Isabel saw that his shoes were light things of patent leather, and that snow was clinging to them.

She made a little rush toward him, and, as one of his feet rested on the iron step of the machine, in mounting, she began to clean the snow from his shoe with her almost aerial lace handkerchief.
"You mustn't catch cold!" she cried.
"Stop that!" George shouted, and furiously withdrew his foot.
"Then stamp the snow off," she begged.

"You mustn't ride with wet feet." "They're not!" George roared, thoroughly outraged.

"For heaven's sake get in! You're standing in the snow yourself.

Get in!" Isabel consented, turning to Morgan, whose habitual expression of apprehensiveness was somewhat accentuated.