Betsy gave her one-sided smile, and Hiram continued: “Irving says you think a sight o’ the girl; and I’ve been sort o’ cogitatin’ about the whole business; and I finally made up my mind to tell ye that if ye want her to live with _us_, I haven’t a mite of objection.” The speaker could see by his lady-love’s countenance that this bait glittered. “I _had_ thought, Hiram,” she returned ingratiatingly, “that seein’ you and Rosalie are such good friends, you might let Mrs. Bachelder move over to your place; then Rosalie could go there.” Captain Salter gave his rare, broad smile. “My! but you’re a good planner, ain’t you!” “Would you—would you think of it, Hiram?” she asked, with some timidity. “Not if I wanted to keep real well, I wouldn’t. Now don’t waste time in foolishness, Betsy. I’ve ben gettin’ ready for ye for years, and I _am_ ready. Everything’s taut and ship-shape, and I’ve got a margin that’ll let Rosalie in, easy. We’ll be as cosy as bugs in rugs next winter.” Captain Salter was an experienced fisherman. The expression on Betsy’s face was such that he believed the bait was swallowed. “If obstinacy would get folks into the kingdom,” she observed, “your chances for bein’ an archangel would be real good, Hiram Salter.” He let the reel spin, and the coveted fish dart away with the line. “I always did hang onto an idea like a puppy to a root,” he said. “It’s kind o’ ingrained in my nature; but you’ll know best, Betsy. You’ve got to be ’tarnally unselfish to somebody in order to be happy; and you think it over. See if ’tain’t about time you changed the place and kept the pain.” He rose, and Betsy did also. For a wonder she didn’t answer him. “Good-night,” he said. “It was real clever of you to let me come this evenin’.” He did not even take her hand at parting. He lifted the shabby yachting-cap and looked at her narrow, inscrutable face. “Good-night,” he said again, and was gone down the garden-path. Betsy remained some minutes standing in the same position. “I meant to ask him a hundred questions.” The reflection rose at last from the confusion of her thoughts. “He’s such a gump it makes it hard to talk to him; keeps goin’ back to say the same thing over and over, just like a poll-parrot, till he puts me out so I don’t know what I _did_ want to say to him.” As she went into the cottage, the picture of the upright figure, and the clean, bronzed, weather-beaten face went with her. The appealing blue of Rosalie’s eyes seemed to plead with her. “Oh, if I only knew how she’s gettin’ along!” thought Betsy. Captain Salter was right to smile into the darkness as he plodded down the street. The fish was darting here and there through the unresisting water after its fright, still proudly conscious of its own volition; but the bait was swallowed. The fisherman believed it was a matter of time, now. CHAPTER XXII THE WHITE DOVE THE dinner-party at the inn continued to be a merry one.