So she obeyed, quite frightened and happy. Frightened because she did not know what moment her powerful benefactress might appear on the scene, and happy because—because—well, she had during two whole seasons admired Irving Bruce from afar and looked very wistfully at the girls who shared his summer fun; and now he was disposing his large person near her on the grass as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
“You and Betsy Foster had a long séance yesterday in the stage, didn’t you?” he said, leaning on his elbow and looking up into the blue eyes that he could see were not quite at ease.
“Yes, indeed. Oh, what it was to get hold of Betsy’s hand and sit beside her all the morning!”
“Why didn’t she tell Mrs. Bruce and me that one of our old neighbors was in our party?”
“She knew,” Rosalie flushed, “that I dreaded to have Mrs. Bruce know it.”
“Why? I can’t imagine why.”
“Because Mrs. Bruce helped me so much, and meant me to do something so different. She gave me a course in English in the fine school at Lambeth, and she had a right to expect I would be teaching, and doing her kindness credit.”
“Time enough for that in the fall, I should think.”
“But I haven’t any position. I had no way to—to live until—I could get one.” The speaker averted her face, not so quickly but that Irving saw the blue eyes were swimming.