Billy bubbled into a chuckling laugh.
“As if I didn't know that, when I've just written a dozen notes to announce it! And, oh, Aunt Hannah, such a time as I've had, telling what a dear Bertram is, and how I love, love, love him, and what beautiful eyes he has, and such a nose, and—”
“Billy!” Aunt Hannah was sitting erect in pale horror.
“Eh?” Billy's eyes were roguish.
“You didn't write that in those notes!”
“Write it? Oh, no! That's only what I wanted to write,” chuckled Billy. “What I really did write was as staid and proper as—here, let me show you,” she broke off, springing to her feet and running over to her desk. “There! this is about what I wrote to them all,” she finished, whipping a note out of one of the unsealed envelopes on the desk and spreading it open before Aunt Hannah's suspicious eyes.
“Hm-m; that is very good—for you,” admitted the lady.
“Well, I like that!—after all my stern self-control and self-sacrifice to keep out all those things I wanted to write,” bridled Billy. “Besides, they'd have been ever so much more interesting reading than these will be,” she pouted, as she took the note from her companion's hand.
“I don't doubt it,” observed Aunt Hannah, dryly.
Billy laughed, and tossed the note back on the desk.