Mrs. Bruce was greatly excited. “It’s a shame, a perfect shame that the Company don’t warn people to bring flannels and furs,” she said. “Even my sweater feels like muslin.”
“You’re going to wear my overcoat, Madama,” said Irving, beginning to put it about her.
“No indeed, Mr. Irving,” burst forth Betsy, and was rewarded by a flash behind Mrs. Bruce’s eyeglasses.
“Do you suppose I should allow him, Betsy? What are you thinking of!”
As she spoke sharply, the offended woman drew away from her son, and Betsy hastened to mollify her.
“I’m going to wrap you up in my things, Mrs. Bruce,” she said.
The lady made a faint protest.
“Yes, ma’am, you let me, because you couldn’t drag me away from this fire anyway. I’d rather see flames spout than water to-night.”
Irving frowned. “You didn’t come across the continent for that, Betsy,” he began.