Mrs. Macallister fixed upon him the eye of the flirt who knows her man. She was of the dark-eyed English type; her eyes were very large and full, and her smooth black hair was drawn flatly backward, and fastened in a knot just under her dashing fur cap. She wore a fur sack, and she was equipped against the cold as exquisitely as her Southern sisters defend themselves from the summer. Bits of warm color, in ribbon and scarf, flashed out here and there; when she flung open her sack, she showed herself much more lavishly buttoned and bugled and bangled than the Americans. She sat down on the movable bench which Bartley had vacated, and crossed her feet, very small and saucy, even in their arctics, on a stick of fire-wood, and cast up her neat profile, and rapidly made eyes at every part of the interior. “Why, it's delicious, you know. I never saw anything so comfortable. I want to spend the rest of me life here, you know.” She spoke very far down in her throat, and with a rising inflection in each sentence. “I'm going to have a quarrel with you, Mr. Willett, for not telling me what a delightful surprise you had for us here. Oh, but I'd no idea of it, I assure you!” “Well, I'm glad you like it, Mrs. Macallister,” said Mr. Willett, with the clumsiness of American middle-age when summoned to say something gallant. “If I'd told you what a surprise I had for you, it wouldn't have been one.” “Oh, it's no good your trying to get out of it _that_ way,” retorted the beauty. “There he comes now! I'm really in love with him, you know,” she said, as Kinney opened the door and came hulking forward. Nobody said anything at once, but Bartley laughed finally, and ventured, “Well, I'll propose for you to Kinney.” “Oh, I dare say!” cried the beauty, with a lively effort of wit. “Mr. Kinney, I have fallen in love with your camp, d' ye know?” she added, as Kinney drew near, “and I'm beggin' Mr. Willett to let me come and live here among you.” “Well, ma'am,” said Kinney, a little abashed at this proposition, “you couldn't do a better thing for your health, I _guess_.” The proprietor of The Boston Events turned about, and began to look over the arrangements of the interior; the other ladies went with him, conversing, in low tones. “These must be the places where the men sleep,” they said, gazing at the bunks. “We must get Kinney to explain things to us,” said Mr. Willett a little restlessly. Mrs. Macallister jumped briskly to her feet. “Oh, yes, do, Mr. Willett, make him explain everything! I've been tryin' to coax it out of him, but he's _such_ a tease!” Kinney looked very sheepish in this character, and Mrs. Macallister hooked Bartley to her side for the tour of the interior. “I can't let you away from me, Mr. Hubbard; your friend's so satirical, I'm afraid of him. Only fancy, Mr. Willett! He's been talkin' to _me_ about brain foods! I know he's makin' fun of me; and it isn't kind, is it, Mr. Hubbard?”