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diff --git a/old/msbim10.txt b/old/msbim10.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7c39abf --- /dev/null +++ b/old/msbim10.txt @@ -0,0 +1,12866 @@ +********The Project Gutenberg Etext of Miss Billy Married******* +by Eleanor H. Porter + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world, be sure to check +the copyright laws for your country before posting these files! + +Please take a look at the important information in this header. +We encourage you to keep this file on your own disk, keeping an +electronic path open for the next readers. Do not remove this. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**Etexts Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*These Etexts Prepared By Hundreds of Volunteers and Donations* + +Information on contacting Project Gutenberg to get Etexts, and +further information is included below. We need your donations. + + +Miss Billy Married + +by Eleanor H. 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If you + don't derive profits, no royalty is due. Royalties are + payable to "Project Gutenberg Association / Illinois + Benedictine College" within the 60 days following each + date you prepare (or were legally required to prepare) + your annual (or equivalent periodic) tax return. + +WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU DON'T HAVE TO? +The Project gratefully accepts contributions in money, time, +scanning machines, OCR software, public domain etexts, royalty +free copyright licenses, and every other sort of contribution +you can think of. Money should be paid to "Project Gutenberg +Association / Illinois Benedictine College". + +*END*THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END* + + + + + +Scanned by Charles Keller with +OmniPage Professional OCR software +donated by Caere Corporation, 1-800-535-7226. +Contact Mike Lough <Mikel@caere.com> + + + + + +MISS BILLY-- +MARRIED + +BY +ELEANOR H. PORTER + +AUTHOR OF +POLLYANNA, Etc. + + + +TO +My Cousin Maud + + +CONTENTS + +CHAPTER +I. SOME OPINIONS AND A WEDDING +II. FOR WILLIAM--A HOME +III. BILLY SPEAKS HER MIND +IV. JUST LIKE BILLY +V. TIGER SKINS +VI. ``THE PAINTING LOOK'' +VII. THE BIG BAD QUARREL +VIII. BILLY CULTIVATES A COMFORTABLE INDIFFERENCE'' +IX. THE DINNER BILLY TRIED TO GET +X. THE DINNER BILLY GOT +XI. CALDERWELL DOES SOME QUESTIONING +XII. FOR BILLY--SOME ADVICE +XIII. PETE +XIV. WHEN BERTRAM CAME HOME +XV. AFTER THE STORM +XVI. INTO TRAINING FOR MARY ELLEN +XVII. THE EFFICIENCY STAR--AND BILLY +XVIII. BILLY TRIES HER HAND AT ``MANAGING'' +XIX. A TOUGH NUT TO CRACK FOR CYRIL +XX. ARKWRIGHT'S EYES ARE OPENED +XXI. BILLY TAKES HER TURN AT QUESTIONING +XXII. A DOT AND A DIMPLE +XXIII. BILLY AND THE ENORMOUS RESPONSIBILITY +XXIV. A NIGHT OFF +XXV. ``SHOULD AULD ACQUAINTANCE BE FORGOT'' +XXVI. GHOSTS THAT WALKED FOR BERTRAM +XXVII. THE MOTHER--THE WIFE +XXVIII. CONSPIRATORS +XXIX. CHESS +XXX. BY A BABY'S HAND + + + +Miss Billy--Married + +---- + +CHAPTER I + +SOME OPINIONS AND A WEDDING + + +``I, Bertram, take thee, Billy,'' chanted the +white-robed clergyman. + +`` `I, Bertram, take thee, Billy,' '' echoed the +tall young bridegroom, his eyes gravely tender. + +``To my wedded wife.'' + +`` `To my wedded wife.' '' The bridegroom's +voice shook a little. + +``To have and to hold from this day forward.'' + +`` `To have and to hold from this day +forward.' '' Now the young voice rang with +triumph. It had grown strong and steady. + +``For better for worse.'' + +`` `For better for worse.' '' + +``For richer for poorer,'' droned the clergyman, +with the weariness of uncounted repetitions. + +`` `For richer for poorer,' '' avowed the +bridegroom, with the decisive emphasis of one to +whom the words are new and significant. + +``In sickness and in health.'' + +`` `In sickness and in health.' '' + +``To love and to cherish.'' + +`` `To love and to cherish.' '' The younger +voice carried infinite tenderness now. + +``Till death us do part.'' + +`` `Till death us do part,' '' repeated the +bridegroom's lips; but everybody knew that what his +heart said was: ``Now, and through all eternity.'' + +``According to God's holy ordinance.'' + +`` `According to God's holy ordinance.' '' + +``And thereto I plight thee my troth.'' + +`` `And thereto I plight thee my troth.' '' + +There was a faint stir in the room. In one +corner a white-haired woman blinked tear-wet +eyes and pulled a fleecy white shawl more closely +about her shoulders. Then the minister's voice +sounded again. + +``I, Billy, take thee, Bertram.'' + +`` `I, Billy, take thee, Bertram.' '' + +This time the echoing voice was a feminine one, +low and sweet, but clearly distinct, and vibrant +with joyous confidence, on through one after another +of the ever familiar, but ever impressive +phrases of the service that gives into the hands +of one man and of one woman the future happiness, +each of the other. + + +The wedding was at noon. That evening Mrs. +Kate Hartwell, sister of the bridegroom, wrote +the following letter: + + BOSTON, July 15th. + +``MY DEAR HUSBAND:--Well, it's all over +with, and they're married. I couldn't do one +thing to prevent it. Much as ever as they would +even listen to what I had to say--and when +they knew how I had hurried East to say it, too, +with only two hours' notice! + +``But then, what can you expect? From time +immemorial lovers never did have any sense; +and when those lovers are such irresponsible +flutterbudgets as Billy and Bertram--! + +``And such a wedding! I couldn't do anything +with _that_, either, though I tried hard. They had +it in Billy's living-room at noon, with nothing +but the sun for light. There was no maid of honor, +no bridesmaids, no wedding cake, no wedding +veil, no presents (except from the family, and from +that ridiculous Chinese cook of brother William's, +Ding Dong, or whatever his name is. He tore in +just before the wedding ceremony, and insisted +upon seeing Billy to give her a wretched little +green stone idol, which he declared would bring +her `heap plenty velly good luckee' if she +received it before she `got married.' I wouldn't +have the hideous, grinning thing around, but +William says it's real jade, and very valuable, and +of course Billy was crazy over it--or pretended +to be). There was no trousseau, either, and no +reception. There was no anything but the bridegroom; +and when I tell you that Billy actually +declared that was all she wanted, you will understand +how absurdly in love she is--in spite of all +those weeks and weeks of broken engagement +when I, at least, supposed she had come to her +senses, until I got that crazy note from Bertram +a week ago saying they were to be married today. + +``I can't say that I've got any really +satisfactory explanation of the matter. Everything has +been in such a hubbub, and those two ridiculous +children have been so afraid they wouldn't be +together every minute possible, that any really +rational conversation with either of them was out +of the question. When Billy broke the engagement +last spring none of us knew why she had done +it, as you know; and I fancy we shall be almost +as much in the dark as to why she has--er--mended +it now, as you might say. As near as I +can make out, however, she thought he didn't +want her, and he thought she didn't want him. I +believe matters were still further complicated by +a girl Bertram was painting, and a young fellow +that used to sing with Billy--a Mr. Arkwright. + +``Anyhow, things came to a head last spring, +Billy broke the engagement and fled to parts unknown +with Aunt Hannah, leaving Bertram here +in Boston to alternate between stony despair and +reckless gayety, according to William; and it was +while he was in the latter mood that he had that +awful automobile accident and broke his arm-- +and almost his neck. He was wildly delirious, +and called continually for Billy. + +``Well, it seems Billy didn't know all this; +but a week ago she came home, and in some way +found out about it, I think through Pete--William's +old butler, you know. Just exactly what +happened I can't say, but I do know that she +dragged poor old Aunt Hannah down to Bertram's +at some unearthly hour, and in the rain; +and Aunt Hannah couldn't do a thing with her. +All Billy would say, was, `Bertram wants me.' +And Aunt Hannah told me that if I could have +seen Billy's face I'd have known that she'd have +gone to Bertram then if he'd been at the top of +the Himalaya Mountains, or at the bottom of the +China Sea. So perhaps it's just as well--for +Aunt Hannah's sake, at least--that he was in +no worse place than on his own couch at home. +Anyhow, she went, and in half an hour they +blandly informed Aunt Hannah that they were +going to be married to-day. + +``Aunt Hannah said she tried to stop that, and +get them to put it off till October (the original +date, you know), but Bertram was obdurate. +And when he declared he'd marry her the next +day if it wasn't for the new license law, Aunt +Hannah said she gave up for fear he'd get a special +dispensation, or go to the Governor or the President, +or do some other dreadful thing. (What a +funny old soul Aunt Hannah is!) Bertram told +_me_ that he should never feel safe till Billy was +really his; that she'd read something, or hear +something, or think something, or get a letter +from me (as if anything _I_ could say would do +any good-or harm!), and so break the engagement +again. + +``Well, she's his now, so I suppose he's +satisfied; though, for my part, I haven't changed my +mind at all. I still say that they are not one bit +suited to each other, and that matrimony will +simply ruin his career. Bertram never has loved +and never will love any girl long--except to +paint. But if he simply _would_ get married, why +couldn't he have taken a nice, sensible domestic +girl that would have kept him fed and +mended? + +``Not but that I'm very fond of Billy, as you +know, dear; but imagine Billy as a wife--worse +yet, a mother! Billy's a dear girl, but she knows +about as much of real life and its problems as-- +as our little Kate. A more impulsive, irresponsible, +regardless-of-consequences young woman I +never saw. She can play divinely, and write +delightful songs, I'll acknowledge; but what is that +when a man is hungry, or has lost a button? + +``Billy has had her own way, and had everything +she wanted for years now--a rather dangerous +preparation for marriage, especially marriage +to a fellow like Bertram who has had _his_ +own way and everything _he's_ wanted for years. +Pray, what's going to happen when those ways +conflict, and neither one gets the thing wanted? + +``And think of her ignorance of cooking--but, +there! What's the use? They're married now, +and it can't be helped. + +``Mercy, what a letter I've written! But I, +had to talk to some one; besides, I'd promised I +to let you know how matters stood as soon as I +could. As you see, though, my trip East has been +practically useless. I saw the wedding, to be +sure, but I didn't prevent it, or even postpone +it--though I meant to do one or the other, else +I should never have made that tiresome journey +half across the continent at two hours' notice. + +``However, we shall see what we shall see. As +for me, I'm dead tired. Good night. + ``Affectionately yours, + ``KATE.'' + + +Quite naturally, Mrs. Kate Hartwell was not +the only one who was thinking that evening of +the wedding. In the home of Bertram's brother +Cyril, Cyril himself was at the piano, but where +his thoughts were was plain to be seen--or +rather, heard; for from under his fingers there +came the Lohengrin wedding march until all the +room seemed filled with the scent of orange +blossoms, the mistiness of floating veils, and the +echoing peals of far-away organs heralding the +``Fair Bride and Groom.'' + +Over by the table in the glowing circle of the +shaded lamp, sat Marie, Cyril's wife, a dainty +sewing-basket by her side. Her hands, however, +lay idly across the stocking in her lap. + +As the music ceased, she drew a long sigh. + +What a perfectly beautiful wedding that +was! she breathed. + +Cyril whirled about on the piano stool. + +``It was a very sensible wedding,'' he said with +emphasis. + +``They looked so happy--both of them,'' +went on Marie, dreamily; ``so--so sort of above +and beyond everything about them, as if nothing +ever, ever could trouble them--_now_.'' + +Cyril lifted his eyebrows. + +``Humph! Well, as I said before, it was a very +_sensible_ wedding,'' he declared. + +This time Marie noticed the emphasis. She +laughed, though her eyes looked a little troubled. + +``I know, dear, of course, what you mean. _I_ +thought our wedding was beautiful; but I would +have made it simpler if I'd realized in time how +you--you--'' + +``How I abhorred pink teas and purple +pageants,'' he finished for her, with a frowning +smile. ``Oh, well, I stood it--for the sake of +what it brought me.'' His face showed now only +the smile; the frown had vanished. For a man +known for years to his friends as a ``hater of +women and all other confusion,'' Cyril Henshaw +was looking remarkably well-pleased with himself. + +His wife of less than a year colored as she +met his gaze. Hurriedly she picked up her +needle. + +The man laughed happily at her confusion. + +``What are you doing? Is that my stocking?'' +he demanded. + +A look, half pain, half reproach, crossed her +face. + +``Why, Cyril, of course not! You--you told +me not to, long ago. You said my darns made-- +bunches. + +``Ho! I meant I didn't want to _wear_ them,'' +retorted the man, upon whom the tragic wretchedness +of that half-sobbed ``bunches'' had been +quite lost. ``I love to see you _mending_ them,'' +he finished, with an approving glance at the +pretty little picture of domesticity before him. + +A peculiar expression came to Marie's eyes. + +Why, Cyril, you mean you _like_ to have me +mend them just for--for the sake of seeing me +do it, when you _know_ you won't ever wear +them?'' + +``Sure!'' nodded the man, imperturbably. +Then, with a sudden laugh, he asked: ``I wonder +now, does Billy love to mend socks?'' + +Marie smiled, but she sighed, too, and shook +her head. + +``I'm afraid not, Cyril.'' + +``Nor cook?'' + +Marie laughed outright this time. The vaguely +troubled look had fled from her eyes + +``Oh, Billy's helped me beat eggs and butter +sometimes, but I never knew her to cook a thing +or want to cook a thing, but once; then she +spent nearly two weeks trying to learn to make +puddings--for you.'' + +``For _me!_'' + +Marie puckered her lips queerly. + +``Well, I supposed they were for you at the +time. At all events she was trying to make them +for some one of you boys; probably it was really +for Bertram, though.'' + +``Humph!'' grunted Cyril. Then, after a +minute, he observed: ``I judge Kate thinks +Billy'll never make them--for anybody. I'm +afraid Sister Kate isn't pleased.'' + +``Oh, but Mrs. Hartwell was--was disappointed +in the wedding,'' apologized Marie, +quickly. ``You know she wanted it put off +anyway, and she didn't like such a simple one. + +``Hm-m; as usual Sister Kate forgot it wasn't +her funeral--I mean, her wedding,'' retorted +Cyril, dryly. ``Kate is never happy, you know, +unless she's managing things.'' + +``Yes, I know,'' nodded Marie, with a frowning +smile of recollection at certain features of her own +wedding. + +``She doesn't approve of Billy's taste in guests, +either,'' remarked Cyril, after a moment's silence. + +``I thought her guests were lovely,'' spoke up +Marie, in quick defense. ``Of course, most of +her social friends are away--in July; but Billy +is never a society girl, you know, in spite of the +way Society is always trying to lionize her and +Bertram.'' + +``Oh, of course Kate knows that; but she says +it seems as if Billy needn't have gone out and +gathered in the lame and the halt and the blind.'' + +``Nonsense!'' cried Marie, with unusual sharpness +for her. ``I suppose she said that just because +of Mrs. Greggory's and Tommy Dunn's +crutches.'' + +``Well, they didn't make a real festive-looking +wedding party, you must admit,'' laughed Cyril; +``what with the bridegroom's own arm in a sling, +too! But who were they all, anyway?'' + +``Why, you knew Mrs. Greggory and Alice, of +course--and Pete,'' smiled Marie. ``And wasn't +Pete happy? Billy says she'd have had Pete if +she had no one else; that there wouldn't have +been any wedding, anyway, if it hadn't been for +his telephoning Aunt Hannah that night.'' + +``Yes; Will told me.'' + +``As for Tommy and the others--most of +them were those people that Billy had at her +home last summer for a two weeks' vacation-- +people, you know, too poor to give themselves +one, and too proud to accept one from ordinary +charity. Billy's been following them up and +doing little things for them ever since--sugarplums +and frosting on their cake, she calls it; and they +adore her, of course. I think it was lovely of her +to have them, and they did have such a good +time! You should have seen Tommy when you +played that wedding march for Billy to enter the +room. His poor little face was so transfigured +with joy that I almost cried, just to look at him. +Billy says he loves music--poor little fellow!'' + +``Well, I hope they'll be happy, in spite of +Kate's doleful prophecies. Certainly they looked +happy enough to-day,'' declared Cyril, patting a +yawn as he rose to his feet. ``I fancy Will and +Aunt Hannah are lonesome, though, about now,'' +he added. + +``Yes,'' smiled Marie, mistily, as she gathered +up her work. ``I know what Aunt Hannah's +doing. She's helping Rosa put the house to +rights, and she's stopping to cry over every slipper +and handkerchief of Billy's she finds. And she'll +do that until that funny clock of hers strikes +twelve, then she'll say `Oh, my grief and +conscience--midnight!' But the next minute she'll +remember that it's only half-past eleven, after +all, and she'll send Rosa to bed and sit patting +Billy's slipper in her lap till it really is midnight +by all the other clocks.'' + +Cyril laughed appreciatively. + +``Well, I know what Will is doing,'' he declared. + +``Will is in Bertram's den dozing before the +fireplace with Spunkie curled up in his lap.'' + +As it happened, both these surmises were not +far from right. In the Strata, the Henshaws' old +Beacon Street home, William was sitting before +the fireplace with the cat in his lap, but he was +not dozing. He was talking. + +``Spunkie,'' he was saying, ``your master, +Bertram, got married to-day--and to Miss +Billy. He'll be bringing her home one of these +days--your new mistress. And such a mistress! +Never did cat or house have a better! + +``Just think; for the first time in years this old +place is to know the touch of a woman's hand +--and that's what it hasn't known for almost +twenty years, except for those few short months +six years ago when a dark-eyed girl and a little +gray kitten (that was Spunk, your predecessor, +you know) blew in and blew out again before we +scarcely knew they were here. That girl was +Miss Billy, and she was a dear then, just as she is +now, only now she's coming here to stay. She's +coming home, Spunkie; and she'll make it a +home for you, for me, and for all of us. Up to +now, you know, it hasn't really been a home, for +years--just us men, so. It'll be very different, +Spunkie, as you'll soon find out. Now mind, +madam! We must show that we appreciate all +this: no tempers, no tantrums, no showing of +claws, no leaving our coats--either yours or +mine--on the drawing-room chairs, no tracking +in of mud on clean rugs and floors! For we're +going to have a home, Spunkie--a home!'' + +At Hillside, Aunt Hannah was, indeed, helping +Rosa to put the house to rights, as Marie had +said. She was crying, too, over a glove she had +found on Billy's piano; but she was crying over +something else, also. Not only had she lost Billy, +but she had lost her home. + +To be sure, nothing had been said during that +nightmare of a week of hurry and confusion about +Aunt Hannah's future; but Aunt Hannah knew +very well how it must be. This dear little house +on the side of Corey Hill was Billy's home, and +Billy would not need it any longer. It would be +sold, of course; and she, Aunt Hannah, would go +back to a ``second-story front'' and loneliness in +some Back Bay boarding-house; and a second +story front and loneliness would not be easy now, +after these years of home--and Billy. + +No wonder, indeed, that Aunt Hannah sat +crying and patting the little white glove in her +hand. No wonder, too, that--being Aunt Hannah-- +she reached for the shawl near by and +put it on, shiveringly. Even July, to-night, was +cold--to Aunt Hannah. + +In yet another home that evening was the +wedding of Billy Neilson and Bertram Henshaw +uppermost in thought and speech. In a certain +little South-End flat where, in two rented rooms, +lived Alice Greggory and her crippled mother, +Alice was talking to Mr. M. J. Arkwright, +commonly known to his friends as ``Mary Jane,'' +owing to the mystery in which he had for so long +shrouded his name. + +Arkwright to-night was plainly moody and ill +at ease. + +``You're not listening. You're not listening at +all,'' complained Alice Greggory at last, reproachfully. + +With a visible effort the man roused himself. + +``Indeed I am,'' he maintained. + +``I thought you'd be interested in the +wedding. You used to be friends--you and Billy.'' +The girl's voice still vibrated with reproach. + +There was a moment's silence; then, a little +harshly, the man said: + +``Perhaps--because I wanted to be more +than--a friend--is why you're not satisfied with +my interest now.'' + +A look that was almost terror came to Alice +Greggory's eyes. She flushed painfully, then +grew very white. + +``You mean--'' + +``Yes,'' he nodded dully, without looking up. +``I cared too much for her. I supposed Henshaw +was just a friend--till too late.'' + +There was a breathless hush before, a little +unsteadily, the girl stammered: + +``Oh, I'm so sorry--so very sorry! I--I +didn't know.'' + +``No, of course you didn't. I've almost told +you, though, lots of times; you've been so good +to me all these weeks.'' He raised his head now, +and looked at her, frank comradeship in his +eyes. + +The girl stirred restlessly. Her eyes swerved +a little under his level gaze. + +``Oh, but I've done nothing--n-nothing,'' she +stammered. Then, at the light tap of crutches +on a bare floor she turned in obvious relief. +``Oh, here's mother. She's been in visiting with +Mrs. Delano, our landlady. Mother, Mr. Arkwright +is here.'' + + +Meanwhile, speeding north as fast as steam +could carry them, were the bride and groom. +The wondrousness of the first hour of their journey +side by side had become a joyous certitude +that always it was to be like this now. + +``Bertram,'' began the bride, after a long +minute of eloquent silence. + +``Yes, love.'' + +``You know our wedding was very different +from most weddings.'' + +``Of course it was!'' + +``Yes, but _really_ it was. Now listen.'' The +bride's voice grew tenderly earnest. ``I think +our marriage is going to be different, too.'' + +``Different?'' + +``Yes.'' Billy's tone was emphatic. ``There +are so many common, everyday marriages where +--where-- Why, Bertram, as if you could ever +be to me like--like Mr. Carleton is, for instance!'' + +``Like Mr. Carleton is--to you?'' Bertram's +voice was frankly puzzled. + +``No, no! As Mr. Carleton is to Mrs. Carleton, +I mean.'' + +``Oh!'' Bertram subsided in relief. + +``And the Grahams and Whartons, and the +Freddie Agnews, and--and a lot of others. +Why, Bertram, I've seen the Grahams and the +Whartons not even speak to each other a whole +evening, when they've been at a dinner, or +something; and I've seen Mrs. Carleton not even +seem to know her husband came into the room. +I don't mean quarrel, dear. Of course we'd never +_quarrel!_ But I mean I'm sure we shall never +get used to--to you being you, and I being I.'' + +``Indeed we sha'n't,'' agreed Bertram, rapturously. + +``Ours is going to be such a beautiful marriage!'' + +``Of course it will be.'' + +``And we'll be so happy!'' + +``I shall be, and I shall try to make you so.'' + +``As if I could be anything else,'' sighed Billy, +blissfully. ``And now we _can't_ have any +misunderstandings, you see.'' + +``Of course not. Er--what's that?'' + +``Why, I mean that--that we can't ever repeat +hose miserable weeks of misunderstanding. +Everything is all explained up. I _know_, now, +that you don't love Miss Winthrop, or just girls +--any girl--to paint. You love me. Not the +tilt of my chin, nor the turn of my head; but +_me_.'' + +``I do--just you.'' Bertram's eyes gave the +caress his lips would have given had it not been +for the presence of the man in the seat across the +aisle of the sleeping-car. + +``And you--you know now that I love you +--just you?'' + +``Not even Arkwright?'' + +``Not even Arkwright,'' smiled Billy. + +There was the briefest of hesitations; then, a +little constrainedly, Bertram asked: + +``And you said you--you never _had_ cared for +Arkwright, didn't you?'' + +For the second time in her life Billy was +thankful that Bertram's question had turned upon _her_ +love for Arkwright, not Arkwright's love for her. +In Billy's opinion, a man's unrequited love for a +girl was his secret, not hers, and was certainly +one that the girl had no right to tell. Once +before Bertram had asked her if she had ever +cared for Arkwright, and then she had answered +emphatically, as she did now: + +``Never, dear.'' + +``I thought you said so,'' murmured Bertram, +relaxing a little. + +``I did; besides, didn't I tell you?'' she went +on airily, ``I think he'll marry Alice Greggory. +Alice wrote me all the time I was away, and-- +oh, she didn't say anything definite, I'll admit,'' +confessed Billy, with an arch smile; ``but she +spoke of his being there lots, and they used to +know each other years ago, you see. There was +almost a romance there, I think, before the +Greggorys lost their money and moved away from all +their friends.'' + +``Well, he may have her. She's a nice girl-- +a mighty nice girl,'' answered Bertram, with the +unmistakably satisfied air of the man who knows +he himself possesses the nicest girl of them all. + +Billy, reading unerringly the triumph in his +voice, grew suddenly grave. She regarded her +husband with a thoughtful frown; then she drew +a profound sigh. + +``Whew!'' laughed Bertram, whimsically. ``So +soon as this?'' + +``Bertram!'' Billy's voice was tragic. + +``Yes, my love.'' The bridegroom pulled his +face into sobriety; then Billy spoke, with solemn +impressiveness. + +``Bertram, I don't know a thing about-- +cooking--except what I've been learning in +Rosa's cook-book this last week.'' + +Bertram laughed so loud that the man across +the aisle glanced over the top of his paper +surreptitiously. + +``Rosa's cook-book! Is that what you were +doing all this week?'' + +``Yes; that is--I tried so hard to learn +something,'' stammered Billy. ``But I'm +afraid I didn't--much; there were so many +things for me to think of, you know, with +only a week. I believe I _could_ make peach +fritters, though. They were the last thing I +studied.'' + +Bertram laughed again, uproariously; but, at +Billy's unchangingly tragic face, he grew +suddenly very grave and tender. + +``Billy, dear, I didn't marry you to--to get a +cook,'' he said gently. + +Billy shook her head. + +``I know; but Aunt Hannah said that even if +I never expected to cook, myself, I ought to know +how it was done, so to properly oversee it. She +said that--that no woman, who didn't know how +to cook and keep house properly, had any business +to be a wife. And, Bertram, I did try, honestly, +all this week. I tried so hard to remember when +you sponged bread and when you kneaded it.'' + +``I don't ever need--_yours_,'' cut in Bertram, +shamelessly; but he got only a deservedly stern +glance in return. + +``And I repeated over and over again how +many cupfuls of flour and pinches of salt and +spoonfuls of baking-powder went into things; +but, Bertram, I simply could not keep my mind +on it. Everything, everywhere was singing to +me. And how do you suppose I could remember +how many pinches of flour and spoonfuls of salt +and cupfuls of baking-powder went into a loaf +of cake when all the while the very teakettle on +the stove was singing: `It's all right--Bertram +loves me--I'm going to marry Bertram!'?'' + +``You darling!'' (In spite of the man across +the aisle Bertram did almost kiss her this time.) +``As if anybody cared how many cupfuls of +baking-powder went anywhere--with that in +your heart!'' + +``Aunt Hannah says you will--when you're +hungry. And Kate said--'' + +Bertram uttered a sharp word behind his teeth. + +``Billy, for heaven's sake don't tell me what +Kate said, if you want me to stay sane, and not +attempt to fight somebody--broken arm, and +all. Kate _thinks_ she's kind, and I suppose she +means well; but--well, she's made trouble +enough between us already. I've got you now, +sweetheart. You're mine--all mine--'' his +voice shook, and dropped to a tender whisper-- +`` `till death us do part.' '' + +``Yes; `till death us do part,' '' breathed Billy. + +And then, for a time, they fell silent. + +`` `I, Bertram, take thee, Billy,' '' sang the +whirring wheels beneath them, to one. + +`` `I, Billy, take thee, Bertram,' '' sang the +whirring wheels beneath them, to the other. +While straight ahead before them both, stretched +fair and beautiful in their eyes, the wondrous +path of life which they were to tread together. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +FOR WILLIAM--A HOME + + +On the 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 watching John help her +into Billy's automobile, called by Billy and half +her friends, ``Peggy,'' short for ``Pegasus.'' + +Still dazedly William turned back into the +house and dropped himself into the nearest chair. + +What a curious call it had been! Aunt Hannah +had not acted like herself at all. Not once had +she said ``Oh, my grief and conscience!'' while +the things she _had_ said--! Someway, he had +never thought of Aunt Hannah as being young, +and a bride. Still, of course she must have been +--once. And the reason she gave for not coming +there to live--the pitiful story of that outsider +in her home! But she was no outsider! She was +no interfering brother of Billy's-- + +William caught his breath suddenly, and held +it suspended. Then he gave a low ejaculation +and half sprang from his chair. + +Spunkie, disturbed from her doze by the fire, +uttered a purring ``me-o-ow,'' and looked up inquiringly. + +For a long minute William gazed dumbly into +the cat's yellow, sleepily contented eyes; then he +said with tragic distinctness: + +``Spunkie, it's true: Aunt Hannah isn't Billy's +husband's brother, but--I am! Do you hear? +I _am!_'' + +``Pur-r-me-ow!'' commented Spunkie; and +curled herself for another nap. + +There was no peace for William after that. In +vain he told himself that he was no ``interfering'' +brother, and that this was his home and +had been all his life; in vain did he declare +emphatically that he could not go, he would not go; +that Billy would not wish him to go: always before +his eyes was the vision of that little bride of +years long gone; always in his ears was the echo +of Aunt Hannah's ``I shall never forget the utter +freedom and happiness of those months for us, +with the whole house to ourselves.'' Nor, turn +which way he would, could he find anything to +comfort him. Simply because he was so fearfully +looking for it, he found it--the thing that had +for its theme the wretchedness that might be +expected from the presence of a third person in the +new home. + +Poor William! Everywhere he met it--the +hint, the word, the story, the song, even; and +always it added its mite to the woeful whole. +Even the hoariest of mother-in-law jokes had its +sting for him; and, to make his cup quite full, he +chanced to remember one day what Marie had +said when he had suggested that she and Cyril +come to the Strata to live: ``No; I think young +folks should begin by themselves.'' + +Unhappy, indeed, were these days for William. +Like a lost spirit he wandered from room +to room, touching this, fingering that. For long +minutes he would stand before some picture, or +some treasured bit of old mahogany, as if to +stamp indelibly upon his mind a thing that was +soon to be no more. At other times, like a man +without a home, he would go out into the Common +or the Public Garden and sit for hours on +some bench--thinking. + +All this could have but one ending, of course. +Before the middle of August William summoned +Pete to his rooms. + +``Oh, Pete, I'm going to move next week,'' +he began nonchalantly. His voice sounded as if +moving were a pleasurable circumstance that +occurred in his life regularly once a month. ``I'd +like you to begin to pack up these things, please, +to-morrow.'' + +The old servant's mouth fell open. + +``You're goin' to--to what, sir?'' he stammered. + +``Move--_move_, I said.'' William spoke with +unusual harshness. + +Pete wet his lips. + +``You mean you've sold the old place, sir?-- +that we--we ain't goin' to live here no longer?'' + +``Sold? Of course not! _I'm_ going to move +away; not you.'' + +If Pete could have known what caused the +sharpness in his master's voice, he would not +have been so grieved--or, rather, he would have +been grieved for a different reason. As it was he +could only falter miserably: + +``_You_ are goin' to move away from here!'' + +``Yes, yes, man! Why, Pete, what ails you? +One would think a body never moved before.'' + +``They didn't--not you, sir.'' + +William turned abruptly, so that his face could +not be seen. With stern deliberation he picked +up an elaborately decorated teapot; but the +valuable bit of Lowestoft shook so in his hand +that he set it down at once. It clicked sharply +against its neighbor, betraying his nervous hand. + +Pete stirred. + +``But, Mr. William,'' he stammered thickly; +``how are you--what'll you do without-- There +doesn't nobody but me know so well about your +tea, and the two lumps in your coffee; and +there's your flannels that you never put on till I +get 'em out, and the woolen socks that you'd +wear all summer if I didn't hide 'em. And-- +and who's goin' to take care of these?'' he +finished, with a glance that encompassed the +overflowing cabinets and shelves of curios all about +him. + +His master smiled sadly. An affection that had +its inception in his boyhood days shone in his +eyes. The hand in which the Lowestoft had +shaken rested now heavily on an old man's bent +shoulder--a shoulder that straightened itself in +unconscious loyalty under the touch. + +``Pete, you have spoiled me, and no mistake. +I don't expect to find another like you. But +maybe if I wear the woolen socks too late you'll +come and hunt up the others for me. Eh?'' +And, with a smile that was meant to be quizzical, +William turned and began to shift the teapots +about again. + +``But, Mr. William, why--that is, what will +Mr. Bertram and Miss Billy do--without you?'' +ventured the old man. + +There was a sudden tinkling crash. On the +floor lay the fragments of a silver-luster teapot. + +The servant exclaimed aloud in dismay, but +his master did not even glance toward his once +treasured possession on the floor. + +``Nonsense, Pete!'' he was saying in a +particularly cheery voice. ``Have you lived all these +years and not found out that newly-married +folks don't _need_ any one else around? Come, +do you suppose we could begin to pack these +teapots to-night?'' he added, a little feverishly. +``Aren't there some boxes down cellar?'' + +``I'll see, sir,'' said Pete, respectfully; but the +expression on his face as he turned away showed +that he was not thinking of teapots--nor of +boxes in which to pack them. + + + +CHAPTER III + +BILLY SPEAKS HER MIND + + +Mr. and Mrs. Bertram Henshaw were expected +home the first of September. By the thirty-first +of August the old Beacon Street homestead facing +the Public Garden was in spick-and-span order, +with Dong Ling in the basement hovering over a +well-stocked larder, and Pete searching the rest +of the house for a chair awry, or a bit of dust +undiscovered. + +Twice before had the Strata--as Bertram +long ago dubbed the home of his boyhood-- +been prepared for the coming of Billy, William's +namesake: once, when it had been decorated +with guns and fishing-rods to welcome the ``boy'' +who turned out to be a girl; and again when +with pink roses and sewing-baskets the three +brothers got joyously ready for a feminine Billy +who did not even come at all. + +The house had been very different then. It +had been, indeed, a ``strata,'' with its distinctive +layers of fads and pursuits as represented by +Bertram and his painting on one floor, William +and his curios on another, and Cyril with his +music on a third. Cyril was gone now. Only +Pete and his humble belongings occupied the top +floor. The floor below, too, was silent now, and +almost empty save for a rug or two, and a few +pieces of heavy furniture that William had not +cared to take with him to his new quarters on +top of Beacon Hill. Below this, however, came +Billy's old rooms, and on these Pete had lavished +all his skill and devotion. + +Freshly laundered curtains were at the windows, +dustless rugs were on the floor. The old +work-basket had been brought down from the +top-floor storeroom, and the long-closed piano +stood invitingly open. In a conspicuous place, +also, sat the little green god, upon whose +exquisitely carved shoulders was supposed to rest the +``heap plenty velly good luckee'' of Dong Ling's +prophecy. + +On the first floor Bertram's old rooms and the +drawing-room came in for their share of the +general overhauling. Even Spunkie did not escape, +but had to submit to the ignominy of a +bath. And then dawned fair and clear the first +day of September, bringing at five o'clock the +bride and groom. + +Respectfully lined up in the hall to meet them +were Pete and Dong Ling: Pete with his wrinkled +old face alight with joy and excitement; Dong +Ling grinning and kotowing, and chanting in a +high-pitched treble: + +``Miss Billee, Miss Billee--plenty much welcome, +Miss Billee!'' + +``Yes, welcome home, Mrs. _Henshaw!_'' bowed +Bertram, turning at the door, with an elaborate +flourish that did not in the least hide his tender +pride in his new wife. + +Billy laughed and colored a pretty pink. + +``Thank you--all of you,'' she cried a little +unsteadily. ``And how good, good everything +does look to me! Why, where's Uncle William?'' +she broke off, casting hurriedly anxious eyes +about her. + +``Well, I should say so,'' echoed Bertram. +``Where is he, Pete? He isn't sick, is he?'' + +A quick change crossed the old servant's face. +He shook his head dumbly. + +Billy gave a gleeful laugh. + +``I know--he's asleep!'' she caroled, skipping +to the bottom of the stairway and looking up + +``Ho, Uncle William! Better wake up, sir. The +folks have come!'' + +Pete cleared his throat. + +``Mr. William isn't here, Miss--ma'am,'' he +corrected miserably. + +Billy smiled, but she frowned, too. + +``Not here! Well, I like that,'' she pouted; +``--and when I've brought him the most beautiful +pair of mirror knobs he ever saw, and all the +way in my bag, too, so I could give them to him +the very first thing,'' she added, darting over to +the small bag she had brought in with her. ``I'm +glad I did, too, for our trunks didn't come,'' she +continued laughingly. ``Still, if he isn't here to +receive them-- There, Pete, aren't they beautiful?'' +she cried, carefully taking from their wrappings +two exquisitely decorated porcelain discs +mounted on two long spikes. ``They're Batterseas-- +the real article. I know enough for +that; and they're finer than anything he's got. +Won't he be pleased?'' + +``Yes, Miss--ma'am, I mean,'' stammered +the old man. + +``These new titles come hard, don't they, +Pete?'' laughed Bertram. + +Pete smiled faintly. + +``Never mind, Pete,'' soothed his new mistress. +``You shall call me `Miss Billy' all your life if +you want to. Bertram,'' she added, turning to +her husband, ``I'm going to just run up-stairs +and put these in Uncle William's rooms so they'll +be there when he comes in. We'll see how soon +he discovers them!'' + +Before Pete could stop her she was half-way +up the first flight of stairs. Even then he tried +to speak to his young master, to explain that +Mr. William was not living there; but the words +refused to come. He could only stand dumbly +waiting. + +In a minute it came--Billy's sharp, startled +cry. + +``Bertram! Bertram!'' + +Bertram sprang for the stairway, but he had +not reached the top when he met his wife coming +down. She was white-faced and trembling. + +``Bertram--those rooms--there's not so +much as a teapot there! Uncle William's-- +gone!'' + +``Gone!'' Bertram wheeled sharply. ``Pete, +what is the meaning of this? Where is my +brother?'' To hear him, one would think he +suspected the old servant of having hidden his +master. + +Pete lifted a shaking hand and fumbled with +his collar. + +``He's moved, sir.'' + +``Moved! Oh, you mean to other rooms--to +Cyril's.'' Bertram relaxed visibly. ``He's +upstairs, maybe.'' + +Pete shook his head. + +``No. sir. He's moved away--out of the +house, sir.'' + +For a brief moment Bertram stared as if he +could not believe what his ears had heard. Then, +step by step, he began to descend the stairs. + +``Do you mean--to say--that my brother +--has moved-gone away--_left_--his _home?_'' +he demanded. + +``Yes, sir.'' + +Billy gave a low cry. + +``But why--why?'' she choked, almost stumbling +headlong down the stairway in her effort +to reach the two men at the bottom. ``Pete, +why did he go?'' + +There was no answer. + +``Pete,''--Bertram's voice was very sharp-- +``what is the meaning of this? Do you know +why my brother left his home?'' + +The old man wet his lips and swallowed chokingly, +but he did not speak. + +``I'm waiting, Pete.'' + +Billy laid one hand on the old servant's arm +--in the other hand she still tightly clutched the +mirror knobs. + +``Pete, if you do know, won't you tell us, +please?'' she begged. + +Pete looked down at the hand, then up at the +troubled young face with the beseeching eyes. +His own features worked convulsively. With a +visible effort he cleared his throat. + +``I know--what he said,'' he stammered, his +eyes averted. + +``What was it?'' + +There was no answer. + +``Look here, Pete, you'll have to tell us, you +know,'' cut in Bertram, decisively, ``so you might +as well do it now as ever.'' + +Once more Pete cleared his throat. This time +the words came in a burst of desperation. + +``Yes, sir. I understand, sir. It was only that +he said--he said as how young folks didn't _need_ +any one else around. So he was goin'.'' + +``Didn't _need_ any one else!'' exclaimed Bertram, +plainly not comprehending. + +``Yes, sir. You two bein' married so, now.'' +Pete's eyes were still averted. + +Billy gave a low cry. + +``You mean--because _I_ came?'' she demanded. + +``Why, yes, Miss--no--that is--'' Pete +stopped with an appealing glance at Bertram. + +``Then it was--it _was_--on account of _me_,'' +choked Billy. + +Pete looked still more distressed + +``No, no!'' he faltered. ``It was only that +he thought you wouldn't want him here now.'' + +``Want him here!'' ejaculated Bertram. + +``Want him here!'' echoed Billy, with a sob. + +``Pete, where is he?'' As she asked the question +she dropped the mirror knobs into her open bag, +and reached for her coat and gloves--she had +not removed her hat. + +Pete gave the address. + +``It's just down the street a bit and up the +hill,'' he added excitedly, divining her purpose. +``It's a sort of a boarding-house, I reckon.'' + +``A _boarding-house_--for Uncle William!'' +scorned Billy, her eyes ablaze. ``Come, Bertram, +we'll see about that.'' + +Bertram reached out a detaining hand. + +``But, dearest, you're so tired,'' he demurred. +``Hadn't we better wait till after dinner, or till +to-morrow?'' + +``After dinner! To-morrow!'' Billy's eyes +blazed anew. ``Why, Bertram Henshaw, do +you think I'd leave that dear man even one +minute longer, if I could help it, with a notion in +his blessed old head that we didn't _want_ him?'' + +``But you said a little while ago you had a +headache, dear,'' still objected Bertram. ``If +you'd just eat your dinner!'' + +``Dinner!'' choked Billy. ``I wonder if you +think I could eat any dinner with Uncle William +turned out of his home! I'm going to find Uncle +William.'' And she stumbled blindly toward the +door. + +Bertram reached for his hat. He threw a +despairing glance into Pete's eyes. + +``We'll be back--when we can,'' he said, with +a frown. + +``Yes, sir,'' answered Pete, respectfully. Then, +as if impelled by some hidden force, he touched +his master's arm. ``It was that way she looked, +sir, when she came to _you_--that night last +July--with her eyes all shining,'' he whispered. + +A tender smile curved Bertram's lips. The +frown vanished from his face. + +``Bless you, Pete--and bless her, too!'' he +whispered back. The next moment he had hurried +after his wife. + +The house that bore the number Pete had +given proved to have a pretentious doorway, and +a landlady who, in response to the summons of +the neat maid, appeared with a most impressive +rustle of black silk and jet bugles. + +No, Mr. William Henshaw was not in his +rooms. In fact, he was very seldom there. His +business, she believed, called him to State Street +through the day. Outside of that, she had been +told, he spent much time sitting on a bench in +the Common. Doubtless, if they cared to search, +they could find him there now. + +``A bench in the Common, indeed!'' stormed +Billy, as she and Bertram hurried down the wide +stone steps. ``Uncle William--on a bench!'' + +``But surely now, dear,'' ventured her +husband, ``you'll come home and get your +dinner!'' + +Billy turned indignantly. + +``And leave Uncle William on a bench in the +Common? Indeed, no! Why, Bertram, you +wouldn't, either,'' she cried, as she turned +resolutely toward one of the entrances to the Common. + +And Bertram, with the ``eyes all shining'' +still before him, could only murmur: ``No, of +course not, dear!'' and follow obediently where +she led. + +Under ordinary circumstances it would have +been a delightful hour for a walk. The sun had +almost set, and the shadows lay long across the +grass. The air was cool and unusually bracing +for a day so early in September. But all this +was lost on Bertram. Bertram did not wish to +take a walk. He was hungry. He wanted his +dinner; and he wanted, too, his old home with +his new wife flitting about the rooms as he had +pictured this first evening together. 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. And surely never before +did a bride insist on spending the first evening +after her return tramping up and down a public +park for hour after hour like this, looking for any +man. _Won't_ you come home?'' + +But Billy had not even heard. With a glad little +cry she had darted to the side of the humped-up +figure of a man alone on a park bench just ahead +of them. + +``Uncle William! Oh, Uncle William, how +could you?'' she cried, dropping herself on to +one end of the seat and catching the man's arm +in both her hands. + +``Yes, how could you?'' demanded Bertram, +with just a touch of irritation, dropping himself +on to the other end of the seat, and catching +the man's other arm in his one usable +hand. + +The bent shoulders and bowed head straightened +up with a jerk. + +``Well, well, bless my soul! If it isn't our little +bride,'' cried Uncle William, fondly. ``And the +happy bridegroom, too. When did you get +home?'' + +``We haven't got home,'' retorted Bertram, +promptly, before his wife could speak. ``Oh, we +looked in at the door an hour or so back; but we +didn't stay. We've been hunting for you ever +since.'' + +``Nonsense, children!'' Uncle William spoke +with gay cheeriness; but he refused to meet +either Billy's or Bertram's eyes. + +``Uncle William, how could you do it?'' +reproached Billy, again. + +``Do what?'' Uncle William was plainly +fencing for time. + +``Leave the house like that?'' + +``Ho! I wanted a change.'' + +``As if we'd believe that!'' scoffed Billy. + +``All right; let's call it you've had the change, +then,'' laughed Bertram, ``and we'll send over +for your things to-morrow. Come--now let's +go home to dinner.'' + +William shook his head. He essayed a gay +smile. + +``Why, I've only just begun. I'm going to +stay--oh, I don't know how long I'm going to +stay,'' he finished blithely. + +Billy lifted her chin a little. + +``Uncle William, you aren't playing square. +Pete told us what you said when you left.'' + +``Eh? What?'' William looked up with +startled eyes. + +``About--about our not _needing_ you. So we +know, now, why you left; and we _sha'n't stand_ +it.'' + +``Pete? That? Oh, that--that's nonsense +I--I'll settle with Pete.'' + +Billy laughed softly. + +``Poor Pete! Don't. We simply dragged it +out of him. And now we're here to tell you that +we _do_ want you, and that you _must_ come back.'' + +Again William shook his head. A swift shadow +crossed his face. + +``Thank you, no, children,'' he said dully. + +You're very kind, but you don't need me. I +should be just an interfering elder brother. I +should spoil your young married life.'' (William's +voice now sounded as if he were reciting a well- +learned lesson.)'' If I went away and stayed two +months, you'd never forget the utter freedom and +joy of those two whole months with the house all +to yourselves.'' + +``Uncle William,'' gasped Billy, ``what _are_ +you talking about?'' + +``About--about my not going back, of course.'' + +``But you are coming back,'' cut in Bertram, +almost angrily. ``Oh, come, Will, this is utter +nonsense, and you know it! Come, let's go home +to dinner.'' + +A stern look came to the corners of William's +mouth--a look that Bertram understood well. + +``All right, I'll go to dinner, of course; but +I sha'n't stay,'' said William, firmly. ``I've +thought it all out. I know I'm right. Come, +we'll go to dinner now, and say no more about +it,'' he finished with a cheery smile, as he rose to +his feet. Then, to the bride, he added: ``Did +you have a nice trip, little girl?'' + +Billy, too, had risen, now, but she did not +seem to have heard his question. In the fast +falling twilight her face looked a little white. + +``Uncle William,'' she began very quietly, ``do +you think for a minute that just because I married +your brother I am going to live in that house +and turn you out of the home you've lived in all +your life?'' + +``Nonsense, dear! I'm not turned out. I just +go,'' corrected Uncle William, gayly. + +With superb disdain Billy brushed this aside. + +``Oh, no, you won't,'' she declared; ``but-- +_I shall_.'' + +``Billy!'' gasped Bertram. + +``My--my dear!'' expostulated William, +faintly. + +``Uncle William! Bertram! Listen,'' panted +Billy. ``I never told you much before, but I'm +going to, now. Long ago, when I went away with +Aunt Hannah, your sister Kate showed me how +dear the old home was to you--how much you +thought of it. And she said--she said that I had +upset everything.'' (Bertram interjected a sharp +word, but Billy paid no attention.) ``That's +why I went; and _I shall go again_--if you don't +come home to-morrow to stay, Uncle William. +Come, now let's go to dinner, please. Bertram's +hungry,'' she finished, with a bright smile. + +There was a tense moment of silence. William +glanced at Bertram; Bertram returned the glance +--with interest. + +``Er--ah--yes; well, we might go to dinner,'' +stammered William, after a minute. + +``Er--yes,'' agreed Bertram. And the three +fell into step together. + + + +CHAPTER IV + +``JUST LIKE BILLY'' + + +Billy did not leave the Strata this time. +Before twenty-four hours had passed, the last +cherished fragment of Mr. William Henshaw's +possessions had been carefully carried down the +imposing steps of the Beacon Hill boarding-house +under the disapproving eyes of its bugle-adorned +mistress, who found herself now with a month's +advance rent and two vacant ``parlors'' on her +hands. Before another twenty-four hours had +passed her quondam boarder, with a tired sigh, +sank into his favorite morris chair in his old +familiar rooms, and looked about him with contented +eyes. Every treasure was in place, from +the traditional four small stones of his babyhood +days to the Batterseas Billy had just brought him. +Pete, as of yore, was hovering near with a dust- +cloth. Bertram's gay whistle sounded from the +floor below. William Henshaw was at home again. + +This much accomplished, Billy went to see +Aunt Hannah. + +Aunt Hannah greeted her affectionately, though +with tearfully troubled eyes. She was wearing +a gray shawl to-day topped with a black one-- +sure sign of unrest, either physical or mental, as +all her friends knew. + +``I'd begun to think you'd forgotten--me,'' +she faltered, with a poor attempt at gayety. + +``You've been home three whole days.'' + +``I know, dearie,'' smiled Billy; ``and 'twas +a shame. But I have been so busy! My trunks +came at last, and I've been helping Uncle William +get settled, too.'' + +Aunt Hannah looked puzzled. + +``Uncle William get settled? You mean-- +he's changed his room?'' + +Billy laughed oddly, and threw a swift glance +into Aunt Hannah's face. + +``Well, yes, he did change,'' she murmured; +``but he's moved back now into the old quarters. +Er--you haven't heard from Uncle William +then, lately, I take it.'' + +``No.'' Aunt Hannah shook her head +abstractedly. ``I did see him once, several weeks +ago; but I haven't, since. We had quite a talk, +then; and, Billy, I've been wanting to speak to +you,'' she hurried on, a little feverishly. ``I +didn't like to leave, of course, till you did come +home, as long as you'd said nothing about your +plans; but--'' + +``Leave!'' interposed Billy, dazedly. ``Leave +where? What do you mean?'' + +``Why, leave here, of course, dear. I mean. +I didn't like to get my room while you were +away; but I shall now, of course, at once.'' + +``Nonsense, Aunt Hannah! As if I'd let you +do that,'' laughed Billy. + +Aunt Hannah stiffened perceptibly. Her lips +looked suddenly thin and determined. Even the +soft little curls above her ears seemed actually +to bristle with resolution. + +``Billy,'' she began firmly, ``we might as well +understand each other at once. I know your +good heart, and I appreciate your kindness. But +I can not come to live with you. I shall not. It +wouldn't be best. I should be like an interfering +elder brother in your home. I should spoil your +young married life; and if I went away for two +months you'd never forget the utter joy and +freedom of those two months with the whole +house ali to yourselves.'' + +At the beginning of this speech Billy's eyes +had still carried their dancing smile, but as the +peroration progressed on to the end, a dawning +surprise, which soon became a puzzled questioning, +drove the smile away. Then Billy sat suddenly erect. + +``Why, Aunt Hannah, that's exactly what +Uncle William--'' Billy stopped, and regarded +Aunt Hannah with quick suspicion. The next +moment she burst into gleeful laughter. + +Aunt Hannah looked grieved, and not a little +surprised; but Billy did not seem to notice +this. + +``Oh, oh, Aunt Hannah--you, too! How +perfectly funny!'' she gurgled. ``To think you +two old blesseds should get your heads together +like this!'' + +Aunt Hannah stirred restively, and pulled the +black shawl more closely about her. + +``Indeed, Billy, I don't know what you mean +by that,'' she sighed, with a visible effort at self- +control; ``but I do know that I can not go to live +with you.'' + +``Bless your heart, dear, I don't want you to,'' +soothed Billy, with gay promptness. + +``Oh! O-h-h,'' stammered Aunt Hannah, surprise, +mortification, dismay, and a grieved hurt +bringing a flood of color to her face. It is one +thing to refuse a home, and quite another to have +a home refused you. + +``Oh! O-h-h, Aunt Hannah,'' cried Billy, +turning very red in her turn. ``Please, _please_ don't +look like that. I didn't mean it that way. I do +want you, dear, only--I want you somewhere +else more. I want you--here.'' + +``Here!'' Aunt Hannah looked relieved, but +unconvinced. + +``Yes. Don't you like it here?'' + +``Like it! Why, I love it, dear. You know I +do. But you don't need this house now, Billy.'' + +``Oh, yes, I do,'' retorted Billy, airily. ``I'm +going to keep it up, and I want you here. + +``Fiddlededee, Billy! As if I'd let you keep up +this house just for me,'' scorned Aunt Hannah. + +`` 'Tisn't just for you. It's for--for lots of +folks.'' + +``My grief and conscience, Billy! What are +you talking about?'' + +Billy laughed, and settled herself more +comfortably on the hassock at Aunt Hannah's feet. + +``Well, I'll tell you. Just now I want it for +Tommy Dunn, and the Greggorys if I can get +them, and maybe one or two others. There'll +always be somebody. You see, I had thought +I'd have them at the Strata.'' + +``Tommy Dunn--at the Strata!'' + +Billy laughed again ruefully. + +``O dear! You sound just like Bertram,'' she +pouted. ``He didn't want Tommy, either, nor +any of the rest of them.'' + +``The rest of them!'' + +``Well, I could have had a lot more, you know, +the Strata is so big, especially now that Cyril +has gone, and left all those empty rooms. _I_ got +real enthusiastic, but Bertram didn't. He just +laughed and said `nonsense!' until he found I +was really in earnest; then he--well, he said +`nonsense,' then, too--only he didn't laugh,'' +finished Billy, with a sigh. + +Aunt Hannah regarded her with fond, though +slightly exasperated eyes. + +``Billy, you are, indeed, a most extraordinary +young woman--at times. Surely, with you, a +body never knows what to expect--except the +unexpected.'' + +``Why, Aunt Hannah!--and from you, too!'' +reproached Billy, mischievously; but Aunt Hannah +had yet more to say. + +``Of course Bertram thought it was nonsense. +The idea of you, a bride, filling up your house +with--with people like that! Tommy Dunn, +indeed!'' + +``Oh, Bertram said he liked Tommy all right,'' +sighed Billy; ``but he said that that didn't mean +he wanted him for three meals a day. One would +think poor Tommy was a breakfast food! So +that is when I thought of keeping up this house, +you see, and that's why I want you here--to +take charge of it. And you'll do that--for me, +won't you?'' + +Aunt Hannah fell back in her chair. + +Why, y-yes, Billy, of course, if--if you want +it. But what an extraordinary idea, child!'' + +Billy shook her head. A deeper color came to +her cheeks, and a softer glow to her eyes. + +``I don't think so, Aunt Hannah. It's only +that I'm so happy that some of it has just got to +overflow somewhere, and this is going to be the +overflow house--a sort of safety valve for me, +you see. I'm going to call it the Annex--it will +be an annex to our home. And I want to keep it +full, always, of people who--who can make the +best use of all that extra happiness that I can't +possibly use myself,'' she finished a little +tremulously. ``Don't you see?'' + +``Oh, yes, I _see_,'' replied Aunt Hannah, with a +fond shake of the head. + +``But, really, listen--it's sensible,'' urged +Billy. ``First, there's Tommy. His mother died +last month. He's at a neighbor's now, but they're +going to send him to a Home for Crippled Children; +and he's grieving his heart out over it. +I'm going to bring him here to a real home-- +the kind that doesn't begin with a capital letter. +He adores music, and he's got real talent, I think. +Then there's the Greggorys.'' + +Aunt Hannah looked dubious. + +``You can't get the Greggorys to--to use any +of that happiness, Billy. They're too proud.'' + +Billy smiled radiantly. + +``I know I can't get them to _use_ it, Aunt +Hannah, but I believe I can get them to _give_ it,'' +she declared triumphantly. ``I shall ask Alice +Greggory to teach Tommy music, and I shall +ask Mrs. Greggory to teach him books; and I +shall tell them both that I positively need them +to keep you company.'' + +``Oh, but Billy,'' bridled Aunt Hannah, with +prompt objection. + +``Tut, tut!--I know you'll be willing to be +thrown as a little bit of a sop to the Greggorys' +pride,'' coaxed Billy. ``You just wait till I get +the Overflow Annex in running order. Why, +Aunt Hannah, you don't know how busy you're +going to be handing out all that extra happiness +that I can't use!'' + +``You dear child!'' Aunt Hannah smiled +mistily. The black shawl had fallen unheeded +to the floor now. ``As if anybody ever had any +more happiness than one's self could use!'' + +``I have,'' avowed Billy, promptly, ``and it's +going to keep growing and growing, I know.'' + +``Oh, my grief and conscience, Billy, don't!'' +exclaimed Aunt Hannah, lifting shocked hands of +remonstrance. ``Rap on wood--do! How can +you boast like that?'' + +Billy dimpled roguishly and sprang to her feet{.??} + +``Why, Aunt Hannah, I'm ashamed of you! +To be superstitious like that--you, a good +Presbyterian!'' + +Aunt Hannah subsided shamefacedly. + +``Yes, I know, Billy, it is silly; but I just can't +help it.'' + +``Oh, but it's worse than silly, Aunt Hannah,'' +teased Billy, with a remorseless chuckle. ``It's +really _heathen!_ Bertram told me once that it +dates 'way back to the time of the Druids-- +appealing to the god of trees, or something like that +--when you rap on wood, you know.'' + +``Ugh!'' shuddered Aunt Hannah. ``As if +I would, Billy! How is Bertram, by the by?'' + +A swift shadow crossed Billy's bright face. + +``He's lovely--only his arm.'' + +``His arm! But I thought that was better.'' + +``Oh, it is,'' drooped Billy, ``but it gets along +so slowly, and it frets him dreadfully. You know +he never can do anything with his left hand, he +says, and he just hates to have things done for +him--though Pete and Dong Ling are quarreling +with each other all the time to do things for +him, and I'm quarreling with both of them to do +them for him myself! By the way, Dong Ling +is going to leave us next week. Did you know +it?'' + +``Dong Ling--leave!'' + +``Yes. Oh, he told Bertram long ago he +should go when we were married; that he had +plenty much money, and was going back to China, +and not be Melican man any longer. But I don't +think Bertram thought he'd do it. William says +Dong Ling went to Pete, however, after we left, +and told him he wanted to go; that he liked the +little Missee plenty well, but that there'd be too +much hen-talk when she got back, and--'' + +``Why, the impudent creature!'' + +Billy laughed merrily. + +``Yes; Pete was furious, William says, but +Dong Ling didn't mean any disrespect, I'm sure. +He just wasn't used to having petticoats around, +and didn't want to take orders from them; that's +all.'' + +``But, Billy, what will you do?'' + +``Oh, Pete's fixed all that lovely,'' returned +Billy, nonchalantly. ``You know his niece lives +over in South Boston, and it seems she's got a +daughter who's a fine cook and will be glad to +come. Mercy! Look at the time,'' she broke off, +glancing at the clock. ``I shall be late to dinner, +and Dong Ling loathes anybody who's late to his +meals--as I found out to my sorrow the night +we got home. Good-by, dear. I'll be out soon +again and fix it all up--about the Annex, you +know.'' And with a bright smile she was gone. + +``Dear me,'' sighed Aunt Hannah, stooping to +pick up the black shawl; ``dear me! Of course +everything will be all right--there's a girl coming, +even if Dong Ling is going. But--but-- +Oh, my grief and conscience, what an extraordinary +child Billy is, to be sure--but what a dear +one!'' she added, wiping a quick tear from her +eye. ``An Overflow Annex, indeed, for her `extra +happiness'! Now isn't that just like Billy?'' + + + +CHAPTER V + +TIGER SKINS + + +September passed and October came, bringing +with it cool days and clear, crisp evenings royally +ruled over by a gorgeous harvest moon. According +to Billy everything was just perfect--except, +of course, poor Bertram's arm; and even the +fact that that gained so slowly was not without +its advantage (again according to Billy), for it +gave Bertram more time to be with her. + +``You see, dear, as long as you _can't_ paint,'' she +told him earnestly, one day, ``why, I'm not +really hindering you by keeping you with me so +much.'' + +``You certainly are not,'' he retorted, with a +smile. + +``Then I may be just as happy as I like over +it,'' settled Billy, comfortably. + +``As if you ever could hinder me,'' he ridiculed. + +``Oh, yes, I could,'' nodded Billy, emphatically. +``You forget, sir. That was what worried +me so. Everybody, even the newspapers and +magazines, said I _would_ do it, too. They said I'd +slay your Art, stifle your Ambition, destroy your +Inspiration, and be a nuisance generally. And +Kate said--'' + +``Yes. Well, never mind what Kate said,'' +interrupted the man, savagely. + +Billy laughed, and gave his ear a playful +tweak. + +``All right; but I'm not going to do it, you +know--spoil your career, sir. You just wait,'' +she continued dramatically. ``The minute your +arm gets so you can paint, I myself shall conduct +you to your studio, thrust the brushes into your +hand, fill your palette with all the colors of the +rainbow, and order you to paint, my lord, paint! +But--until then I'm going to have you all I +like,'' she finished, with a complete change of +manner, nestling into the ready curve of his good +left arm. + +``You witch!'' laughed the man, fondly. +``Why, Billy, you couldn't hinder me. You'll _be_ +my inspiration, dear, instead of slaying it. You'll +see. _This_ time Marguerite Winthrop's portrait +is going to be a success.'' + +Billy turned quickly. + +``Then you are--that is, you haven't--I +mean, you're going to--paint it?'' + +``I just am,'' avowed the artist. ``And this +time it'll be a success, too, with you to help.'' + +Billy drew in her breath tremulously. + +``I didn't know but you'd already started it,'' +she faltered. + +He shook his head. + +``No. After the other one failed, and Mr. +Winthrop asked me to try again, I couldn't _then_. +I was so troubled over you. That's the time you +did hinder me,'' he smiled. ``Then came your +note breaking the engagement. Of course I knew +too much to attempt a thing like that portrait +then. But now--_now_--!'' The pause and the +emphasis were eloquent. + +``Of course, _now_,'' nodded Billy, brightly, but +a little feverishly. ``And when do you begin?'' + +``Not till January. Miss Winthrop won't be +back till then. I saw J. G. last week, and I told +him I'd accept his offer to try again.'' + +``What did he say?'' + +``He gave my left hand a big grip and said: +`Good!--and you'll win out this time.' '' + +``Of course you will,'' nodded Billy, again, +though still a little feverishly. ``And this time +I sha'n't mind a bit if you do stay to luncheon, +and break engagements with me, sir,'' she went +on, tilting her chin archly, ``for I shall know it's +the portrait and not the sitter that's really +keeping you. Oh, you'll see what a fine artist's wife +I'll make!'' + +``The very best,'' declared Bertram so ardently +that Billy blushed, and shook her head in reproof. + +``Nonsense! I wasn't fishing. I didn't mean it +that way,'' she protested. Then, as he tried to +catch her, she laughed and danced teasingly out +of his reach. + +Because Bertram could not paint, therefore, +Billy had him quite to herself these October days; +nor did she hesitate to appropriate him. Neither, +on his part, was Bertram loath to be appropriated. +Like two lovers they read and walked and talked +together, and like two children, sometimes, they +romped through the stately old rooms with +Spunkie, or with Tommy Dunn, who was a frequent +guest. Spunkie, be it known, was renewing +her kittenhood, so potent was the influence of +the dangling strings and rolling balls that she +encountered everywhere; and Tommy Dunn, with +Billy's help, was learning that not even a pair +of crutches need keep a lonely little lad from a +frolic. Even William, roused from his after- +dinner doze by peals of laughter, was sometimes +inveigled into activities that left him breathless, +but curiously aglow. While Pete, polishing silver +in the dining-room down-stairs, smiled indulgently +at the merry clatter above--and forgot +the teasing pain in his side. + +But it was not all nonsense with Billy, nor gay +laughter. More often it was a tender glow in the +eyes, a softness in the voice, a radiant something +like an aura of joy all about her, that told how +happy indeed were these days for her. There +was proof by word of mouth, too--long talks +with Bertram in the dancing firelight when they +laid dear plans for the future, and when she tried +so hard to make her husband understand what a +good, good wife she intended to be, and how she +meant never to let anything come between them. + +It was so earnest and serious a Billy by this +time that Bertram would turn startled, dismayed +eyes on his young wife; whereupon, with a very +Billy-like change of mood, she would give him +one of her rare caresses, and perhaps sigh: + +``Goosey--it's only because I'm so happy, +happy, happy! Why, Bertram, if it weren't for +that Overflow Annex I believe I--I just couldn't +live! + +It was Bertram who sighed then, and who +prayed fervently in his heart that never might he +see a real shadow cloud that dear face. + +Thus far, certainly, the cares of matrimony +had rested anything but heavily upon the shapely +young shoulders of the new wife. Domestic affairs +at the Strata moved like a piece of well-oiled +machinery. Dong Ling, to be sure, was not there; +but in his place reigned Pete's grandniece, a fresh- +faced, capable young woman who (Bertram +declared) cooked like an angel and minded her own +business like a man. Pete, as of yore, had full +charge of the house; and a casual eye would see +few changes. Even the brothers themselves saw +few, for that matter. + +True, at the very first, Billy had donned a +ruffled apron and a bewitching dust-cap, and had +traversed the house from cellar to garret with a +prettily important air of ``managing things,'' as +she suggested changes right and left. She had +summoned Pete, too, for three mornings in +succession, and with great dignity had ordered the +meals for the day. But when Bertram was +discovered one evening tugging back his favorite +chair, and when William had asked if Billy were +through using his pipe-tray, the young wife had +concluded to let things remain about as they +were. And when William ate no breakfast one +morning, and Bertram aggrievedly refused dessert +that night at dinner, Billy--learning through an +apologetic Pete that Master William always had +to have eggs for breakfast no matter what else +there was, and that Master Bertram never ate +boiled rice--gave up planning the meals. True, +for three more mornings she summoned Pete for +``orders,'' but the orders were nothing more nor +less than a blithe ``Well, Pete, what are we going +to have for dinner to-day?'' By the end of a +week even this ceremony was given up, and before +a month had passed, Billy was little more +than a guest in her own home, so far as +responsibility was concerned. + +Billy was not idle, however; far from it. First, +there were the delightful hours with Bertram. +Then there was her music: Billy was writing a +new song--the best she had ever written, Billy +declared. + +``Why, Bertram, it can't help being that,'' she +said to her husband, one day. ``The words just +sang themselves to me right out of my heart; +and the melody just dropped down from the sky. +And now, everywhere, I'm hearing the most +wonderful harmonies. The whole universe is +singing to me. If only now I can put it on paper +what I hear! Then I can make the whole +universe sing to some one else!'' + +Even music, however, had to step one side for +the wedding calls which were beginning to be +received, and which must be returned, in spite +of the occasional rebellion of the young husband. +There were the more intimate friends to be seen, +also, and Cyril and Marie to be visited. And +always there was the Annex. + +The Annex was in fine running order now, and +was a source of infinite satisfaction to its founder +and great happiness to its beneficiaries. Tommy +Dunn was there, learning wonderful things from +books and still more wonderful things from the +piano in the living-room. Alice Greggory and +her mother were there, too--the result of much +persuasion. Indeed, according to Bertram, Billy +had been able to fill the Annex only by telling +each prospective resident that he or she was +absolutely necessary to the welfare and happiness +of every other resident. Not that the house was +full, either. There were still two unoccupied +rooms. + +``But then, I'm glad there are,'' Billy had +declared, ``for there's sure to be some one that I'll +want to send there.'' + +``Some _one_, did you say?'' Bertram had retorted, +meaningly; but his wife had disdained to +answer this. + +Billy herself was frequently at the Annex. +She told Aunt Hannah that she had to come often +to bring the happiness--it accumulated so fast. +Certainly she always found plenty to do there, +whenever she came. There was Aunt Hannah to +be read to, Mrs. Greggory to be sung to, and +Tommy Dunn to be listened to; for Tommy +Dunn was always quivering with eagerness to +play her his latest ``piece.'' + +Billy knew that some day at the Annex she +would meet Mr. M. J. Arkwright; and she told +herself that she hoped she should. + +Billy had not seen Arkwright (except on the +stage of the Boston Opera House) since the day +he had left her presence in white-faced, stony- +eyed misery after declaring his love for her, and +learning of her engagement to Bertram. Since +then, she knew, he had been much with his old +friend, Alice Greggory. She did not believe, +should she see him now, that he would be either +white-faced, or stony-eyed. His heart, she was +sure, had gone where it ought to have gone in the +first place--to Alice. Such being, in her opinion, +the case, she longed to get the embarrassment +of a first meeting between themselves over +with, for, after that, she was sure, their old +friendship could be renewed, and she would be in a +position to further this pretty love affair between +him and Alice. Very decidedly, therefore, Billy +wished to meet Arkwright. Very pleased, consequently, +was she when, one day, coming into the +living-room at the Annex, she found the man +sitting by the fire. + +Arkwright was on his feet at once. + +``Miss--Mrs. H--Henshaw,'' he stammered + +``Oh, Mr. Arkwright,'' she cried, with just a +shade of nervousness in her voice as she advanced, +her hand outstretched. ``I'm glad to see you.'' + +``Thank you. I wanted to see Miss Greggory,'' +he murmured. Then, as the unconscious rudeness +of his reply dawned on him, he made matters +infinitely worse by an attempted apology. ``That +is, I mean--I didn't mean--'' he began to +stammer miserably. + +Some girls might have tossed the floundering +man a straw in the shape of a light laugh intended +to turn aside all embarrassment--but not Billy. +Billy held out a frankly helping hand that was +meant to set the man squarely on his feet at her +side. + +``Mr. Arkwright, don't, please,'' she begged +earnestly. ``You and I don't need to beat about +the bush. I _am_ glad to see you, and I hope you're +glad to see me. We're going to be the best of +friends from now on, I'm sure; and some day, +soon, you're going to bring Alice to see me, and +we'll have some music. I left her up-stairs. She'll +be down at once, I dare say--I met Rosa going +up with your card. Good-by,'' she finished with +a bright smile, as she turned and walked rapidly +from the room. + +Outside, on the steps, Billy drew a long +breath. + +``There,'' she whispered; ``that's over--and +well over!'' The next minute she frowned vexedly. +She had missed her glove. ``Never mind! +I sha'n't go back in there for it now, anyway,'' +she decided. + +In the living-room, five minutes later, Alice +Greggory found only a hastily scrawled note +waiting for her. + + +``If you'll forgive the unforgivable,'' she read +``you'll forgive me for not being here when you +come down. `Circumstances over which I have +no control have called me away.' May we let +it go at that? + M. J. ARKWRIGHT. + + +As Alice Greggory's amazed, questioning eyes +left the note they fell upon the long white glove +on the floor by the door. Half mechanically she +crossed the room and picked it up; but almost at +once she dropped it with a low cry. + +``Billy! He--saw--Billy!'' Then a flood +of understanding dyed her face scarlet as she +turned and fled to the blessedly unseeing walls +of her own room. + +Not ten minutes later Rosa tapped at her door +with a note. + +``It's from Mr. Arkwright, Miss. He's downstairs.'' +Rosa's eyes were puzzled, and a bit +startled. + +``Mr. Arkwright!'' + +``Yes, Miss. He's come again. That is, I +didn't know he'd went--but he must have, for +he's come again now. He wrote something in a +little book; then he tore it out and gave it to me. +He said he'd wait, please, for an answer.'' + +``Oh, very well, Rosa.'' + +Miss Greggory took the note and spoke with +an elaborate air of indifference that was meant to +express a calm ignoring of the puzzled questioning +in the other's eyes. The next moment she read +this in Arkwright's peculiar scrawl: + + +``If you've already forgiven the unforgivable, +you'll do it again, I know, and come down-stairs. +Won't you, please? I want to see you.'' + + +Miss Greggory lifted her head with a jerk. +Her face was a painful red. + +``Tell Mr. Arkwright I can't possibly--'' She +came to an abrupt pause. Her eyes had encountered +Rosa's, and in Rosa's eyes the puzzled questioning +was plainly fast becoming a shrewd suspicion. + +There was the briefest of hesitations; then, +lightly, Miss Greggory tossed the note aside. + +``Tell Mr. Arkwright I'll be down at once, +please,'' she directed carelessly, as she turned +back into the room. + +But she was not down at once. She was not +down until she had taken time to bathe her red +eyes, powder her telltale nose, smoothe her ruffled +hair, and whip herself into the calm, steady-eyed, +self-controlled young woman that Arkwright +finally rose to meet when she came into the room. + +``I thought it was only women who were privileged +to change their mind,'' she began brightly; +but Arkwright ignored her attempt to conventionalize +the situation. + +``Thank you for coming down,'' he said, with +a weariness that instantly drove the forced smile +from the girl's lips. ``I--I wanted to--to talk +to you.'' + +``Yes?'' She seated herself and motioned him +to a chair near her. He took the seat, and then +fell silent, his eyes out the window. + +``I thought you said you--you wanted to +talk, she reminded him nervously, after a +minute. + +``I did.'' He turned with disconcerting abruptness. +``Alice, I'm going to tell you a story.'' + +I shall be glad to listen. People always like +stories, don't they?'' + +``Do they?'' The somber pain in Arkwright's +eyes deepened. Alice Greggory did not know it, +but he was thinking of another story he had once +told in that same room. Billy was his listener +then, while now-- A little precipitately he began +to speak. + +``When I was a very small boy I went to visit +my uncle, who, in his young days, had been quite +a hunter. Before the fireplace in his library was +a huge tiger skin with a particularly lifelike head. +The first time I saw it I screamed, and ran and +hid. I refused then even to go into the room +again. My cousins urged, scolded, pleaded, and +laughed at me by turns, but I was obdurate. I +would not go where I could see the fearsome thing +again, even though it was, as they said, `nothing +but a dead old rug!' + +``Finally, one day, my uncle took a hand in the +matter. By sheer will-power he forced me to go +with him straight up to the dreaded creature, and +stand by its side. He laid one of my shrinking +hands on the beast's smooth head, and thrust +the other one quite into the open red mouth with +its gleaming teeth. + +`` `You see,' he said, `there's absolutely nothing +to fear. He can't possibly hurt you. Just as +if you weren't bigger and finer and stronger in +every way than that dead thing on the floor!' + +``Then, when he had got me to the point where +of my own free will I would walk up and touch +the thing, he drew a lesson for me. + +`` `Now remember,' he charged me. `Never +run and hide again. Only cowards do that. +Walk straight up and face the thing. Ten to one +you'll find it's nothing but a dead skin masquerading +as the real thing. Even if it isn't if it's +alive--face it. Find a weapon and fight it. +Know that you are going to conquer it and +you'll conquer. Never run. Be a man. Men +don't run, my boy!' '' + +Arkwright paused, and drew a long breath. He +did not look at the girl in the opposite chair. If +he had looked he would have seen a face transfigured. + +``Well,'' he resumed, ``I never forgot that tiger +skin, nor what it stood for, after that day when +Uncle Ben thrust my hand into its hideous, but +harmless, red mouth. Even as a kid I began, +then, to try--not to run. I've tried ever since +But to-day--I did run.'' + +Arkwright's voice had been getting lower and +lower. The last three words would have been +almost inaudible to ears less sensitively alert than +were Alice Greggory's. For a moment after the +words were uttered, only the clock's ticking broke +the silence; then, with an obvious effort, the man +roused himself, as if breaking away from some +benumbing force that held him. + +``Alice, I don't need to tell you, after what I +said the other night, that I loved Billy Neilson. +That was bad enough, for I found she was pledged +to another man. But to-day I discovered something +worse: I discovered that I loved Billy _Henshaw_-- +another man's wife. And--I ran. But +I've come back. I'm going to face the thing. Oh, +I'm not deceiving myself! This love of mine is +no dead tiger skin. It's a beast, alive and alert +--God pity me!--to destroy my very soul. But +I'm going to fight it; and--I want you to help +me.'' + +The girl gave a half-smothered cry. The man +turned, but he could not see her face distinctly. +Twilight had come, and the room was full of +shadows. He hesitated, then went on, a little +more quietly. + +``That's why I've told you all this--so you +would help me. And you will, won't you?'' + +There was no answer. Once again he tried to +see her face, but it was turned now quite away +from him. + +``You've been a big help already, little girl. +Your friendship, your comradeship--they've +been everything to me. You're not going to make +me do without them--now?'' + +``No--oh, no!'' The answer was low and a +little breathless; but he heard it. + +``Thank you. I knew you wouldn't.'' He +paused, then rose to his feet. When he spoke +again his voice carried a note of whimsical +lightness that was a little forced. ``But I must go-- +else you _will_ take them from me, and with good +reason. And please don't let your kind heart +grieve too much--over me. I'm no deep-dyed +villain in a melodrama, nor wicked lover in a ten- +penny novel, you know. I'm just an everyday +man in real life; and we're going to fight this thing +out in everyday living. That's where your help +is coming in. We'll go together to see Mrs. Bertram +Henshaw. She's asked us to, and you'll do +it, I know. We'll have music and everyday talk. +We'll see Mrs. Bertram Henshaw in her own home +with her husband, where she belongs; and--I'm +not going to run again. But--I'm counting on +your help, you know,'' he smiled a little wistfully, +as he held out his hand in good-by. + +One minute later Alice Greggory, alone, was +hurrying up-stairs. + +``I can't--I can't--I know I can't,'' she was +whispering wildly. Then, in her own room, she +faced herself in the mirror. ``Yes--you--can, +Alice Greggory,'' she asserted, with swift change +of voice and manner. ``This is _your_ tiger skin, +and you're going to fight it. Do you understand? +--fight it! And you're going to win, too. Do you +want that man to know you--_care_?'' + + + +CHAPTER VI + +``THE PAINTING LOOK'' + + +It was toward the last of October that Billy +began to notice her husband's growing restlessness. +Twice, when she had been playing to him, +she turned to find him testing the suppleness of +his injured arm. Several times, failing to receive +an answer to her questions, she had looked up to +discover him gazing abstractedly at nothing in +particular. + +They read and walked and talked together, to +be sure, and Bertram's devotion to her lightest +wish was beyond question; but more and more +frequently these days Billy found him hovering +over his sketches in his studio; and once, when he +failed to respond to the dinner-bell, search +revealed him buried in a profound treatise on ``The +Art of Foreshortening.'' + +Then came the day when Billy, after an hour's +vain effort to imprison within notes a tantalizing +melody, captured the truant and rain down to the +studio to tell Bertram of her victory. + +But Bertram did not seem even to hear her. +True, he leaped to his feet and hurried to meet her, +his face radiantly aglow; but she had not ceased +to speak before he himself was talking. + +``Billy, Billy, I've been sketching,'' he cried. +``My hand is almost steady. See, some of those +lines are all right! I just picked up a crayon +and--'' He stopped abruptly, his eyes on Billy's +face. A vaguely troubled shadow crossed his +own. ``Did--did you--were you saying anything +in--in particular, when you came in?'' he +stammered. + +For a short half-minute Billy looked at her +husband without speaking. Then, a little queerly, +she laughed. + +``Oh, no, nothing at all in _particular_,'' she +retorted airily. The next moment, with one of her +unexpected changes of manner, she darted across +the room, picked up a palette, and a handful of +brushes from the long box near it. Advancing +toward her husband she held them out dramatically. +``And now paint, my lord, paint!'' she +commanded him, with stern insistence, as she +thrust them into his hands. + +Bertram laughed shamefacedly. + +``Oh, I say, Billy,'' he began; but Billy had +gone. + +Out in the hall Billy was speeding up-stairs, +talking fiercely to herself. + +``We'll, Billy Neilson Henshaw, it's come! +Now behave yourself. _That was the painting look!_ +You know what that means. Remember, he belongs +to his Art before he does to you. Kate and +everybody says so. And you--you expected +him to tend to you and your silly little songs. Do +you want to ruin his career? As if now he could +spend all his time and give all his thoughts to +you! But I--I just hate that Art!'' + +``What did you say, Billy?'' asked William, in +mild surprise, coming around the turn of the +balustrade in the hall above. ``Were you speaking +to me, my dear?'' + +Billy looked up. Her face cleared suddenly, +and she laughed--though a little ruefully. + +``No, Uncle William, I wasn't talking to you,'' +she sighed. ``I was just--just administering +first aid to the injured,'' she finished, as she +whisked into her own room. + +``Well, well, bless the child! What can she +mean by that?'' puzzled Uncle William, turning +to go down the stairway. + +Bertram began to paint a very little the next +day. He painted still more the next, and yet more +again the day following. He was like a bird let +out of a cage, so joyously alive was he. The old +sparkle came back to his eye, the old gay smile to +his lips. Now that they had come back Billy +realized what she had not been conscious of +before: that for several weeks past they had not +been there; and she wondered which hurt the +more--that they had not been there before, or +that they were there now. Then she scolded +herself roundly for asking the question at all. + +They were not easy--those days for Billy, +though always to Bertram she managed to show +a cheerfully serene face. To Uncle William, also, +and to Aunt Hannah she showed a smiling countenance; +and because she could not talk to anybody +else of her feelings, she talked to herself. +This, however, was no new thing for Billy to do +From earliest childhood she had fought things out +in like manner. + +``But it's so absurd of you, Billy Henshaw,'' +she berated herself one day, when Bertram had +become so absorbed in his work that he had +forgotten to keep his appointment with her for a +walk. ``Just because you have had his constant +attention almost every hour since you were married +is no reason why you should have it every +hour now, when his arm is better! Besides, it's +exactly what you said you wouldn't do--object-- +to his giving proper time to his work.'' + +``But I'm not objecting,'' stormed the other +half of herself. ``I'm _telling_ him to do it. It's +only that he's so--so _pleased_ to do it. He doesn't +seem to mind a bit being away from me. He's +actually happy!'' + +``Well, don't you want him to be happy in his +work? Fie! For shame! A fine artist's wife you +are. It seems Kate was right, then; you _are_ going +to spoil his career!'' + +``Ho!'' quoth Billy, and tossed her head. +Forthwith she crossed the room to her piano and +plumped herself down hard on to the stool. Then, +from under her fingers there fell a rollicking melody +that seemed to fill the room with little dancing +feet. Faster and faster sped Billy's fingers; +swifter and swifter twinkled the little dancing +feet. Then a door was jerked open, and Bertram's +voice called: + +``Billy!'' + +The music stopped instantly. Billy sprang from +her seat, her eyes eagerly seeking the direction +from which had come the voice. Perhaps--_perhaps_ +Bertram wanted her. Perhaps he was not +going to paint any longer that morning, after all. +``Billy!'' called the voice again. ``Please, do +you mind stopping that playing just for a little +while? I'm a brute, I know, dear, but my brush +_will_ try to keep time with that crazy little tune of +yours, and you know my hand is none too steady, +anyhow, and when it tries to keep up with that +jiggety, jig, jig, jiggety, jig, jig--! _Do_ you mind,, +darling, just--just sewing, or doing something +still for a while?'' + +All the light fled from Billy's face, but her voice, +when she spoke, was the quintessence of cheery +indifference. + +``Why, no, of course not, dear.'' + +``Thank you. I knew you wouldn't,'' sighed +Bertram. Then the door shut. + +For a long minute Billy stood motionless before +she glanced at her watch and sped to the telephone. + +``Is Miss Greggory there, Rosa?'' she called +when the operator's ring was answered. + +``Mis' Greggory, the lame one?'' + +``No; _Miss_ Greggory--Miss Alice.'' + +``Oh! Yes'm.'' + +``Then won't you ask her to come to the telephone, +please.'' + +There was a moment's wait, during which Billy's +small, well-shod foot beat a nervous tattoo on +the floor. + +``Oh, is that you, Alice?'' she called then. +``Are you going to be home for an hour or two?'' + +``Why, y-yes; yes, indeed.'' + +``Then I'm coming over. We'll play duets, +sing--anything. I want some music.'' + +``Do! And--Mr. Arkwright is here. He'll +help.'' + +``Mr. Arkwright? You say he's there? Then +I won't-- Yes, I will, too.'' Billy spoke with +renewed firmness. ``I'll be there right away. +Good-by.'' And she hung up the receiver, and +went to tell Pete to order John and Peggy at once. + +``I suppose I ought to have left Alice and Mr. +Arkwright alone together,'' muttered the young +wife feverishly, as she hurriedly prepared for +departure. ``But I'll make it up to them later. +I'm going to give them lots of chances. But to- +day--to-day I just had to go--somewhere!'' + +At the Annex, with Alice Greggory and +Arkwright, Billy sang duets and trios, and reveled in +a sonorous wilderness of new music to her heart's +content. Then, rested, refreshed, and at peace +with all the world, she hurried home to dinner +and to Bertram. + +``There! I feel better,'' she sighed, as she took +off her hat in her own room; ``and now I'll go +find Bertram. Bless his heart--of course he +didn't want me to play when he was so busy!'' + +Billy went straight to the studio, but Bertram +was not there. Neither was he in William's room, +nor anywhere in the house. Down-stairs in the +dining-room Pete was found looking rather white, +leaning back in a chair. He struggled at once to +his feet, however, as his mistress entered the +room. + +Billy hurried forward with a startled exclamation. + +``Why, Pete, what is it? Are you sick?'' she +cried, her glance encompassing the half-set table. + +``No, ma'am; oh, no, ma'am!'' The old man +stumbled forward and began to arrange the knives +and forks. ``It's just a pesky pain--beggin' +yer pardon--in my side. But I ain't sick. No, +Miss--ma'am.'' + +Billy frowned and shook her head. Her eyes +were on Pete's palpably trembling hands. + +``But, Pete, you are sick,'' she protested. ``Let +Eliza do that.'' + +Pete drew himself stiffly erect. The color had +begun to come back to his face. + +``There hain't no one set this table much but +me for more'n fifty years, an' I've got a sort of +notion that nobody can do it just ter suit me. +Besides, I'm better now. It's gone--that pain.'' + +``But, Pete, what is it? How long have you +had it?'' + +``I hain't had it any time, steady. It's the +comin' an' goin' kind. It seems silly ter mind it +at all; only, when it does come, it sort o' takes +the backbone right out o' my knees, and they +double up so's I have ter set down. There, ye +see? I'm pert as a sparrer, now!'' And, with +stiff celerity, Pete resumed his task. + +His mistress still frowned. + +``That isn't right, Pete,'' she demurred, with +a slow shake of her head. ``You should see a +doctor.'' + +The old man paled a little. He had seen a +doctor, and he had not liked what the doctor +had told him. In fact, he stubbornly refused to +believe what the doctor had said. He straightened +himself now a little aggressively. + +``Humph! Beggin' yer pardon, Miss--ma'am, +but I don't think much o' them doctor chaps.'' + +Billy shook her head again as she smiled +and turned away. Then, as if casually, she +asked: + +``Oh, did Mr. Bertram go out, Pete?'' + +``Yes, Miss; about five o'clock. He said he'd +be back to dinner.'' + +``Oh! All right.'' + +From the hall the telephone jangled sharply. + +``I'll go,'' said Pete's mistress, as she turned +and hurried up-stairs. + +It was Bertram's voice that answered her +opening ``Hullo.'' + +``Oh, Billy, is that you, dear? Well, you're +just the one I wanted. I wanted to say--that +is, I wanted to ask you--'' The speaker cleared +his throat a little nervously, and began all over +again. ``The fact is, Billy, I've run across a +couple of old classmates on from New York, and +they are very anxious I should stay down to dinner +with them. Would you mind--very much if I +did?'' + +A cold hand seemed to clutch Billy's heart. +She caught her breath with a little gasp and tried +to speak; but she had to try twice before the +words came. + +``Why, no--no, of course not!'' Billy's voice +was very high-pitched and a little shaky, but it +was surpassingly cheerful. + +``You sure you won't be--lonesome?'' Bertram's +voice was vaguely troubled. + +``Of course not!'' + +``You've only to say the word, little girl,'' +came Bertram's anxious tones again, ``and I +won't stay.'' + +Billy swallowed convulsively. If only, only he +would _stop_ and leave her to herself! As if she were +going to own up that _she_ was lonesome for _him_-- +if _he_ was not lonesome for _her!_ + +``Nonsense! of course you'll stay,'' called Billy, +still in that high-pitched, shaky treble. Then, +before Bertram could answer, she uttered a gay +``Good-by!'' and hung up the receiver. + +Billy had ten whole minutes in which to cry +before Pete's gong sounded for dinner; but she +had only one minute in which to try to efface +the woefully visible effects of those ten minutes +before William tapped at her door, and called: + +``Gone to sleep, my dear? Dinner's ready. +Didn't you hear the gong?'' + +``Yes, I'm coming, Uncle William.'' Billy +spoke with breezy gayety, and threw open the +door; but she did not meet Uncle William's eyes. +Her head was turned away. Her hands were +fussing with the hang of her skirt. + +``Bertram's dining out, Pete tells me,'' observed +William, with cheerful nonchalance, as they went +down-stairs together. + +Billy bit her lip and looked up sharply. She +had been bracing herself to meet with disdainful +indifference this man's pity--the pity due a poor +neglected wife whose husband _preferred_ to dine +with old classmates rather than with herself. +Now she found in William's face, not pity, but a +calm, even jovial, acceptance of the situation as a +matter of course. She had known she was going +to hate that pity; but now, curiously enough, she +was conscious only of anger that the pity was +not there--that she might hate it. + +She tossed her head a little. So even William +--Uncle William--regarded this monstrous thing +as an insignificant matter of everyday experience. +Maybe he expected it to occur frequently--every +night, or so. Doubtless he did expect it to occur +every night, or so. Indeed! Very well. As if she +were going to show _now_ that she cared whether +Bertram were there or not! They should see. + +So with head held high and eyes asparkle, Billy +marched into the dining-room and took her accustomed place. + + + +CHAPTER VII + +THE BIG BAD QUARREL + + +It was a brilliant dinner--because Billy made +it so. At first William met her sallies of wit with +mild surprise; but it was not long before he rose +gallantly to the occasion, and gave back full +measure of retort. Even Pete twice had to turn +his back to hide a smile, and once his hand shook +so that the tea he was carrying almost spilled. +This threatened catastrophe, however, seemed to +frighten him so much that his face was very grave +throughout the rest of the dinner. + +Still laughing and talking gayly, Billy and +Uncle William, after the meal was over, ascended +to the drawing-room. There, however, the man, +in spite of the young woman's gay badinage, fell +to dozing in the big chair before the fire, leaving +Billy with only Spunkie for company--Spunkie, +who, disdaining every effort to entice her into a +romp, only winked and blinked stupid eyes, and +finally curled herself on the rug for a nap. + +Billy, left to her own devices, glanced at her +watch. + +Half-past seven! Time, almost, for Bertram +to be coming. He had said ``dinner''; and, of +course, after dinner was over he would be coming +home--to her. Very well; she would show him +that she had at least got along without him as +well as he had without her. At all events he +would not find her forlornly sitting with her nose +pressed against the window-pane! And forthwith +Billy established herself in a big chair (with its +back carefully turned toward the door by which +Bertram would enter), and opened a book. + +Five, ten, fifteen minutes passed. Billy +fidgeted in her chair, twisted her neck to look out +into the hall--and dropped her book with a +bang. + +Uncle William jerked himself awake, and +Spunkie opened sleepy eyes. Then both settled +themselves for another nap. Billy sighed, picked +up her book, and flounced back into her chair. +But she did not read. Disconsolately she sat +staring straight ahead--until a quick step on +the sidewalk outside stirred her into instant action. +Assuming a look of absorbed interest she twitched +the book open and held it before her face. . . . +But the step passed by the door: and Billy saw +then that her book was upside down. + +Five, ten, fifteen more minutes passed. Billy +still sat, apparently reading, though she had not +turned a page. The book now, however, was +right side up. One by one other minutes passed +till the great clock in the hall struck nine long +strokes. + +``Well, well, bless my soul!'' mumbled Uncle +William, resolutely forcing himself to wake up. +``What time was that?'' + +``Nine o'clock.'' Billy spoke with tragic +distinctness, yet very cheerfully. + +``Eh? Only nine?'' blinked Uncle William. +``I thought it must be ten. Well, anyhow, I +believe I'll go up-stairs. I seem to be unusually +sleepy.'' + +Billy said nothing. `` `Only nine,' indeed!'' +she was thinking wrathfully. + +At the door Uncle William turned. + +``You're not going to sit up, my dear, of +course,'' he remarked. + +For the second time that evening a cold hand +seemed to clutch Billy's heart. + +_Sit up!_ Had it come already to that? Was +she even now a wife who had need to _sit up_ for +her husband? + +``I really wouldn't, my dear,'' advised Uncle +William again. ``Good night.'' + +``Oh, but I'm not sleepy at all, yet,'' Billy +managed to declare brightly. ``Good night.'' + +Then Uncle William went up-stairs. + +Billy turned to her book, which happened to +be one of William's on ``Fake Antiques.'' + +`` `To collect anything, these days, requires +expert knowledge, and the utmost care and +discrimination,' '' read Billy's eyes. ``So Uncle +William _expected_ Bertram was going to spend the +whole evening as well as stay to dinner!'' ran +Billy's thoughts. `` `The enormous quantity of +bijouterie, Dresden and Battersea enamel ware +that is now flooding the market, is made on the +Continent--and made chiefly for the American +trade,' '' continued the book. + +``Well, who cares if it is,'' snapped Billy, springing +to her feet and tossing the volume aside. +``Spunkie, come here! You've simply got to +play with me. Do you hear? I want to be gay +--_gay_--GAY! He's gay. He's down there with +those men, where he wants to be. Where he'd +_rather_ be than be with me! Do you think I want +him to come home and find me moping over a +stupid old book? Not much! I'm going to have +him find me gay, too. Now, come, Spunkie; +hurry--wake up! He'll be here right away, I'm +sure.'' And Billy shook a pair of worsted reins, +hung with little soft balls, full in Spunkie's face. + +But Spunkie would not wake up, and Spunkie +would not play. She pretended to. She bit at +the reins, and sank her sharp claws into the +dangling balls. For a fleeting instant, even, +something like mischief gleamed in her big yellow eyes. +Then the jaws relaxed, the paws turned to velvet, +and Spunkie's sleek gray head settled slowly back +into lazy comfort. Spunkie was asleep. + +Billy gazed at the cat with reproachful eyes. + +``And you, too, Spunkie,'' she murmured. +Then she got to her feet and went back to her +chair. This time she picked up a magazine and +began to turn the leaves very fast, one after another. + +Half-past nine came, then ten. Pete appeared +at the door to get Spunkie, and to see that everything +was all right for the night. + +``Mr. Bertram is not in yet?'' he began doubtfully. + +Billy shook her head with a bright smile. + +``No, Pete. Go to bed. I expect him every +minute. Good night.'' + +``Thank you, ma'am. Good night.'' + +The old man picked up the sleepy cat and went +down-stairs. A little later Billy heard his quiet +steps coming back through the hall and ascending +the stairs. She listened until from away at the +top of the house she heard his door close. Then +she drew a long breath. + +Ten o'clock--after ten o'clock, and Bertram +not there yet! And was this what he called dinner? +Did one eat, then, till ten o'clock, when one +dined with one's friends? + +Billy was angry now--very angry. She was +too angry to be reasonable. This thing that her +husband had done seemed monstrous to her, +smarting, as she was, under the sting of hurt +pride and grieved loneliness--the state of mind +into which she had worked herself. No longer +now did she wish to be gay when her husband +came. No longer did she even pretend to assume +indifference. Bertram had done wrong. He had +been unkind, cruel, thoughtless, inconsiderate of +her comfort and happiness. Furthermore he _did +not_ love her as well as she did him or he never, +never could have done it! She would let him see, +when he came, just how hurt and grieved she was +--and how disappointed, too. + +Billy was walking the floor now, back and forth, +back and forth. + +Half-past ten came, then eleven. As the eleven +long strokes reverberated through the silent +house Billy drew in her breath and held it suspended. +A new look came to her eyes. A growing +terror crept into them and culminated in a +frightened stare at the clock. + +Billy ran then to the great outer door and pulled +it open. A cold wind stung her face, and caused +her to shut the door quickly. Back and forth she +began to pace the floor again; but in five minutes +she had run to the door once more. This time +she wore a heavy coat of Bertram's which she +caught up as she passed the hall-rack. + +Out on to the broad top step Billy hurried, and +peered down the street. As far as she could see +not a person was in sight. Across the street in +the Public Garden the wind stirred the gray +tree-branches and set them to casting weird +shadows on the bare, frozen ground. A warning +something behind her sent Billy scurrying into +the house just in time to prevent the heavy door's +closing and shutting her out, keyless, in the cold. + +Half-past eleven came, and again Billy ran to +the door. This time she put the floor-mat against +the casing so that the door could not close. Once +more she peered wildly up and down the street, +and across into the deserted, wind-swept Garden. + +There was only terror now in Billy's face. The +anger was all gone. In Billy's mind there was not +a shadow of doubt--something had happened to +Bertram. + +Bertram was ill--hurt--dead! And he was +so good, so kind, so noble; such a dear, dear +husband! If only she could see him once. If only +she could ask his forgiveness for those wicked, +unkind, accusing thoughts. If only she could +tell him again that she did love him. If only-- + +Far down the street a step rang sharply on the +frosty air. A masculine figure was hurrying toward +the house. Retreating well into the shadow of the +doorway, Billy watched it, her heart pounding +against her side in great suffocating throbs. +Nearer and nearer strode the approaching figure +until Billy had almost sprung to meet it with a +glad cry--almost, but not quite; for the figure +neither turned nor paused, but marched straight +on--and Billy saw then, under the arc light, a +brown-bearded man who was not Bertram at all. + +Three times during the next few minutes did +the waiting little bride on the doorstep watch +with palpitating yearning a shadowy form appear, +approach--and pass by. At the third +heart-breaking disappointment, Billy wrung her +hands helplessly. + +``I don't see how there can be--so many-- +utterly _useless_ people in the world!'' she choked. +Then, thoroughly chilled and sick at heart, she +went into the house and closed the door. + +Once again, back and forth, back and forth, +Billy took up her weary vigil. She still wore the +heavy coat. She had forgotten to take it off. +Her face was pitifully white and drawn. Her +eyes were wild. One of her hands was nervously +caressing the rough sleeve of the coat as it hung +from her shoulder. + + +One--two--three-- + +Billy gave a sharp cry and ran into the hall. + +Yes, it was twelve o'clock. And now, always, +all the rest of the dreary, useless hours that that +clock would tick away through an endless existence, +she would have to live--without Bertram. +If only she could see him once more! But she +could not. He was dead. He must be dead, now. +Here it was twelve o'clock, and-- + +There came a quick step, the click of a key in +the lock, then the door swung back and Bertram, +big, strong, and merry-eyed, stood before her. + +``Well, well, hullo,'' he called jovially. Why, +Billy, what's the matter?'' he broke off, in quite +a different tone of voice. + +And then a curious thing happened. Billy, +who, a minute before, had been seeing only a dear, +noble, adorable, _lost_ Bertram, saw now suddenly +only the man that had stayed _happily_ till midnight +with two friends, while she--she-- + +``Matter! Matter!'' exclaimed Billy sharply, +then. ``Is this what you call staying to dinner, +Bertram Henshaw?'' + +Bertram stared. A slow red stole to his +forehead. It was his first experience of coming home +to meet angry eyes that questioned his behavior +--and he did not like it. He had been, perhaps, +a little conscience-smitten when he saw how late +he had stayed; and he had intended to say he +was sorry, of course. But to be thus sharply +called to account for a perfectly innocent good +time with a couple of friends--! To come home +and find Billy making a ridiculous scene like +this--! He--he would not stand for it! He-- + +Bertram's lips snapped open. The angry retort +was almost spoken when something in the piteously +quivering chin and white, drawn face opposite +stopped it just in time. + +``Why, Billy--darling!'' he murmured instead. + +It was Billy's turn to change. All the anger +melted away before the dismayed tenderness in +those dear eyes and the grieved hurt in that dear +voice. + +``Well, you--you--I--'' Billy began to cry. + +It was all right then, of course, for the next +minute she was crying on Bertram's big, broad +shoulder; and in the midst of broken words, +kisses, gentle pats, and inarticulate croonings, +the Big, Bad Quarrel, that had been all ready to +materialize, faded quite away into nothingness. + +``I didn't have such an awfully good time, anyhow, +avowed Bertram, when speech became +rational. ``I'd rather have been home with you.'' + +``Nonsense!'' blinked Billy, valiantly. ``Of +course you had a good time; and it was perfectly +right you should have it, too! And I--I hope +you'll have it again.'' + +``I sha'n't,'' emphasized Bertram, promptly, +``--not and leave you!'' + +Billy regarded him with adoring eyes. + +``I'll tell you; we'll have 'em come here,'' she +proposed gayly. + +``Sure we will,'' agreed Bertram. + +``Yes; sure we will,'' echoed Billy, with a +contented sigh. Then, a little breathlessly, she +added: ``Anyhow, I'll know--where you are. +I won't think you're--dead!'' + +``You--blessed--little-goose!'' scolded +Bertram, punctuating each word with a kiss. + +Billy drew a long sigh. + +``If this is a quarrel I'm going to have them +often,'' she announced placidly. + +``Billy!'' The young husband was plainly +aghast. + +``Well, I am--because I like the making-up, +dimpled Billy, with a mischievous twinkle as she +broke from his clasp and skipped ahead up the +stairway. + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +BILLY CULTIVATES A ``COMFORTABLE INDIFFERENCE'' + + +The next morning, under the uncompromising +challenge of a bright sun, Billy began to be +uneasily suspicious that she had been just a bit +unreasonable and exacting the night before. To +make matters worse she chanced to run across a +newspaper criticism of a new book bearing the +ominous title: ``When the Honeymoon Wanes +A Talk to Young Wives.'' + +Such a title, of course, attracted her +supersensitive attention at once; and, with a curiously +faint feeling, she picked up the paper and began to +read. + +As the most of the criticism was taken up with +quotations from the book, it was such sentences +as these that met her startled eyes: + +``Perhaps the first test comes when the young +wife awakes to the realization that while her husband +loves her very much, he can still make +plans with his old friends which do not include +herself. . . . Then is when the foolish wife lets +her husband see how hurt she is that he can want +to be with any one but herself. . . . Then is +when the husband--used all his life to independence, +perhaps--begins to chafe under these new +bonds that hold him so fast. . . . No man likes +to be held up at the end of a threatened scene and +made to give an account of himself. . . . Before +a woman has learned to cultivate a comfortable +indifference to her husband's comings and goings, +she is apt to be tyrannical and exacting.'' + +`` `Comfortable indifference,' indeed!'' stormed +Billy to herself. ``As if I ever could be comfortably +indifferent to anything Bertram did!'' + +She dropped the paper; but there were still +other quotations from the book there, she knew; +and in a moment she was back at the table reading them. + +``No man, however fondly he loves his wife, +likes to feel that she is everlastingly peering into +the recesses of his mind, and weighing his every +act to find out if he does or does not love her to- +day as well as he did yesterday at this time. . . . +Then, when spontaneity is dead, she is the chief +mourner at its funeral. . . . A few couples never +leave the Garden of Eden. They grow old hand +in hand. They are the ones who bear and forbear; +who have learned to adjust themselves to +the intimate relationship of living together. . . . +A certain amount of liberty, both of action and +thought, must be allowed on each side. . . . The +family shut in upon itself grows so narrow that all +interest in the outside world is lost. . . . No +two people are ever fitted to fill each other's +lives entirely. They ought not to try to do it. +If they do try, the process is belittling to each, +and the result, if it is successful, is nothing less +than a tragedy; for it could not mean the highest +ideals, nor the truest devotion. . . . Brushing up +against other interests and other personalities is +good for both husband and wife. Then to each +other they bring the best of what they have +found, and each to the other continues to be new +and interesting. . . . The young wife, however, +is apt to be jealous of everything that turns her +husband's attention for one moment away from +herself. She is jealous of his thoughts, his words, +his friends, even his business. . . . But the wife +who has learned to be the clinging vine when her +husband wishes her to cling, and to be the sturdy +oak when clinging vines would be tiresome, has +solved a tremendous problem.'' + +At this point Billy dropped the paper. She +flung it down, indeed, a bit angrily. There were +still a few more words in the criticism, mostly the +critic's own opinion of the book; but Billy did +not care for this. She had read quite enough-- +boo much, in fact. All that sort of talk might be +very well, even necessary, perhaps (she told herself), +for ordinary husbands and wives! but for +her and Bertram-- + +Then vividly before her rose those initial quoted +words: + +``Perhaps the first test comes when the young +wife awakes to the realization that while her husband +loves her very much, he can still make +plans with his old friends which do not include +herself.'' + +Billy frowned, and put her finger to her lips. +Was that then, last night, a ``test''? Had she +been ``tyrannical and exacting''? Was she +``everlastingly peering into the recesses'' of Bertram's +mind and ``weighing his every act''? +Was Bertram already beginning to ``chafe'' +under these new bonds that held him? + +No, no, never that! She could not believe that. +But what if he should sometime begin to chafe? +What if they two should, in days to come, +degenerate into just the ordinary, everyday married +folk, whom she saw about her everywhere, and +for whom just such horrid books as this must be +written? It was unbelievable, unthinkable. And +yet, that man had said-- + +With a despairing sigh Billy picked up the paper +once more and read carefully every word again. +When she had finished she stood soberly thoughtful, +her eyes out of the window. + +After all, it was nothing but the same old story. +She was exacting. She did want her husband's +every thought. She _gloried_ in peering into every +last recess of his mind if she had half a chance. +She was jealous of his work. She had almost +hated his painting--at times. She had held him +up with a threatened scene only the night before +and demanded that he should give an account +of himself. She had, very likely, been the clinging +vine when she should have been the sturdy +oak. + +Very well, then. (Billy lifted her head and +threw back her shoulders.) He should have no +further cause for complaint. She would be an +oak. She would cultivate that comfortable +indifference to his comings and goings. She would +brush up against other interests and personalities +so as to be ``new'' and ``interesting'' to her +husband. She would not be tyrannical, exacting, +or jealous. She would not threaten scenes, nor +peer into recesses. Whatever happened, she +would not let Bertram begin to chafe against +those bonds! + +Having arrived at this heroic and (to her) +eminently satisfactory state of mind, Billy turned +from the window and fell to work on a piece of +manuscript music. + +`` `Brush up against other interests,' '' she +admonished herself sternly, as she reached for her +pen. + +Theoretically it was beautiful; but practically-- + +Billy began at once to be that oak. Not an +hour after she had first seen the fateful notice of +``When the Honeymoon Wanes,'' Bertram's ring +sounded at the door down-stairs. + +Bertram always let himself in with his latchkey; +but, from the first of Billy's being there, he +had given a peculiar ring at the bell which would +bring his wife flying to welcome him if she were +anywhere in the house. To-day, when the bell +sounded, Billy sprang as usual to her feet, with a +joyous ``There's Bertram!'' But the next moment +she fell back. + +``Tut, tut, Billy Neilson Henshaw! Learn to +cultivate a comfortable indifference to your +husband's comings and goings,'' she whispered +fiercely. Then she sat down and fell to work again. + +A moment later she heard her husband's voice +talking to some one--Pete, she surmised. ``Here? +You say she's here?'' Then she heard Bertram's +quick step on the stairs. The next minute, very +quietly, he came to her door. + +``Ho!'' he ejaculated gayly, as she rose to +receive his kiss. ``I thought I'd find you asleep, +when you didn't hear my ring.'' + +Billy reddened a little. + +``Oh, no, I wasn't asleep.'' + +``But you didn't hear--'' Bertram stopped +abruptly, an odd look in his eyes. ``Maybe you +did hear it, though,'' he corrected. + +Billy colored more confusedly. The fact that +she looked so distressed did not tend to clear +Bertram's face. + +``Why, of course, Billy, I didn't mean to insist +on your coming to meet me,'' he began a little +stiffly; but Billy interrupted him. + +``Why, Bertram, I just love to go to meet you,'' +she maintained indignantly. Then, remembering +just in time, she amended: ``That is, I did love +to meet you, until--'' With a sudden realization +that she certainly had not helped matters any, +she came to an embarrassed pause. + +A puzzled frown showed on Bertram's face. + +``You did love to meet me until--'' he repeated +after her; then his face changed. ``Billy, +you aren't--you _can't_ be laying up last night +against me!'' he reproached her a little irritably. + +``Last night? Why, of course not,'' retorted +Billy, in a panic at the bare mention of the +``test'' which--according to ``When the Honeymoon +Wanes''--was at the root of all her misery. +Already she thought she detected in Bertram's +voice signs that he was beginning to chafe +against those ``bonds.'' ``It is a matter of-- +of the utmost indifference to me what time you +come home at night, my dear,'' she finished airily, +as she sat down to her work again. + +Bertram stared; then he frowned, turned on +his heel and left the room. Bertram, who knew +nothing of the ``Talk to Young Wives'' in the +newspaper at Billy's feet, was surprised, puzzled, +and just a bit angry. + +Billy, left alone, jabbed her pen with such force +against her paper that the note she was making +became an unsightly blot. + +``Well, if this is what that man calls being +`comfortably indifferent,' I'd hate to try the +_un_comfortable kind,'' she muttered with emphasis. + + + +CHAPTER IX + +THE DINNER BILLY TRIED TO GET + + +Notwithstanding what Billy was disposed to +regard as the non-success of her first attempt to +profit by the ``Talk to Young Wives;'' she still +frantically tried to avert the waning of her honeymoon. +Assiduously she cultivated the prescribed +``indifference,'' and with at least apparent enthusiasm +she sought the much-to-be-desired ``outside +interests.'' That is, she did all this when she +thought of it when something reminded her +of the sword of destruction hanging over her +happiness. At other times, when she was just being +happy without question, she was her old self +impulsive, affectionate, and altogether adorable. + +Naturally, under these circumstances, her conduct +was somewhat erratic. For three days, perhaps, +she would fly to the door at her husband's +ring, and hang upon his every movement. Then, +for the next three, she would be a veritable will-o'- +the-wisp for elusiveness, caring, apparently, not +one whit whether her husband came or went +until poor Bertram, at his wit's end, scourged +himself with a merciless catechism as to what he +had done to vex her. Then, perhaps, just when +he had nerved himself almost to the point of asking +her what was the trouble, there would come +another change, bringing back to him the old +Billy, joyous, winsome, and devoted, plainly +caring nothing for anybody or anything but +himself. Scarcely, however, would he become sure +that it was his Billy back again before she was off +once more, quite beyond his reach, singing with +Arkwright and Alice Greggory, playing with +Tommy Dunn, plunging into some club or church +work--anything but being with him. + +That all this was puzzling and disquieting to +Bertram, Billy not once suspected. Billy, so far +as she was concerned, was but cultivating a +comfortable indifference, brushing up against outside +interests, and being an oak. + +December passed, and January came, bringing +Miss Marguerite Winthrop to her Boston home. +Bertram's arm was ``as good as ever'' now, +according to its owner; and the sittings for the new +portrait began at once. This left Billy even more +to her own devices, for Bertram entered into his +new work with an enthusiasm born of a glad relief +from forced idleness, and a consuming eagerness +to prove that even though he had failed the first +time, he could paint a portrait of Marguerite +Winthrop that would be a credit to himself, a +conclusive retort to his critics, and a source of +pride to his once mortified friends. With his +whole heart, therefore, he threw himself into the +work before him, staying sometimes well into the +afternoon on the days Miss Winthrop could find +time between her social engagements to give him +a sitting. + +It was on such a day, toward the middle of the +month, that Billy was called to the telephone at +half-past twelve o'clock to speak to her husband. + +``Billy, dear,'' began Bertram at once, ``if you +don't mind I'm staying to luncheon at Miss Winthrop's +kind request. We've changed the pose-- +neither of us was satisfied, you know--but we +haven't quite settled on the new one. Miss +Winthrop has two whole hours this afternoon that +she can give me if I'll stay; and, of course, under +the circumstances, I want to do it.'' + +``Of course,'' echoed Billy. Billy's voice was +indomitably cheerful. + +``Thank you, dear. I knew you'd understand,'' +sighed Bertram, contentedly. ``You see, really, +two whole hours, so--it's a chance I can't afford +to lose.'' + +``Of course you can't,'' echoed Billy, again. + +``All right then. Good-by till to-night,'' called +the man. + +``Good-by,'' answered Billy, still cheerfully. +As she turned away, however, she tossed her head. +``A new pose, indeed!'' she muttered, with some +asperity. ``Just as if there could be a _new_ pose +after all those she tried last year!'' + +Immediately after luncheon Pete and Eliza +started for South Boston to pay a visit to Eliza's +mother, and it was soon after they left the house +that Bertram called his wife up again. + +``Say, dearie, I forgot to tell you,'' he began, +``but I met an old friend in the subway this +morning, and I--well, I remembered what you +said about bringing 'em home to dinner next +time, so I asked him for to-night. Do you mind? +It's--'' + +``Mind? Of course not! I'm glad you did,'' +plunged in Billy, with feverish eagerness. (Even +now, just the bare mention of anything connected +with that awful ``test'' night was enough to set +Billy's nerves to tingling.) ``I want you to always +bring them home, Bertram.'' + +``All right, dear. We'll be there at six o'clock +then. It's--it's Calderwell, this time. You +remember Calderwell, of course.'' + +``Not--_Hugh_ Calderwell?'' Billy's question +was a little faint. + +``Sure!'' Bertram laughed oddly, and lowered +his voice. ``I suspect _once_ I wouldn't have +brought him home to you. I was too jealous. +But now--well, now maybe I want him to see +what he's lost.'' + +``_Bertram!_'' + +But Bertram only laughed mischievously, and +called a gay ``Good-by till to-night, then!'' + +Billy, at her end of the wires, hung up the +receiver and backed against the wall a little +palpitatingly. + +Calderwell! To dinner--Calderwell! Did +she remember Calderwell? Did she, indeed! As +if one could easily forget the man that, for a year +or two, had proposed marriage as regularly (and +almost as lightly!) as he had torn a monthly leaf +from his calendar! Besides, was it not he, too, +who had said that Bertram would never love any +girl, _really_; that it would be only the tilt of her +chin or the turn of her head that he loved--to +paint? And now he was coming to dinner--and +with Bertram. + +Very well, he should see! He should see that +Bertram _did_ love her; _her_--not the tilt of her +chin nor the turn of her head. He should see how +happy they were, what a good wife she made, and +how devoted and _satisfied_ Bertram was in his +home. He should see! And forthwith Billy +picked up her skirts and tripped up-stairs to select +her very prettiest house-gown to do honor to the +occasion. Up-stairs, however, one thing and another +delayed her, so that it was four o'clock when +she turned her attention to her toilet; and it was +while she was hesitating whether to be stately +and impressive in royally sumptuous blue velvet +and ermine, or cozy and tantalizingly homy{sic} in +bronze-gold cr<e^>pe de Chine and swan's-down, +that the telephone bell rang again. + +Eliza and Pete had not yet returned; so, as +before, Billy answered it. This time Eliza's +shaking voice came to her. + +``Is that you, ma'am?'' + +``Why, yes, Eliza?'' + +``Yes'm, it's me, ma'am. It's about Uncle +Pete. He's give us a turn that's 'most scared us +out of our wits.'' + +``Pete! You mean he's sick?'' + +``Yes, ma'am, he was. That is, he is, too-- +only he's better, now, thank goodness,'' panted +Eliza. ``But he ain't hisself yet. He's that white +and shaky! Would you--could you--that is, +would you mind if we didn't come back till into +the evenin', maybe?'' + +``Why, of course not,'' cried Pete's mistress, +quickly. ``Don't come a minute before he's able, +Eliza. Don't come until to-morrow.'' + +Eliza gave a trembling little laugh. + +``Thank you, ma'am; but there wouldn't be +no keepin' of Uncle Pete here till then. If he +could take five steps alone he'd start now. But +he can't. He says he'll be all right pretty quick, +though. He's had 'em before--these spells-- +but never quite so bad as this, I guess; an' he's +worryin' somethin' turrible 'cause he can't start +for home right away.'' + +``Nonsense!'' cut in Mrs. Bertram Henshaw. + +``Yes'm. I knew you'd feel that way,'' +stammered Eliza, gratefully. ``You see, I couldn't +leave him to come alone, and besides, anyhow, +I'd have to stay, for mother ain't no more use +than a wet dish-rag at such times, she's that +scared herself. And she ain't very well, too. So +if--if you _could_ get along--'' + +``Of course we can! And tell Pete not to +worry one bit. I'm so sorry he's sick!'' + +``Thank you, ma'am. Then we'll be there +some time this evenin','' sighed Eliza. + +From the telephone Billy turned away with a +troubled face. + +``Pete _is_ ill,'' she was saying to herself. ``I +don't like the looks of it; and he's so faithful he'd +come if--'' With a little cry Billy stopped +short. Then, tremblingly, she sank into the +nearest chair. ``Calderwell--and he's coming to +_dinner!_'' she moaned. + +For two benumbed minutes Billy sat staring +at nothing. Then she ran to the telephone and +called the Annex. + +Aunt Hannah answered. + +``Aunt Hannah, for heaven's sake, if you love +me,'' pleaded Billy, ``send Rosa down instanter! +Pete is sick over to South Boston, and Eliza is +with him; and Bertram is bringing Hugh Calderwell +home to dinner. _Can_ you spare Rosa?'' + +``Oh, my grief and conscience, Billy! Of course +I can--I mean I could--but Rosa isn't here, +dear child! It's her day out, you know.'' + +``O dear, of course it is! I might have known, +if I'd thought; but Pete and Eliza have spoiled +me. They never take days out at meal time-- +both together, I mean--until to-night.'' + +``But, my dear child, what will you do?'' + +``I don't know. I've got to think. I _must_ do +something!'' + +``Of course you must! I'd come over myself +if it wasn't for my cold.'' + +``As if I'd let you!'' + +``There isn't anybody here, only Tommy. +Even Alice is gone. Oh, Billy, Billy, this only +goes to prove what I've always said, that _no_ +woman _ought_ to be a wife until she's an efficient +housekeeper; and--'' + +``Yes, yes, Aunt Hannah, I know,'' moaned +Billy, frenziedly. ``But I am a wife, and I'm not +an efficient housekeeper; and Hugh Calderwell +won't wait for me to learn. He's coming to-night. +_To-night!_ And I've got to do something. Never +mind. I'll fix it some way. Good-by!'' + +``But, Billy, Billy! Oh, my grief and conscience,'' +fluttered Aunt Hannah's voice across +the wires as Billy snapped the receiver into +place. + +For the second time that day Billy backed +palpitatingly against the wall. Her eyes sought +the clock fearfully. + +Fifteen minutes past four. She had an hour and +three quarters. She could, of course, telephone +Bertram to dine Calderwell at a club or some +hotel. But to do this now, the very first time, +when it had been her own suggestion that he +``bring them home''--no, no, she could not do +that! Anything but that! Besides, very likely +she could not reach Bertram, anyway. Doubtless +he had left the Winthrops' by this time. + +There was Marie. She could telephone Marie. +But Marie could not very well come just now, she +knew; and then, too, there was Cyril to be taken +into consideration. How Cyril would gibe at the +wife who had to call in all the neighbors just +because her husband was bringing home a friend +to dinner! How he would-- Well, he shouldn't! +He should not have the chance. So, there! + +With a jerk Mrs. Bertram Henshaw pulled +herself away from the wall and stood erect. Her +eyes snapped, and the very poise of her chin +spelled determination. + +Very well, she would show them. Was not +Bertram bringing this man home because he was +proud of her? Mighty proud he would be if she +had to call in half of Boston to get his dinner for +him! Nonsense! She would get it herself. Was +not this the time, if ever, to be an oak? A vine, +doubtless, would lean and cling and telephone, +and whine ``I can't!'' But not an oak. An oak +would hold up its head and say ``I can!'' An +oak would go ahead and get that dinner. She +would be an oak. She would get that dinner. + +What if she didn't know how to cook bread and +cake and pies and things? One did not have to +cook bread and cake and pies just to get a dinner +--meat and potatoes and vegetables! Besides, +she _could_ make peach fritters. She knew she +could. She would show them! + +And with actually a bit of song on her lips, Billy +skipped up-stairs for her ruffled apron and dust- +cap--two necessary accompaniments to this +dinner-getting, in her opinion. + +Billy found the apron and dust-cap with no +difficulty; but it took fully ten of her precious +minutes to unearth from its obscure hiding-place +the blue-and-gold ``Bride's Helper'' cookbook, +one of Aunt Hannah's wedding gifts. + +On the way to the kitchen, Billy planned her +dinner. As was natural, perhaps, she chose the +things she herself would like to eat. + +``I won't attempt anything very elaborate,'' +she said to herself. ``It would be wiser to have +something simple, like chicken pie, perhaps. I +love chicken pie! And I'll have oyster stew first +--that is, after the grapefruit. Just oysters +boiled in milk must be easier than soup to make. +I'll begin with grapefruit with a cherry in it, like +Pete fixes it. Those don't have to be cooked, +anyhow. I'll have fish--Bertram loves the fish +course. Let me see, halibut, I guess, with egg +sauce. I won't have any roast; nothing but the +chicken pie. And I'll have squash and onions. +I can have a salad, easy--just lettuce and stuff. +That doesn't have to be cooked. Oh, and the +peach fritters, if I get time to make them. For +dessert--well, maybe I can find a new pie or +pudding in the cookbook. I want to use that +cookbook for something, after hunting all this +time for it!'' + +In the kitchen Billy found exquisite neatness, +and silence. The first brought an approving light +to her eyes; but the second, for some unapparent +reason, filled her heart with vague misgiving. +This feeling, however, Billy resolutely cast from +her as she crossed the room, dropped her book +on to the table, and turned toward the shining +black stove. + +There was an excellent fire. Glowing points +of light showed that only a good draft was needed +to make the whole mass of coal red-hot. Billy, +however, did not know this. Her experience of +fires was confined to burning wood in open grates +--and wood in open grates had to be poked to +make it red and glowing. With confident alacrity +now, therefore, Billy caught up the poker, thrust +it into the mass of coals and gave them a fine +stirring up. Then she set back the lid of the +stove and went to hunt up the ingredients for +her dinner. + +By the time Billy had searched five minutes +and found no chicken, no oysters, and no halibut, +it occurred to her that her larder was not, +after all, an open market, and that one's provisions +must be especially ordered to fit one's needs. +As to ordering them now--Billy glanced at the +clock and shook her head. + +``It's almost five, already, and they'd never +get here in time,'' she sighed regretfully. ``I'll +have to have something else.'' + +Billy looked now, not for what she wanted, but +for what she could find. And she found: some +cold roast lamb, at which she turned up her nose; +an uncooked beefsteak, which she appropriated +doubtfully; a raw turnip and a head of lettuce, +which she hailed with glee; and some beets, +potatoes, onions, and grapefruit, from all of which +she took a generous supply. Thus laden she +went back to the kitchen. + +Spread upon the table they made a brave +show. + +``Oh, well, I'll have quite a dinner, after all,'' +she triumphed, cocking her head happily. ``And +now for the dessert,'' she finished, pouncing on +the cookbook. + +It was while she was turning the leaves to find +the pies and puddings that she ran across the +vegetables and found the word ``beets'' staring +her in the face. Mechanically she read the line +below. + +``Winter beets will require three hours to cook. +Use hot water.'' + +Billy's startled eyes sought the clock. + +Three hours--and it was five, now! + +Frenziedly, then, she ran her finger down the +page. + +``Onions, one and one-half hours. Use hot +water. Turnips require a long time, but if cut +thin they will cook in an hour and a quarter.'' + +``An hour and a quarter, indeed!'' she moaned. + +``Isn't there anything anywhere that doesn't +take forever to cook?'' + +``Early peas-- . . . green corn-- . . . summer +squash-- . . .'' mumbled Billy's dry lips. +``But what do folks eat in January--_January_?'' + +It was the apparently inoffensive sentence, +``New potatoes will boil in thirty minutes,'' +that brought fresh terror to Billy's soul, and set +her to fluttering the cookbook leaves with renewed +haste. If it took _new_ potatoes thirty minutes +to cook, how long did it take old ones? In +vain she searched for the answer. There were +plenty of potatoes. They were mashed, whipped, +scalloped, creamed, fried, and broiled; they were +made into puffs, croquettes, potato border, and +potato snow. For many of these they were boiled +first--``until tender,'' one rule said. + +``But that doesn't tell me how long it takes to +get 'em tender,'' fumed Billy, despairingly. ``I +suppose they think anybody ought to know that +--but I don't!'' Suddenly her eyes fell once more +on the instructions for boiling turnips, and her +face cleared. ``If it helps to cut turnips thin, +why not potatoes?'' she cried. ``I _can_ do that, +anyhow; and I will,'' she finished, with a sigh of +relief, as she caught up half a dozen potatoes and +hurried into the pantry for a knife. A few minutes +later, the potatoes, peeled, and cut almost to +wafer thinness, were dumped into a basin of cold +water. + +``There! now I guess you'll cook,'' nodded +Billy to the dish in her hand as she hurried to the +stove. + +Chilled by an ominous unresponsiveness, Billy +lifted the stove lid and peered inside. Only a mass +of black and graying coals greeted her. The fire +was out. + +``To think that even you had to go back on me +like this!'' upbraided Billy, eyeing the dismal +mass with reproachful gaze. + +This disaster, however, as Billy knew, was not +so great as it seemed, for there was still the gas +stove. In the old days, under Dong Ling's rule, +there had been no gas stove. Dong Ling disapproved +of ``devil stoves'' that had ``no coalee, +no woodee, but burned like hellee.'' Eliza, +however, did approve of them; and not long after her +arrival, a fine one had been put in for her use. So +now Billy soon had her potatoes with a brisk +blaze under them. + +In frantic earnest, then, Billy went to work. +Brushing the discarded onions, turnip, and beets +into a pail under the table, she was still confronted +with the beefsteak, lettuce, and grapefruit. +All but the beefsteak she pushed to one side +with gentle pats. + +``You're all right,'' she nodded to them. ``I +can use you. You don't have to be cooked, +bless your hearts! But _you_--!'' Billy scowled +at the beefsteak and ran her finger down the index +of the ``Bride's Helper''--Billy knew how to +handle that book now. + +``No, you don't--not for me!'' she muttered, +after a minute, shaking her finger at the +tenderloin on the table. ``I haven't got any `hot +coals,' and I thought a `gridiron' was where they +played football; though it seems it's some sort +of a dish to cook you in, here--but I shouldn't +know it from a teaspoon, probably, if I should +see it. No, sir! It's back to the refrigerator for +you, and a nice cold sensible roast leg of lamb for +me, that doesn't have to be cooked. Understand? +_Cooked_,'' she finished, as she carried the +beefsteak away and took possession of the hitherto +despised cold lamb. + +Once more Billy made a mad search through +cupboards and shelves. This time she bore back +in triumph a can of corn, another of tomatoes, and +a glass jar of preserved peaches. In the kitchen +a cheery bubbling from the potatoes on the stove +greeted her. Billy's spirits rose with the steam. + +``There, Spunkie,'' she said gayly to the cat, +who had just uncurled from a nap behind the +stove. ``Tell me I can't get up a dinner! And +maybe we'll have the peach fritters, too, ``she +chirped. ``I've got the peach-part, anyway.'' + +But Billy did not have the peach fritters, after +all. She got out the sugar and the flour, to be +sure, and she made a great ado looking up the +rule; but a hurried glance at the clock sent her +into the dining-room to set the table, and all +thought of the peach fritters was given up. + + + +CHAPTER X + +THE DINNER BILLY GOT + + +At five minutes of six Bertram and Calderwell +came. Bertram gave his peculiar ring and let +himself in with his latchkey; but Billy did not +meet him in the hall, nor in the drawing-room. +Excusing himself, Bertram hurried up-stairs. +Billy was not in her room, nor anywhere on that +floor. She was not in William's room. Coming +down-stairs to the hall again, Bertram confronted +William, who had just come in. + +``Where's Billy?'' demanded the young husband, +with just a touch of irritation, as if he +suspected William of having Billy in his pocket. + +William stared slightly. + +``Why, I don't know. Isn't she here?'' + +``I'll ask Pete,'' frowned Bertram. + +In the dining-room Bertram found no one, +though the table was prettily set, and showed +half a grapefruit at each place. In the kitchen +--in the kitchen Bertram found a din of rattling +tin, an odor of burned food--, a confusion of +scattered pots and pans, a frightened cat who peered +at him from under a littered stove, and a flushed, +disheveled young woman in a blue dust-cap and +ruffled apron, whom he finally recognized as his +wife. + +``Why, Billy!'' he gasped. + +Billy, who was struggling with something at +the sink, turned sharply. + +``Bertram Henshaw,'' she panted, ``I used to +think you were wonderful because you could +paint a picture. I even used to think I was a +little wonderful because I could write a song. +Well, I don't any more! But I'll tell you who _is_ +wonderful. It's Eliza and Rosa, and all the rest +of those women who can get a meal on to the +table all at once, so it's fit to eat!'' + +``Why, Billy!'' gasped Bertram again, falling +back to the door he had closed behind him. +``What in the world does this mean?'' + +``Mean? It means I'm getting dinner,'' choked +Billy. ``Can't you see?'' + +``But--Pete! Eliza!'' + +``They're sick--I mean he's sick; and I said +I'd do it. I'd be an oak. But how did I know +there wasn't anything in the house except stuff +that took hours to cook--only potatoes? And +how did I know that _they_ cooked in no time, and +then got all smushy and wet staying in the water? +And how did I know that everything else would +stick on and burn on till you'd used every dish +there was in the house to cook 'em in?'' + +``Why, Billy!'' gasped Bertram, for the third +time. And then, because he had been married +only six months instead of six years, he made the +mistake of trying to argue with a woman whose +nerves were already at the snapping point. +``But, dear, it was so foolish of you to do all this! +Why didn't you telephone? Why didn't you get +somebody?'' + +Like an irate little tigress, Billy turned at bay. + +``Bertram Henshaw,'' she flamed angrily, ``if +you don't go up-stairs and tend to that man up +there, I shall _scream_. Now go! I'll be up when I +can.'' + +And Bertram went. + +It was not so very long, after all, before Billy +came in to greet her guest. She was not stately +and imposing in royally sumptuous blue velvet +and ermine; nor yet was she cozy and homy in +bronze-gold cr<e^>pe de Chine and swan's-down. +She was just herself in a pretty little morning +house gown of blue gingham. She was minus the +dust-cap and the ruffled apron, but she had a dab +of flour on the left cheek, and a smutch of crock +on her forehead. She had, too, a cut finger on her +right hand, and a burned thumb on her left. But +she was Billy--and being Billy, she advanced +with a bright smile and held out a cordial hand-- +not even wincing when the cut finger came under +Calderwell's hearty clasp. + +``I'm glad to see you,'' she welcomed him. +``You'll excuse my not appearing sooner, I'm +sure, for--didn't Bertram tell you?--I'm playing +Bridget to-night. But dinner is ready now, +and we'll go down, please,'' she smiled, as she +laid a light hand on her guest's arm. + +Behind her, Bertram, remembering the scene +in the kitchen, stared in sheer amazement. Bertram, +it might be mentioned again, had been +married six months, not six years. + +What Billy had intended to serve for a ``simple +dinner'' that night was: grapefruit with cherries, +oyster stew, boiled halibut with egg sauce, chicken +pie, squash, onions, and potatoes, peach fritters, +a ``lettuce and stuff'' salad, and some new pie +or pudding. What she did serve was: grapefruit +(without the cherries), cold roast lamb, potatoes +(a mush of sogginess), tomatoes (canned, and +slightly burned), corn (canned, and very much +burned), lettuce (plain); and for dessert, preserved +peaches and cake (the latter rather dry and +stale). Such was Billy's dinner. + +The grapefruit everybody ate. The cold lamb +too, met with a hearty reception, especially after +the potatoes, corn, and tomatoes were served-- +and tasted. Outwardly, through it all, Billy was +gayety itself. Inwardly she was burning up with +anger and mortification. And because she was +all this, there was, apparently, no limit to her +laughter and sparkling repartee as she talked +with Calderwell, her guest--the guest who, +according to her original plans, was to be shown how +happy she and Bertram were, what a good wife +she made, and how devoted and _satisfied_ Bertram +was in his home. + +William, picking at his dinner--as only a +hungry man can pick at a dinner that is uneatable-- +watched Billy with a puzzled, uneasy +frown. Bertram, choking over the few mouthfuls +he ate, marked his wife's animated face and +Calderwell's absorbed attention, and settled into +gloomy silence. + +But it could not continue forever. The preserved +peaches were eaten at last, and the stale +cake left. (Billy had forgotten the coffee-- +which was just as well, perhaps.) Then the four +trailed up-stairs to the drawing-room. + +At nine o'clock an anxious Eliza and a remorseful, +apologetic Pete came home and descended +to the horror the once orderly kitchen and dining- +room had become. At ten, Calderwell, with very +evident reluctance, tore himself away from Billy's +gay badinage, and said good night. At two +minutes past ten, an exhausted, nerve-racked Billy +was trying to cry on the shoulders of both Uncle +William and Bertram at once. + +``There, there, child, don't! It went off all +right,'' patted Uncle William. + +``Billy, darling,'' pleaded Bertram, ``please +don't cry so! As if I'd ever let you step foot in +that kitchen again!'' + +At this Billy raised a tear-wet face, aflame with +indignant determination. + +``As if I'd ever let you keep me _from_ it, Bertram +Henshaw, after this!'' she contested. ``I'm +not going to do another thing in all my life but +_cook!_ When I think of the stuff we had to eat, +after all the time I took to get it, I'm simply crazy! +Do you think I'd run the risk of such a thing as +this ever happening again?'' + + + +CHAPTER XI + +CALDERWELL DOES SOME QUESTIONING + + +On the day after his dinner with Mr. and Mrs. +Bertram Henshaw, Hugh Calderwell left Boston +and did not return until more than a month had +passed. One of his first acts, when he did come, +was to look up Mr. M. J. Arkwright at the address +which Billy had given him. + +Calderwell had not seen Arkwright since they +parted in Paris some two years before, after a six- +months tramp through Europe together. Calderwell +liked Arkwright then, greatly, and he lost +no time now in renewing the acquaintance. + +The address, as given by Billy, proved to be an +attractive but modest apartment hotel near the +Conservatory of Music; and Calderwell was +delighted to find Arkwright at home in his +comfortable little bachelor suite. + +Arkwright greeted him most cordially. + +``Well, well,'' he cried, ``if it isn't Calderwell! +And how's Mont Blanc? Or is it the Killarney +Lakes this time, or maybe the Sphinx that I +should inquire for, eh?'' + +``Guess again,'' laughed Calderwell, throwing +off his heavy coat and settling himself comfortably +in the inviting-looking morris chair his +friend pulled forward. + +``Sha'n't do it,'' retorted Arkwright, with a +smile. ``I never gamble on palpable uncertainties, +except for a chance throw or two, as I gave +a minute ago. Your movements are altogether +too erratic, and too far-reaching, for ordinary +mortals to keep track of.'' + +``Well, maybe you're right,'' grinned Calderwell, +appreciatively. ``Anyhow, you would have +lost this time, sure thing, for I've been working.'' + +``Seen the doctor yet?'' queried Arkwright, +coolly, pushing the cigars across the table. + +``Thanks--for both,'' sniffed Calderwell, with +a reproachful glance, helping himself. ``Your +good judgment in some matters is still unimpaired, +I see,'' he observed, tapping the little gilded band +which had told him the cigar was an old favorite. +``As to other matters, however,--you're wrong +again, my friend, in your surmise. I am not sick, +and I have been working.'' + +``So? Well, I'm told they have very good +specialists here. Some one of them ought to +hit your case. Still--how long has it been +running?'' Arkwright's face showed only grave +concern. + +``Oh, come, let up, Arkwright,'' snapped +Calderwell, striking his match alight with a vigorous +jerk. ``I'll admit I haven't ever given any _special_ +indication of an absorbing passion for work. But +what can you expect of a fellow born with a +whole dozen silver spoons in his mouth? And +that's what I was, according to Bertram Henshaw. +According to him again, it's a wonder I +ever tried to feed myself; and perhaps he's right +--with my mouth already so full.'' + +``I should say so,'' laughed Arkwright. + +``Well, be that as it may. I'm going to feed +myself, and I'm going to earn my feed, too. I +haven't climbed a mountain or paddled a canoe, +for a year. I've been in Chicago cultivating the +acquaintance of John Doe and Richard Roe.'' + +``You mean--law?'' + +``Sure. I studied it here for a while, before +that bout of ours a couple of years ago. Billy +drove me away, then.'' + +``Billy!--er--Mrs. Henshaw?'' + +``Yes. I thought I told you. She turned down +my tenth-dozen proposal so emphatically that I +lost all interest in Boston and took to the tall +timber again. But I've come back. A friend of +my father's wrote me to come on and consider a +good opening there was in his law office. I came +on a month ago, and considered. Then I went +back to pack up. Now I've come for good, and +here I am. You have my history to date. Now +tell me of yourself. You're looking as fit as a +penny from the mint, even though you have +discarded that `lovely' brown beard. Was that +a concession to--er--_Mary Jane_?'' + +Arkwright lifted a quick hand of protest. + +`` `Michael Jeremiah,' please. There is no +`Mary Jane,' now,'' he said a bit stiffly. + +The other stared a little. Then he gave a low +chuckle. + +`` `Michael Jeremiah,' '' he repeated musingly, +eyeing the glowing tip of his cigar. ``And to +think how that mysterious `M. J.' used to +tantalize me! Do you mean,'' he added, turning +slowly, ``that no one calls you `Mary Jane' +now?'' + +``Not if they know what is best for them.'' + +``Oh!'' Calderwell noted the smouldering fire +in the other's eyes a little curiously. ``Very +well. I'll take the hint--Michael Jeremiah.'' + +``Thanks.'' Arkwright relaxed a little. ``To +tell the truth, I've had quite enough now--of +Mary Jane.'' + +``Very good. So be it,'' nodded the other, still +regarding his friend thoughtfully. ``But tell me +--what of yourself?'' + +Arkwright shrugged his shoulders. + +``There's nothing to tell. You've seen. I'm +here.'' + +``Humph! Very pretty,'' scoffed Calderwell. +``Then if _you_ won't tell, I _will_. I saw Billy a +month ago, you see. It seems you've hit the trail +for Grand Opera, as you threatened to that night +in Paris; but you _haven't_ brought up in vaudeville, +as you prophesied you would do--though, for +that matter, judging from the plums some of the +stars are picking on the vaudeville stage, nowadays, +that isn't to be sneezed at. But Billy says +you've made two or three appearances already on +the sacred boards themselves--one of them a +subscription performance--and that you created +no end of a sensation.'' + +``Nonsense! I'm merely a student at the Opera +School here,'' scowled Arkwright. + +``Oh, yes, Billy said you were that, but she also +said you wouldn't be, long. That you'd already +had one good offer--I'm not speaking of marriage-- +and that you were going abroad next +summer, and that they were all insufferably +proud of you.'' + +``Nonsense!'' scowled Arkwright, again, coloring +like a girl. ``That is only some of--of Mrs. +Henshaw's kind flattery.'' + +Calderwell jerked the cigar from between his +lips, and sat suddenly forward in his chair. + +``Arkwright, tell me about them. How are +they making it go?'' + +Arkwright frowned. + +``Who? Make what go?'' he asked. + +``The Henshaws. Is she happy? Is he--on +the square?'' + +Arkwright's face darkened. + +``Well, really,'' he began; but Calderwell interrupted. + +``Oh, come; don't be squeamish. You think +I'm butting into what doesn't concern me; but +I'm not. What concerns Billy does concern me. +And if he doesn't make her happy, I'll--I'll kill +him.'' + +In spite of himself Arkwright laughed. The +vehemence of the other's words, and the fierceness +with which he puffed at his cigar as he fell +back in his chair were most expressive + +``Well, I don't think you need to load revolvers +nor sharpen daggers, just yet,'' he observed grimly. + +Calderwell laughed this time, though without +much mirth. + +``Oh, I'm not in love with Billy, now,'' he +explained. ``Please don't think I am. I shouldn't +see her if I was, of course.'' + +Arkwright changed his position suddenly, bringing +his face into the shadow. Calderwell talked +on without pausing. + +``No, I'm not in love with Billy. But Billy's +a trump. You know that.'' + +``I do.'' The words were low, but steadily +spoken. + +``Of course you do! We all do. And we want +her happy. But as for her marrying Bertram-- +you could have bowled me over with a soap bubble +when I heard she'd done it. Now understand: +Bertram is a good fellow, and I like him. I've +known him all his life, and he's all right. Oh, six +or eight years ago, to be sure, he got in with a set +of fellows--Bob Seaver and his clique--that +were no good. Went in for Bohemianism, and +all that rot. It wasn't good for Bertram. He's +got the confounded temperament that goes with +his talent, I suppose--though why a man can't +paint a picture, or sing a song, and keep his temper +and a level head I don't see!'' + +``He can,'' cut in Arkwright, with curt emphasis. + +``Humph! Well, that's what I think. But, +about this marriage business. Bertram admires +a pretty face wherever he sees it--_to paint_, and +always has. Not but that he's straight as +a string with women--I don't mean that; +but girls are always just so many pictures to be +picked up on his brushes and transferred to his +canvases. And as for his settling down and +marrying anybody for keeps, right along--Great +Scott! imagine Bertram Henshaw as a _domestic_ +man!'' + +Arkwright stirred restlessly as he spoke up in +quick defense: + +``Oh, but he is, I assure you. I--I've seen +them in their home together--many times. I +think they are--very happy.'' Arkwright spoke +with decision, though still a little diffidently. + +Calderwell was silent. He had picked up the +little gilt band he had torn from his cigar and was +fingering it musingly. + +``Yes; I've seen them--once,'' he said, after +a minute. ``I took dinner with them when I was +on, a month ago.'' + +``I heard you did.'' + +At something in Arkwright's voice, Calderwell +turned quickly. + +``What do you mean? Why do you say it like +that?'' + +Arkwright laughed. The constraint fled from +his manner. + +``Well, I may as well tell you. You'll hear of +it. It's no secret. Mrs. Henshaw herself tells of +it everywhere. It was her friend, Alice Greggory, +who told me of it first, however. It seems +the cook was gone, and the mistress had to get +the dinner herself.'' + +``Yes, I know that.'' + +``But you should hear Mrs. Henshaw tell the +story now, or Bertram. It seems she knew nothing +whatever about cooking, and her trials and +tribulations in getting that dinner on to the +table were only one degree worse than the dinner +itself, according to her story. Didn't you--er +--notice anything?'' + +``Notice anything!'' exploded Calderwell. ``I +noticed that Billy was so brilliant she fairly +radiated sparks; and I noticed that Bertram was +so glum he--he almost radiated thunderclaps. +Then I saw that Billy's high spirits were all +assumed to cover a threatened burst of tears, +and I laid it all to him. I thought he'd said +something to hurt her; and I could have punched +him. Great Scott! Was _that_ what ailed them?'' + +``I reckon it was. Alice says that since then +Mrs. Henshaw has fairly haunted the kitchen, +begging Eliza to teach her everything, _every single +thing_ she knows!'' + +Calderwell chuckled. + +``If that isn't just like Billy! She never does +anything by halves. By George, but she was +game over that dinner! I can see it all now.'' + +``Alice says she's really learning to cook, in +spite of old Pete's horror, and Eliza's pleadings +not to spoil her pretty hands.'' + +``Then Pete is back all right? What a faithful +old soul he is!'' + +Arkwright frowned slightly. + +``Yes, he's faithful, but he isn't all right, by +any means. I think he's a sick man, myself.'' + +``What makes Billy let him work, then?'' + +``Let him!'' sniffed Arkwright. ``I'd like to +see you try to stop him! Mrs. Henshaw begs and +pleads with him to stop, but he scouts the idea. +Pete is thoroughly and unalterably convinced +that the family would starve to death if it weren't +for him; and Mrs. Henshaw says that she'll +admit he has some grounds for his opinion when +one remembers the condition of the kitchen and +dining-room the night she presided over them.'' + +``Poor Billy!'' chuckled Calderwell. ``I'd +have gone down into the kitchen myself if I'd +suspected what was going on.'' + +Arkwright raised his eyebrows. + +``Perhaps it's well you didn't--if Bertram's +picture of what he found there when he went +down is a true one. Mrs. Henshaw acknowledges +that even the cat sought refuge under the stove.'' + +``As if the veriest worm that crawls ever needed +to seek refuge from Billy!'' scoffed Calderwell. +``By the way, what's this Annex I hear of? Bertram +mentioned it, but I couldn't get either of +them to tell what it was. Billy wouldn't, and +Bertram said he couldn't--not with Billy shaking +her head at him like that. So I had my suspicions. +One of Billy's pet charities?'' + +``She doesn't call it that.'' Arkwright's face +and voice softened. ``It is Hillside. She still +keeps it open. She calls it the Annex to her +home. She's filled it with a crippled woman, a +poor little music teacher, a lame boy, and Aunt +Hannah.'' + +``But how--extraordinary!'' + +``She doesn't think so. She says it's just an +overflow house for the extra happiness she can't +use.'' + +There was a moment's silence. Calderwell laid +down his cigar, pulled out his handkerchief, and +blew his nose furiously. Then he got to his feet +and walked to the fireplace. After a minute he +turned. + +``Well, if she isn't the beat 'em!'' he spluttered. +``And I had the gall to ask you if Henshaw made +her--happy! Overflow house, indeed!'' + +``The best of it is, the way she does it,'' smiled +Arkwright. ``They're all the sort of people +ordinary charity could never reach; and the only +way she got them there at all was to make each +one think that he or she was absolutely necessary +to the rest of them. Even as it is, they all pay +a little something toward the running expenses +of the house. They insisted on that, and Mrs. +Henshaw had to let them. I believe her chief +difficulty now is that she has not less than six +people whom she wishes to put into the two extra +rooms still unoccupied, and she can't make up +her mind which to take. Her husband says he +expects to hear any day of an Annexette to the +Annex.'' + +``Humph!'' grunted Calderwell, as he turned +and began to walk up and down the room. ``Bertram +is still painting, I suppose.'' + +``Oh, yes.'' + +``What's he doing now?'' + +``Several things. He's up to his eyes in work. +As you probably have heard, he met with a +severe accident last summer, and lost the use of +his right arm for many months. I believe they +thought at one time he had lost it forever. But +it's all right now, and he has several commissions +for portraits. Alice says he's doing ideal heads +again, too.'' + +``Same old `Face of a Girl'?'' + +``I suppose so, though Alice didn't say. Of +course his special work just now is painting the +portrait of Miss Marguerite Winthrop. You +may have heard that he tried it last year and +--and didn't make quite a success of it.'' + +``Yes. My sister Belle told me. She hears +from Billy once in a while. Will it be a go, this +time?'' + +``We'll hope so--for everybody's sake. I +imagine no one has seen it yet--it's not finished; +but Alice says--'' + +Calderwell turned abruptly, a quizzical smile +on his face. + +``See here, my son,'' he interposed, ``it strikes +me that this Alice is saying a good deal--to you! +Who is she?'' + +Arkwright gave a light laugh. + +``Why, I told you. She is Miss Alice Greggory, +Mrs. Henshaw's friend--and mine. I +have known her for years.'' + +``Hm-m; what is she like?'' + +``Like? Why, she's like--like herself, of +course. You'll have to know Alice. She's the +salt of the earth--Alice is,'' smiled Arkwright, +rising to his feet with a remonstrative gesture, +as he saw Calderwell pick up his coat. ``What's +your hurry?'' + +``Hm-m,'' commented Calderwell again, +ignoring the question. ``And when, may I ask, +do you intend to appropriate this--er--salt +--to--er--ah--season your own life with, +as I might say--eh?'' + +Arkwright laughed. There was not the slightest +trace of embarrassment in his face. + +``Never. _You're_ on the wrong track, this time. +Alice and I are good friends--always have been, +and always will be, I hope.'' + +``Nothing more?'' + +``Nothing more. I see her frequently. She is +musical, and the Henshaws are good enough to +ask us there often together. You will meet her, +doubtless, now, yourself. She is frequently at +the Henshaw home.'' + +``Hm-m.'' Calderwell still eyed his host +shrewdly. ``Then you'll give me a clear field, +eh?'' + +``Certainly.'' Arkwright's eyes met his friend's +gaze without swerving. + +``All right. However, I suppose you'll tell me, +as I did you, once, that a right of way in such a +case doesn't mean a thoroughfare for the party +interested. If my memory serves me, I gave +you right of way in Paris to win the affections +of a certain elusive Miss Billy here in +Boston, if you could. But I see you didn't +seem to improve your opportunities,'' he finished +teasingly. + +Arkwright stooped, of a sudden, to pick up a +bit of paper from the floor. + +``No,'' he said quietly. ``I didn't seem to +improve my opportunities.'' This time he did +not meet Calderwell's eyes. + +The good-byes had been said when Calderwell +turned abruptly at the door. + +``Oh, I say, I suppose you're going to that +devil's carnival at Jordan Hall to-morrow night.'' + +``Devil's carnival! You don't mean--Cyril +Henshaw's piano recital!'' + +``Sure I do,'' grinned Calderwell, unabashed. +``And I'll warrant it'll be a devil's carnival, too. +Isn't Mr. Cyril Henshaw going to play his own +music? Oh, I know I'm hopeless, from your +standpoint, but I can't help it. I like mine with +some go in it, and a tune that you can find without +hunting for it. And I don't like lost spirits +gone mad that wail and shriek through ten perfectly +good minutes, and then die with a gasping +moan whose home is the tombs. However, you're +going, I take it.'' + +``Of course I am,'' laughed the other. ``You +couldn't hire Alice to miss one shriek of those +spirits. Besides, I rather like them myself, you +know.'' + +``Yes, I suppose you do. You're brought up +on it--in your business. But me for the `Merry +Widow' and even the hoary `Jingle Bells' every +time! However, I'm going to be there--out of +respect to the poor fellow's family. And, by the +way, that's another thing that bowled me over +--Cyril's marriage. Why, Cyril hates women!'' + +``Not all women--we'll hope,'' smiled Arkwright. +``Do you know his wife?'' + +``Not much. I used to see her a little at Billy's. +Music teacher, wasn't she? Then she's the same +sort, I suppose.'' + +``But she isn't,'' laughed Arkwright. Oh, +she taught music, but that was only because of +necessity, I take it. She's domestic through and +through, with an overwhelming passion for +making puddings and darning socks, I hear. Alice +says she believes Mrs. Cyril knows every dish +and spoon by its Christian name, and that there's +never so much as a spool of thread out of order +in the house.'' + +``But how does Cyril stand it--the trials and +tribulations of domestic life? Bertram used to +declare that the whole Strata was aquiver with +fear when Cyril was composing, and I remember +him as a perfect bear if anybody so much as +whispered when he was in one of his moods. I +never forgot the night Bertram and I were up in +William's room trying to sing `When Johnnie +comes marching home,' to the accompaniment +of a banjo in Bertram's hands, and a guitar in +mine. Gorry! it was Hugh that went marching +home that night.'' + +``Oh, well, from reports I reckon Mrs. Cyril +doesn't play either a banjo or a guitar,'' smiled +Arkwright. ``Alice says she wears rubber heels +on her shoes, and has put hushers on all the chair- +legs, and felt-mats between all the plates and +saucers. Anyhow, Cyril is building a new house, +and he looks as if he were in a pretty healthy +condition, as you'll see to-morrow night.'' + +``Humph! I wish he'd make his music healthy, +then,'' grumbled Calderwell, as he opened the +door. + + + +CHAPTER XII + +FOR BILLY--SOME ADVICE + + +February brought busy days. The public +opening of the Bohemian Ten Club Exhibition +was to take place the sixth of March, with a +private view for invited guests the night before; +and it was at this exhibition that Bertram planned +to show his portrait of Marguerite Winthrop. +He also, if possible, wished to enter two or three +other canvases, upon which he was spending all +the time he could get. + +Bertram felt that he was doing very good work +now. The portrait of Marguerite Winthrop was +coming on finely. The spoiled idol of society had +at last found a pose and a costume that suited her, +and she was graciously pleased to give the artist +almost as many sittings as he wanted. The +``elusive something'' in her face, which had +previously been so baffling, was now already caught +and held bewitchingly on his canvas. He was +confident that the portrait would be a success. +He was also much interested in another piece of +work which he intended to show called ``The +Rose.'' The model for this was a beautiful young +girl he had found selling flowers with her father +in a street booth at the North End. + +On the whole, Bertram was very happy these +days. He could not, to be sure, spend quite so +much time with Billy as he wished; but she +understood, of course, as did he, that his work must +come first. He knew that she tried to show him +that she understood it. At the same time, he +could not help thinking, occasionally, that Billy +did sometimes mind his necessary absorption in +his painting. + +To himself Bertram owned that Billy was, in +some ways, a puzzle to him. Her conduct was +still erratic at times. One day he would seem to +be everything to her; the next--almost nothing, +judging by the ease with which she relinquished +his society and substituted that of some one else: +Arkwright, or Calderwell, for instance. + +And that was another thing. Bertram was +ashamed to hint even to himself that he was +jealous of either of those men. Surely, after what +had happened, after Billy's emphatic assertion +that she had never loved any one but himself, +it would seem not only absurd, but disloyal, that +he should doubt for an instant Billy's entire +devotion to him, and yet--there were times when +he wished he _could_ come home and not always +find Alice Greggory, Calderwell, Arkwright, or +all three of them strumming the piano in the +drawing-room! At such times, always, though, +if he did feel impatient, he immediately demanded +of himself: ``Are you, then, the kind of husband +that begrudges your wife young companions of +her own age and tastes to help her while away the +hours that you cannot possibly spend with her +yourself?'' + +This question, and the answer that his better +self always gave to it, were usually sufficient to +send him into some florists for a bunch of violets +for Billy, or into a candy shop on a like atoning +errand. + +As to Billy--Billy, too, was busy these days +chief of her concerns being, perhaps, attention +to that honeymoon of hers, to see that it did +not wane. At least, the most of her thoughts, +and many of her actions, centered about that +object. + +Billy had the book, now--the ``Talk to Young +Wives.'' For a time she had worked with only +the newspaper criticism to guide her; but, coming +at last to the conclusion that if a little was good, +more must be better, she had shyly gone into a +bookstore one day and, with a pink blush, had +asked for the book. Since bringing it home she +had studied assiduously (though never if Bertram +was near), keeping it well-hidden, when not in +use, in a remote corner of her desk. + +There was a good deal in the book that Billy +did not like, and there were some statements that +worried her; but yet there was much that she +tried earnestly to follow. She was still striving +to be the oak, and she was still eagerly endeavoring +to brush up against those necessary outside +interests. She was so thankful, in this connection, +for Alice Greggory, and for Arkwright and Hugh +Calderwell. It was such a help that she had +them! They were not only very pleasant and +entertaining outside interests, but one or another +of them was almost always conveniently within +reach. + +Then, too, it pleased her to think that she was +furthering the pretty love story between Alice +and Mr. Arkwright. And she _was_ furthering it. +She was sure of that. Already she could see how +dependent the man was on Alice, how he looked +to her for approbation, and appealed to her on +all occasions, exactly as if there was not a move +that he wanted to make without her presence +near him. Billy was very sure, now, of Arkwright. +She only wished she were as much so of Alice. +But Alice troubled her. Not but that Alice was +kindness itself to the man, either. It was only a +peculiar something almost like fear, or constraint, +that Billy thought she saw in Alice's eyes, sometimes, +when Arkwright made a particularly intimate +appeal. There was Calderwell, too. He, +also, worried Billy. She feared he was going to +complicate matters still more by falling in love +with Alice, himself; and this, certainly, Billy did +not want at all. As this phase of the matter +presented itself, indeed, Billy determined to +appropriate Calderwell a little more exclusively to +herself, when the four were together, thus leaving +Alice for Arkwright. After all, it was rather +entertaining--this playing at Cupid's assistant. +If she _could_ not have Bertram all the time, it was +fortunate that these outside interests were so +pleasurable. + +Most of the mornings Billy spent in the kitchen, +despite the remonstrances of both Pete and Eliza. +Almost every meal, now, was graced with a palatable +cake, pudding, or muffin that Billy would +proudly claim as her handiwork. Pete still served +at table, and made strenuous efforts to keep up +all his old duties; but he was obviously growing +weaker, and really serious blunders were beginning +to be noticeable. Bertram even hinted once +or twice that perhaps it would be just as well to +insist on his going; but to this Billy would not +give her consent. Even when one night his poor +old trembling hands spilled half the contents of +a soup plate over a new and costly evening gown +of Billy's own, she still refused to have him dismissed. + +``Why, Bertram, I wouldn't do it,'' she declared +hotly; ``and you wouldn't, either. He's been +here more than fifty years. It would break his +heart. He's really too ill to work, and I wish he +would go of his own accord, of course; but I +sha'n't ever tell him to go--not if he spills soup +on every dress I've got. I'll buy more--and more, +if it's necessary. Bless his dear old heart! He +thinks he's really serving us--and he is, too.'' + +``Oh, yes, you're right, he _is!_'' sighed Bertram, +with meaning emphasis, as he abandoned the +argument. + +In addition to her ``Talk to Young Wives,'' +Billy found herself encountering advice and comment +on the marriage question from still other +quarters--from her acquaintances (mostly the +feminine ones) right and left. Continually she +was hearing such words as these: + +``Oh, well, what can you expect, Billy? You're +an old married woman, now.'' + +``Never mind, you'll find he's like all the rest +of the husbands. You just wait and see!'' + +``Better begin with a high hand, Billy. Don't +let him fool you!'' + +``Mercy! If I had a husband whose business +it was to look at women's beautiful eyes, peachy +cheeks, and luxurious tresses, I should go crazy! +It's hard enough to keep a man's eyes on yourself +when his daily interests are supposed to be +just lumps of coal and chunks of ice, without +flinging him into the very jaws of temptation +like asking him to paint a pretty girl's picture!'' + +In response to all this, of course, Billy could +but laugh, and blush, and toss back some gay reply, +with a careless unconcern. But in her heart +she did not like it. Sometimes she told herself +that if there were not any advice or comment from +anybody--either book or woman--if there +were not anybody but just Bertram and herself, +life would be just one long honeymoon forever +and forever. + +Once or twice Billy was tempted to go to Marie +with this honeymoon question; but Marie was +very busy these days, and very preoccupied. The +new house that Cyril was building on Corey Hill, +not far from the Annex, was almost finished, and +Marie was immersed in the subject of house- +furnishings and interior decoration. She was, +too, still more deeply engrossed in the fashioning +of tiny garments of the softest linen, lace, and +woolen; and there was on her face such a look of +beatific wonder and joy that Billy did not like to +so much as hint that there was in the world such +a book as ``When the Honeymoon Wanes: A +Talk to Young Wives.'' + +Billy tried valiantly these days not to mind +that Bertram's work was so absorbing. She tried +not to mind that his business dealt, not with +lumps of coal and chunks of ice, but with beautiful +women like Marguerite Winthrop who asked +him to luncheon, and lovely girls like his model +for ``The Rose'' who came freely to his studio +and spent hours in the beloved presence, being +studied for what Bertram declared was absolutely +the most wonderful poise of head and +shoulders that he had ever seen. + +Billy tried, also, these days, to so conduct +herself that not by any chance could Calderwell +suspect that sometimes she was jealous of Bertram's +art. Not for worlds would she have had +Calderwell begin to get the notion into his head +that his old-time prophecy concerning Bertram's +caring only for the turn of a girl's head or the +tilt of her chin--to paint, was being fulfilled. +Hence, particularly gay and cheerful was Billy +when Calderwell was near. Nor could it be said +that Billy was really unhappy at any time. It +was only that, on occasion, the very depth of her +happiness in Bertram's love frightened her, lest +it bring disaster to herself or Bertram. + +Billy still went frequently to the Annex. There +were yet two unfilled rooms in the house. Billy +was hesitating which two of six new friends of +hers to choose as occupants; and it was one day +early in March, after she had been talking the +matter over with Aunt Hannah, that Aunt +Hannah said: + +``Dear me, Billy, if you had your way I believe +you'd open another whole house!'' + +``Do you know?--that's just what I'm thinking +of,'' retorted Billy, gravely. Then she laughed +at Aunt Hannah's shocked gesture of protest. +``Oh, well, I don't expect to,'' she added. ``I +haven't lived very long, but I've lived long enough +to know that you can't always do what you +want to.'' + +``Just as if there were anything _you_ wanted to +do that you don't do, my dear,'' reproved Aunt +Hannah, mildly. + +``Yes, I know.'' Billy drew in her breath with +a little catch. ``I have so much that is lovely; +and that's why I need this house, you know, for +the overflow,'' she nodded brightly. Then, with +a characteristic change of subject, she added: +``My, but you should have tasted of the popovers +I made for breakfast this morning!'' + +``I should like to,'' smiled Aunt Hannah. +``William says you're getting to be quite a cook.'' + +``Well, maybe,'' conceded Billy, doubtfully. +``Oh, I can do some things all right; but just +wait till Pete and Eliza go away again, and Bertram +brings home a friend to dinner. That'll +tell the tale. I think now I could have something +besides potato-mush and burned corn--but +maybe I wouldn't, when the time came. If only +I could buy everything I needed to cook with, +I'd be all right. But I can't, I find.'' + +``Can't buy what you need! What do you +mean?'' + +Billy laughed ruefully. + +``Well, every other question I ask Eliza, she +says: `Why, I don't know; you have to use +your judgment.' Just as if I had any judgment +about how much salt to use, or what dish to take! +Dear me, Aunt Hannah, the man that will grow +judgment and can it as you would a mess of peas, +has got his fortune made!'' + +``What an absurd child you are, Billy,'' laughed +Aunt Hannah. ``I used to tell Marie-- By the +way, how is Marie? Have you seen her lately?'' + +``Oh, yes, I saw her yesterday,'' twinkled Billy. +``She had a book of wall-paper samples spread +over the back of a chair, two bunches of samples +of different colored damasks on the table before +her, a `Young Mother's Guide' propped open +in another chair, and a pair of baby's socks in +her lap with a roll each of pink, and white, and +blue ribbon. She spent most of the time, after +I had helped her choose the ribbon, in asking me +if I thought she ought to let the baby cry and +bother Cyril, or stop its crying and hurt the +baby, because her `Mother's Guide' says a certain +amount of crying is needed to develop a baby's +lungs.'' + +Aunt Hannah laughed, but she frowned, too. + +``The idea! I guess Cyril can stand proper +crying--and laughing, too--from his own +child!'' she said then, crisply. + +``Oh, but Marie is afraid he can't,'' smiled +Billy. ``And that's the trouble. She says that's +the only thing that worries her--Cyril.'' + +``Nonsense!'' ejaculated Aunt Hannah. + +``Oh, but it isn't nonsense to Marie,'' retorted +Billy. ``You should see the preparations she's +made and the precautions she's taken. Actually, +when I saw those baby's socks in her lap, I didn't +know but she was going to put rubber heels on +them! They've built the new house with deadening +felt in all the walls, and Marie's planned +the nursery and Cyril's den at opposite ends of +the house; and she says she shall keep the baby +there _all_ the time--the nursery, I mean, not the +den. She says she's going to teach it to be a quiet +baby and hate noise. She says she thinks she +can do it, too.'' + +``Humph!'' sniffed Aunt Hannah, scornfully. + +``You should have seen Marie's disgust the +other day,'' went on Billy, a bit mischievously. +``Her Cousin Jane sent on a rattle she'd made +herself, all soft worsted, with bells inside. It +was a dear; but Marie was horror-stricken. +`My baby have a rattle?' she cried. `Why, +what would Cyril say? As if he could stand a +rattle in the house!' And if she didn't give that +rattle to the janitor's wife that very day, while +I was there!'' + +``Humph!'' sniffed Aunt Hannah again, as +Billy rose to go. ``Well, I'm thinking Marie has +still some things to learn in this world--and +Cyril, too, for that matter.'' + +``I wouldn't wonder,'' laughed Billy, giving +Aunt Hannah a good-by kiss. + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +PETE + + +Bertram Henshaw had no disquieting forebodings +this time concerning his portrait of Marguerite +Winthrop when the doors of the Bohemian +Ten Club Exhibition were thrown open to members +and invited guests. Just how great a popular +success it was destined to be, he could not know, +of course, though he might have suspected it +when he began to receive the admiring and hearty +congratulations of his friends and fellow-artists +on that first evening. + +Nor was the Winthrop portrait the only jewel +in his crown on that occasion. His marvelously +exquisite ``The Rose,'' and his smaller ideal +picture, ``Expectation,'' came in for scarcely less +commendation. There was no doubt now. The +originator of the famous ``Face of a Girl'' had +come into his own again. On all sides this was +the verdict, one long-haired critic of international +fame even claiming openly that Henshaw had not +only equaled his former best work, but had gone +beyond it, in both artistry and technique. + +It was a brilliant gathering. Society, as usual, +in costly evening gowns and correct swallow-tails +rubbed elbows with names famous in the world of +Art and Letters. Everywhere were gay laughter +and sparkling repartee. Even the austere-faced +J. G. Winthrop unbent to the extent of grim smiles +in response to the laudatory comments bestowed +upon the pictured image of his idol, his beautiful +daughter. + +As to the great financier's own opinion of the +work, no one heard him express it except, perhaps, +the artist; and all that he got was a grip of the +hand and a ``Good! I knew you'd fetch it this +time, my boy!'' But that was enough. And, +indeed, no one who knew the stern old man needed +to more than look into his face that evening to +know of his entire satisfaction in this portrait +soon to be the most recent, and the most cherished +addition to his far-famed art collection. + +As to Bertram--Bertram was pleased and +happy and gratified, of course, as was natural; +but he was not one whit more so than was Bertram's +wife. Billy fairly radiated happiness and +proud joy. She told Bertram, indeed, that if he +did anything to make her any prouder, it would +take an Annex the size of the Boston Opera House +to hold her extra happiness. + +``Sh-h, Billy! Some one will hear you,'' +protested Bertram, tragically; but, in spite of his +horrified voice, he did not look displeased. + +For the first time Billy met Marguerite +Winthrop that evening. At the outset there was just +a bit of shyness and constraint in the young wife's +manner. Billy could not forget her old insane +jealousy of this beautiful girl with the envied +name of Marguerite. But it was for only a moment, +and soon she was her natural, charming self. + +Miss Winthrop was fascinated, and she made +no pretense of hiding it. She even turned to +Bertram at last, and cried: + +``Surely, now, Mr. Henshaw, you need never +go far for a model! Why don't you paint your +wife?'' + +Billy colored. Bertram smiled. + +``I have,'' he said. ``I have painted her many +times. In fact, I have painted her so often that +she once declared it was only the tilt of her chin +and the turn of her head that I loved--to +paint,'' he said merrily, enjoying Billy's pretty +confusion, and not realizing that his words really +distressed her. ``I have a whole studio full of +`Billys' at home.'' + +``Oh, have you, really?'' questioned Miss +Winthrop, eagerly. ``Then mayn't I see them? +Mayn't I, please, Mrs. Henshaw? I'd so love +to!'' + +``Why, of course you may,'' murmured both +the artist and his wife. + +``Thank you. Then I'm coming right away. +May I? I'm going to Washington next week, +you see. Will you let me come to-morrow at-- +at half-past three, then? Will it be quite +convenient for you, Mrs. Henshaw?'' + +``Quite convenient. I shall be glad to see +you,'' smiled Billy. And Bertram echoed his +wife's cordial permission. + +``Thank you. Then I'll be there at half-past +three,'' nodded Miss Winthrop, with a smile, as +she turned to give place to an admiring group, +who were waiting to pay their respects to the +artist and his wife. + +There was, after all, that evening, one fly in +Billy's ointment. + +It fluttered in at the behest of an old +acquaintance--one of the ``advice women,'' as +Billy termed some of her too interested +friends. + +``Well, they're lovely, perfectly lovely, of +course, Mrs. Henshaw,'' said this lady, coming up +to say good-night. ``But, all the samee{sic}, I'm +glad my husband is just a plain lawyer. Look +out, my dear, that while Mr. Henshaw is stealing +all those pretty faces for his canvases--just look +out that the fair ladies don't turn around and steal +his heart before you know it. Dear me, but you +must be so proud of him!'' + +``I am,'' smiled Billy, serenely; and only the +jagged split that rent the glove on her hand, at +that moment, told of the fierce anger behind that +smile. + +``As if I couldn't trust Bertram!'' raged Billy +passionately to herself, stealing a surreptitious +glance at her ruined glove. ``And as if there +weren't ever any perfectly happy marriages-- +even if you don't ever hear of them, or read of +them!'' + +Bertram was not home to luncheon on the day +following the opening night of the Bohemian Ten +Club. A matter of business called him away +from the house early in the morning; but he +told his wife that he surely would be on hand for +Miss Winthrop's call at half-past three o'clock +that afternoon. + +``Yes, do,'' Billy had urged. ``I think she's +lovely, but you know her so much better than I +do that I want you here. Besides, you needn't +think _I'm_ going to show her all those Billys of +yours. I may be vain, but I'm not quite vain +enough for that, sir!'' + +``Don't worry,'' her husband had laughed. +``I'll be here.'' + +As it chanced, however, something occurred +an hour before half-past three o'clock that drove +every thought of Miss Winthrop's call from +Billy's head. + +For three days, now, Pete had been at the home +of his niece in South Boston. He had been forced, +finally, to give up and go away. News from him +the day before had been anything but reassuring, +and to-day, Bertram being gone, Billy had suggested +that Eliza serve a simple luncheon and go +immediately afterward to South Boston to see +how her uncle was. This suggestion Eliza had +followed, leaving the house at one o'clock. + +Shortly after two Calderwell had dropped in +to bring Bertram, as he expressed it, a bunch of +bouquets he had gathered at the picture show +the night before. He was still in the drawing- +room, chatting with Billy, when the telephone +bell rang. + +``If that's Bertram, tell him to come home; +he's got company,'' laughed Calderwell, as Billy +passed into the hall. + +A moment later he heard Billy give a startled +cry, followed by a few broken words at short +intervals. Then, before he could surmise what had +happened, she was back in the drawing-room +again, her eyes full of tears. + +``It's Pete,'' she choked. ``Eliza says he can't +live but a few minutes. He wants to see me once +more. What shall I do? John's got Peggy out +with Aunt Hannah and Mrs. Greggory. It was so +nice to-day I made them go. But I must get +there some way--Pete is calling for me. Uncle +William is going, and I told Eliza where she might +reach Bertram; but what shall _I_ do? How shall +I go?'' + +Calderwell was on his feet at once. + +``I'll get a taxi. Don't worry--we'll get +there. Poor old soul--of course he wants to see +you! Get on your things. I'll have it here in no +time,'' he finished, hurrying to the telephone. + +``Oh, Hugh, I'm so glad I've got _you_ here,'' +sobbed Billy, stumbling blindly toward the +stairway. ``I'll be ready in two minutes.'' + +And she was; but neither then, nor a little later +when she and Calderwell drove hurriedly away +from the house, did Billy once remember that +Miss Marguerite Winthrop was coming to call +that afternoon to see Mrs. Bertram Henshaw and +a roomful of Billy pictures. + +Pete was still alive when Calderwell left Billy +at the door of the modest little home where +Eliza's mother lived. + +``Yes, you're in time, ma'am,'' sobbed Eliza; +``and, oh, I'm so glad you've come. He's been +askin' and askin' for ye.'' + +From Eliza Billy learned then that Mr. William +was there, but not Mr. Bertram. They had not +been able to reach Mr. Bertram, or Mr. Cyril. + +Billy never forgot the look of reverent adoration +that came into Pete's eyes as she entered the +room where he lay. + +``Miss Billy--my Miss Billy! You were so +good-to come,'' he whispered faintly. + +Billy choked back a sob. + +``Of course I'd come, Pete,'' she said gently, +taking one of the thin, worn hands into both her +soft ones. + +It was more than a few minutes that Pete lived. +Four o'clock came, and five, and he was still with +them. Often he opened his eyes and smiled. +Sometimes he spoke a low word to William or +Billy, or to one of the weeping women at the foot +of the bed. That the presence of his beloved +master and mistress meant much to him was +plain to be seen. + +``I'm so sorry,'' he faltered once, ``about that +pretty dress--I spoiled, Miss Billy. But you +know--my hands--'' + +``I know, I know,'' soothed Billy; ``but don't +worry. It wasn't spoiled, Pete. It's all fixed +now.'' + +``Oh, I'm so glad,'' sighed the sick man. After +another long interval of silence he turned to +William. + +``Them socks--the medium thin ones--you'd +oughter be puttin' 'em on soon, sir, now. They're +in the right-hand corner of the bottom drawer-- +you know.'' + +``Yes, Pete; I'll attend to it,'' William managed +to stammer, after he had cleared his throat. + +Eliza's turn came next. + +``Remember about the coffee,'' Pete said to +her, ``--the way Mr. William likes it. And always +eggs, you know, for--for--'' His voice +trailed into an indistinct murmur, and his eyelids +drooped wearily. + +One by one the minutes passed. The doctor +came and went: there was nothing he could do. +At half-past five the thin old face became again +alight with consciousness. There was a good-by +message for Bertram, and one for Cyril. Aunt +Hannah was remembered, and even little Tommy +Dunn. Then, gradually, a gray shadow crept +over the wasted features. The words came more +brokenly. The mind, plainly, was wandering, +for old Pete was young again, and around him +were the lads he loved, William, Cyril, and +Bertram. And then, very quietly, soon after the +clock struck six, Pete fell into the beginning of +his long sleep. + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +WHEN BERTRAM CAME HOME + + +It was a little after half-past three o'clock that +afternoon when Bertram Henshaw hurried up +Beacon Street toward his home. He had been +delayed, and he feared that Miss Winthrop would +already have reached the house. Mindful of +what Billy had said that morning, he knew how +his wife would fret if he were not there when the +guest arrived. The sight of what he surmised to +be Miss Winthrop's limousine before his door +hastened his steps still more. But as he reached +the house, he was surprised to find Miss Winthrop +herself turning away from the door. + +``Why, Miss Winthrop,'' he cried, ``you're not +going _now!_ You can't have been here any--yet!'' + +``Well, no, I--I haven't,'' retorted the lady, +with heightened color and a somewhat peculiar +emphasis. ``My ring wasn't answered.'' + +``Wasn't answered!'' Bertram reddened +angrily. ``Why, what can that mean? Where's +the maid? Where's my wife? Mrs. Henshaw +must be here! She was expecting you.'' + +Bertram, in his annoyed amazement, spoke +loudly, vehemently. Hence he was quite plainly +heard by the group of small boys and girls who +had been improving the mild weather for a frolic +on the sidewalk, and who had been attracted to +his door a moment before by the shining magnet +of the Winthrop limousine with its resplendently +liveried chauffeur. As Bertram spoke, one of +the small girls, Bessie Bailey, stepped forward and +piped up a shrill reply. + +``She ain't, Mr. Henshaw! She ain't here. +I saw her go away just a little while ago.'' + +Bertram turned sharply. + +``You saw her go away! What do you mean?'' + +Small Bessie swelled with importance. Bessie +was thirteen, in spite of her diminutive height. +Bessie's mother was dead, and Bessie's caretakers +were gossiping nurses and servants, who +frequently left in her way books that were much +too old for Bessie to read--but she read them. + +``I mean she ain't here--your wife, Mr. Henshaw. +She went away. I saw her. I guess likely +she's eloped, sir.'' + +``Eloped!'' + +Bessie swelled still more importantly. To her +experienced eyes the situation contained all the +necessary elements for the customary flight of +the heroine in her story-books, as here, now, +was the irate, deserted husband. + +``Sure! And 'twas just before you came-- +quite a while before. A big shiny black automobile +like this drove up--only it wasn't quite +such a nice one--an' Mrs. Henshaw an' a man +came out of your house an' got in, an' drove +right away _quick!_ They just ran to get into it, +too--didn't they?'' She appealed to her young +mates grouped about her. + +A chorus of shrill exclamations brought Mr. +Bertram Henshaw suddenly to his senses. By a +desperate effort he hid his angry annoyance as +he turned to the manifestly embarrassed young +woman who was already descending the steps. + +``My dear Miss Winthrop,'' he apologized +contritely, ``I'm sure you'll forgive this seeming +great rudeness on the part of my wife. Notwithstanding +the lurid tales of our young friends here, +I suspect nothing more serious has happened +than that my wife has been hastily summoned to +Aunt Hannah, perhaps. Or, of course, she may +not have understood that you were coming to-day +at half-past three--though I thought she did. +But I'm so sorry--when you were so kind as to +come--'' Miss Winthrop interrupted with a +quick gesture. + +``Say no more, I beg of you,'' she entreated. +``Mrs. Henshaw is quite excusable, I'm sure. +Please don't give it another thought,'' she +finished, as with a hurried direction to the man who +was holding open the door of her car, she stepped +inside and bowed her good-byes. + +Bertram, with stern self-control, forced +himself to walk nonchalantly up his steps, leisurely +take out his key, and open his door, under the +interested eyes of Bessie Bailey and her friends; +but once beyond their hateful stare, his demeanor +underwent a complete change. Throwing aside +his hat and coat, he strode to the telephone. + +``Oh, is that you, Aunt Hannah?'' he called +crisply, a moment later. ``Well, if Billy's there +will you tell her I want to speak to her, +please?'' + +``Billy?'' answered Aunt Hannah's slow, gentle +tones. ``Why, my dear boy, Billy isn't here!'' + +``She isn't? Well, when did she leave? She's +been there, hasn't she?'' + +``Why, I don't think so, but I'll see, if you +like. Mrs. Greggory and I have just this minute +come in from an automobile ride. We would +have stayed longer, but it began to get chilly, and +I forgot to take one of the shawls that I'd laid +out.'' + +``Yes; well, if you will see, please, if Billy has +been there, and when she left,'' said Bertram, +with grim self-control. + +``All right. I'll see,'' murmured Aunt Hannah. +In a few moments her voice again sounded across +the wires. ``Why, no, Bertram, Rosa says she +hasn't been here since yesterday. Isn't she there +somewhere about the house? Didn't you know +where she was going?'' + +``Well, no, I didn't--else I shouldn't have +been asking you,'' snapped the irate Bertram +and hung up the receiver with most rude haste, +thereby cutting off an astounded ``Oh, my grief +and conscience!'' in the middle of it. + +The next ten minutes Bertram spent in going +through the whole house, from garret to basement. +Needless to say, he found nothing to +enlighten him, or to soothe his temper. Four +o'clock came, then half-past, and five. At five +Bertram began to look for Eliza, but in vain. +At half-past five he watched for William; but +William, too, did not come. + +Bertram was pacing the floor now, nervously. +He was a little frightened, but more mortified +and angry. That Billy should have allowed Miss +Winthrop to call by appointment only to find +no hostess, no message, no maid, even, to answer +her ring--it was inexcusable! Impulsiveness, +unconventionality, and girlish irresponsibility were +all very delightful, of course--at times; but +not now, certainly. Billy was not a girl any +longer. She was a married woman. _Something_ +was due to him, her husband! A pretty picture +he must have made on those steps, trying to +apologize for a truant wife, and to laugh off that +absurd Bessie Bailey's preposterous assertion at +the same time! What would Miss Winthrop +think? What could she think? Bertram fairly +ground his teeth with chagrin, at the situation +in which he found himself. + +Nor were matters helped any by the fact that +Bertram was hungry. Bertram's luncheon had +been meager and unsatisfying. That the kitchen +down-stairs still remained in silent, spotless order +instead of being astir with the sounds and smells +of a good dinner (as it should have been) did not +improve his temper. Where Billy was he could +not imagine. He thought, once or twice, of +calling up some of her friends; but something +held him back from that--though he did try to +get Marie, knowing very well that she was probably +over to the new house and would not answer. +He was not surprised, therefore, when he received +no reply to his ring. + +That there was the slightest truth in Bessie +Bailey's absurd ``elopement'' idea, Bertram did +not, of course, for an instant believe. The only +thing that rankled about that was the fact that +she had suggested such a thing, and that Miss +Winthrop and those silly children had heard +her. He recognized half of Bessie's friends as +neighborhood youngsters, and he knew very well +that there would be many a quiet laugh at his +expense around various Beacon Street dinner- +tables that night. At the thought of those +dinner-tables, he scowled again. _He_ had no +dinner-table--at least, he had no dinner on it! + +Who the man might be Bertram thought he +could easily guess. It was either Arkwright or +Calderwell, of course; and probably that tiresome +Alice Greggory was mixed up in it somehow. +He did wish Billy-- + +Six o'clock came, then half-past. Bertram was +indeed frightened now, but he was more angry, +and still more hungry. He had, in fact, reached +that state of blind unreasonableness said to be +peculiar to hungry males from time immemorial. + +At ten minutes of seven a key clicked in the +lock of the outer door, and William and Billy +entered the hall. + +It was almost dark. Bertram could not see +their faces. He had not lighted the hall at all. + +``Well,'' he began sharply, ``is this the way +you receive your callers, Billy? I came home +and found Miss Winthrop just leaving--no one +here to receive her! Where've you been? Where's +Eliza? Where's my dinner? Of course I don't +mean to scold, Billy, but there is a limit to even +my patience--and it's reached now. I can't +help suggesting that if you would tend to your +husband and your home a little more, and go +gallivanting off with Calderwell and Arkwright +and Alice Greggory a little less, that-- Where is +Eliza, anyway?'' he finished irritably, switching +on the lights with a snap. + +There was a moment of dead silence. At +Bertram's first words Billy and William had +stopped short. Neither had moved since. Now +William turned and began to speak, but Billy +interrupted. She met her husband's gaze steadily. + +``I will be down at once to get your dinner,'' +she said quietly. ``Eliza will not come to-night. +Pete is dead.'' + +Bertram started forward with a quick cry. + +``Dead! Oh, Billy! Then you were--_there!_ +Billy!'' + +But his wife did not apparently hear him. She +passed him without turning her head, and went +on up the stairs, leaving him to meet the sorrowful, +accusing eyes of William. + + + +CHAPTER XV + +AFTER THE STORM + + +The young husband's apologies were profuse +and abject. Bertram was heartily ashamed of +himself, and was man enough to acknowledge it. +Almost on his knees he begged Billy to forgive +him; and in a frenzy of self-denunciation he +followed her down into the kitchen that night, +piteously beseeching her to speak to him, to just +_look_ at him, even, so that he might know he was +not utterly despised--though he did, indeed, +deserve to be more than despised, he moaned. + +At first Billy did not speak, or even vouchsafe +a glance in his direction. Very quietly she went +about her preparations for a simple meal, paying +apparently no more attention to Bertram than as +if he were not there. But that her ears were only +seemingly, and not really deaf, was shown very +clearly a little later, when, at a particularly abject +wail on the part of the babbling shadow at her +heels, Billy choked into a little gasp, half laughter, +half sob. It was all over then. Bertram had +her in his arms in a twinkling, while to the floor +clattered and rolled a knife and a half-peeled +baked potato. + +Naturally, after that, there could be no more +dignified silences on the part of the injured wife. +There were, instead, half-smiles, tears, sobs, a +tremulous telling of Pete's going and his messages, +followed by a tearful listening to Bertram's story +of the torture he had endured at the hands of +Miss Winthrop, Bessie Bailey, and an empty, +dinnerless house. And thus, in one corner of the +kitchen, some time later, a hungry, desperate +William found them, the half-peeled, cold baked +potato still at their feet. + +Torn between his craving for food and his +desire not to interfere with any possible peace- +making, William was obviously hesitating what +to do, when Billy glanced up and saw him. She +saw, too, at the same time, the empty, blazing +gas-stove burner, and the pile of half-prepared +potatoes, to warm which the burner had long +since been lighted. With a little cry she broke +away from her husband's arms. + +``Mercy! and here's poor Uncle William, +bless his heart, with not a thing to eat yet!'' + +They all got dinner then, together, with many +a sigh and quick-coming tear as everywhere they +met some sad reminder of the gentle old hands +that would never again minister to their comfort. + +It was a silent meal, and little, after all, was +eaten, though brave attempts at cheerfulness +and naturalness were made by all three. Bertram, +especially, talked, and tried to make sure +that the shadow on Billy's face was at least not +the one his own conduct had brought there. + +``For you do--you surely do forgive me, don't +you?'' he begged, as he followed her into the +kitchen after the sorry meal was over. + +``Why, yes, dear, yes,'' sighed Billy, trying to +smile. + +``And you'll forget?'' + +There was no answer. + +``Billy! And you'll forget?'' Bertram's voice +was insistent, reproachful. + +Billy changed color and bit her lip. She looked +plainly distressed. + +``Billy!'' cried the man, still more reproachfully. + +``But, Bertram, I can't forget--quite yet,'' +faltered Billy. + +Bertram frowned. For a minute he looked as +if he were about to take up the matter seriously +and argue it with her; but the next moment he +smiled and tossed his head with jaunty playfulness-- +Bertram, to tell the truth, had now had +quite enough of what he privately termed +``scenes'' and ``heroics''; and, manlike, he was +very ardently longing for the old easy-going +friendliness, with all unpleasantness banished to +oblivion. + +``Oh, but you'll have to forget,'' he claimed, +with cheery insistence, ``for you've promised to +forgive me--and one can't forgive without forgetting. +So, there!'' he finished, with a smilingly +determined ``now-everything-is-just-as-it-was-before'' air. + +Billy made no response. She turned hurriedly +and began to busy herself with the dishes at the +sink. In her heart she was wondering: could +she ever forget what Bertram had said? Would +anything ever blot out those awful words: ``If +you would tend to your husband and your home +a little more, and go gallivanting off with Calderwell +and Arkwright and Alice Greggory a little +less--''? It seemed now that always, for evermore, +they would ring in her ears; always, for +evermore, they would burn deeper and deeper +into her soul. And not once, in all Bertram's +apologies, had he referred to them--those words +he had uttered. He had not said he did not mean +them. He had not said he was sorry he spoke +them. He had ignored them; and he expected +that now she, too, would ignore them. As if +she could!'' If you would tend to your husband +and your home a little more, and go gallivanting +off with Calderwell and Arkwright and Alice +Greggory a little less--'' Oh, if only she could, +indeed,--forget! + +When Billy went up-stairs that night she ran +across her ``Talk to Young Wives'' in her desk. +With a half-stifled cry she thrust it far back out +of sight. + +``I hate you, I hate you--with all your old +talk about `brushing up against outside interests'!'' +she whispered fiercely. ``Well, I've +`brushed'--and now see what I've got for it!'' + +Later, however, after Bertram was asleep, Billy +crept out of bed and got the book. Under the +carefully shaded lamp in the adjoining room she +turned the pages softly till she came to the sentence: +``Perhaps it would be hard to find a more +utterly unreasonable, irritable, irresponsible creature +than a hungry man.'' With a long sigh she +began to read; and not until some minutes later +did she close the book, turn off the light, and steal +back to bed. + +During the next three days, until after the +funeral at the shabby little South Boston house, +Eliza spent only about half of each day at the +Strata. This, much to her distress, left many of +the household tasks for her young mistress to +perform. Billy, however, attacked each new duty +with a feverish eagerness that seemed to make the +performance of it very like some glad penance +done for past misdeeds. And when--on the day +after they had laid the old servant in his last +resting place--a despairing message came from +Eliza to the effect that now her mother was very +ill, and would need her care, Billy promptly told +Eliza to stay as long as was necessary; that they +could get along all right without her. + +``But, Billy, what _are_ we going to do?'' +Bertram demanded, when he heard the news. ``We +must have somebody!'' + +``_I'm_ going to do it.'' + +``Nonsense! As if you could!'' scoffed Bertram. + +Billy lifted her chin. + +``Couldn't I, indeed,'' she retorted. ``Do you +realize, young man, how much I've done the last +three days? How about those muffins you had +this morning for breakfast, and that cake last +night? And didn't you yourself say that you +never ate a better pudding than that date puff +yesterday noon?'' + +Bertram laughed and shrugged his shoulders. + +``My dear love, I'm not questioning your +_ability_ to do it,'' he soothed quickly. ``Still,'' he +added, with a whimsical smile, ``I must remind +you that Eliza has been here half the time, and +that muffins and date puffs, however delicious, +aren't all there is to running a big house like this. +Besides, just be sensible, Billy,'' he went on more +seriously, as he noted the rebellious gleam coming +into his young wife's eyes; ``you'd know you +couldn't do it, if you'd just stop to think. There's +the Carletons coming to dinner Monday, and my +studio Tea to-morrow, to say nothing of the +Symphony and the opera, and the concerts you'd +lose because you were too dead tired to go to them. +You know how it was with that concert yesterday +afternoon which Alice Greggory wanted you +to go to with her.'' + +``I didn't--want--to go,'' choked Billy, +under her breath. + +``And there's your music. You haven't done +a thing with that for days, yet only last week +you told me the publishers were hurrying you for +that last song to complete the group.'' + +``I haven't felt like--writing,'' stammered +Billy, still half under her breath. + +``Of course you haven't,'' triumphed Bertram. +``You've been too dead tired. And that's just +what I say. Billy, you _can't_ do it all yourself!'' + +``But I want to. I want to--to tend to +things,'' faltered Billy, with a half-fearful glance +into her husband's face. + +Billy was hearing very loudly now that accusing +``If you'd tend to your husband and your home +a little more--'' Bertram, however, was not +hearing it, evidently. Indeed, he seemed never +to have heard it--much less to have spoken it. + +`` `Tend to things,' '' he laughed lightly. +``Well, you'll have enough to do to tend to the +maid, I fancy. Anyhow, we're going to have one. +I'll just step into one of those--what do you call +'em?--intelligence offices on my way down and +send one up,'' he finished, as he gave his wife a +good-by kiss. + +An hour later Billy, struggling with the broom +and the drawing-room carpet, was called to the +telephone. It was her husband's voice that came +to her. + +``Billy, for heaven's sake, take pity on me. +Won't you put on your duds and come and engage +your maid yourself?'' + +``Why, Bertram, what's the matter?'' + +``Matter? Holy smoke! Well, I've been to +three of those intelligence offices--though why +they call them that I can't imagine. If ever there +was a place utterly devoid of intelligence-but +never mind! I've interviewed four fat ladies, +two thin ones, and one medium with a wart. I've +cheerfully divulged all our family secrets, promised +every other half-hour out, and taken oath +that our household numbers three adult members, +and no more; but I simply _can't_ remember +how many handkerchiefs we have in the wash +each week. Billy, will you come? Maybe you +can do something with them. I'm sure you +can!'' + +``Why, of course I'll come,'' chirped Billy. +``Where shall I meet you?'' + +Bertram gave the street and number. + +``Good! I'll be there,'' promised Billy, as she +hung up the receiver. + +Quite forgetting the broom in the middle of the +drawing-room floor, Billy tripped up-stairs to +change her dress. On her lips was a gay little +song. In her heart was joy. + +``I rather guess _now_ I'm tending to my husband +and my home!'' she was crowing to herself. + +Just as Billy was about to leave the house the +telephone bell jangled again. + +It was Alice Greggory. + +``Billy, dear,'' she called, ``can't you come +out? Mr. Arkwright and Mr. Calderwell are +here, and they've brought some new music. We +want you. Will you come?'' + +``I can't, dear. Bertram wants me. He's sent +for me. I've got some _housewifely_ duties to perform +to-day,'' returned Billy, in a voice so curiously +triumphant that Alice, at her end of the +wires, frowned in puzzled wonder as she turned +away from the telephone. + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +INTO TRAINING FOR MARY ELLEN + + +Bertram told a friend afterwards that he never +knew the meaning of the word ``chaos'' until he +had seen the Strata during the weeks immediately +following the laying away of his old servant. + +``Every stratum was aquiver with apprehension,'' +he declared; ``and there was never any +telling when the next grand upheaval would rock +the whole structure to its foundations.'' + +Nor was Bertram so far from being right. It +was, indeed, a chaos, as none knew better than +did Bertram's wife. + +Poor Billy! Sorry indeed were these days for +Billy; and, as if to make her cup of woe full to +overflowing, there were Sister Kate's epistolary +``I told you so,'' and Aunt Hannah's ever +recurring lament: ``If only, Billy, you were a +practical housekeeper yourself, they wouldn't +impose on you so!'' + +Aunt Hannah, to be sure, offered Rosa, and +Kate, by letter, offered advice--plenty of it. +But Billy, stung beyond all endurance, and fairly +radiating hurt pride and dogged determination, +disdained all assistance, and, with head held high, +declared she was getting along very well, very +well indeed! + +And this was the way she ``got along.'' + +First came Nora. Nora was a blue-eyed, black- +haired Irish girl, the sixth that the despairing +Billy had interviewed on that fateful morning +when Bertram had summoned her to his aid. +Nora stayed two days. During her reign the +entire Strata echoed to banged doors, dropped +china, and slammed furniture. At her departure +the Henshaws' possessions were less by four cups, +two saucers, one plate, one salad bowl, two cut +glass tumblers, and a teapot--the latter William's +choicest bit of Lowestoft. + +Olga came next. Olga was a Treasure. She +was low-voiced, gentle-eyed, and a good cook. +She stayed a week. By that time the growing +frequency of the disappearance of sundry small +articles of value and convenience led to Billy's +making a reluctant search of Olga's room--and +to Olga's departure; for the room was, indeed, a +treasure house, the Treasure having gathered +unto itself other treasures. + +Following Olga came a period of what Bertram +called ``one night stands,'' so frequently were the +dramatis person<ae> below stairs changed. Gretchen +drank. Christine knew only four words of English: +salt, good-by, no, and yes; and Billy found +need occasionally of using other words. Mary +was impertinent and lazy. Jennie could not even +boil a potato properly, much less cook a dinner. +Sarah (colored) was willing and pleasant, but +insufferably untidy. Bridget was neatness itself, +but she had no conception of the value of time. +Her meals were always from thirty to sixty +minutes late, and half-cooked at that. Vera +sang--when she wasn't whistling--and as she +was generally off the key, and always off the +tune, her almost frantic mistress dismissed her +before twenty-four hours had passed. Then came +Mary Ellen. + +Mary Ellen began well. She was neat, capable, +and obliging; but it did not take her long to +discover just how much--and how little--her +mistress really knew of practical housekeeping. +Matters and things were very different then. +Mary Ellen became argumentative, impertinent, +and domineering. She openly shirked her work, +when it pleased her so to do, and demanded +perquisites and privileges so insolently that even +William asked Billy one day whether Mary Ellen +or Billy herself were the mistress of the Strata: +and Bertram, with mock humility, inquired how +_soon_ Mary Ellen would be wanting the house. +Billy, in weary despair, submitted to this bullying +for almost a week; then, in a sudden accession +of outraged dignity that left Mary Ellen gasping +with surprise, she told the girl to go. + +And thus the days passed. The maids came +and the maids went, and, to Billy, each one seemed +a little worse than the one before. Nowhere was +there comfort, rest, or peacefulness. The nights +were a torture of apprehension, and the days an +even greater torture of fulfilment. Noise, confusion, +meals poorly cooked and worse served, dust, +disorder, and uncertainty. And this was _home_, +Billy told herself bitterly. No wonder that Bertram +telephoned more and more frequently that +he had met a friend, and was dining in town. No +wonder that William pushed back his plate almost +every meal with his food scarcely touched, and +then wandered about the house with that hungry, +homesick, homeless look that nearly broke her +heart. No wonder, indeed! + +And so it had come. It was true. Aunt Hannah +and Kate and the ``Talk to Young Wives'' +were right. She had not been fit to marry Bertram. +She had not been fit to marry anybody. +Her honeymoon was not only waning, but going +into a total eclipse. Had not Bertram already +declared that if she would tend to her husband +and her home a little more-- + +Billy clenched her small hands and set her +round chin squarely. + +Very well, she would show them. She would +tend to her husband and her home. She fancied +she could _learn_ to run that house, and run it well! +And forthwith she descended to the kitchen and +told the then reigning tormentor that her wages +would be paid until the end of the week, but +that her services would be immediately dispensed +with. + +Billy was well aware now that housekeeping +was a matter of more than muffins and date puffs. +She could gauge, in a measure, the magnitude of +the task to which she had set herself. But she +did not falter; and very systematically she set +about making her plans. + +With a good stout woman to come in twice a +week for the heavier work, she believed she could +manage by herself very well until Eliza could come +back. At least she could serve more palatable +meals than the most of those that had appeared +lately; and at least she could try to make a home +that would not drive Bertram to club dinners, +and Uncle William to hungry wanderings from +room to room. Meanwhile, all the time, she could +be learning, and in due course she would reach +that shining goal of Housekeeping Efficiency, +short of which--according to Aunt Hannah and +the ``Talk to Young Wives''--no woman need +hope for a waneless honeymoon. + +So chaotic and erratic had been the household +service, and so quietly did Billy slip into her new +role, that it was not until the second meal after +the maid's departure that the master of the house +discovered what had happened. Then, as his +wife rose to get some forgotten article, he questioned, +with uplifted eyebrows: + +``Too good to wait upon us, is my lady now, +eh?'' + +``My lady is waiting on you,'' smiled Billy. + +``Yes, I see _this_ lady is,'' retorted Bertram, +grimly; ``but I mean our real lady in the kitchen. +Great Scott, Billy, how long are you going to +stand this?'' + +Billy tossed her head airily, though she shook +in her shoes. Billy had been dreading this moment. + +``I'm not standing it. She's gone,'' responded +Billy, cheerfully, resuming her seat. ``Uncle +William, sha'n't I give you some more pudding?'' + +``Gone, so soon?'' groaned Bertram, as William +passed his plate, with a smiling nod. ``Oh, +well,'' went on Bertram, resignedly, ``she stayed +longer than the last one. When is the next one +coming?'' + +``She's already here.'' + +Bertram frowned. + +``Here? But--you served the dessert, and--'' +At something in Billy's face, a quick suspicion +came into his own. ``Billy, you don't mean that +you--_you_--'' + +``Yes,'' she nodded brightly, ``that's just what +I mean. I'm the next one.'' + +``Nonsense!'' exploded Bertram, wrathfully. +``Oh, come, Billy, we've been all over this +before. You know I can't have it.'' + +``Yes, you can. You've got to have it,'' +retorted Billy, still with that disarming, airy +cheerfulness. ``Besides, 'twon't be half so bad as you +think. Wasn't that a good pudding to-night? + +Didn't you both come back for more? Well, I +made it.'' + +``Puddings!'' ejaculated Bertram, with an +impatient gesture. ``Billy, as I've said before, it takes +something besides puddings to run this house.'' + +``Yes, I know it does,'' dimpled Billy, ``and +I've got Mrs. Durgin for that part. She's coming +twice a week, and more, if I need her. Why, +dearie, you don't know anything about how +comfortable you're going to be! I'll leave it to +Uncle William if--'' + +But Uncle William had gone. Silently he had +slipped from his chair and disappeared. Uncle +William, it might be mentioned in passing, had +never quite forgotten Aunt Hannah's fateful call +with its dire revelations concerning a certain +unwanted, superfluous, third-party husband's +brother. Remembering this, there were times +when he thought absence was both safest and +best. This was one of the times. + +``But, Billy, dear,'' still argued Bertram, +irritably, ``how can you? You don't know how. +You've had no experience.'' + +Billy threw back her shoulders. An ominous +light came to her eyes. She was no longer airily +playful. + +``That's exactly it, Bertram. I don't know +how--but I'm going to learn. I haven't had +experience--but I'm going to get it. I _can't_ +make a worse mess of it than we've had ever +since Eliza went, anyway!'' + +``But if you'd get a maid--a good maid,'' +persisted Bertram, feebly. + +``I had _one_--Mary Ellen. She was a good +maid--until she found out how little her mistress +knew; then--well, you know what it was +then. Do you think I'd let that thing happen to +me again? No, sir! I'm going into training for +--my next Mary Ellen!'' And with a very +majestic air Billy rose from the table and began +to clear away the dishes. + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +THE EFFICIENCY STAR--AND BILLY + + +Billy was not a young woman that did things +by halves. Long ago, in the days of her childhood, +her Aunt Ella had once said of her: ``If +only Billy didn't go into things all over, so; but +whether it's measles or mud pies, I always know +that she'll be the measliest or the muddiest of any +child in town!'' It could not be expected, therefore, +that Billy would begin to play her new r<o^>le +now with any lack of enthusiasm. But even had +she needed any incentive, there was still ever +ringing in her ears Bertram's accusing: ``If you'd +tend to your husband and your home a little +more--'' Billy still declared very emphatically +that she had forgiven Bertram; but she knew, in +her heart, that she had not forgotten. + +Certainly, as the days passed, it could not be +said that Billy was not tending to her husband +and her home. From morning till night, now, +she tended to nothing else. She seldom touched +her piano--save to dust it--and she never +touched her half-finished song-manuscript, long +since banished to the oblivion of the music +cabinet. She made no calls except occasional flying +visits to the Annex, or to the pretty new home +where Marie and Cyril were now delightfully +settled. The opera and the Symphony were over +for the season, but even had they not been, Billy +could not have attended them. She had no time. +Surely she was not doing any ``gallivanting'' +now, she told herself sometimes, a little aggrievedly. + +There was, indeed, no time. From morning +until night Billy was busy, flying from one task +to another. Her ambition to have everything +just right was equalled only by her dogged +determination to ``just show them'' that she could do +this thing. At first, of course, hampered as she +was by ignorance and inexperience, each task +consumed about twice as much time as was necessary. +Yet afterwards, when accustomedness had +brought its reward of speed, there was still for +Billy no time; for increased knowledge had only +opened the way to other paths, untrodden and +alluring. Study of cookbooks had led to the +study of food values. Billy discovered suddenly +that potatoes, beef, onions, oranges, and +puddings were something besides vegetables, meat, +fruit, and dessert. They possessed attributes +known as proteids, fats, and carbohydrates. +Faint memories of long forgotten school days +hinted that these terms had been heard before; +but never, Billy was sure, had she fully realized +what they meant. + +It was at this juncture that Billy ran across a +book entitled ``Correct Eating for Efficiency.'' +She bought it at once, and carried it home in +triumph. It proved to be a marvelous book. +Billy had not read two chapters before she began +to wonder how the family had managed to live +thus far with any sort of success, in the face of +their dense ignorance and her own criminal carelessness +concerning their daily bill of fare. + +At dinner that night Billy told Bertram and +William of her discovery, and, with growing +excitement, dilated on the wonderful good that it +was to bring to them. + +``Why, you don't know, you can't imagine +what a treasure it is!'' she exclaimed. ``It gives +a complete table for the exact balancing of food.'' + +``For what?'' demanded Bertram, glancing up. + +``The exact balancing of food; and this book +says that's the biggest problem that modern scientists +have to solve.'' + +``Humph!'' shrugged Bertram. ``Well, you +just balance my food to my hunger, and I'll agree +not to complain.'' + +``Oh, but, Bertram, it's serious, really,'' urged +Billy, looking genuinely distressed. ``Why, it +says that what you eat goes to make up what you +are. It makes your vital energies. Your brain +power and your body power come from what you +eat. Don't you see? If you're going to paint a +picture you need something different from what +you would if you were going to--to saw wood; +and what this book tells is--is what I ought to +give you to make you do each one, I should think, +from what I've read so far. Now don't you see +how important it is? What if I should give you +the saw-wood kind of a breakfast when you were +just going up-stairs to paint all day? And what +if I should give Uncle William a--a soldier's +breakfast when all he is going to do is to go down +on State Street and sit still all day?'' + +``But--but, my dear,'' began Uncle William, +looking slightly worried, ``there's my eggs that +I _always_ have, you know.'' + +``For heaven's sake, Billy, what _have_ you got +hold of now?'' demanded Bertram, with just a +touch of irritation. + +Billy laughed merrily. + +``Well, I suppose I didn't sound very logical,'' +she admitted. ``But the book--you just wait. +It's in the kitchen. I'm going to get it.'' And +with laughing eagerness she ran from the room. + +In a moment she had returned, book in hand. + +``Now listen. _This_ is the real thing--not +my garbled inaccuracies. `The food which we +eat serves three purposes: it builds the body +substance, bone, muscle, etc., it produces heat in +the body, and it generates vital energy. Nitrogen +in different chemical combinations contributes +largely to the manufacture of body substances; +the fats produce heat; and the starches and +sugars go to make the vital energy. The nitrogenous +food elements we call proteins; the fats +and oils, fats; and the starches and sugars +(because of the predominance of carbon), we call +carbohydrates. Now in selecting the diet for the +day you should take care to choose those foods +which give the proteins, fats, and carbohydrates +in just the right proportion.' '' + +``Oh, Billy!'' groaned Bertram. + +``But it's so, Bertram,'' maintained Billy, +anxiously. ``And it's every bit here. I don't +have to guess at it at all. They even give the +quantities of calories of energy required for +different sized men. I'm going to measure you +both to-morrow; and you must be weighed, too,'' +she continued, ignoring the sniffs of remonstrance +from her two listeners. ``Then I'll know just +how many calories to give each of you. They say +a man of average size and weight, and sedentary +occupation, should have at least 2,000 calories-- +and some authorities say 3,000--in this proportion: +proteins, 300 calories, fats, 350 calories, +carbohydrates, 1,350 calories. But you both are +taller than five feet five inches, and I should think +you weighed more than 145 pounds; so I can't +tell just yet how many calories you will need.'' + +``How many we will need, indeed!'' ejaculated +Bertram. + +``But, my dear, you know I have to have my +eggs,'' began Uncle William again, in a worried +voice. + +``Of course you do, dear; and you shall have +them,'' soothed Billy, brightly. ``It's only that +I'll have to be careful and balance up the other +things for the day accordingly. Don't you see? +Now listen. We'll see what eggs are.'' She +turned the leaves rapidly. ``Here's the food +table. It's lovely. It tells everything. I never +saw anything so wonderful. A--b--c--d--e +--here we are. `Eggs, scrambled or boiled, fats +and proteins, one egg, 100.' If it's poached it's +only 50; but you like yours boiled, so we'll have +to reckon on the 100. And you always have +two, so that means 200 calories in fats and +proteins. Now, don't you see? If you can't have +but 300 proteins and 350 fats all day, and you've +already eaten 200 in your two eggs, that'll leave +just--er--450 for all the rest of the day,--of +fats and proteins, you understand. And you've +no idea how fast that'll count up. Why, just one +serving of butter is 100 of fats, and eight almonds +is another, while a serving of lentils is 100 of +proteins. So you see how it'll go.'' + +``Yes, I see,'' murmured Uncle William, casting +a mournful glance about the generously laden +table, much as if he were bidding farewell to a +departing friend. ``But if I should want more +to eat--'' He stopped helplessly, and Bertram's +aggrieved voice filled the pause. + +``Look here, Billy, if you think I'm going to +be measured for an egg and weighed for an almond, +you're much mistaken; because I'm not. +I want to eat what I like, and as much as I like, +whether it's six calories or six thousand!'' + +Billy chuckled, but she raised her hands in +pretended shocked protest. + +``Six thousand! Mercy! Bertram, I don't +know what would happen if you ate that quantity; +but I'm sure you couldn't paint. You'd +just have to saw wood and dig ditches to use up +all that vital energy.'' + +``Humph!'' scoffed Bertram. + +``Besides, this is for _efficiency_,'' went on Billy, +with an earnest air. ``This man owns up that +some may think a 2,000 calory ration is altogether +too small, and he advises such to begin with +3,000 or even 3,500--graded, of course, according +to a man's size, weight, and occupation. But +he says one famous man does splendid work on +only 1,800 calories, and another on even 1,600. +But that is just a matter of chewing. Why, +Bertram, you have no idea what perfectly wonderful +things chewing does.'' + +``Yes, I've heard of that,'' grunted Bertram; +``ten chews to a cherry, and sixty to a spoonful +of soup. There's an old metronome up-stairs +that Cyril left. You might bring it down and +set it going on the table--so many ticks to a +mouthful, I suppose. I reckon, with an incentive +like that to eat, just about two calories would +do me. Eh, William?'' + +``Bertram! Now you're only making fun,'' +chided Billy; ``and when it's really serious, too. +Now listen,'' she admonished, picking up the +book again. `` `If a man consumes a large +amount of meat, and very few vegetables, his +diet will be too rich in protein, and too lacking in +carbohydrates. On the other hand, if he consumes +great quantities of pastry, bread, butter, +and tea, his meals will furnish too much energy, +and not enough building material.' There, Bertram, +don't you see?'' + +``Oh, yes, I see,'' teased Bertram. ``William, +better eat what you can to-night. I foresee it's +the last meal of just _food_ we'll get for some time. +Hereafter we'll have proteins, fats, and +carbohydrates made into calory croquettes, and--'' + +``Bertram!'' scolded Billy. + +But Bertram would not be silenced. + +``Here, just let me take that book,'' he insisted, +dragging the volume from Billy's reluctant fingers. +``Now, William, listen. Here's your breakfast +to-morrow morning: strawberries, 100 calories; +whole-wheat bread, 75 calories; butter, 100 +calories (no second helping, mind you, or you'd +ruin the balance and something would topple); +boiled eggs, 200 calories; cocoa, 100 calories-- +which all comes to 570 calories. Sounds like an +English bill of fare with a new kind of foreign +money, but 'tisn't, really, you know. Now for +luncheon you can have tomato soup, 50 calories; +potato salad--that's cheap, only 30 calories, +and--'' But Billy pulled the book away then, +and in righteous indignation carried it to the +kitchen. + +``You don't deserve anything to eat,'' she +declared with dignity, as she returned to the dining- +room. + +``No?'' queried Bertram, his eyebrows +uplifted. ``Well, as near as I can make out we +aren't going to get--much.'' + +But Billy did not deign to answer this. + +In spite of Bertram's tormenting gibes, Billy +did, for some days, arrange her meals in accordance +with the wonderful table of food given in +``Correct Eating for Efficiency.'' To be sure, +Bertram, whatever he found before him during +those days, anxiously asked whether he were +eating fats, proteins, or carbohydrates; and he +worried openly as to the possibility of his meal's +producing one calory too much or too little, thus +endangering his ``balance.'' + +Billy alternately laughed and scolded, to the +unvarying good nature of her husband. As it +happened, however, even this was not for long, +for Billy ran across a magazine article on food +adulteration; and this so filled her with terror +lest, in the food served, she were killing her +family by slow poison, that she forgot all about +the proteins, fats, and carbohydrates. Her talk +these days was of formaldehyde, benzoate of +soda, and salicylic acid. + +Very soon, too, Billy discovered an exclusive +Back Bay school for instruction in household +economics and domestic hygiene. Billy investigated +it at once, and was immediately aflame with +enthusiasm. She told Bertram that it taught +everything, _everything_ she wanted to know; and +forthwith she enrolled herself as one of its most +devoted pupils, in spite of her husband's protests +that she knew enough, more than enough, already. +This school attendance, to her consternation, +Billy discovered took added time; but in some +way she contrived to find it to take. + +And so the days passed. Eliza's mother, though +better, was still too ill for her daughter to leave +her. Billy, as the warm weather approached, +began to look pale and thin. Billy, to tell the +truth, was working altogether too hard; but she +would not admit it, even to herself. At first the +novelty of the work, and her determination to +conquer at all costs, had given a fictitious strength +to her endurance. Now that the novelty had +become accustomedness, and the conquering a +surety, Billy discovered that she had a back that +could ache, and limbs that, at times, could almost +refuse to move from weariness. There was still, +however, one spur that never failed to urge her +to fresh endeavor, and to make her, at least +temporarily, forget both ache and weariness; and +that was the comforting thought that now, +certainly, even Bertram himself must admit that +she was tending to her home and her husband. + +As to Bertram--Bertram, it is true, had at +first uttered frequent and vehement protests +against his wife's absorption of both mind and +body in ``that plaguy housework,'' as he termed +it. But as the days passed, and blessed order +superseded chaos, peace followed discord, and +delicious, well-served meals took the place of the +horrors that had been called meals in the past, he +gradually accepted the change with tranquil +satisfaction, and forgot to question how it was +brought about; though he did still, sometimes, +rebel because Billy was always too tired, or too +busy, to go out with him. Of late, however, he +had not done even this so frequently, for a new +``Face of a Girl'' had possessed his soul; and all +his thoughts and most of his time had gone to +putting on canvas the vision of loveliness that his +mind's eye saw. + +By June fifteenth the picture was finished. +Bertram awoke then to his surroundings. He +found summer was upon him with no plans made +for its enjoyment. He found William had started +West for a two weeks' business trip. But what he +did not find one day--at least at first--was his +wife, when he came home unexpectedly at four +o'clock. And Bertram especially wanted to find +his wife that day, for he had met three people +whose words had disquieted him not a little. +First, Aunt Hannah. She had said: + +``Bertram, where is Billy? She hasn't been +out to the Annex for a week; and the last time she +was there she looked sick. I was real worried +about her.'' + +Cyril had been next. + +``Where's Billy?'' he had asked abruptly. +``Marie says she hasn't seen her for two weeks. +Marie's afraid she's sick. She says Billy didn't +look well a bit, when she did see her.'' + +Calderwell had capped the climax. He had +said: + +``Great Scott, Henshaw, where have you been +keeping yourself? And where's your wife? Not +one of us has caught more than a glimpse of her +for weeks. She hasn't sung with us, nor played +for us, nor let us take her anywhere for a month +of Sundays. Even Miss Greggory says _she_ hasn't +seen much of her, and that Billy always says +she's too busy to go anywhere. But Miss Greggory +says she looks pale and thin, and that _she_ +thinks she's worrying too much over running the +house. I hope she isn't sick!'' + +``Why, no, Billy isn't sick. Billy's all right,'' +Bertram had answered. He had spoken lightly, +nonchalantly, with an elaborate air of carelessness; +but after he had left Calderwell, he had +turned his steps abruptly and a little hastily +toward home. + +And he had not found Billy--at least, not at +once. He had gone first down into the kitchen +and dining-room. He remembered then, uneasily, +that he had always looked for Billy in the kitchen +and dining-room, of late. To-day, however, she +was not there. + +On the kitchen table Bertram did see a book +wide open, and, mechanically, he picked it up. +It was a much-thumbed cookbook, and it was +open where two once-blank pages bore his wife's +handwriting. On the first page, under the printed +heading ``Things to Remember,'' he read these +sentences: + +``That rice swells till every dish in the house +is full, and that spinach shrinks till you can't +find it. + +``That beets boil dry if you look out the window. + +``That biscuits which look as if they'd been +mixed up with a rusty stove poker haven't really +been so, but have only got too much undissolved +soda in them.'' + +There were other sentences, but Bertram's eyes +chanced to fall on the opposite page where the +``Things to Remember'' had been changed to +``Things to Forget''; and here Billy had written +just four words: ``Burns,'' ``cuts,'' and +``yesterday's failures.'' + +Bertram dropped the book then with a spasmodic +clearing of his throat, and hurriedly resumed +his search. When he did find his wife, at +last, he gave a cry of dismay--she was on her +own bed, huddled in a little heap, and shaking +with sobs. + +``Billy! Why, Billy!'' he gasped, striding to +the bedside. + +Billy sat up at once, and hastily wiped her eyes. + +``Oh, is it you, B-Bertram? I didn't hear you +come in. You--you s-said you weren't coming +till six o'clock!'' she choked. + +``Billy, what is the meaning of this?'' + +``N-nothing. I--I guess I'm just tired.'' + +``What have you been doing?'' Bertram spoke +sternly, almost sharply. He was wondering why +he had not noticed before the little hollows in +his wife's cheeks. ``Billy, what have you been +doing?'' + +``Why, n-nothing extra, only some sweeping, +and cleaning out the refrigerator.'' + +``Sweeping! Cleaning! _You!_ I thought Mrs. +Durgin did that.'' + +``She does. I mean she did. But she couldn't +come. She broke her leg--fell off the stepladder +where she was three days ago. So I _had_ to do it. +And to-day, someway, everything went wrong. +I burned me, and I cut me, and I used two sodas +with not any cream of tartar, and I should think +I didn't know anything, not anything!'' And +down went Billy's head into the pillows again in +another burst of sobs. + +With gentle yet uncompromising determination, +Bertram gathered his wife into his arms and carried +her to the big chair. There, for a few minutes, +he soothed and petted her as if she were a +tired child--which, indeed, she was. + +``Billy, this thing has got to stop,'' he said then. +There was a very inexorable ring of decision in his +voice. + +``What thing?'' + +``This housework business.'' + +Billy sat up with a jerk. + +``But, Bertram, it isn't fair. You can't--you +mustn't--just because of to-day! I _can_ do it. +I have done it. I've done it days and days, and +it's gone beautifully--even if they did say I +couldn't!'' + +``Couldn't what?'' + +``Be an e-efficient housekeeper.'' + +``Who said you couldn't?'' + +``Aunt Hannah and K-Kate.'' + +Bertram said a savage word under his breath. + +``Holy smoke, Billy! I didn't marry you for a +cook or a scrub-lady. If you _had_ to do it, that +would be another matter, of course; and if we did +have to do it, we wouldn't have a big house like +this for you to do it in. But I didn't marry for a +cook, and I knew I wasn't getting one when I +married you.'' + +Billy bridled into instant wrath. + +``Well, I like that, Bertram Henshaw! Can't +I cook? Haven't I proved that I can cook?'' + +Bertram laughed, and kissed the indignant lips +till they quivered into an unwilling smile. + +``Bless your spunky little heart, of course you +have! But that doesn't mean that I want you +to do it. You see, it so happens that you can do +other things, too; and I'd rather you did those. +Billy, you haven't played to me for a week, nor +sung to me for a month. You're too tired every +night to talk, or read together, or go anywhere +with me. I married for companionship--not +cooking and sweeping!'' + +Billy shook her head stubbornly. Her mouth +settled into determined lines. + +``That's all very well to say. You aren't +hungry now, Bertram. But it's different when +you are, and they said 'twould be.'' + +``Humph! `They' are Aunt Hannah and +Kate, I suppose.'' + +``Yes--and the `Talk to Young Wives.' '' + +``The w-what?'' + +Billy choked a little. She had forgotten that +Bertram did not know about the ``Talk to Young +Wives.'' She wished that she had not mentioned +the book, but now that she had, she would make +the best of it. She drew herself up with dignity. + +``It's a book; a very nice book. It says lots +of things--that have come true.'' + +``Where is that book? Let me see it, please.'' + +With visible reluctance Billy got down from her +perch on Bertram's knee, went to her desk and +brought back the book. + +Bertram regarded it frowningly, so frowningly +that Billy hastened to its defense. + +``And it's true--what it says in there, and +what Aunt Hannah and Kate said. It _is_ different +when they're hungry! You said yourself if I'd +tend to my husband and my home a little more, +and--'' + +Bertram looked up with unfeigned amazement. + +``I said what?'' he demanded. + +In a voice shaken with emotion, Billy repeated +the fateful words. + +``I never--when did I say that?'' + +``The night Uncle William and I came home +from--Pete's.'' + +For a moment Bertram stared dumbly; then a +shamed red swept to his forehead. + +``Billy, _did_ I say that? I ought to be shot if +I did. But, Billy, you said you'd forgiven +me!'' + +``I did, dear--truly I did; but, don't you see? +--it was true. I _hadn't_ tended to things. So I've +been doing it since.'' + +A sudden comprehension illuminated Bertram's +face. + +``Heavens, Billy! And is that why you haven't +been anywhere, or done anything? Is that why +Calderwell said to-day that you hadn't been with +them anywhere, and that-- Great Scott, Billy! +Did you think I was such a selfish brute as +that?'' + +``Oh, but when I was going with them I _was_ +following the book--I thought,'' quavered Billy; +and hurriedly she turned the leaves to a carefully +marked passage. ``It's there--about the outside +interests. See? I _was_ trying to brush up +against them, so that I wouldn't interfere with +your Art. Then, when you accused me of +gallivanting off with--'' But Bertram swept her +back into his arms, and not for some minutes +could Billy make a coherent speech again. + +Then Bertram spoke. + +``See here, Billy,'' he exploded, a little shakily, +``if I could get you off somewhere on a desert +island, where there weren't any Aunt Hannahs or +Kates, or Talks to Young Wives, I think there'd +be a chance to make you happy; but--'' + +``Oh, but there was truth in it,'' interrupted +Billy, sitting erect again. ``I _didn't_ know how to +run a house, and it was perfectly awful while we +were having all those dreadful maids, one after +the other; and no woman should be a wife who +doesn't know--'' + +``All right, all right, dear,'' interrupted +Bertram, in his turn. ``We'll concede that point, if +you like. But you _do_ know now. You've got +the efficient housewife racket down pat even to the +last calory your husband should be fed; and I'll +warrant there isn't a Mary Ellen in Christendom +who can find a spot of ignorance on you as big as +a pinhead! So we'll call that settled. What you +need now is a good rest; and you're going to have +it, too. I'm going to have six Mary Ellens here +to-morrow morning. Six! Do you hear? And +all you've got to do is to get your gladdest rags +together for a trip to Europe with me next month. +Because we're going. I shall get the tickets to- +morrow, _after_ I send the six Mary Ellens packing +up here. Now come, put on your bonnet. We're +going down town to dinner.'' + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +BILLY TRIES HER HAND AT ``MANAGING'' + + +Bertram did not engage six Mary Ellens the +next morning, nor even one, as it happened; for +that evening, Eliza--who had not been unaware +of conditions at the Strata--telephoned to say +that her mother was so much better now she +believed she could be spared to come to the Strata +for several hours each day, if Mrs. Henshaw +would like to have her begin in that way. + +Billy agreed promptly, and declared herself +as more than willing to put up with such an +arrangement. Bertram, it is true, when he heard +of the plan, rebelled, and asserted that what Billy +needed was a rest, an entire rest from care and +labor. In fact, what he wanted her to do, he said, +was to gallivant--to gallivant all day long. + +``Nonsense!'' Billy had laughed, coloring to +the tips of her ears. ``Besides, as for the work, +Bertram, with just you and me here, and with all +my vast experience now, and Eliza here for several +hours every day, it'll be nothing but play for this +little time before we go away. You'll see!'' + +``All right, I'll _see_, then,'' Bertram had nodded +meaningly. ``But just make sure that it _is_ play +for you!'' + +``I will,'' laughed Billy; and there the matter +had ended. + +Eliza began work the next day, and Billy did +indeed soon find herself ``playing'' under +Bertram's watchful insistence. She resumed her +music, and brought out of exile the unfinished +song. With Bertram she took drives and walks; +and every two or three days she went to see +Aunt Hannah and Marie. She was pleasantly +busy, too, with plans for her coming trip; and +it was not long before even the remorseful +Bertram had to admit that Billy was looking and +appearing quite like her old self. + +At the Annex Billy found Calderwell and +Arkwright, one day. They greeted her as if she had +just returned from a far country. + +``Well, if you aren't the stranger lady,'' began +Calderwell, looking frankly pleased to see her. +``We'd thought of advertising in the daily press +somewhat after this fashion: `Lost, strayed, or +stolen, one Billy; comrade, good friend, and kind +cheerer-up of lonely hearts. Any information +thankfully received by her bereft, sorrowing +friends.' '' + +Billy joined in the laugh that greeted this sally, +but Arkwright noticed that she tried to change +the subject from her own affairs to a discussion +of the new song on Alice Greggory's piano. +Calderwell, however, was not to be silenced. + +``The last I heard of this elusive Billy,'' he +resumed, with teasing cheerfulness, ``she was running +down a certain lost calory that had slipped +away from her husband's breakfast, and--'' + +Billy wheeled sharply. + +``Where did you get hold of that?'' she demanded. + +``Oh, I didn't,'' returned the man, defensively. +``I never got hold of it at all. I never even saw +the calory--though, for that matter, I don't +think I should know one if I did see it! What we +feared was, that, in hunting the lost calory, you +had lost yourself, and--'' But Billy would hear +no more. With her disdainful nose in the air she +walked to the piano. + +``Come, Mr. Arkwright,'' she said with dignity. +``Let's try this song.'' + +Arkwright rose at once and accompanied her +to the piano. + +They had sung the song through twice when +Billy became uneasily aware that, on the other +side of the room, Calderwell and Alice Greggory +were softly chuckling over something they had +found in a magazine. Billy frowned, and twitched +the corners of a pile of music, with restless fingers. + +``I wonder if Alice hasn't got some quartets +here somewhere,'' she murmured, her disapproving +eyes still bent on the absorbed couple across +the room. + +Arkwright was silent. Billy, throwing a +hurried glance into his face, thought she detected +a somber shadow in his eyes. She thought, too, +she knew why it was there. So possessed had +Billy been, during the early winter, of the idea +that her special mission in life was to inaugurate +and foster a love affair between disappointed Mr. +Arkwright and lonely Alice Greggory, that now +she forgot, for a moment, that Arkwright himself +was quite unaware of her efforts. She thought +only that the present shadow on his face must +be caused by the same thing that brought worry +to her own heart--the manifest devotion of +Calderwell to Alice Greggory just now across the +room. Instinctively, therefore, as to a coworker +in a common cause, she turned a disturbed face +to the man at her side. + +``It is, indeed, high time that I looked after +something besides lost calories,'' she said +significantly. Then, at the evident uncomprehension +in Arkwright's face, she added: ``Has it +been going on like this--very long?'' + +Arkwright still, apparently, did not understand. + +``Has--what been going on?'' he questioned. + +``That--over there,'' answered Billy, +impatiently, scarcely knowing whether to be more +irritated at the threatened miscarriage of her +cherished plans, or at Arkwright's (to her) +wilfully blind insistence on her making her meaning +more plain. ``Has it been going on long--such +utter devotion?'' + +As she asked the question Billy turned and +looked squarely into Arkwright's face. She saw, +therefore, the great change that came to it, as +her meaning became clear to him. Her first +feeling was one of shocked realization that +Arkwright had, indeed, been really blind. Her +second--she turned away her eyes hurriedly from +what she thought she saw in the man's countenance. + +With an assumedly gay little cry she sprang to +her feet. + +``Come, come, what are you two children +chuckling over?'' she demanded, crossing the +room abruptly. ``Didn't you hear me say I +wanted you to come and sing a quartet?'' + +Billy blamed herself very much for what she +called her stupidity in so baldly summoning +Arkwright's attention to Calderwell's devotion to +Alice Greggory. She declared that she ought to +have known better, and she asked herself if this +were the way she was ``furthering matters'' +between Alice Greggory and Arkwright. + +Billy was really seriously disturbed. She had +never quite forgiven herself for being so blind to +Arkwright's feeling for herself during those days +when he had not known of her engagement to +Bertram. She had never forgotten, either, the +painful scene when he had hopefully told of his +love, only to be met with her own shocked +repudiation. For long weeks after that, his face had +haunted her. She had wished, oh, so ardently, +that she could do something in some way to bring +him happiness. When, therefore, it had come to +her knowledge afterward that he was frequently +with his old friend, Alice Greggory, she had been +so glad. It was very easy then to fan hope into +conviction that here, in this old friend, he had +found sweet balm for his wounded heart; and she +determined at once to do all that she could do to +help. So very glowing, indeed, was her eagerness +in the matter, that it looked suspiciously as if she +thought, could she but bring this thing about, +that old scores against herself would be erased. + +Billy told herself, virtuously, however, that +not only for Arkwright did she desire this marriage +to take place, but for Alice Greggory. In +the very nature of things Alice would one day be +left alone. She was poor, and not very strong. +She sorely needed the shielding love and care of a +good husband. What more natural than that her +old-time friend and almost-sweetheart, M. J. +Arkwright, should be that good husband? + +That really it was more Arkwright and less +Alice that was being considered, however, was +proved when the devotion of Calderwell began to +be first suspected, then known for a fact. Billy's +distress at this turn of affairs indicated very +plainly that it was not just a husband, but a +certain one particular husband that she desired +for Alice Greggory. All the more disturbed was +she, therefore, when to-day, seeing her three +friends together again for the first time for some +weeks, she discovered increased evidence that her +worst fears were to be realized. It was to be +Alice and Calderwell, not Alice and Arkwright. +Arkwright was again to be disappointed in his +dearest hopes. + +Telling herself indignantly that it could not +be, it _should_ not be, Billy determined to remain +after the men had gone, and speak to Alice. Just +what she would say she did not know. Even +what she could say, she was not sure. But +certainly there must be something, some little thing +that she could say, which would open Alice's eyes +to what she was doing, and what she ought to +do. + +It was in this frame of mind, therefore, that +Billy, after Arkwright and Calderwell had gone, +spoke to Alice. She began warily, with assumed +nonchalance. + +``I believe Mr. Arkwright sings better every +time I hear him.'' + +There was no answer. Alice was sorting music +at the piano. + +``Don't you think so?'' Billy raised her voice +a little. + +Alice turned almost with a start. + +``What's that? Oh, yes. Well, I don't know; +maybe I do.'' + +``You would--if you didn't hear him any +oftener than I do,'' laughed Billy. ``But then, +of course you do hear him oftener.'' + +``I? Oh, no, indeed. Not so very much +oftener.'' Alice had turned back to her music. +There was a slight embarrassment in her manner. +``I wonder--where--that new song--is,'' she +murmured. + +Billy, who knew very well where the song lay, +was not to be diverted. + +``Nonsense! As if Mr. Arkwright wasn't +always telling how Alice liked this song, and didn't +like that one, and thought the other the best yet! +I don't believe he sings a thing that he doesn't +first sing to you. For that matter, I fancy he +asks your opinion of everything, anyway.'' + +``Why, Billy, he doesn't!'' exclaimed Alice, a +deep red flaming into her cheeks. ``You know he +doesn't.'' + +Billy laughed gleefully. She had not been slow +to note the color in her friend's face, or to ascribe +to it the one meaning she wished to ascribe to it. +So sure, indeed, was she now that her fears had +been groundless, that she flung caution to the +winds. + +``Ho! My dear Alice, you can't expect us all +to be blind,'' she teased. ``Besides, we all think +it's such a lovely arrangement that we're just +glad to see it. He's such a fine fellow, and we like +him so much! We couldn't ask for a better husband +for you than Mr. Arkwright, and--'' From +sheer amazement at the sudden white horror +in Alice Greggory's face, Billy stopped short. +``Why, Alice!'' she faltered then. + +With a visible effort Alice forced her trembling +lips to speak. + +``My husband--_Mr. Arkwright!_ Why, Billy, +you couldn't have seen--you haven't seen-- +there's nothing you _could_ see! He isn't--he +wasn't--he can't be! We--we're nothing but +friends, Billy, just good friends!'' + +Billy, though dismayed, was still not quite +convinced. + +``Friends! Nonsense! When--'' + +But Alice interrupted feverishly. Alice, in an +agony of fear lest the true state of affairs should +be suspected, was hiding behind a bulwark of +pride. + +``Now, Billy, please! Say no more. You're +quite wrong, entirely. You'll never, never hear of +my marrying Mr. Arkwright. As I said before, +we're friends--the best of friends; that is all. +We couldn't be anything else, possibly!'' + +Billy, plainly discomfited, fell back; but she +threw a sharp glance into her friend's flushed +countenance. + +``You mean--because of--Hugh Calderwell?'' +she demanded. Then, for the second time +that afternoon throwing discretion to the winds, +she went on plaintively: ``You won't listen, of +course. Girls in love never do. Hugh is all right, +and I like him; but there's more real solid worth +in Mr. Arkwright's little finger than there is in +Hugh's whole self. And--'' But a merry peal +of laughter from Alice Greggory interrupted. + +``And, pray, do you think I'm in love with +Hugh Calderwell?'' she demanded. There was +a curious note of something very like relief in her +voice. + +``Well, I didn't know,'' began Billy, uncertainly. + +``Then I'll tell you now,'' smiled Alice. ``I'm +not. Furthermore, perhaps it's just as well that +you should know right now that I don't intend +to marry--ever.'' + +``Oh, Alice!'' + +``No.'' There was determination, and there +was still that curious note of relief in the girl's +voice. It was as if, somewhere, a great danger +had been avoided. ``I have my music. That is +enough. I'm not intending to marry.'' + +``Oh, but Alice, while I will own up I'm glad it +isn't Hugh Calderwell, there _is_ Mr. Arkwright, +and I did hope--'' But Alice shook her head +and turned resolutely away. At that moment, +too, Aunt Hannah came in from the street, so +Billy could say no more. + +Aunt Hannah dropped herself a little wearily +into a chair. + +``I've just come from Marie's,'' she said. + +``How is she?'' asked Billy. + +Aunt Hannah smiled, and raised her eyebrows. + +``Well, just now she's quite exercised over +another rattle--from her cousin out West, this +time. There were four little silver bells on it, +and she hasn't got any janitor's wife now to give +it to.'' + +Billy laughed softly, but Aunt Hannah had +more to say. + +``You know she isn't going to allow any toys +but Teddy bears and woolly lambs, of which, I +believe, she has already bought quite an assortment. +She says they don't rattle or squeak. I +declare, when I see the woolen pads and rubber +hushers that that child has put everywhere all +over the house, I don't know whether to laugh +or cry. And she's so worried! It seems Cyril +must needs take just this time to start composing +a new opera or symphony, or something; and +never before has she allowed him to be interrupted +by anything on such an occasion. But what he'll +do when the baby comes she says she doesn't +know, for she says she can't--she just can't keep +it from bothering him some, she's afraid. As if +any opera or symphony that ever lived was of +more consequence than a man's own child!'' +finished Aunt Hannah, with an indignant sniff, as +she reached for her shawl. + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +A TOUGH NUT TO CRACK FOR CYRIL + + +It was early in the forenoon of the first day of +July that Eliza told her mistress that Mrs. +Stetson was asking for her at the telephone. Eliza's +face was not a little troubled. + +``I'm afraid, maybe, it isn't good news,'' she +stammered, as her mistress hurriedly arose. +``She's at Mr. Cyril Henshaw's--Mrs. Stetson +is--and she seemed so terribly upset about something +that there was no making real sense out of +what she said. But she asked for you, and said +to have you come quick.'' + +Billy, her own face paling, was already at the +telephone. + +``Yes, Aunt Hannah. What is it?'' + +``Oh, my grief and conscience, Billy, if you +_can_, come up here, please. You must come! +_Can't_ you come?'' + +``Why, yes, of course. But--but--_Marie!_ +The--the _baby!_'' + +A faint groan came across the wires. + +``Oh, my grief and conscience, Billy! It isn't +_the_ baby. It's _babies!_ It's twins--boys. Cyril +has them now--the nurse hasn't got here yet.'' + +``Twins! _Cyril_ has them!'' broke in Billy, +hysterically. + +``Yes, and they're crying something terrible. +We've sent for a second nurse to come, too, of +course, but she hasn't got here yet, either. And +those babies--if you could hear them! That's +what we want you for, to--'' + +But Billy was almost laughing now. + +``All right, I'll come out--and hear them,'' +she called a bit wildly, as she hung up the receiver. + +Some little time later, a palpably nervous maid +admitted Billy to the home of Mr. and Mrs. Cyril +Henshaw. Even as the door was opened, Billy +heard faintly, but unmistakably, the moaning +wails of two infants. + +``Mrs. Stetson says if you will please to help +Mr. Henshaw with the babies,'' stammered the +maid, after the preliminary questions and +answers. ``I've been in when I could, and they're +all right, only they're crying. They're in his den. +We had to put them as far away as possible-- +their crying worried Mrs. Henshaw so.'' + +``Yes, I see,'' murmured Billy. ``I'll go to +them at once. No, don't trouble to come. I +know the way. Just tell Mrs. Stetson I'm here, +please,'' she finished, as she tossed her hat and +gloves on to the hall table, and turned to go upstairs. + +Billy's feet made no sound on the soft rugs. +The crying, however, grew louder and louder as +she approached the den. Softly she turned the +knob and pushed open the door. She stopped +short, then, at what she saw. + +Cyril had not heard her, nor seen her. His +back was partly toward the door. His coat was +off, and his hair stood fiercely on end as if a +nervous hand had ruffled it. His usually pale face +was very red, and his forehead showed great drops +of perspiration. He was on his feet, hovering +over the couch, at each end of which lay a rumpled +roll of linen, lace, and flannel, from which emerged +a prodigiously puckered little face, two uncertainly +waving rose-leaf fists, and a wail of protesting +rage that was not uncertain in the least. + +In one hand Cyril held a Teddy bear, in the +other his watch, dangling from its fob chain. +Both of these he shook feebly, one after the other, +above the tiny faces. + +``Oh, come, come, pretty baby, good baby, +hush, hush,'' he begged agitatedly. + +In the doorway Billy clapped her hands to her +lips and stifled a laugh. Billy knew, of course, +that what she should do was to go forward at +once, and help this poor, distracted man; but +Billy, just then, was not doing what she knew +she ought to do. + +With a muttered ejaculation (which Billy, to +her sorrow, could not catch) Cyril laid down the +watch and flung the Teddy bear aside. Then, in +very evident despair, he gingerly picked up one +of the rumpled rolls of flannel, lace, and linen, +and held it straight out before him. After a +moment's indecision he began awkwardly to jounce +it, teeter it, rock it back and forth, and to pat it +jerkily. + +``Oh, come, come, pretty baby, good baby, +hush, hush,'' he begged again, frantically. + +Perhaps it was the change of position; perhaps +it was the novelty of the motion, perhaps it was +only utter weariness, or lack of breath. Whatever +the cause, the wailing sobs from the bundle +in his arms dwindled suddenly to a gentle whisper, +then ceased altogether. + +With a ray of hope illuminating his drawn +countenance, Cyril carefully laid the baby down and +picked up the other. Almost confidently now he +began the jouncing and teetering and rocking +as before. + +``There, there! Oh, come, come, pretty baby, +good baby, hush, hush,'' he chanted again. + +This time he was not so successful. Perhaps +he had lost his skill. Perhaps it was merely the +world-old difference in babies. At all events, this +infant did not care for jerks and jounces, and +showed it plainly by emitting loud and yet louder +wails of rage--wails in which his brother on the +couch speedily joined. + +``Oh, come, come, pretty baby, good baby, +hush, hush--_confound it_, HUSH, I say!'' exploded +the frightened, weary, baffled, distracted man, +picking up the other baby, and trying to hold +both his sons at once. + +Billy hurried forward then, tearfully, remorsefully, +her face all sympathy, her arms all tenderness. + +``Here, Cyril, let me help you,'' she cried. + +Cyril turned abruptly. + +``Thank God, _some_ one's come,'' he groaned, +holding out both the babies, with an exuberance +of generosity. ``Billy, you've saved my life!'' + +Billy laughed tremulously. + +``Yes, I've come, Cyril, and I'll help every bit +I can; but I don't know a thing--not a single +thing about them myself. Dear me, aren't they +cunning? But, Cyril, do they always cry so?'' + +The father-of-an-hour drew himself stiffly erect. + +``Cry? What do you mean? Why shouldn't +they cry?'' he demanded indignantly. ``I want +you to understand that Doctor Brown said those +were A number I fine boys! Anyhow, I guess +there's no doubt they've got lungs all right,'' he +added, with a grim smile, as he pulled out his +handkerchief and drew it across his perspiring +brow. + +Billy did not have an opportunity to show Cyril +how much or how little she knew about babies, +for in another minute the maid had appeared +with the extra nurse; and that young woman, +with trained celerity and easy confidence, +assumed instant command, and speedily had peace +and order restored. + +Cyril, freed from responsibility, cast longing +eyes, for a moment, upon his work; but the next +minute, with a despairing glance about him, he +turned and fled precipitately. + +Billy, following the direction of his eyes, +suppressed a smile. On the top of Cyril's manuscript +music on the table lay a hot-water bottle. Draped +over the back of his favorite chair was a pink- +bordered baby blanket. On the piano-stool rested +a beribboned and beruffled baby's toilet basket. +From behind the sofa pillow leered ridiculously +the Teddy bear, just as it had left Cyril's +desperate hand. + +No wonder, indeed, that Billy smiled. Billy +was thinking of what Marie had said not a week +before: + +``I shall keep the baby, of course, in the nursery. +I've been in homes where they've had baby +things strewn from one end of the house to the +other; but it won't be that way here. In the first +place, I don't believe in it; but, even if I did, I'd +have to be careful on account of Cyril. Imagine +Cyril's trying to write his music with a baby in +the room! No! I shall keep the baby in the +nursery, if possible; but wherever it is, it won't +be anywhere near Cyril's den, anyway.'' + +Billy suppressed many a smile during the days +that immediately followed the coming of the +twins. Some of the smiles, however, refused to +be suppressed. They became, indeed, shamelessly +audible chuckles. + +Billy was to sail the tenth, and, naturally, +during those early July days, her time was pretty +much occupied with her preparations for departure; +but nothing could keep her from frequent, +though short, visits to the home of her brother- +in-law. + +The twins were proving themselves to be fine, +healthy boys. Two trained maids, and two +trained nurses ruled the household with a rod of +iron. As to Cyril--Billy declared that Cyril +was learning something every day of his life now. + +``Oh, yes, he's learning things,'' she said to +Aunt Hannah, one morning; ``lots of things. +For instance: he has his breakfast now, not when +he wants it, but when the maid wants to give it +to him--which is precisely at eight o'clock every +morning. So he's learning punctuality. And for +the first time in his life he has discovered the +astounding fact that there are several things +more important in the world than is the special +piece of music he happens to be composing-- +chiefly the twins' bath, the twins' nap, the twins' +airing, and the twins' colic.'' + +Aunt Hannah laughed, though she frowned, +too. + +``But, surely, Billy, with two nurses and the +maids, Cyril doesn't have to--to--'' She +came to a helpless pause. + +``Oh, no,'' laughed Billy; ``Cyril doesn't have +to really attend to any of those things--though +I have seen each of the nurses, at different times, +unhesitatingly thrust a twin into his arms and +bid him hold the child till she comes back. But +it's this way. You see, Marie must be kept quiet, +and the nursery is very near her room. It worries +her terribly when either of the children cries. +Besides, the little rascals have apparently fixed up +some sort of labor-union compact with each other, +so that if one cries for something or nothing, the +other promptly joins in and helps. So the nurses +have got into the habit of picking up the first +disturber of the peace, and hurrying him to +quarters remote; and Cyril's den being the most +remote of all, they usually fetch up there.'' + +``You mean--they take those babies into +Cyril's den--_now_?'' Even Aunt Hannah was +plainly aghast. + +``Yes,'' twinkled Billy. ``I fancy their +Hygienic Immaculacies approved of Cyril's bare +floors, undraped windows, and generally knick- +knackless condition. Anyhow, they've made his +den a sort of--of annex to the nursery.'' + +``But--but Cyril! What does he say?'' +stammered the dumfounded Aunt Hannah. ``Think +of Cyril's standing a thing like that! Doesn't he +do anything--or say anything?'' + +Billy smiled, and lifted her brows quizzically. + +``My dear Aunt Hannah, did you ever know +_many_ people to have the courage to `say things' +to one of those becapped, beaproned, bespotless +creatures of loftily superb superiority known as +trained nurses? Besides, you wouldn't recognize +Cyril now. Nobody would. He's as meek as +Moses, and has been ever since his two young sons +were laid in his reluctant, trembling arms. He +breaks into a cold sweat at nothing, and moves +about his own home as if he were a stranger and +an interloper, endured merely on sufferance in +this abode of strange women and strange babies.'' + +``Nonsense!'' scoffed Aunt Hannah. + +``But it's so,'' maintained Billy, merrily. +``Now, for instance. You know Cyril always +has been in the habit of venting his moods on the +piano (just as I do, only more so) by playing +exactly as he feels. Well, as near as I can gather, +he was at his usual trick the next day after the +twins arrived; and you can imagine about what +sort of music it would be, after what he had been +through the preceding forty-eight hours. + +``Of course I don't know exactly what +happened, but Julia--Marie's second maid, you +know--tells the story. She's been with them +long enough to know something of the way the +whole household always turns on the pivot of +the master's whims; so she fully appreciated the +situation. She says she heard him begin to play, +and that she never heard such queer, creepy, +shivery music in her life; but that he hadn't been +playing five minutes before one of the nurses +came into the living-room where Julia was dusting, +and told her to tell whoever was playing to +stop that dreadful noise, as they wanted to take +the twins in there for their nap. + +`` `But I didn't do it, ma'am,' Julia says. `I +wa'n't lookin' for losin' my place, an' I let the +young woman do the job herself. An' she done +it, pert as you please. An' jest as I was seekin' +a hidin'-place for the explosion, if Mr. Henshaw +didn't come out lookin' a little wild, but as meek +as a lamb; an' when he sees me he asked wouldn't +I please get him a cup of coffee, good an' strong. +An' I got it.' + +``So you see,'' finished Billy, ``Cyril is +learning things--lots of things.'' + +``Oh, my grief and conscience! I should say +he was,'' half-shivered Aunt Hannah. ``_Cyril_ +looking meek as a lamb, indeed!'' + +Billy laughed merrily. + +``Well, it must be a new experience--for +Cyril. For a man whose daily existence for years +has been rubber-heeled and woolen-padded, and +whose family from boyhood has stood at attention +and saluted if he so much as looked at them, +it must be quite a change, as things are now. +However, it'll be different, of course, when Marie +is on her feet again.'' + +``Does she know at all how things are going?'' + +``Not very much, as yet, though I believe she +has begun to worry some. She confided to me +one day that she was glad, of course, that she +had two darling babies, instead of one; but +that she was afraid it might be hard, just at first, +to teach them both at once to be quiet; for +she was afraid that while she was teaching one, +the other would be sure to cry, or do something +noisy.'' + +``Do something noisy, indeed!'' ejaculated +Aunt Hannah. + +``As for the real state of affairs, Marie doesn't +dream that Cyril's sacred den is given over to +Teddy bears and baby blankets. All is, I hope +she'll be measurably strong before she does find +it out,'' laughed Billy, as she rose to go. + + + +CHAPTER XX + +ARKWRIGHT'S EYES ARE OPENED + + +William came back from his business trip the +eighth of July, and on the ninth Billy and Bertram +went to New York. Eliza's mother was so +well now that Eliza had taken up her old quarters +in the Strata, and the household affairs were +once more running like clockwork. Later in the +season William would go away for a month's +fishing trip, and the house would be closed. + +Mr. and Mrs. Bertram Henshaw were not +expected to return until the first of October; but +with Eliza to look after the comfort of William, +the mistress of the house did no worrying. Ever +since Pete's going, Eliza had said that she +preferred to be the only maid, with a charwoman to +come in for the heavier work; and to this arrangement +her mistress had willingly consented, for the +present. + +Marie and the babies were doing finely, and +Aunt Hannah's health, and affairs at the Annex, +were all that could be desired. As Billy, indeed, +saw it, there was only one flaw to mar her perfect +content on this holiday trip with Bertram, and +that was her disappointment over the very evident +disaster that had come to her cherished +matrimonial plans for Arkwright and Alice +Greggory. She could not forget Arkwright's face that +day at the Annex, when she had so foolishly called +his attention to Calderwell's devotion; and she +could not forget, either, Alice Greggory's very +obvious perturbation a little later, and her +suspiciously emphatic assertion that she had no +intention of marrying any one, certainly not +Arkwright. As Billy thought of all this now, she +could not but admit that it did look dark for +Arkwright--poor Arkwright, whom she, more +than any one else in the world, perhaps, had a +special reason for wishing to see happily married. + +There was, then, this one cloud on Billy's +horizon as the big boat that was to bear her across +the water steamed down the harbor that beautiful +July day. + +As it chanced, naturally, perhaps, not only was +Billy thinking of Arkwright that morning, but +Arkwright was thinking of Billy. + +Arkwright had thought frequently of Billy +during the last few days, particularly since that +afternoon meeting at the Annex when the four +had renewed their old good times together. Up +to that day Arkwright had been trying not to +think of Billy. He had been ``fighting his tiger +skin.'' Sternly he had been forcing himself to +meet her, to see her, to talk with her, to sing with +her, or to pass her by--all with the indifference +properly expected to be shown in association with +Mrs. Bertram Henshaw, another man's wife. He +had known, of course, that deep down in his heart +he loved her, always had loved her, and always +would love her. Hopelessly and drearily he +accepted this as a fact even while with all his might +fighting that tiger skin. So sure was he, indeed, +of this, so implicitly had he accepted it as an +unalterable certainty, that in time even his efforts +to fight it became almost mechanical and unconscious +in their stern round of forced indifference. + +Then came that day at the Annex--and the +discovery: the discovery which he had made +when Billy called his attention to Calderwell and +Alice Greggory across the room in the corner; +the discovery which had come with so blinding a +force, and which even now he was tempted to +question as to its reality; the discovery that not +Billy Neilson, nor Mrs. Bertram Henshaw, nor +even the tender ghost of a lost love held the +center of his heart--but Alice Greggory. + +The first intimation of all this had come with +his curious feeling of unreasoning hatred and +blind indignation toward Calderwell as, through +Billy's eyes, he had seen the two together. Then +had come the overwhelming longing to pick up +Alice Greggory and run off with her--somewhere, +anywhere, so that Calderwell could not follow. + +At once, however, he had pulled himself up +short with the mental cry of ``Absurd!'' What +was it to him if Calderwell did care for Alice +Greggory? Surely he himself was not in love +with the girl. He was in love with Billy; that +is-- + +It was all confusion then, in his mind, and he +was glad indeed when he could leave the house. +He wanted to be alone. He wanted to think. +He must, in some way, thrash out this astounding +thing that had come to him. + +Arkwright did not visit the Annex again for +some days. Until he was more nearly sure of +himself and of his feelings, he did not wish to see +Alice Greggory. It was then that he began to +think of Billy, deliberately, purposefully, for it +must be, of course, that he had made a mistake, +he told himself. It must be that he did, really, +still care for Billy--though of course he ought +not to. + +Arkwright made another discovery then. He +learned that, however deliberately he started in +to think of Billy, he ended every time in thinking +of Alice. He thought of how good she had been +to him, and of how faithful she had been in helping +him to fight his love for Billy. Just here he +decided, for a moment, that probably, after all, +his feeling of anger against Calderwell was merely +the fear of losing this helpful comradeship that +he so needed. Even with himself, however, Arkwright +could not keep up this farce long, and very +soon he admitted miserably that it was not the +comradeship of Alice Greggory that he wanted or +needed, but the love. + +He knew it now. No longer was there any use +in beating about the bush. He did love Alice +Greggory; but so curiously and unbelievably +stupid had he been that he had not found it out +until now. And now it was too late. Had not +even Billy called his attention to the fact of +Calderwell's devotion? Besides, had not he himself, +at the very first, told Calderwell that he +might have a clear field? + +Fool that he had been to let another thus lightly +step in and win from under his very nose what +might have been his if he had but known his own +mind before it was too late! + +But was it, after all, quite too late? He and +Alice were old friends. Away back in their young +days in their native town they had been, indeed, +almost sweethearts, in a boy-and-girl fashion. +It would not have taken much in those days, he +believed, to have made the relationship more +interesting. But changes had come. Alice had +left town, and for years they had drifted apart. +Then had come Billy, and Billy had found Alice, +thus bringing about the odd circumstance of their +renewing of acquaintanceship. Perhaps, at that +time, if he had not already thought he cared for +Billy, there would have been something more +than acquaintanceship. + +But he _had_ thought he cared for Billy all these +years; and now, at this late day, to wake up and +find that he cared for Alice! A pretty mess he +had made of things! Was he so inconstant then, +so fickle? Did he not know his own mind five +minutes at a time? What would Alice Greggory +think, even if he found the courage to tell her? +What could she think? What could anybody +think? + +Arkwright fairly ground his teeth in impotent +wrath--and he did not know whether he were +the most angry that he did not love Billy, or that +he had loved Billy, or that he loved somebody else +now. + +It was while he was in this unenviable frame of +mind that he went to see Alice. Not that he had +planned definitely to speak to her of his discovery, +nor yet that he had planned not to. He had, +indeed, planned nothing. For a man usually so +decided as to purpose and energetic as to action, +he was in a most unhappy state of uncertainty +and changeableness. One thing only was unmistakably +clear to him, and that was that he must +see Alice. + +For months, now, he had taken to Alice all his +hopes and griefs, perplexities and problems; and +never had he failed to find comfort in the shape +of sympathetic understanding and wise counsel. +To Alice, therefore, now he turned as a matter of +course, telling himself vaguely that, perhaps, +after he had seen Alice, he would feel better. + +Just how intimately this particular problem of +his concerned Alice herself, he did not stop to +realize. He did not, indeed, think of it at all from +Alice's standpoint--until he came face to face +with the girl in the living-room at the Annex. +Then, suddenly, he did. His manner became at +once, consequently, full of embarrassment and +quite devoid of its usual frank friendliness. + +As it happened, this was perhaps the most +unfortunate thing that could have occurred, so far +as it concerned the attitude of Alice Greggory, +for thereby innumerable tiny sparks of suspicion +that had been tormenting the girl for days were +instantly fanned into consuming flames of conviction. + +Alice had not been slow to note Arkwright's +prolonged absence from the Annex. Coming as +it did so soon after her most disconcerting talk +with Billy in regard to her own relations with +him, it had filled her with frightened questionings. + +If Billy had seen things to make her think of +linking their names together, perhaps Arkwright +himself had heard some such idea put forth +somewhere, and that was why he was staying +away--to show the world that there was no +foundation for such rumors. Perhaps he was +even doing it to show _her_ that-- + +Even in her thoughts Alice could scarcely +bring herself to finish the sentence. That Arkwright +should ever suspect for a moment that +she cared for him was intolerable. Painfully +conscious as she was that she did care for him, +it was easy to fear that others must be conscious +of it, too. Had she not already proof that Billy +suspected it? Why, then, might not it be quite +possible, even probable, that Arkwright suspected +it, also; and, because he did suspect it, had +decided that it would be just as well, perhaps, if +he did not call so often. + +In spite of Alice's angry insistence to herself +that, after all, this could not be the case-- +that the man _knew_ she understood he still loved +Billy--she could not help fearing, in the face +of Arkwright's unusual absence, that it might +yet be true. When, therefore, he finally did +appear, only to become at once obviously embarrassed +in her presence, her fears instantly became +convictions. It was true, then. The man +did believe she cared for him, and he had been +trying to teach her--to save her. + +To teach her! To save her, indeed! Very +well, he should see! And forthwith, from that +moment, Alice Greggory's chief reason for living +became to prove to Mr. M. J. Arkwright that +he needed not to teach her, to save her, nor yet +to sympathize with her. + +``How do you do?'' she greeted him, with a +particularly bright smile. ``I'm sure I _hope_ you +are well, such a beautiful day as this.'' + +``Oh, yes, I'm well, I suppose. Still, I have +felt better in my life,'' smiled Arkwright, with +some constraint. + +``Oh, I'm sorry,'' murmured the girl, striving +so hard to speak with impersonal unconcern that +she did not notice the inaptness of her reply. + +``Eh? Sorry I've felt better, are you?'' +retorted Arkwright, with nervous humor. Then, +because he was embarrassed, he said the one +thing he had meant not to say: ``Don't you think +I'm quite a stranger? It's been some time since +I've been here.'' + +Alice, smarting under the sting of what she +judged to be the only possible cause for his +embarrassment, leaped to this new opportunity to +show her lack of interest. + +``Oh, has it?'' she murmured carelessly. +``Well, I don't know but it has, now that I come +to think of it.'' + +Arkwright frowned gloomily. A week ago he +would have tossed back a laughingly aggrieved +remark as to her unflattering indifference to his +presence. Now he was in no mood for such +joking. It was too serious a matter with him. + +``You've been busy, no doubt, with--other +matters,'' he presumed forlornly, thinking of +Calderwell. + +``Yes, I have been busy,'' assented the girl. +``One is always happier, I think, to be busy. +Not that I meant that I needed the work to _be_ +happy,'' she added hastily, in a panic lest he +think she had a consuming sorrow to kill. + +``No, of course not,'' he murmured abstractedly, +rising to his feet and crossing the room to +the piano. Then, with an elaborate air of trying +to appear very natural, he asked jovially: +``Anything new to play to me?'' + +Alice arose at once. + +``Yes. I have a little nocturne that I was +playing to Mr. Calderwell last night.'' + +``Oh, to Calderwell!'' Arkwright had stiffened +perceptibly. + +``Yes. _He_ didn't like it. I'll play it to you +and see what you say,'' she smiled, seating herself +at the piano. + +``Well, if he had liked it, it's safe to say I +shouldn't,'' shrugged Arkwright. + +``Nonsense!'' laughed the girl, beginning to +appear more like her natural self. ``I should +think you were Mr. Cyril Henshaw! Mr. Calderwell +_is_ partial to ragtime, I'll admit. But there +are some good things he likes.'' + +``There are, indeed, _some_ good things he likes,'' +returned Arkwright, with grim emphasis, his +somber eyes fixed on what he believed to be the +one especial object of Calderwell's affections at +the moment. + +Alice, unaware both of the melancholy gaze +bent upon herself and of the cause thereof, +laughed again merrily. + +``Poor Mr. Calderwell,'' she cried, as she let her +fingers slide into soft, introductory chords. ``He +isn't to blame for not liking what he calls our lost +spirits that wail. It's just the way he's made.'' + +Arkwright vouchsafed no reply. With an +abrupt gesture he turned and began to pace the +room moodily. At the piano Alice slipped from +the chords into the nocturne. She played it +straight through, then, with a charm and skill +that brought Arkwright's feet to a pause before +it was half finished. + +``By George, that's great!'' he breathed, when +the last tone had quivered into silence. + +``Yes, isn't it--beautiful?'' she murmured. + +The room was very quiet, and in semi-darkness. +The last rays of a late June sunset had been filling +the room with golden light, but it was gone now. +Even at the piano by the window, Alice had barely +been able to see clearly enough to read the notes +of her nocturne. + +To Arkwright the air still trembled with the +exquisite melody that had but just left her fingers. +A quick fire came to his eyes. He forgot everything +but that it was Alice there in the half-light +by the window--Alice, whom he loved. With a +low cry he took a swift step toward her. + +``Alice!'' + +Instantly the girl was on her feet. But it was +not toward him that she turned. It was away-- +resolutely, and with a haste that was strangely +like terror. + +Alice, too, had forgotten, for just a moment. +She had let herself drift into a dream world where +there was nothing but the music she was playing +and the man she loved. Then the music had +stopped, and the man had spoken her name. + +Alice remembered then. She remembered Billy, +whom this man loved. She remembered the long +days just passed when this man had stayed away, +presumably to teach _her_--to save _her_. And +now, at the sound of his voice speaking her name, +she had almost bared her heart to him. + +No wonder that Alice, with a haste that looked +like terror, crossed the floor and flooded the room +with light. + +``Dear me!'' she shivered, carefully avoiding +Arkwright's eyes. ``If Mr. Calderwell were here +now he'd have some excuse to talk about our lost +spirits that wail. That _is_ a creepy piece of music +when you play it in the dark!'' And, for fear +that he should suspect how her heart was aching, +she gave a particularly brilliant and joyous smile. + +Once again at the mention of Calderwell's name +Arkwright stiffened perceptibly. The fire left +his eyes. For a moment he did not speak; then, +gravely, he said: + +``Calderwell? Yes, perhaps he would; and-- +you ought to be a judge, I should think. You see +him quite frequently, don't you?'' + +``Why, yes, of course. He often comes out +here, you know.'' + +``Yes; I had heard that he did--since _you_ +came.'' + +His meaning was unmistakable. Alice looked +up quickly. A prompt denial of his implication +was on her lips when the thought came to her +that perhaps just here lay a sure way to prove to +this man before her that there was, indeed, no +need for him to teach her, to save her, or yet to +sympathize with her. She could not affirm, of +course; but she need not deny--yet. + +``Nonsense!'' she laughed lightly, pleased that +she could feel what she hoped would pass for a +telltale color burning her cheeks. ``Come, let +us try some duets,'' she proposed, leading the +way to the piano. And Arkwright, interpreting +the apparently embarrassed change of subject +exactly as she had hoped that he would interpret +it, followed her, sick at heart. + +`` `O wert thou in the cauld blast,' '' sang +Arkwright's lips a few moments later. + +``I can't tell her now--when I _know_ she cares +for Calderwell,'' gloomily ran his thoughts, the +while. ``It would do no possible good, and would +only make her unhappy to grieve me.'' + +`` `O wert thou in the cauld blast,' '' chimed +in Alice's alto, low and sweet. + +``I reckon now he won't be staying away from +here any more just to _save_ me!'' ran Alice's +thoughts, palpitatingly triumphant. + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +BILLY TAKES HER TURN AT QUESTIONING + + +Arkwright did not call to see Alice Greggory +for some days. He did not want to see Alice now. +He told himself wearily that she could not help +him fight this tiger skin that lay across his path, +The very fact of her presence by his side would, +indeed, incapacitate himself for fighting. So he +deliberately stayed away from the Annex until +the day before he sailed for Germany. Then he +went out to say good-by. + +Chagrined as he was at what he termed his +imbecile stupidity in not knowing his own heart all +these past months, and convinced, as he also was, +that Alice and Calderwell cared for each other, +he could see no way for him but to play the part +of a man of kindliness and honor, leaving a clear +field for his preferred rival, and bringing no +shadow of regret to mar the happiness of the girl +he loved. + +As for being his old easy, frank self on this last +call, however, that was impossible; so Alice found +plenty of fuel for her still burning fires of +suspicion--fires which had, indeed, blazed up anew +at this second long period of absence on the part +of Arkwright. Naturally, therefore, the call was +anything but a joy and comfort to either one. +Arkwright was nervous, gloomy, and abnormally +gay by turns. Alice was nervous and abnormally +gay all the time. Then they said good-by and +Arkwright went away. He sailed the next day, +and Alice settled down to the summer of study +and hard work she had laid out for herself. + + +On the tenth of September Billy came home. +She was brown, plump-cheeked, and smiling. She +declared that she had had a perfectly beautiful +time, and that there couldn't be anything in the +world nicer than the trip she and Bertram had +taken--just they two together. In answer to +Aunt Hannah's solicitous inquiries, she asserted +that she was all well and rested now. But there +was a vaguely troubled questioning in her eyes +that Aunt Hannah did not quite like. Aunt +Hannah, however, said nothing even to Billy +herself about this. + +One of the first friends Billy saw after her return +was Hugh Calderwell. As it happened Bertram +was out when he came, so Billy had the first half- +hour of the call to herself. She was not sorry for +this, as it gave her a chance to question Calderwell +a little concerning Alice Greggory--something +she had long ago determined to do at the +first opportunity. + +``Now tell me everything--everything about +everybody,'' she began diplomatically, settling +herself comfortably for a good visit. + +``Thank you, I'm well, and have had a +passably agreeable summer, barring the heat, sundry +persistent mosquitoes, several grievous disappointments, +and a felon on my thumb,'' he began, with +shameless imperturbability. ``I have been to +Revere once, to the circus once, to Nantasket +three times, and to Keith's and the `movies' ten +times, perhaps--to be accurate. I have also-- +But perhaps there was some one else you desired +to inquire for,'' he broke off, turning upon +his hostess a bland but unsmiling countenance. + +``Oh, no, how could there be?'' twinkled Billy. +``Really, Hugh, I always knew you had a pretty +good opinion of yourself, but I didn't credit you +with thinking you were _everybody_. Go on. I'm +so interested!'' + +Hugh chuckled softly; but there was a plaintive +tone in his voice as he answered. + +``Thanks, no. I've rather lost my interest +now. Lack of appreciation always did discourage +me. We'll talk of something else, please. You +enjoyed your trip?'' + +``Very much. It just couldn't have been +nicer!'' + +``You were lucky. The heat here has been +something fierce!'' + +``What made you stay?'' + +``Reasons too numerous, and one too heart- +breaking, to mention. Besides, you forget,'' with +dignity. ``There is my profession. I have joined +the workers of the world now, you know.'' + +``Oh, fudge, Hugh!'' laughed Billy. ``You +know very well you're as likely as not to start +for the ends of the earth to-morrow morning!'' + +Hugh drew himself up. + +``I don't seem to succeed in making people +understand that I'm serious,'' he began aggrievedly. +``I--'' With an expressive flourish +of his hands he relaxed suddenly, and fell back +in his chair. A slow smile came to his lips. +``Well, Billy, I'll give up. You've hit it,'' he +confessed. ``I _have_ thought seriously of starting to- +morrow morning for _half-way_ to the ends of the +earth--Panama.'' + +``Hugh!'' + +``Well, I have. Even this call was to be a +good-by--if I went.'' + +``Oh, Hugh! But I really thought--in spite +of my teasing--that you had settled down, this +time.'' + +``Yes, so did I,'' sighed the man, a little soberly. +``But I guess it's no use, Billy. Oh, I'm coming +back, of course, and link arms again with their +worthy Highnesses, John Doe and Richard Roe; +but just now I've got a restless fit on me. I want +to see the wheels go 'round. Of course, if I had +my bread and butter and cigars to earn, 'twould +be different. But I haven't, and I know I haven't; +and I suspect that's where the trouble lies. If it +wasn't for those natal silver spoons of mine that +Bertram is always talking about, things might be +different. But the spoons are there, and always +have been; and I know they're all ready to dish +out mountains to climb and lakes to paddle in, +any time I've a mind to say the word. So--I +just say the word. That's all.'' + +``And you've said it now?'' + +``Yes, I think so; for a while.'' + +``And--those reasons that _have_ kept you here +all summer,'' ventured Billy, ``they aren't in-- +er--commission any longer?'' + +``No.'' + +Billy hesitated, regarding her companion +meditatively. Then, with the feeling that she had +followed a blind alley to its termination, she +retreated and made a fresh start. + +``Well, you haven't yet told me everything +about everybody, you know,'' she hinted +smilingly. ``You might begin that--I mean the +less important everybodies, of course, now that +I've heard about you.'' + +``Meaning--'' + +``Oh, Aunt Hannah, and the Greggorys, and +Cyril and Marie, and the twins, and Mr. Arkwright, +and all the rest.'' + +``But you've had letters, surely.'' + +``Yes, I've had letters from some of them, and +I've seen most of them since I came back. It's +just that I wanted to know _your_ viewpoint of +what's happened through the summer.'' + +``Very well. Aunt Hannah is as dear as ever, +wears just as many shawls, and still keeps her +clock striking twelve when it's half-past eleven. +Mrs. Greggory is just as sweet as ever--and a +little more frail, I fear,--bless her heart! Mr. +Arkwright is still abroad, as I presume you know. +I hear he is doing great stunts over there, and +will sing in Berlin and Paris this winter. I'm +thinking of going across from Panama later. If +I do I shall look him up. Mr. and Mrs. Cyril +are as well as could be expected when you realize +that they haven't yet settled on a pair of names +for the twins.'' + +``I know it--and the poor little things three +months old, too! I think it's a shame. You've +heard the reason, I suppose. Cyril declares that +naming babies is one of the most serious and +delicate operations in the world, and that, for his +part, he thinks people ought to select their own +names when they've arrived at years of discretion. +He wants to wait till the twins are eighteen, +and then make each of them a birthday present +of the name of their own choosing.'' + +``Well, if that isn't the limit!'' laughed +Calderwell. ``I'd heard some such thing before, but +I hadn't supposed it was really so.'' + +``Well, it is. He says he knows more tomboys +and enormous fat women named `Grace' and +`Lily,' and sweet little mouse-like ladies staggering +along under a sonorous `Jerusha Theodosia' +or `Zenobia Jane'; and that if he should name +the boys `Franz' and `Felix' after Schubert +and Mendelssohn as Marie wants to, they'd as +likely as not turn out to be men who hated the +sound of music and doted on stocks and dry +goods.'' + +``Humph!'' grunted Calderwell. ``I saw Cyril +last week, and he said he hadn't named the twins +yet, but he didn't tell me why. I offered him +two perfectly good names myself, but he didn't +seem interested.'' + +``What were they?'' + +``Eldad and Bildad.'' + +``Hugh!'' protested Billy. + +``Well, why not?'' bridled the man. ``I'm +sure those are new and unique, and really musical, +too--'way ahead of your Franz and Felix.'' + +``But those aren't really names!'' + +``Indeed they are.'' + +``Where did you get them?'' + +``Off our family tree, though they're Bible +names, Belle says. Perhaps you didn't know, but +Sister Belle has been making the dirt fly quite +lively of late around that family tree of ours, and +she wrote me some of her discoveries. It seems +two of the roots, or branches--say, are ancestors +roots, or branches?--were called Eldad and +Bildad. Now I thought those names were good +enough to pass along, but, as I said before, Cyril +wasn't interested.'' + +``I should say not,'' laughed Billy. ``But, +honestly, Hugh, it's really serious. Marie wants +them named _something_, but she doesn't say much +to Cyril. Marie wouldn't really breathe, you +know, if she thought Cyril disapproved of breathing. +And in this case Cyril does not hesitate to +declare that the boys shall name themselves.'' + +``What a situation!'' laughed Calderwell. + +``Isn't it? But, do you know, I can +sympathize with it, in a way, for I've always mourned +so over _my_ name. `Billy' was always such a +trial to me! Poor Uncle William wasn't the only +one that prepared guns and fishing rods to entertain +the expected boy. I don't know, though, +I'm afraid if I'd been allowed to select my name +I should have been a `Helen Clarabella' all my +days, for that was the name I gave all my dolls, +with `first,' `second,' `third,' and so on, added +to them for distinction. Evidently I thought that +`Helen Clarabella' was the most feminine +appellation possible, and the most foreign to the +despised `Billy.' So you see I can sympathize +with Cyril to a certain extent.'' + +``But they must call the little chaps _something_, +now,'' argued Hugh. + +Billy gave a sudden merry laugh. + +``They do,'' she gurgled, ``and that's the funniest +part of it. Oh, Cyril doesn't. He always calls +them impersonally `they' or `it.' He doesn't +see much of them anyway, now, I understand. +Marie was horrified when she realized how the +nurses had been using his den as a nursery annex +and she changed all that instanter, when she took +charge of things again. The twins stay in the +nursery now, I'm told. But about the names-- +the nurses, it seems, have got into the way of +calling them `Dot' and `Dimple.' One has a +dimple in his cheek, and the other is a little smaller +of the two. Marie is no end distressed, particularly +as she finds that she herself calls them that; +and she says the idea of boys being `Dot' and +`Dimple'!'' + +``I should say so,'' laughed Calderwell. ``Not +I regard that as worse than my `Eldad' and +`Bildad.' '' + +``I know it, and Alice says-- By the way, +you haven't mentioned Alice, but I suppose you +see her occasionally.'' + +Billy paused in evident expectation of a reply. +Billy was, in fact, quite pluming herself on the +adroit casualness with which she had introduced +the subject nearest her heart. + +Calderwell raised his eyebrows. + +``Oh, yes, I see her.'' + +``But you hadn't mentioned her.'' + +There was the briefest of pauses; then with a +half-quizzical dejection, there came the remark: + +``You seem to forget. I told you that I stayed +here this summer for reasons too numerous, and +one too heart-breaking, to mention. She was +the _one_.'' + +``You mean--'' + +``Yes. The usual thing. She turned me down. +Oh, I haven't asked her yet as many times as I +did you, but--'' + +``_Hugh!_'' + +Hugh tossed her a grim smile and went on +imperturbably. + +``I'm older now, of course, and know more, +perhaps. Besides, the finality of her remarks was +not to be mistaken.'' + +Billy, in spite of her sympathy for Calderwell, +was conscious of a throb of relief that at least one +stumbling-block was removed from Arkwright's +possible pathway to Alice's heart. + +``Did she give any special reason?'' hazarded +Billy, a shade too anxiously. + +``Oh, yes. She said she wasn't going to marry +anybody--only her music.'' + +``Nonsense!'' ejaculated Billy, falling back in +her chair a little. + +``Yes, I said that, too,'' gloomed the man; +``but it didn't do any good. You see, I had +known another girl who'd said the same thing +once.'' (He did not look up, but a vivid red +flamed suddenly into Billy's cheeks.) ``And she +--when the right one came--forgot all about +the music, and married the man. So I naturally +suspected that Alice would do the same thing. +In fact, I said so to her. I was bold enough to +even call the man by name--I hadn't been +jealous of Arkwright for nothing, you see--but +she denied it, and flew into such an indignant +allegation that there wasn't a word of truth in it, +that I had to sue for pardon before I got +anything like peace.'' + +``Oh-h!'' said Billy, in a disappointed voice, +falling quite back in her chair this time. + +``And so that's why I'm wanting especially +just now to see the wheels go 'round,'' smiled +Calderwell, a little wistfully. ``Oh, I shall get +over it, I suppose. It isn't the first time, I'll +own--but some day I take it there will be a last +time. Enough of this, however! You haven't +told me a thing about yourself. How about it? +When I come back, are you going to give me a +dinner cooked by your own fair hands? Going +to still play Bridget?'' + +Billy laughed and shook her head. + +``No; far from it. Eliza has come back, and +her cousin from Vermont is coming as second girl +to help her. But I _could_ cook a dinner for you if +I had to now, sir, and it wouldn't be potato-mush +and cold lamb,'' she bragged shamelessly, as there +sounded Bertram's peculiar ring, and the click of +his key in the lock. + + +It was the next afternoon that Billy called on +Marie. From Marie's, Billy went to the Annex, +which was very near Cyril's new house; and there, +in Aunt Hannah's room, she had what she told +Bertram afterwards was a perfectly lovely visit. + +Aunt Hannah, too, enjoyed the visit very much, +though yet there was one thing that disturbed +her--the vaguely troubled look in Billy's eyes, +which to-day was more apparent than ever. Not +until just before Billy went home did something +occur to give Aunt Hannah a possible clue as to +what was the meaning of it. That something +was a question from Billy. + +``Aunt Hannah, why don't I feel like Marie +did? why don't I feel like everybody does in +books and stories? Marie went around with such +a detached, heavenly, absorbed look in her eyes, +before the twins came to her home. But I don't. +I don't find anything like that in my face, when I +look in the glass. And I don't feel detached and +absorbed and heavenly. I'm happy, of course; +but I can't help thinking of the dear, dear times +Bertram and I have together, just we two, and I +can't seem to imagine it at all with a third person +around.'' + +``Billy! _Third person_, indeed!'' + +``There! I knew 'twould shock you,'' mourned +Billy. It shocks me. I _want_ to feel detached +and heavenly and absorbed.'' + +``But Billy, dear, think of it--calling your +own baby a third person!'' + +Billy sighed despairingly. + +``Yes, I know. And I suppose I might as well +own up to the rest of it too. I--I'm actually afraid +of babies, Aunt Hannah! Well, I am,'' she +reiterated, in answer to Aunt Hannah's gasp of +disapproval. ``I'm not used to them at all. I never +had any little brothers and sisters, and I don't +know how to treat babies. I--I'm always afraid +they'll break, or something. I'm just as afraid +of the twins as I can be. How Marie can handle +them, and toss them about as she does, I don't +see.'' + +``Toss them about, indeed!'' + +``Well, it looks that way to me,'' sighed Billy. +``Anyhow, I know I can never get to handle them +like that--and that's no way to feel! And I'm +ashamed of myself because I _can't_ be detached +and heavenly and absorbed,'' she added, rising +to go. ``Everybody always is, it seems, but just +me.'' + +``Fiddlededee, my dear!'' scoffed Aunt Hannah, +patting Billy's downcast face. ``Wait till a +year from now, and we'll see about that third- +person bugaboo you're worrying about. _I'm_ +not worrying now; so you'd better not!'' + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +A DOT AND A DIMPLE + + +On the day Cyril Henshaw's twins were six +months old, a momentous occurrence marked the +date with a flaming red letter of remembrance; +and it all began with a baby's smile. + +Cyril, in quest of his wife at about ten o'clock +that morning, and not finding her, pursued his +search even to the nursery--a room he very +seldom entered. Cyril did not like to go into the +nursery. He felt ill at ease, and as if he were +away from home--and Cyril was known to abhor +being away from home since he was married. +Now that Marie had taken over the reins of +government again, he had been obliged to see very +little of those strange women and babies. Not +but that he liked the babies, of course. They were +his sons, and he was proud of them. They should +have every advantage that college, special training, +and travel could give them. He quite +anticipated what they would be to him--when +they really knew anything. But, of course, _now_, +when they could do nothing but cry and wave +their absurd little fists, and wobble their heads +in so fearsome a manner, as if they simply did +not know the meaning of the word backbone-- +and, for that matter, of course they didn't-- +why, he could not be expected to be anything +but relieved when he had his den to himself again, +with a reasonable chance of finding his manuscript +as he had left it, and not cut up into a ridiculous +string of paper dolls holding hands, as he had +once found it, after a visit from a woman with a +small girl. + +Since Marie had been at the helm, however, +he had not been troubled in such a way. He had, +indeed, known almost his old customary peace +and freedom from interruption, with only an +occasional flitting across his path of the strange +women and babies--though he had realized, of +course, that they were in the house, especially in +the nursery. For that reason, therefore, he always +avoided the nursery when possible. But to-day +he wanted his wife, and his wife was not to be +found anywhere else in the house. So, reluctantly, +he turned his steps toward the nursery, and, with +a frown, knocked and pushed open the door. + +``Is Mrs. Henshaw here?'' he demanded, not +over gently. + +Absolute silence greeted his question. The man +saw then that there was no one in the room save +a baby sitting on a mat in the middle of the floor, +barricaded on all sides with pillows. + +With a deeper frown the man turned to go, when +a gleeful ``Ah--goo!'' halted his steps midway. +He wheeled sharply. + +``Er--eh?'' he queried, uncertainly eyeing +his small son on the floor. + +``Ah--goo!'' observed the infant (who had +been very lonesome), with greater emphasis; and +this time he sent into his father's eyes the most +bewitching of smiles. + +``Well, by George!'' murmured the man, +weakly, a dawning amazement driving the frown +from his face. + +``Spgggh--oo--wah!'' gurgled the boy, holding +out two tiny fists. + +A slow smile came to the man's face. + +``Well, I'll--be--darned,'' he muttered half- +shamefacedly, wholly delightedly. ``If the rascal +doesn't act as if he--knew me!'' + +``Ah--goo--spggghh!'' grinned the infant, +toothlessly, but entrancingly. + +With almost a stealthy touch Cyril closed the +door back of him, and advanced a little dubiously +toward his son. His countenance carried a mixture +of guilt, curiosity, and dogged determination +so ludicrous that it was a pity none but baby eyes +could see it. As if to meet more nearly on a level +this baffling new acquaintance, Cyril got to his +knees--somewhat stiffly, it must be confessed +--and faced his son. + +``Goo--eee--ooo--yah!'' crowed the baby +now, thrashing legs and arms about in a transport +of joy at the acquisition of this new playmate. + +``Well, well, young man, you--you don't say +so!'' stammered the growingly-proud father, +thrusting a plainly timid and unaccustomed finger +toward his offspring. ``So you do know me, +eh? Well, who am I?'' + +``Da--da!'' gurgled the boy, triumphantly +clutching the outstretched finger, and holding on +with a tenacity that brought a gleeful chuckle to +the lips of the man. + +``Jove! but aren't you the strong little beggar, +though! Needn't tell me you don't know a good +thing when you see it! So I'm `da-da,' am I?'' +he went on, unhesitatingly accepting as the pure +gold of knowledge the shameless imitation vocabulary +his son was foisting upon him. ``Well, I +expect I am, and--'' + +``Oh, Cyril!'' The door had opened, and +Marie was in the room. If she gave a start of +surprise at her husband's unaccustomed attitude, +she quickly controlled herself. ``Julia said you +wanted me. I must have been going down the +back stairs when you came up the front, and--'' + +``Please, Mrs. Henshaw, is it Dot you have in +here, or Dimple?'' asked a new voice, as the second +nurse entered by another door. + +Before Mrs. Henshaw could answer, Cyril, who +had got to his feet, turned sharply. + +``Is it--_who_?'' he demanded. + +``Oh! Oh, Mr. Henshaw,'' stammered the girl. +``I beg your pardon. I didn't know you were here. +It was only that I wanted to know which baby it +was. We thought we had Dot with us, until--'' + +``Dot! Dimple!'' exploded the man. ``Do +you mean to say you have given my _sons_ the +ridiculous names of `_Dot_' and `_Dimple_'?'' + +``Why, no--yes--well, that is--we had to +call them something,'' faltered the nurse, as with +a despairing glance at her mistress, she plunged +through the doorway. + +Cyril turned to his wife. + +``Marie, what is the meaning of this?'' he demanded. + +``Why, Cyril, dear, don't--don't get so +wrought up,'' she begged. It's only as Mary said, +we _had_ to call them something, and--'' + +``Wrought up, indeed!'' interrupted Cyril, +savagely. ``Who wouldn't be? `Dot' and `Dimple'! +Great Scott! One would think those boys +were a couple of kittens or puppies; that they +didn't know anything--didn't have any brains! +But they have--if the other is anything like this +one, at least,'' he declared, pointing to his son on +the floor, who, at this opportune moment joined +in the conversation to the extent of an appropriate +``Ah--goo--da--da!'' + +``There, hear that, will you?'' triumphed the +father. ``What did I tell you? That's the way +he's been going on ever since I came into the +room; The little rascal knows me--so soon!'' + +Marie clapped her fingers to her lips and turned +her back suddenly, with a spasmodic little cough; +but her husband, if he noticed the interruption, +paid no heed. + +``Dot and Dimple, indeed!'' he went on +wrathfully. ``That settles it. We'll name those boys +to-day, Marie, _to-day!_ Not once again will I let +the sun go down on a Dot and a Dimple under +my roof.'' + +Marie turned with a quick little cry of happiness. + +``Oh, Cyril, I'm so glad! I've so wanted to +have them named, you know! And shall we call +them Franz and Felix, as we'd talked?'' + +``Franz, Felix, John, James, Paul, Charles-- +anything, so it's sane and sensible! I'd even +adopt Calderwell's absurd Bildad and--er-- +Tomdad, or whatever it was, rather than have +those poor little chaps insulted a day longer with +a `Dot' and a `Dimple.' Great Scott!'' And, +entirely forgetting what he had come to the +nursery for, Cyril strode from the room. + +``Ah--goo--spggggh!'' commented baby +from the middle of the floor. + + +It was on a very windy March day that Bertram +Henshaw's son, Bertram, Jr., arrived at +the Strata. Billy went so far into the Valley of +the Shadow of Death for her baby that it was +some days before she realized in all its importance +the presence of the new member of her +family. Even when the days had become weeks, +and Bertram, Jr., was a month and a half old, +the extreme lassitude and weariness of his young +mother was a source of ever-growing anxiety to +her family and friends. Billy was so unlike herself, +they all said. + +``If something could only rouse her,'' +suggested the Henshaw's old family physician one +day. ``A certain sort of mental shock--if not +too severe--would do the deed, I think, and +with no injury--only benefit. Her physical +condition is in just the state that needs a stimulus +to stir it into new life and vigor.'' + +As it happened, this was said on a certain +Monday. Two days later Bertram's sister Kate, on +her way with her husband to Mr. Hartwell's old +home in Vermont, stopped over in Boston for a +two days' visit. She made her headquarters at +Cyril's home, but very naturally she went, without +much delay, to pay her respects to Bertram, Jr. + +``Mr. Hartwell's brother isn't well,'' she +explained to Billy, after the greetings were over. +``You know he's the only one left there, since +Mother and Father Hartwell came West. We +shall go right on up to Vermont in a couple of +days, but we just had to stay over long enough +to see the baby; and we hadn't ever seen the +twins, either, you know. By the way, how perfectly +ridiculous Cyril is over those boys!'' + +``Is he?'' smiled Billy, faintly. + +``Yes. One would think there were never any +babies born before, to hear him talk. He thinks +they're the most wonderful things in the world-- +and they are cunning little fellows, I'll admit. +But Cyril thinks they _know_ so much,'' went on +Kate, laughingly. ``He's always bragging of +something one or the other of them has done. +Think of it--_Cyril!_ Marie says it all started +from the time last January when he discovered +the nurses had been calling them Dot and Dimple.'' + +``Yes, I know,'' smiled Billy again, faintly, +lifting a thin, white, very un-Billy-like hand to +her head. + +Kate frowned, and regarded her sister-in-law +thoughtfully. + +``Mercy! how you look, Billy!'' she exclaimed, +with cheerful tactlessness. ``They said you did, +but, I declare, you look worse than I thought.'' + +Billy's pale face reddened perceptibly. + +``Nonsense! It's just that I'm so--so tired,'' +she insisted. ``I shall be all right soon. How +did you leave the children?'' + +``Well, and happy--'specially little Kate, +because mother was going away. Kate is mistress, +you know, when I'm gone, and she takes +herself very seriously.'' + +``Mistress! A little thing like her! Why, she +can't be more than ten or eleven,'' murmured +Billy. + +``She isn't. She was ten last month. But +you'd think she was forty, the airs she gives +herself, sometimes. Oh, of course there's Nora, and +the cook, and Miss Winton, the governess, there +to really manage things, and Mother Hartwell +is just around the corner; but little Kate _thinks_ +she's managing, so she's happy.'' + +Billy suppressed a smile. Billy was thinking +that little Kate came naturally by at least one +of her traits. + +``Really, that child is impossible, sometimes,'' +resumed Mrs. Hartwell, with a sigh. ``You +know the absurd things she was always saying +two or three years ago, when we came on to +Cyril's wedding.'' + +``Yes, I remember.'' + +``Well, I thought she would get over it. But +she doesn't. She's worse, if anything; and sometimes +her insight, or intuition, or whatever you +may call it, is positively uncanny. I never know +what she's going to remark next, when I take her +anywhere; but it's safe to say, whatever it is, it'll +be unexpected and _usually_ embarrassing to somebody. +And--is that the baby?'' broke off Mrs. +Hartwell, as a cooing laugh and a woman's voice +came from the next room. + +``Yes. The nurse has just brought him in, I +think,'' said Billy. + +``Then I'll go right now and see him,'' +rejoined Kate, rising to her feet and hurrying into +the next room. + +Left alone, Billy lay back wearily in her +reclining-chair. She wondered why Kate always +tired her so. She wished she had had on her blue +kimono, then perhaps Kate would not have +thought she looked so badly. Blue was always +more becoming to her than-- + +Billy turned her head suddenly. From the +next room had come Kate's clear-cut, decisive +voice. + +``Oh, no, I don't think he looks a bit like his +father. That little snubby nose was never the +Henshaw nose.'' + +Billy drew in her breath sharply, and pulled +herself half erect in her chair. From the next +room came Kate's voice again, after a low murmur +from the nurse. + +``Oh, but he isn't, I tell you. He isn't one bit +of a Henshaw baby! The Henshaw babies are +always _pretty_ ones. They have more hair, and +they look--well, different.'' + +Billy gave a low cry, and struggled to her feet. + +``Oh, no,'' spoke up Kate, in answer to +another indistinct something from the nurse. ``I +don't think he's near as pretty as the twins. Of +course the twins are a good deal older, but they +have such a _bright_ look,--and they did have, +from the very first. I saw it in their tiniest baby +pictures. But this baby--'' + +``_This_ baby is _mine_, please,'' cut in a +tremulous, but resolute voice; and Mrs. Hartwell +turned to confront Bertram, Jr.'s mother, +manifestly weak and trembling, but no less +manifestly blazing-eyed and determined. + +``Why, Billy!'' expostulated Mrs. Hartwell, +as Billy stumbled forward and snatched the child +into her arms. + +``Perhaps he doesn't look like the Henshaw +babies. Perhaps he isn't as pretty as the twins. +Perhaps he hasn't much hair, and does have a +snub nose. He's my baby just the same, and I +shall not stay calmly by and see him abused! +Besides, _I_ think he's prettier than the twins ever +thought of being; and he's got all the hair I want +him to have, and his nose is just exactly what a +baby's nose ought to be!'' And, with a superb +gesture, Billy turned and bore the baby away. + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +BILLY AND THE ENORMOUS RESPONSIBILITY + + +When the doctor heard from the nurse of Mrs. +Hartwell's visit and what had come of it, he only +gave a discreet smile, as befitted himself and the +occasion; but to his wife privately, that night, +the doctor said, when he had finished telling the +story: + +``And I couldn't have prescribed a better pill +if I'd tried!'' + +``_Pill_--Mrs. Hartwell! Oh, Harold,'' reproved +the doctor's wife, mildly. + +But the doctor only chuckled the more, and +said: + +``You wait and see.'' + +If Billy's friends were worried before because +of her lassitude and lack of ambition, they were +almost as worried now over her amazing alertness +and insistent activity. Day by day, almost hour +by hour, she seemed to gain in strength; and every +bit she acquired she promptly tested almost to +the breaking point, so plainly eager was she to +be well and strong. And always, from morning +until night, and again from night until morning, +the pivot of her existence, around which swung +all thoughts, words, actions, and plans, was the +sturdy little plump-cheeked, firm-fleshed atom +of humanity known as Bertram, Jr. Even Aunt +Hannah remonstrated with her at last. + +``But, Billy, dear,'' she exclaimed, ``one would +almost get the idea that you thought there wasn't +a thing in the world but that baby!'' + +Billy laughed. + +``Well, do you know, sometimes I 'most think +there isn't,'' she retorted unblushingly. + +``Billy!'' protested Aunt Hannah; then, a +little severely, she demanded: ``And who was it +that just last September was calling this same +only-object-in-the-world a third person in your +home?'' + +``Third person, indeed! Aunt Hannah, did I? +Did I really say such a dreadful thing as that? +But I didn't know, then, of course. I couldn't +know how perfectly wonderful a baby is, especially +such a baby as Bertram, Jr., is. Why, Aunt Hannah, +that little thing knows a whole lot already. +He's known me for weeks; I know he has. And +ages and ages ago he began to give me little smiles +when he saw me. They were smiles--real smiles! +Oh, yes, I know nurse said they weren't smiles at +the first,'' admitted Billy, in answer to Aunt +Hannah's doubting expression. ``I know nurse said +it was only wind on his stomach. Think of it-- +wind on his stomach! Just as if I didn't know the +difference between my own baby's smile and wind +on his stomach! And you don't know how soon +he began to follow my moving finger with his +eyes!'' + +``Yes, I tried that one day, I remember,'' +observed Aunt Hannah demurely. ``I moved my +finger. He looked at the ceiling--_fixedly_.'' + +``Well, probably he _wanted_ to look at the +ceiling, then,'' defended the young mother, promptly. +``I'm sure I wouldn't give a snap for a baby if he +didn't sometimes have a mind of his own, and +exercise it!'' + +``Oh, Billy, Billy,'' laughed Aunt Hannah, +with a shake of her head as Billy turned away, +chin uptilted. + +By the time Bertram, Jr., was three months +old, Billy was unmistakably her old happy, merry +self, strong and well. Affairs at the Strata once +more were moving as by clockwork--only this +time it was a baby's hand that set the clock, and +that wound it, too. + +Billy told her husband very earnestly that now +they had entered upon a period of Enormous +Responsibility. The Life, Character, and Destiny +of a Human Soul was intrusted to their care, and +they must be Wise, Faithful, and Efficient. They +must be at once Proud and Humble at this +their Great Opportunity. They must Observe, +Learn, and Practice. First and foremost in their +eyes must always be this wonderful Important +Trust. + +Bertram laughed at first very heartily at Billy's +instructions, which, he declared, were so bristling +with capitals that he could fairly see them drop +from her lips. Then, when he found how really +very much in earnest she was, and how hurt she +was at his levity, he managed to pull his face into +something like sobriety while she talked to him, +though he did persist in dropping kisses on her +cheeks, her chin, her finger-tips, her hair, and the +little pink lobes of her ears--``just by way of +punctuation'' to her sentences, he said. And he +told her that he wasn't really slighting her lips, +only that they moved so fast he could not catch +them. Whereat Billy pouted, and told him severely +that he was a bad, naughty boy, and that +he did not deserve to be the father of the dearest, +most wonderful baby in the world. + +``No, I know I don't,'' beamed Bertram, with +cheerful unrepentance; ``but I am, just the same,'' +he finished triumphantly. And this time he contrived +to find his wife's lips. + +``Oh, Bertram,'' sighed Billy, despairingly. + +``You're an old dear, of course, and one just +can't be cross with you; but you don't, you just +_don't_ realize your Immense Responsibility.'' + +``Oh, yes, I do,'' maintained Bertram so +seriously that even Billy herself almost believed +him. + +In spite of his assertions, however, it must be +confessed that Bertram was much more inclined +to regard the new member of his family as just +his son rather than as an Important Trust; and +there is little doubt that he liked to toss him in +the air and hear his gleeful crows of delight, +without any bother of Observing him at all. As +to the Life and Character and Destiny intrusted +to his care, it is to be feared that Bertram just +plain gloried in his son, poked him in the ribs, +and chuckled him under the chin whenever he +pleased, and gave never so much as a thought to +Character and Destiny. It is to be feared, too, +that he was Proud without being Humble, and +that the only Opportunity he really appreciated +was the chance to show off his wife and baby to +some less fortunate fellow-man. + +But not so Billy. Billy joined a Mothers' Club +and entered a class in Child Training with an +elaborate system of Charts, Rules, and Tests. +She subscribed to each new ``Mothers' Helper,'' +and the like, that she came across, devouring each +and every one with an eagerness that was +tempered only by a vague uneasiness at finding so +many differences of opinion among Those Who +Knew. + +Undeniably Billy, if not Bertram, was indeed +realizing the Enormous Responsibility, and was +keeping ever before her the Important Trust. + +In June Bertram took a cottage at the South +Shore, and by the time the really hot weather arrived +the family were well settled. It was only +an hour away from Boston, and easy of access, +but William said he guessed he would not go; he +would stay in Boston, sleeping at the house, and +getting his meals at the club, until the middle of +July, when he was going down in Maine for his +usual fishing trip, which he had planned to take +a little earlier than usual this year. + +``But you'll be so lonesome, Uncle William,'' +Billy demurred, ``in this great house all alone!'' + +``Oh, no, I sha'n't,'' rejoined Uncle William. +``I shall only be sleeping here, you know,'' he +finished. with a slightly peculiar smile. + +It was well, perhaps, that Billy did not exactly +realize the significance of that smile, nor the +unconscious emphasis on the word ``sleeping,'' for +it would have troubled her not a little. + +William, to tell the truth, was quite anticipating +that sleeping. William's nights had not been +exactly restful since the baby came. His evenings, +too, had not been the peaceful things they +were wont to be. + +Some of Billy's Rules and Tests were strenuously +objected to on the part of her small son, +and the young man did not hesitate to show it. +Billy said that it was good for the baby to cry, +that it developed his lungs; but William was very +sure that it was not good for _him_. Certainly, +when the baby did cry, William never could help +hovering near the center of disturbance, and he +always _had_ to remind Billy that it might be a pin, +you know, or some cruel thing that was hurting. +As if he, William, a great strong man, could sit +calmly by and smoke a pipe, or lie in his comfortable +bed and sleep, while that blessed little baby +was crying his heart out like that! Of course, if +one did not _know_ he was crying-- Hence William's +anticipation of those quiet, restful nights +when he could not know it. + +Very soon after Billy's arrival at the cottage, +Aunt Hannah and Alice Greggory came down for +a day's visit. Aunt Hannah had been away from +Boston for several weeks, so it was some time +since she had seen the baby. + +``My, but hasn't he grown!'' she exclaimed, +picking the baby up and stooping to give him a +snuggling kiss. The next instant she almost +dropped the little fellow, so startling had been +Billy's cry. + +``No, no, wait, Aunt Hannah, please,'' Billy +was entreating, hurrying to the little corner +cupboard. In a moment she was back with a small +bottle and a bit of antiseptic cotton. ``We +always sterilize our lips now before we kiss him-- +it's so much safer, you know.'' + +Aunt Hannah sat down limply, the baby still +in her arms. + +``Fiddlededee, Billy! What an absurd idea! +What have you got in that bottle?'' + +``Why, Aunt Hannah, it's just a little simple +listerine,'' bridled Billy, ``and it isn't absurd at +all. It's very sensible. My `Hygienic Guide for +Mothers' says--'' + +``Well, I suppose I may kiss his hand,'' interposed +Aunt Hannah, just a little curtly, ``without +subjecting myself to a City Hospital treatment!'' + +Billy laughed shamefacedly, but she still held +her ground. + +``No, you can't--nor even his foot. He might +get them in his mouth. Aunt Hannah, why does +a baby think that everything, from his own toes +to his father's watch fob and the plush balls on a +caller's wrist-bag, is made to eat? As if I could +sterilize everything, and keep him from getting +hold of germs somewhere!'' + +``You'll have to have a germ-proof room for +him,'' laughed Alice Greggory, playfully snapping +her fingers at the baby in Aunt Hannah's +lap. + +Billy turned eagerly. + +``Oh, did you read about that, too?'' she +cried. ``I thought it was _so_ interesting, and I +wondered if I could do it.'' + +Alice stared frankly. + +``You don't mean to say they actually _have_ +such things,'' she challenged. + +``Well, I read about them in a magazine,'' +asserted Billy, ``--how you could have a germ- +proof room. They said it was very simple, too. +Just pasteurize the air, you know, by heating it +to one hundred and ten and one-half degrees +Fahrenheit for seventeen and one-half minutes. I +remember just the figures.'' + +``Simple, indeed! It sounds so,'' scoffed Aunt +Hannah, with uplifted eyebrows. + +``Oh, well, I couldn't do it, of course,'' admitted +Billy, regretfully. ``Bertram never'd stand for +that in the world. He's always rushing in to show +the baby off to every Tom, Dick and Harry and +his wife that comes; and of course if you opened +the nursery door, that would let in those germ +things, and you _couldn't_ very well pasteurize your +callers by heating them to one hundred and ten +and one-half degrees for seventeen and one-half +minutes! I don't see how you could manage such +a room, anyway, unless you had a system of-- +of rooms like locks, same as they do for water in +canals.'' + +``Oh, my grief and conscience--locks, +indeed!'' almost groaned Aunt Hannah. ``Here, +Alice, will you please take this child--that is, if +you have a germ-proof certificate about you to +show to his mother. I want to take off my bonnet +and gloves.'' + +``Take him? Of course I'll take him,'' laughed +Alice; ``and right under his mother's nose, too,'' +she added, with a playful grimace at Billy. ``And +we'll make pat-a-cakes, and send the little pigs +to market, and have such a beautiful time that +we'll forget there ever was such a thing in the +world as an old germ. Eh, babykins?'' + +``Babykins'' cooed his unqualified approval +of this plan; but his mother looked troubled. + +``That's all right, Alice. You may play with +him,'' she frowned doubtfully; ``but you mustn't +do it long, you know--not over five minutes.'' + +``Five minutes! Well, I like that, when I've +come all the way from Boston purposely to see +him,'' pouted Alice. ``What's the matter now? +Time for his nap?'' + +``Oh, no, not for--thirteen minutes,'' replied +Billy, consulting the watch at her belt. ``But +we never play with Baby more than five minutes +at a time. My `Scientific Care of Infants' says +it isn't wise; that with some babies it's positively +dangerous, until after they're six months old. It +makes them nervous, and forces their mind, you +know,'' she explained anxiously. ``So of course +we'd want to be careful. Bertram, Jr., isn't quite +four, yet.'' + +``Why, yes, of course,'' murmured Alice, +politely, stopping a pat-a-cake before it was half +baked. + +The infant, as if suspecting that he was being +deprived of his lawful baby rights, began to fret +and whimper. + +``Poor itty sing,'' crooned Aunt Hannah, who, +having divested herself of bonnet and gloves, +came hurriedly forward with outstretched hands. +``Do they just 'buse 'em? Come here to your old +auntie, sweetems, and we'll go walkee. I saw a +bow-wow--such a tunnin' ickey wickey bow- +wow on the steps when I came in. Come, we go +see ickey wickey bow-wow?'' + +``Aunt Hannah, _please!_'' protested Billy, both +hands upraised in horror. ``_Won't_ you say `dog,' +and leave out that dreadful `ickey wickey'? +Of course he can't understand things now, really, +but we never know when he'll begin to, and we +aren't ever going to let him hear baby-talk at all, +if we can help it. And truly, when you come to +think of it, it is absurd to expect a child to talk +sensibly and rationally on the mental diet of +`moo-moos' and `choo-choos' served out to +them. Our Professor of Metaphysics and Ideology +in our Child Study Course says that nothing +is so receptive and plastic as the Mind of a Little +Child, and that it is perfectly appalling how we +fill it with trivial absurdities that haven't even +the virtue of being accurate. So that's why we're +trying to be so careful with Baby. You didn't +mind my speaking, I know, Aunt Hannah.'' + +``Oh, no, of course not, Billy,'' retorted Aunt +Hannah, a little tartly, and with a touch of sarcasm +most unlike her gentle self. ``I'm sure I +shouldn't wish to fill this infant's plastic mind +with anything so appalling as trivial inaccuracies. +May I be pardoned for suggesting, however,'' +she went on as the baby's whimper threatened to +become a lusty wail, ``that this young gentleman +cries as if he were sleepy and hungry?'' + +``Yes, he is,'' admitted Billy. + +``Well, doesn't your system of scientific training +allow him to be given such trivial absurdities +as food and naps?'' inquired the lady, mildly. + +``Of course it does, Aunt Hannah,'' retorted +Billy, laughing in spite of herself. ``And it's +almost time now. There are only a few more +minutes to wait.'' + +``Few more minutes to wait, indeed!'' scorned +Aunt Hannah. ``I suppose the poor little fellow +might cry and cry, and you wouldn't set that +clock ahead by a teeny weeny minute!'' + +``Certainly not,'' said the young mother, +decisively. ``My `Daily Guide for Mothers' says +that a time for everything and everything in its +time, is the very A B C and whole alphabet of +Right Training. He does everything by the clock, +and to the minute,'' declared Billy, proudly. + +Aunt Hannah sniffed, obviously skeptical and +rebellious. Alice Greggory laughed. + +``Aunt Hannah looks as if she'd like to bring +down her clock that strikes half an hour ahead,'' +she said mischievously; but Aunt Hannah did not +deign to answer this. + +``How long do you rock him?'' she demanded +of Billy. ``I suppose I may do that, mayn't I?'' + +``Mercy, I don't rock him at all, Aunt +Hannah,'' exclaimed Billy. + +``Nor sing to him?'' + +``Certainly not.'' + +``But you did--before I went away. I +remember that you did.'' + +``Yes, I know I did,'' admitted Billy, ``and I +had an awful time, too. Some evenings, every +single one of us, even to Uncle William, had to +try before we could get him off to sleep. But that +was before I got my `Efficiency of Mother and +Child,' or my `Scientific Training,' and, oh, lots +of others. You see, I didn't know a thing then, +and I loved to rock him, so I did it--though the +nurse said it wasn't good for him; but I didn't +believe _her_. I've had an awful time changing; but +I've done it. I just put him in his little crib, or +his carriage, and after a while he goes to sleep. +Sometimes, now, he doesn't cry hardly any. I'm +afraid, to-day, though, he will,'' she worried. + +``Yes, I'm afraid he will,'' almost screamed +Aunt Hannah, in order to make herself heard +above Bertram, Jr., who, by this time, was voicing +his opinion of matters and things in no uncertain +manner. + +It was not, after all, so very long before peace +and order reigned; and, in due course, Bertram, +Jr., in his carriage, lay fast asleep. Then, while +Aunt Hannah went to Billy's room for a short +rest, Billy and Alice went out on to the wide +veranda which faced the wonderful expanse of sky +and sea. + +``Now tell me of yourself,'' commanded Billy, +almost at once. ``It's been ages since I've heard +or seen a thing of you.'' + +``There's nothing to tell.'' + +``Nonsense! But there must be,'' insisted +Billy. ``You know it's months since I've seen +anything of you, hardly.'' + +``I know. We feel quite neglected at the +Annex,'' said Alice. + +``But I don't go anywhere,'' defended Billy. +``I can't. There isn't time.'' + +``Even to bring us the extra happiness?'' +smiled Alice. + +A quick change came to Billy's face. Her eyes +glowed deeply. + +``No; though I've had so much that ought to +have gone--such loads and loads of extra happiness, +which I couldn't possibly use myself! +Sometimes I'm so happy, Alice, that--that I'm +just frightened. It doesn't seem as if anybody +ought to be so happy.'' + +``Oh, Billy, dear,'' demurred Alice, her eyes +filling suddenly with tears. + +``Well, I've got the Annex. I'm glad I've got +that for the overflow, anyway,'' resumed Billy, +trying to steady her voice. ``I've sent a whole +lot of happiness up there mentally, if I haven't +actually carried it; so I'm sure you must have +got it. Now tell me of yourself.'' + +``There's nothing to tell,'' insisted Alice, as +before. + +``You're working as hard as ever?'' + +``Yes--harder.'' + +``New pupils?'' + +``Yes, and some concert engagements--good +ones, for next season. Accompaniments, you +know.'' + +Billy nodded. + +``Yes; I've heard of you already twice, lately, +in that line, and very flatteringly, too.'' + +``Have you? Well, that's good.'' + +``Hm-m.'' There was a moment's silence, +then, abruptly, Billy changed the subject. ``I +had a letter from Belle Calderwell, yesterday.'' +She paused expectantly, but there was no comment. + +``You don't seem interested,'' she frowned, +after a minute. + +Alice laughed. + +``Pardon me, but--I don't know the Lady, +you see. Was it a good letter?'' + +``You know her brother.'' + +``Very true.'' Alice's cheeks showed a deeper +color. ``Did she say anything of him?'' + +``Yes. She said he was coming back to Boston +next winter.'' + +``Indeed!'' + +``Yes. She says that this time he declares he +really _is_ going to settle down to work,'' murmured +Billy, demurely, with a sidelong glance at her +companion. ``She says he's engaged to be married +--one of her friends over there.'' + +There was no reply. Alice appeared to be +absorbed in watching a tiny white sail far out at sea. + +Again Billy was silent. Then, with studied +carelessness, she said: + +``Yes, and you know Mr. Arkwright, too. She +told of him.'' + +``Yes? Well, what of him?'' Alice's voice +was studiedly indifferent. + +``Oh, there was quite a lot of him. Belle had +just been to hear him sing, and then her brother +had introduced him to her. She thinks he's perfectly +wonderful, in every way, I should judge. +In fact, she simply raved over him. It seems that +while we've been hearing nothing from him all +winter, he's been winning no end of laurels for +himself in Paris and Berlin. He's been studying, +too, of course, as well as singing; and now he's +got a chance to sing somewhere--create a r<o^>le, or +something--Belle said she wasn't quite clear on +the matter herself, but it was a perfectly splendid +chance, and one that was a fine feather in his cap.'' + +``Then he won't be coming home--that is, +to Boston--at all this winter, probably,'' said +Alice, with a cheerfulness that sounded just a +little forced. + +``Not until February. But he is coming then. +He's been engaged for six performances with the +Boston Opera Company--as a star tenor, mind +you! Isn't that splendid?'' + +``Indeed it is,'' murmured Alice. + +``Belle writes that Hugh says he's improved +wonderfully, and that even he can see that his +singing is marvelous. He says Paris is wild over +him; but--for my part, I wish he'd come home +and stay here where he belongs,'' finished Billy, +a bit petulantly. + +``Why, why, Billy!'' murmured her friend, a +curiously startled look coming into her eyes. + +``Well, I do,'' maintained Billy; then, +recklessly, she added: ``I had such beautiful plans +for him, once, Alice. Oh, if you only could have +cared for him, you'd have made such a splendid +couple!'' + +A vivid scarlet flew to Alice's face. + +``Nonsense!'' she cried, getting quickly to +her feet and bending over one of the flower boxes +along the veranda railing. ``Mr. Arkwright +never thought of marrying me--and I'm not +going to marry anybody but my music.'' + +Billy sighed despairingly. + +``I know that's what you say now; but if--'' +She stopped abruptly. Around the turn of the +veranda had appeared Aunt Hannah, wheeling +Bertram, Jr., still asleep in his carriage. + +``I came out the other door,'' she explained +softly. ``And it was so lovely I just had to go +in and get the baby. I thought it would be so +nice for him to finish his nap out here.'' + +Billy arose with a troubled frown. + +``But, Aunt Hannah, he mustn't--he can't +stay out here. I'm sorry, but we'll have to take +him back.'' + +Aunt Hannah's eyes grew mutinous. + +``But I thought the outdoor air was just the +thing for him. I'm sure your scientific hygienic +nonsense says _that!_'' + +``They do--they did--that is, some of them +do,'' acknowledged Billy, worriedly; ``but they +differ, so! And the one I'm going by now says +that Baby should always sleep in an _even_ +temperature--seventy degrees, if possible; and that's +exactly what the room in there was, when I left +him. It's not the same out here, I'm sure. In +fact I looked at the thermometer to see, just +before I came out myself. So, Aunt Hannah, I'm +afraid I'll have to take him back.'' + +``But you used to have him sleep out of doors +all the time, on that little balcony out of your +room,'' argued Aunt Hannah, still plainly unconvinced. + +``Yes, I know I did. I was following the other +man's rules, then. As I said, if only they wouldn't +differ so! Of course I want the best; but it's so +hard to always know the best, and--'' + +At this very inopportune moment Master Bertram +took occasion to wake up, which brought +even a deeper wrinkle of worry to his fond mother's +forehead; for she said that, according to the +clock, he should have been sleeping exactly ten +and one-half more minutes, and that of course he +couldn't commence the next thing until those ten +and one-half minutes were up, or else his entire +schedule for the day would be shattered. So what +she should do with him for those should-have- +been-sleeping ten minutes and a half, she did not +know. All of which drew from Aunt Hannah +the astounding exclamation of: + +``Oh, my grief and conscience, Billy, if you +aren't the--the limit!'' Which, indeed, she +must have been, to have brought circumspect +Aunt Hannah to the point of actually using slang. + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +A NIGHT OFF + + +The Henshaw family did not return to the +Strata until late in September. Billy said that +the sea air seemed to agree so well with the baby +it would be a pity to change until the weather +became really too cool at the shore to be comfortable. + +William came back from his fishing trip in +August, and resumed his old habit of sleeping at the +house and taking his meals at the club. To be +sure, for a week he went back and forth between +the city and the beach house; but it happened +to be a time when Bertram, Jr., was cutting a +tooth, and this so wore upon William's sympathy-- +William still could not help insisting +it _might_ be a pin--that he concluded peace lay +only in flight. So he went back to the Strata. + +Bertram had stayed at the cottage all summer, +painting industriously. Heretofore he had taken +more of a vacation through the summer months, +but this year there seemed to be nothing for him +to do but to paint. He did not like to go away +on a trip and leave Billy, and she declared she +could not take the baby nor leave him, and that +she did not need any trip, anyway. + +``All right, then, we'll just stay at the beach, +and have a fine vacation together,'' he had answered her. + +As Bertram saw it, however, he could detect +very little ``vacation'' to it. Billy had no time +for anything but the baby. When she was not +actually engaged in caring for it, she was studying +how to care for it. Never had she been +sweeter or dearer, and never had Bertram loved +her half so well. He was proud, too, of her +devotion, and of her triumphant success as a mother; +but he did wish that sometimes, just once in a +while, she would remember she was a wife, and +pay a little attention to him, her husband. + +Bertram was ashamed to own it, even to +himself, but he was feeling just a little abused that +summer; and he knew that, in his heart, he was +actually getting jealous of his own son, in spite +of his adoration of the little fellow. He told +himself defensively that it was not to be expected +that he should not want the love of his wife, the +attentions of his wife, and the companionship +of his wife--a part of the time. It was nothing +more than natural that occasionally he should like +to see her show some interest in subjects not +mentioned in Mothers' Guides and Scientific +Trainings of Infants; and he did not believe he +could be blamed for wanting his residence to be +a home for himself as well as a nursery for his +offspring. + +Even while he thus discontentedly argued with +himself, however, Bertram called himself a selfish +brute just to think such things when he had +so dear and loving a wife as Billy, and so fine and +splendid a baby as Bertram, Jr. He told himself, +too, that very likely when they were back in +their own house again, and when motherhood +was not so new to her, Billy would not be so +absorbed in the baby. She would return to her old +interest in her husband, her music, her friends, +and her own personal appearance. Meanwhile +there was always, of course, for him, his +painting. So he would paint, accepting gladly what +crumbs of attention fell from the baby's table, +and trust to the future to make Billy none the +less a mother, perhaps, but a little more the +wife. + +Just how confidently he was counting on this +coming change, Bertram hardly realized himself; +but certainly the family was scarcely settled at +the Strata before the husband gayly proposed +one evening that he and Billy should go to the +theater to see ``Romeo and Juliet.'' + +Billy was clearly both surprised and shocked. + +``Why, Bertram, I can't--you know I can't!'' +she exclaimed reprovingly. + +Bertram's heart sank; but he kept a brave +front. + +``Why not?'' + +``What a question! As if I'd leave Baby!'' + +``But, Billy, dear, you'd be gone less than three +hours, and you say Delia's the most careful of +nurses.'' + +Billy's forehead puckered into an anxious +frown. + +``I can't help it. Something might happen +to him, Bertram. I couldn't be happy a minute.'' + +``But, dearest, aren't you _ever_ going to leave +him?'' demanded the young husband, forlornly. + +``Why, yes, of course, when it's reasonable +and necessary. I went out to the Annex yesterday +afternoon. I was gone almost two whole +hours.'' + +``Well, did anything happen?'' + +``N-no; but then I telephoned, you see, +several times, so I _knew_ everything was all right.'' + +``Oh, well, if that's all you want, I could +telephone, you know, between every act,'' suggested +Bertram, with a sarcasm that was quite lost on +the earnest young mother. + +``Y-yes, you could do that, couldn't you?'' +conceded Billy; ``and, of course, I _haven't_ been +anywhere much, lately.'' + +``Indeed I could,'' agreed Bertram, with a +promptness that carefully hid his surprise at her +literal acceptance of what he had proposed as a +huge joke. ``Come, is it a go? Shall I telephone +to see if I can get seats?'' + +``You think Baby'll surely be all right?'' + +``I certainly do.'' + +``And you'll telephone home between every +act?'' + +``I will.'' Bertram's voice sounded almost as +if he were repeating the marriage service. + +``And we'll come straight home afterwards as +fast as John and Peggy can bring us?'' + +``Certainly.'' + +``Then I think--I'll--go,'' breathed Billy, +tremulously, plainly showing what a momentous +concession she thought she was making. ``I do +love `Romeo and Juliet,' and I haven't seen it +for ages!'' + +``Good! Then I'll find out about the tickets,'' +cried Bertram, so elated at the prospect of having +an old-time evening out with his wife that +even the half-hourly telephones did not seem too +great a price to pay. + +When the time came, they were a little late in +starting. Baby was fretful, and though Billy +usually laid him in his crib and unhesitatingly +left the room, insisting that he should go to sleep +by himself in accordance with the most approved +rules in her Scientific Training; yet to-night she +could not bring herself to the point of leaving the +house until he was quiet. Hurried as they were +when they did start, Billy was conscious of Bertram's +frowning disapproval of her frock. + +``You don't like it, of course, dear, and I don't +blame you,'' she smiled remorsefully. + +``Oh, I like it--that is, I did, when it was +new,'' rejoined her husband, with apologetic +frankness. ``But, dear, didn't you have anything +else? This looks almost--well, mussy, +you know.'' + +``No--well, yes, maybe there were others,'' +admitted Billy; ``but this was the quickest and +easiest to get into, and it all came just as I was +getting Baby ready for bed, you know. I am a +fright, though, I'll acknowledge, so far as clothes +go. I haven't had time to get a thing since Baby +came. I must get something right away, I suppose.'' + +``Yes, indeed,'' declared Bertram, with +emphasis, hurrying his wife into the waiting automobile. + +Billy had to apologize again at the theater, for +the curtain had already risen on the ancient quarrel +between the houses of Capulet and Montague, +and Billy knew her husband's special abhorrence +of tardy arrivals. Later, though, when well +established in their seats, Billy's mind was plainly +not with the players on the stage. + +``Do you suppose Baby _is_ all right?'' she +whispered, after a time. + +``Sh-h! Of course he is, dear!'' + +There was a brief silence, during which Billy +peered at her program in the semi-darkness. +Then she nudged her husband's arm ecstatically. + +``Bertram, I couldn't have chosen a better +play if I'd tried. There are _five_ acts! I'd forgotten +there were so many. That means you can +telephone four times!'' + +``Yes, dear.'' Bertram's voice was sternly +cheerful. + +``You must be sure they tell you exactly how +Baby is.'' + +``All right, dear. Sh-h! Here's Romeo.'' + +Billy subsided. She even clapped a little in +spasmodic enthusiasm. Presently she peered at +her program again. + +``There wouldn't be time, I suppose, to telephone +between the scenes,'' she hazarded wistfully. +``There are sixteen of those!'' + +``Well, hardly! Billy, you aren't paying one +bit of attention to the play!'' + +``Why, of course I am,'' whispered Billy, +indignantly. ``I think it's perfectly lovely, and +I'm perfectly contented, too--since I found out +about those five acts, and as long as I _can't_ have +the sixteen scenes,'' she added, settling back in +her seat. + +As if to prove that she was interested in the +play, her next whisper, some time later, had to +do with one of the characters on the stage. + +``Who's that--the nurse? Mercy! We +wouldn't want her for Baby, would we?'' + +In spite of himself Bertram chuckled this time. +Billy, too, laughed at herself. Then, resolutely, +she settled into her seat again. + +The curtain was not fairly down on the first +act before Billy had laid an urgent hand on her +husband's arm. + +``Now, remember; ask if he's waked up, or +anything,'' she directed. ``And be sure to say I'll +come right home if they need me. Now hurry.'' + +``Yes, dear.'' Bertram rose with alacrity. +``I'll be back right away.'' + +``Oh, but I don't want you to hurry _too_ much,'' +she called after him, softly. ``I want you to take +plenty of time to ask questions.'' + +``All right,'' nodded Bertram, with a quizzical +smile, as he turned away. + +Obediently Bertram asked all the question +she could think of, then came back to his wife. +There was nothing in his report that even Billy +could disapprove of, or worry about; and with +almost a contented look on her face she turned +toward the stage as the curtain went up on the +second act. + +``I love this balcony scene,'' she sighed happily. + +Romeo, however, had not half finished his +impassioned love-making when Billy clutched her +husband's arm almost fiercely. + +``Bertram,'' she fairly hissed in a tragic +whisper, ``I've just happened to think! Won't it be +awful when Baby falls in love? I know I shall +just hate that girl for taking him away from me!'' + +``Sh-h! _Billy!_'' expostulated her husband, +choking with half-stifled laughter. ``That woman +in front heard you, I know she did!'' + +``Well, I shall,'' sighed Billy, mournfully, +turning back to the stage. + + `` `Good night, good night! parting is such sweet sorrow, + That I shall say good night, till it be morrow,''' + +sighed Juliet passionately to her Romeo. + +``Mercy! I hope not,'' whispered Billy flippantly +in Bertram's ear. ``I'm sure I don't want +to stay here till to-morrow! I want to go home +and see Baby.'' + +``_Billy!_'' pleaded Bertram so despairingly, +that Billy, really conscience-smitten, sat back in +her seat and remained, for the rest of the act, +very quiet indeed. + +Deceived by her apparent tranquillity, Bertram +turned as the curtain went down. + +``Now, Billy, surely you don't think it'll be +necessary to telephone so soon as this again,'' he +ventured. + +Billy's countenance fell. + +``But, Bertram, you _said_ you would! Of course +if you aren't willing to--but I've been counting on +hearing all through this horrid long act, and--'' + +``Goodness me, Billy, I'll telephone every +minute for you, of course, if you want me to,'' +cried Bertram, springing to his feet, and trying +not to show his impatience. + +He was back more promptly this time. + +``Everything 0. K.,'' he smiled reassuringly +into Billy's anxious eyes. ``Delia said she'd just +been up, and the little chap was sound asleep.'' + +To the man's unbounded surprise, his wife +grew actually white. + +``Up! Up!'' she exclaimed. ``Do you mean +that Delia went down-stairs to _stay_, and left my +baby up there alone?'' + +``But, Billy, she said he was all right,'' +murmured Bertram, softly, casting uneasy sidelong +glances at his too interested neighbors. + +`` `All right'! Perhaps he was, _then_--but he +may not be, later. Delia should stay in the next +room all the time, where she could hear the least +thing.'' + +``Yes, dear, she will, I'm sure, if you tell her +to,'' soothed Bertram, quickly. ``It'll be all +right next time.'' + +Billy shook her head. She was obviously near +to crying. + +``But, Bertram, I can't stand it to sit here +enjoying myself all safe and comfortable, and know +that Baby is _alone_ up there in that great big room! +Please, _please_ won't you go and telephone Delia +to go up _now_ and stay there?'' + +Bertram, weary, sorely tried, and increasingly +aware of those annoyingly interested neighbors, +was on the point of saying a very decided no; but +a glance into Billy's pleading eyes settled it. +Without a word he went back to the telephone. + +The curtain was up when he slipped into his +seat, very red of face. In answer to Billy's hurried +whisper he shook his head; but in the short +pause between the first and second scenes he said, +in a low voice: + +``I'm sorry, Billy, but I couldn't get the house +at all.'' + +``Couldn't get them! But you'd just been +talking with them!'' + +``That's exactly it, probably. I had just +telephoned, so they weren't watching for the bell. +Anyhow, I couldn't get them.'' + +``Then you didn't get Delia at all!'' + +``Of course not.'' + +``And Baby is still--all alone!'' + +``But he's all right, dear. Delia's keeping +watch of him.'' + +For a moment there was silence; then, with +clear decisiveness carne Billy's voice. + +``Bertram, I am going home.'' + +``Billy!'' + +``I am.'' + +``Billy, for heaven's sake don't be a silly goose! +The play's half over already. We'll soon be going, +anyway.'' + +Billy's lips came together in a thin little +determined line. + +``Bertram, I am going home now, please,'' she +said. ``You needn't come with me; I can go +alone.'' + +Bertram said two words under his breath which +it was just as well, perhaps, that Billy--and the +neighbors--did not hear; then he gathered up +their wraps and, with Billy, stalked out of the +theater. + +At home everything was found to be absolutely +as it should be. Bertram, Jr., was peacefully +sleeping, and Delia, who had come up from +downstairs, was sewing in the next room. + +``There, you see,'' observed Bertram, a little +sourly. + +Billy drew a long, contented sigh. + +``Yes, I see; everything is all right. But that's +exactly what I wanted to do, Bertram, you know +--to _see for myself_,'' she finished happily. + +And Bertram, looking at her rapt face as she +hovered over the baby's crib, called himself a +brute and a beast to mind _anything_ that could +make Billy look like that. + + + +CHAPTER XXV + + +``SHOULD AULD ACQUAINTANCE BE FORGOT'' + + +Bertram did not ask Billy very soon again to +go to the theater. For some days, indeed, he did +not ask her to do anything. Then, one evening, +he did beg for some music. + +``Billy, you haven't played to me or sung to +me since I could remember,'' he complained. ``I +want some music.'' + +Billy gave a merry laugh and wriggled her +fingers experimentally. + +``Mercy, Bertram! I don't believe I could +play a note. You know I'm all out of practice.'' + +``But why _don't_ you practice?'' + +``Why, Bertram, I can't. In the first place I +don't seem to have any time except when Baby's +asleep; and I can't play then-I'd wake him +up.'' + +Bertram sighed irritably, rose to his feet, and +began to walk up and down the room. He came +to a pause at last, his eyes bent a trifle +disapprovingly on his wife. + +``Billy, dear, _don't_ you wear anything but +those wrapper things nowadays?'' he asked plaintively. + +Again Billy laughed. But this time a troubled +frown followed the laugh. + +``I know, Bertram, I suppose they do look +dowdy, sometimes,'' she confessed; ``but, you +see, I hate to wear a really good dress--Baby +rumples them up so; and I'm usually in a hurry +to get to him mornings, and these are so easy to +slip into, and so much more comfortable for me +to handle him in!'' + +``Yes, of course, of course; I see,'' mumbled +Bertram, listlessly taking up his walk again. + +Billy, after a moment's silence, began to talk +animatedly. Baby had done a wonderfully cunning +thing that morning, and Billy had not had +a chance yet to tell Bertram. Baby was growing +more and more cunning anyway, these days, +and there were several things she believed she +had not told him; so she told them now. + +Bertram listened politely, interestedly. He +told himself that he _was_ interested, too. Of +course he was interested in the doings of his own +child! But he still walked up and down the room +a little restlessly, coming to a halt at last by the +window, across which the shade had not been +drawn. + +``Billy,'' he cried suddenly, with his old +boyish eagerness, ``there's a glorious moon. Come +on! Let's take a little walk--a real fellow-and- +his-best-girl walk! Will you?'' + +``Mercy! dear, I couldn't,'' cried Billy +springing to her feet. ``I'd love to, though, if I could,'' +she added hastily, as she saw disappointment +cloud her husband's face. ``But I told Delia she +might go out. It isn't her regular evening, of +course, but I told her I didn't mind staying with +Baby a bit. So I'll have to go right up now. +She'll be going soon. But, dear, you go and take +your walk. It'll do you good. Then you can +come back and tell me all about it--only you +must come in quietly, so not to wake the baby,'' +she finished, giving her husband an affectionate +kiss, as she left the room. + +After a disconsolate five minutes of solitude, +Bertram got his hat and coat and went out for +his walk--but he told himself he did not expect +to enjoy it. + +Bertram Henshaw knew that the old rebellious +jealousy of the summer had him fast in its grip. +He was heartily ashamed of himself, but he could +not help it. He wanted Billy, and he wanted her +then. He wanted to talk to her. He wanted to +tell her about a new portrait commission he had +just obtained; and he wanted to ask her what she +thought of the idea of a brand-new ``Face of a +Girl'' for the Bohemian Ten Exhibition next +March. He wanted--but then, what would be +the use? She would listen, of course, but he +would know by the very looks of her face that +she would not be really thinking of what he was +saying; and he would be willing to wager his best +canvas that in the very first pause she would tell +about the baby's newest tooth or latest toy. Not +but that he liked to hear about the little fellow, +of course; and not but that he was proud as Punch +of him, too; but that he would like sometimes to +hear Billy talk of something else. The sweetest +melody in the world, if dinned into one's ears day +and night, became something to be fled from. + +And Billy ought to talk of something else, too! +Bertram, Jr., wonderful as he was, really was not +the only thing in the world, or even the only baby; +and other people--outsiders, their friends-- +had a right to expect that sometimes other +matters might be considered--their own, for +instance. But Billy seemed to have forgotten this. +No matter whether the subject of conversation +had to do with the latest novel or a trip to Europe, +under Billy's guidance it invariably led straight +to Baby's Jack-and-Jill book, or to a perambulator +journey in the Public Garden. If it had not +been so serious, it would have been really funny +the way all roads led straight to one goal. He +himself, when alone with Billy, had started the +most unusual and foreign subjects, sometimes, +just to see if there were not somewhere a little +bypath that did not bring up in his own nursery. +He never, however, found one. + +But it was not funny; it was serious. Was this +glorious gift on parenthood to which he had looked +forward as the crowning joy of his existence, to +be nothing but a tragedy that would finally wreck +his domestic happiness? It could not be. It +must not be. He must he patient, and wait. +Billy loved him. He was sure she did. By and +by this obsession of motherhood, which had her +so fast in its grasp, would relax. She would +remember that her husband had rights as well as +her child. Once again she would give him the +companionship, love, and sympathetic interest +so dear to him. Meanwhile there was his work. +He must bury himself in that. And fortunate, +indeed, he was, he told himself, that he had +something so absorbing. + +It was at this point in his meditations that +Bertram rounded a corner and came face to face +with a man who stopped him short with a +jovial: + +``Isn't it--by George, it is Bertie Henshaw! +Well, what do you think of that for luck?--and +me only two days home from `Gay Paree'!'' + +``Oh, Seaver! How are you? You _are_ a stranger!'' +Bertram's voice and handshake were a bit +more cordial than they would have been had he +not at the moment been feeling so abused and +forlorn. In the old days he had liked this Bob Seaver +well. Seaver was an artist like himself, and was +good company always. But Seaver and his crowd +were a little too Bohemian for William's taste; +and after Billy came, she, too, had objected to +what she called ``that horrid Seaver man.'' In +his heart, Bertram knew that there was good +foundation for their objections, so he had avoided +Seaver for a time; and for some years, now, the +man had been abroad, somewhat to Bertram's +relief. To-night, however, Seaver's genial smile +and hearty friendliness were like a sudden burst +of sunshine on a rainy day--and Bertram detested +rainy days. He was feeling now, too, as +if he had just had a whole week of them. + +``Yes, I am something of a stranger here,'' +nodded Seaver. ``But I tell you what, little old +Boston looks mighty good to me, all the same. +Come on! You're just the fellow we want. I'm +on my way now to the old stamping ground. +Come--right about face, old chap, and come with +me!'' + +Bertram shook his head. + +``Sorry--but I guess I can't, to-night,'' he +sighed. Both gesture and words were unhesitating, +but the voice carried the discontent of a +small boy, who, while the sun is still shining, has +been told to come into the house. + +``Oh, rats! Yes, you can, too. Come on! +Lots of the old crowd will be there--Griggs, +Beebe, Jack Jenkins, and Tully. We need you +to complete the show.'' + +``Jack Jenkins? Is he here?'' A new eagerness +had come into Bertram's voice. + +``Sure! He came on from New York last night. +Great boy, Jenkins! Just back from Paris fairly +covered with medals, you know.'' + +``Yes, so I hear. I haven't seen him for four +years.'' + +``Better come to-night then.'' + +``No-o,'' began Bertram, with obvious +reluctance. ``It's already nine o'clock, and--'' + +``Nine o'clock!'' cut in Seaver, with a broad +grin. ``Since when has your limit been nine +o'clock? I've seen the time when you didn't mind +nine o'clock in the morning, Bertie! What's +got-- Oh, I remember. I met another friend +of yours in Berlin; chap named Arkwright-- +and say, he's some singer, you bet! You're +going to hear of him one of these days. Well, he +told me all about how you'd settled down now-- +son and heir, fireside bliss, pretty wife, and all +the fixings. But, I say, Bertie, doesn't she let +you out--_any_?'' + +``Nonsense, Seaver!'' flared Bertram in +annoyed wrath. + +``Well, then, why don't you come to-night? +If you want to see Jenkins you'll have to; he's +going back to New York to-morrow.'' + +For only a brief minute longer did Bertram +hesitate; then he turned squarely about with an +air of finality. + +``Is he? Well, then, perhaps I will,'' he said. +``I'd hate to miss Jenkins entirely.'' + +``Good!'' exclaimed his companion, as they +fell into step. ``Have a cigar?'' + +``Thanks. Don't mind if I do.'' + +If Bertram's chin was a little higher and his +step a little more decided than usual, it was all +merely by way of accompaniment to his thoughts. + +Certainly it was right that he should go, and +it was sensible. Indeed, it was really almost +imperative--due to Billy, as it were--after that +disagreeable taunt of Seaver's. As if she did not +want him to go when and where he pleased! As +if she would consent for a moment to figure in +the eyes of his friends as a tyrannical wife who +objected to her husband's passing a social evening +with his friends! To be sure, in this particular +case, she might not favor Seaver's presence, +but even she would not mind this once-- +and, anyhow, it was Jenkins that was the attraction, +not Seaver. Besides, he himself was no +undeveloped boy now. He was a man, presumedly +able to take care of himself. Besides, again, had +not Billy herself told him to go out and enjoy the +evening without her, as she had to stay with the +baby? He would telephone her, of course, that +he had met some old friends, and that he might +be late; then she would not worry. + +And forthwith, having settled the matter in +his mind, and to his complete satisfaction, Bertram +gave his undivided attention to Seaver, who +had already plunged into an account of a recent +Art Exhibition he had attended in Paris. + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + +GHOSTS THAT WALKED FOR BERTRAM + + +October proved to be unusually mild, and +about the middle of the month, Bertram, after +much unselfish urging on the part of Billy, went +to a friend's camp in the Adirondacks for a week's +stay. He came back with an angry, lugubrious +face--and a broken arm. + +``Oh, Bertram! And your right one, too-- +the same one you broke before!'' mourned Billy, +tearfully. + +``Of course,'' retorted Bertram, trying in vain +to give an air of jauntiness to his reply. ``Didn't +want to be too changeable, you know!'' + +``But how did you do it, dear?'' + +``Fell into a silly little hole covered with +underbrush. But--oh, Billy, what's the use? I +did it, and I can't undo it--more's the pity!'' + +``Of course you can't, you poor boy,'' +sympathized Billy; ``and you sha'n't be tormented with +questions. We'll just be thankful 'twas no worse. +You can't paint for a while, of course; but we +won't mind that. It'll just give Baby and me a +chance to have you all to ourselves for a time, +and we'll love that!' + +``Yes, of course,'' sighed Bertram, so abstractedly +that Billy bridled with pretty resentment. + +``Well, I like your enthusiasm, sir,'' she frowned. +``I'm afraid you don't appreciate the blessings +you do have, young man! Did you realize what +I said? I remarked that you could be with _Baby_ +and _me_,'' she emphasized. + +Bertram laughed, and gave his wife an affectionate +kiss. + +``Indeed I do appreciate my blessings, dear-- +when those blessings are such treasures as you +and Baby, but--'' Only his doleful eyes fixed +on his injured arm finished his sentence. + +``I know, dear, of course, and I understand,'' +murmured Billy, all tenderness at once. + + +They were not easy for Bertram--those following +days. Once again he was obliged to accept +the little intimate personal services that he +so disliked. Once again he could do nothing but +read, or wander disconsolately into his studio +and gaze at his half-finished ``Face of a Girl.'' +Occasionally, it is true, driven nearly to desperation +by the haunting vision in his mind's eye, he +picked up a brush and attempted to make his +left hand serve his will; but a bare half-dozen +irritating, ineffectual strokes were usually enough +to make him throw down his brush in disgust. +He never could do anything with his left hand, +he told himself dejectedly. + +Many of his hours, of course, he spent with +Billy and his son, and they were happy hours, +too; but they always came to be restless ones +before the day was half over. Billy was always +devotion itself to him--when she was not +attending to the baby; he had no fault to find with +Billy. And the baby was delightful--he could +find no fault with the baby. But the baby _was_ +fretful--he was teething, Billy said--and he +needed a great deal of attention; so, naturally, +Bertram drifted out of the nursery, after a time, +and went down into his studio, where were his +dear, empty palette, his orderly brushes, and +his tantalizing ``Face of a Girl.'' From the +studio, generally, Bertram went out on to the street. + +Sometimes he dropped into a fellow-artist's +studio. Sometimes he strolled into a club or +caf<e'> where he knew he would be likely to find +some friend who would help him while away a +tiresome hour. Bertram's friends quite vied with +each other in rendering this sort of aid, so much +so, indeed, that--naturally, perhaps--Bertram +came to call on their services more and more +frequently. + +Particularly was this the case when, after the +splints were removed, Bertram found, as the days +passed, that his arm was not improving as it +should improve. This not only disappointed and +annoyed him, but worried him. He remembered +sundry disquieting warnings given by the physician +at the time of the former break--warnings +concerning the probable seriousness of a repetition +of the injury. To Billy, of course, Bertram +said nothing of all this; but just before Christmas +he went to see a noted specialist. + +An hour later, almost in front of the learned +surgeon's door, Bertram met Bob Seaver. + +``Great Scott, Bertie, what's up?'' ejaculated +Seaver. ``You look as if you'd seen a ghost.'' + +``I have,'' answered Bertram, with grim +bitterness. ``I've seen the ghost of--of every `Face +of a Girl' I ever painted.'' + +``Gorry! So bad as that? No wonder you +look as if you'd been disporting in graveyards,'' +chuckled Seaver, laughing at his own joke +``What's the matter--arm on a rampage to +day?'' + +He paused for reply, but as Bertram did not +answer at once, he resumed, with gay insistence: +``Come on! You need cheering up. Suppose +we go down to Trentini's and see who's +there.'' + +``All right,'' agreed Bertram, dully. ``Suit +yourself.'' + +Bertram was not thinking of Seaver, Trentini's, +or whom he might find there. Bertram was thinking +of certain words he had heard less than half +an hour ago. He was wondering, too, if ever +again he could think of anything but those words. + +``The truth?'' the great surgeon had said. +``Well, the truth is--I'm sorry to tell you the +truth, Mr. Henshaw, but if you will have it-- +you've painted the last picture you'll ever paint +with your right hand, I fear. It's a bad case. +This break, coming as it did on top of the serious +injury of two or three years ago, was bad enough; +but, to make matters worse, the bone was imperfectly +set and wrongly treated, which could not +be helped, of course, as you were miles away from +skilled surgeons at the time of the injury. We'll +do the best we can, of course; but--well, you +asked for the truth, you remember; so I had to +give it to you.'' + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + +THE MOTHER--THE WIFE + + +Bertram made up his mind at once that, for +the present, at least, he would tell no one what +the surgeon had said to him. He had placed +himself under the man's care, and there was nothing +to do but to take the prescribed treatment +and await results as patiently as he could. +Meanwhile there was no need to worry Billy, or +William, or anybody else with the matter. + +Billy was so busy with her holiday plans that +she was only vaguely aware of what seemed to +be an increase of restlessness on the part of her +husband during those days just before Christmas. + +``Poor dear, is the arm feeling horrid to-day?'' +she asked one morning, when the gloom on her +husband's face was deeper than usual. + +Bertram frowned and did not answer directly. + +``Lots of good I am these days!'' he exclaimed, +his moody eyes on the armful of many-shaped, +many-sized packages she carried. ``What are +those for-the tree?'' + +``Yes; and it's going to be so pretty, Bertram,'' +exulted Billy. ``And, do you know, Baby +positively acts as if he suspected things--little as +he is,'' she went on eagerly. ``He's as nervous +as a witch. I can't keep him still a minute!'' + +``How about his mother?'' hinted Bertram, +with a faint smile. + +Billy laughed. + +``Well, I'm afraid she isn't exactly calm +herself,'' she confessed, as she hurried out of the +room with her parcels. + +Bertram looked after her longingly, despondently. + +``I wonder what she'd say if she--knew,'' +he muttered. ``But she sha'n't know--till she +just has to,'' he vowed suddenly, under his breath, +striding into the hall for his hat and coat. + +Never had the Strata known such a Christmas +as this was planned to be. Cyril, Marie, and the +twins were to be there, also Kate, her husband +and three children, Paul, Egbert, and little Kate, +from the West. On Christmas Day there was +to be a big family dinner, with Aunt Hannah +down from the Annex. Then, in concession to +the extreme youth of the young host and his twin +cousins, there was to be an afternoon tree. The +shades were to be drawn and the candles lighted, +however, so that there might be no loss of effect. +In the evening the tree was to be once more loaded +with fascinating packages and candy-bags, and +this time the Greggorys, Tommy Dunn, and all +the rest from the Annex were to have the fun all +over again. + +From garret to basement the Strata was aflame +with holly, and aglitter with tinsel. Nowhere +did there seem to be a spot that did not have its +bit of tissue paper or its trail of red ribbon. And +everything--holly, ribbon, tissue, and tinsel-- +led to the mysteriously closed doors of the great +front drawing-room, past which none but Billy +and her accredited messengers might venture. +No wonder, indeed, that even Baby scented +excitement, and that Baby's mother was not +exactly calm. No wonder, too, that Bertram, with +his helpless right arm, and his heavy heart, felt +peculiarly forlorn and ``out of it.'' No wonder, +also, that he took himself literally out of it with +growing frequency. + +Mr. and Mrs. Hartwell and little Kate were +to stay at the Strata. The boys, Paul and +Egbert, were to go to Cyril's. Promptly at the +appointed time, two days before Christmas, they +arrived. And from that hour until two days after +Christmas, when the last bit of holly, ribbon, +tissue, and tinsel disappeared from the floor, +Billy moved in a whirl of anxious responsibility +that was yet filled with fun, frolic, and laughter. + +It was a great success, the whole affair. +Everybody seemed pleased and happy--that is, +everybody but Bertram; and he very plainly tried to +seem pleased and happy. Even Cyril unbent to +the extent of not appearing to mind the noise +one bit; and Sister Kate (Bertram said) found +only the extraordinarily small number of four +details to change in the arrangements. Baby +obligingly let his teeth-getting go, for the +occasion, and he and the twins, Franz and Felix, were +the admiration and delight of all. Little Kate, +to be sure, was a trifle disconcerting once or twice, +but everybody was too absorbed to pay much +attention to her. Billy did, however, remember +her opening remarks. + +``Well, little Kate, do you remember me?'' +Billy had greeted her pleasantly. + +``Oh, yes,'' little Kate had answered, with a +winning smile. ``You're my Aunt Billy what +married my Uncle Bertram instead of Uncle +William as you said you would first.'' + +Everybody laughed, and Billy colored, of +course; but little Kate went on eagerly: + +``And I've been wanting just awfully to see +you,'' she announced. + +``Have you? I'm glad, I'm sure. I feel highly +flattered,'' smiled Billy. + +``Well, I have. You see, I wanted to ask you +something. Have you ever wished that you _had_ +married Uncle William instead of Uncle Bertram, +or that you'd tried for Uncle Cyril before Aunty +Marie got him?'' + +``Kate!'' gasped her horrified mother. ``I +told you-- You see,'' she broke off, turning to +Billy despairingly. ``She's been pestering me +with questions like that ever since she knew she +was coming. She never has forgotten the way +you changed from one uncle to the other. You +may remember; it made a great impression on +her at the time.'' + +``Yes, I--I remember,'' stammered Billy, +trying to laugh off her embarrassment. + +``But you haven't told me yet whether you +did wish you'd married Uncle William, or Uncle +Cyril,'' interposed little Kate, persistently. + +``No, no, of course not!'' exclaimed Billy, +with a vivid blush, casting her eyes about for a +door of escape, and rejoicing greatly when she +spied Delia with the baby coming toward them. +``There, look, my dear, here's your new cousin, +little Bertram!'' she exclaimed. ``Don't you +want to see him?'' + +Little Kate turned dutifully. + +``Yes'm, Aunt Billy, but I'd rather see the +twins. Mother says _they're_ real pretty and cunning.'' + +``Er--y-yes, they are,'' murmured Billy, on +whom the emphasis of the ``they're'' had not +been lost. + +Naturally, as may be supposed, therefore, +Billy had not forgotten little Kate's opening remarks. + +Immediately after Christmas Mr. Hartwell +and the boys went back to their Western home, +leaving Mrs. Hartwell and her daughter to make +a round of visits to friends in the East. For +almost a week after Christmas they remained at +the Strata; and it was on the last day of their +stay that little Kate asked the question that +proved so momentous in results. + +Billy, almost unconsciously, had avoided t<e^>te- +<a!>-t<e^>tes with her small guest. But to-day they +were alone together. + +``Aunt Billy,'' began the little girl, after a +meditative gaze into the other's face, ``you _are_ +married to Uncle Bertram, aren't you?'' + +``I certainly am, my dear,'' smiled Billy, +trying to speak unconcernedly. + +``Well, then, what makes you forget it?'' + +``What makes me forget-- Why, child, what +a question! What do you mean? I don't forget +it!'' exclaimed Billy, indignantly. + +``Then what _did_ mother mean? I heard her +tell Uncle William myself--she didn't know I +heard, though--that she did wish you'd remember +you were Uncle Bertram's wife as well as +Cousin Bertram's mother.'' + +Billy flushed scarlet, then grew very white. +At that moment Mrs. Hartwell came into the +room. Little Kate turned triumphantly. + +``There, she hasn't forgotten, and I knew she +hadn't, mother! I asked her just now, and she +said she hadn't.'' + +``Hadn't what?'' questioned Mrs. Hartwell, +looking a little apprehensively at her sister-in- +law's white face and angry eyes. + +``Hadn't forgotten that she was Uncle Bertram's +wife.'' + +``Kate,'' interposed Billy, steadily meeting +her sister-in-law's gaze, ``will you be good enough +to tell me what this child is talking about?'' + +Mrs. Hartwell sighed, and gave an impatient +gesture. + +``Kate, I've a mind to take you home on the +next train,'' she said to her daughter. ``Run +away, now, down-stairs. Your Aunt Billy and I +want to talk. Come, come, hurry! I mean what +I say,'' she added warningly, as she saw unmistakable +signs of rebellion on the small young +face. + +``I wish,'' pouted little Kate, rising reluctantly, +and moving toward the door, ``that you +didn't always send me away just when I wanted +most to stay!'' + +``Well, Kate?'' prompted Billy, as the door +closed behind the little girl. + +``Yes, I suppose I'll have to say it now, as +long as that child has put her finger in the pie. +But I hadn't intended to speak, no matter what +I saw. I promised myself I wouldn't, before I +came. I know, of course, how Bertram and Cyril, +and William, too, say that I'm always interfering +in affairs that don't concern me--though, +for that matter, if my own brother's affairs don't +concern me, I don't know whose should! + +``But, as I said, I wasn't going to speak this +time, no matter what I saw. And I haven't-- +except to William, and Cyril, and Aunt Hannah; +but I suppose somewhere little Kate got +hold of it. It's simply this, Billy. It seems +to me it's high time you began to realize that +you're Bertram's wife as well as the baby's +mother.'' + +``That, I am-- I don't think I quite understand,'' +said Billy, unsteadily. + +``No, I suppose you don't,'' sighed Kate, +``though where your eyes are, I don't see--or, +rather, I do see: they're on the baby, _always_. +It's all very well and lovely, Billy, to be a devoted +mother, and you certainly are that. I'll +say that much for you, and I'll admit I never +thought you would be. But _can't_ you see what +you're doing to Bertram?'' + +``_Doing to Bertram!_--by being a devoted +mother to his son!'' + +``Yes, doing to Bertram. Can't you see what +a change there is in the boy? He doesn't act +like himself at all. He's restless and gloomy and +entirely out of sorts.'' + +``Yes, I know; but that's his arm,'' pleaded +Billy. ``Poor boy--he's so tired of it!'' + +Kate shook her head decisively. + +``It's more than his arm, Billy. You'd see +it yourself if you weren't blinded by your +absorption in that baby. Where is Bertram every +evening? Where is he daytimes? Do you realize +that he's been at home scarcely one evening +since I came? And as for the days--he's almost +never here.'' + +``But, Kate, he can't paint now, you know, +so of course he doesn't need to stay so closely +at home,'' defended Billy. ``He goes out to find +distraction from himself.'' + +``Yes, `distraction,' indeed,'' sniffed Kate. +``And where do you suppose he finds it? Do +you _know_ where he finds it? I tell you, Billy, +Bertram Henshaw is not the sort of man that +should find too much `distraction' outside his +home. His tastes and his temperament are +altogether too Bohemian, and--'' + +Billy interrupted with a peremptorily upraised +hand. + +``Please remember, Kate, you are speaking +of my husband to his wife; and his wife has perfect +confidence in him, and is just a little particular +as to what you say.'' + +``Yes; well, I'm speaking of my brother, too, +whom I know very well,'' shrugged Kate. ``All +is, you may remember sometime that I warned +you--that's all. This trusting business is all +very pretty; but I think 'twould be a lot prettier, +and a vast deal more sensible, if you'd give him +a little attention as well as trust, and see if you +can't keep him at home a bit more. At least +you'll know whom he's with, then. Cyril says +he saw him last week with Bob Seaver.'' + +``With--Bob--Seaver?'' faltered Billy, +changing color. + +``Yes. I see you remember him,'' smiled +Kate, not quite agreeably. ``Perhaps now +you'll take some stock in what I've said, and +remember it.'' + +``I'll remember it, certainly,'' returned Billy, +a little proudly. ``You've said a good many +things to me, in the past, Mrs. Hartwell, and +I've remembered them all--every one.'' + +It was Kate's turn to flush, and she did it. + +``Yes, I know. And I presume very likely +sometimes there _hasn't_ been much foundation +for what I've said. I think this time, however, +you'll find there is,'' she finished, with an air of +hurt dignity. + +Billy made no reply, perhaps because Delia, +at that moment, brought in the baby. + +Mrs. Hartwell and little Kate left the Strata +the next morning. Until then Billy contrived +to keep, before them, a countenance serene, and +a manner free from unrest. Even when, after +dinner that evening, Bertram put on his hat and +coat and went out, Billy refused to meet her sister- +in-law's meaning gaze. But in the morning, +after they had left the house, Billy did not +attempt to deceive herself. Determinedly, then, +she set herself to going over in her mind the past +months since the baby came; and she was appalled +at what she found. Ever in her ears, too, +was that feared name, ``Bob Seaver''; and ever +before her eyes was that night years ago when, +as an eighteen-year-old girl, she had followed +Bertram and Bob Seaver into a glittering caf<e'> +at eleven o'clock at night, because Bertram had +been drinking and was not himself. She remembered +Bertram's face when he had seen her, and +what he had said when she begged him to come +home. She remembered, too, what the family +had said afterward. But she remembered, also, +that years later Bertram had told her what that +escapade of hers had really done for him, and +that he believed he had actually loved her from +that moment. After that night, at all events, +he had had little to do with Bob Seaver. + +And now Seaver was back again, it seemed-- +and with Bertram. They had been seen together. +But if they had, what could she do? Surely she +could hardly now follow them into a public caf<e'> +and demand that Seaver let her husband come +home! But she could keep him at home, perhaps. +(Billy quite brightened at this thought.) Kate +had said that she was so absorbed in Baby that +her husband received no attention at all. Billy +did not believe this was true; but if it were true, +she could at least rectify that mistake. If it were +attention that he wanted--he should want no +more. Poor Bertram! No wonder that he had +sought distraction outside! When one had a +horrid broken arm that would not let one do anything, +what else could one do? + +Just here Billy suddenly remembered the book, +``A Talk to Young Wives.'' If she recollected +rightly, there was a chapter that covered the very +claim Kate had been making. Billy had not +thought of the book for months, but she went +at once to get it now. There might be, after all, +something in it that would help her. + +``The Coming of the First Baby.'' Billy +found the chapter without difficulty and settled +herself to read, her countenance alight with +interest. In a surprisingly short time, however, +a new expression came to her face; and at last a +little gasp of dismay fell from her lips. She looked +up then, with a startled gaze. + +_Had_ her walls possessed eyes and ears all +these past months, only to give instructions to +an unseen hand that it might write what the +eyes and ears had learned? For it was such +sentences as these that the conscience-smitten +Billy read: + +``Maternity is apt to work a miracle in a woman's +life, but sometimes it spells disaster so far +as domestic bliss is concerned. The young mother, +wrapped up in the delights and duties of motherhood, +utterly forgets that she has a husband. +She lives and moves and has her being in the +nursery. She thinks baby, talks baby, knows +only baby. She refuses to dress up, because it +is easier to take care of baby in a frowzy wrapper. +She will not go out with her husband for fear +something might happen to the baby. She gives +up her music because baby won't let her practice. +In vain her husband tries to interest her +in his own affairs. She has neither eyes nor ears +for him, only for baby. + +``Now no man enjoys having his nose put out +of joint, even by his own child. He loves his +child devotedly, and is proud of him, of course; +but that does not keep him from wanting the society +of his wife occasionally, nor from longing +for her old-time love and sympathetic interest. +It is an admirable thing, certainly, for a woman +to be a devoted mother; but maternal affection +can be carried too far. Husbands have some +rights as well as offspring; and the wife who +neglects her husband for her babies does so at her +peril. Home, with the wife eternally in the +nursery, is apt to be a dull and lonely thing to the +average husband, so he starts out to find amusement +for himself--and he finds it. Then is the +time when the new little life that is so precious, +and that should have bound the two more closely +together, becomes the wedge that drives them +apart.'' + +Billy did not read any more. With a little +sobbing cry she flung the book back into her +desk, and began to pull off her wrapper. Her +fingers shook. Already she saw herself a Monster, +a Wicked Destroyer of Domestic Bliss with +her thoughtless absorption in Baby, until he had +become that Awful Thing--a _Wedge_. And Bertram-- +poor Bertram, with his broken arm! She +had not played to him, nor sung to him, nor gone +out with him. And when had they had one of +their good long talks about Bertram's work and +plans? + +But it should all be changed now. She would +play, and sing, and go out with him. She would +dress up, too. He should see no more wrappers. +She would ask about his work, and seem +interested. She _was_ interested. She remembered +now, that just before he was hurt, he had told +her of a new portrait, and of a new ``Face of a +Girl'' that he had planned to do. Lately he had +said nothing about these. He had seemed +discouraged--and no wonder, with his broken arm! +But she would change all that. He should see! +And forthwith Billy hurried to her closet to pick +out her prettiest house frock. + +Long before dinner Billy was ready, waiting in +the drawing-room. She had on a pretty little blue +silk gown that she knew Bertram liked, and she +watched very anxiously for Bertram to come up the +steps. She remembered now, with a pang, that he +had long since given up his peculiar ring; but she +meant to meet him at the door just the same. + +Bertram, however, did not come. At a quarter +before six he telephoned that he had met some +friends, and would dine at the club. + +``My, my, how pretty we are!'' exclaimed +Uncle William, when they went down to dinner +together. ``New frock?'' + +``Why, no, Uncle William,'' laughed Billy, a +little tremulously. ``You've seen it dozens of +times!'' + +``Have I?'' murmured the man. ``I don't +seem to remember it. Too bad Bertram isn't +here to see you. Somehow, you look unusually +pretty to-night.'' + +And Billy's heart ached anew. + +Billy spent the evening practicing--softly, +to be sure, so as not to wake Baby--but _practicing_. + +As the days passed Billy discovered that it +was much easier to say she would ``change +things'' than it was really to change them. She +changed herself, it is true--her clothes, her +habits, her words, and her thoughts; but it was +more difficult to change Bertram. In the first +place, he was there so little. She was dismayed +when she saw how very little, indeed, he was at +home--and she did not like to ask him outright +to stay. That was not in accordance with her +plans. Besides, the ``Talk to Young Wives'' +said that indirect influence was much to be +preferred, always, to direct persuasion--which +last, indeed, usually failed to produce results. + +So Billy ``dressed up,'' and practiced, and +talked (of anything but the baby), and even +hinted shamelessly once or twice that she would +like to go to the theater; but all to little avail. +True, Bertram brightened up, for a minute, when +he came home and found her in a new or a favorite +dress, and he told her how pretty she looked. +He appeared to like to have her play to him, too, +even declaring once or twice that it was quite +like old times, yes, it was. But he never noticed +her hints about the theater, and he did not seem +to like to talk about his work, even a little bit. + +Billy laid this last fact to his injured arm. She +decided that he had become blue and discouraged, +and that he needed cheering up, especially +about his work; so she determinedly and +systematically set herself to doing it. + +She talked of the fine work he had done, and +of the still finer work he would yet do, when his +arm was well. She told him how proud she was +of him, and she let him see how dear his Art was +to her, and how badly she would feel if she thought +he had really lost all his interest in his work and +would never paint again. She questioned him +about the new portrait he was to begin as soon +as his arm would let him; and she tried to arouse +his enthusiasm in the picture he had planned to +show in the March Exhibition of the Bohemian +Ten, telling him that she was sure his arm would +allow him to complete at least one canvas to hang. + +In none of this, however, did Bertram appear +in the least interested. The one thing, indeed, +which he seemed not to want to talk about, was +his work; and he responded to her overtures on +the subject with only moody silence, or else with +almost irritable monosyllables; all of which not +only grieved but surprised Billy very much. For, +according to the ``Talk to Young Wives,'' she +was doing exactly what the ideal, sympathetic, +interested-in-her-husband's-work wife should do. + +When February came, bringing with it no +change for the better, Billy was thoroughly +frightened. Bertram's arm plainly was not +improving. He was more gloomy and restless than +ever. He seemed not to want to stay at home +at all; and Billy knew now for a certainty that he +was spending more and more time with Bob +Seaver and ``the boys.'' + +Poor Billy! Nowhere could she look these days +and see happiness. Even the adored baby seemed, +at times, almost to give an added pang. Had he +not become, according to the ``Talk to Young +Wives'' that awful thing, a _Wedge_? The Annex, +too, carried its sting; for where was the need of +an overflow house for happiness now, when there +was no happiness to overflow? Even the little +jade idol on Billy's mantel Billy could not bear +to see these days, for its once bland smile had +become a hideous grin, demanding, ``Where, +now, is your heap plenty velly good luckee?'' + +But, before Bertram, Billy still carried a bravely +smiling face, and to him still she talked earnestly +and enthusiastically of his work--which last, +as it happened, was the worst course she could +have pursued; for the one thing poor Bertram +wished to forget, just now, was--his work. + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + +CONSPIRATORS + + +Early in February came Arkwright's appearance +at the Boston Opera House--the first since +he had sung there as a student a few years before. +He was an immediate and an unquestioned success. +His portrait adorned the front page of almost +every Boston newspaper the next morning, +and captious critics vied with each other to do +him honor. His full history, from boyhood up, +was featured, with special emphasis on his recent +triumphs in New York and foreign capitals. He +was interviewed as to his opinion on everything +from vegetarianism to woman's suffrage; and +his preferences as to pies and pastimes were given +headline prominence. There was no doubt of it. +Mr. M. J. Arkwright was a star. + +All Arkwright's old friends, including Billy, +Bertram, Cyril, Marie, Calderwell, Alice Greggory, +Aunt Hannah, and Tommy Dunn, went to +hear him sing; and after the performance he held +a miniature reception, with enough adulation to +turn his head completely around, he declared +deprecatingly. Not until the next evening, however, +did he have an opportunity for what he +called a real talk with any of his friends; then, +in Calderwell's room, he settled back in his chair +with a sigh of content. + +For a time his own and Calderwell's affairs +occupied their attention; then, after a short pause, +the tenor asked abruptly: + +``Is there anything--wrong with the Henshaws, +Calderwell?'' + +Calderwell came suddenly erect in his chair. + +``Thank you! I hoped you'd introduce that +subject; though, for that matter, if you hadn't, +I should. Yes, there is--and I'm looking to +you, old man, to get them out of it.'' + +``I?'' Arkwright sat erect now. + +``Yes.'' + +``What do you mean?'' + +``In a way, the expected has happened-- +though I know now that I didn't really expect +it to happen, in spite of my prophecies. You may +remember I was always skeptical on the subject +of Bertram's settling down to a domestic hearthstone. +I insisted 'twould be the turn of a girl's +head and the curve of her cheek that he wanted +to paint.'' + +Arkwright looked up with a quick frown. + +``You don't mean that Henshaw has been cad +enough to find another--'' + +Calderwell threw up his hand. + +``No, no, not that! We haven't that to deal +with--yet, thank goodness! There's no woman +in it. And, really, when you come right down to +it, if ever a fellow had an excuse to seek diversion, +Bertram Henshaw has--poor chap! It's just +this. Bertram broke his arm again last October.'' + +``Yes, so I hear, and I thought he was looking +badly.'' + +``He is. It's a bad business. 'Twas improperly +set in the first place, and it's not doing well +now. In fact, I'm told on pretty good authority +that the doctor says he probably will never use +it again.'' + +``Oh, by George! Calderwell!'' + +``Yes. Tough, isn't it? 'Specially when you +think of his work, and know--as I happen to-- +that he's particularly dependent on his right +hand for everything. He doesn't tell this +generally, and I understand Billy and the family +know nothing of it--how hopeless the case is, +I mean. Well, naturally, the poor fellow has +been pretty thoroughly discouraged, and to get +away from himself he's gone back to his old +Bohemian habits, spending much of his time with +some of his old cronies that are none too good +for him--Seaver, for instance.'' + +``Bob Seaver? Yes, I know him.'' Arkwright's +lips snapped together crisply. + +``Yes. He said he knew you. That's why I'm +counting on your help.'' + +``What do you mean?'' + +``I mean I want you to get Henshaw away +from him, and keep him away.'' + +Arkwright's face darkened with an angry +flush. + +``Great Scott, Calderwell! What are you +talking about? Henshaw is no kid to be toted +home, and I'm no nursery governess to do the +toting!'' + +Calderwell laughed quietly. + +``No; I don't think any one would take you +for a nursery governess, Arkwright, in spite of +the fact that you are still known to some of your +friends as `Mary Jane.' But you can sing a song, +man, which will promptly give you a through +ticket to their innermost sacred circle. In fact, +to my certain knowledge, Seaver is already planning +a jamboree with you at the right hand of +the toastmaster. There's your chance. Once +in, stay in--long enough to get Henshaw +out.'' + +``But, good heavens, Calderwell, it's impossible! +What can I do?'' demanded Arkwright, +savagely. ``I can't walk up to the man, take +him by the ear, and say: `Here, you, sir--march +home!' Neither can I come the `I-am-holier- +than-thou' act, and hold up to him the mirror +of his transgressions.'' + +``No, but you can get him out of it _some_ way. +You can find a way--for Billy's sake.'' + +There was no answer, and, after a moment, +Calderwell went on more quietly. + +``I haven't seen Billy but two or three times +since I came back to Boston--but I don't need +to, to know that she's breaking her heart over +something. And of course that something is-- +Bertram.'' + +There was still no answer. Arkwright got up +suddenly, and walked to the window. + +``You see, I'm helpless,'' resumed Calderwell. +``I don't paint pictures, nor sing songs, nor write +stories, nor dance jigs for a living--and you +have to do one or another to be in with that set. +And it's got to be a Johnny-on-the-spot with +Bertram. All is, something will have to be done +to get him out of the state of mind and body +he's in now, or--'' + +Arkwright wheeled sharply. + +``When did you say this jamboree was going +to be?'' he demanded. + +``Next week, some time. The date is not settled. +They were going to consult you.'' + +``Hm-m,'' commented Arkwright. And, +though his next remark was a complete change +of subject, Calderwell gave a contented sigh. + + +If, when the proposition was first made to him, +Arkwright was doubtful of his ability to be a +successful ``Johnny-on-the-spot,'' he was even +more doubtful of it as the days passed, and he +was attempting to carry out the suggestion. + +He had known that he was undertaking a most +difficult and delicate task, and he soon began to +fear that it was an impossible one, as well. With +a dogged persistence, however, he adhered to his +purpose, ever on the alert to be more watchful, +more tactful, more efficient in emergencies. + +Disagreeable as was the task, in a way, in +another way it was a great pleasure to him. He +was glad of the opportunity to do anything for +Billy; and then, too, he was glad of something +absorbing enough to take his mind off his own +affairs. He told himself, sometimes, that this +helping another man to fight his tiger skin was +assisting himself to fight his own. + +Arkwright was trying very hard not to think +of Alice Greggory these days. He had come back +hoping that he was in a measure ``cured'' of his +``folly,'' as he termed it; but the first look into +Alice Greggory's blue-gray eyes had taught him +the fallacy of that idea. In that very first meeting +with Alice, he feared that he had revealed +his secret, for she was plainly so nervously distant +and ill at ease with him that he could but +construe her embarrassment and chilly dignity as +pity for him and a desire to show him that she +had nothing but friendship for him. Since then +he had seen but little of her, partly because he +did not wish to see her, and partly because his +time was so fully occupied. Then, too, in a round- +about way he had heard a rumor that Calderwell +was engaged to be married; and, though no feminine +name had been mentioned in connection +with the story, Arkwright had not hesitated +to supply in his own mind that of Alice Greggory. + +Beginning with the ``jamboree,'' which came +off quite in accordance with Calderwell's prophecies, +Arkwright spent the most of such time as +was not given to his professional duties in +deliberately cultivating the society of Bertram and +his friends. To this extent he met with no difficulty, +for he found that M. J. Arkwright, the +new star in the operatic firmament, was obviously +a welcome comrade. Beyond this it was not so +easy. Arkwright wondered, indeed, sometimes, +if he were making any progress at all. But still +he persevered. + +He walked with Bertram, he talked with Bertram, +unobtrusively he contrived to be near Bertram +almost always, when they were together +with ``the boys.'' Gradually he won from him +the story of what the surgeon had said to him, +and of how black the future looked in +consequence. This established a new bond between +them, so potent that Arkwright ventured to test +it one day by telling Bertram the story of the +tiger skin--the first tiger skin in his uncle's +library years ago, and of how, since then, any +difficulty he had encountered he had tried to treat +as a tiger skin. In telling the story he was careful +to draw no moral for his listener, and to preach +no sermon. He told the tale, too, with all possible +whimsical lightness of touch, and immediately +at its conclusion he changed the subject. +But that he had not failed utterly in his design +was evidenced a few days later when Bertram +grimly declared that he guessed _his_ tiger skin +was a lively beast, all right. + +The first time Arkwright went home with +Bertram, his presence was almost a necessity. +Bertram was not quite himself that night. Billy +admitted them. She had plainly been watching +and waiting. Arkwright never forgot the look +on her face as her eyes met his. There was a +curious mixture of terror, hurt pride, relief, and +shame, overtopped by a fierce loyalty which almost +seemed to say aloud the words: ``Don't +you dare to blame him!'' + +Arkwright's heart ached with sympathy and +admiration at the proudly courageous way in +which Billy carried off the next few painful +minutes. Even when he bade her good night a little +later, only her eyes said ``thank you.'' Her lips +were dumb. + +Arkwright often went home with Bertram after +that. Not that it was always necessary-- +far from it. Some time, indeed, elapsed before +he had quite the same excuse again for his presence. +But he had found that occasionally he +could get Bertram home earlier by adroit +suggestions of one kind or another; and more and +more frequently he was succeeding in getting +him home for a game of chess. + +Bertram liked chess, and was a fine player. +Since breaking his arm he had turned to games +with the feverish eagerness of one who looks for +something absorbing to fill an unrestful mind. +It was Seaver's skill in chess that had at first +attracted Bertram to the man long ago; but Bertram +could beat him easily--too easily for much +pleasure in it now. So they did not play chess +often these days. Bertram had found that, in +spite of his injury, he could still take part in +other games, and some of them, if not so intricate +as chess, were at least more apt to take his +mind off himself, especially if there were a bit +of money up to add zest and interest. + +As it happened, however, Bertram learned +one day that Arkwright could play chess--and +play well, too, as he discovered after their first +game together. This fact contributed not a +little to such success as Arkwright was having +in his efforts to wean Bertram from his undesirable +companions; for Bertram soon found out +that Arkwright was more than a match for himself, +and the occasional games he did succeed in +winning only whetted his appetite for more. +Many an evening now, therefore, was spent by +the two men in Bertram's den, with Billy +anxiously hovering near, her eyes longingly +watching either her husband's absorbed face or the +pretty little red and white ivory figures, which +seemed to possess so wonderful a power to hold +his attention. In spite of her joy at the chessmen's +efficacy in keeping Bertram at home, however, +she was almost jealous of them. + +``Mr. Arkwright, couldn't you show _me_ how to +play, sometime?'' she said wistfully, one evening, +when the momentary absence of Bertram +had left the two alone together. ``I used to +watch Bertram and Marie play years ago; but +I never knew how to play myself. Not that I +can see where the fun is in just sitting staring at +a chessboard for half an hour at a time, though! +But Bertram likes it, and so I--I want to learn +to stare with him. Will you teach me?'' + +``I should be glad to,'' smiled Arkwright. + +``Then will you come, maybe, sometimes +when Bertram is at the doctor's? He goes every +Tuesday and Friday at three o'clock for treatment. +I'd rather you came then for two reasons: +first, because I don't want Bertram to know +I'm learning, till I can play _some_; and, secondly, +because--because I don't want to take you +away--from him.'' + +The last words were spoken very low, and were +accompanied by a painful blush. It was the +first time Billy had ever hinted to Arkwright, +in words, that she understood what he was trying +to do. + +``I'll come next Tuesday,'' promised Arkwright, +with a cheerfully unobservant air. Then Bertram +came in, bringing the book of Chess Problems, +for which he had gone up-stairs. + + + +CHAPTER XXIX + +CHESS + + +Promptly at three o'clock Tuesday afternoon +Arkwright appeared at the Strata, and for the +next hour Billy did her best to learn the names +and the moves of the pretty little ivory men. +But at the end of the hour she was almost ready +to give up in despair. + +``If there weren't so many kinds, and if they +didn't all insist on doing something different, it +wouldn't be so bad,'' she sighed. ``But how can +you be expected to remember which goes diagonal, +and which crisscross, and which can't go +but one square, and which can skip 'way across +the board, 'specially when that little pawn-thing +can go straight ahead _two_ squares sometimes, +and the next minute only one (except when it +takes things, and then it goes crooked one square) +and when that tiresome little horse tries to go +all ways at once, and can jump 'round and hurdle +over _anybody's_ head, even the king's--how can +you expect folks to remember? But, then, Bertram +remembers,'' she added, resolutely, ``so I +guess I can.'' + +Whenever possible, after that, Arkwright came +on Tuesdays and Fridays, and, in spite of her +doubts, Billy did very soon begin to ``remember.'' +Spurred by her great desire to play with Bertram +and surprise him, Billy spared no pains to learn +well her lessons. Even among the baby's books +and playthings these days might be found a +``Manual of Chess,'' for Billy pursued her study +at all hours; and some nights even her dreams +were of ruined, castles where kings and queens +and bishops disported themselves, with pawns +for servants, and where a weird knight on horseback +used the castle's highest tower for a hurdle, +landing always a hundred yards to one side of +where he would be expected to come down. + +It was not long, of course, before Billy could +play a game of chess, after a fashion, but she +knew just enough to realize that she actually +knew nothing; and she knew, too, that until she +could play a really good game, her moves would +not hold Bertram's attention for one minute. +Not at present, therefore, was she willing Bertram +should know what she was attempting to do. + +Billy had not yet learned what the great +surgeon had said to Bertram. She knew only that +his arm was no better, and that he never voluntarily +spoke of his painting. Over her now seemed +to be hanging a vague horror. Something was +the matter. She knew that. But what it was +she could not fathom. She realized that Arkwright +was trying to help, and her gratitude, +though silent, knew no bounds. Not even to +Aunt Hannah or Uncle William could she speak +of this thing that was troubling her. That they, +too, understood, in a measure, she realized. But +still she said no word. Billy was wearing a proud +little air of aloofness these days that was heart- +breaking to those who saw it and read it aright +for what it was: loyalty to Bertram, no matter +what happened. And so Billy pored over her +chessboard feverishly, tirelessly, having ever +before her longing eyes the dear time when Bertram, +across the table from her, should sit happily +staring for half an hour at a move she had +made. + +Whatever Billy's chess-playing was to signify, +however, in her own life, it was destined to play +a part in the lives of two friends of hers that was +most unexpected. + +During Billy's very first lesson, as it chanced, +Alice Greggory called and found Billy and Arkwright +so absorbed in their game that they did +not at first hear Eliza speak her name. + +The quick color that flew to Arkwright's face +at sight of herself was construed at once by Alice +as embarrassment on his part at being found +t<e^>te-<a!>-t<e^>te with Bertram Henshaw's wife. And +she did not like it. She was not pleased that he +was there. She was less pleased that he blushed +for being there. + +It so happened that Alice found him there +again several times. Alice gave a piano lesson +at two o'clock every Tuesday and Friday afternoon +to a little Beacon Street neighbor of Billy's, +and she had fallen into the habit of stepping in +to see Billy for a few minutes afterward, which +brought her there at a little past three, just after +the chess lesson was well started. + +If, the first time that Alice Greggory found +Arkwright opposite Billy at the chess-table, she +was surprised and displeased, the second and third +times she was much more so. When it finally +came to her one day with sickening illumination, +that always the t<e^>te-<a!>-t<e^>tes were during Bertram's +hour at the doctor's, she was appalled. + +What could it mean? Had Arkwright given +up his fight? Was he playing false to himself +and to Bertram by trying thus, on the sly, to win +the love of his friend's wife? Was this man, +whom she had so admired for his brave stand, +and to whom all unasked she had given her heart's +best love (more the pity of it!)--was this idol +of hers to show feet of clay, after all? She could +not believe it. And yet-- + +Sick at heart, but imbued with the determination +of a righteous cause, Alice Greggory resolved, +for Billy's sake, to watch and wait. If +necessary she should speak to some one--though +to whom she did not know. Billy's happiness +should not be put in jeopardy if she could help it. +Indeed, no! + +As the weeks passed, Alice came to be more +and more uneasy, distressed, and grieved. Of +Billy she could believe no evil; but of Arkwright +she was beginning to think she could believe +everything that was dishonorable and despicable. +And to believe that of the man she still loved-- +no wonder that Alice did not look nor act like +herself these days. + +Incensed at herself because she did love him, +angry at him because he seemed to be proving +himself so unworthy of that love, and genuinely +frightened at what she thought was the fast- +approaching wreck of all happiness for her dear +friend, Billy, Alice did not know which way to +turn. At the first she had told herself confidently +that she would ``speak to somebody.'' But, as +time passed, she saw the impracticability of that +idea. Speak to somebody, indeed! To whom? +When? Where? What should she say? Where +was her right to say anything? She was not +dealing with a parcel of naughty children who had +pilfered the cake jar! She was dealing with grown +men and women, who, presumedly, knew their +own affairs, and who, certainly, would resent +any interference from her. On the other hand, +could she stand calmly by and see Bertram lose +his wife, Arkwright his honor, Billy her happiness, +and herself her faith in human nature, all +because to do otherwise would be to meddle in other +people's business? Apparently she could, and +should. At least that seemed to be the r<o^>le which +she was expected to play. + +It was when Alice had reached this unhappy +frame of mind that Arkwright himself unexpectedly +opened the door for her. + +The two were alone together in Bertram +Henshaw's den. It was Tuesday afternoon. Alice +had called to find Billy and Arkwright deep in +their usual game of chess. Then a matter of +domestic affairs had taken Billy from the room. + +``I'm afraid I'll have to be gone ten minutes, +or more,'' she had said, as she rose from the table +reluctantly. ``But you might be showing Alice +the moves, Mr. Arkwright,'' she had added, with +a laugh, as she disappeared. + +``Shall I teach you the moves?'' he had smiled, +when they were alone together. + +Alice's reply had been so indignantly short +and sharp that Arkwright, after a moment's +pause, had said, with a whimsical smile that yet +carried a touch of sadness: + +``I am forced to surmise from your answer +that you think it is _you_ who should be teaching +_me_ moves. At all events, I seem to have been +making some moves lately that have not suited +you, judging by your actions. Have I offended +you in any way, Alice?'' + +The girl turned with a quick lifting of her head. +Alice knew that if ever she were to speak, it must +be now. Never again could she hope for such +an opportunity as this. Suddenly throwing +circumspect caution quite aside, she determined +that she would speak. Springing to her feet she +crossed the room and seated herself in Billy's +chair at the chess-table. + +``Me! Offend me!'' she exclaimed, in a low +voice. ``As if I were the one you were offending!'' + +``Why, _Alice!_'' murmured the man, in obvious +stupefaction. + +Alice raised her hand, palm outward. + +``Now don't, _please_ don't pretend you don't +know,'' she begged, almost piteously. ``Please +don't add that to all the rest. Oh, I understand, +of course, it's none of my affairs, and I wasn't +going to speak,'' she choked; ``but, to-day, when +you gave me this chance, I had to. At first I +couldn't believe it,'' she plunged on, plainly hurrying +against Billy's return. ``After all you'd +told me of how you meant to fight it--your +tiger skin. And I thought it merely _happened_ +that you were here alone with her those days I +came. Then, when I found out they were _always_ +the days Mr. Henshaw was away at the doctor's, +I had to believe.'' + +She stopped for breath. Arkwright, who, up +to this moment had shown that he was completely +mystified as to what she was talking +about, suddenly flushed a painful red. He was +obviously about to speak, but she prevented him +with a quick gesture. + +``There's a little more I've got to say, please. +As if it weren't bad enough to do what you're +doing _at all_, but you must needs take it at such +a time as this when--when her husband _isn't_ +doing just what he ought to do, and we all know +it--it's so unfair to take her now, and try to-- +to win-- And you aren't even fair with him,'' +she protested tremulously. ``You pretend to +be his friend. You go with him everywhere. It's +just as if you were _helping_ to--to pull him down. +You're one with the whole bunch.'' (The blood +suddenly receded from Arkwright's face, leaving +it very white; but if Alice saw it, she paid no +heed.) ``Everybody says you are. Then to +come here like this, on the sly, when you know +he can't be here, I-- Oh, can't you see what +you're doing?'' + +There was a moment's pause, then Arkwright +spoke. A deep pain looked from his eyes. He +was still very pale, and his mouth had settled +into sad lines. + +``I think, perhaps, it may be just as well if I +tell you what I _am_ doing--or, rather, trying to +do,'' he said quietly. + +Then he told her. + +``And so you see,'' he added, when he had +finished the tale, ``I haven't really accomplished +much, after all, and it seems the little I have +accomplished has only led to my being misjudged +by you, my best friend.'' + +Alice gave a sobbing cry. Her face was scarlet. +Horror, shame, and relief struggled for mastery +in her countenance. + +``Oh, but I didn't know, I didn't know,'' she +moaned, twisting her hands nervously. ``And +now, when you've been so brave, so true--for +me to accuse you of-- Oh, can you _ever_ forgive +me? But you see, knowing that you _did_ care for +her, it did look--'' She choked into silence, +and turned away her head. + +He glanced at her tenderly, mournfully. + +``Yes,'' he said, after a minute, in a low voice. +``I can see how it did look; and so I'm going to +tell you now something I had meant never to tell +you. There really couldn't have been anything in +that, you see, for I found out long ago that it was +gone--whatever love there had been for-- +Billy.'' + +``But your--tiger skin!'' + +``Oh, yes, I thought it was alive,'' smiled +Arkwright, sadly, ``when I asked you to help me +fight it. But one day, very suddenly, I discovered +that it was nothing but a dead skin of dreams +and memories. But I made another discovery, +too. I found that just beyond lay another one, +and that was very much alive.'' + +``Another one?'' Alice turned to him in +wonder. ``But you never asked me to help you fight +--that one!'' + +He shook his head. + +``No; I couldn't, you see. You couldn't have +helped me. You'd only have hindered me.'' + +``Hindered you?'' + +``Yes. You see, it was my love for--you, +that I was fighting--then.'' + +Alice gave a low cry and flushed vividly; but +Arkwright hurried on, his eyes turned away. + +``Oh, I understand. I know. I'm not asking +for--anything. I heard some time ago of your +engagement to Calderwell. I've tried many +times to say the proper, expected pretty speeches, +but--I couldn't. I will now, though. I do. +You have all my tenderest best wishes for your +happiness--dear. If long ago I hadn't been +such a blind fool as not to know my own +heart--'' + +``But--but there's some mistake,'' interposed +Alice, palpitatingly, with hanging head. +``I--I'm not engaged to Mr. Calderwell.'' + +Arkwright turned and sent a keen glance into +her face. + +``You're--not?'' + +``No.'' + +``But I heard that Calderwell--'' He stopped +helplessly. + +``You heard that Mr. Calderwell was engaged, +very likely. But--it so happens he isn't engaged-- +to me,'' murmured Alice, faintly. + +``But, long ago you said--'' Arkwright +paused, his eyes still keenly searching her face. + +``Never mind what I said--long ago,'' laughed +Alice, trying unsuccessfully to meet his gaze. +``One says lots of things, at times, you know.'' + +Into Arkwright's eyes came a new light, a +light that plainly needed but a breath to fan it +into quick fire. + +``Alice,'' he said softly, ``do you mean that +maybe now--I needn't try to fight--that other +tiger skin?'' + +There was no answer. + +Arkwright reached out a pleading hand. + +``Alice, dear, I've loved you so long,'' he begged +unsteadily. ``Don't you think that sometime, +if I was very, very patient, you could just _begin_ +--to care a little for me?'' + +Still there was no answer. Then, slowly, Alice +shook her head. Her face was turned quite away +--which was a pity, for if Arkwright could have +seen the sudden tender mischief in her eyes, his +own would not have become so somber. + +``Not even a little bit?'' + +``I couldn't ever--begin,'' answered a half- +smothered voice. + +``Alice!'' cried the man, heart-brokenly. + +Alice turned now, and for a fleeting instant +let him see her eyes, glowing with the love so +long kept in relentless exile. + +``I couldn't, because, you see-I began-- +long ago,'' she whispered. + +``Alice!'' It was the same single word, but +spoken with a world of difference, for into it now +was crowded all the glory and the wonder of a +great love. ``Alice!'' breathed the man again; +and this time the word was, oh, so tenderly whispered +into the little pink and white ear of the girl +in his arms. + +``I got delayed,'' began Billy, in the doorway. + +``Oh-h!'' she broke off, beating a hushed, but +precipitate, retreat. + +Fully thirty minutes later, Billy came to the +door again. This time her approach was heralded +by a snatch of song. + +``I hope you'll excuse my being gone so long,'' +she smiled, as she entered the room where her +two guests sat decorously face to face at the chess- +table. + +``Well, you know you said you'd be gone ten +minutes,'' Arkwright reminded her, politely. + +``Yes, I know I did.'' And Billy, to her credit, +did not even smile at the man who did not know +ten minutes from fifty. + + + +CHAPTER XXX + +BY A BABY'S HAND + + +After all, it was the baby's hand that did it, +as was proper, and perhaps to be expected; for +surely, was it not Bertram, Jr.'s place to show +his parents that he was, indeed, no Wedge, but +a dear and precious Tie binding two loving, loyal +hearts more and more closely together? It +would seem, indeed, that Bertram, Jr., thought +so, perhaps, and very bravely he set about it; +though, to carry out his purpose, he had to turn +his steps into an unfamiliar way--a way of pain, +and weariness, and danger. + +It was Arkwright who told Bertram that the +baby was very sick, and that Billy wanted him. +Bertram went home at once to find a distracted, +white-faced Billy, and a twisted, pain-racked +little creature, who it was almost impossible to +believe was the happy, laughing baby boy he +had left that morning. + +For the next two weeks nothing was thought +of in the silent old Beacon Street house but the +tiny little life hovering so near Death's door that +twice it appeared to have slipped quite across +the threshold. All through those terrible weeks +it seemed as if Billy neither ate nor slept; and +always at her side, comforting, cheering, and +helping wherever possible was Bertram, tender, +loving, and marvelously thoughtful. + +Then came the turning point when the universe +itself appeared to hang upon a baby's +breath. Gradually, almost imperceptibly, came +the fluttering back of the tiny spirit into the +longing arms stretched so far, far out to meet and +hold it. And the father and the mother, looking +into each other's sleepless, dark-ringed eyes, +knew that their son was once more theirs to love +and cherish. + +When two have gone together with a dear one +down into the Valley of the Shadow of Death, +and have come back, either mourning or rejoicing, +they find a different world from the one they +had left. Things that were great before seem +small, and some things that were small seem +great. At least Bertram and Billy found their +world thus changed when together they came +back bringing their son with them. + +In the long weeks of convalescence, when the +healthy rosiness stole bit by bit into the baby's +waxen face, and the light of recognition and +understanding crept day by day into the baby's +eyes, there was many a quiet hour for heart-to- +heart talks between the two who so anxiously +and joyously hailed every rosy tint and fleeting +sparkle. And there was so much to tell, so much +to hear, so much to talk about! And always, +running through everything, was that golden +thread of joy, beside which all else paled--that +they had Baby and each other. As if anything +else mattered! + +To be sure, there was Bertram's arm. Very +early in their talks Billy found out about that. +But Billy, with Baby getting well, was not to be +daunted, even by this. + +``Nonsense, darling--not paint again, +indeed! Why, Bertram, of course you will,'' she +cried confidently. + +``But, Billy, the doctor said,'' began Bertram; +but Billy would not even listen. + +``Very well, what if he did, dear?'' she +interrupted. ``What if he did say you couldn't use +your right arm much again?'' Billy's voice broke +a little, then quickly steadied into something very +much like triumph. ``You've got your left one!'' + +Bertram shook his head. + +``I can't paint with that.'' + +``Yes, you can,'' insisted Billy, firmly. ``Why, +Bertram, what do you suppose you were given +two arms for if not to fight with both of them? +And I'm going to be ever so much prouder of +what you paint now, because I'll know how splendidly +you worked to do it. Besides, there's Baby. +As if you weren't ever going to paint for Baby! +Why, Bertram, I'm going to have you paint Baby, +one of these days. Think how pleased he'll be +to see it when he grows up! He's nicer, anyhow, +than any old `Face of a Girl' you ever did. +Paint? Why, Bertram, darling, of course you're +going to paint, and better than you ever did before!'' + +Bertram shook his head again; but this time +he smiled, and patted Billy's cheek with the tip +of his forefinger. + +``As if I could!'' he disclaimed. But that +afternoon he went into his long-deserted studio and +hunted up his last unfinished picture. For some +time he stood motionless before it; then, with a +quick gesture of determination, he got out his +palette, paints, and brushes. This time not until +he had painted ten, a dozen, a score of strokes, +did he drop his brush with a sigh and carefully +erase the fresh paint on the canvas. The next +day he worked longer, and this time he allowed +a little, a very little, of what he had done to +remain. + +The third day Billy herself found him at his +easel. + +``I wonder--do you suppose I could?'' he +asked fearfully. + +``Why, dearest, of course you can! Haven't +you noticed? Can't you see how much more you +can do with your left hand now? You've _had_ to +use it, you see. _I've_ seen you do a lot of things +with it, lately, that you never used to do at all. +And, of course, the more you do with it, the more +you can!'' + +``I know; but that doesn't mean that I can +paint with it,'' sighed Bertram, ruefully eyeing +the tiny bit of fresh color his canvas showed for +his long afternoon's work. + +``You wait and see,'' nodded Billy, with so +overwhelming a cheery confidence that Bertram, +looking into her glowing face, was conscious of a +curious throb of exultation, almost as if already +the victory were his. + +But it was not always of Bertram's broken +arm, nor even of his work that they talked. Bertram, +hanging over the baby's crib to assure himself +that the rosiness and the sparkle were really +growing more apparent every day, used to wonder +sometimes how ever in the world he could +have been jealous of his son. He said as much +one day to Billy. + +To Billy it was a most astounding idea. + +``You mean you were actually jealous of your +own baby?'' she gasped. ``Why, Bertram, how +could-- And was that why you--you sought +distraction and-- Oh, but, Bertram, that was +all my f-fault,'' she quavered remorsefully. ``I +wouldn't play, nor sing, nor go to walk, nor +anything; and I wore horrid frowzy wrappers all the +time, and--'' + +``Oh, come, come, Billy,'' expostulated the +man. ``I'm not going to have you talk like that +about _my wife!_'' + +``But I did--the book said I did,'' wailed +Billy. + +``The book? Good heavens! Are there any +books in this, too?'' demanded Bertram. + +``Yes, the same one; the--the `Talks to +Young Wives,' '' nodded Billy. And then, +because some things had grown small to them, and +some others great, they both laughed happily. + +But even this was not quite all; for one +evening, very shyly, Billy brought out the chessboard. + +``Of course I can't play well,'' she faltered; +``and maybe you don't want to play with me at +all.'' + +But Bertram, when he found out why she had +learned, was very sure he did want very much +to play with her. + +Billy did not beat, of course. But she did +several times experience--for a few blissful minutes +--the pleasure of seeing Bertram sit motionless, +studying the board, because of a move she had +made. And though, in the end, her king was +ignominiously trapped with not an unguarded +square upon which to set his poor distracted +foot, the memory of those blissful minutes when +she had made Bertram ``stare'' more than paid +for the final checkmate. + +By the middle of June the baby was well +enough to be taken to the beach, and Bertram +was so fortunate as to secure the same house +they had occupied before. Once again William +went down in Maine for his fishing trip, and the +Strata was closed. In the beach house Bertram +was painting industriously--with his left hand. +Almost he was beginning to feel Billy's enthusiasm. +Almost he was believing that he _was_ doing +good work. It was not the ``Face of a Girl,'' now. +It was the face of a baby: smiling, laughing, even +crying, sometimes; at other times just gazing +straight into your eyes with adorable soberness. +Bertram still went into Boston twice a week for +treatment, though the treatment itself had +changed. The great surgeon had sent him to +still another specialist. + +``There's a chance--though perhaps a small +one,'' he had said. ``I'd like you to try it, anyway.'' + +As the summer advanced, Bertram thought +sometimes that he could see a slight improvement +in his injured arm; but he tried not to +think too much about this. He had thought +the same thing before, only to be disappointed +in the end. Besides, he was undeniably interested +just now in seeing if he _could_ paint with +his left hand. Billy was so sure, and she had +said that she would be prouder than ever of him, +if he could--and he would like to make Billy +proud! Then, too, there was the baby--he had +no idea a baby could be so interesting to paint. +He was not sure but that he was going to like to +paint babies even better than he had liked to +paint his ``Face of a Girl'' that had brought +him his first fame. + +In September the family returned to the Strata. +The move was made a little earlier this year on +account of Alice Greggory's wedding. + +Alice was to be married in the pretty living- +room at the Annex, just where Billy herself had +been married a few short years before; and +Billy had great plans for the wedding--not +all of which she was able to carry out, for +Alice, like Marie before her, had very strong +objections to being placed under too great +obligations. + +``And you see, really, anyway,'' she told Billy, + +``I owe the whole thing to you, to begin with-- +even my husband.'' + +``Nonsense! Of course you don't,'' disputed +Billy. + +``But I do. If it hadn't been for you I should +never have found him again, and of _course_ I +shouldn't have had this dear little home to be +married in. And I never could have left mother +if she hadn't had Aunt Hannah and the Annex +which means you. And if I hadn't found Mr. +Arkwright, I might never have known how-- +how I could go back to my old home (as I am +going on my honeymoon trip), and just know that +every one of my old friends who shakes hands +with me isn't pitying me now, because I'm my +father's daughter. And that means you; for you +see I never would have known that my father's +name was cleared if it hadn't been for you. +And--'' + +``Oh, Alice, please, please,'' begged Billy, +laughingly raising two protesting hands. ``Why +don't you say that it's to me you owe just breathing, +and be done with it?'' + +``Well, I will, then,'' avowed Alice, doggedly. +``And it's true, too, for, honestly, my dear, I +don't believe I would have been breathing to-day, +nor mother, either, if you hadn't found us that +morning, and taken us out of those awful rooms.'' + +``I? Never! You wouldn't let me take you +out,'' laughed Billy. ``You proud little thing! +Maybe _you've_ forgotten how you turned poor +Uncle William and me out into the cold, cold +world that morning, just because we dared to +aspire to your Lowestoft teapot; but I haven't!'' + +``Oh, Billy, please, _don't_,'' begged Alice, the +painful color staining her face. ``If you knew +how I've hated myself since for the way I acted +that day--and, really, you did take us away +from there, you know.'' + +``No, I didn't. I merely found two good +tenants for Mr. and Mrs. Delano,'' corrected Billy, +with a sober face. + +``Oh, yes, I know all about that,'' smiled Alice, +affectionately; ``and you got mother and me +here to keep Aunt Hannah company and teach +Tommy Dunn; and you got Aunt Hannah here +to keep us company and take care of Tommy +Dunn; and you got Tommy Dunn here so Aunt +Hannah and we could have somebody to teach +and take care of; and, as for the others,--'' +But Billy put her hands to her ears and fled. + +The wedding was to be on the fifteenth. From +the West Kate wrote that of course it was none +of her affairs, particularly as neither of the +interested parties was a relation, but still she should +think that for a man in Mr. Arkwright's position, +nothing but a church wedding would do at all, +as, of course, he did, in a way, belong to the +public. Alice, however, declared that perhaps he +did belong to the public, when he was Don Somebody- +or-other in doublet and hose; but when he +was just plain Michael Jeremiah Arkwright in +a frock coat he was hers, and she did not propose +to make a Grand Opera show of her wedding. +And as Arkwright, too, very much disapproved +of the church-wedding idea, the two were married +in the Annex living-room at noon on the fifteenth +as originally planned, in spite of Mrs. Kate +Hartwell's letter. + +It was soon after the wedding that Bertram +told Billy he wished she would sit for him with +Bertram, Jr. + +``I want to try my hand at you both together,'' +he coaxed. + +``Why, of course, if you like, dear,'' agreed +Billy, promptly, ``though I think Baby is just +as nice, and even nicer, alone.'' + +Once again all over Bertram's studio began +to appear sketches of Billy, this time a glorified, +tender Billy, with the wonderful mother-love in +her eyes. Then, after several sketches of trial +poses, Bertram began his picture of Billy and +the baby together. + +Even now Bertram was not sure of his work. +He knew that he could not yet paint with his old +freedom and ease; he knew that his stroke was +not so sure, so untrammeled. But he knew, too, +that he had gained wonderfully, during the summer, +and that he was gaining now, every day. +To Billy he said nothing of all this. Even to +himself he scarcely put his hope into words; but in +his heart he knew that what he was really painting +his ``Mother and Child'' picture for was the +Bohemian Ten Club Exhibition in March--if +he could but put upon canvas the vision that was +spurring him on. + +And so Bertram worked all through those +short winter days, not always upon the one picture, +of course, but upon some picture or sketch +that would help to give his still uncertain left +hand the skill that had belonged to its mate. +And always, cheering, encouraging, insisting on +victory, was Billy, so that even had Bertram +been tempted, sometimes, to give up, he could +not have done so--and faced Billy's grieved, +disappointed eyes. And when at last his work +was completed, and the pictured mother and +child in all their marvelous life and beauty seemed +ready to step from the canvas, Billy drew a long +ecstatic breath. + +``Oh, Bertram, it _is_, it is the best work you +have ever done.'' Billy was looking at the baby. +Always she had ignored herself as part of the +picture. ``And won't it be fine for the Exhibition!'' + +Bertram's hand tightened on the chair-back +in front of him. For a moment he could not +speak. Then, a bit huskily, he asked: + +``Would you dare--risk it?'' + +``Risk it! Why, Bertram Henshaw, I've +meant that picture for the Exhibition from the +very first--only I never dreamed you could get +it so perfectly lovely. _Now_ what do you say +about Baby being nicer than any old `Face of a +Girl' that you ever did?'' she triumphed. + +And Bertram, who, even to himself, had not +dared whisper the word exhibition, gave a tremulous +laugh that was almost a sob, so overwhelming +was his sudden realization of what faith and +confidence had meant to Billy, his wife. + +If there was still a lingering doubt in Bertram's +mind, it must have been dispelled in less than +an hour after the Bohemian Ten Club Exhibition +flung open its doors on its opening night. Once +again Bertram found his picture the cynosure +of all admiring eyes, and himself the center of an +enthusiastic group of friends and fellow-artists +who vied with each other in hearty words of +congratulation. And when, later, the feared critics, +whose names and opinions counted for so much +in his world, had their say in the daily press and +weekly reviews, Bertram knew how surely indeed +he had won. And when he read that ``Henshaw's +work shows now a peculiar strength, a sort of +reserve power, as it were, which, beautiful as was +his former work, it never showed before,'' he +smiled grimly, and said to Billy: + +``I suppose, now, that was the fighting I did +with my good left hand, eh, dear?'' + +But there was yet one more drop that was to +make Bertram's cup of joy brim to overflowing. +It came just one month after the Exhibition in the +shape of a terse dozen words from the doctor. +Bertram fairly flew home that day. He had no +consciousness of any means of locomotion. He +thought he was going to tell his wife at once his +great good news; but when he saw her, speech +suddenly fled, and all that he could do was to +draw her closely to him with his left arm and hide +his face. + +``Why, Bertram, dearest, what--what is it?'' +stammered the thoroughly frightened Billy. +``Has anything-happened?'' + +``No, no--yes--yes, everything has happened. +I mean, it's going to happen,'' choked +the man. ``Billy, that old chap says that I'm +going to have my arm again. Think of it--my +good right arm that I've lost so long!'' + +``_Oh, Bertram!_'' breathed Billy. And she, too, +fell to sobbing. + +Later, when speech was more coherent, she +faltered: + +``Well, anyway, it doesn't make any difference +_how_ many beautiful pictures you p-paint, after +this, Bertram, I _can't_ be prouder of any than I +am of the one your l--left hand did.'' + +``Oh, but I have you to thank for all that, +dear.'' + +``No, you haven't,'' disputed Billy, blinking +teary eyes; ``but--'' she paused, then went on +spiritedly, ``but, anyhow, I--I don't believe +any one--not even Kate--can say _now_ that-- +that I've been a hindrance to you in your c-career!'' + +``Hindrance!'' scoffed Bertram, in a tone that +left no room for doubt, and with a kiss that left +even less, if possible. + +Billy, for still another minute, was silent; then, +with a wistfulness that was half playful, half +serious, she sighed: + +``Bertram, I believe being married is something +like clocks, you know, 'specially at the +first.'' + +``Clocks, dear?'' + +``Yes. I was out to Aunt Hannah's to-day. +She was fussing with her clock--the one that +strikes half an hour ahead--and I saw all those +quantities of wheels, little and big, that have to +go just so, with all the little cogs fitting into all +the other little cogs just exactly right. Well, +that's like marriage. See? There's such a lot +of little cogs in everyday life that have to be +fitted so they'll run smoothly--that have to be +adjusted, 'specially at the first.'' + +``Oh, Billy, what an idea!'' + +``But it's so, really, Bertram. Anyhow, I +know my cogs were always getting out of place +at the first,'' laughed Billy. ``And I was like +Aunt Hannah's clock, too, always going off half +an hour ahead of time. And maybe I shall be so +again, sometimes. But, Bertram,''--her voice +shook a little--``if you'll just look at my face +you'll see that I tell the right time there, just as +Aunt Hannah's clock does. I'm sure, always, +I'll tell the right time there, even if I do go off +half an hour ahead!'' + +``As if I didn't know that,'' answered +Bertram, very low and tenderly. ``Besides, I reckon +I have some cogs of my own that need adjusting!'' + + + + + +End of The Project Gutenberg Etext of Miss Billy Married + |