Trudy stood looking at her captive in more hopelessness than she would admit to herself.  She knew that this, Collin’s first serious trouble, had overwhelmed him till he had despaired.

She could see plainly enough the weakness of his arguments, and she foresaw the misery into which he was ready and anxious, in his despondency, to plunge.

But how to make him see it?  That was another matter, and one which staggered the faithful, anxious girl.  To run away!  What folly, and what sure ruin!  But, if Collin would not see that hard truth?

Trudy’s heart sank.  She had gained her point, for once; but beyond that, which was little, would she prevail?  Collin was young and headstrong and in the depths of woe, and what would, in spite of her, be the outcome, Trudy feared to think.

“Collin—­Collin!” she was beginning, entreatingly, when hurrying steps on the pier-planks made her look up.

Rosalie Scott was coming towards them at a quick trot, looking this way and that, searchingly, till she saw Trudy.

“Well,” she cried.  “If I ever!  What a girl you are!  What were you after?  If I ever saw such a runner!  I knew you could row, and now I know you can run.  I thought you’d seen a ghost, or something worse.  You’d have run the other way, though.  Anyhow,” said Rosalie, dropping down on a second box to get her breath, “I thought I’d see what it was, and I didn’t think you’d mind, if I did.”

She looked from Trudy to Collin, with undisguised wonder.  Collin only stared at her.  Trudy smiled, but with quivering lips, and traces of her tears were plain.

“Why-y,” Rosalie stammered.  “Something’s the matter!”

She was the picture of amazement and curiosity, and Collin could not help smiling.  He was dazzled, too, by the gay apparition in the yellow-ribboned dress, the big, daisy-trimmed hat and the patent-leather shoes.

Neither he nor Trudy denied that something was the matter.  Neither spoke.

“Well,” said Rosalie, with the good-nature which was a part of her, though half-pouting, “I’m intruding, I suppose.  I didn’t think it was anything private, or—­solemn.”

Her bright eyes turned from one to the other, a funny twinkle in them.

Trudy could not speak, but Collin roused himself.

“I don’t know what we’re staying here for,” he said, shortly.  “I’d got started to take the boat, but Trudy stopped me. That’s what she was running for.  The boat’s gone, and we’d better go.  I don’t know what Trudy’s going to do with me now.  Maybe she knows.”

He got up, his bundle sagging from a nerveless hand and his face dull, and they turned up the pier.

“You are in trouble,” said Rosalie, soberly.  “I’m sorry I came.  That’s the way I always do, you know.  I do things before I think.  And I’m sorry for you.”

Collin made a husky sound of acknowledgment.  To Trudy, he muttered: