There were other sentences, but Bertram's eyes chanced to fall on the opposite page where the “Things to Remember” had been changed to “Things to Forget”; and here Billy had written just four words: “Burns,” “cuts,” and “yesterday's failures.”
Bertram dropped the book then with a spasmodic clearing of his throat, and hurriedly resumed his search. When he did find his wife, at last, he gave a cry of dismay—she was on her own bed, huddled in a little heap, and shaking with sobs.
“Billy! Why, Billy!” he gasped, striding to the bedside.
Billy sat up at once, and hastily wiped her eyes.
“Oh, is it you, B-Bertram? I didn't hear you come in. You—you s-said you weren't coming till six o'clock!” she choked.
“Billy, what is the meaning of this?”
“N-nothing. I—I guess I'm just tired.”
“What have you been doing?” Bertram spoke sternly, almost sharply. He was wondering why he had not noticed before the little hollows in his wife's cheeks. “Billy, what have you been doing?”
“Why, n-nothing extra, only some sweeping, and cleaning out the refrigerator.”
“Sweeping! Cleaning! You! I thought Mrs. Durgin did that.”