, and Rosalie’s eyes filled.
“You don’t seem surprised!” she said unsteadily.
“I am, though,” returned Betsy. “I supposed we’d left you behind at Norris.”