Irving sprang to his feet as if he had been shot.
“Betsy, have you—is it possible—” he nearly choked in his excitement—“have you found her some place on the stage—vaudeville?”
Miss Foster, after her first jump, swallowed, and looked at him in exasperation.
“Will you sit down and not scare a body into a fit?”
“Have you, I say!” he demanded fiercely. “I’ll see Derwent to-night if he’s had anything to do with this.”
“For the land’s sake, Irving Bruce, you’re actin’ like a natural-born fool—but I love you for it!” The gray eyes sparkled. “Sit down on this bench.”
He obeyed, but his eyes still devoured her.
“I can’t leave Mrs. Bruce, can I? If Rosalie went on the stage I’d have to go with her, wouldn’t I? Do act as if you had some common sense.”
“You frightened me,” said Irving.
“Well, you nearly gave me heart disease.”