She shrank away. “I—I didn’t mean to speak to you,” she said naïvely; and she cast down her eyes with an expression which sent a thrill of compassion across the man’s heart-strings. He remembered Mrs. Pogram’s lachrymose tale, and Betsy’s romance of the morning. “I was afraid Mrs. Bruce would be offended to find me here, after all she has done for me,” went on Rosalie, her heart beating fast; “but—but I couldn’t help it.” The artless words and the graceful, culprit attitude were appealing. “I saw you in the dining-room, but didn’t remember you at first,” answered Irving. “I dare say you wouldn’t have chosen this work, but I hope you are getting some pleasure out of it.” Rosalie shook her head. “It is very beautiful, and—and it wouldn’t be lonely if there weren’t any—any people about; but I don’t know how to get on very well with—with the others.” Irving glanced over toward the young soldiers who were alive to Rosalie’s tête-à-tête. He could imagine that this golden head, on which the mountain sun was glinting, would be a shining mark for local admiration. Betsy’s disturbed feeling was becoming better understood with every moment. “I had an hour to myself and I wanted so much to see this geyser play. I didn’t wait for my hat or anything. I just ran.” Rosalie put her hand to her bare head, apologetically. “I’ve great curiosity to see this one, too,” replied Irving. “Why don’t we sit down till the show begins?” He indicated a spot on the greensward where a tree cast its shadow, for the afternoon sun was ardent. “Please don’t think you must stay with me,” responded the girl, with a timid, grateful smile which made her prettier than ever. “I’m not really at all afraid of those soldiers. Perhaps I did meet them with a waitress at Norris who knows them all; and they don’t mean any harm.” “I dare say not; but sit down, Miss Rosalie. It’s as good a place to wait as any.” So she obeyed, quite frightened and happy. Frightened because she did not know what moment her powerful benefactress might appear on the scene, and happy because—because—well, she had during two whole seasons admired Irving Bruce from afar and looked very wistfully at the girls who shared his summer fun; and now he was disposing his large person near her on the grass as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “You and Betsy Foster had a long séance yesterday in the stage, didn’t you?” he said, leaning on his elbow and looking up into the blue eyes that he could see were not quite at ease. “Yes, indeed. Oh, what it was to get hold of Betsy’s hand and sit beside her all the morning!” “Why didn’t she tell Mrs. Bruce and me that one of our old neighbors was in our party?” “She knew,” Rosalie flushed, “that I dreaded to have Mrs. Bruce know it.” “Why? I can’t imagine why.”