Betsy looked with rather sad eyes upon the waitresses, and suddenly her heart gave a little jump, for unless those eyes deceived her, Rosalie Vincent was tripping busily about at the other end of the room.
Mr. Derwent did not espy her evidently, for he led his party to another table, and the Bruces stopped halfway down the room. Not a word said Betsy, but her slow color rose. The crowd was great at this favorite place. Rosalie had evidently been sent on by the earliest stage, and Betsy shrewdly suspected that she would be kept here. She began planning at once an evening’s visit with the girl.
Mrs. Bruce was delighted with the novelty of the Inn and so far had not suggested any improvements.
“We must drive right after dinner to some of these wonderful places,” she said. “Isn’t it restful to think we haven’t to rush about and freeze to see Old Faithful, because it’s so regular! It’s a pity, though, that it doesn’t play exactly every hour. There’s five minutes or ten minutes over that you always have to remember.”
Irving shook his head. “These careless authorities,” he said.
Mrs. Bruce shrugged her shoulders. “I’m sure that was a very innocent remark,” she retorted.
“Innocent to simplicity, Madama; but remember what you lose in convenience by the present schedule, you gain in mathematical exercise.”
“I didn’t come out here for mathematical exercise,” began Mrs. Bruce; and went on to comment on some of the beauties of the morning drive; but Irving lost the thread of her remarks, for he happened to catch sight of Rosalie Vincent, and looked again more closely.
Not to interrupt Mrs. Bruce’s eulogies, he touched Betsy’s hand and motioned with his head toward the blonde waitress.
“Isn’t that the loved and lost?” he asked softly.