“I am surprised to see you here,” she said. “I knew you would be,” was all the girl could answer, and her face burned. Betsy spoke. “You wondered where her wings would carry her, Mrs. Bruce, and now you see. Good strong wings, you’ll agree, to go ’way across the continent.” Rosalie lifted her eyes to her friend. Mr. Derwent could not hear what was being said, but he gathered from the attitude of his sister and Mrs. Bruce and the painful crimson of Rosalie’s face, that some arraignment was taking place. “I suppose even the best of women are cats at heart,” he reflected; then he spoke aloud. “Miss Vincent and I have been making discoveries. Her father was a connection of our family, and on the Glee Club with me at college.” “Henry!” Mrs. Nixon seized the rubber disk that hung at his vest and spoke across it firmly. “I have just heard a man say that the geyser is beginning to play. Let us go closer to the bank.” She took her brother’s arm and led him away. Mrs. Bruce did the same with Irving, who exchanged one glance with Betsy over her head as he yielded. Robert followed with Miss Maynard, and Betsy put her arm around Rosalie. “Now then, that’s over,” she said. The girl’s eyes were still dilated and she did not speak. Betsy gave her a gentle shake. “Brace up, Rosalie. Don’t be such a trembling little bird. Your soul’s your own.—Oh, my! Isn’t that wonderful!” For the geyser now burst forth with a rushing volume of water which rose and arched across the river at a height of eighty feet. Betsy and Rosalie hastened down the bank beyond the crowd, where they had a full view of the aerial waterfall sparkling in the sunshine as it plunged foaming into the river. When the exhilarating show was over, Betsy turned to her companion. “There! Ain’t that worth a good bit o’ sacrifice to see?” The girl’s hands were clasped on her breast, and her eyes shining. “You look as admirin’ as a chipmunk,” said Betsy; and they both laughed. “Oh, supposing we were alone out here, Betsy! Wouldn’t it be beautiful!” sighed the girl. “’Twould, as sure as you’re born; but we ain’t bondholders, so we have to work our way, both of us; and it’s worth it. That’s what I say, and that’s what I want you to feel.” “I wouldn’t mind if no one else minded,” said Rosalie meekly. “Don’t mind, anyway,” returned Betsy stoutly. “That’s what I was just sayin’. Your soul’s your own—” “But she spent so much money on me.” “How much?” “I don’t know; but if I could pay it back, and needn’t care how her eyes look—” “Very likely you will pay her some day. Meanwhile keep a stiff upper lip. Don’t act as if you’d done anything wrong, ’cause you haven’t.” “I’m not clever,” mourned Rosalie. “Look at Helen Maynard. See what she has done. She was a poor girl, too. She was older than I, and we seldom met at school; but she studied practical things. I was so happy, and my teachers so delightful, but what did it fit me for?” “Nothin’, and I knew it,” responded Betsy bluntly.