“Mr. Derwent’s,” responded Betsy after a reluctant pause.
“I hope they are proper for the seashore.”
“They’re real simple, and pretty, and good; just like her.”
“Tell me what you bought.”
Irving brought his sun-burned face close to Betsy’s and hung his hand over the back of the seat close to her shoulder.
Betsy pressed her lips together.
“If you don’t I’ll hug you, and Mrs. Bruce is up there on the piazza, looking.”
“Mr. Irving, behave yourself!”
Betsy essayed to rise, and was brought back swiftly by the strong hand.
“I can see her in everything if you’ll just describe it.”