“I feel just as certain as I sit here,” she said, “that you’re goin’ to make a success of it at that inn.” “O Betsy,—” the young girl took her friend’s hand joyously,—“I like to hear you say so, and I do really believe I can please them because I love to do it so.” “You’ve showed me a lot o’ your pieces, and it’s a sensible selection. You ain’t goin’ to tear up the ground and try to be a Burnhard. You’re goin’ to make ’em laugh, and if they’re as soft as I am, you’re goin’ to make ’em cry, same as you have me to-night. That’s where you’ve got good judgment. You’ve got as sweet a voice as I ever heard, and your glass tells you you’re good-lookin’.” The girl leaned toward her eagerly. “Do you think I’m very pretty, Betsy?” she asked. “Yes; and it’s a good thing for your work; but listen here, Rosalie, it ain’t a good thing for anything else.” The girl laughed. “You silly, dear Betsy!” she exclaimed. “Mr. Irving was talkin’ about somebody in your line o’ work lately; and I listened hard on your account. He said she wa’n’t any good—her programmes wasn’t. He said she didn’t have ‘the instinct of the entertainer’! Those were his very words. I said ’em over to myself so’s to remember; for I saw his point.” “Do you think he’ll believe that I have?” The girl’s azure eyes darkened as she asked it. “Yes, I do. The way you’ve made me act silly to-night, shows that you know how to make folks laugh while they’re cryin’; and that’s as near the secret o’ success as any one can come, I guess; but it ain’t goin’ to be all roses, dear child.” Betsy patted the hand that held hers. It was hard for her to dim the blue light shining upon her so hopefully. “I said your good looks were a disadvantage, and they are from the minute you stop actin’. We happened to speak of Mr. Irving just now, so I’ll take him for an example. He’s the apple o’ my eye, Rosalie, and I believe in him just as much as I do in any man, as far as intentions go; but he’ll be one of a whole lot o’ young men you’ll meet at the inn, and you’re a little bit acquainted with him, and he’s sure to enjoy your work, and your good looks, and he’s liable to flatter you, and when the summer’s over—” Betsy could scarcely go on, the expression of the blue eyes was changing so fast as their gaze clung to her; but she braced herself. “_That’ll_ be over, too. Men-folks are selfish. They don’t know what they’re doin’. Irving Bruce has inherited quite a lot o’ money. He knows dozens o’ the finest girls in Boston. Mrs. Bruce probably expects that some crown princess from the other side o’ the water’ll be over here after him yet. Have a good time, Rosalie,” Betsy again patted the relaxed hand, which she could feel tremble, “but be mejum. I speak this way to you because I know your disposition, and your unhappiness would cut me deep.” The girl withdrew her hand quietly. “Thank you,” she said.