He nodded. “Helen dares be a girl again,” he announced. “There is a great weight off her mind. Her cheeks seem to have grown plump over night.” CHAPTER XVI BETSY’S GIFT THE Colonial Hotel that evening looked such a haven of rest to tired wanderers, that as soon as it was settled that they could get rooms Mrs. Nixon and Mrs. Bruce were able to smile on each other again. The mountain lake lay calm in the waning light, and strings of fish being brought in caused excitement among the men. “One thing you must do, Irving,” said Mrs. Bruce, looking graciously upon Helen, “is to take Miss Maynard to that place where you stand on shore and catch trout, and then whisk it right over into a boiling spring and cook it before you take it off the hook.” “Miss Maynard has only to command me,” rejoined Irving. “I am going fishing with Mr. Derwent,” said Helen. So subtle were the changes in the mental atmosphere of the last few days, so complete the step from subserviency to dominance, that any exhibition of coquetry with the two young men would have been considered legitimate by their natural guardians. It was the absence of all archness in the girl that concerned Mrs. Nixon, and the quiet declaration just made disturbed her. She secured her son’s attention. “You surely won’t oblige your uncle Henry to act as cavalier to a young girl,” she said. “What?” asked Robert. “Oh, you mean the fishing.” He laughed with a mischievous flash of the eyes which brought color into his mother’s cheeks. “Afraid she’ll fish for him as well as with him, eh? Well, I think perhaps you have _raison_.” “Robert, why _are_ you such a tease? I wish you would choose a time when I am not so nervous and tired. I’ve never thought of such a thing, foolish boy!” “I told you to count ten before you asked her to live with us.” “Don’t you like her, dear?” “Yes, I think she’s good stuff; but—you know what I told you. If she comes to live with us, she’ll run the ranch. You hear me. I don’t care to have anybody pull my wires. When I hop, I want it to be from my own pure lightness of heart.” Mrs. Nixon looked thoughtful. “I intend to count ten, Robert. I told you that a month at the Fairport Inn would reveal a great deal.” “I think it will,” agreed Robert dryly. “Meanwhile,” continued Mrs. Nixon with some asperity, “you can either leave her entirely to Irving Bruce or you can do your part toward entertaining her.” Robert threw an arm around his mother’s shoulders and gave her a squeeze which ruffled her dignity into a heap. “You’re no wire-puller, honey,” he said. “Better leave it alone.” Mrs. Nixon wriggled herself free. “Mrs. Bruce is so conceited about her stepson,” she said warmly, “that I really have some feeling about it, Robert. I confess it frankly.”