Even Emily grew uneasy about Johnnie as the weeks passed. She wondered sometimes, remembering a sort of threat, if his mother had really disinherited him. Her lawyers, whom he was always going to consult in Chicago, were saying now that Mrs. Benton had gone to California for the express purpose of investigating investments there, and presently the results would come to light. Emily didn't see clearly why Johnnie should have to drive up to Chicago three days a week to learn such meager facts. He stayed in Chicago so much that his aunts closed the house and went home. And then when he came home he stayed with the Kenworthys.
He stayed with them depressed, silent, and inactive. Emily was troubled about his laziness; but, after all, she had been his mother's stanchest friend and she owed him some sympathy and patience. She was as kind to him as possible.
But not so Martha. She came down suddenly for a week-end, the last of February. Emily told her to go into the small guest room; Johnnie's things were in the other.
"Good night!" she cried. "Is he here, too?"
Was he then so much in Martha's Chicago?
"Now look here, mammie, I don't approve of this. He's taking advantage of you. Why can't he stay at the hotel?"
"Martha, if you like the hotel so well, you'd better go down and try a meal there! It isn't a comfortable place, and you know it."
"But why doesn't he stay at the Kendalls' or at the Johnsons'? Why can't he stay with his friends?"
"Those boys aren't at home now, you know that."
"Well, he needn't try to—get a stand-in here just because his mother is dead. Why don't he live in his own house, like anybody else would?"