THE ladies had left their wagon, to move about and break the long drive by the view of the Riverside Geyser in action. As they approached their friends, Mrs. Nixon put up her lorgnette. “Isn’t that my brother sitting there on the grass?” she asked. “Certainly it is, and there are the boys,” rejoined Mrs. Bruce with satisfaction, hastening her steps. Behind them followed Betsy Foster and Miss Maynard. “To whom is Henry talking?” asked Mrs. Nixon. “Why,—why, Mrs. Bruce! I never knew him to do anything so strange! It’s that waitress—that waitress that came on with us in the stage.” “I didn’t notice her,” returned Mrs. Bruce. “I was always sitting in front.” “She has waited on us at the hotels,” said Mrs. Nixon, and her tone grew colder. “Men are so thoughtless. I liked the girl so much. I was seriously thinking of making an arrangement with her for the fall—” Here, as they had come within speaking distance, Mrs. Nixon’s lips closed. Mr. Derwent’s necessarily devoted attitude as he now tried to catch something Rosalie was saying settled the matter with Mrs. Nixon, and lost the girl her chance of an assured winter home. Mrs. Bruce stared curiously at the bare golden head; and Miss Maynard and Betsy, following, descried Mr. Derwent and the waitress at the same moment. “Rosalie!” said Helen Maynard, under her breath. “Do you know her?” asked Betsy, in surprise. “Yes. We were at school together.” Betsy’s footsteps quickened, for she felt vaguely that Rosalie might indeed need protection now. Mrs. Bruce began speaking with her usual energy. “I’m so glad we’re in time, Irving. I told that driver if he didn’t get us back at the right moment to see this geyser play, he’d never be forgiven. We’ve been to the oddest place called Biscuit Basin; a great pool just covered with nicely browned biscuit. It made one hungry to look at them. But the hot water we splashed through to get there! I shall be boiled yet in this place.” The moment Rosalie caught sight of Mrs. Bruce, she sprang to her feet with supple swiftness. Mr. Derwent deliberately arose and met his sister’s disapproving eyes imperturbably. He put on the hat which for coolness he had been holding on his knee. Rosalie flushed and paled and met Betsy’s eyes so entreatingly that the latter stepped forward by her employer’s side. At that moment Mrs. Bruce for the first time gave her attention to the young girl. “Why!” she said, and hesitated. Irving knew that she was trying to place the memory of an individual who had once interested her. “It is Miss Rosalie Vincent, Madama,” he said quietly. “She surprised me a few minutes ago.” “It _is_ Rosalie,” said Mrs. Bruce; and approaching, she shook hands with the girl she had befriended. In the same moment her alert mind recalled all that Mrs. Nixon had just said. A waitress. The waitress who had traveled in their stage. The waitress with whom Betsy had talked yesterday. Her manner cooled. The pupils of her eyes narrowed.