Many, many times he had barely saved himself from declaring his
love; and, now, he was asked to live with her in the most intimate
companionship possible.
For the only time in his life Brian Kent was almost angry at Auntie Sue.
"By all that was consistent, and reasonable, and merciful, and safe," he
told himself, "if it was absolutely necessary for the dear old lady to
disappear so mysteriously, why had she not taken Betty Jo along?"
In the meantime, while Brian was confiding his grievances to his
four-footed companions in the barn, Betty Jo was expressing herself in
the kitchen.
"Betty Jo," she began, as she raked the ashes from the stove preparatory
to building the fire, "it appears to me that you have some serious
considering to do, and"--with a glance toward the barn, as she went out
to empty the ash-pan--"you must do it quickly before that man comes for
his breakfast. You were very right, last night, in your decision, to
go away. It is exactly what you should have done. I am more than ever
convinced of that, this morning. But you can't go now. Even if Auntie
Sue had not taken your pocket-book and every penny in it, you couldn't
run away with Auntie Sue herself gone. If she hadn't wanted you to stay
right here for some very serious reason, Betty Jo, she would have
taken you with her last night. Auntie Sue very pointedly and definitely
expects you to be here when she returns.
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