“See the New Year in? Yes indeed,” he cried in answer to Irving’s explanation of his presence. “That’s just what we’ll do. I haven’t set up in years; but we’ll just sit around this fire, and tell yarns—” “Hiram Salter,” said his wife, “if you think for one minute that we’re goin’ to do any such thing, I _don’t_. I’ve got to get up and get the breakfast, and you’ve got to get up and build fires. As if we couldn’t trust the New Year to come in respectably; and if you can’t, why, Rosalie and Mr. Irving will attend to it.” The captain looked at her, astonished. Under cover of removing the cups and saucers to the kitchen, he spoke low to his consort. “Go to bed?” he asked. “Where’s your politeness, Betsy?” “Where’s your common sense, Hiram Salter! You think Irving Bruce has ploughed down here to talk boats with _you_?” Hiram scratched his head, and his eyes widened. “Why, I said that very thing to you the other night,” he protested, “and _you_ said—” “Never mind what I said! Just get upstairs as quick as you can.” “Come with me, Mr. Irving,” said Betsy, returning to the living-room. “Here’s a little closet where you can’t much more’n turn around, but I guess you’ll sleep well. It’s a feather-bed.” They stood alone in the chamber, and he closed the door and took her by the shoulders in the old familiar way. “You remember our talk one night in the garden?” he asked. “Yes, as if it was yesterday,” she answered. “Do you apologize?” “No,” she laughed. “I think you poisoned the mind of the party of the second part. Confess if you did. I mean it; for if you didn’t, I’ve broken three engagements, and traveled all day for nothing.” “Yes—I—_did_!” returned Betsy boldly. “Do you apologize?” “Not a bit of it.” They looked at each other in the dusk. “Well, are you glad I came?” “If you hadn’t, Mr. Irving,” replied Betsy slowly, “I don’t know but I’d ’a’ given back the silver!” Irving pressed her hands and laughed. In a little while the Salters said good-night to their guests. “You can see, Irvin’, whether I’m hen-pecked,” said the captain meekly, as he mounted the stairs. “You’re an awful warning,” replied Irving. “Would it do any harm,” asked Hiram in a stage-whisper when they reached their room, “if I should yell down to ’em to look out the window and see the weddin’-cake?” Betsy locked the door. Rosalie was sitting passive on her stool by the fire. A rich color mantled in her cheeks, but eyes and lips were grave. She was regaining self-possession. Perhaps Irving had indeed come on account of the boat. He seated himself in the chair Betsy had vacated, and watched the firelight play on Rosalie’s hair. “How do you suppose it looks in the canyon to-night?” he asked, after a silence. She shook her head. “I’m glad we can’t see.” “And I,” he agreed. “I have it here.” He touched his breast. “Tell me about Nixie, and Helen,” said Rosalie with sudden brightness.