“What’s that your business?” returned the other woman. “Guess I can take care of my man.”
“I am not so sure of that; but I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“Then you hadn’t ought to have meddled.”
“All right,” said Dorothy; “good-by”; and, turning, she left Mrs. Colkett and rejoined Rose.
“What a woman!” she said, and then for a time neither spoke.
When they were well on their way to the shore, Rose said: “I am troubled, Mrs. Maybrook, that I so dislike any one as unfortunate as that woman. But I don’t like her. I never, never want to go there again, and I am sorry for her, too. Oh, I am as sorry as I can be; but—”
Dorothy simply said, “I do not wonder.” And then, with a laugh, “The fact is, Miss Rose, that Colkett woman’s bad; and, for my part, I’m a right lopsided Christian. I can’t put on mourning for rattlesnakes just the same as for doves. It’s a kind of comfort to find you aren’t much better than I am.”
“I,—indeed not!”
Meanwhile Dorothy was debating in her mind how much she should tell her companion. A side glance at the fresh young maiden face decided her. “I said along back I would explain what kept me so long. I cannot. They were talking about me. It wasn’t very pleasant. I overheard something disagreeable. I reckon I’ll come over and see about it with Mr. Lyndsay. Do you chance to know Mr. Carington that fishes up to Island Camp?”
“No.” Rose felt that whatever was withheld concerned—must concern—this gentleman. “But I am immensely curious,” she said.