“But why not?”
“I'm tired and half sick with a headache this morning. I didn't sleep, and I've taken cold somewhere,” sighed the lady, pulling the top shawl a little higher about her throat.
“Why, you poor dear, what a shame!”
“Won't Bertram go?” asked Aunt Hannah.
Billy shook her head—but she did not meet Aunt Hannah's eyes.
“Oh, no. I sha'n't even ask him. He said last night he had a banquet on for to-night—one of his art clubs, I believe.” Billy's voice was casualness itself.
“But you'll have the Greggorys—that is, Mrs. Greggory can go, can't she?” inquired Aunt Hannah.
“Oh, yes; I'm sure she can,” nodded Billy. “You know she went to the operetta, and this is just the same—only bigger.”
“Yes, yes, I know,” murmured Aunt Hannah.
“Dear me! How can she get about so on those two wretched little sticks? She's a perfect marvel to me.”