“Pretty good place,” agreed Betsy. “I’m glad I ain’t goin’ to see a trunk for months; but—” she hesitated unwontedly, and then continued, “I’d like to go to Boston for a couple o’ days, Mrs. Bruce, if you can spare me.”
“Dear me, when we’ve just arrived?”
“The cook’s all right, and you’ve got Mr. Irving and his friend both here—”
“A lot of good they are,” retorted Mrs. Bruce. “They’ve lived with Captain Salter ever since we came.”
Betsy said nothing. Mrs. Bruce had the uncomfortable realization which seized her at times that, although her None-such went through the form of asking her permission, she would in fact do exactly what she thought best.
“It’s such a queer thing for you to want to do, Betsy,” she continued, “to go back into the heart of the city immediately. Of course Mrs. Nixon felt obliged to stay a few days with Miss Maynard, to order some gowns—”
“Do you want to send her any word?”
“Yes, I promised to look at the rooms at the inn and see what they had.”
“Can’t I do that for you?” asked Betsy.