“But, Billy,” she contested, wearily, “can't you understand that it wasn't YOUR place to interfere—you, a young girl?”
“I'm sure I don't see what difference that makes. I was the only one that could do it! Besides, afterward, I did try to get some one else, Uncle William and Mr. Cyril. But when I found I couldn't get them, I just had to do it alone—that is, with Pete.”
“Pete!” scoffed Mrs. Hartwell. “Pete, indeed!”
Billy's head came up with a jerk. Billy was very angry now.
“Aunt Kate, it seems I've done a very terrible thing, but I'm sure I don't see it that way. I wasn't afraid, and I wasn't in the least bit of danger anywhere. I knew my way perfectly, and I did NOT make any 'scene' in that restaurant. I just asked Mr. Bertram to come home with me. One would think you WANTED Mr. Bertram to go off with that man and—and drink too much. But Uncle William hasn't liked him before, not one bit! I've heard him talk about him—that Mr. Seaver.”
Mrs. Hartwell raised both her hands, palms outward.
“Billy, it is useless to talk with you. You are quite impossible. It is even worse than I expected!” she cried, with wrathful impatience.
“Worse than you—expected? What do you mean, please?”
“Worse than I thought it would be—before you came. The idea of those five men taking a girl to bring up!”
Billy sat very still. She was even holding her breath, though Mrs. Hartwell did not know that.