Betsy complained to Mrs. Bruce of the cold of the morning and advised her not to stand on the veranda to view the loading of the stages. Mrs. Nixon would not do this in any case, and Robert had taken Helen out for a stroll. Only Irving Bruce paced the piazza among the crowd, and when Mr. Derwent put Rosalie into the stage he met her eyes once. Mr. Derwent saw him, and wondered if he had recognized the brown bird. He prepared himself for an explanation, and approached the young man. “Pretty snappy drive they’re in for this morning,” he said. “It is rather fresh,” replied the latter. “I was just wondering if Miss Vincent had wraps enough.” Mr. Derwent regarded him curiously. “You recognized her then?” “Yes.” “I take great interest in that girl,” said Mr. Derwent. “I am not surprised.” “I am sending her out of the Park.” “If you hadn’t, I should,” said Irving. “It’s scarcely a case for your assistance,” returned Mr. Derwent dryly. “But I wish to say that I appreciate your refraining from approaching her just now.” Irving thought of the white dove that had clung to his breast. “You showed good taste,” went on Mr. Derwent, “and an appreciation of the fact that this is a case where ‘the least said, the soonest mended,’ applies.” “Quite so,” answered Irving equably; and Mr. Derwent, once more nodding approval of him, went into the house. What a drive it was that morning for Rosalie! Betsy had wrapped around her, beneath her coat, a woolly “fascinator” of her own, and even without it, it is doubtful if the girl would have recognized temperature. Every little creature of the woods, as it came fearlessly from its covert, seemed to congratulate her on being alive with them; like them safe from being hunted, free to love, to work. Arrived at Norris for luncheon, who should come to wait on her at table but Miss Hickey. The young woman stood above the blonde girl’s chair, and impersonally called the menu to whomever it might concern. Rosalie looked slowly around at her, her golden-brown veil pushed up from her face. “Miss Hickey,” she said softly. “Goodness, Baby! _You!_” The waitress’s eyes stared and snapped; but business pressed, and it was not until the end of the meal, when Rosalie lingered for the purpose, that Miss Hickey had opportunity to slake her burning thirst for information. “Been fired?” she asked sympathetically. “No, I left.” “Struck a gold mine? How are you goin’ to pay your way back?” “Some friends are sending me back.” Miss Hickey eyed her scrutinizingly. “You look as happy as if you’d lost twenty-five cents, and found ten dollars.” “I am happy. Oh, Miss Hickey, I’m so happy!” “Who’s with you, Baby? I’ll skin ’em if they’re doin’ you mean.” “No one’s with me. I’m all alone. I’m going to Boston alone.” “Sent? Or sent _for_?” inquired the other, still unsatisfied. “Sent,” returned Rosalie with a seraphic smile. “By those folks you were scared of?” asked Miss Hickey, with sudden inspiration.