Betsy looked nonchalantly in the direction he indicated. “Why, so ’tis,” she said quietly.
Mrs. Bruce turned her eyeglasses upon them. “Of course if you and Betsy want to talk, don’t mind interrupting me.”
“Thanks, Madama. I’ve been drying Betsy’s tears all the morning shed for the loss of her blonde heaver; and I just discovered her, that’s all. You’ll excuse me, won’t you?”
Mrs. Bruce peered near-sightedly down the hall, but saw nothing nearly so interesting as her soup, so returned to it.
Betsy waited for Irving’s next words, expecting they might be of recognition; but he went on eating, as he added:—
“You’d better make it a point to see her, this trip, and tell her to try her hand at a pathetic tale for the Maiden’s Home Companion!”
Betsy gave a one-sided smile of relief. “Mrs. Bruce, you indulged this young man too much a spell back. He’d ought to been disciplined ’fore ’twas too late.”
“That from you!” returned Mrs. Bruce complacently. “You never wanted me even to contradict him.”
After dinner the men of the party put the four women into a wagon, whose driver was warranted to let Mrs. Bruce lose nothing which could be seen and heard in one afternoon, and started off for a tramp.