“You see,” it seemed to say. “I told you how it would be!”
“Now whom shall we get?” questioned William again. “We must think.”
Unattached gentlewomen of suitable age and desirable temper did not prove to be so numerous among the Henshaws' acquaintances, however, as to make the selection of a chaperon very easy. Several were thought of and suggested; but in each case the candidate was found to possess one or more characteristics that made the idea of her presence utterly abhorrent to some one of the brothers. At last William expostulated:
“See here, boys, we aren't any nearer a settlement than we were in the first place. There isn't any woman, of course, who would exactly suit all of us; and so we shall just have to be willing to take some one who doesn't.”
“The trouble is,” explained Bertram, airily, “we want some one who will be invisible to every one except the world and Billy, and who will be inaudible always.”
“I don't know but you are right,” sighed William. “But suppose we settle on Aunt Hannah. She seems to be the least objectionable of the lot, and I think she'd come. She's alone in the world, and I believe the comfortable roominess of this house would be very grateful to her after the inconvenience of her stuffy little room over at the Back Bay.”
“You bet it would!” murmured Bertram, feelingly; but William did not appear to hear him.
“She's amiable, fairly sensible, and always a lady,” he went on; “and to-morrow morning I believe I'll run over and see if she can't come right away.”
“And may I ask which—er—stratum she—they—will occupy?” smiled Bertram.
“You may ask, but I'm afraid you won't find out very soon,” retorted William, dryly, “if we take as long to decide that matter as we have the rest of it.”