“Yes, that’s why they oil the roads now,” returned Bruce pacifically, “and we don’t have to hurry, by this means, you see. Take our own time. Don’t have to hurry past anything to make room for the next stage.”
“I never could endure leavings!” exclaimed Mrs. Bruce, her eyes still snapping as the last stage came around the curve toward the steps.
Betsy attracted her attention.
“See those folks you said looked so aristocratic,” she said quietly. “They’re goin’ with us.”
Mrs. Bruce followed the direction of her maid’s meaning glance and observed the deaf gentleman’s party of three. Insensibly Mrs. Bruce’s ireful expression relaxed. There was that in the tone of this party which could lend distinction even to the last stage.
Mrs. Bruce gazed at the trio appreciatively.
“I marvel,” she murmured to Betsy, “that they haven’t their own equipage.”
Betsy sighed with relief and felt that the day was won.
Having observed the dignified, florid-faced man with the white mustache, the tall woman in half-mourning, and the quiet young girl who accompanied them, Mrs. Bruce spoke again distinctly:—
“If I should not be taking any one’s place on the driver’s seat, I should like to sit there very much.”