“I must say, Betsy,” declared her mistress faintly, “some people would have waited until there was no guest in the house.” “I’m real sorry I can’t wait,” returned Betsy gently; “but I’m goin’ to arrange for the meals, as I say, so you won’t have a mite o’ trouble, and Mr. Nixon always makes everything jolly.” Mrs. Bruce made no reply, and Betsy left the room. Going out on the street, she heard a piercing whistle down the street, executing a classic which would inspire a bronze image to cake-walk. Betsy did not attempt any fancy steps, but she started on a long, energetic stride in the direction of the shrill ragtime. She waved her hand with a gesture which she knew would check Robert’s effervescence. He waved his cap in return. “Where’s Mr. Irving?” she asked as soon as he could hear her. “He’s helping Cap’n Salter with the sail. They didn’t appreciate my services, so I came away.” “I just wanted to tell you, Mr. Nixon, that I’m goin’ to Boston.” “Giddy creature! The whirl of the city drawing you so soon?” “I’m goin’ to tell your mother what rooms there are at the inn, and if you have any message—” “I have. Tell her it’s great here, and to let me know as soon as she’s through using the car, because I want to bring it down—or up.” “I will. Say, Mr. Nixon,”—they were strolling toward the house, Betsy hanging back unaccountably,—“I hope you and Mr. Irving’ll be sort of attentive to Mrs. Bruce for a couple o’ days.” “Sure thing. I’m eternally attentive to her. What’s up?” “Well—she doesn’t like to have me go; has the habit of me, you know; and I’ve got to go, that’s all there is about it.” “Sad! sad!” ejaculated Robert. “Frightful thing—habit. You seemed so mild out in the Yellowstone I hadn’t an idea you couldn’t endure the quiet of the country a week.” “Now I’m relyin’ quite a lot,” said Betsy, “on your foolishness.” “What?” inquired the young man, his voice breaking. “Mrs. Bruce can impose on Mr. Irving—I mean,—you know what I mean, she can make him fall in with her moods; while you—well, you’re just as good as a rattle to—” “Betsy,—now, Betsy, beware! I have average poise, I hope, still I’m only human. My head can be turned!” Betsy smiled. “I don’t know as I exactly make you understand what I mean—” “Oh, yes, you do. Your meaning is as clear as clear limping water. Please don’t be any more definite or I may burst into tears; and it’s in every etiquette book that I ever read, that it isn’t proper to make the company cry.” “Yes, that’s the way,” said Betsy with satisfaction. “Just chatter to her like that, and she’ll—” “Betsy! Cruel one! How can I impress you!”