But this time it was Peggy who appeared the more uneasy and required cheering.
“I don’t think Bettina is responsible for her accident exactly, Tante,” she returned. “And something unexpected must have happened this time. I hate the thought of the ‘Little Princess,’ as I used to call her, being alone in a mixed crowd like this. No one appreciates how shy she is and she really isn’t much good at looking after herself; Aunt Betty has always been so careful with her.”
“Well, we won’t trouble about that now,” Mrs. Burton remarked more reassuringly, appreciating Peggy’s greater nervousness. “The thing is to look for her; she can’t be far away and doubtless we shall find her in a few moments. Bettina must have waited behind when we came out of the kiva. I was so uncomfortable or I should have noticed before that she did not follow us.”
“Bettina was not in the kiva with us; I found that out while we were there; but it was not worth while to speak of it until we had come out and you were better.”
Polly’s lips twitched a little with a smile not unmixed with criticism of herself.
“Peggy, dear, I really think you ought to be Camp Fire guardian instead of me; you have so much more sense,” she whispered, turning to go back.
“I hate being called sensible,” Peggy returned ungratefully. “I know it makes me less attractive than other girls.” And this really is the unreasonable attitude of a good many persons who have otherwise a tremendous lot of sense, not realizing perhaps that good judgment is about the most valuable human attribute.
Ten minutes afterward Peggy and Mrs. Burton, who were in advance of the others, saw Bettina walking toward them with the Indian whom they had said good-by to perhaps three-quarters of an hour before.
The streets were now less crowded, so it was not difficult to see them. They were walking in silence, but Bettina’s face was pale and her lips held close together, perhaps to keep them from trembling.
Peggy glanced quickly from Bettina’s face to her aunt’s. And her own heart sank.