Her voice trailed off and there was a silent space, while Mr. Derwent wondered at her altered expression. Suddenly her gaze focused on him again and her hard hands clasped the water-color against her breast. “Mr. Derwent, I’ve got an idea!” she said in a changed tone. “Of course you have,” he replied encouragingly. “It’s a peculiarity of clever people.” “Let me tell you what I’ve thought;” and Betsy proceeded to do so with eagerness. “I believe it would work,” returned Mr. Derwent thoughtfully, when she had finished. “Follow that up, Betsy. May I call you Betsy?” “Of course, Mr. Derwent. I ain’t anything else; and if you knew how I felt towards you for befriendin’ Rosalie, you’d know that you might call me anything.” Bright tears glistened in the good gray eyes. “The first thing to do, then, is to write Rosalie a letter. Come, we’ll do it now,” he answered. “I must talk with her. We will have her come to the canyon.” CHAPTER XVII SUNRISE ON the following morning there was a reaction of good spirits in all the party. The men went out early on the lake, and the ladies were enthusiastic over the trout they ate for breakfast in consequence. Harmless jests passed between the mothers; Helen Maynard lost somewhat of her reserve, and as for Betsy, her narrow face beamed upon everything and everybody indiscriminately as the party journeyed onward to the Canyon Hotel. After luncheon they all drove to Inspiration Point, and looked upon the Grand Canyon, the sight of whose beauty is an epoch-making experience in the life of the most blasé. The Grand Canyon in Arizona is larger, grander than perhaps any of the world’s physical wonders; but it is too colossal to be grasped. Its very distances are so vast that a bluish veil seems hung before its battlements and minarets, while its river, a mile below, might as well be cotton wool lying stationary in the depths. One sees without believing, and gasps without grasping. There is as much of awe as of joy in beholding the Arizona wonder. But in the Yellowstone lies a revelation of beauty which bathes the soul in a dream of loveliness, so surpassing, so overwhelming, that it is inconceivable that one could receive more into the ecstatic consciousness. Majesty it has and impressive vastness; but not more than can rejoice the eye and thrill the heart. When finally the party were returning to the hotel for dinner, Irving turned a grave face upon Betsy’s glowing countenance. “You don’t seem to have anything on your mind,” he said. “Not a thing,” she rejoined promptly. “I wish I could wash my hands of the affair as easily,” he said crushingly. “Mr. Irving,” a smile rippled over Betsy’s thin lips, “I haven’t had a chance to tell you that I talked with Mr. Derwent last night.” “You did, eh?” The young man’s face changed to alert attention. “He feels just the way we do. It’s goin’ to be all right.” “_Jubilate!_” ejaculated Irving. “How?”