“Yes. She would have told you—she would have asked you to join them, I'm sure, but she said you were going to a banquet. I'm sure she said so.”
“Yes, I did tell her so—last night,” nodded Bertram, dully.
Aunt Hannah frowned a little. Still more anxiously she endeavored to explain to this disappointed lover why his sweetheart was not at home to greet him.
“Well, then, of course, my boy, she'd never think of your coming here to-night; and when she found Mr. Arkwright was going to sing—”
“Arkwright!” There was no listlessness in Bertram's voice or manner now.
“Yes. Didn't you see it in the paper? Such a splendid chance for him! His picture was there, too.”
“No. I didn't see it.”
“Then you don't know about it, of course,” smiled Aunt Hannah. “But he's to take the part of Johnson in 'The Girl of the Golden West.' Isn't that splendid? I'm so glad! And Billy was, too. She hurried right off this morning to get the tickets and to ask the Greggorys.”
“Oh!” Bertram got to his feet a little abruptly, and held out his hand. “Well, then, I might as well say good-by then, I suppose,” he suggested with a laugh that Aunt Hannah thought was a bit forced. Before she could remind him again, though, that Billy was really not to blame for not being there to welcome him, he was gone. And Aunt Hannah could only go up-stairs and meditate on the unreasonableness of lovers in general, and of Bertram in particular.
Aunt Hannah had gone to bed, but she was still awake, when Billy came home, so she heard the automobile come to a stop before the door, and she called to Billy when the girl came upstairs.