Nancy couldn’t help thinking of her brother Ted, the boy now far away at camp, for, somehow, she was missing him in spite of all this strange adventure. He was always such a jolly little fellow. What a lark he would have had in this big place and how he would contrive to turn every little incident into a laugh or a chuckle? While Rosalind was speaking to the butler, and while she gave some message to Margot, Nancy had just a little time for ruminating. She wondered what her mother was doing. And how the long summer ahead would turn out for each of her small, intimate family.
“Come into my room,” said Rosalind at her elbow, as they once again had mounted the broad stairs. “It’s right next to yours—I thought you might be scary if I put you over in the guest room,” said the cousin, considerately.
“I should much rather be near you, thanks Rosa,” replied Nancy, meaning exactly what she said, for with real night settling down upon the mountains, a queer loneliness amounting almost to foreboding seemed to seize upon her.
“And you are never lonely out here?” she could not resist remarking, for it seemed to her Rosalind’s spirits were mounting higher each moment. She laughed at the slightest excuse, and appeared to Nancy somewhat over excited.
“Well, of course, sometimes I have been. But not since Gar came. He was abroad last summer, but now—why, he drives me every place when Margot and Chet think I’m—doing something else.”
This last piece of information was almost whispered to Nancy, and it was not difficult for her to guess that Rosalind indulged in pranks as well as in bubbling laughter.
“But you don’t really go out without your daddy’s knowing?” Nancy timidly asked.
“Bless the infant!” cooed Rosalind, “I do believe she’s a regular little darling, country coz,” and another demonstration accompanied that. “But I won’t shock you to death. I’m really quite harmless, and you see,” her face sobered for a moment, “all that I do concerns myself. I think I should have the privilege of enjoying myself, don’t you?”
“Why, yes, of course. That is—” Already Nancy found herself perplexed. What if Rosalind was as risky as she pretended to be; and if she, Nancy, would find it difficult to keep free from responsibility?
“You know Orilla, she’s the girl who used to live here, is too smart for words,” imparted Rosalind, as the two girls delayed in Rosalind’s beautiful golden room. “She believes she can help me to—to get thin” (there was wistfulness in this remark), “but Betty just can’t bear her. So, of course, I have to do lots of things on the sly.”