Helen Maynard looked charming in an evening gown of pale pink chiffon. The quiet little chrysalis familiar to their Yellowstone stage had yielded up a butterfly upon which Mrs. Nixon looked with pride as the work of her hands, noting with satisfaction the admiring curiosity in the eyes of the three men. Even Helen’s demureness was not proof against the radiance of her content to-night as they took their places at the table. She was seated between the two young men, whose coats of tan provoked much comment from the newcomers. When they had taken their places, Robert looked about with his usual cheerfulness. “All present or accounted for but Hebe,” he declared. “It seems as if she ought to materialize and bring us our soup.” Irving gazed at him. “You saw nothing unfitting, then, in that office for her?” The speaker’s manner was always quiet, but his boon companion recognized the tone. “Brute of my heart!” ejaculated the latter, “‘I would not live alway,’ but a little longer, please! You’ll pardon the natural yearnings of an affectionate nature. I can’t help missing lovely Hebe.” “There is a more familiar face than Miss Vincent’s that we are missing,” said Helen. She turned to Mrs. Bruce. “How is Clever Betsy?” “Very well indeed, thank you,” returned that lady. “She is evidently more than grateful to be on her native heath again. I think I never knew Betsy in such good spirits as she has shown the past week.” “I noticed it in Boston,” said Helen. “When she came to see us she seemed so happy. She said the best part of any trip, no matter how delightful, was getting home again.” While Helen Maynard spoke, she had a habit of turning at short intervals to Mr. Derwent as if to include him in all she said; and such was his ability to understand her, that his eyes sent her an acknowledgment even when there was no occasion for him to speak. This time, however, he did answer. “I don’t wonder at Betsy. I like the looks of this place very much myself.” “And the taste of it,” added Robert, eating his soup with a seaman’s appetite. “This is very good, for a hotel. For myself, I live in a private family, and I pity you all. Mrs. Bruce has a cook with whom I’m liable to elope.” “I’ll show her off to you some day soon,” said Mrs. Bruce graciously. * * * * * Betsy Foster was meanwhile enjoying the unwonted sole possession of the cottage. While she straightened the chaos in the young men’s rooms, a smile was on her lips, and a light of excitement burned in her eyes. When all was neat within doors and she had eaten her simple supper, she went out on the veranda, and seating herself in the best rocker, rocked, and hummed one of Robert’s most abandoned two-steps. While she was thus enjoying the _dolce far niente_ of her unobserved evening, a light rain began to fall.