"I don't see how the poor girl can afford it," Carrie Poole said, not unkindly. "They say she and her father are very poor."
"Mr. Bob Wildwood works regularly. He doesn't drink any more," Ruth explained, intentionally speaking so that those in the forward seat could hear if they wished to listen.
"Rosa is an awfully sweet girl," said Carrie.
"I love that little Southern drawl of hers!" cried Pearl. "She says 'Ah reckon so' in just the _cunningest_ way!"
"She is very frail," Ruth continued, clearly. "I was afraid she would break down before the school term closed. Now it has been arranged for her to stay at Pleasant Cove until she gains strength. Dr. Forsythe says it will do her a world of good."
"We'll give her a good time, all right," declared Pearl. "Wish we could have her with us----"
"Not at the bungalow," said Ruth. "Nor at the hotel. We want a quiet place for her. I shall find it."
Not a sign did the girl in front give that she heard any of this conversation. Yet Ruth believed there was a curious intentness in her manner--she held her head very still as though she were secretly listening, while apparently giving all her attention to what the train passed.
"What does your uncle call his bungalow--where we shall stop?" asked Ruth of Pearl.
"Why, the Spoondrift--don't you remember? It's at this end of the cove, near the river, and we have bathing rights on the shore. It's a fine place. You'll _love_ it, Ruth Kenway."
"I expect to," said Ruth, seriously. "And you were very kind to ask me to stay two whole weeks with you," and Ruth passed on.
She had intentionally said enough so that, if the strange girl _were_ listening, she would learn just where Ruth could be found at Pleasant Cove.
For the Corner House girl felt that the dark beauty with the Gypsy woman held some keen interest in Rosa Wildwood. Of course--right at the start--the story of Rosa's lost sister, June, had come into Ruth's mind.
Yet, as the Corner House girl looked at the stranger, she could not say truthfully that it was Rosa of whom _this_ girl reminded her. Ruth conjured before her mind's eye the fair, delicate beauty of Bob Wildwood's daughter; the two girls possessed no feature in common--and in complexion they were, of course, diametrically opposed.