"There, now, sit down," said Rosalie. She ran to a small knob in the wall and pressed it, and to the brass-buttoned boy who appeared said, "Please ask Mrs. Scott to come here."
She went to the door when he had gone, and stood with her back against it.
"You shan't get away. Sit down, I say. It's only a notion of mine, that's all. I know you won't care. Maybe it can't do any good, but it won't do any harm. I know something is the matter, and I—I'd like to have my mother hear about it. If you knew her! She's so good to everybody, and always does just the right thing, too. I've known her to help so many people and think nothing of it. That's the way she's made. I don't know what's the matter, but I know you got me out of an awful fix, Trudy Carr, and that my mother knows it, too, and—"
The door was pushed open.
"Why, Rosalie," said the newcomer, "your father and Uncle Angus are here. I thought you were to meet them at the boat?"
"I didn't, mamma," Rosalie answered. "This is Trudy Carr again, and—"
"Collin Spencer," added Trudy.
And Rosalie's mother, who had a face of sweet refinement, with clear gray eyes, and wore a handsome dark gown with billowy-lace falling from neck and sleeves, and had a pleasant voice and smile—Rosalie's mother shook hands with Trudy Carr and Collin Spencer, and sat down near them. And Rosalie brought a stool and perched herself between them.
"Now," she said, imploringly—"now do!"
Collin was getting every moment stiffer and redder. He felt like an intruder, and, despite these softening influences, made up his mind not to say a word. It was nobody's business but his. It was his own miserable affair. He neither asked help nor wanted it.