He wanted William, of course.

Certainly he wanted William; but if William would insist on running away and sitting on park benches in this ridiculous fashion, he ought to take the consequences--until to-morrow.
Five, ten, fifteen minutes passed.

Up one path and down another trudged the anxious-eyed Billy and her increasingly impatient husband.

Then when the fifteen weary minutes had become a still more weary half-hour, the bonds Bertram had set on his temper snapped.
"Billy," he remonstrated despairingly, "do, please, come home! Don't you see how highly improbable it is that we should happen on William if we walked like this all night?
He might move--change his seat--go home, even.

He probably has gone home.