Aunt Hannah sank into a chair, still wringing her hands.
“Oh, Billy, Billy, how can I tell you, how can I tell you?” she moaned.
“You must tell me! Aunt Hannah, what is it?”
“Oh—oh—oh! Billy, I can't—I can't!”
“But you'll have to! What is it, Aunt Hannah?”
“It's—B-Bertram!”
“Bertram!” Billy's face grew ashen. “Quick, quick—what do you mean?”
For answer, Aunt Hannah covered her face with her hands and began to sob aloud. Billy, almost beside herself now with terror and anxiety, dropped on her knees and tried to pull away the shaking hands.
“Aunt Hannah, you must tell me! You must—you must!”
“I can't, Billy. It's Bertram. He's—hurt!” choked Aunt Hannah, hysterically.