William went down at once.
“Well, Aunt Hannah,” he began, reaching out a cordial hand. “Why, what's the matter?” he broke off concernedly, as he caught a clearer view of the little old lady's drawn face and troubled eyes.
“William, it's silly, of course,” cried Aunt Hannah, tremulously, “but I simply had to go to some one. I—I feel so nervous and unsettled! Did—did Billy say anything to you—what she was going to do?”
“What she was going to do? About what? What do you mean?”
“About the house—selling it,” faltered Aunt Hannah, sinking wearily back into her chair.
William frowned thoughtfully.
“Why, no,” he answered. “It was all so hurried at the last, you know. There was really very little chance to make plans for anything—except the wedding,” he finished, with a smile.
“Yes, I know,” sighed Aunt Hannah. “Everything was in such confusion! Still, I didn't know but she might have said something—to you.”
“No, she didn't. But I imagine it won't be hard to guess what she'll do. When they get back from their trip I fancy she won't lose much time in having what things she wants brought down here. Then she'll sell the rest and put the house on the market.”
“Yes, of—of course,” stammered Aunt Hannah, pulling herself hastily to a more erect position. “That's what I thought, too. Then don't you think we'd better dismiss Rosa and close the house at once?”