“Well, I heard from Rosalie at last,” announced the caller. “She was in Boston, and had found some old friend of her father’s who was doin’ for her. She didn’t say much, just a real pleasant little note, sayin’ she was all right and would let me hear again soon.” Mrs. Pogram lowered her voice, lest her brother’s dapper astral body might be floating near. “Her note cheered me up consid’able, Betsy, and I’ve been thinkin’ that after Loomis was married I could have Rosalie back again, just as well as not!” Betsy’s face grew inscrutable. “I saw Rosalie in Boston myself,” she began; and at that moment the door, which had been ajar, opened, and the girl herself appeared before them. She wore a dark-blue sailor suit, her sleeves were rolled up, and her face was alight with feeling. “I heard my name!” she cried. “Oh, Betsy, I’ve just learned about you!” In an instant the two were locked in each other’s arms, while Mrs. Pogram, her mouth open, her eyes winking as if to dispel cobwebs, leaned back in her chair. “Do you see my visitor?” asked Betsy. “Why, Auntie Pogram! You?” said the girl; and hastening to the sombre figure, she kissed her. “I was coming to see you to-day,” she went on. “It was my first opportunity. Everything has happened so fast.” “You’re—” stammered Mrs. Pogram amazedly, “you’re livin’ in Fairport, Rosalie?” “Yes, at the inn.” If it were possible for Mrs. Pogram’s back to cling more limply to her chair, it did so now. The girl laughed. “Yes, it’s a fairy story, Auntie Pogram, but I’m living at the inn and paying for my board in the pleasantest way.” “Waitin’ on table?” asked Mrs. Pogram. “No;” the girl flushed and laughed. “Speaking pieces, just the way I used to do for you.” “You don’t say so! I was just tellin’ Betsy, Loomis is goin’ to get married; and then I want you to come back to me, Rosalie.” A creeping nausea stole around the girl’s heart. “Thank you,” she said, “but I’ve grown so conceited I believe I can make my own living.” Betsy watched her in fond silence; and Rosalie returned to her side. “I just looked in to hug you and to say I’m glad,” she said. “I’ll come again, soon.” “What are you going to do to-day?” asked Betsy. “I’m going canoeing with Mr. Nixon.” “With Mr. Nixon,” repeated Betsy. She was sorry they could not speak alone. She saw by the girl’s face there was much she was repressing. “The people are planning a Yellowstone picnic with Captain Salter,” continued Rosalie. “We’re to sail to some far-away beach and have a clambake. Don’t forget that you’re a Yellowstoner even if you are a bride.” “Rosalie,” returned Betsy, “if the people are kind enough to suggest my goin’ on any o’ these excursions, I want you to tell ’em that I’d rather not.” The girl stood silent for a moment. Robert had told her as much as he knew, which was the mere fact of the marriage. He had asked nothing of Irving, and had not mentioned Betsy’s flight; but Rosalie guessed enough to understand.