Billy reached for her coat. Aunt Hannah stirred into sudden action.
“But, Billy, if you'd only wait till to-morrow,” she quavered, putting out a feebly restraining hand.
“To-morrow!” The young voice rang with supreme scorn. “Do you think I'd wait till to-morrow—after all this? I say Bertram wants me.” Billy picked up her gloves.
“But you broke it off, dear—you said you did; and to go down there to-night—like this—”
Billy lifted her head. Her eyes shone. Her whole face was a glory of love and pride.
“That was before. I didn't know. He wants me, Aunt Hannah. Did you hear? He wants me! And now I won't even—hinder him, if he can't—p-paint again!” Billy's voice broke. The glory left her face. Her eyes brimmed with tears, but her head was still bravely uplifted. “I'm going to Bertram!”
Blindly Aunt Hannah got to her feet. Still more blindly she reached for her bonnet and cloak on the chair near her.
“Oh, will you go, too?” asked Billy, abstractedly, hurrying to the window to look for the motor car.
“Will I go, too!” burst out Aunt Hannah's indignant voice. “Do you think I'd let you go alone, and at this time of night, on such a wild-goose chase as this?”
“I don't know, I'm sure,” murmured Billy, still abstractedly, peering out into the rain.