Had Rosalie been the most artful of girls she could not have planned words and actions more effective to win the championship of Mrs. Bruce’s son, knowing as he did the history of her flight.
“I met Mrs. Pogram a few weeks ago in Fairport,” he replied. “She told me of her loss of you.”
Rosalie did not speak. She furtively wiped her eyes.
“Does Mrs. Pogram know where you are?”
“No. It seems unkind, for I know she is fond of me; but I promised her that if I were in any trouble I would write her; and if she knew where I was, her brother would know, and I—I can’t endure him!” The girl finished with a flash of energy.
“You show faultless taste,” returned Irving. “Don’t be afraid of Mrs. Bruce. She won’t expect you to be teaching English in the Yellowstone.”
“They have an English of their own,” returned Rosalie. “Probably if you knew what I am, you wouldn’t be talking to me as if I were a summer girl.”
Her faint smile suddenly shone upon him, for she felt he meant to placate Mrs. Bruce.
Irving laughed. “I do know something of the Park lingo. You’re taking another course in English, that’s all.”