It was some time later that Billy turned to him with an amazed exclamation in response to something he had said.
“Home with you! Why, Uncle William, what do you mean? You didn't really think you'd got to be troubled with ME any longer!” she cried merrily.
William's face paled, then flushed.
“I did not call it 'trouble,' Billy,” he said quietly. His grieved eyes looked straight into hers and drove the merriment quite away.
“Oh, I'm so sorry,” she said gently. “And I appreciate your kindness, indeed I do; but I couldn't—really I couldn't think of such a thing!”
“And you don't have to think of it,” cut in Bertram, who considered that the situation was becoming much too serious. “All you have to do is to come.”
Billy shook her head.
“You are so good, all of you! But you didn't—you really didn't think I WAS—coming!” she protested.
“Indeed we did,” asserted Bertram, promptly; “and we have done everything to get ready for you, too, even to rigging up Spunkie to masquerade as Spunk. I'll warrant that Pete's nose is already flattened against the window-pane, lest we should HAPPEN to come to-night; and there's no telling how many cakes of chocolate Dong Ling has spoiled by this time. We left him trying to make fudge, you know.”
Billy laughed—but she cried, too; at least, her eyes grew suddenly moist. Bertram tried to decide afterward whether she laughed till she cried, or cried till she laughed.