“What self-possession!” she murmured; and then for a time all speculation ceased, for the voice of a child began to narrate the classic in the language of a child, and Rosalie carried her audience with her. The little unobserved details of the infantile manner, its occasional abstractions and recalls to the subject, the catching of the breath, and a myriad other peculiarities, were all in evidence, and repeated laughter encouraged the story-teller. Her big-eyed wonder and horror when she arrived at the thrilling crisis where the wolf devoured Red Riding Hood’s grandmother, “before she even had time to put on her spectacles to see who it was ate her up,” brought down the house; and when the tale drew to a close the clamor of tongues gave witness that Rosalie was a success. “Isn’t she sweet!”—“Did you _ever_ hear anything so natural!” sped from mouth to mouth. “What a lovely creature she is, and so unaffected!” And Rosalie stood there looking about, unconsciously smiling, and tingling to her finger-tips with gladness that she had not disappointed Mr. Derwent, whom she could see sitting at the other end of the room. Mr. Beebe came laughingly to Mrs. Bruce as a Fairport summer oracle. “Say, ain’t she all right?” he demanded triumphantly. “Where—” asked Mrs. Bruce, stammering in her eagerness, “how did you happen to get her?” “’Twas Clever Betsy’s doings. Didn’t she tell you? Seems Miss Vincent wanted a job o’ this kind for the summer, and Betsy thought she’d work me; and I’m mighty glad she did. The girl is onto her job. There, she’s goin’ to give another.” The speaker hurried off, while Rosalie’s sweet voice began on one of the Riley favorites that bring tears as well as smiles. Mrs. Bruce did not hear a word. She leaned back in her chair, a prey to conflicting emotions. She saw Mr. Derwent rise and change his position to one in the background of those who were closest to the speaker. Robert Nixon stooped close to her ear. “You can’t lose the Yellowstone party,” he said, “and aren’t you the proud lady!” It was an innocent speech on the part of the irresponsible Nixie, but it started the regulating of Mrs. Bruce’s confused thoughts. She realized that he was referring to the perspicacity with which she had recognized Rosalie’s gifts in an unpromising past, and the munificence with which she had cultivated them; so she sat on a fence, as it were, undecided on which side to get down. She viewed the faces of the absorbed listeners, and considered that she might indeed accept the part of complacent patroness of this young heroine of the evening; might ask no questions, raise no objections, and behave as though this were the natural and expected outcome of her own perception and generosity; but her irritable vanity and love of managing whispered loudly that she had been outwitted.