Five, ten, fifteen more minutes passed. Billy still sat, apparently reading, though she had not turned a page. The book now, however, was right side up. One by one other minutes passed till the great clock in the hall struck nine long strokes.
“Well, well, bless my soul!” mumbled Uncle William, resolutely forcing himself to wake up. “What time was that?”
“Nine o'clock.” Billy spoke with tragic distinctness, yet very cheerfully.
“Eh? Only nine?” blinked Uncle William. “I thought it must be ten. Well, anyhow, I believe I'll go up-stairs. I seem to be unusually sleepy.”
Billy said nothing. “'Only nine,' indeed!” she was thinking wrathfully.
At the door Uncle William turned.
“You're not going to sit up, my dear, of course,” he remarked.
For the second time that evening a cold hand seemed to clutch Billy's heart.
Sit up! Had it come already to that? Was she even now a wife who had need to sit up for her husband?
“I really wouldn't, my dear,” advised Uncle William again. “Good night.”