“You can expect just what you got—misery, and almost a tragedy,” retorted Aunt Hannah, severely.
A tender light came into Billy's eyes.
“Dear Uncle William! What a jewel he was, all the way through! And he'd have marched straight to the altar, too, with never a flicker of an eyelid, I know—self-sacrificing martyr that he was!”
“Martyr!” bristled Aunt Hannah, with extraordinary violence for her. “I'm thinking that term belonged somewhere else. A month ago, Billy Neilson, you did not look as if you'd live out half your days. But I suppose you'd have gone to the altar, too, with never a flicker of an eyelid!”
“But I thought I had to,” protested Billy. “I couldn't grieve Uncle William so, after Mrs. Hartwell had said how he—he wanted me.”
Aunt Hannah's lips grew stern at the corners.
“There are times when—when I think it would be wiser if Mrs. Kate Hartwell would attend to her own affairs!” Aunt Hannah's voice fairly shook with wrath.
“Why-Aunt Hannah!” reproved Billy in mischievous horror. “I'm shocked at you!”
Aunt Hannah flushed miserably.
“There, there, child, forget I said it. I ought not to have said it, of course,” she murmured agitatedly.