“Rosalie—Miss Vincent—is it you?” said Irving, all Betsy’s interest and concern explained in a flash.
She shrank away. “I—I didn’t mean to speak to you,” she said naïvely; and she cast down her eyes with an expression which sent a thrill of compassion across the man’s heart-strings. He remembered Mrs. Pogram’s lachrymose tale, and Betsy’s romance of the morning. “I was afraid Mrs. Bruce would be offended to find me here, after all she has done for me,” went on Rosalie, her heart beating fast; “but—but I couldn’t help it.”
The artless words and the graceful, culprit attitude were appealing.
“I saw you in the dining-room, but didn’t remember you at first,” answered Irving. “I dare say you wouldn’t have chosen this work, but I hope you are getting some pleasure out of it.”
Rosalie shook her head. “It is very beautiful, and—and it wouldn’t be lonely if there weren’t any—any people about; but I don’t know how to get on very well with—with the others.”
Irving glanced over toward the young soldiers who were alive to Rosalie’s tête-à-tête. He could imagine that this golden head, on which the mountain sun was glinting, would be a shining mark for local admiration. Betsy’s disturbed feeling was becoming better understood with every moment.
“I had an hour to myself and I wanted so much to see this geyser play. I didn’t wait for my hat or anything. I just ran.” Rosalie put her hand to her bare head, apologetically.
“I’ve great curiosity to see this one, too,” replied Irving. “Why don’t we sit down till the show begins?” He indicated a spot on the greensward where a tree cast its shadow, for the afternoon sun was ardent.
“Please don’t think you must stay with me,” responded the girl, with a timid, grateful smile which made her prettier than ever. “I’m not really at all afraid of those soldiers. Perhaps I did meet them with a waitress at Norris who knows them all; and they don’t mean any harm.”
“I dare say not; but sit down, Miss Rosalie. It’s as good a place to wait as any.”