Miss Billy Married | Page 9

first Sunday after the wedding Pete came up-stairs to tell his
master, William, that Mrs. Stetson wanted to see him in the drawing-
room.
William went down at once.
``Well, Aunt Hannah,'' he began, reaching out a cordial hand. ``Why,
what's the matter?'' he broke off concernedly, as he caught a clearer
view of the little old lady's drawn face and troubled eyes.
``William, it's silly, of course,'' cried Aunt Hannah, tremulously, ``but I
simply had to go to some one. I--I feel so nervous and unsettled!
Did--did Billy say anything to you-- what she was going to do?''
``What she was going to do? About what? What do you mean?''
``About the house--selling it,'' faltered Aunt Hannah, sinking wearily
back into her chair.
William frowned thoughtfully.
``Why, no,'' he answered. ``It was all so hurried at the last, you know.
There was really very little chance to make plans for anything-- except
the wedding,'' he finished, with a smile.
``Yes, I know,'' sighed Aunt Hannah. ``Everything was in such
confusion! Still, I didn't know but she might have said something--to
you.''
``No, she didn't. But I imagine it won't be hard to guess what she'll do.

When they get back from their trip I fancy she won't lose much time in
having what things she wants brought down here. Then she'll sell the
rest and put the house on the market.''
``Yes, of--of course,'' stammered Aunt Hannah, pulling herself hastily
to a more erect position. ``That's what I thought, too. Then don't you
think we'd better dismiss Rosa and close the house at once?''
``Why--yes, perhaps so. Why not? Then you'd be all settled here when
she comes home. I'm sure, the sooner you come, the better I'll be
pleased,'' he smiled.
Aunt Hannah turned sharply.
``Here!'' she ejaculated. ``William Henshaw, you didn't suppose I was
coming here to live, did you?''
It was William's turn to look amazed.
``Why, of course you're coming here! Where else should you go, pray?''
``Where I was before--before Billy came--to you,'' returned Aunt
Hannah a little tremulously, but with a certain dignity. ``I shall take a
room in some quiet boarding-house, of course.''
``Nonsense, Aunt Hannah! As if Billy would listen to that! You came
before; why not come now?''
Aunt Hannah lifted her chin the fraction of an inch.
``You forget. I was needed before. Billy is a married woman now. She
needs no chaperon.''
``Nonsense!'' scowled William, again. ``Billy will always need you.''
Aunt Hannah shook her head mournfully.
``I like to think--she wants me, William, but I know, in my heart, it isn't
best.''

``Why not?''
There was a moment's pause; then, decisively came the answer.
``Because I think young married folks should not have outsiders in the
home.''
William laughed relievedly.
``Oh, so that's it! Well, Aunt Hannah, you're no outsider. Come, run
right along home and pack your trunk.''
Aunt Hannah was plainly almost crying; but she held her ground.
``William, I can't,'' she reiterated.
``But--Billy is such a child, and--''
For once in her circumspect life Aunt Hannah was guilty of an
interruption.
``Pardon me, William, she is not a child. She is a woman now, and she
has a woman's problems to meet.''
``Well, then, why don't you help her meet them?'' retorted William, still
with a whimsical smile.
But Aunt Hannah did not smile. For a minute she did not speak; then,
with her eyes studiously averted, she said:
``William, the first four years of my married life were--were spoiled by
an outsider in our home. I don't mean to spoil Billy's.''
William relaxed visibly. The smile fled from his face.
``Why--Aunt--Hannah!'' he exclaimed.
The little old lady turned with a weary sigh.

``Yes, I know. You are shocked, of course. I shouldn't have told you.
Still, it is all past long ago, and--I wanted to make you understand why
I can't come. He was my husband's eldest brother--a bachelor. He was
good and kind, and meant well, I suppose; but--he interfered with
everything. I was young, and probably headstrong. At all events, there
was constant friction. He went away once and stayed two whole
months. I shall never forget the utter freedom and happiness of those
months for us, with the whole house to ourselves. No, William, I can't
come.'' She rose abruptly and turned toward the door. Her eyes were
wistful, and her face was still drawn with suffering; but her whole frail
little self quivered plainly with high resolve. ``John has Peggy outside.
I must go.''
``But--but, Aunt Hannah,'' began William, helplessly.
She lifted a protesting hand.
``No, don't urge me, please. I can't come here. But--I believe I won't
close the house till Billy gets home, after all,'' she declared. The next
moment she was gone, and William, dazedly, from the doorway, was