“That’s it. I kept asking Betsy if she was awake. Didn’t I, Betsy?”
“Yes’m.”
“And she knows how they talked. They went out every hour—every hour, all night, Irving.” Mrs. Bruce made the repetition with an impressiveness mere print is powerless to convey. “Went to see the geysers and then slammed back into their room to talk about them. Oh!!”
“Too bad, Madama! You’re quite tired out. Now just rest a while. Don’t trouble to talk.”
“And the radiator, Irving.” Mrs. Bruce had not yet relieved her mind. “It cracked all night. The apparatus must be put in wrong. I called Betsy’s attention to it several times. She’ll remember.”
Miss Foster looked as if the memory of the night was liable to remain for some time as green as the room Mrs. Bruce had waked in.
“The hotel should be thoroughly done over,” declared Mrs. Bruce, “the walls chinked with cement and the steampipes looked to, or else in common honesty a placard should be nailed up, reading: ‘For show only!’ If ever I was grateful for anything, it is that you had planned to go this morning, anyway. I shouldn’t have had the force to argue or persuade you.”
Irving thought of his own nocturnal perambulations, and turned toward the seat behind, where Mrs. Nixon was seated with her brother.
Her countenance wore a forbidding expression.
“Were you unfortunate also?” he asked.