“About—about our not needing you. So we know, now, why you left; and we sha'n't stand it.”
“Pete? That? Oh, that—that's nonsense I—I'll settle with Pete.”
Billy laughed softly.
“Poor Pete! Don't. We simply dragged it out of him. And now we're here to tell you that we do want you, and that you must come back.”
Again William shook his head. A swift shadow crossed his face.
“Thank you, no, children,” he said dully.
“You're very kind, but you don't need me. I should be just an interfering elder brother. I should spoil your young married life.” (William's voice now sounded as if he were reciting a well-learned lesson.) “If I went away and stayed two months, you'd never forget the utter freedom and joy of those two whole months with the house all to yourselves.”
“Uncle William,” gasped Billy, “what are you talking about?”
“About—about my not going back, of course.”
“But you are coming back,” cut in Bertram, almost angrily. “Oh, come, Will, this is utter nonsense, and you know it! Come, let's go home to dinner.”