“Please don’t excite yourself, Rosa,” begged Nancy. “The thing to do now—”
“Oh, let her talk,” sneered Orilla. “That’s the best thing she can do—”
“But I won’t let you talk in that voice without—without talking back,” spoke up Nancy. “At least you are old enough to have sense—”
“If I were able I’d love this three-cornered fight,” put in Rosa, attempting to prevent that very thing. “But as it is—well, I can see myself in dry-dock all summer.”
“For a scratched ankle!” again sneered Orilla.
But Nancy had made up her mind. They were now safe upon the lighted platform, and she was going at once to find Dell, and she hoped Gar would be with her. Scarcely waiting to explain this to Rosa—Orilla she could not help ignoring—she hurried off.
“But do hurry back, Nancy,” begged Rosa, whose face could now be seen and it showed her suffering. “I’m nearly dead—”
“Don’t be such a baby,” Nancy again heard Orilla mutter, just as she hurried off.
Dancers impeded her way, and she was obliged to do some skillful dodging in and out of the movements to avoid actual collision. But Nancy scarcely saw them. Neither did she hear the jolly music, for it seemed to her tragic that such an accident should befall Rosa. It was only human for Nancy to feel impending gloom, so far as her vacation was concerned, but her dislike for Orilla, and the little mother instinct that so spontaneously went forth to save Rosa, had more to do with her thoughts than any possible loss of good times.
“I guess I’ve got something to do,” she was telling herself as she peered into face after face, hoping to pick out that of Dell or Gar Durand.