She was so obviously distressed and frightened that Billy was puzzled.
“There, there, 'twas only a jest, of course,” she soothed her. “But, really Marie, it is the dear, domestic little mouse like yourself that ought to be somebody's wife—and that's the kind men are looking for, too.”
Marie gave a slow shake of her head.
“Not the kind of man that is somebody, that does something,” she objected; “and that's the only kind I could—love. HE wants a wife that is beautiful and clever, that can do things like himself—LIKE HIMSELF!” she iterated feverishly.
Billy opened wide her eyes.
“Why, Marie, one would think—you already knew—such a man,” she cried.
The little music teacher changed her position, and turned her eyes away.
“I do, of course,” she retorted in a merry voice, “lots of them. Don't you? Come, we've discussed my matrimonial prospects quite long enough,” she went on lightly. “You know we started with yours. Suppose we go back to those.”
“But I haven't any,” demurred Billy, as she turned with a smile to greet Aunt Hannah, who had just entered the room. “I'm not going to marry; am I, Aunt Hannah?”
“Er—what? Marry? My grief and conscience, what a question, Billy! Of course you're going to marry—when the time comes!” exclaimed Aunt Hannah.