"Go away? Oh, Amy!" cried the Little Captain in surprise, facing her as though that possibility had not yet entered her mind.
"Why, yes," repeated Amy, astonished at Betty's amazement. "She's almost well now, and, of course, she's too independent to want to stay here when she's all right again. Why, Betty, what's the matter?"
For Betty had sunk down in one of the kitchen chairs and was regarding her tragically.
"But, Amy, she mustn't go away," she argued weakly, knowing that she really had no argument at all. "Why, I really can't imagine it! I—I never thought—"
"Well, of course, none of us wants her to," Amy admitted, adding reasonably: "But I really don't see how we're going to stop her if she makes up her mind to go. Do you?"
Betty picked up one of the hampers and they walked slowly back through the hall to the front porch.
"Why no, not exactly," she said thoughtfully, then added, with a sudden gleam in her eyes: "Unless—unless—"
"Unless what?" queried Amy breathlessly.
"Oh, I don't know whether you'd call it an idea or just plain foolishness," answered Betty, striving to speak carelessly. "I was just thinking that we might persuade her to stay longer on the plea that we wanted to bring the motorcyclist to justice and needed her identification."
Amy looked a little disappointed.