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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Miss Billy's Decision, by Eleanor H. Porter
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Miss Billy's Decision
+
+Author: Eleanor H. Porter
+
+Release Date: July 8, 2008 [EBook #362]
+Last Updated: March 9, 2018
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MISS BILLY'S DECISION ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Charles Keller
+
+
+
+
+
+MISS BILLY'S DECISION
+
+By Eleanor H. Porter
+
+Author of “Miss Billy,” etc.
+
+
+TO My Cousin Helen
+
+
+                                        CONTENTS
+          CHAPTER
+          I.      CALDERWELL DOES SOME TALKING
+          II.     AUNT HANNAH GETS A LETTER
+          III.    BILLY AND BERTRAM
+          IV.     FOR MARY JANE
+          V.      MARIE SPEAKS HER MIND
+          VI.     AT THE SIGN OF THE PINK
+          VII.    OLD FRIENDS AND NEW
+          VIII.   M. J. OPENS THE GAME
+          IX.     A RUG, A PICTURE, AND A GIRL AFRAID
+          X.      A JOB FOR PETE--AND FOR BERTRAM
+          XI.     A CLOCK AND AUNT HANNAH
+          XII.    SISTER KATE
+          XIII.   CYRIL AND A WEDDING
+          XIV.    M. J. MAKES ANOTHER MOVE
+          XV.     “MR. BILLY” AND “MISS MARY JANE”
+           XVI.    A GIRL AND A BIT OF LOWESTOFT
+          XVII.   ONLY A LOVE SONG, BUT--
+          XVIII.  SUGARPLUMS
+          XIX.    ALICE GREGGORY
+          XX.     ARKWRIGHT TELLS A STORY
+          XXI.    A MATTER OF STRAIGHT BUSINESS
+          XXII.   PLANS AND PLOTTINGS
+          XXIII.  THE CAUSE AND BERTRAM
+          XXIV.   THE ARTIST AND HIS ART
+          XXV.    THE OPERETTA
+          XXVI.   ARKWRIGHT TELLS ANOTHER STORY
+          XXVII.  THE THING THAT WAS THE TRUTH
+          XXVIII. BILLY TAKES HER TURN
+          XXIX.   KATE WRITES A LETTER
+          XXX.    “I'VE HINDERED HIM”
+           XXXI.   FLIGHT
+          XXXII.  PETE TO THE RESCUE
+          XXXIII. BERTRAM TAKES THE REINS
+
+
+
+
+
+MISS BILLY'S DECISION
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I. CALDERWELL DOES SOME TALKING
+
+
+Calderwell had met Mr. M. J. Arkwright in London through a common
+friend; since then they had tramped half over Europe together in a
+comradeship that was as delightful as it was unusual. As Calderwell put
+it in a letter to his sister, Belle:
+
+“We smoke the same cigar and drink the same tea (he's just as much of
+an old woman on that subject as I am!), and we agree beautifully on
+all necessary points of living, from tipping to late sleeping in the
+morning; while as for politics and religion--we disagree in those just
+enough to lend spice to an otherwise tame existence.”
+
+Farther along in this same letter Calderwell touched upon his new friend
+again.
+
+“I admit, however, I would like to know his name. To find out what that
+mysterious 'M. J.' stands for has got to be pretty nearly an obsession
+with me. I am about ready to pick his pocket or rifle his trunk in
+search of some lurking 'Martin' or 'John' that will set me at peace. As
+it is, I confess that I have ogled his incoming mail and his outgoing
+baggage shamelessly, only to be slapped in the face always and
+everlastingly by that bland 'M. J.' I've got my revenge, now, though. To
+myself I call him 'Mary Jane'--and his broad-shouldered, brown-bearded
+six feet of muscular manhood would so like to be called 'Mary Jane'!
+By the way, Belle, if you ever hear of murder and sudden death in my
+direction, better set the sleuths on the trail of Arkwright. Six to one
+you'll find I called him 'Mary Jane' to his face!”
+
+Calderwell was thinking of that letter now, as he sat at a small table
+in a Paris café. Opposite him was the six feet of muscular manhood,
+broad shoulders, pointed brown beard, and all--and he had just addressed
+it, inadvertently, as “Mary Jane.”
+
+During the brief, sickening moment of silence after the name had left
+his lips, Calderwell was conscious of a whimsical realization of the
+lights, music, and laughter all about him.
+
+“Well, I chose as safe a place as I could!” he was thinking. Then
+Arkwright spoke.
+
+“How long since you've been in correspondence with members of my
+family?”
+
+“Eh?”
+
+Arkwright laughed grimly.
+
+“Perhaps you thought of it yourself, then--I'll admit you're capable of
+it,” he nodded, reaching for a cigar. “But it so happens you hit upon my
+family's favorite name for me.”
+
+“_Mary Jane!_ You mean they actually _call_ you that?”
+
+“Yes,” bowed the big fellow, calmly, as he struck a light.
+“Appropriate!--don't you think?”
+
+Calderwell did not answer. He thought he could not.
+
+“Well, silence gives consent, they say,” laughed the other. “Anyhow, you
+must have had _some_ reason for calling me that.”
+
+“Arkwright, what _does_ 'M. J.' stand for?” demanded Calderwell.
+
+“Oh, is that it?” smiled the man opposite. “Well, I'll own those
+initials have been something of a puzzle to people. One man declares
+they're 'Merely Jokes'; but another, not so friendly, says they stand
+for 'Mostly Jealousy' of more fortunate chaps who have real names for
+a handle. My small brothers and sisters, discovering, with the usual
+perspicacity of one's family on such matters, that I never signed, or
+called myself anything but 'M. J.,' dubbed me 'Mary Jane.' And there you
+have it.”
+
+“Mary Jane! You!”
+
+Arkwright smiled oddly.
+
+“Oh, well, what's the difference? Would you deprive them of their
+innocent amusement? And they do so love that 'Mary Jane'! Besides,
+what's in a name, anyway?” he went on, eyeing the glowing tip of the
+cigar between his fingers. “'A rose by any other name--'--you've
+heard that, probably. Names don't always signify, my dear fellow. For
+instance, I know a 'Billy'--but he's a girl.”
+
+Calderwell gave a sudden start.
+
+“You don't mean Billy--Neilson?”
+
+The other turned sharply.
+
+“Do _you_ know Billy Neilson?”
+
+Calderwell gave his friend a glance from scornful eyes.
+
+“Do I know Billy Neilson?” he cried. “Does a fellow usually know the
+girl he's proposed to regularly once in three months? Oh, I know I'm
+telling tales out of school, of course,” he went on, in response to the
+look that had come into the brown eyes opposite. “But what's the use?
+Everybody knows it--that knows us. Billy herself got so she took it as
+a matter of course--and refused as a matter of course, too; just as she
+would refuse a serving of apple pie at dinner, if she hadn't wanted it.”
+
+“Apple pie!” scouted Arkwright.
+
+Calderwell shrugged his shoulders.
+
+“My dear fellow, you don't seem to realize it, but for the last six
+months you have been assisting at the obsequies of a dead romance.”
+
+“Indeed! And is it--buried, yet?”
+
+“Oh, no,” sighed Calderwell, cheerfully. “I shall go back one of these
+days, I'll warrant, and begin the same old game again; though I will
+acknowledge that the last refusal was so very decided that it's been a
+year, almost, since I received it. I think I was really convinced, for
+a while, that--that she didn't want that apple pie,” he finished with
+a whimsical lightness that did not quite coincide with the stern lines
+that had come to his mouth.
+
+For a moment there was silence, then Calderwell spoke again.
+
+“Where did you know--Miss Billy?”
+
+“Oh, I don't know her at all. I know of her--through Aunt Hannah.”
+
+Calderwell sat suddenly erect.
+
+“Aunt Hannah! Is she your aunt, too? Jove! This _is_ a little old world,
+after all; isn't it?”
+
+“She isn't my aunt. She's my mother's third cousin. None of us have seen
+her for years, but she writes to mother occasionally; and, of course,
+for some time now, her letters have been running over full of Billy. She
+lives with her, I believe; doesn't she?”
+
+“She does,” rejoined Calderwell, with an unexpected chuckle. “I wonder
+if you know how she happened to live with her, at first.”
+
+“Why, no, I reckon not. What do you mean?”
+
+Calderwell chuckled again.
+
+“Well, I'll tell you. You, being a 'Mary Jane,' ought to appreciate it.
+You see, Billy was named for one William Henshaw, her father's chum,
+who promptly forgot all about her. At eighteen, Billy, being left quite
+alone in the world, wrote to 'Uncle William' and asked to come and live
+with him.”
+
+“Well?”
+
+“But it wasn't well. William was a forty-year-old widower who lived with
+two younger brothers, an old butler, and a Chinese cook in one of those
+funny old Beacon Street houses in Boston. 'The Strata,' Bertram called
+it. Bright boy--Bertram!”
+
+“The Strata!”
+
+“Yes. I wish you could see that house, Arkwright. It's a regular layer
+cake. Cyril--he's the second brother; must be thirty-four or five
+now--lives on the top floor in a rugless, curtainless, music-mad
+existence--just a plain crank. Below him comes William. William collects
+things--everything from tenpenny nails to teapots, I should say, and
+they're all there in his rooms. Farther down somewhere comes Bertram.
+He's _the_ Bertram Henshaw, you understand; the artist.”
+
+“Not the 'Face-of-a-Girl' Henshaw?”
+
+“The same; only of course four years ago he wasn't quite so well known
+as he is now. Well, to resume and go on. It was into this house, this
+masculine paradise ruled over by Pete and Dong Ling in the kitchen, that
+Billy's naïve request for a home came.”
+
+“Great Scott!” breathed Arkwright, appreciatively.
+
+“Yes. Well, the letter was signed 'Billy.' They took her for a boy,
+naturally, and after something of a struggle they agreed to let 'him'
+come. For his particular delectation they fixed up a room next to
+Bertram with guns and fishing rods, and such ladylike specialties; and
+William went to the station to meet the boy.”
+
+“With never a suspicion?”
+
+“With never a suspicion.”
+
+“Gorry!”
+
+“Well, 'he' came, and 'she' conquered. I guess things were lively for
+a while, though. Oh, there was a kitten, too, I believe, 'Spunk,' who
+added to the gayety of nations.”
+
+“But what did the Henshaws do?”
+
+“Well, I wasn't there, of course; but Bertram says they spun around like
+tops gone mad for a time, but finally quieted down enough to summon a
+married sister for immediate propriety, and to establish Aunt Hannah for
+permanency the next day.”
+
+“So that's how it happened! Well, by George!” cried Arkwright.
+
+“Yes,” nodded the other. “So you see there are untold possibilities just
+in a name. Remember that. Just suppose _you_, as Mary Jane, should beg a
+home in a feminine household--say in Miss Billy's, for instance!”
+
+“I'd like to,” retorted Arkwright, with sudden warmth.
+
+Calderwell stared a little.
+
+The other laughed shamefacedly.
+
+“Oh, it's only that I happen to have a devouring curiosity to meet
+that special young lady. I sing her songs (you know she's written some
+dandies!), I've heard a lot about her, and I've seen her picture.”
+ (He did not add that he had also purloined that same picture from his
+mother's bureau--the picture being a gift from Aunt Hannah.) “So you
+see I would, indeed, like to occupy a corner in the fair Miss Billy's
+household. I could write to Aunt Hannah and beg a home with her, you
+know; eh?”
+
+“Of course! Why don't you--'Mary Jane'?” laughed Calderwell. “Billy'd
+take you all right. She's had a little Miss Hawthorn, a music teacher,
+there for months. She's always doing stunts of that sort. Belle writes
+me that she's had a dozen forlornites there all this last summer, two
+or three at a time-tired widows, lonesome old maids, and crippled
+kids--just to give them a royal good time. So you see she'd take you,
+without a doubt. Jove! what a pair you'd make: Miss Billy and Mr. Mary
+Jane! You'd drive the suffragettes into conniption fits--just by the
+sound of you!”
+
+Arkwright laughed quietly; then he frowned.
+
+“But how about it?” he asked. “I thought she was keeping house with Aunt
+Hannah. Didn't she stay at all with the Henshaws?”
+
+“Oh, yes, a few months. I never knew just why she did leave, but I
+fancied, from something Billy herself said once, that she discovered she
+was creating rather too much of an upheaval in the Strata. So she took
+herself off. She went to school, and travelled considerably. She was
+over here when I met her first. After that she was with us all one
+summer on the yacht. A couple of years ago, or so, she went back to
+Boston, bought a house and settled down with Aunt Hannah.”
+
+“And she's not married--or even engaged?”
+
+“Wasn't the last I heard. I haven't seen her since December, and I've
+heard from her only indirectly. She corresponds with my sister, and so
+do I--intermittently. I heard a month ago from Belle, and _she_ had a
+letter from Billy in August. But I heard nothing of any engagement.”
+
+“How about the Henshaws? I should think there might be a chance there
+for a romance--a charming girl, and three unattached men.”
+
+Calderwell gave a slow shake of the head.
+
+“I don't think so. William is--let me see--nearly forty-five, I guess,
+by this time; and he isn't a marrying man. He buried his heart with his
+wife and baby years ago. Cyril, according to Bertram, 'hates women
+and all other confusion,' so that ought to let him out. As for Bertram
+himself--Bertram is 'only Bertram.' He's always been that. Bertram loves
+girls--to paint; but I can't imagine him making serious love to any one.
+It would always be the tilt of a chin or the turn of a cheek that he was
+admiring--to paint. No, there's no chance for a romance there, I'll
+warrant.”
+
+“But there's--yourself.”
+
+Calderwell's eyebrows rose the fraction of an inch.
+
+“Oh, of course. I presume January or February will find me back there,”
+ he admitted with a sigh and a shrug. Then, a little bitterly, he added:
+“No, Arkwright. I shall keep away if I can. I _know_ there's no chance
+for me--now.”
+
+“Then you'll leave me a clear field?” bantered the other.
+
+“Of course--'Mary Jane,'” retorted Calderwell, with equal lightness.
+
+“Thank you.”
+
+“Oh, you needn't,” laughed Calderwell. “My giving you the right of way
+doesn't insure you a thoroughfare for yourself--there are others, you
+know. Billy Neilson has had sighing swains about I her, I imagine, since
+she could walk and talk. She is a wonderfully fascinating little bit of
+femininity, and she has a heart of pure gold. All is, I envy the man who
+wins it--for the man who wins that, wins her.”
+
+There was no answer. Arkwright sat with his eyes on the moving throng
+outside the window near them. Perhaps he had not heard. At all events,
+when he spoke some time later, it was of a matter far removed from Miss
+Billy Neilson, or the way to her heart. Nor was the young lady mentioned
+between them again that day.
+
+Long hours later, just before parting for the night, Arkwright said:
+
+“Calderwell, I'm sorry, but I believe, after all, I can't take that trip
+to the lakes with you. I--I'm going home next week.”
+
+“Home! Hang it, Arkwright! I'd counted on you. Isn't this rather
+sudden?”
+
+“Yes, and no. I'll own I've been drifting about with you contentedly
+enough for the last six months to make you think mountain-climbing and
+boat-paddling were the end and aim of my existence. But they aren't, you
+know, really.”
+
+“Nonsense! At heart you're as much of a vagabond as I am; and you know
+it.”
+
+“Perhaps. But unfortunately I don't happen to carry your pocketbook.”
+
+“You may, if you like. I'll hand it over any time,” grinned Calderwell.
+
+“Thanks. You know well enough what I mean,” shrugged the other.
+
+There was a moment's silence; then Calderwell queried:
+
+“Arkwright, how old are you?”
+
+“Twenty-four.”
+
+“Good! Then you're merely travelling to supplement your education, see?”
+
+“Oh, yes, I see. But something besides my education has got to be
+supplemented now, I reckon.”
+
+“What are you going to do?”
+
+There was an almost imperceptible hesitation; then, a little shortly,
+came the answer:
+
+“Hit the trail for Grand Opera, and bring up, probably--in vaudeville.”
+
+Calderwell smiled appreciatively.
+
+“You _can_ sing like the devil,” he admitted.
+
+“Thanks,” returned his friend, with uplifted eyebrows. “Do you mind
+calling it 'an angel'--just for this occasion?”
+
+“Oh, the matinée-girls will do that fast enough. But, I say,
+Arkwright, what are you going to do with those initials then?”
+
+“Let 'em alone.”
+
+“Oh, no, you won't. And you won't be 'Mary Jane,' either. Imagine a Mary
+Jane in Grand Opera! I know what you'll be. You'll be 'Señor Martini
+Johnini Arkwrightino'! By the way, you didn't say what that 'M. J.'
+really did stand for,” hinted Calderwell, shamelessly.
+
+“'Merely Jokes'--in your estimation, evidently,” shrugged the other.
+“But my going isn't a joke, Calderwell. I'm really going. And I'm going
+to work.”
+
+“But--how shall you manage?”
+
+“Time will tell.”
+
+Calderwell frowned and stirred restlessly in his chair.
+
+“But, honestly, now, to--to follow that trail of yours will take
+money. And--er--” a faint red stole to his forehead--“don't they
+have--er--patrons for these young and budding geniuses? Why can't I have
+a hand in this trail, too--or maybe you'd call it a foot, eh? I'd be no
+end glad to, Arkwright.”
+
+“Thanks, old man.” The red was duplicated this time above the brown
+silky beard. “That was mighty kind of you, and I appreciate it; but it
+won't be necessary. A generous, but perhaps misguided bachelor uncle
+left me a few thousands a year or so ago; and I'm going to put them all
+down my throat--or rather, _into_ it--before I give up.”
+
+“Where you going to study? New York?”
+
+Again there was an almost imperceptible hesitation before the answer
+came.
+
+“I'm not quite prepared to say.”
+
+“Why not try it here?”
+
+Arkwright shook his head.
+
+“I did plan to, when I came over but I've changed my mind. I believe I'd
+rather work while longer in America.”
+
+“Hm-m,” murmured Calderwell.
+
+There was a brief silence, followed by other questions and other
+answers; after which the friends said good night.
+
+In his own room, as he was dropping off to sleep, Calderwell muttered
+drowsily:
+
+“By George! I haven't found out yet what that blamed 'M. J.' stands
+for!”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II. AUNT HANNAH GETS A LETTER
+
+
+In the cozy living-room at Hillside, Billy Neilson's pretty home on
+Corey Hill, Billy herself sat writing at the desk. Her pen had just
+traced the date, “October twenty-fifth,” when Mrs. Stetson entered with
+a letter in her hand.
+
+“Writing, my dear? Then don't let me disturb you.” She turned as if to
+go.
+
+Billy dropped her pen, sprang to her feet, flew to the little woman's
+side and whirled her half across the room.
+
+“There!” she exclaimed, as she plumped the breathless and scandalized
+Aunt Hannah into the biggest easy chair. “I feel better. I just had to
+let off steam some way. It's so lovely you came in just when you did!”
+
+“Indeed! I--I'm not so sure of that,” stammered the lady, dropping the
+letter into her lap, and patting with agitated fingers her cap, her
+curls, the two shawls about her shoulders, and the lace at her throat.
+“My grief and conscience, Billy! Wors't you _ever_ grow up?”
+
+“Hope not,” purred Billy cheerfully, dropping herself on to a low
+hassock at Aunt Hannah's feet.
+
+“But, my dear, you--you're engaged!”
+
+Billy bubbled into a chuckling laugh.
+
+“As if I didn't know that, when I've just written a dozen notes to
+announce it! And, oh, Aunt Hannah, such a time as I've had, telling what
+a dear Bertram is, and how I love, love, _love_ him, and what beautiful
+eyes he has, and _such_ a nose, and--”
+
+“Billy!” Aunt Hannah was sitting erect in pale horror.
+
+“Eh?” Billy's eyes were roguish.
+
+“You didn't write that in those notes!”
+
+“Write it? Oh, no! That's only what I _wanted_ to write,” chuckled
+Billy. “What I really did write was as staid and proper as--here, let me
+show you,” she broke off, springing to her feet and running over to her
+desk. “There! this is about what I wrote to them all,” she finished,
+whipping a note out of one of the unsealed envelopes on the desk and
+spreading it open before Aunt Hannah's suspicious eyes.
+
+“Hm-m; that is very good--for you,” admitted the lady.
+
+“Well, I like that!--after all my stern self-control and self-sacrifice
+to keep out all those things I _wanted_ to write,” bridled Billy.
+“Besides, they'd have been ever so much more interesting reading than
+these will be,” she pouted, as she took the note from her companion's
+hand.
+
+“I don't doubt it,” observed Aunt Hannah, dryly.
+
+Billy laughed, and tossed the note back on the desk.
+
+“I'm writing to Belle Calderwell, now,” she announced musingly, dropping
+herself again on the hassock. “I suppose she'll tell Hugh.”
+
+“Poor boy! He'll be disappointed.”
+
+Billy sighed, but she uptilted her chin a little.
+
+“He ought not to be. I told him long, long ago, the very first time,
+that--that I couldn't.”
+
+“I know, dear; but--they don't always understand.” Aunt Hannah sighed
+in sympathy with the far-away Hugh Calderwell, as she looked down at the
+bright young face near her.
+
+There was a moment's silence; then Billy gave a little laugh.
+
+“He _will_ be surprised,” she said. “He told me once that Bertram
+wouldn't ever care for any girl except to paint. To paint, indeed! As
+if Bertram didn't love me--just _me!_--if he never saw another tube of
+paint!”
+
+“I think he does, my dear.”
+
+Again there was silence; then, from Billy's lips there came softly:
+
+“Just think; we've been engaged almost four weeks--and to-morrow it'll
+be announced. I'm so glad I didn't ever announce the other two!”
+
+“The other _two!_” cried Aunt Hannah.
+
+Billy laughed.
+
+“Oh, I forgot. You didn't know about Cyril.”
+
+“Cyril!”
+
+“Oh, there didn't anybody know it, either not even Cyril himself,”
+ dimpled Billy, mischievously. “I just engaged myself to him in
+imagination, you know, to see how I'd like it. I didn't like it. But
+it didn't last, anyhow, very long--just three weeks, I believe. Then I
+broke it off,” she finished, with unsmiling mouth, but dancing eyes.
+
+“Billy!” protested Aunt Hannah, feebly.
+
+“But I _am_ glad only the family knew about my engagement to Uncle
+William--oh, Aunt Hannah, you don't know how good it does seem to call
+him 'Uncle' again. It was always slipping out, anyhow, all the time we
+were engaged; and of course it was awful then.”
+
+“That only goes to prove, my dear, how entirely unsuitable it was, from
+the start.”
+
+A bright color flooded Billy's face.
+
+“I know; but if a girl _will_ think a man is asking for a wife when all
+he wants is a daughter, and if she blandly says 'Yes, thank you, I'll
+marry you,' I don't know what you can expect!”
+
+“You can expect just what you got--misery, and almost a tragedy,”
+ retorted Aunt Hannah, severely.
+
+A tender light came into Billy's eyes.
+
+“Dear Uncle William! What a jewel he was, all the way through! And he'd
+have marched straight to the altar, too, with never a flicker of an
+eyelid, I know--self-sacrificing martyr that he was!”
+
+“Martyr!” bristled Aunt Hannah, with extraordinary violence for her.
+“I'm thinking that term belonged somewhere else. A month ago, Billy
+Neilson, you did not look as if you'd live out half your days. But I
+suppose _you'd_ have gone to the altar, too, with never a flicker of an
+eyelid!”
+
+“But I thought I had to,” protested Billy. “I couldn't grieve Uncle
+William so, after Mrs. Hartwell had said how he--he wanted me.”
+
+Aunt Hannah's lips grew stern at the corners.
+
+“There are times when--when I think it would be wiser if Mrs. Kate
+Hartwell would attend to her own affairs!” Aunt Hannah's voice fairly
+shook with wrath.
+
+“Why-Aunt Hannah!” reproved Billy in mischievous horror. “I'm shocked at
+you!”
+
+Aunt Hannah flushed miserably.
+
+“There, there, child, forget I said it. I ought not to have said it, of
+course,” she murmured agitatedly.
+
+Billy laughed.
+
+“You should have heard what Uncle William said! But never mind. We all
+found out the mistake before it was too late, and everything is lovely
+now, even to Cyril and Marie. Did you ever see anything so beatifically
+happy as that couple are? Bertram says he hasn't heard a dirge from
+Cyril's rooms for three weeks; and that if anybody else played the kind
+of music he's been playing, it would be just common garden ragtime!”
+
+“Music! Oh, my grief and conscience! That makes me think, Billy. If I'm
+not actually forgetting what I came in here for,” cried Aunt Hannah,
+fumbling in the folds of her dress for the letter that had slipped from
+her lap. “I've had word from a young niece. She's going to study music
+in Boston.”
+
+“A niece?”
+
+“Well, not really, you know. She calls me 'Aunt,' just as you and the
+Henshaw boys do. But I really am related to _her_, for her mother and I
+are third cousins, while it was my husband who was distantly related to
+the Henshaw family.”
+
+“What's her name?”
+
+“'Mary Jane Arkwright.' Where is that letter?”
+
+“Here it is, on the floor,” reported Billy. “Were you going to read it
+to me?” she asked, as she picked it up.
+
+“Yes--if you don't mind.”
+
+“I'd love to hear it.”
+
+“Then I'll read it. It--it rather annoys me in some ways. I thought the
+whole family understood that I wasn't living by myself any longer--that
+I was living with you. I'm sure I thought I wrote them that, long ago.
+But this sounds almost as if they didn't understand it--at least, as if
+this girl didn't.”
+
+“How old is she?”
+
+“I don't know; but she must be some old, to be coming here to Boston to
+study music, alone--singing, I think she said.”
+
+“You don't remember her, then?”
+
+Aunt Hannah frowned and paused, the letter half withdrawn from its
+envelope.
+
+“No--but that isn't strange. They live West. I haven't seen any of them
+for years. I know there are several children--and I suppose I've been
+told their names. I know there's a boy--the eldest, I think--who is
+quite a singer, and there's a girl who paints, I believe; but I don't
+seem to remember a 'Mary Jane.'”
+
+“Never mind! Suppose we let Mary Jane speak for herself,” suggested
+Billy, dropping her chin into the small pink cup of her hand, and
+settling herself to listen.
+
+“Very well,” sighed Aunt Hannah; and she opened the letter and began to
+read.
+
+
+     “DEAR AUNT HANNAH:--This is to tell you
+     that I'm coming to Boston to study singing in
+     the school for Grand Opera, and I'm planning to
+     look you up. Do you object? I said to a friend
+     the other day that I'd half a mind to write to Aunt
+     Hannah and beg a home with her; and my friend
+     retorted: 'Why don't you, Mary Jane?' But
+     that, of course, I should not think of doing.
+
+     “But I know I shall be lonesome, Aunt Hannah,
+     and I hope you'll let me see you once in a
+     while, anyway. I plan now to come next week
+     --I've already got as far as New York, as you see
+     by the address--and I shall hope to see you
+     soon.
+
+     “All the family would send love, I know.
+                  “M. J. ARKWRIGHT.”
+
+
+“Grand Opera! Oh, how perfectly lovely,” cried Billy.
+
+“Yes, but Billy, do you think she is expecting me to invite her to make
+her home with me? I shall have to write and explain that I can't--if she
+does, of course.”
+
+Billy frowned and hesitated.
+
+“Why, it sounded--a little--that way; but--” Suddenly her face cleared.
+“Aunt Hannah, I've thought of the very thing. We _will_ take her!”
+
+“Oh, Billy, I couldn't think of letting you do that,” demurred Aunt
+Hannah. “You're very kind--but, oh, no; not that!”
+
+“Why not? I think it would be lovely; and we can just as well as not.
+After Marie is married in December, she can have that room. Until then
+she can have the little blue room next to me.”
+
+“But--but--we don't know anything about her.”
+
+“We know she's your niece, and she's lonesome; and we know she's
+musical. I shall love her for every one of those things. Of course we'll
+take her!”
+
+“But--I don't know anything about her age.”
+
+“All the more reason why she should be looked out for, then,” retorted
+Billy, promptly. “Why, Aunt Hannah, just as if you didn't want to give
+this lonesome, unprotected young girl a home!”
+
+“Oh, I do, of course; but--”
+
+“Then it's all settled,” interposed Billy, springing to her feet.
+
+“But what if we--we shouldn't like her?”
+
+“Nonsense! What if she shouldn't like us?” laughed Billy. “However, if
+you'd feel better, just ask her to come and stay with us a month. We
+shall keep her all right, afterwards. See if we don't!”
+
+Slowly Aunt Hannah got to her feet.
+
+“Very well, dear. I'll write, of course, as you tell me to; and it's
+lovely of you to do it. Now I'll leave you to your letters. I've
+hindered you far too long, as it is.”
+
+“You've rested me,” declared Billy, flinging wide her arms.
+
+Aunt Hannah, fearing a second dizzying whirl impelled by those same
+young arms, drew her shawls about her shoulders and backed hastily
+toward the hall door.
+
+Billy laughed.
+
+“Oh, I won't again--to-day,” she promised merrily. Then, as the lady
+reached the arched doorway: “Tell Mary Jane to let us know the day
+and train and we'll meet her. Oh, and Aunt Hannah, tell her to wear a
+pink--a white pink; and tell her we will, too,” she finished gayly.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III. BILLY AND BERTRAM
+
+
+Bertram called that evening. Before the open fire in the living-room he
+found a pensive Billy awaiting him--a Billy who let herself be kissed,
+it is true, and who even kissed back, shyly, adorably; but a Billy who
+looked at him with wide, almost frightened eyes.
+
+“Why, darling, what's the matter?” he demanded, his own eyes growing
+wide and frightened.
+
+“Bertram, it's--done!”
+
+“What's done? What do you mean?”
+
+“Our engagement. It's--announced. I wrote stacks of notes to-day,
+and even now there are some left for to-morrow. And then there's--the
+newspapers. Bertram, right away, now, _everybody_ will know it.” Her
+voice was tragic.
+
+Bertram relaxed visibly. A tender light came to his eyes.
+
+“Well, didn't you expect everybody would know it, my dear?”
+
+“Y-yes; but--”
+
+At her hesitation, the tender light changed to a quick fear.
+
+“Billy, you aren't--sorry?”
+
+The pink glory that suffused her face answered him before her words did.
+
+“Sorry! Oh, never, Bertram! It's only that it won't be ours any
+longer--that is, it won't belong to just our two selves. Everybody will
+know it. And they'll bow and smile and say 'How lovely!' to our faces,
+and 'Did you ever?' to our backs. Oh, no, I'm not sorry, Bertram; but I
+am--afraid.”
+
+“_Afraid_--Billy!”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+Billy sighed, and gazed with pensive eyes into the fire.
+
+Across Bertram's face swept surprise, consternation, and dismay. Bertram
+had thought he knew Billy in all her moods and fancies; but he did not
+know her in this one.
+
+“Why, Billy!” he breathed.
+
+Billy drew another sigh. It seemed to come from the very bottoms of her
+small, satin-slippered feet.
+
+“Well, I am. You're _the_ Bertram Henshaw. You know lots and lots of
+people that I never even saw. And they'll come and stand around and
+stare and lift their lorgnettes and say: 'Is that the one? Dear me!'”
+
+Bertram gave a relieved laugh.
+
+“Nonsense, sweetheart! I should think you were a picture I'd painted and
+hung on a wall.”
+
+“I shall feel as if I were--with all those friends of yours. Bertram,
+what if they don't like it?” Her voice had grown tragic again.
+
+“_Like_ it!”
+
+“Yes. The picture--me, I mean.”
+
+“They can't help liking it,” he retorted, with the prompt certainty of
+an adoring lover.
+
+Billy shook her head. Her eyes had gone back to the fire.
+
+“Oh, yes, they can. I can hear them. 'What, _she_--Bertram Henshaw's
+wife?--a frivolous, inconsequential “Billy” like that?' Bertram!”--Billy
+turned fiercely despairing eyes on her lover--“Bertram, sometimes I
+wish my name were 'Clarissa Cordelia,' or 'Arabella Maud,' or 'Hannah
+Jane'--anything that's feminine and proper!”
+
+Bertram's ringing laugh brought a faint smile to Billy's lips. But the
+words that followed the laugh, and the caressing touch of the man's
+hands sent a flood of shy color to her face.
+
+“'Hannah Jane,' indeed! As if I'd exchange my Billy for her or any
+Clarissa or Arabella that ever grew! I adore Billy--flame, nature,
+and--”
+
+“And naughtiness?” put in Billy herself.
+
+“Yes--if there be any,” laughed Bertram, fondly. “But, see,” he added,
+taking a tiny box from his pocket, “see what I've brought for this same
+Billy to wear. She'd have had it long ago if she hadn't insisted on
+waiting for this announcement business.”
+
+“Oh, Bertram, what a beauty!” dimpled Billy, as the flawless diamond in
+Bertram's fingers caught the light and sent it back in a flash of flame
+and crimson.
+
+“Now you are mine--really mine, sweetheart!” The man's voice and hand
+shook as he slipped the ring on Billy's outstretched finger.
+
+Billy caught her breath with almost a sob.
+
+“And I'm so glad to be--yours, dear,” she murmured brokenly. “And--and
+I'll make you proud that I am yours, even if I am just 'Billy,'” she
+choked. “Oh, I know I'll write such beautiful, beautiful songs now.”
+
+The man drew her into a close embrace.
+
+“As if I cared for that,” he scoffed lovingly.
+
+Billy looked up in quick horror.
+
+“Why, Bertram, you don't mean you don't--care?”
+
+He laughed lightly, and took the dismayed little face between his two
+hands.
+
+“Care, darling? of course I care! You know how I love your music. I
+care about everything that concerns you. I meant that I'm proud of you
+_now_--just you. I love _you_, you know.”
+
+There was a moment's pause. Billy's eyes, as they looked at him, carried
+a curious intentness in their dark depths.
+
+“You mean, you like--the turn of my head and the tilt of my chin?” she
+asked a little breathlessly.
+
+“I adore them!” came the prompt answer.
+
+To Bertram's utter amazement, Billy drew back with a sharp cry.
+
+“No, no--not that!”
+
+“Why, _Billy!_”
+
+Billy laughed unexpectedly; then she sighed.
+
+“Oh, it's all right, of course,” she assured him hastily. “It's only--”
+ Billy stopped and blushed. Billy was thinking of what Hugh Calderwell
+had once said to her: that Bertram Henshaw would never love any girl
+seriously; that it would always be the turn of her head or the tilt of
+her chin that he loved--to paint.
+
+“Well; only what?” demanded Bertram.
+
+Billy blushed the more deeply, but she gave a light laugh.
+
+“Nothing, only something Hugh Calderwell said to me once. You see,
+Bertram, I don't think Hugh ever thought you would--marry.”
+
+“Oh, didn't he?” bridled Bertram. “Well, that only goes to show how much
+he knows about it. Er--did you announce it--to him?” Bertram's voice was
+almost savage now.
+
+Billy smiled.
+
+“No; but I did to his sister, and she'll tell him. Oh, Bertram, such a
+time as I had over those notes,” went on Billy, with a chuckle. Her
+eyes were dancing, and she was seeming more like her usual self, Bertram
+thought. “You see there were such a lot of things I wanted to say, about
+what a dear you were, and how much I--I liked you, and that you had such
+lovely eyes, and a nose--”
+
+“Billy!” This time it was Bertram who was sitting erect in pale horror.
+
+Billy threw him a roguish glance.
+
+“Goosey! You are as bad as Aunt Hannah! I said that was what I _wanted_
+to say. What I really said was--quite another matter,” she finished with
+a saucy uptilting of her chin.
+
+Bertram relaxed with a laugh.
+
+“You witch!” His admiring eyes still lingered on her face. “Billy, I'm
+going to paint you sometime in just that pose. You're adorable!”
+
+“Pooh! Just another face of a girl,” teased the adorable one.
+
+Bertram gave a sudden exclamation.
+
+“There! And I haven't told you, yet. Guess what my next commission is.”
+
+“To paint a portrait?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Can't. Who is it?”
+
+“J. G. Winthrop's daughter.”
+
+“Not _the_ J. G. Winthrop?”
+
+“The same.”
+
+“Oh, Bertram, how splendid!”
+
+“Isn't it? And then the girl herself! Have you seen her? But you
+haven't, I know, unless you met her abroad. She hasn't been in Boston
+for years until now.”
+
+“No, I haven't seen her. Is she so _very_ beautiful?” Billy spoke a
+little soberly.
+
+“Yes--and no.” The artist lifted his head alertly. What Billy called
+his “painting look” came to his face. “It isn't that her features are so
+regular--though her mouth and chin are perfect. But her face has so much
+character, and there's an elusive something about her eyes--Jove! If
+I can only catch it, it'll be the best thing yet that I've ever done,
+Billy.”
+
+“Will it? I'm so glad--and you'll get it, I know you will,” claimed
+Billy, clearing her throat a little nervously.
+
+“I wish I felt so sure,” sighed Bertram. “But it'll be a great thing if
+I do get it--J. G. Winthrop's daughter, you know, besides the merit of
+the likeness itself.”
+
+“Yes; yes, indeed!” Billy cleared her throat again. “You've seen her, of
+course, lately?”
+
+“Oh, yes. I was there half the morning discussing the details--sittings
+and costume, and deciding on the pose.”
+
+“Did you find one--to suit?”
+
+“Find one!” The artist made a despairing gesture. “I found a dozen that
+I wanted. The trouble was to tell which I wanted the most.”
+
+Billy gave a nervous little laugh.
+
+“Isn't that--unusual?” she asked.
+
+Bertram lifted his eyebrows with a quizzical smile.
+
+“Well, they aren't all Marguerite Winthrops,” he reminded her.
+
+“Marguerite!” cried Billy. “Oh, is her name Marguerite? I do think
+Marguerite is the dearest name!” Billy's eyes and voice were wistful.
+
+“I don't--not the _dearest_. Oh, it's all well enough, of course, but it
+can't be compared for a moment to--well, say, 'Billy'!”
+
+Billy smiled, but she shook her head.
+
+“I'm afraid you're not a good judge of names,” she objected.
+
+“Yes, I am; though, for that matter, I should love your name, no matter
+what it was.”
+
+“Even if 'twas 'Mary Jane,' eh?” bantered Billy. “Well, you'll have a
+chance to find out how you like that name pretty quick, sir. We're going
+to have one here.”
+
+“You're going to have a Mary Jane here? Do you mean that Rosa's going
+away?”
+
+“Mercy! I hope not,” shuddered Billy. “You don't find a Rosa in every
+kitchen--and never in employment agencies! My Mary Jane is a niece of
+Aunt Hannah's,--or rather, a cousin. She's coming to Boston to study
+music, and I've invited her here. We've asked her for a month, though I
+presume we shall keep her right along.”
+
+Bertram frowned.
+
+“Well, of course, that's very nice for--_Mary Jane_,” he sighed with
+meaning emphasis.
+
+Billy laughed.
+
+“Don't worry, dear. She won't bother us any.”
+
+“Oh, yes, she will,” sighed Bertram. “She'll be 'round--lots; you see
+if she isn't. Billy, I think sometimes you're almost too kind--to other
+folks.”
+
+“Never!” laughed Billy. “Besides, what would you have me do when a
+lonesome young girl was coming to Boston? Anyhow, _you're_ not the one
+to talk, young man. I've known _you_ to take in a lonesome girl and give
+her a home,” she flashed merrily.
+
+Bertram chuckled.
+
+“Jove! What a time that was!” he exclaimed, regarding his companion with
+fond eyes. “And Spunk, too! Is she going to bring a Spunk?”
+
+“Not that I've heard,” smiled Billy; “but she _is_ going to wear a
+pink.”
+
+“Not really, Billy?”
+
+“Of course she is! I told her to. How do you suppose we could know her
+when we saw her, if she didn't?” demanded the girl, indignantly. “And
+what is more, sir, there will be _two_ pinks worn this time. _I_ sha'n't
+do as Uncle William did, and leave off my pink. Only think what long
+minutes--that seemed hours of misery--I spent waiting there in that
+train-shed, just because I didn't know which man was my Uncle William!”
+
+Bertram laughed and shrugged his shoulders.
+
+“Well, your Mary Jane won't probably turn out to be quite such a
+bombshell as our Billy did--unless she should prove to be a boy,” he
+added whimsically. “Oh, but Billy, she _can't_ turn out to be such a
+dear treasure,” finished the man. And at the adoring look in his eyes
+Billy blushed deeply--and promptly forgot all about Mary Jane and her
+pink.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV. FOR MARY JANE
+
+
+“I have a letter here from Mary Jane, my dear,” announced Aunt Hannah at
+the luncheon table one day.
+
+“Have you?” Billy raised interested eyes from her own letters. “What
+does she say?”
+
+“She will be here Thursday. Her train is due at the South Station at
+four-thirty. She seems to be very grateful to you for your offer to let
+her come right here for a month; but she says she's afraid you don't
+realize, perhaps, just what you are doing--to take her in like that,
+with her singing, and all.”
+
+“Nonsense! She doesn't refuse, does she?”
+
+“Oh, no; she doesn't refuse--but she doesn't accept either, exactly, as
+I can see. I've read the letter over twice, too. I'll let you judge for
+yourself by and by, when you have time to read it.”
+
+Billy laughed.
+
+“Never mind. I don't want to read it. She's just a little shy about
+coming, that's all. She'll stay all right, when we come to meet her.
+What time did you say it was, Thursday?”
+
+“Half past four, South Station.”
+
+“Thursday, at half past four. Let me see--that's the day of the
+Carletons' 'At Home,' isn't it?”
+
+“Oh, my grief and conscience, yes! But I had forgotten it. What shall we
+do?”
+
+“Oh, that will be easy. We'll just go to the Carletons' early and have
+John wait, then take us from there to the South Station. Meanwhile we'll
+make sure that the little blue room is all ready for her. I put in my
+white enamel work-basket yesterday, and that pretty little blue case for
+hairpins and curling tongs that I bought at the fair. I want the room to
+look homey to her, you know.”
+
+“As if it could look any other way, if _you_ had anything to do with
+it,” sighed Aunt Hannah, admiringly.
+
+Billy laughed.
+
+“If we get stranded we might ask the Henshaw boys to help us out, Aunt
+Hannah. They'd probably suggest guns and swords. That's the way they
+fixed up _my_ room.”
+
+Aunt Hannah raised shocked hands of protest.
+
+“As if we would! Mercy, what a time that was!”
+
+Billy laughed again.
+
+“I never shall forget, _never_, my first glimpse of that room when Mrs.
+Hartwell switched on the lights. Oh, Aunt Hannah, I wish you could have
+seen it before they took out those guns and spiders!”
+
+“As if I didn't see quite enough when I saw William's face that morning
+he came for me!” retorted Aunt Hannah, spiritedly.
+
+“Dear Uncle William! What an old saint he has been all the way through,”
+ mused Billy aloud. “And Cyril--who would ever have believed that the
+day would come when Cyril would say to me, as he did last night, that he
+felt as if Marie had been gone a month. It's been just seven days, you
+know.”
+
+“I know. She comes to-morrow, doesn't she?”
+
+“Yes, and I'm glad. I shall tell Marie she needn't leave Cyril on _my_
+hands again. Bertram says that at home Cyril hasn't played a dirge since
+his engagement; but I notice that up here--where Marie might be, but
+isn't--his tunes would never be mistaken for ragtime. By the way,” she
+added, as she rose from the table, “that's another surprise in store for
+Hugh Calderwell. He always declared that Cyril wasn't a marrying man,
+either, any more than Bertram. You know he said Bertram only cared for
+girls to paint; but--” She stopped and looked inquiringly at Rosa, who
+had appeared at that moment in the hall doorway.
+
+“It's the telephone, Miss Neilson. Mr. Bertram Henshaw wants you.”
+
+A few minutes later Aunt Hannah heard Billy at the piano. For fifteen,
+twenty, thirty minutes the brilliant scales and arpeggios rippled
+through the rooms and up the stairs to Aunt Hannah, who knew, by the
+very sound of them, that some unusual nervousness was being worked off
+at the finger tips that played them. At the end of forty-five minutes
+Aunt Hannah went down-stairs.
+
+“Billy, my dear, excuse me, but have you forgotten what time it is?
+Weren't you going out with Bertram?”
+
+Billy stopped playing at once, but she did not turn her head. Her
+fingers busied themselves with some music on the piano.
+
+“We aren't going, Aunt Hannah,” she said.
+
+“Bertram can't.”
+
+“_Can't!_”
+
+“Well, he didn't want to--so of course I said not to. He's been painting
+this morning on a new portrait, and she said he might stay to luncheon
+and keep right on for a while this afternoon, if he liked. And--he did
+like, so he stayed.”
+
+“Why, how--how--” Aunt Hannah stopped helplessly.
+
+“Oh, no, not at all,” interposed Billy, lightly. “He told me all about
+it the other night. It's going to be a very wonderful portrait; and,
+of course, I wouldn't want to interfere with--his work!” And again a
+brilliant scale rippled from Billy's fingers after a crashing chord in
+the bass.
+
+Slowly Aunt Hannah turned and went up-stairs. Her eyes were troubled.
+Not since Billy's engagement had she heard Billy play like that.
+
+Bertram did not find a pensive Billy awaiting him that evening. He
+found a bright-eyed, flushed-cheeked Billy, who let herself be
+kissed--once--but who did not kiss back; a blithe, elusive Billy, who
+played tripping little melodies, and sang jolly little songs, instead
+of sitting before the fire and talking; a Billy who at last turned, and
+asked tranquilly:
+
+“Well, how did the picture go?”
+
+Bertram rose then, crossed the room, and took Billy very gently into his
+arms.
+
+“Sweetheart, you were a dear this noon to let me off like that,” he
+began in a voice shaken with emotion. “You don't know, perhaps, exactly
+what you did. You see, I was nearly wild between wanting to be with you,
+and wanting to go on with my work. And I was just at that point
+where one little word from you, one hint that you wanted me to come
+anyway--and I should have come. But you didn't say it, nor hint it. Like
+the brave little bit of inspiration that you are, you bade me stay and
+go on with my work.”
+
+The “inspiration's” head drooped a little lower, but this only brought
+a wealth of soft bronze hair to just where Bertram could lay his cheek
+against it--and Bertram promptly took advantage of his opportunity. “And
+so I stayed, Billy, and I did good work; I know I did good work. Why,
+Billy,”--Bertram stepped back now, and held Billy by the shoulders at
+arms' length--“Billy, that's going to be the best work I've ever done. I
+can see it coming even now, under my fingers.”
+
+Billy lifted her head and looked into her lover's face. His eyes were
+glowing. His cheeks were flushed. His whole countenance was aflame with
+the soul of the artist who sees his vision taking shape before him. And
+Billy, looking at him, felt suddenly--ashamed.
+
+“Oh, Bertram, I'm proud, proud, _proud_ of you!” she breathed. “Come,
+let's go over to the fire-and talk!”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V. MARIE SPEAKS HER MIND
+
+
+Billy with John and Peggy met Marie Hawthorn at the station. “Peggy”
+ was short for “Pegasus,” and was what Billy always called her luxurious,
+seven-seated touring car.
+
+“I simply won't call it 'automobile,'” she had declared when she bought
+it. “In the first place, it takes too long to say it, and in the second
+place, I don't want to add one more to the nineteen different ways to
+pronounce it that I hear all around me every day now. As for calling it
+my 'car,' or my 'motor car'--I should expect to see a Pullman or one
+of those huge black trucks before my door, if I ordered it by either of
+those names. Neither will I insult the beautiful thing by calling it a
+'machine.' Its name is Pegasus. I shall call it 'Peggy.'”
+
+And “Peggy” she called it. John sniffed his disdain, and Billy's friends
+made no secret of their amused tolerance; but, in an astonishingly short
+time, half the automobile owners of her acquaintance were calling their
+own cars “Peggy”; and even the dignified John himself was heard to order
+“some gasoline for Peggy,” quite as a matter of course.
+
+When Marie Hawthorn stepped from the train at the North Station she
+greeted Billy with affectionate warmth, though at once her blue eyes
+swept the space beyond expectantly and eagerly.
+
+Billy's lips curved in a mischievous smile.
+
+“No, he didn't come,” she said. “He didn't want to--a little bit.”
+
+Marie grew actually pale.
+
+“Didn't _want_ to!” she stammered.
+
+Billy gave her a spasmodic hug.
+
+“Goosey! No, he didn't--a _little_ bit; but he did a great _big_ bit.
+As if you didn't know he was dying to come, Marie! But he simply
+couldn't--something about his concert Monday night. He told me over the
+telephone; but between his joy that you were coming, and his rage that
+he couldn't see you the first minute you did come, I couldn't quite make
+out what was the trouble. But he's coming to dinner to-night, so he'll
+doubtless tell you all about it.”
+
+Marie sighed her relief.
+
+“Oh, that's all right then. I was afraid he was sick--when I didn't see
+him.”
+
+Billy laughed softly.
+
+“No, he isn't sick, Marie; but you needn't go away again before the
+wedding--not to leave him on my hands. I wouldn't have believed Cyril
+Henshaw, confirmed old bachelor and avowed woman-hater, could have acted
+the part of a love-sick boy as he has the last week or two.”
+
+The rose-flush on Marie's cheek spread to the roots of her fine yellow
+hair.
+
+“Billy, dear, he--he didn't!”
+
+“Marie, dear--he--he did!”
+
+Marie laughed. She did not say anything, but the rose-flush deepened
+as she occupied herself very busily in getting her trunk-check from the
+little hand bag she carried.
+
+Cyril was not mentioned again until the two girls, veils tied and coats
+buttoned, were snugly ensconced in the tonneau, and Peggy's nose was
+turned toward home. Then Billy asked:
+
+“Have you settled on where you're going to live?”
+
+“Not quite. We're going to talk of that to-night; but we _do_ know that
+we aren't going to live at the Strata.”
+
+“Marie!”
+
+Marie stirred uneasily at the obvious disappointment and reproach in her
+friend's voice.
+
+“But, dear, it wouldn't be wise, I'm sure,” she argued hastily. “There
+will be you and Bertram--”
+
+“We sha'n't be there for a year, nearly,” cut in Billy, with swift
+promptness. “Besides, I think it would be lovely--all together.”
+
+Marie smiled, but she shook her head.
+
+“Lovely--but not practical, dear.”
+
+Billy laughed ruefully.
+
+“I know; you're worrying about those puddings of yours. You're afraid
+somebody is going to interfere with your making quite so many as you
+want to; and Cyril is worrying for fear there'll be somebody else in the
+circle of his shaded lamp besides his little Marie with the light on her
+hair, and the mending basket by her side.”
+
+“Billy, what are you talking about?”
+
+Billy threw a roguish glance into her friend's amazed blue eyes.
+
+“Oh, just a little picture Cyril drew once for me of what home meant for
+him: a room with a table and a shaded lamp, and a little woman beside it
+with the light on her hair and a great basket of sewing by her side.”
+
+Marie's eyes softened.
+
+“Did he say--that?”
+
+“Yes. Oh, he declared he shouldn't want her to sit under that lamp all
+the time, of course; but he hoped she'd like that sort of thing.”
+
+Marie threw a quick glance at the stolid back of John beyond the two
+empty seats in front of them. Although she knew he could not hear her
+words, instinctively she lowered her voice.
+
+“Did you know--then--about--me?” she asked, with heightened color.
+
+“No, only that there was a girl somewhere who, he hoped, would sit under
+the lamp some day. And when I asked him if the girl did like that sort
+of thing, he said yes, he thought so; for she had told him once that
+the things she liked best of all to do were to mend stockings and make
+puddings. Then I knew, of course, 'twas you, for I'd heard you say the
+same thing. So I sent him right along out to you in the summer-house.”
+
+The pink flush on Marie's face grew to a red one. Her blue eyes turned
+again to John's broad back, then drifted to the long, imposing line of
+windowed walls and doorways on the right. The automobile was passing
+smoothly along Beacon Street now with the Public Garden just behind them
+on the left. After a moment Marie turned to Billy again.
+
+“I'm so glad he wants--just puddings and stockings,” she began a little
+breathlessly. “You see, for so long I supposed he _wouldn't_ want
+anything but a very brilliant, talented wife who could play and sing
+beautifully; a wife he'd be proud of--like you.”
+
+“Me? Nonsense!” laughed Billy. “Cyril never wanted me, and I never
+wanted him--only once for a few minutes, so to speak, when I thought,
+I did. In spite of our music, we aren't a mite congenial. I like people
+around; he doesn't. I like to go to plays; he doesn't. He likes rainy
+days, and I abhor them. Mercy! Life with me for him would be one long
+jangling discord, my love, while with you it'll be one long sweet song!”
+
+Marie drew a deep breath. Her eyes were fixed on a point far ahead up
+the curveless street.
+
+“I hope it will, indeed!” she breathed.
+
+Not until they were almost home did Billy say suddenly:
+
+“Oh, did Cyril write you? A young relative of Aunt Hannah's is coming
+to-morrow to stay a while at the house.”
+
+“Er--yes, Cyril told me,” admitted Marie.
+
+Billy smiled.
+
+“Didn't like it, I suppose; eh?” she queried shrewdly.
+
+“N-no, I'm afraid he didn't--very well. He said she'd be--one more to be
+around.”
+
+“There, what did I tell you?” dimpled Billy. “You can see what you're
+coming to when you do get that shaded lamp and the mending basket!”
+
+A moment later, coming in sight of the house, Billy saw a tall,
+smooth-shaven man standing on the porch. The man lifted his hat and
+waved it gayly, baring a slightly bald head to the sun.
+
+“It's Uncle William--bless his heart!” cried Billy. “They're all coming
+to dinner, then he and Aunt Hannah and Bertram and I are going down to
+the Hollis Street Theatre and let you and Cyril have a taste of what
+that shaded lamp is going to be. I hope you won't be lonesome,” she
+finished mischievously, as the car drew up before the door.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI. AT THE SIGN OF THE PINK
+
+
+After a week of beautiful autumn weather, Thursday dawned raw and cold.
+By noon an east wind had made the temperature still more uncomfortable.
+
+At two o'clock Aunt Hannah tapped at Billy's chamber door. She showed a
+troubled face to the girl who answered her knock.
+
+“Billy, _would_ you mind very much if I asked you to go alone to the
+Carletons' and to meet Mary Jane?” she inquired anxiously.
+
+“Why, no--that is, of course I should _mind_, dear, because I always
+like to have you go to places with me. But it isn't necessary. You
+aren't sick; are you?”
+
+“N-no, not exactly; but I have been sneezing all the morning, and taking
+camphor and sugar to break it up--if it is a cold. But it is so raw and
+Novemberish out, that--”
+
+“Why, of course you sha'n't go, you poor dear! Mercy! don't get one
+of those dreadful colds on to you before the wedding! Have you felt
+a draft? Where's another shawl?” Billy turned and cast searching eyes
+about the room--Billy always kept shawls everywhere for Aunt Hannah's
+shoulders and feet. Bertram had been known to say, indeed, that a room,
+according to Aunt Hannah, was not fully furnished unless it contained
+from one to four shawls, assorted as to size and warmth. Shawls,
+certainly, did seem to be a necessity with Aunt Hannah, as she usually
+wore from one to three at the same time--which again caused Bertram to
+declare that he always counted Aunt Hannah's shawls when he wished to
+know what the thermometer was.
+
+“No, I'm not cold, and I haven't felt a draft,” said Aunt Hannah now. “I
+put on my thickest gray shawl this morning with the little pink one for
+down-stairs, and the blue one for breakfast; so you see I've been very
+careful. But I _have_ sneezed six times, so I think 'twould be safer not
+to go out in this east wind. You were going to stop for Mrs. Granger,
+anyway, weren't you? So you'll have her with you for the tea.”
+
+“Yes, dear, don't worry. I'll take your cards and explain to Mrs.
+Carleton and her daughters.”
+
+“And, of course, as far as Mary Jane is concerned, I don't know her any
+more than you do; so I couldn't be any help there,” sighed Aunt Hannah.
+
+“Not a bit,” smiled Billy, cheerily. “Don't give it another thought, my
+dear. I sha'n't have a bit of trouble. All I'll have to do is to look
+for a girl alone with a pink. Of course I'll have mine on, too, and
+she'll be watching for me. So just run along and take your nap, dear,
+and be all rested and ready to welcome her when she comes,” finished
+Billy, stooping to give the soft, faintly pink cheek a warm kiss.
+
+“Well, thank you, my dear; perhaps I will,” sighed Aunt Hannah, drawing
+the gray shawl about her as she turned away contentedly.
+
+Mrs. Carleton's tea that afternoon was, for Billy, not an occasion of
+unalloyed joy. It was the first time she had appeared at a gathering of
+any size since the announcement of her engagement; and, as she dolefully
+told Bertram afterwards, she had very much the feeling of the picture
+hung on the wall.
+
+“And they _did_ put up their lorgnettes and say, 'Is _that_ the one?'”
+ she declared; “and I know some of them finished with 'Did you ever?'
+too,” she sighed.
+
+But Billy did not stay long in Mrs. Carleton's softly-lighted,
+flower-perfumed rooms. At ten minutes past four she was saying good-by
+to a group of friends who were vainly urging her to remain longer.
+
+“I can't--I really can't,” she declared. “I'm due at the South Station
+at half past four to meet a Miss Arkwright, a young cousin of Aunt
+Hannah's, whom I've never seen before. We're to meet at the sign of
+the pink,” she explained smilingly, just touching the single flower she
+wore.
+
+Her hostess gave a sudden laugh.
+
+“Let me see, my dear; if I remember rightly, you've had experience
+before, meeting at this sign of the pink. At least, I have a very vivid
+recollection of Mr. William Henshaw's going once to meet a _boy_ with
+a pink, who turned out to be a girl. Now, to even things up, your girl
+should turn out to be a boy!”
+
+Billy smiled and reddened.
+
+“Perhaps--but I don't think to-day will strike the balance,” she
+retorted, backing toward the door. “This young lady's name is 'Mary
+Jane'; and I'll leave it to you to find anything very masculine in
+that!”
+
+It was a short drive from Mrs. Carleton's Commonwealth Avenue home to
+the South Station, and Peggy made as quick work of it as the narrow,
+congested cross streets would allow. In ample time Billy found herself
+in the great waiting-room, with John saying respectfully in her ear:
+
+“The man says the train comes in on Track Fourteen, Miss, an' it's on
+time.”
+
+At twenty-nine minutes past four Billy left her seat and walked down the
+train-shed platform to Track Number Fourteen. She had pinned the pink
+now to the outside of her long coat, and it made an attractive dash
+of white against the dark-blue velvet. Billy was looking particularly
+lovely to-day. Framing her face was the big dark-blue velvet picture hat
+with its becoming white plumes.
+
+During the brief minutes' wait before the clanging locomotive puffed
+into view far down the long track, Billy's thoughts involuntarily went
+back to that other watcher beside a train gate not quite five years
+before.
+
+“Dear Uncle William!” she murmured tenderly. Then suddenly she
+laughed--so nearly aloud that a man behind her gave her a covert glance
+from curious eyes. “My! but what a jolt I must have been to Uncle
+William!” Billy was thinking.
+
+The next minute she drew nearer the gate and regarded with absorbed
+attention the long line of passengers already sweeping up the narrow
+aisle between the cars.
+
+Hurrying men came first, with long strides, and eyes that looked
+straight ahead. These Billy let pass with a mere glance. The next group
+showed a sprinkling of women--women whose trig hats and linen collars
+spelled promptness as well as certainty of aim and accomplishment. To
+these, also, Billy paid scant attention. Couples came next--the men
+anxious-eyed, and usually walking two steps ahead of their companions;
+the women plainly flustered and hurried, and invariably buttoning gloves
+or gathering up trailing ends of scarfs or boas.
+
+The crowd was thickening fast, now, and Billy's eyes were alert.
+Children were appearing, and young women walking alone. One of these
+wore a bunch of violets. Billy gave her a second glance. Then she saw a
+pink--but it was on the coat lapel of a tall young fellow with a brown
+beard; so with a slight frown she looked beyond down the line.
+
+Old men came now, and old women; fleshy women, and women with small
+children and babies. Couples came, too--dawdling couples, plainly newly
+married: the men were not two steps ahead, and the women's gloves were
+buttoned and their furs in place.
+
+Gradually the line thinned, and soon there were left only an old man
+with a cane, and a young woman with three children. Yet nowhere had
+Billy seen a girl wearing a white carnation, and walking alone.
+
+With a deeper frown on her face Billy turned and looked about her. She
+thought that somewhere in the crowd she had missed Mary Jane, and that
+she would find her now, standing near. But there was no one standing
+near except the good-looking young fellow with the little pointed
+brown beard, who, as Billy noticed a second time, was wearing a white
+carnation.
+
+As she glanced toward him, their eyes met. Then, to Billy's unbounded
+amazement, the man advanced with uplifted hat.
+
+“I beg your pardon, but is not this--Miss Neilson?”
+
+Billy drew back with just a touch of hauteur.
+
+“Y-yes,” she murmured.
+
+“I thought so--yet I was expecting to see you with Aunt Hannah. I am M.
+J. Arkwright, Miss Neilson.”
+
+For a brief instant Billy stared dazedly.
+
+“You don't mean--Mary Jane?” she gasped.
+
+“I'm afraid I do.” His lips twitched.
+
+“But I thought--we were expecting--” She stopped helplessly. For one
+more brief instant she stared; then, suddenly, a swift change came to
+her face. Her eyes danced.
+
+“Oh--oh!” she chuckled. “How perfectly funny! You _have_ evened things
+up, after all. To think that Mary Jane should be a--” She paused and
+flashed almost angrily suspicious eyes into his face. “But mine _was_
+'Billy,'” she cried. “Your name isn't really--Mary Jane'?”
+
+“I am often called that.” His brown eyes twinkled, but they did not
+swerve from their direct gaze into her own.
+
+“But--” Billy hesitated, and turned her eyes away. She saw then that
+many curious glances were already being flung in her direction. The
+color in her cheeks deepened. With an odd little gesture she seemed to
+toss something aside. “Never mind,” she laughed a little hysterically.
+“If you'll pick up your bag, please, Mr. Mary Jane, and come with me.
+John and Peggy are waiting. Or--I forgot--you have a trunk, of course?”
+
+The man raised a protesting hand.
+
+“Thank you; but, Miss Neilson, really--I couldn't think of trespassing
+on your hospitality--now, you know.”
+
+“But we--we invited you,” stammered Billy.
+
+He shook his head.
+
+“You invited _Miss_ Mary Jane.”
+
+Billy bubbled into low laughter.
+
+“I beg your pardon, but it _is_ funny,” she sighed. “You see _I_ came
+once just the same way, and now to have the tables turned like this!
+What will Aunt Hannah say--what will everybody say? Come, I want them to
+begin--to say it,” she chuckled irrepressibly.
+
+“Thank you, but I shall go to a hotel, of course. Later, if you'll be so
+good as to let me call, and explain--!”
+
+“But I'm afraid Aunt Hannah will think--” Billy stopped abruptly. Some
+distance away she saw John coming toward them. She turned hurriedly to
+the man at her side. Her eyes still danced, but her voice was mockingly
+serious. “Really, Mr. Mary Jane, I'm afraid you'll have to come to
+dinner; then you can settle the rest with Aunt Hannah. John is almost
+upon us--and _I_ don't want to make explanations. Do you?”
+
+“John,” she said airily to the somewhat dazed chauffeur (who had been
+told he was to meet a young woman), “take Mr. Arkwright's bag, please,
+and show him where Peggy is waiting. It will be five minutes, perhaps,
+before I can come--if you'll kindly excuse me,” she added to Arkwright,
+with a flashing glance from merry eyes. “I have some--telephoning to
+do.”
+
+All the way to the telephone booth Billy was trying to bring order out
+of the chaos of her mind; but all the way, too, she was chuckling.
+
+“To think that this thing should have happened to _me!_” she
+said, almost aloud. “And here I am telephoning just like Uncle
+William--Bertram said Uncle William _did_ telephone about _me!_”
+
+In due course Billy had Aunt Hannah at the other end of the wire.
+
+“Aunt Hannah, listen. I'd never have believed it, but it's happened.
+Mary Jane is--a man.”
+
+Billy heard a dismayed gasp and a muttered “Oh, my grief and
+conscience!” then a shaking “Wha-at?”
+
+“I say, Mary Jane is a man.” Billy was enjoying herself hugely.
+
+“A _ma-an!_”
+
+“Yes; a great big man with a brown beard. He's waiting now with John and
+I must go.”
+
+“But, Billy, I don't understand,” chattered an agitated voice over the
+line. “He--he called himself 'Mary Jane.' He hasn't any business to be
+a big man with a brown beard! What shall we do? We don't want a big man
+with a brown beard--here!”
+
+Billy laughed roguishly.
+
+“I don't know. _You_ asked him! How he will like that little blue
+room--Aunt Hannah!” Billy's voice turned suddenly tragic. “For pity's
+sake take out those curling tongs and hairpins, and the work-basket.
+I'd _never_ hear the last of it if he saw those, I know. He's just that
+kind!”
+
+A half stifled groan came over the wire.
+
+“Billy, he can't stay here.”
+
+Billy laughed again.
+
+“No, no, dear; he won't, I know. He says he's going to a hotel. But
+I had to bring him home to dinner; there was no other way, under the
+circumstances. He won't stay. Don't you worry. But good-by. I must
+go. _Remember those curling tongs!_” And the receiver clicked sharply
+against the hook.
+
+In the automobile some minutes later, Billy and Mr. M. J. Arkwright
+were speeding toward Corey Hill. It was during a slight pause in the
+conversation that Billy turned to her companion with a demure:
+
+“I telephoned Aunt Hannah, Mr. Arkwright. I thought she ought to
+be--warned.”
+
+“You are very kind. What did she say?--if I may ask.”
+
+There was a brief moment of hesitation before Billy answered.
+
+“She said you called yourself 'Mary Jane,' and that you hadn't any
+business to be a big man with a brown beard.”
+
+Arkwright laughed.
+
+“I'm afraid I owe Aunt Hannah an apology,” he said. He hesitated,
+glanced admiringly at the glowing, half-averted face near him, then went
+on decisively. He wore the air of a man who has set the match to his
+bridges. “I signed both letters 'M. J. Arkwright,' but in the first one
+I quoted a remark of a friend, and in that remark I was addressed as
+'Mary Jane.' I did not know but Aunt Hannah knew of the nickname.”
+ (Arkwright was speaking a little slowly now, as if weighing his words.)
+“But when she answered, I saw that she did not; for, from something she
+said, I realized that she thought I was a real Mary Jane. For the joke
+of the thing I let it pass. But--if she noticed my letter carefully, she
+saw that I did not accept your kind invitation to give 'Mary Jane' a
+home.”
+
+“Yes, we noticed that,” nodded Billy, merrily. “But we didn't think you
+meant it. You see we pictured you as a shy young thing. But, really,”
+ she went on with a low laugh, “you see your coming as a masculine 'Mary
+Jane' was particularly funny--for me; for, though perhaps you didn't
+know it, I came once to this very same city, wearing a pink, and was
+expected to be Billy, a boy. And only to-day a lady warned me that
+your coming might even things up. But I didn't believe it would--a Mary
+Jane!”
+
+Arkwright laughed. Again he hesitated, and seemed to be weighing his
+words.
+
+“Yes, I heard about that coming of yours. I might almost say--that's why
+I--let the mistake pass in Aunt Hannah's letter,” he said.
+
+Billy turned with reproachful eyes.
+
+“Oh, how could--you? But then--it was a temptation!” She laughed
+suddenly. “What sinful joy you must have had watching me hunt for 'Mary
+Jane.'”
+
+“I didn't,” acknowledged the other, with unexpected candor. “I
+felt--ashamed. And when I saw you were there alone without Aunt Hannah,
+I came very near not speaking at all--until I realized that that would
+be even worse, under the circumstances.”
+
+“Of course it would,” smiled Billy, brightly; “so I don't see but I
+shall have to forgive you, after all. And here we are at home, Mr. Mary
+Jane. By the way, what did you say that 'M. J.' did stand for?” she
+asked, as the car came to a stop.
+
+The man did not seem to hear; at least he did not answer. He was
+helping his hostess to alight. A moment later a plainly agitated Aunt
+Hannah--her gray shawl topped with a huge black one--opened the door of
+the house.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII. OLD FRIENDS AND NEW
+
+
+At ten minutes before six on the afternoon of Arkwright's arrival, Billy
+came into the living-room to welcome the three Henshaw brothers, who, as
+was frequently the case, were dining at Hillside.
+
+Bertram thought Billy had never looked prettier than she did this
+afternoon with the bronze sheen of her pretty house gown bringing
+out the bronze lights in her dark eyes and in the soft waves of her
+beautiful hair. Her countenance, too, carried a peculiar something that
+the artist's eye was quick to detect, and that the artist's fingers
+tingled to put on canvas.
+
+“Jove! Billy,” he said low in her ear, as he greeted her, “I wish I had
+a brush in my hand this minute. I'd have a 'Face of a Girl' that would
+be worth while!”
+
+Billy laughed and dimpled her appreciation; but down in her heart she
+was conscious of a vague unrest. Billy wished, sometimes, that she did
+not so often seem to Bertram--a picture.
+
+She turned to Cyril with outstretched hand.
+
+“Oh, yes, Marie's coming,” she smiled in answer to the quick shifting
+of Cyril's eyes to the hall doorway. “And Aunt Hannah, too. They're
+up-stairs.”
+
+“And Mary Jane?” demanded William, a little anxiously
+
+“Will's getting nervous,” volunteered Bertram, airily. “He wants to see
+Mary Jane. You see we've told him that we shall expect him to see that
+she doesn't bother us four too much, you know. He's expected always to
+remove her quietly but effectually, whenever he sees that she is likely
+to interrupt a tête-á-tête. Naturally, then, Will wants to see
+Mary Jane.”
+
+Billy began to laugh hysterically. She dropped into a chair and raised
+both her hands, palms outward.
+
+“Don't, don't--please don't!” she choked, “or I shall die. I've had all
+I can stand, already.”
+
+“All you can stand?”
+
+“What do you mean?”
+
+“Is she so--impossible?” This last was from Bertram, spoken softly, and
+with a hurried glance toward the hall.
+
+Billy dropped her hands and lifted her head. By heroic effort she pulled
+her face into sobriety--all but her eyes--and announced:
+
+“Mary Jane is--a man.”
+
+“Wha-at?”
+
+“A _man!_”
+
+“Billy!”
+
+Three masculine forms sat suddenly erect.
+
+“Yes. Oh, Uncle William, I know now just how you felt--I know, I know,”
+ gurgled Billy, incoherently. “There he stood with his pink just as I
+did--only he had a brown beard, and he didn't have Spunk--and I had to
+telephone to prepare folks, just as you did. And the room--the room!
+I fixed the room, too,” she babbled breathlessly, “only I had curling
+tongs and hair pins in it instead of guns and spiders!”
+
+“Child, child! what _are_ you talking about?” William's face was red.
+
+“A _man!_--_Mary Jane!_” Cyril was merely cross.
+
+“Billy, what does this mean?” Bertram had grown a little white.
+
+Billy began to laugh again, yet she was plainly trying to control
+herself.
+
+“I'll tell you. I must tell you. Aunt Hannah is keeping him up-stairs
+so I can tell you,” she panted. “But it was so funny, when I expected a
+girl, you know, to see him with his brown beard, and he was so tall and
+big! And, of course, it made me think how _I_ came, and was a girl when
+you expected a boy; and Mrs. Carleton had just said to-day that maybe
+this girl would even things up. Oh, it was so funny!”
+
+“Billy, my-my dear,” remonstrated Uncle William, mildly.
+
+“But what _is_ his name?” demanded Cyril.
+
+“Did the creature sign himself 'Mary Jane'?” exploded Bertram.
+
+“I don't know his name, except that it's 'M. J.'--and that's how he
+signed the letters. But he _is_ called 'Mary Jane' sometimes, and in the
+letter he quoted somebody's speech--I've forgotten just how--but in it
+he was called 'Mary Jane,' and, of course, Aunt Hannah took him for a
+girl,” explained Billy, grown a little more coherent now.
+
+“Didn't he write again?” asked William.
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Well, why didn't he correct the mistake, then?” demanded Bertram.
+
+Billy chuckled.
+
+“He didn't want to, I guess. He thought it was too good a joke.”
+
+“Joke!” scoffed Cyril.
+
+“But, see here, Billy, he isn't going to live here--now?” Bertram's
+voice was almost savage.
+
+“Oh, no, he isn't going to live here--now,” interposed smooth tones from
+the doorway.
+
+“Mr.--Arkwright!” breathed Billy, confusedly.
+
+Three crimson-faced men sprang to their feet. The situation, for a
+moment, threatened embarrassed misery for all concerned; but Arkwright,
+with a cheery smile, advanced straight toward Bertram, and held out a
+friendly hand.
+
+“The proverbial fate of listeners,” he said easily; “but I don't blame
+you at all. No, 'he' isn't going to live here,” he went on, grasping
+each brother's hand in turn, as Billy murmured faint introductions; “and
+what is more, he hereby asks everybody's pardon for the annoyance his
+little joke has caused. He might add that he's heartily-ashamed of
+himself, as well; but if any of you--” Arkwright turned to the three
+tall men still standing by their chairs--“if any of you had suffered
+what he has at the hands of a swarm of youngsters for that name's sake,
+you wouldn't blame him for being tempted to get what fun he could out of
+Mary Jane--if there ever came a chance!”
+
+Naturally, after this, there could be nothing stiff or embarrassing.
+Billy laughed in relief, and motioned Mr. Arkwright to a seat near her.
+William said “Of course, of course!” and shook hands again. Bertram and
+Cyril laughed shamefacedly and sat down. Somebody said: “But what does
+the 'M. J.' stand for, anyhow?” Nobody answered this, however; perhaps
+because Aunt Hannah and Marie appeared just then in the doorway.
+
+Dinner proved to be a lively meal. In the newcomer, Bertram met his
+match for wit and satire; and “Mr. Mary Jane,” as he was promptly called
+by every one but Aunt Hannah, was found to be a most entertaining guest.
+
+After dinner somebody suggested music.
+
+Cyril frowned, and got up abruptly. Still frowning, he turned to a
+bookcase near him and began to take down and examine some of the books.
+
+Bertram twinkled and glanced at Billy.
+
+“Which is it, Cyril?” he called with cheerful impertinence; “stool,
+piano, or audience that is the matter to-night?”
+
+Only a shrug from Cyril answered.
+
+“You see,” explained Bertram, jauntily, to Arkwright, whose eyes were
+slightly puzzled, “Cyril never plays unless the piano and the pedals and
+the weather and your ears and my watch and his fingers are just right!”
+
+“Nonsense!” scorned Cyril, dropping his book and walking back to his
+chair. “I don't feel like playing to-night; that's all.”
+
+“You see,” nodded Bertram again.
+
+“I see,” bowed Arkwright with quiet amusement.
+
+“I believe--Mr. Mary Jane--sings,” observed Billy, at this point,
+demurely.
+
+“Why, yes, of course,” chimed in Aunt Hannah with some nervousness.
+“That's what she--I mean he--was coming to Boston for--to study music.”
+
+Everybody laughed.
+
+“Won't you sing, please?” asked Billy. “Can you--without your notes? I
+have lots of songs if you want them.”
+
+For a moment--but only a moment--Arkwright hesitated; then he rose and
+went to the piano.
+
+With the easy sureness of the trained musician his fingers dropped to
+the keys and slid into preliminary chords and arpeggios to test the
+touch of the piano; then, with a sweetness and purity that made every
+listener turn in amazed delight, a well-trained tenor began the “Thro'
+the leaves the night winds moving,” of Schubert's Serenade.
+
+Cyril's chin had lifted at the first tone. He was listening now with
+very obvious pleasure. Bertram, too, was showing by his attitude the
+keenest appreciation. William and Aunt Hannah, resting back in their
+chairs, were contentedly nodding their approval to each other. Marie in
+her corner was motionless with rapture. As to Billy--Billy was plainly
+oblivious of everything but the song and the singer. She seemed scarcely
+to move or to breathe till the song's completion; then there came a low
+“Oh, how beautiful!” through her parted lips.
+
+Bertram, looking at her, was conscious of a vague irritation.
+
+“Arkwright, you're a lucky dog,” he declared almost crossly. “I wish I
+could sing like that!”
+
+“I wish I could paint a 'Face of a Girl,'” smiled the tenor as he turned
+from the piano.
+
+“Oh, but, Mr. Arkwright, don't stop,” objected Billy, springing to her
+feet and going to her music cabinet by the piano. “There's a little song
+of Nevin's I want you to sing. There, here it is. Just let me play it
+for you.” And she slipped into the place the singer had just left.
+
+It was the beginning of the end. After Nevin came De Koven, and after
+De Koven, Gounod. Then came Nevin again, Billy still playing the
+accompaniment. Next followed a duet. Billy did not consider herself much
+of a singer, but her voice was sweet and true, and not without training.
+It blended very prettily with the clear, pure tenor.
+
+William and Aunt Hannah still smiled contentedly in their chairs, though
+Aunt Hannah had reached for the pink shawl near her--the music had sent
+little shivers down her spine. Cyril, with Marie, had slipped into the
+little reception-room across the hall, ostensibly to look at some plans
+for a house, although--as everybody knew--they were not intending to
+build for a year.
+
+Bertram, still sitting stiffly erect in his chair, was not conscious
+of a vague irritation now. He was conscious of a very real, and a very
+decided one--an irritation that was directed against himself, against
+Billy, and against this man, Arkwright; but chiefly against music,
+_per se_. He hated music. He wished he could sing. He wondered how long
+it took to teach a man to sing, anyhow; and he wondered if a man could
+sing--who never had sung.
+
+At this point the duet came to an end, and Billy and her guest left
+the piano. Almost at once, after this, Arkwright made his very graceful
+adieus, and went off with his suit-case to the hotel where, as he had
+informed Aunt Hannah, his room was already engaged.
+
+William went home then, and Aunt Hannah went up-stairs. Cyril and Marie
+withdrew into a still more secluded corner to look at their plans, and
+Bertram found himself at last alone with Billy. He forgot, then, in
+the blissful hour he spent with her before the open fire, how he hated
+music; though he did say, just before he went home that night:
+
+“Billy, how long does it take--to learn to sing?”
+
+“Why, I don't know, I'm sure,” replied Billy, abstractedly; then, with
+sudden fervor: “Oh, Bertram, hasn't Mr. Mary Jane a beautiful voice?”
+
+Bertram wished then he had not asked the question; but all he said was:
+
+“'Mr. Mary Jane,' indeed! What an absurd name!”
+
+“But doesn't he sing beautifully?”
+
+“Eh? Oh, yes, he sings all right,” said Bertram's tongue. Bertram's
+manner said: “Oh, yes, anybody can sing.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII. M. J. OPENS THE GAME
+
+
+On the morning after Cyril's first concert of the season, Billy sat
+sewing with Aunt Hannah in the little sitting-room at the end of the
+hall upstairs. Aunt Hannah wore only one shawl this morning,--which
+meant that she was feeling unusually well.
+
+“Marie ought to be here to mend these stockings,” remarked Billy, as she
+critically examined a tiny break in the black silk mesh stretched across
+the darning-egg in her hand; “only she'd want a bigger hole. She does so
+love to make a beautiful black latticework bridge across a yawning white
+china sea--and you'd think the safety of an army depended on the way
+each plank was laid, too,” she concluded.
+
+Aunt Hannah smiled tranquilly, but she did not speak.
+
+“I suppose you don't happen to know if Cyril does wear big holes in his
+socks,” resumed Billy, after a moment's silence. “If you'll believe it,
+that thought popped into my head last night when Cyril was playing
+that concerto so superbly. It did, actually--right in the middle of the
+adagio movement, too. And in spite of my joy and pride in the music I
+had all I could do to keep from nudging Marie right there and then and
+asking her whether or not the dear man was hard on his hose.”
+
+“Billy!” gasped the shocked Aunt Hannah; but the gasp broke at once into
+what--in Aunt Hannah--passed for a chuckle. “If I remember rightly, when
+I was there at the house with you at first, my dear, William told me
+that Cyril wouldn't wear any sock after it came to mending.”
+
+“Horrors!” Billy waved her stocking in mock despair. “That will never
+do in the world. It would break Marie's heart. You know how she dotes on
+darning.”
+
+“Yes, I know,” smiled Aunt Hannah. “By the way, where is she this
+morning?”
+
+Billy raised her eyebrows quizzically.
+
+“Gone to look at an apartment in Cambridge, I believe. Really,
+Aunt Hannah, between her home-hunting in the morning, and her
+furniture-and-rug hunting in the afternoon, and her poring over
+house-plans in the evening, I can't get her to attend to her clothes at
+all. Never did I see a bride so utterly indifferent to her trousseau as
+Marie Hawthorn--and her wedding less than a month away!”
+
+“But she's been shopping with you once or twice, since she came back,
+hasn't she? And she said it was for her trousseau.”
+
+Billy laughed.
+
+“Her trousseau! Oh, yes, it was. I'll tell you what she got for her
+trousseau that first day. We started out to buy two hats, some lace for
+her wedding gown, some crêpe de Chine and net for a little dinner
+frock, and some silk for a couple of waists to go with her tailored
+suit; and what did we get? We purchased a new-style egg-beater and a
+set of cake tins. Marie got into the kitchen department and I simply
+couldn't get her out of it. But the next day I was not to be inveigled
+below stairs by any plaintive prayer for a nutmeg-grater or a soda
+spoon. She _shopped_ that day, and to some purpose. We accomplished
+lots.”
+
+Aunt Hannah looked a little concerned.
+
+“But she must have _some_ things started!”
+
+“Oh, she has--'most everything now. _I've_ seen to that. Of course her
+outfit is very simple, anyway. Marie hasn't much money, you know, and
+she simply won't let me do half what I want to. Still, she had saved
+up some money, and I've finally convinced her that a trousseau doesn't
+consist of egg-beaters and cake tins, and that Cyril would want her to
+look pretty. That name will fetch her every time, and I've learned to
+use it beautifully. I think if I told her Cyril approved of short hair
+and near-sightedness she'd I cut off her golden locks and don spectacles
+on the spot.”
+
+Aunt Hannah laughed softly.
+
+“What a child you are, Billy! Besides, just as if Marie were the only
+one in the house who is ruled by a magic name!”
+
+The color deepened in Billy's cheeks.
+
+“Well, of course, any girl--cares something--for the man she loves. Just
+as if I wouldn't do anything in the world I could for Bertram!”
+
+“Oh, that makes me think; who was that young woman Bertram was talking
+with last evening--just after he left us, I mean?”
+
+“Miss Winthrop--Miss Marguerite Winthrop. Bertram is--is painting her
+portrait, you know.”
+
+“Oh, is that the one?” murmured Aunt Hannah. “Hm-m; well, she has a
+beautiful face.”
+
+“Yes, she has.” Billy spoke very cheerfully. She even hummed a little
+tune as she carefully selected a needle from the cushion in her basket.
+
+“There's a peculiar something in her face,” mused Aunt Hannah, aloud.
+
+The little tune stopped abruptly, ending in a nervous laugh.
+
+“Dear me! I wonder how it feels to have a peculiar something in your
+face. Bertram, too, says she has it. He's trying to 'catch it,' he says.
+I wonder now--if he does catch it, does she lose it?” Flippant as were
+the words, the voice that uttered them shook a little.
+
+Aunt Hannah smiled indulgently--Aunt Hannah had heard only the
+flippancy, not the shake.
+
+“I don't know, my dear. You might ask him this afternoon.”
+
+Billy made a sudden movement. The china egg in her lap rolled to the
+floor.
+
+“Oh, but I don't see him this afternoon,” she said lightly, as she
+stooped to pick up the egg.
+
+“Why, I'm sure he told me--” Aunt Hannah's sentence ended in a
+questioning pause.
+
+“Yes, I know,” nodded Billy, brightly; “but he's told me something
+since. He isn't going. He telephoned me this morning. Miss Winthrop
+wanted the sitting changed from to-morrow to this afternoon. He said he
+knew I'd understand.”
+
+“Why, yes; but--” Aunt Hannah did not finish her sentence. The whir of
+an electric bell had sounded through the house. A few moments later Rosa
+appeared in the open doorway.
+
+“It's Mr. Arkwright, Miss. He said as how he had brought the music,”
+ she announced.
+
+“Tell him I'll be down at once,” directed the mistress of Hillside.
+
+As the maid disappeared, Billy put aside her work and sprang lightly to
+her feet.
+
+“Now wasn't that nice of him? We were talking last night about some
+duets he had, and he said he'd bring them over. I didn't know he'd come
+so soon, though.”
+
+Billy had almost reached the bottom of the stairway, when a low,
+familiar strain of music drifted out from the living-room. Billy caught
+her breath, and held her foot suspended. The next moment the familiar
+strain of music had become a lullaby--one of Billy's own--and sung now
+by a melting tenor voice that lingered caressingly and understandingly
+on every tender cadence.
+
+Motionless and almost breathless, Billy waited until the last
+low “lul-la-by” vibrated into silence; then with shining eyes and
+outstretched hands she entered the living-room.
+
+“Oh, that was--beautiful,” she breathed.
+
+Arkwright was on his feet instantly. His eyes, too, were alight.
+
+“I could not resist singing it just once--here,” he said a little
+unsteadily, as their hands met.
+
+“But to hear my little song sung like that! I couldn't believe it was
+mine,” choked Billy, still plainly very much moved. “You sang it as I've
+never heard it sung before.”
+
+Arkwright shook his head slowly.
+
+“The inspiration of the room--that is all,”, he said. “It is a beautiful
+song. All of your songs are beautiful.”
+
+Billy blushed rosily.
+
+“Thank you. You know--more of them, then?”
+
+“I think I know them all--unless you have some new ones out. Have you
+some new ones, lately?”
+
+Billy shook her head.
+
+“No; I haven't written anything since last spring.”
+
+“But you're going to?”
+
+She drew a long sigh.
+
+“Yes, oh, yes. I know that _now_--” With a swift biting of her lower
+lip Billy caught herself up in time. As if she could tell this man, this
+stranger, what she had told Bertram that night by the fire--that she
+knew that now, _now_ she would write beautiful songs, with his love, and
+his pride in her, as incentives. “Oh, yes, I think I shall write more
+one of these days,” she finished lightly. “But come, this isn't singing
+duets! I want to see the music you brought.”
+
+They sang then, one after another of the duets. To Billy, the music was
+new and interesting. To Billy, too, it was new (and interesting) to hear
+her own voice blending with another's so perfectly--to feel herself a
+part of such exquisite harmony.
+
+“Oh, oh!” she breathed ecstatically, after the last note of a
+particularly beautiful phrase. “I never knew before how lovely it was to
+sing duets.”
+
+“Nor I,” replied Arkwright in a voice that was not quite steady.
+
+Arkwright's eyes were on the enraptured face of the girl so near him.
+It was well, perhaps, that Billy did not happen to turn and catch their
+expression. Still, it might have been better if she had turned, after
+all. But Billy's eyes were on the music before her. Her fingers were
+busy with the fluttering pages, searching for another duet.
+
+“Didn't you?” she murmured abstractedly. “I supposed _you'd_ sung them
+before; but you see I never did--until the other night. There, let's try
+this one!”
+
+“This one” was followed by another and another. Then Billy drew a long
+breath.
+
+“There! that must positively be the last,” she declared reluctantly.
+“I'm so hoarse now I can scarcely croak. You see, I don't pretend to
+sing, really.”
+
+“Don't you? You sing far better than some who do, anyhow,” retorted the
+man, warmly.
+
+“Thank you,” smiled Billy; “that was nice of you to say so--for my
+sake--and the others aren't here to care. But tell me of yourself. I
+haven't had a chance to ask you yet; and--I think you said Mary Jane was
+going to study for Grand Opera.”
+
+Arkwright laughed and shrugged his shoulders.
+
+“She is; but, as I told Calderwell, she's quite likely to bring up in
+vaudeville.”
+
+“Calderwell! Do you mean--Hugh Calderwell?” Billy's cheeks showed a
+deeper color.
+
+The man gave an embarrassed little laugh. He had not meant to let that
+name slip out just yet.
+
+“Yes.” He hesitated, then plunged on recklessly. “We tramped half over
+Europe together last summer.”
+
+“Did you?” Billy left her seat at the piano for one nearer the fire.
+“But this isn't telling me about your own plans,” she hurried on a
+little precipitately. “You've studied before, of course. Your voice
+shows that.”
+
+“Oh, yes; I've studied singing several years, and I've had a year or two
+of church work, besides a little concert practice of a mild sort.”
+
+“Have you begun here, yet?”
+
+“Y-yes, I've had my voice tried.”
+
+Billy sat erect with eager interest.
+
+“They liked it, of course?”
+
+Arkwright laughed.
+
+“I'm not saying that.”
+
+“No, but I am,” declared Billy, with conviction. “They couldn't help
+liking it.”
+
+Arkwright laughed again. Just how well they had “liked it” he did not
+intend to say. Their remarks had been quite too flattering to repeat
+even to this very plainly interested young woman--delightful and
+heart-warming as was this same show of interest, to himself.
+
+“Thank you,” was all he said.
+
+Billy gave an excited little bounce in her chair.
+
+“And you'll begin to learn rôles right away?”
+
+“I already have, some--after a fashion--before I came here.”
+
+“Really? How splendid! Why, then you'll be acting them next right on the
+Boston Opera House stage, and we'll all go to hear you. How perfectly
+lovely! I can hardly wait.”
+
+Arkwright laughed--but his eyes glowed with pleasure.
+
+“Aren't you hurrying things a little?” he ventured.
+
+“But they do let the students appear,” argued Billy. “I knew a girl last
+year who went on in 'Aida,' and she was a pupil at the School. She sang
+first in a Sunday concert, then they put her in the bill for a Saturday
+night. She did splendidly--so well that they gave her a chance later at
+a subscription performance. Oh, you'll be there--and soon, too!”
+
+“Thank you! I only wish the powers that could put me there had your
+flattering enthusiasm on the matter,” he smiled.
+
+“I don't worry any,” nodded Billy, “only please don't 'arrive' too
+soon--not before the wedding, you know,” she added jokingly. “We shall
+be too busy to give you proper attention until after that.”
+
+A peculiar look crossed Arkwright's face.
+
+“The--_wedding?_” he asked, a little faintly.
+
+“Yes. Didn't you know? My friend, Miss Hawthorn, is to marry Mr. Cyril
+Henshaw next month.”
+
+The man opposite relaxed visibly.
+
+“Oh, _Miss Hawthorn!_ No, I didn't know,” he murmured; then, with sudden
+astonishment he added: “And to Mr. Cyril, the musician, did you say?”
+
+“Yes. You seem surprised.”
+
+“I am.” Arkwright paused, then went on almost defiantly. “You see,
+Calderwell was telling me only last September how very unmarriageable
+all the Henshaw brothers were. So I am surprised--naturally,” finished
+Arkwright, as he rose to take his leave.
+
+A swift crimson stained Billy's face.
+
+“But surely you must know that--that--”
+
+“That he has a right to change his mind, of course,” supplemented
+Arkwright smilingly, coming to her rescue in the evident confusion
+that would not let her finish her sentence. “But Calderwell made it so
+emphatic, you see, about all the brothers. He said that William had lost
+his heart long ago; that Cyril hadn't any to lose; and that Bertram--”
+
+“But, Mr. Arkwright, Bertram is--is--” Billy had moistened her lips, and
+plunged hurriedly in to prevent Arkwright's next words. But again was
+she unable to finish her sentence, and again was she forced to listen
+to a very different completion from the smiling lips of the man at her
+side.
+
+“Is an artist, of course,” said Arkwright. “That's what Calderwell
+declared--that it would always be the tilt of a chin or the curve of a
+cheek that the artist loved--to paint.”
+
+Billy drew back suddenly. Her face paled. As if _now_ she could tell
+this man that Bertram Henshaw was engaged to her! He would find it out
+soon, of course, for himself; and perhaps he, like Hugh Calderwell,
+would think it was the curve of _her_ cheek, or the tilt of _her_ chin--
+
+Billy lifted her chin very defiantly now as she held out her hand in
+good-by.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX. A RUG, A PICTURE, AND A GIRL AFRAID
+
+
+Thanksgiving came. Once again the Henshaw brothers invited Billy and
+Aunt Hannah to spend the day with them. This time, however, there was to
+be an additional guest present in the person of Marie Hawthorn.
+
+And what a day it was, for everything and everybody concerned! First
+the Strata itself: from Dong Ling's kitchen in the basement to Cyril's
+domain on the top floor, the house was as spick-and-span as Pete's eager
+old hands could make it. In the drawing-room and in Bertram's den and
+studio, great clusters of pink roses perfumed the air, and brightened
+the sombre richness of the old-time furnishings. Before the open fire in
+the den a sleek gray cat--adorned with a huge ribbon bow the exact shade
+of the roses (Bertram had seen to that!)--winked and blinked sleepy
+yellow eyes. In Bertram's studio the latest “Face of a Girl” had made
+way for a group of canvases and plaques, every one of which showed Billy
+Neilson in one pose or another. Up-stairs, where William's chaos of
+treasures filled shelves and cabinets, the place of honor was given to
+a small black velvet square on which rested a pair of quaint Battersea
+enamel mirror knobs. In Cyril's rooms--usually so austerely bare--a
+handsome Oriental rug and several curtain-draped chairs hinted at
+purchases made at the instigation of a taste other than his own.
+
+When the doorbell rang Pete admitted the ladies with a promptness that
+was suggestive of surreptitious watching at some window. On Pete's
+face the dignity of his high office and the delight of the moment were
+fighting for mastery. The dignity held firmly through Mrs. Stetson's
+friendly greeting; but it fled in defeat when Billy Neilson stepped over
+the threshold with a cheery “Good morning, Pete.”
+
+“Laws! But it's good to be seein' you here again,” stammered the
+man,--delight now in sole possession.
+
+“She'll be coming to stay, one of these days, Pete,” smiled the eldest
+Henshaw, hurrying forward.
+
+“I wish she had now,” whispered Bertram, who, in spite of William's
+quick stride, had reached Billy's side first.
+
+From the stairway came the patter of a man's slippered feet.
+
+“The rug has come, and the curtains, too,” called a “householder” sort
+of voice that few would have recognized as belonging to Cyril Henshaw.
+“You must all come up-stairs and see them after dinner.” The voice,
+apparently, spoke to everybody; but the eyes of the owner of the voice
+plainly saw only the fair-haired young woman who stood a little in the
+shadow behind Billy, and who was looking about her now as at something a
+little fearsome, but very dear.
+
+“You know--I've never been--where you live--before,” explained Marie
+Hawthorn in a low, vibrant tone, when Cyril bent over her to take the
+furs from her shoulders.
+
+In Bertram's den a little later, as hosts and guests advanced toward
+the fire, the sleek gray cat rose, stretched lazily, and turned her head
+with majestic condescension.
+
+“Well, Spunkie, come here,” commanded Billy, snapping her fingers at
+the slow-moving creature on the hearthrug. “Spunkie, when I am your
+mistress, you'll have to change either your name or your nature. As if
+I were going to have such a bunch of independent moderation as you
+masquerading as an understudy to my frisky little Spunk!”
+
+Everybody laughed. William regarded his namesake with fond eyes as he
+said:
+
+“Spunkie doesn't seem to be worrying.” The cat had jumped into Billy's
+lap with a matter-of-course air that was unmistakable--and to Bertram,
+adorable. Bertram's eyes, as they rested on Billy, were even fonder than
+were his brother's.
+
+“I don't think any one is--_worrying_,” he said with quiet emphasis.
+
+Billy smiled.
+
+“I should think they might be,” she answered. “Only think how dreadfully
+upsetting I was in the first place!”
+
+William's beaming face grew a little stern.
+
+“Nobody knew it but Kate--and she didn't _know_ it; she only imagined
+it,” he said tersely.
+
+Billy shook her head.
+
+“I'm not so sure,” she demurred. “As I look back at it now, I think I
+can discern a few evidences myself--that I was upsetting. I was a bother
+to Bertram in his painting, I am sure.”
+
+“You were an inspiration,” corrected Bertram. “Think of the posing you
+did for me.”
+
+A swift something like a shadow crossed Billy's face; but before her
+lover could question its meaning, it was gone.
+
+“And I know I was a torment to Cyril.” Billy had turned to the musician
+now.
+
+“Well, I admit you were a little--upsetting, at times,” retorted that
+individual, with something of his old imperturbable rudeness.
+
+“Nonsense!” cut in William, sharply. “You were never anything but a
+comfort in the house, Billy, my dear--and you never will be.”
+
+“Thank you,” murmured Billy, demurely. “I'll remember that--when Pete
+and I disagree about the table decorations, and Dong Ling doesn't like
+the way I want my soup seasoned.”
+
+An anxious frown showed on Bertram's face.
+
+“Billy,” he said in a low voice, as the others laughed at her sally,
+“you needn't have Pete nor Dong Ling here if you don't want them.”
+
+“Don't want them!” echoed Billy, indignantly. “Of course I want them!”
+
+“But--Pete _is_ old, and--”
+
+“Yes; and where's he grown old? For whom has he worked the last fifty
+years, while he's been growing old? I wonder if you think I'd let Pete
+leave this house as long as he _wants_ to stay! As for Dong Ling--”
+
+A sudden movement of Bertram's hand arrested her words. She looked up to
+find Pete in the doorway.
+
+“Dinner is served, sir,” announced the old butler, his eyes on his
+master's face.
+
+William rose with alacrity, and gave his arm to Aunt Hannah.
+
+“Well, I'm sure we're ready for dinner,” he declared.
+
+It was a good dinner, and it was well served. It could scarcely have
+been otherwise with Dong Ling in the kitchen and Pete in the dining-room
+doing their utmost to please. But even had the turkey been tough instead
+of tender, and even had the pies been filled with sawdust instead of
+with delicious mincemeat, it is doubtful if four at the table would have
+known the difference: Cyril and Marie at one end were discussing where
+to put their new sideboard in their dining-room, and Bertram and Billy
+at the other were talking of the next Thanksgiving, when, according to
+Bertram, the Strata would have the “dearest little mistress that ever
+was born.” As if, under these circumstances, the tenderness of the
+turkey or the toothsomeness of the mince pie mattered! To Aunt Hannah
+and William, in the centre of the table, however, it did matter; so it
+was well, of course, that the dinner was a good one.
+
+“And now,” said Cyril, when dinner was over, “suppose you come up and
+see the rug.”
+
+In compliance with this suggestion, the six trailed up the long flights
+of stairs then, Billy carrying an extra shawl for Aunt Hannah--Cyril's
+rooms were always cool.
+
+“Oh, yes, I knew we should need it,” she nodded to Bertram, as she
+picked up the shawl from the hall stand where she had left it when she
+came in. “That's why I brought it.”
+
+“Oh, my grief and conscience, Cyril, how _can_ you stand it?--to climb
+stairs like this,” panted Aunt Hannah, as she reached the top of the
+last flight and dropped breathlessly into the nearest chair--from which
+Marie had rescued a curtain just in time.
+
+“Well, I'm not sure I could--if I were always to eat a Thanksgiving
+dinner just before,” laughed Cyril. “Maybe I ought to have waited and
+let you rest an hour or two.”
+
+“But 'twould have been too dark, then, to see the rug,” objected Marie.
+“It's a genuine Persian--a Kirman, you know; and I'm so proud of it,”
+ she added, turning to the others. “I wanted you to see the colors by
+daylight. Cyril likes it better, anyhow, in the daytime.”
+
+“Fancy Cyril _liking_ any sort of a rug at any time,” chuckled Bertram,
+his eyes on the rich, softly blended colors of the rug before him.
+“Honestly, Miss Marie,” he added, turning to the little bride elect,
+“how did you ever manage to get him to buy _any_ rug? He won't have so
+much as a ravelling on the floor up here to walk on.”
+
+A startled dismay came into Marie's blue eyes.
+
+“Why, I thought he wanted rugs,” she faltered. “I'm sure he said--”
+
+“Of course I want rugs,” interrupted Cyril, irritably. “I want them
+everywhere except in my own especial den. You don't suppose I want to
+hear other people clattering over bare floors all day, do you?”
+
+“Of course not!” Bertram's face was preternaturally grave as he turned
+to the little music teacher. “I hope, Miss Marie, that you wear rubber
+heels on your shoes,” he observed solicitously.
+
+Even Cyril laughed at this, though all he said was:
+
+“Come, come, I got you up here to look at the rug.”
+
+Bertram, however, was not to be silenced.
+
+“And another thing, Miss Marie,” he resumed, with the air of a true and
+tried adviser. “Just let me give you a pointer. I've lived with your
+future husband a good many years, and I know what I'm talking about.”
+
+“Bertram, be still,” growled Cyril.
+
+Bertram refused to be still.
+
+“Whenever you want to know anything about Cyril, listen to his playing.
+For instance: if, after dinner, you hear a dreamy waltz or a sleepy
+nocturne, you may know that all is well. But if on your ears there falls
+anything like a dirge, or the wail of a lost spirit gone mad, better
+look to your soup and see if it hasn't been scorched, or taste of your
+pudding and see if you didn't put in salt instead of sugar.”
+
+“Bertram, will you be still?” cut in Cyril, testily, again.
+
+“After all, judging from what Billy tells me,” resumed Bertram,
+cheerfully, “what I've said won't be so important to you, for you aren't
+the kind that scorches soups or uses salt for sugar. So maybe I'd better
+put it to you this way: if you want a new sealskin coat or an extra
+diamond tiara, tackle him when he plays like this!” And with a swift
+turn Bertram dropped himself to the piano stool and dashed into a
+rollicking melody that half the newsboys of Boston were whistling.
+
+What happened next was a surprise to every one. Bertram, very much as
+if he were a naughty little boy, was jerked by a wrathful brother's hand
+off the piano stool. The next moment the wrathful brother himself sat at
+the piano, and there burst on five pairs of astonished ears a crashing
+dissonance which was but the prelude to music such as few of the party
+often heard.
+
+Spellbound they listened while rippling runs and sonorous harmonies
+filled the room to overflowing, as if under the fingers of the player
+there were--not the keyboard of a piano--but the violins, flutes,
+cornets, trombones, bass viols and kettledrums of a full orchestra.
+
+Billy, perhaps, of them all, best understood. She knew that in those
+tripping melodies and crashing chords were Cyril's joy at the presence
+of Marie, his wrath at the flippancy of Bertram, his ecstasy at that for
+which the rug and curtains stood--the little woman sewing in the radiant
+circle of a shaded lamp. Billy knew that all this and more were finding
+voice at Cyril's finger tips. The others, too, understood in a way; but
+they, unlike Billy, were not in the habit of finding on a few score bits
+of wood and ivory a vent for their moods and fancies.
+
+The music was softer now. The resounding chords and purling runs had
+become a bell-like melody that wound itself in and out of a maze of
+exquisite harmonies, now hiding, now coming out clear and unafraid, like
+a mountain stream emerging into a sunlit meadow from the leafy shadows
+of its forest home.
+
+In a breathless hush the melody quivered into silence. It was Bertram
+who broke the pause with a long-drawn:
+
+“By George!” Then, a little unsteadily: “If it's I that set you going
+like that, old chap, I'll come up and play ragtime every day!”
+
+Cyril shrugged his shoulders and got to his feet.
+
+“If you've seen all you want of the rug we'll go down-stairs,” he said
+nonchalantly.
+
+“But we haven't!” chorussed several indignant voices. And for the next
+few minutes not even the owner of the beautiful Kirman could find any
+fault with the quantity or the quality of the attention bestowed on
+his new possession. But Billy, under cover of the chatter, said
+reproachfully in his ear:
+
+“Oh, Cyril, to think you can play like that--and won't--on demand!”
+
+“I can't--on demand,” shrugged Cyril again.
+
+On the way down-stairs they stopped at William's rooms.
+
+“I want you to see a couple of Batterseas I got last week,” cried
+the collector eagerly, as he led the way to the black velvet square.
+“They're fine--and I think she looks like you,” he finished, turning
+to Billy, and holding out one of the knobs, on which was a beautifully
+executed miniature of a young girl with dark, dreamy eyes.
+
+“Oh, how pretty!” exclaimed Marie, over Billy's shoulder. “But what are
+they?”
+
+The collector turned, his face alight.
+
+“Mirror knobs. I've got lots of them. Would you like to see
+them--really? They're right here.”
+
+The next minute Marie found herself looking into a cabinet where lay a
+score or more of round and oval discs of glass, porcelain, and metal,
+framed in silver, gilt, and brass, and mounted on long spikes.
+
+“Oh, how pretty,” cried Marie again; “but how--how queer! Tell me about
+them, please.”
+
+William drew a long breath. His eyes glistened. William loved to
+talk--when he had a curio and a listener.
+
+“I will. Our great-grandmothers used them, you know, to support their
+mirrors, or to fasten back their curtains,” he explained ardently.
+“Now here's another Battersea enamel, but it isn't so good as my new
+ones--that face is almost a caricature.”
+
+“But what a beautiful ship--on that round one!” exclaimed Marie. “And
+what's this one?--glass?”
+
+“Yes; but that's not so rare as the others. Still, it's pretty enough.
+Did you notice this one, with the bright red and blue and green on the
+white background?--regular Chinese mode of decoration, that is.”
+
+“Er--any time, William,” began Bertram, mischievously; but William did
+not seem to hear.
+
+“Now in this corner,” he went on, warming to his subject, “are
+the enamelled porcelains. They were probably made at the Worcester
+works--England, you know; and I think many of them are quite as pretty
+as the Batterseas. You see it was at Worcester that they invented
+that variation of the transfer printing process that they called bat
+printing, where they used oil instead of ink, and gelatine instead of
+paper. Now engravings for that kind of printing were usually in stipple
+work--dots, you know--so the prints on these knobs can easily be
+distinguished from those of the transfer printing. See? Now, this one
+is--”
+
+“Er, of course, William, any time--” interposed Bertram again, his eyes
+twinkling.
+
+William stopped with a laugh.
+
+“Yes, I know. 'Tis time I talked of something else, Bertram,” he
+conceded.
+
+“But 'twas lovely, and I _was_ interested, really,” claimed Marie.
+“Besides, there are such a lot of things here that I'd like to see,” she
+finished, turning slowly about.
+
+“These are what he was collecting last year,” murmured Billy, hovering
+over a small cabinet where were some beautiful specimens of antique
+jewelry brooches, necklaces, armlets, Rajah rings, and anklets, gorgeous
+in color and exquisite in workmanship.
+
+“Well, here is something you _will_ enjoy,” declared Bertram, with an
+airy flourish. “Do you see those teapots? Well, we can have tea every
+day in the year, and not use one of them but five times. I've counted.
+There are exactly seventy-three,” he concluded, as he laughingly led the
+way from the room.
+
+“How about leap year?” quizzed Billy.
+
+“Ho! Trust Will to find another 'Old Blue' or a 'perfect treasure of a
+black basalt' by that time,” shrugged Bertram.
+
+Below William's rooms was the floor once Bertram's, but afterwards given
+over to the use of Billy and Aunt Hannah. The rooms were open to-day,
+and were bright with sunshine and roses; but they were very plainly
+unoccupied.
+
+“And you don't use them yet?” remonstrated Billy, as she paused at an
+open door.
+
+“No. These are Mrs. Bertram Henshaw's rooms,” said the youngest Henshaw
+brother in a voice that made Billy hurry away with a dimpling blush.
+
+“They were Billy's--and they can never seem any one's but Billy's, now,”
+ declared William to Marie, as they went down the stairs.
+
+“And now for the den and some good stories before the fire,” proposed
+Bertram, as the six reached the first floor again.
+
+“But we haven't seen your pictures, yet,” objected Billy.
+
+Bertram made a deprecatory gesture.
+
+“There's nothing much--” he began; but he stopped at once, with an odd
+laugh. “Well, I sha'n't say _that_,” he finished, flinging open the door
+of his studio, and pressing a button that flooded the room with light.
+The next moment, as they stood before those plaques and panels and
+canvases--on each of which was a pictured “Billy”--they understood the
+change in his sentence, and they laughed appreciatively.
+
+“'Much,' indeed!” exclaimed William.
+
+“Oh, how lovely!” breathed Marie.
+
+“My grief and conscience, Bertram! All these--and of Billy? I knew you
+had a good many, but--” Aunt Hannah paused impotently, her eyes going
+from Bertram's face to the pictures again.
+
+“But how--when did you do them?” queried Marie.
+
+“Some of them from memory. More of them from life. A lot of them were
+just sketches that I did when she was here in the house four or five
+years ago,” answered Bertram; “like this, for instance.” And he pulled
+into a better light a picture of a laughing, dark-eyed girl holding
+against her cheek a small gray kitten, with alert, bright eyes. “The
+original and only Spunk,” he announced.
+
+“What a dear little cat!” cried Marie.
+
+“You should have seen it--in the flesh,” remarked Cyril, dryly. “No
+paint nor painter could imprison that untamed bit of Satanic mischief on
+any canvas that ever grew!”
+
+Everybody laughed--everybody but Billy. Billy, indeed, of them all, had
+been strangely silent ever since they entered the studio. She stood now
+a little apart. Her eyes were wide, and a bit frightened. Her fingers
+were twisting the corners of her handkerchief nervously. She was looking
+to the right and to the left, and everywhere she saw--herself.
+
+Sometimes it was her full face, sometimes her profile; sometimes there
+were only her eyes peeping from above a fan, or peering from out brown
+shadows of nothingness. Once it was merely the back of her head showing
+the mass of waving hair with its high lights of burnished bronze. Again
+it was still the back of her head with below it the bare, slender
+neck and the scarf-draped shoulders. In this picture the curve of a
+half-turned cheek showed plainly, and in the background was visible
+a hand holding four playing cards, at which the pictured girl was
+evidently looking. Sometimes it was a merry Billy with dancing eyes;
+sometimes a demure Billy with long lashes caressing a flushed cheek.
+Sometimes it was a wistful Billy with eyes that looked straight into
+yours with peculiar appeal. But always it was--Billy.
+
+“There, I think the tilt of this chin is perfect.” It was Bertram
+speaking.
+
+Billy gave a sudden cry. Her face whitened. She stumbled forward.
+
+“No, no, Bertram, you--you didn't mean the--the tilt of the chin,” she
+faltered wildly.
+
+The man turned in amazement.
+
+“Why--Billy!” he stammered. “Billy, what is it?”
+
+The girl fell back at once. She tried to laugh lightly. She had seen the
+dismayed questioning in her lover's eyes, and in the eyes of William and
+the others.
+
+“N-nothing,” she gesticulated hurriedly. “It was nothing at all, truly.”
+
+“But, Billy, it _was_ something.” Bertram's eyes were still troubled.
+“Was it the picture? I thought you liked this picture.”
+
+Billy laughed again--this time more naturally.
+
+“Bertram, I'm ashamed of you--expecting me to say I 'like' any of this,”
+ she scolded, with a wave of her hands toward the omnipresent Billy.
+“Why, I feel as if I were in a room with a thousand mirrors, and that
+I'd been discovered putting rouge on my cheeks and lampblack on my
+eyebrows!”
+
+William laughed fondly. Aunt Hannah and Marie gave an indulgent smile.
+Cyril actually chuckled. Bertram only still wore a puzzled expression as
+he laid aside the canvas in his hands.
+
+Billy examined intently a sketch she had found with its back to the
+wall. It was not a pretty sketch; it was not even a finished one,
+and Billy did not in the least care what it was. But her lips cried
+interestedly:
+
+“Oh, Bertram, what is this?”
+
+There was no answer. Bertram was still engaged, apparently, in putting
+away some sketches. Over by the doorway leading to the den Marie and
+Aunt Hannah, followed by William and Cyril, were just disappearing
+behind a huge easel. In another minute the merry chatter of their voices
+came from the room beyond. Bertram hurried then straight across the
+studio to the girl still bending over the sketch in the corner.
+
+“Bertram!” gasped Billy, as a kiss brushed her cheek.
+
+“Pooh! They're gone. Besides, what if they did see? Billy, what was the
+matter with the tilt of that chin?”
+
+Billy gave an hysterical little laugh--at least, Bertram tried to assure
+himself that it was a laugh, though it had sounded almost like a sob.
+
+“Bertram, if you say another word about--about the tilt of that chin, I
+shall _scream!_” she panted.
+
+“Why, Billy!”
+
+With a nervous little movement Billy turned and began to reverse the
+canvases nearest her.
+
+“Come, sir,” she commanded gayly. “Billy has been on exhibition
+quite long enough. It is high time she was turned face to the wall to
+meditate, and grow more modest.”
+
+Bertram did not answer. Neither did he make a move to assist her. His
+ardent gray eyes were following her slim, graceful figure admiringly.
+
+“Billy, it doesn't seem true, yet, that you're really mine,” he said at
+last, in a low voice shaken with emotion.
+
+Billy turned abruptly. A peculiar radiance shone in her eyes and
+glorified her face. As she stood, she was close to a picture on an easel
+and full in the soft glow of the shaded lights above it.
+
+“Then you _do_ want me,” she began, “--just _me!_--not to--” she stopped
+short. The man opposite had taken an eager step toward her. On his
+face was the look she knew so well, the look she had come almost to
+dread--the “painting look.”
+
+“Billy, stand just as you are,” he was saying. “Don't move. Jove! But
+that effect is perfect with those dark shadows beyond, and just your
+hair and face and throat showing. I declare, I've half a mind to
+sketch--” But Billy, with a little cry, was gone.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+A JOB FOR PETE--AND FOR BERTRAM
+
+
+The early days in December were busy ones, certainly, in the little
+house on Corey Hill. Marie was to be married the twelfth. It was to be
+a home wedding, and a very simple one--according to Billy, and according
+to what Marie had said it was to be. Billy still serenely spoke of it
+as a “simple affair,” but Marie was beginning to be fearful. As the
+days passed, bringing with them more and more frequent evidences either
+tangible or intangible of orders to stationers, caterers, and florists,
+her fears found voice in a protest.
+
+“But Billy, it was to be a _simple_ wedding,” she cried.
+
+“And so it is.”
+
+“But what is this I hear about a breakfast?”
+
+Billy's chin assumed its most stubborn squareness.
+
+“I don't know, I'm sure, what you did hear,” she retorted calmly.
+
+“Billy!”
+
+Billy laughed. The chin was just as stubborn, but the smiling lips above
+it graced it with an air of charming concession.
+
+“There, there, dear,” coaxed the mistress of Hillside, “don't fret.
+Besides, I'm sure I should think you, of all people, would want your
+guests _fed!_”
+
+“But this is so elaborate, from what I hear.”
+
+“Nonsense! Not a bit of it.”
+
+“Rosa says there'll be salads and cakes and ices--and I don't know what
+all.”
+
+Billy looked concerned.
+
+“Well, of course, Marie, if you'd _rather_ have oatmeal and doughnuts,”
+ she began with kind solicitude; but she got no farther.
+
+“Billy!” besought the bride elect. “Won't you be serious? And there's
+the cake in wedding boxes, too.”
+
+“I know, but boxes are so much easier and cleaner than--just fingers,”
+ apologized an anxiously serious voice.
+
+Marie answered with an indignant, grieved glance and hurried on.
+
+“And the flowers--roses, dozens of them, in December! Billy, I can't let
+you do all this for me.”
+
+“Nonsense, dear!” laughed Billy. “Why, I love to do it. Besides, when
+you're gone, just think how lonesome I'll be! I shall have to adopt
+somebody else then--now that Mary Jane has proved to be nothing but a
+disappointing man instead of a nice little girl like you,” she finished
+whimsically.
+
+Marie did not smile. The frown still lay between her delicate brows.
+
+“And for my trousseau--there were so many things that you simply would
+buy!”
+
+“I didn't get one of the egg-beaters,” Billy reminded her anxiously.
+
+Marie smiled now, but she shook her head, too.
+
+“Billy, I cannot have you do all this for me.”
+
+“Why not?”
+
+At the unexpectedly direct question, Marie fell back a little.
+
+“Why, because I--I can't,” she stammered. “I can't get them for myself,
+and--and--”
+
+“Don't you love me?”
+
+A pink flush stole to Marie's face.
+
+“Indeed I do, dearly.”
+
+“Don't I love you?”
+
+The flush deepened.
+
+“I--I hope so.”
+
+“Then why won't you let me do what I want to, and be happy in it? Money,
+just money, isn't any good unless you can exchange it for something you
+want. And just now I want pink roses and ice cream and lace flounces
+for you. Marie,”--Billy's voice trembled a little--“I never had a sister
+till I had you, and I have had such a good time buying things that I
+thought you wanted! But, of course, if you don't want them--” The words
+ended in a choking sob, and down went Billy's head into her folded arms
+on the desk before her.
+
+Marie sprang to her feet and cuddled the bowed head in a loving embrace.
+
+“But I do want them, dear; I want them all--every single one,” she
+urged. “Now promise me--promise me that you'll do them all, just as
+you'd planned! You will, won't you?”
+
+There was the briefest of hesitations, then came the muffled reply:
+
+“Yes--if you really want them.”
+
+“I do, dear--indeed I do. I love pretty weddings, and I--I always hoped
+that I could have one--if I ever married. So you must know, dear, how I
+really do want all those things,” declared Marie, fervently. “And now I
+must go. I promised to meet Cyril at Park Street at three o'clock.”
+ And she hurried from the room--and not until she was half-way to her
+destination did it suddenly occur to her that she had been urging,
+actually urging Miss Billy Neilson to buy for her pink roses, ice cream,
+and lace flounces.
+
+Her cheeks burned with shame then. But almost at once she smiled.
+
+“Now wasn't that just like Billy?” she was saying to herself, with a
+tender glow in her eyes.
+
+
+It was early in December that Pete came one day with a package for Marie
+from Cyril. Marie was not at home, and Billy herself went downstairs to
+take the package from the old man's hands.
+
+“Mr. Cyril said to give it to Miss Hawthorn,” stammered the old servant,
+his face lighting up as Billy entered the room; “but I'm sure he
+wouldn't mind _your_ taking it.”
+
+“I'm afraid I'll have to take it, Pete, unless you want to carry it
+back with you,” she smiled. “I'll see that Miss Hawthorn has it the very
+first moment she comes in.”
+
+“Thank you, Miss. It does my old eyes good to see your bright face.” He
+hesitated, then turned slowly. “Good day, Miss Billy.”
+
+Billy laid the package on the table. Her eyes were thoughtful as she
+looked after the old man, who was now almost to the door. Something in
+his bowed form appealed to her strangely. She took a quick step toward
+him.
+
+“You'll miss Mr. Cyril, Pete,” she said pleasantly.
+
+The old man stopped at once and turned. He lifted his head a little
+proudly.
+
+“Yes, Miss. I--I was there when he was born. Mr. Cyril's a fine man.”
+
+“Indeed he is. Perhaps it's your good care that's helped, some--to make
+him so,” smiled the girl, vaguely wishing that she could say something
+that would drive the wistful look from the dim old eyes before her.
+
+For a moment Billy thought she had succeeded. The old servant drew
+himself stiffly erect. In his eyes shone the loyal pride of more than
+fifty years' honest service. Almost at once, however, the pride died
+away, and the wistfulness returned.
+
+“Thank ye, Miss; but I don't lay no claim to that, of course,” he said.
+“Mr. Cyril's a fine man, and we shall miss him; but--I cal'late changes
+must come--to all of us.”
+
+Billy's brown eyes grew a little misty.
+
+“I suppose they must,” she admitted.
+
+The old man hesitated; then, as if impelled by some hidden force, he
+plunged on:
+
+“Yes; and they'll be comin' to you one of these days, Miss, and that's
+what I was wantin' to speak to ye about. I understand, of course, that
+when you get there you'll be wantin' younger blood to serve ye. My feet
+ain't so spry as they once was, and my old hands blunder sometimes,
+in spite of what my head bids 'em do. So I wanted to tell ye--that of
+course I shouldn't expect to stay. I'd go.”
+
+As he said the words, Pete stood with head and shoulders erect, his eyes
+looking straight forward but not at Billy.
+
+“Don't you _want_ to stay?” The girlish voice was a little reproachful.
+
+Pete's head drooped.
+
+“Not if--I'm not wanted,” came the husky reply.
+
+With an impulsive movement Billy came straight to the old man's side and
+held out her hand.
+
+“Pete!”
+
+Amazement, incredulity, and a look that was almost terror crossed the
+old man's face; then a flood of dull red blotted them all out and left
+only worshipful rapture. With a choking cry he took the slim little hand
+in both his rough and twisted ones much as if he were possessing himself
+of a treasured bit of eggshell china.
+
+“Miss Billy!”
+
+“Pete, there aren't a pair of feet in Boston, nor a pair of hands,
+either, that I'd rather have serve me than yours, no matter if they
+stumble and blunder all day! I shall love stumbles and blunders--if you
+make them. Now run home, and don't ever let me hear another syllable
+about your leaving!”
+
+They were not the words Billy had intended to say. She had meant to
+speak of his long, faithful service, and of how much they appreciated
+it; but, to her surprise, Billy found her own eyes wet and her own voice
+trembling, and the words that she would have said she found fast shut
+in her throat. So there was nothing to do but to stammer out
+something--anything, that would help to keep her from yielding to that
+absurd and awful desire to fall on the old servant's neck and cry.
+
+“Not another syllable!” she repeated sternly.
+
+“Miss Billy!” choked Pete again. Then he turned and fled with anything
+but his usual dignity.
+
+Bertram called that evening. When Billy came to him in the living-room,
+her slender self was almost hidden behind the swirls of damask linen in
+her arms.
+
+Bertram's eyes grew mutinous.
+
+“Do you expect me to hug all that?” he demanded.
+
+Billy flashed him a mischievous glance.
+
+“Of course not! You don't _have_ to hug anything, you know.”
+
+For answer he impetuously swept the offending linen into the nearest
+chair and drew the girl into his arms.
+
+“Oh! And see how you've crushed poor Marie's table-cloth!” she cried,
+with reproachful eyes.
+
+Bertram sniffed imperturbably.
+
+“I'm not sure but I'd like to crush Marie,” he alleged.
+
+“Bertram!”
+
+“I can't help it. See here, Billy.” He loosened his clasp and held the
+girl off at arm's length, regarding her with stormy eyes. “It's Marie,
+Marie, Marie--always. If I telephone in the morning, you've gone
+shopping with Marie. If I want you in the afternoon for something,
+you're at the dressmaker's with Marie. If I call in the evening--”
+
+“I'm here,” interrupted Billy, with decision.
+
+“Oh, yes, you're here,” admitted Bertram, aggrievedly, “and so are
+dozens of napkins, miles of table-cloths, and yards upon yards of lace
+and flummydiddles you call 'doilies.' They all belong to Marie, and they
+fill your arms and your thoughts full, until there isn't an inch of room
+for me. Billy, when is this thing going to end?”
+
+Billy laughed softly. Her eyes danced.
+
+“The twelfth;--that is, there'll be a--pause, then.”
+
+“Well, I'm thankful if--eh?” broke off the man, with a sudden change of
+manner. “What do you mean by 'a pause'?”
+
+Billy cast down her eyes demurely.
+
+“Well, of course _this_ ends the twelfth with Marie's wedding; but
+I've sort of regarded it as an--understudy for one that's coming next
+October, you see.”
+
+“Billy, you darling!” breathed a supremely happy voice in a shell-like
+ear--Billy was not at arm's length now.
+
+Billy smiled, but she drew away with gentle firmness.
+
+“And now I must go back to my sewing,” she said.
+
+Bertram's arms did not loosen. His eyes had grown mutinous again.
+
+“That is,” she amended, “I must be practising my part of--the
+understudy, you know.”
+
+“You darling!” breathed Bertram again; this time, however, he let her
+go.
+
+“But, honestly, is it all necessary?” he sighed despairingly, as she
+seated herself and gathered the table-cloth into her lap. “Do you have
+to do so much of it all?”
+
+“I do,” smiled Billy, “unless you want your brother to run the risk of
+leading his bride to the altar and finding her robed in a kitchen apron
+with an egg-beater in her hand for a bouquet.”
+
+Bertram laughed.
+
+“Is it so bad as that?”
+
+“No, of course not--quite. But never have I seen a bride so utterly
+oblivious to clothes as Marie was till one day in despair I told her
+that Cyril never could bear a dowdy woman.”
+
+“As if Cyril, in the old days, ever could bear any sort of woman!”
+ scoffed Bertram, merrily.
+
+“I know; but I didn't mention that part,” smiled Billy. “I just singled
+out the dowdy one.”
+
+“Did it work?”
+
+Billy made a gesture of despair.
+
+“Did it work! It worked too well. Marie gave me one horrified look,
+then at once and immediately she became possessed with the idea that
+she _was_ a dowdy woman. And from that day to this she has pursued every
+lurking wrinkle and every fold awry, until her dressmaker's life isn't
+worth the living; and I'm beginning to think mine isn't, either, for I
+have to assure her at least four times every day now that she is _not_ a
+dowdy woman.”
+
+“You poor dear,” laughed Bertram. “No wonder you don't have time to give
+to me!”
+
+A peculiar expression crossed Billy's face.
+
+“Oh, but I'm not the _only_ one who, at times, is otherwise engaged,
+sir,” she reminded him.
+
+“What do you mean?”
+
+“There was yesterday, and last Monday, and last week Wednesday, and--”
+
+“Oh, but you _let_ me off, then,” argued Bertram, anxiously. “And you
+said--”
+
+“That I didn't wish to interfere with your work--which was quite true,”
+ interrupted Billy in her turn, smoothly. “By the way,”--Billy was
+examining her stitches very closely now--“how is Miss Winthrop's
+portrait coming on?”
+
+“Splendidly!--that is, it _was_, until she began to put off the sittings
+for her pink teas and folderols. She's going to Washington next week,
+too, to be gone nearly a fortnight,” finished Bertram, gloomily.
+
+“Aren't you putting more work than usual into this one--and more
+sittings?”
+
+“Well, yes,” laughed Bertram, a little shortly. “You see, she's changed
+the pose twice already.”
+
+“Changed it!”
+
+“Yes. Wasn't satisfied. Fancied she wanted it different.”
+
+“But can't you--don't you have something to say about it?”
+
+“Oh, yes, of course; and she claims she'll yield to my judgment, anyhow.
+But what's the use? She's been a spoiled darling all her life, and in
+the habit of having her own way about everything. Naturally, under those
+circumstances, I can't expect to get a satisfactory portrait, if she's
+out of tune with the pose. Besides, I will own, so far her suggestions
+have made for improvement--probably because she's been happy in making
+them, so her expression has been good.”
+
+Billy wet her lips.
+
+“I saw her the other night,” she said lightly. (If the lightness was
+a little artificial Bertram did not seem to notice it.) “She is
+certainly--very beautiful.”
+
+“Yes.” Bertram got to his feet and began to walk up and down the little
+room. His eyes were alight. On his face the “painting look” was king.
+“It's going to mean a lot to me--this picture, Billy. In the first place
+I'm just at the point in my career where a big success would mean a
+lot--and where a big failure would mean more. And this portrait is bound
+to be one or the other from the very nature of the thing.”
+
+“I-is it?” Billy's voice was a little faint.
+
+“Yes. First, because of who the sitter is, and secondly because of what
+she is. She is, of course, the most famous subject I've had, and half
+the artistic world knows by this time that Marguerite Winthrop is being
+done by Henshaw. You can see what it'll be--if I fail.”
+
+“But you won't fail, Bertram!”
+
+The artist lifted his chin and threw back his shoulders.
+
+“No, of course not; but--” He hesitated, frowned, and dropped himself
+into a chair. His eyes studied the fire moodily. “You see,” he resumed,
+after a moment, “there's a peculiar, elusive something about her
+expression--” (Billy stirred restlessly and gave her thread so savage a
+jerk that it broke)”--a something that isn't easily caught by the brush.
+Anderson and Fullam--big fellows, both of them--didn't catch it. At
+least, I've understood that neither her family nor her friends are
+satisfied with _their_ portraits. And to succeed where Anderson and
+Fullam failed--Jove! Billy, a chance like that doesn't come to a fellow
+twice in a lifetime!” Bertram was out of his chair, again, tramping up
+and down the little room.
+
+Billy tossed her work aside and sprang to her feet. Her eyes, too, were
+alight, now.
+
+“But you aren't going to fail, dear,” she cried, holding out both her
+hands. “You're going to succeed!”
+
+Bertram caught the hands and kissed first one then the other of their
+soft little palms.
+
+“Of course I am,” he agreed passionately, leading her to the sofa, and
+seating himself at her side.
+
+“Yes, but you must really _feel_ it,” she urged; “feel the '_sure_' in
+yourself. You have to!--to doing things. That's what I told Mary Jane
+yesterday, when he was running on about what _he_ wanted to do--in his
+singing, you know.”
+
+Bertram stiffened a little. A quick frown came to his face.
+
+“Mary Jane, indeed! Of all the absurd names to give a full-grown,
+six-foot man! Billy, do, for pity's sake, call him by his name--if he's
+got one.”
+
+Billy broke into a rippling laugh.
+
+“I wish I could, dear,” she sighed ingenuously.
+
+“Honestly, it bothers me because I _can't_ think of him as anything but
+'Mary Jane.' It seems so silly!”
+
+“It certainly does--when one remembers his beard.”
+
+“Oh, he's shaved that off now. He looks rather better, too.”
+
+Bertram turned a little sharply.
+
+“Do you see the fellow--often?”
+
+Billy laughed merrily.
+
+“No. He's about as disgruntled as you are over the way the wedding
+monopolizes everything. He's been up once or twice to see Aunt Hannah
+and to get acquainted, as he expresses it, and once he brought up some
+music and we sang; but he declares the wedding hasn't given him half a
+show.”
+
+“Indeed! Well, that's a pity, I'm sure,” rejoined Bertram, icily.
+
+Billy turned in slight surprise.
+
+“Why, Bertram, don't you like Mary Jane?”
+
+“Billy, for heaven's sake! _Hasn't_ he got any name but that?”
+
+Billy clapped her hands together suddenly.
+
+“There, that makes me think. He told Aunt Hannah and me to guess what
+his name was, and we never hit it once. What do you think it is? The
+initials are M. J.”
+
+“I couldn't say, I'm sure. What is it?”
+
+“Oh, he didn't tell us. You see he left us to guess it.”
+
+“Did he?”
+
+“Yes,” mused Billy, abstractedly, her eyes on the dancing fire. The next
+minute she stirred and settled herself more comfortably in the curve
+of her lover's arm. “But there! who cares what his name is? I'm sure I
+don't.”
+
+“Nor I,” echoed Bertram in a voice that he tried to make not too
+fervent. He had not forgotten Billy's surprised: “Why, Bertram, don't
+you like Mary Jane?” and he did not like to call forth a repetition of
+it. Abruptly, therefore, he changed the subject. “By the way, what did
+you do to Pete to-day?” he asked laughingly. “He came home in a seventh
+heaven of happiness babbling of what an angel straight from the sky Miss
+Billy was. Naturally I agreed with him on that point. But what did you
+do to him?”
+
+Billy smiled.
+
+“Nothing--only engaged him for our butler--for life.”
+
+“Oh, I see. That was dear of you, Billy.”
+
+“As if I'd do anything else! And now for Dong Ling, I suppose, some
+day.”
+
+Bertram chuckled.
+
+“Well, maybe I can help you there,” he hinted. “You see, his Celestial
+Majesty came to me himself the other day, and said, after sundry and
+various preliminaries, that he should be 'velly much glad' when the
+'Little Missee' came to live with me, for then he could go back to China
+with a heart at rest, as he had money 'velly much plenty' and didn't
+wish to be 'Melican man' any longer.”
+
+“Dear me,” smiled Billy, “what a happy state of affairs--for him. But
+for you--do you realize, young man, what that means for you? A new wife
+and a new cook all at once? And you know I'm not Marie!”
+
+“Ho! I'm not worrying,” retorted Bertram with a contented smile;
+“besides, as perhaps you noticed, it wasn't Marie that I asked--to marry
+me!”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI. A CLOCK AND AUNT HANNAH
+
+
+Mrs. Kate Hartwell, the Henshaw brothers' sister from the West, was
+expected on the tenth. Her husband could not come, she had written, but
+she would bring with her, little Kate, the youngest child. The boys,
+Paul and Egbert, would stay with their father.
+
+Billy received the news of little Kate's coming with outspoken delight.
+
+“The very thing!” she cried. “We'll have her for a flower girl. She was
+a dear little creature, as I remember her.”
+
+Aunt Hannah gave a sudden low laugh.
+
+“Yes, I remember,” she observed. “Kate told me, after you spent the
+first day with her, that you graciously informed her that little
+Kate was almost as nice as Spunk. Kate did not fully appreciate the
+compliment, I fear.”
+
+Billy made a wry face.
+
+“Did I say that? Dear me! I _was_ a terror in those days, wasn't I?
+But then,” and she laughed softly, “really, Aunt Hannah, that was the
+prettiest thing I knew how to say, for I considered Spunk the top-notch
+of desirability.”
+
+“I think I should have liked to know Spunk,” smiled Marie from the other
+side of the sewing table.
+
+“He was a dear,” declared Billy. “I had another 'most as good when I
+first came to Hillside, but he got lost. For a time it seemed as if I
+never wanted another, but I've about come to the conclusion now that I
+do, and I've told Bertram to find one for me if he can. You see I
+shall be lonesome after you're gone, Marie, and I'll have to have
+_something_,” she finished mischievously.
+
+“Oh, I don't mind the inference--as long as I know your admiration of
+cats,” laughed Marie.
+
+“Let me see; Kate writes she is coming the tenth,” murmured Aunt Hannah,
+going back to the letter in her hand.
+
+“Good!” nodded Billy. “That will give time to put little Kate through
+her paces as flower girl.”
+
+“Yes, and it will give Big Kate time to _try_ to make your breakfast a
+supper, and your roses pinks--or sunflowers,” cut in a new voice, dryly.
+
+“Cyril!” chorussed the three ladies in horror, adoration, and
+amusement--according to whether the voice belonged to Aunt Hannah,
+Marie, or Billy.
+
+Cyril shrugged his shoulders and smiled.
+
+“I beg your pardon,” he apologized; “but Rosa said you were in here
+sewing, and I told her not to bother. I'd announce myself. Just as I
+got to the door I chanced to hear Billy's speech, and I couldn't
+resist making the amendment. Maybe you've forgotten Kate's love of
+managing--but I haven't,” he finished, as he sauntered over to the chair
+nearest Marie.
+
+“No, I haven't--forgotten,” observed Billy, meaningly.
+
+“Nor I--nor anybody else,” declared a severe voice--both the words and
+the severity being most extraordinary as coming from the usually gentle
+Aunt Hannah.
+
+“Oh, well, never mind,” spoke up Billy, quickly. “Everything's all right
+now, so let's forget it. She always meant it for kindness, I'm sure.”
+
+“Even when she told you in the first place what a--er--torment you were
+to us?” quizzed Cyril.
+
+“Yes,” flashed Billy. “She was being kind to _you_, then.”
+
+“Humph!” vouchsafed Cyril.
+
+For a moment no one spoke. Cyril's eyes were on Marie, who was nervously
+trying to smooth back a few fluffy wisps of hair that had escaped from
+restraining combs and pins.
+
+“What's the matter with the hair, little girl?” asked Cyril in a
+voice that was caressingly irritable. “You've been fussing with that
+long-suffering curl for the last five minutes!”
+
+Marie's delicate face flushed painfully.
+
+“It's got loose--my hair,” she stammered, “and it looks so dowdy that
+way!”
+
+Billy dropped her thread suddenly. She sprang for it at once, before
+Cyril could make a move to get it. She had to dive far under a chair
+to capture it--which may explain why her face was so very red when she
+finally reached her seat again.
+
+
+On the morning of the tenth, Billy, Marie, and Aunt Hannah were once
+more sewing together, this time in the little sitting-room at the end of
+the hall up-stairs.
+
+Billy's fingers, in particular, were flying very fast.
+
+“I told John to have Peggy at the door at eleven,” she said, after a
+time; “but I think I can finish running in this ribbon before then. I
+haven't much to do to get ready to go.”
+
+“I hope Kate's train won't be late,” worried Aunt Hannah.
+
+“I hope not,” replied Billy; “but I told Rosa to delay luncheon, anyway,
+till we get here. I--” She stopped abruptly and turned a listening
+ear toward the door of Aunt Hannah's room, which was open. A clock was
+striking. “Mercy! that can't be eleven now,” she cried. “But it must
+be--it was ten before I came up-stairs.” She got to her feet hurriedly.
+
+Aunt Hannah put out a restraining hand.
+
+“No, no, dear, that's half-past ten.”
+
+“But it struck eleven.”
+
+“Yes, I know. It does--at half-past ten.”
+
+“Why, the little wretch,” laughed Billy, dropping back into her chair
+and picking up her work again. “The idea of its telling fibs like that
+and frightening people half out of their lives! I'll have it fixed right
+away. Maybe John can do it--he's always so handy about such things.”
+
+“But I don't want it fixed,” demurred Aunt Hannah.
+
+Billy stared a little.
+
+“You don't want it fixed! Maybe you like to have it strike eleven when
+it's half-past ten!” Billy's voice was merrily sarcastic.
+
+“Y-yes, I do,” stammered the lady, apologetically. “You see, I--I worked
+very hard to fix it so it would strike that way.”
+
+“_Aunt Hannah!_”
+
+“Well, I did,” retorted the lady, with unexpected spirit. “I wanted to
+know what time it was in the night--I'm awake such a lot.”
+
+“But I don't see.” Billy's eyes were perplexed. “Why must you make it
+tell fibs in order to--to find out the truth?” she laughed.
+
+Aunt Hannah elevated her chin a little.
+
+“Because that clock was always striking one.”
+
+“One!”
+
+“Yes--half-past, you know; and I never knew which half-past it was.”
+
+“But it must strike half-past now, just the same!”
+
+“It does.” There was the triumphant ring of the conqueror in Aunt
+Hannah's voice. “But now it strikes half-past _on the hour_, and the
+clock in the hall tells me _then_ what time it is, so I don't care.”
+
+For one more brief minute Billy stared, before a sudden light of
+understanding illumined her face. Then her laugh rang out gleefully.
+
+“Oh, Aunt Hannah, Aunt Hannah,” she gurgled. “If Bertram wouldn't
+call you the limit--making a clock strike eleven so you'll know it's
+half-past ten!”
+
+Aunt Hannah colored a little, but she stood her ground.
+
+“Well, there's only half an hour, anyway, now, that I don't know what
+time it is,” she maintained, “for one or the other of those clocks
+strikes the hour every thirty minutes. Even during those never-ending
+three ones that strike one after the other in the middle of the night,
+I can tell now, for the hall clock has a different sound for the
+half-hours, you know, so I can tell whether it's one or a half-past.”
+
+“Of course,” chuckled Billy.
+
+“I'm sure I think it's a splendid idea,” chimed in Marie, valiantly;
+“and I'm going to write it to mother's Cousin Jane right away. She's an
+invalid, and she's always lying awake nights wondering what time it is.
+The doctor says actually he believes she'd get well if he could find
+some way of letting her know the time at night, so she'd get some sleep;
+for she simply can't go to sleep till she knows. She can't bear a light
+in the room, and it wakes her all up to turn an electric switch, or
+anything of that kind.”
+
+“Why doesn't she have one of those phosphorous things?” questioned
+Billy.
+
+Marie laughed quietly.
+
+“She did. I sent her one,--and she stood it just one night.”
+
+“Stood it!”
+
+“Yes. She declared it gave her the creeps, and that she wouldn't have
+the spooky thing staring at her all night like that. So it's got to be
+something she can hear, and I'm going to tell her Mrs. Stetson's plan
+right away.”
+
+“Well, I'm sure I wish you would,” cried that lady, with prompt
+interest; “and she'll like it, I'm sure. And tell her if she can hear
+a _town_ clock strike, it's just the same, and even better; for there
+aren't any half-hours at all to think of there.”
+
+“I will--and I think it's lovely,” declared Marie.
+
+“Of course it's lovely,” smiled Billy, rising; “but I fancy I'd better
+go and get ready to meet Mrs. Hartwell, or the 'lovely' thing will be
+telling me that it's half-past eleven!” And she tripped laughingly from
+the room.
+
+Promptly at the appointed time John with Peggy drew up before the
+door, and Billy, muffled in furs, stepped into the car, which, with its
+protecting top and sides and glass wind-shield, was in its winter dress.
+
+“Yes'm, 'tis a little chilly, Miss,” said John, in answer to her
+greeting, as he tucked the heavy robes about her.
+
+“Oh, well, I shall be very comfortable, I'm sure,” smiled Billy. “Just
+don't drive too rapidly, specially coming home. I shall have to get a
+limousine, I think, when my ship comes in, John.”
+
+John's grizzled old face twitched. So evident were the words that were
+not spoken that Billy asked laughingly:
+
+“Well, John, what is it?”
+
+John reddened furiously.
+
+“Nothing, Miss. I was only thinkin' that if you didn't 'tend ter haulin'
+in so many other folks's ships, yours might get in sooner.”
+
+“Why, John! Nonsense! I--I love to haul in other folks's ships,” laughed
+the girl, embarrassedly.
+
+“Yes, Miss; I know you do,” grunted John.
+
+Billy colored.
+
+“No, no--that is, I mean--I don't do it--very much,” she stammered.
+
+John did not answer apparently; but Billy was sure she caught a
+low-muttered, indignant “much!” as he snapped the door shut and took his
+place at the wheel.
+
+To herself she laughed softly. She thought she possessed the secret now
+of some of John's disapproving glances toward her humble guests of the
+summer before.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII. SISTER KATE
+
+
+At the station Mrs. Hartwell's train was found to be gratifyingly on
+time; and in due course Billy was extending a cordial welcome to a tall,
+handsome woman who carried herself with an unmistakable air of assured
+competence. Accompanying her was a little girl with big blue eyes and
+yellow curls.
+
+“I am very glad to see you both,” smiled Billy, holding out a friendly
+hand to Mrs. Hartwell, and stooping to kiss the round cheek of the
+little girl.
+
+“Thank you, you are very kind,” murmured the lady; “but--are you alone,
+Billy? Where are the boys?”
+
+“Uncle William is out of town, and Cyril is rushed to death and sent his
+excuses. Bertram did mean to come, but he telephoned this morning that
+he couldn't, after all. I'm sorry, but I'm afraid you'll have to make
+the best of just me,” condoled Billy. “They'll be out to the house
+this evening, of course--all but Uncle William. He doesn't return until
+to-morrow.”
+
+“Oh, doesn't he?” murmured the lady, reaching for her daughter's hand.
+
+Billy looked down with a smile.
+
+“And this is little Kate, I suppose,” she said, “whom I haven't seen for
+such a long, long time. Let me see, you are how old now?”
+
+“I'm eight. I've been eight six weeks.”
+
+Billy's eyes twinkled.
+
+“And you don't remember me, I suppose.”
+
+The little girl shook her head.
+
+“No; but I know who you are,” she added, with shy eagerness. “You're
+going to be my Aunt Billy, and you're going to marry my Uncle William--I
+mean, my Uncle Bertram.”
+
+Billy's face changed color. Mrs. Hartwell gave a despairing gesture.
+
+“Kate, my dear, I told you to be sure and remember that it was your
+Uncle Bertram now. You see,” she added in a discouraged aside to Billy,
+“she can't seem to forget the first one. But then, what can you expect?”
+ laughed Mrs. Hartwell, a little disagreeably. “Such abrupt changes from
+one brother to another are somewhat disconcerting, you know.”
+
+Billy bit her lip. For a moment she said nothing, then, a little
+constrainedly, she rejoined:
+
+“Perhaps. Still--let us hope we have the right one, now.”
+
+Mrs. Hartwell raised her eyebrows.
+
+“Well, my dear, I'm not so confident of that. _My_ choice has been and
+always will be--William.”
+
+Billy bit her lip again. This time her brown eyes flashed a little.
+
+“Is that so? But you see, after all, _you_ aren't making the--the
+choice.” Billy spoke lightly, gayly; and she ended with a bright little
+laugh, as if to hide any intended impertinence.
+
+It was Mrs. Hartwell's turn to bite her lip--and she did it.
+
+“So it seems,” she rejoined frigidly, after the briefest of pauses.
+
+It was not until they were on their way to Corey Hill some time later
+that Mrs. Hartwell turned with the question:
+
+“Cyril is to be married in church, I suppose?”
+
+“No. They both preferred a home wedding.”
+
+“Oh, what a pity! Church weddings are so attractive!”
+
+“To those who like them,” amended Billy in spite of herself.
+
+“To every one, I think,” corrected Mrs. Hartwell, positively.
+
+Billy laughed. She was beginning to discern that it did not do much
+harm--nor much good--to disagree with her guest.
+
+“It's in the evening, then, of course?” pursued Mrs. Hartwell.
+
+“No; at noon.”
+
+“Oh, how could you let them?”
+
+“But they preferred it, Mrs. Hartwell.”
+
+“What if they did?” retorted the lady, sharply. “Can't you do as you
+please in your own home? Evening weddings are so much prettier! We can't
+change now, of course, with the guests all invited. That is, I suppose
+you do have guests!”
+
+Mrs. Hartwell's voice was aggrievedly despairing.
+
+“Oh, yes,” smiled Billy, demurely. “We have guests invited--and I'm
+afraid we can't change the time.”
+
+“No, of course not; but it's too bad. I conclude there are announcements
+only, as I got no cards.
+
+“Announcements only,” bowed Billy.
+
+“I wish Cyril had consulted _me_, a little, about this affair.”
+
+Billy did not answer. She could not trust herself to speak just then.
+Cyril's words of two days before were in her ears: “Yes, and it will
+give Big Kate time to try to make your breakfast supper, and your roses
+pinks--or sunflowers.”
+
+In a moment Mrs. Hartwell spoke again.
+
+“Of course a noon wedding is quite pretty if you darken the rooms and
+have lights--you're going to do that, I suppose?”
+
+Billy shook her head slowly.
+
+“I'm afraid not, Mrs. Hartwell. That isn't the plan, now.”
+
+“Not darken the rooms!” exclaimed Mrs. Hartwell. “Why, it won't--”
+ She stopped suddenly, and fell back in her seat. The look of annoyed
+disappointment gave way to one of confident relief. “But then, _that
+can_ be changed,” she finished serenely.
+
+Billy opened her lips, but she shut them without speaking. After a
+minute she opened them again.
+
+“You might consult--Cyril--about that,” she said in a quiet voice.
+
+“Yes, I will,” nodded Mrs. Hartwell, brightly. She was looking pleased
+and happy again. “I love weddings. Don't you? You can _do_ so much with
+them!”
+
+“Can you?” laughed Billy, irrepressibly.
+
+“Yes. Cyril is happy, of course. Still, I can't imagine _him_ in love
+with any woman.”
+
+“I think Marie can.”
+
+“I suppose so. I don't seem to remember her much; still, I think I saw
+her once or twice when I was on last June. Music teacher, wasn't she?”
+
+“Yes. She is a very sweet girl.”
+
+“Hm-m; I suppose so. Still, I think 'twould have been better if Cyril
+could have selected some one that _wasn't_ musical--say a more domestic
+wife. He's so terribly unpractical himself about household matters.”
+
+Billy gave a ringing laugh and stood up. The car had come to a stop
+before her own door.
+
+“Do you? Just you wait till you see Marie's trousseau of--egg-beaters
+and cake tins,” she chuckled.
+
+Mrs. Hartwell looked blank.
+
+“Whatever in the world do you mean, Billy?” she demanded fretfully, as
+she followed her hostess from the car. “I declare! aren't you ever going
+to grow beyond making those absurd remarks of yours?”
+
+“Maybe--sometime,” laughed Billy, as she took little Kate's hand and led
+the way up the steps.
+
+Luncheon in the cozy dining-room at Hillside that day was not entirely
+a success. At least there were not present exactly the harmony and
+tranquillity that are conceded to be the best sauce for one's food. The
+wedding, of course, was the all-absorbing topic of conversation; and
+Billy, between Aunt Hannah's attempts to be polite, Marie's to be
+sweet-tempered, Mrs. Hartwell's to be dictatorial, and her own to be
+pacifying as well as firm, had a hard time of it. If it had not been
+for two or three diversions created by little Kate, the meal would have
+been, indeed, a dismal failure.
+
+But little Kate--most of the time the personification of proper
+little-girlhood--had a disconcerting faculty of occasionally dropping a
+word here, or a question there, with startling effect. As, for instance,
+when she asked Billy “Who's going to boss your wedding?” and again when
+she calmly informed her mother that when _she_ was married she was not
+going to have any wedding at all to bother with, anyhow. She was going
+to elope, and she should choose somebody's chauffeur, because he'd know
+how to go the farthest and fastest so her mother couldn't catch up with
+her and tell her how she ought to have done it.
+
+After luncheon Aunt Hannah went up-stairs for rest and recuperation.
+Marie took little Kate and went for a brisk walk--for the same purpose.
+This left Billy alone with her guest.
+
+“Perhaps you would like a nap, too, Mrs. Hartwell,” suggested Billy,
+as they passed into the living-room. There was a curious note of almost
+hopefulness in her voice.
+
+Mrs. Hartwell scorned naps, and she said so very emphatically. She said
+something else, too.
+
+“Billy, why do you always call me 'Mrs. Hartwell' in that stiff, formal
+fashion? You used to call me 'Aunt Kate.'”
+
+“But I was very young then.” Billy's voice was troubled. Billy had
+been trying so hard for the last two hours to be the graciously cordial
+hostess to this woman--Bertram's sister.
+
+“Very true. Then why not 'Kate' now?”
+
+Billy hesitated. She was wondering why it seemed so hard to call Mrs.
+Hartwell “Kate.”
+
+“Of course,” resumed the lady, “when you're Bertram's wife and my
+sister--”
+
+“Why, of course,” cried Billy, in a sudden flood of understanding.
+Curiously enough, she had never before thought of Mrs. Hartwell as _her_
+sister. “I shall be glad to call you 'Kate'--if you like.”
+
+“Thank you. I shall like it very much, Billy,” nodded the other
+cordially. “Indeed, my dear, I'm very fond of you, and I was delighted
+to hear you were to be my sister. If only--it could have stayed William
+instead of Bertram.”
+
+“But it couldn't,” smiled Billy. “It wasn't William--that I loved.”
+
+“But _Bertram!_--it's so absurd.”
+
+“Absurd!” The smile was gone now.
+
+“Yes. Forgive me, Billy, but I was about as much surprised to hear of
+Bertram's engagement as I was of Cyril's.”
+
+Billy grew a little white.
+
+“But Bertram was never an avowed--woman-hater, like Cyril, was he?”
+
+“'Woman-hater'--dear me, no! He was a woman-lover, always. As if his
+eternal 'Face of a Girl' didn't prove that! Bertram has always loved
+women--to paint. But as for his ever taking them seriously--why, Billy,
+what's the matter?”
+
+Billy had risen suddenly.
+
+“If you'll excuse me, please, just a few minutes,” Billy said very
+quietly. “I want to speak to Rosa in the kitchen. I'll be back--soon.”
+
+In the kitchen Billy spoke to Rosa--she wondered afterwards what she
+said. Certainly she did not stay in the kitchen long enough to say much.
+In her own room a minute later, with the door fast closed, she took
+from her table the photograph of Bertram and held it in her two hands,
+talking to it softly, but a little wildly.
+
+“I didn't listen! I didn't stay! Do you hear? I came to you. She
+shall not say anything that will make trouble between you and me. I've
+suffered enough through her already! And she doesn't _know_--she didn't
+know before, and she doesn't now. She's only imagining. I will not
+not--_not_ believe that you love me--just to paint. No matter what they
+say--all of them! I _will not!_”
+
+Billy put the photograph back on the table then, and went down-stairs to
+her guest. She smiled brightly, though her face was a little pale.
+
+“I wondered if perhaps you wouldn't like some music,” she said
+pleasantly, going straight to the piano.
+
+“Indeed I would!” agreed Mrs. Hartwell.
+
+Billy sat down then and played--played as Mrs. Hartwell had never heard
+her play before.
+
+“Why, Billy, you amaze me,” she cried, when the pianist stopped and
+whirled about. “I had no idea you could play like that!”
+
+Billy smiled enigmatically. Billy was thinking that Mrs. Hartwell would,
+indeed, have been surprised if she had known that in that playing
+were herself, the ride home, the luncheon, Bertram, and the girl--whom
+Bertram _did not love only to paint!_
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII. CYRIL AND A WEDDING
+
+
+The twelfth was a beautiful day. Clear, frosty air set the blood to
+tingling and the eyes to sparkling, even if it were not your wedding
+day; while if it were--
+
+It _was_ Marie Hawthorn's wedding day, and certainly her eyes sparkled
+and her blood tingled as she threw open the window of her room and
+breathed long and deep of the fresh morning air before going down to
+breakfast.
+
+“They say 'Happy is the bride that the sun shines on,'” she whispered
+softly to an English sparrow that cocked his eye at her from a
+neighboring tree branch. “As if a bride wouldn't be happy, sun or no
+sun,” she scoffed tenderly, as she turned to go down-stairs.
+
+As it happens, however, tingling blood and sparkling eyes are a matter
+of more than weather, or even weddings, as was proved a little later
+when the telephone bell rang.
+
+Kate answered the ring.
+
+“Hullo, is that you, Kate?” called a despairing voice.
+
+“Yes. Good morning, Bertram. Isn't this a fine day for the wedding?”
+
+“Fine! Oh, yes, I suppose so, though I must confess I haven't noticed
+it--and you wouldn't, if you had a lunatic on your hands.”
+
+“A lunatic!”
+
+“Yes. Maybe you have, though. Is Marie rampaging around the house like a
+wild creature, and asking ten questions and making twenty threats to the
+minute?”
+
+“Certainly not! Don't be absurd, Bertram. What do you mean?”
+
+“See here, Kate, that show comes off at twelve sharp, doesn't it?”
+
+“Show, indeed!” retorted Kate, indignantly. “The _wedding_ is at noon
+sharp--as the best man should know very well.”
+
+“All right; then tell Billy, please, to see that it is sharp, or I won't
+answer for the consequences.”
+
+“What do you mean? What is the matter?”
+
+“Cyril. He's broken loose at last. I've been expecting it all along.
+I've simply marvelled at the meekness with which he has submitted
+himself to be tied up with white ribbons and topped with roses.”
+
+“Nonsense, Bertram!”
+
+“Well, it amounts to that. Anyhow, he thinks it does, and he's wild. I
+wish you could have heard the thunderous performance on his piano with
+which he woke me up this morning. Billy says he plays everything--his
+past, present, and future. All is, if he was playing his future this
+morning, I pity the girl who's got to live it with him.”
+
+“Bertram!”
+
+Bertram chuckled remorselessly.
+
+“Well, I do. But I'll warrant he wasn't playing his future this morning.
+He was playing his present--the wedding. You see, he's just waked up to
+the fact that it'll be a perfect orgy of women and other confusion,
+and he doesn't like it. All the samee,{sic} I've had to assure him just
+fourteen times this morning that the ring, the license, the carriage,
+the minister's fee, and my sanity are all O. K. When he isn't asking
+questions he's making threats to snake the parson up there an hour ahead
+of time and be off with Marie before a soul comes.”
+
+“What an absurd idea!”
+
+“Cyril doesn't think so. Indeed, Kate, I've had a hard struggle to
+convince him that the guests wouldn't think it the most delightful
+experience of their lives if they should come and find the ceremony over
+with and the bride gone.”
+
+“Well, you remind Cyril, please, that there are other people besides
+himself concerned in this wedding,” observed Kate, icily.
+
+“I have,” purred Bertram, “and he says all right, let them have it,
+then. He's gone now to look up proxy marriages, I believe.”
+
+“Proxy marriages, indeed! Come, come, Bertram, I've got something to do
+this morning besides to stand here listening to your nonsense. See
+that you and Cyril get here on time--that's all!” And she hung up the
+receiver with an impatient jerk.
+
+She turned to confront the startled eyes of the bride elect.
+
+“What is it? Is anything wrong--with Cyril?” faltered Marie.
+
+Kate laughed and raised her eyebrows slightly.
+
+“Nothing but a little stage fright, my dear.”
+
+“Stage fright!”
+
+“Yes. Bertram says he's trying to find some one to play his rôle, I
+believe, in the ceremony.”
+
+“_Mrs. Hartwell!_”
+
+At the look of dismayed terror that came into Marie's face, Mrs.
+Hartwell laughed reassuringly.
+
+“There, there, dear child, don't look so horror-stricken. There probably
+never was a man yet who wouldn't have fled from the wedding part of his
+marriage if he could; and you know how Cyril hates fuss and feathers.
+The wonder to me is that he's stood it as long as he has. I thought I
+saw it coming, last night at the rehearsal--and now I know I did.”
+
+Marie still looked distressed.
+
+“But he never said--I thought--” She stopped helplessly.
+
+“Of course he didn't, child. He never said anything but that he loved
+you, and he never thought anything but that you were going to be his.
+Men never do--till the wedding day. Then they never think of anything
+but a place to run,” she finished laughingly, as she began to arrange on
+a stand the quantity of little white boxes waiting for her.
+
+“But if he'd told me--in time, I wouldn't have had a thing--but the
+minister,” faltered Marie.
+
+“And when you think so much of a pretty wedding, too? Nonsense! It isn't
+good for a man, to give up to his whims like that!”
+
+Marie's cheeks grew a deeper pink. Her nostrils dilated a little.
+
+“It wouldn't be a 'whim,' Mrs. Hartwell, and I should be _glad_ to give
+up,” she said with decision.
+
+Mrs. Hartwell laughed again, her amused eyes on Marie's face.
+
+“Dear me, child! don't you know that if men had their way, they'd--well,
+if men married men there'd never be such a thing in the world as a
+shower bouquet or a piece of wedding cake!”
+
+There was no reply. A little precipitately Marie turned and hurried
+away. A moment later she was laying a restraining hand on Billy, who was
+filling tall vases with superb long-stemmed roses in the kitchen.
+
+“Billy, please,” she panted, “couldn't we do without those? Couldn't we
+send them to some--some hospital?--and the wedding cake, too, and--”
+
+“The wedding cake--to some _hospital!_”
+
+“No, of course not--to the hospital. It would make them sick to eat it,
+wouldn't it?” That there was no shadow of a smile on Marie's face showed
+how desperate, indeed, was her state of mind. “I only meant that I
+didn't want them myself, nor the shower bouquet, nor the rooms darkened,
+nor little Kate as the flower girl--and would you mind very much if I
+asked you not to be my maid of honor?”
+
+“_Marie!_”
+
+Marie covered her face with her hands then and began to sob brokenly;
+so there was nothing for Billy to do but to take her into her arms with
+soothing little murmurs and pettings. By degrees, then, the whole story
+came out.
+
+Billy almost laughed--but she almost cried, too. Then she said:
+
+“Dearie, I don't believe Cyril feels or acts half so bad as Bertram and
+Kate make out, and, anyhow, if he did, it's too late now to--to send the
+wedding cake to the hospital, or make any other of the little changes
+you suggest.” Billy's lips puckered into a half-smile, but her eyes were
+grave. “Besides, there are your music pupils trimming the living-room
+this minute with evergreen, there's little Kate making her flower-girl
+wreath, and Mrs. Hartwell stacking cake boxes in the hall, to say
+nothing of Rosa gloating over the best china in the dining-room, and
+Aunt Hannah putting purple bows into the new lace cap she's counting
+on wearing. Only think how disappointed they'd all be if I should say:
+'Never mind--stop that. Marie's just going to have a minister. No fuss,
+no feathers!' Why, dearie, even the roses are hanging their heads for
+grief,” she went on mistily, lifting with gentle fingers one of the
+full-petalled pink beauties near her. “Besides, there's your--guests.”
+
+“Oh, of course, I knew I couldn't--really,” sighed Marie, as she turned
+to go up-stairs, all the light and joy gone from her face.
+
+Billy, once assured that Marie was out of hearing, ran to the telephone.
+
+Bertram answered.
+
+“Bertram, tell Cyril I want to speak to him, please.”
+
+“All right, dear, but go easy. Better strike up your tuning fork to find
+his pitch to-day. You'll discover it's a high one, all right.”
+
+A moment later Cyril's tersely nervous “Good morning, Billy,” came
+across the line.
+
+Billy drew in her breath and cast a hurriedly apprehensive glance over
+her shoulder to make sure Marie was not near.
+
+“Cyril,” she called in a low voice, “if you care a shred for Marie, for
+heaven's sake call her up and tell her that you dote on pink roses, and
+pink ribbons, and pink breakfasts--and pink wedding cake!”
+
+“But I don't.”
+
+“Oh, yes, you do--to-day! You would--if you could see Marie now.”
+
+“What do you mean?”
+
+“Nothing, only she overheard part of Bertram's nonsensical talk with
+Kate a little while ago, and she's ready to cast the last ravelling
+of white satin and conventionality behind her, and go with you to the
+justice of the peace.”
+
+“Sensible girl!”
+
+“Yes, but she can't, you know, with fifty guests coming to the wedding,
+and twice as many more to the reception. Honestly, Cyril, she's
+broken-hearted. You must do something. She's--coming!” And the receiver
+clicked sharply into place.
+
+Five minutes later Marie was called to the telephone. Dejectedly,
+wistful-eyed, she went. Just what were the words that hummed across the
+wire into the pink little ear of the bride-to-be, Billy never knew;
+but a Marie that was anything but wistful-eyed and dejected left the
+telephone a little later, and was heard very soon in the room above
+trilling merry snatches of a little song. Contentedly, then, Billy went
+back to her roses.
+
+It was a pretty wedding, a very pretty wedding. Every one said that. The
+pink and green of the decorations, the soft lights (Kate had had her way
+about darkening the rooms), the pretty frocks and smiling faces of the
+guests all helped. Then there were the dainty flower girl, little Kate,
+the charming maid of honor, Billy, the stalwart, handsome best man,
+Bertram, to say nothing of the delicately beautiful bride, who looked
+like some fairy visitor from another world in the floating shimmer of
+her gossamer silk and tulle. There was, too, not quite unnoticed, the
+bridegroom; tall, of distinguished bearing, and with features that were
+clear cut and-to-day-rather pale.
+
+Then came the reception--the “women and confusion” of Cyril's
+fears--followed by the going away of the bride and groom with its merry
+warfare of confetti and old shoes.
+
+At four o'clock, however, with only William and Bertram remaining for
+guests, something like quiet descended at last on the little house.
+
+“Well, it's over,” sighed Billy, dropping exhaustedly into a big chair
+in the living-room.
+
+“And _well_ over,” supplemented Aunt Hannah, covering her white shawl
+with a warmer blue one.
+
+“Yes, I think it was,” nodded Kate. “It was really a very pretty
+wedding.”
+
+“With your help, Kate--eh?” teased William.
+
+“Well, I flatter myself I did do some good,” bridled Kate, as she turned
+to help little Kate take the flower wreath from her head.
+
+“Even if you did hurry into my room and scare me into conniption fits
+telling me I'd be late,” laughed Billy.
+
+Kate tossed her head.
+
+“Well, how was I to know that Aunt Hannah's clock only meant half-past
+eleven when it struck twelve?” she retorted.
+
+Everybody laughed.
+
+“Oh, well, it was a pretty wedding,” declared William, with a long sigh.
+
+“It'll do--for an understudy,” said Bertram softly, for Billy's ears
+alone.
+
+Only the added color and the swift glance showed that Billy heard, for
+when she spoke she said:
+
+“And didn't Cyril behave beautifully? 'Most every time I looked at him
+he was talking to some woman.”
+
+“Oh, no, he wasn't--begging your pardon, my dear,” objected Bertram. “I
+watched him, too, even more closely than you did, and it was always the
+_woman_ who was talking to _Cyril!_”
+
+Billy laughed.
+
+“Well, anyhow,” she maintained, “he listened. He didn't run away.”
+
+“As if a bridegroom could!” cried Kate.
+
+“I'm going to,” avowed Bertram, his nose in the air.
+
+“Pooh!” scoffed Kate. Then she added eagerly: “You must be married in
+church, Billy, and in the evening.”
+
+Bertram's nose came suddenly out of the air. His eyes met Kate's
+squarely.
+
+“Billy hasn't decided yet how _she_ does want to be married,” he said
+with unnecessary emphasis.
+
+Billy laughed and interposed a quick change of subject.
+
+“I think people had a pretty good time, too, for a wedding, don't you?”
+ she asked. “I was sorry Mary Jane couldn't be here--'twould have been
+such a good chance for him to meet our friends.”
+
+“As--_Mary Jane?_” asked Bertram, a little stiffly.
+
+“Really, my dear,” murmured Aunt Hannah, “I think it _would_ be more
+respectful to call him by his name.”
+
+“By the way, what is his name?” questioned William.
+
+“That's what we don't know,” laughed Billy.
+
+“Well, you know the 'Arkwright,' don't you?” put in Bertram. Bertram,
+too, laughed, but it was a little forcedly. “I suppose if you knew his
+name was 'Methuselah,' you wouldn't call him that--yet, would you?”
+
+Billy clapped her hands, and threw a merry glance at Aunt Hannah.
+
+“There! we never thought of 'Methuselah,'” she gurgled gleefully. “Maybe
+it _is_ 'Methuselah,' now--'Methuselah John'! You see, he's told us to
+try to guess it,” she explained, turning to William; “but, honestly, I
+don't believe, whatever it is, I'll ever think of him as anything but
+'Mary Jane.'”
+
+“Well, as far as I can judge, he has nobody but himself to thank for
+that, so he can't do any complaining,” smiled William, as he rose to go.
+“Well, how about it, Bertram? I suppose you're going to stay a while to
+comfort the lonely--eh, boy?”
+
+“Of course he is--and so are you, too, Uncle William,” spoke up Billy,
+with affectionate cordiality. “As if I'd let you go back to a forlorn
+dinner in that great house to-night! Indeed, no!”
+
+William smiled, hesitated, and sat down.
+
+“Well, of course--” he began.
+
+“Yes, of course,” finished Billy, quickly. “I'll telephone Pete that
+you'll stay here--both of you.”
+
+It was at this point that little Kate, who had been turning interested
+eyes from one brother to the other, interposed a clear, high-pitched
+question.
+
+“Uncle William, didn't you _want_ to marry my going-to-be-Aunt Billy?”
+
+“Kate!” gasped her mother, “didn't I tell you--” Her voice trailed into
+an incoherent murmur of remonstrance.
+
+Billy blushed. Bertram said a low word under his breath. Aunt Hannah's
+“Oh, my grief and conscience!” was almost a groan.
+
+William laughed lightly.
+
+“Well, my little lady,” he suggested, “let us put it the other way and
+say that quite probably she didn't want to marry me.”
+
+“Does she want to marry Uncle Bertram?” “Kate!” gasped Billy and Mrs.
+Hartwell together this time, fearful of what might be coming next.
+
+“We'll hope so,” nodded Uncle William, speaking in a cheerfully
+matter-of-fact voice, intended to discourage curiosity.
+
+The little girl frowned and pondered. Her elders cast about in their
+minds for a speedy change of subject; but their somewhat scattered wits
+were not quick enough. It was little Kate who spoke next.
+
+“Uncle William, would she have got Uncle Cyril if Aunt Marie hadn't
+nabbed him first?”
+
+“Kate!” The word was a chorus of dismay this time.
+
+Mrs. Hartwell struggled to her feet.
+
+“Come, come, Kate, we must go up-stairs--to bed,” she stammered.
+
+The little girl drew back indignantly.
+
+“To bed? Why, mama, I haven't had my supper yet!”
+
+“What? Oh, sure enough--the lights! I forgot. Well, then, come up--to
+change your dress,” finished Mrs. Hartwell, as with a despairing look
+and gesture she led her young daughter from the room.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV. M. J. MAKES ANOTHER MOVE
+
+
+Billy came down-stairs on the thirteenth of December to find everywhere
+the peculiar flatness that always follows a day which for weeks has been
+the focus of one's aims and thoughts and labor.
+
+“It's just as if everything had stopped at Marie's wedding, and there
+wasn't anything more to do,” she complained to Aunt Hannah at the
+breakfast table. “Everything seems so--queer!”
+
+“It won't--long, dear,” smiled Aunt Hannah, tranquilly, as she buttered
+her roll, “specially after Bertram comes back. How long does he stay in
+New York?”
+
+“Only three days; but I'm just sure it's going to seem three weeks,
+now,” sighed Billy. “But he simply had to go--else he wouldn't have
+gone.”
+
+“I've no doubt of it,” observed Aunt Hannah. And at the meaning
+emphasis of her words, Billy laughed a little. After a minute she said
+aggrievedly:
+
+“I had supposed that I could at least have a sort of 'after the ball'
+celebration this morning picking up and straightening things around.
+But John and Rosa have done it all. There isn't so much as a rose
+leaf anywhere on the floor. Of course most of the flowers went to
+the hospital last night, anyway. As for Marie's room--it looks as
+spick-and-span as if it had never seen a scrap of ribbon or an inch of
+tulle.”
+
+“But--the wedding presents?”
+
+“All carried down to the kitchen and half packed now, ready to go over
+to the new home. John says he'll take them over in Peggy this afternoon,
+after he takes Mrs. Hartwell's trunk to Uncle William's.”
+
+“Well, you can at least go over to the apartment and work,” suggested
+Aunt Hannah, hopefully.
+
+“Humph! Can I?” scoffed Billy. “As if I could--when Marie left strict
+orders that not one thing was to be touched till she got here. They
+arranged everything but the presents before the wedding, anyway; and
+Marie wants to fix those herself after she gets back. Mercy! Aunt
+Hannah, if I should so much as move a plate one inch in the china
+closet, Marie would know it--and change it when she got home,” laughed
+Billy, as she rose from the table. “No, I can't go to work over there.”
+
+“But there's your music, my dear. You said you were going to write some
+new songs after the wedding.”
+
+“I was,” sighed Billy, walking to the window, and looking listlessly
+at the bare, brown world outside; “but I can't write songs--when there
+aren't any songs in my head to write.”
+
+“No, of course not; but they'll come, dear, in time. You're tired, now,”
+ soothed Aunt Hannah, as she turned to leave the room.
+
+“It's the reaction, of course,” murmured Aunt Hannah to herself, on the
+way up-stairs. “She's had the whole thing on her hands--dear child!”
+
+A few minutes later, from the living-room, came a plaintive little minor
+melody. Billy was at the piano.
+
+Kate and little Kate had, the night before, gone home with William.
+It had been a sudden decision, brought about by the realization that
+Bertram's trip to New York would leave William alone. Her trunk was to
+be carried there to-day, and she would leave for home from there, at the
+end of a two or three days' visit.
+
+It began to snow at twelve o'clock. All the morning the sky had been
+gray and threatening; and the threats took visible shape at noon in
+myriads of white snow feathers that filled the air to the blinding
+point, and turned the brown, bare world into a thing of fairylike
+beauty. Billy, however, with a rare frown upon her face, looked out upon
+it with disapproving eyes.
+
+“I _was_ going in town--and I believe I'll go now,” she cried.
+
+“Don't, dear, please don't,” begged Aunt Hannah. “See, the flakes are
+smaller now, and the wind is coming up. We're in for a blizzard--I'm
+sure we are. And you know you have some cold, already.”
+
+“All right,” sighed Billy. “Then it's me for the knitting work and the
+fire, I suppose,” she finished, with a whimsicality that did not hide
+the wistful disappointment of her voice.
+
+She was not knitting, however, she was sewing with Aunt Hannah when at
+four o'clock Rosa brought in the card.
+
+Billy glanced at the name, then sprang to her feet with a glad little
+cry.
+
+“It's Mary Jane!” she exclaimed, as Rosa disappeared. “Now wasn't he a
+dear to think to come to-day? You'll be down, won't you?”
+
+Aunt Hannah smiled even while she frowned.
+
+“Oh, Billy!” she remonstrated. “Yes, I'll come down, of course, a little
+later, and I'm glad _Mr. Arkwright_ came,” she said with reproving
+emphasis.
+
+Billy laughed and threw a mischievous glance over her shoulder.
+
+“All right,” she nodded. “I'll go and tell _Mr. Arkwright_ you'll be
+down directly.”
+
+In the living-room Billy greeted her visitor with a frankly cordial
+hand.
+
+“How did you know, Mr. Arkwright, that I was feeling specially restless
+and lonesome to-day?” she demanded.
+
+A glad light sprang to the man's dark eyes.
+
+“I didn't know it,” he rejoined. “I only knew that I was specially
+restless and lonesome myself.”
+
+Arkwright's voice was not quite steady. The unmistakable friendliness in
+the girl's words and manner had sent a quick throb of joy to his heart.
+Her evident delight in his coming had filled him with rapture. He could
+not know that it was only the chill of the snowstorm that had given
+warmth to her handclasp, the dreariness of the day that had made her
+greeting so cordial, the loneliness of a maiden whose lover is away that
+had made his presence so welcome.
+
+“Well, I'm glad you came, anyway,” sighed Billy, contentedly; “though I
+suppose I ought to be sorry that you were lonesome--but I'm afraid I'm
+not, for now you'll know just how I felt, so you won't mind if I'm a
+little wild and erratic. You see, the tension has snapped,” she added
+laughingly, as she seated herself.
+
+“Tension?”
+
+“The wedding, you know. For so many weeks we've been seeing just
+December twelfth, that we'd apparently forgotten all about the
+thirteenth that came after it; so when I got up this morning I felt
+just as you do when the clock has stopped ticking. But it was a lovely
+wedding, Mr. Arkwright. I'm sorry you could not be here.”
+
+“Thank you; so am I--though usually, I will confess, I'm not much
+good at attending 'functions' and meeting strangers. As perhaps you've
+guessed, Miss Neilson, I'm not particularly a society chap.”
+
+“Of course you aren't! People who are doing things--real things--seldom
+are. But we aren't the society kind ourselves, you know--not the capital
+S kind. We like sociability, which is vastly different from liking
+Society. Oh, we have friends, to be sure, who dote on 'pink teas
+and purple pageants,' as Cyril calls them; and we even go ourselves
+sometimes. But if you had been here yesterday, Mr. Arkwright, you'd have
+met lots like yourself, men and women who are doing things: singing,
+playing, painting, illustrating, writing. Why, we even had a poet,
+sir--only he didn't have long hair, so he didn't look the part a bit,”
+ she finished laughingly.
+
+“Is long hair--necessary--for poets?” Arkwright's smile was quizzical.
+
+“Dear me, no; not now. But it used to be, didn't it? And for painters,
+too. But now they look just like--folks.”
+
+Arkwright laughed.
+
+“It isn't possible that you are sighing for the velvet coats and flowing
+ties of the past, is it, Miss Neilson?”
+
+“I'm afraid it is,” dimpled Billy. “I _love_ velvet coats and flowing
+ties!”
+
+“May singers wear them? I shall don them at once, anyhow, at a venture,”
+ declared the man, promptly.
+
+Billy smiled and shook her head.
+
+“I don't think you will. You all like your horrid fuzzy tweeds and
+worsteds too well!”
+
+“You speak with feeling. One would almost suspect that you already had
+tried to bring about a reform--and failed. Perhaps Mr. Cyril, now, or
+Mr. Bertram--” Arkwright stopped with a whimsical smile.
+
+Billy flushed a little. As it happened, she had, indeed, had a merry
+tilt with Bertram on that very subject, and he had laughingly promised
+that his wedding present to her would be a velvet house coat for
+himself. It was on the point of Billy's tongue now to say this to
+Arkwright; but another glance at the provoking smile on his lips drove
+the words back in angry confusion. For the second time, in the presence
+of this man, Billy found herself unable to refer to her engagement to
+Bertram Henshaw--though this time she did not in the least doubt that
+Arkwright already knew of it.
+
+With a little gesture of playful scorn she rose and went to the piano.
+
+“Come, let us try some duets,” she suggested. “That's lots nicer than
+quarrelling over velvet coats; and Aunt Hannah will be down presently to
+hear us sing.”
+
+Before she had ceased speaking, Arkwright was at her side with an
+exclamation of eager acquiescence.
+
+It was after the second duet that Arkwright asked, a little diffidently.
+
+“Have you written any new songs lately?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“You're going to?”
+
+“Perhaps--if I find one to write.”
+
+“You mean--you have no words?”
+
+“Yes--and no. I have some words, both of my own and other people's; but
+I haven't found in any one of them, yet--a melody.”
+
+Arkwright hesitated. His right hand went almost to his inner coat
+pocket--then fell back at his side. The next moment he picked up a sheet
+of music.
+
+“Are you too tired to try this?” he asked.
+
+A puzzled frown appeared on Billy's face.
+
+“Why, no, but--”
+
+“Well, children, I've come down to hear the music,” announced Aunt
+Hannah, smilingly, from the doorway; “only--Billy, _will_ you run up
+and get my pink shawl, too? This room _is_ colder than I thought, and
+there's only the white one down here.”
+
+“Of course,” cried Billy, rising at once. “You shall have a dozen
+shawls, if you like,” she laughed, as she left the room.
+
+What a cozy time it was--the hour that followed, after Billy returned
+with the pink shawl! Outside, the wind howled at the windows and flung
+the snow against the glass in sleety crashes. Inside, the man and the
+girl sang duets until they were tired; then, with Aunt Hannah, they
+feasted royally on the buttered toast, tea, and frosted cakes that
+Rosa served on a little table before the roaring fire. It was then that
+Arkwright talked of himself, telling them something of his studies, and
+of the life he was living.
+
+“After all, you see there's just this difference between my friends
+and yours,” he said, at last. “Your friends _are_ doing things. They've
+succeeded. Mine haven't, yet--they're only _trying_.”
+
+“But they will succeed,” cried Billy.
+
+“Some of them,” amended the man.
+
+“Not--all of them?” Billy looked a little troubled.
+
+Arkwright shook his head slowly.
+
+“No. They couldn't--all of them, you know. Some haven't the talent, some
+haven't the perseverance, and some haven't the money.”
+
+“But all that seems such a pity-when they've tried,” grieved Billy.
+
+“It is a pity, Miss Neilson. Disappointed hopes are always a pity,
+aren't they?”
+
+“Y-yes,” sighed the girl. “But--if there were only something one could
+do to--help!”
+
+Arkwright's eyes grew deep with feeling, but his voice, when he spoke,
+was purposely light.
+
+“I'm afraid that would be quite too big a contract for even your
+generosity, Miss Neilson--to mend all the broken hopes in the world,” he
+prophesied.
+
+“I have known great good to come from great disappointments,” remarked
+Aunt Hannah, a bit didactically.
+
+“So have I,” laughed Arkwright, still determined to drive the troubled
+shadow from the face he was watching so intently. “For instance: a
+fellow I know was feeling all cut up last Friday because he was just too
+late to get into Symphony Hall on the twenty-five-cent admission. Half
+an hour afterwards his disappointment was turned to joy--a friend who
+had an orchestra chair couldn't use his ticket that day, and so handed
+it over to him.”
+
+Billy turned interestedly.
+
+“What are those twenty-five-cent tickets to the Symphony?”
+
+“Then--you don't know?”
+
+“Not exactly. I've heard of them, in a vague fashion.”
+
+“Then you've missed one of the sights of Boston if you haven't ever
+seen that long line of patient waiters at the door of Symphony Hall of a
+Friday morning.”
+
+“Morning! But the concert isn't till afternoon!”
+
+“No, but the waiting is,” retorted Arkwright. “You see, those admissions
+are limited--five hundred and five, I believe--and they're rush seats,
+at that. First come, first served; and if you're too late you aren't
+served at all. So the first arrival comes bright and early. I've heard
+that he has been known to come at peep of day when there's a Paderewski
+or a Melba for a drawing card. But I've got my doubts of that. Anyhow,
+I never saw them there much before half-past eight. But many's the cold,
+stormy day I've seen those steps in front of the Hall packed for hours,
+and a long line reaching away up the avenue.”
+
+Billy's eyes widened.
+
+“And they'll stand all that time and wait?”
+
+“To be sure they will. You see, each pays twenty-five cents at the door,
+until the limit is reached, then the rest are turned away. Naturally
+they don't want to be turned away, so they try to get there early enough
+to be among the fortunate five hundred and five. Besides, the earlier
+you are, the better seat you are likely to get.”
+
+“But only think of _standing_ all that time!”
+
+“Oh, they bring camp chairs, sometimes, I've heard, and then there are
+the steps. You don't know what a really fine seat a stone step is--if
+you have a _big_ enough bundle of newspapers to cushion it with! They
+bring their luncheons, too, with books, papers, and knitting work for
+fine days, I've been told--some of them. All the comforts of home, you
+see,” smiled Arkwright.
+
+“Why, how--how dreadful!” stammered Billy.
+
+“Oh, but they don't think it's dreadful at all,” corrected Arkwright,
+quickly. “For twenty-five cents they can hear all that you hear down in
+your orchestra chair, for which you've paid so high a premium.”
+
+“But who--who are they? Where do they come from? Who _would_ go and
+stand hours like that to get a twenty-five-cent seat?” questioned Billy.
+
+“Who are they? Anybody, everybody, from anywhere? everywhere; people
+who have the music hunger but not the money to satisfy it,” he rejoined.
+“Students, teachers, a little milliner from South Boston, a little
+dressmaker from Chelsea, a housewife from Cambridge, a stranger from the
+uttermost parts of the earth; maybe a widow who used to sit down-stairs,
+or a professor who has seen better days. Really to know that line,
+you should see it for yourself, Miss Neilson,” smiled Arkwright, as
+he reluctantly rose to go. “Some Friday, however, before you take your
+seat, just glance up at that packed top balcony and judge by the
+faces you see there whether their owners think they're getting their
+twenty-five-cents' worth, or not.”
+
+“I will,” nodded Billy, with a smile; but the smile came from her lips
+only, not her eyes: Billy was wishing, at that moment, that she owned
+the whole of Symphony Hall--to give away. But that was like Billy. When
+she was seven years old she had proposed to her Aunt Ella that they take
+all the thirty-five orphans from the Hampden Falls Orphan Asylum to live
+with them, so that little Sallie Cook and the other orphans might have
+ice cream every day, if they wanted it. Since then Billy had always been
+trying--in a way--to give ice cream to some one who wanted it.
+
+Arkwright was almost at the door when he turned abruptly. His face was
+an abashed red. From his pocket he had taken a small folded paper.
+
+“Do you suppose--in this--you might find--that melody?” he stammered in
+a low voice. The next moment he was gone, having left in Billy's fingers
+a paper upon which was written in a clear-cut, masculine hand six
+four-line stanzas.
+
+Billy read them at once, hurriedly, then more carefully.
+
+“Why, they're beautiful,” she breathed, “just beautiful! Where did he
+get them, I wonder? It's a love song--and such a pretty one! I believe
+there _is_ a melody in it,” she exulted, pausing to hum a line or
+two. “There is--I know there is; and I'll write it--for Bertram,” she
+finished, crossing joyously to the piano.
+
+Half-way down Corey Hill at that moment, Arkwright was buffeting
+the wind and snow. He, too, was thinking joyously of those
+stanzas--joyously, yet at the same time fearfully. Arkwright himself had
+written those lines--though not for Bertram.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV. “MR. BILLY” AND “MISS MARY JANE”
+
+
+On the fourteenth of December Billy came down-stairs alert, interested,
+and happy. She had received a dear letter from Bertram (mailed on the
+way to New York), the sun was shining, and her fingers were fairly
+tingling to put on paper the little melody that was now surging
+riotously through her brain. Emphatically, the restlessness of the day
+before was gone now. Once more Billy's “clock” had “begun to tick.”
+
+After breakfast Billy went straight to the telephone and called up
+Arkwright. Even one side of the conversation Aunt Hannah did not hear
+very clearly; but in five minutes a radiant-faced Billy danced into the
+room.
+
+“Aunt Hannah, just listen! Only think--Mary Jane wrote the words
+himself, so of course I can use them!”
+
+“Billy, dear, _can't_ you say 'Mr. Arkwright'?” pleaded Aunt Hannah.
+
+Billy laughed and gave the anxious-eyed little old lady an impulsive
+hug.
+
+“Of course! I'll say 'His Majesty' if you like, dear,” she chuckled.
+“But did you hear--did you realize? They're his own words, so there's no
+question of rights or permission, or anything. And he's coming up this
+afternoon to hear my melody, and to make a few little changes in the
+words, maybe. Oh, Aunt Hannah, you don't know how good it seems to get
+into my music again!”
+
+“Yes, yes, dear, of course; but--” Aunt Hannah's sentence ended in a
+vaguely troubled pause.
+
+Billy turned in surprise.
+
+“Why, Aunt Hannah, aren't you glad? You _said_ you'd be glad!”
+
+“Yes, dear; and I am--very glad. It's only--if it doesn't take too much
+time--and if Bertram doesn't mind.”
+
+Billy flushed. She laughed a little bitterly.
+
+“No, it won't take too much time, I fancy, and--so far as Bertram is
+concerned--if what Sister Kate says is true, Aunt Hannah, he'll be glad
+to have me occupy a little of my time with something besides himself.”
+
+“Fiddlededee!” bristled Aunt Hannah.
+
+“What did she mean by that?”
+
+Billy smiled ruefully.
+
+“Well, probably I did need it. She said it night before last just before
+she went home with Uncle William. She declared that I seemed to forget
+entirely that Bertram belonged to his Art first, before he belonged to
+me; and that it was exactly as she had supposed it would be--a perfect
+absurdity for Bertram to think of marrying anybody.”
+
+“Fiddlededee!” ejaculated the irate Aunt Hannah, even more sharply. “I
+hope you have too much good sense to mind what Kate says, Billy.”
+
+“Yes, I know,” sighed the girl; “but of course I can see some things for
+myself, and I suppose I did make--a little fuss about his going to New
+York the other night. And I will own that I've had a real struggle with
+myself sometimes, lately, not to mind--his giving so much time to
+his portrait painting. And of course both of those are very
+reprehensible--in an artist's wife,” she finished, a little tremulously.
+
+“Humph! Well, I don't think I should worry about that,” observed Aunt
+Hannah with grim positiveness.
+
+“No, I don't mean to,” smiled Billy, wistfully. “I only told you so
+you'd understand that it was just as well if I did have something to
+take up my mind--besides Bertram. And of course music would be the most
+natural thing.”
+
+“Yes, of course,” agreed Aunt Hannah.
+
+“And it seems actually almost providential that Mary--I mean Mr.
+Arkwright is here to help me, now that Cyril is gone,” went on Billy,
+still a little wistfully.
+
+“Yes, of course. He isn't like--a stranger,” murmured Aunt Hannah. Aunt
+Hannah's voice sounded as if she were trying to convince herself--of
+something.
+
+“No, indeed! He seems just like one of the family to me, almost as if he
+were really--your niece, Mary Jane,” laughed Billy.
+
+Aunt Hannah moved restlessly.
+
+“Billy,” she hazarded, “he knows, of course, of your engagement?”
+
+“Why, of course he does, Aunt Hannah everybody does!” Billy's eyes were
+plainly surprised.
+
+“Yes, yes, of course--he must,” subsided Aunt Hannah, confusedly, hoping
+that Billy would not divine the hidden reason behind her question. She
+was relieved when Billy's next words showed that she had not divined it.
+
+“I told you, didn't I? He's coming up this afternoon. He can't get here
+till five, though; but he's so interested! He's about as crazy over the
+thing as I am. And it's going to be fine, Aunt Hannah, when it's done.
+You just wait and see!” she finished gayly, as she tripped from the
+room.
+
+Left to herself, Aunt Hannah drew a long breath.
+
+“I'm glad she didn't suspect,” she was thinking. “I believe she'd
+consider even the _question_ disloyal to Bertram--dear child! And of
+course Mary”--Aunt Hannah corrected herself with cheeks aflame--“I mean
+Mr. Arkwright does--know.”
+
+It was just here, however, that Aunt Hannah was mistaken. Mr. Arkwright
+did not--know. He had not reached Boston when the engagement was
+announced. He knew none of Billy's friends in town save the Henshaw
+brothers. He had not heard from Calderwell since he came to Boston. The
+very evident intimacy of Billy with the Henshaw brothers he accepted as
+a matter of course, knowing the history of their acquaintance, and the
+fact that Billy was Mr. William Henshaw's namesake. As to Bertram
+being Billy's lover--that idea had long ago been killed at birth by
+Calderwell's emphatic assertion that the artist would never care for any
+girl--except to paint. Since coming to Boston, Arkwright had seen little
+of the two together. His work, his friends, and his general mode of life
+precluded that. Because of all this, therefore, Arkwright did not--know;
+which was a pity--for Arkwright, and for some others.
+
+Promptly at five o'clock that afternoon, Arkwright rang Billy's
+doorbell, and was admitted by Rosa to the living-room, where Billy was
+at the piano.
+
+Billy sprang to her feet with a joyous word of greeting.
+
+“I'm so glad you've come,” she sighed happily. “I want you to hear the
+melody your pretty words have sung to me. Though, maybe, after all, you
+won't like it, you know,” she finished with arch wistfulness.
+
+“As if I could help liking it,” smiled the man, trying to keep from his
+voice the ecstatic delight that the touch of her hand had brought him.
+
+Billy shook her head and seated herself again at the piano.
+
+“The words are lovely,” she declared, sorting out two or three sheets of
+manuscript music from the quantity on the rack before her. “But there's
+one place--the rhythm, you know--if you could change it. There!--but
+listen. First I'm going to play it straight through to you.” And she
+dropped her fingers to the keyboard. The next moment a tenderly sweet
+melody--with only a chord now and then for accompaniment--filled
+Arkwright's soul with rapture. Then Billy began to sing, very softly,
+the words!
+
+No wonder Arkwright's soul was filled with rapture. They were his words,
+wrung straight from his heart; and they were being sung by the girl
+for whom they were written. They were being sung with feeling, too--so
+evident a feeling that the man's pulse quickened, and his eyes flashed a
+sudden fire. Arkwright could not know, of course, that Billy, in her own
+mind, was singing that song--to Bertram Henshaw.
+
+The fire was still in Arkwright's eyes when the song was ended; but
+Billy very plainly did not see it. With a frowning sigh and a murmured
+“There!” she began to talk of “rhythm” and “accent” and “cadence”; and
+to point out with anxious care why three syllables instead of two were
+needed at the end of a certain line. From this she passed eagerly to
+the accompaniment, and Arkwright at once found himself lost in a maze
+of “minor thirds” and “diminished sevenths,” until he was forced to
+turn from the singer to the song. Still, watching her a little later, he
+noticed her absorbed face and eager enthusiasm, her earnest pursuance of
+an elusive harmony, and he wondered: did she, or did she not sing that
+song with feeling a little while before?
+
+Arkwright had not settled this question to his own satisfaction when
+Aunt Hannah came in at half-past five, and he was conscious of a vague
+disappointment as he rose to greet her. Billy, however, turned an
+untroubled face to the newcomer.
+
+“We're doing finely, Aunt Hannah,” she cried. Then, suddenly, she flung
+a laughing question to the man. “How about it, sir? Are we going to put
+on the title-page: 'Words by Mary Jane Arkwright'--or will you unveil
+the mystery for us now?”
+
+“Have you guessed it?” he bantered.
+
+“No--unless it's 'Methuselah John.' We did think of that the other day.”
+
+“Wrong again!” he laughed.
+
+“Then it'll have to be 'Mary Jane,'” retorted Billy, with calm
+naughtiness, refusing to meet Aunt Hannah's beseechingly reproving eyes.
+Then suddenly she chuckled. “It would be a combination, wouldn't it?
+'Words by Mary Jane Arkwright. Music by Billy Neilson'! We'd have
+sighing swains writing to 'Dear Miss Arkwright,' telling how touching
+were _her_ words; and lovelorn damsels thanking _Mr_. Neilson for _his_
+soul-inspiring music!”
+
+“Billy, my dear!” remonstrated Aunt Hannah, faintly.
+
+“Yes, yes, I know; that was bad--and I won't again, truly,” promised
+Billy. But her eyes danced, and the next moment she had whirled about on
+the piano stool and dashed into a Chopin waltz. The room itself, then,
+seemed to be full of the twinkling feet of elves.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI. A GIRL AND A BIT OF LOWESTOFT
+
+
+Immediately after breakfast the next morning, Billy was summoned to the
+telephone.
+
+“Oh, good morning, Uncle William,” she called, in answer to the
+masculine voice that replied to her “Hullo.”
+
+“Billy, are you very busy this morning?”
+
+“No, indeed--not if you want me.”
+
+“Well, I do, my dear.” Uncle William's voice was troubled. “I want you
+to go with me, if you can, to see a Mrs. Greggory. She's got a teapot I
+want. It's a genuine Lowestoft, Harlow says. Will you go?”
+
+“Of course I will! What time?”
+
+“Eleven if you can, at Park Street. She's at the West End. I don't dare
+to put it off for fear I'll lose it. Harlow says others will have to
+know of it, of course. You see, she's just made up her mind to sell it,
+and asked him to find a customer. I wouldn't trouble you, but he says
+they're peculiar--the daughter, especially--and may need some careful
+handling. That's why I wanted you--though I wanted you to see the
+tea-pot, too,--it'll be yours some day, you know.”
+
+Billy, all alone at her end of the line, blushed. That she was one day
+to be mistress of the Strata and all it contained was still anything but
+“common” to her.
+
+“I'd love to see it, and I'll come gladly; but I'm afraid I won't be
+much help, Uncle William,” she worried.
+
+“I'll take the risk of that. You see, Harlow says that about half the
+time she isn't sure she wants to sell it, after all.”
+
+“Why, how funny! Well, I'll come. At eleven, you say, at Park Street?”
+
+“Yes; and thank you, my dear. I tried to get Kate to go, too; but she
+wouldn't. By the way, I'm going to bring you home to luncheon. Kate
+leaves this afternoon, you know, and it's been so snowy she hasn't
+thought best to try to get over to the house. Maybe Aunt Hannah would
+come, too, for luncheon. Would she?”
+
+“I'm afraid not,” returned Billy, with a rueful laugh. “She's got
+_three_ shawls on this morning, and you know that always means that
+she's felt a draft somewhere--poor dear. I'll tell her, though, and I'll
+see you at eleven,” finished Billy, as she hung up the receiver.
+
+Promptly at the appointed time Billy met Uncle William at Park Street,
+and together they set out for the West End street named on the paper in
+his pocket. But when the shabby house on the narrow little street was
+reached, the man looked about him with a troubled frown.
+
+“I declare, Billy, I'm not sure but we'd better turn back,” he fretted.
+“I didn't mean to take you to such a place as this.”
+
+Billy shivered a little; but after one glance at the man's disappointed
+face she lifted a determined chin.
+
+“Nonsense, Uncle William! Of course you won't turn back. I don't
+mind--for myself; but only think of the people whose _homes_ are here,”
+ she finished, just above her breath.
+
+Mrs. Greggory was found to be living in two back rooms at the top of
+four flights of stairs, up which William Henshaw toiled with increasing
+weariness and dismay, punctuating each flight with a despairing: “Billy,
+really, I think we should turn back!”
+
+But Billy would not turn back, and at last they found themselves in the
+presence of a white-haired, sweet-faced woman who said yes, she was
+Mrs. Greggory; yes, she was. Even as she uttered the words, however,
+she looked fearfully over her shoulders as if expecting to hear from the
+hall behind them a voice denying her assertion.
+
+Mrs. Greggory was a cripple. Her slender little body was poised on two
+once-costly crutches. Both the worn places on the crutches, and the
+skill with which the little woman swung herself about the room testified
+that the crippled condition was not a new one.
+
+Billy's eyes were brimming with pity and dismay. Mechanically she had
+taken the chair toward which Mrs. Greggory had motioned her. She had
+tried not to seem to look about her; but there was not one detail of
+the bare little room, from its faded rug to the patched but spotless
+tablecloth, that was not stamped on her brain.
+
+Mrs. Greggory had seated herself now, and William Henshaw had cleared
+his throat nervously. Billy did not know whether she herself were the
+more distressed or the more relieved to hear him stammer:
+
+“We--er--I came from Harlow, Mrs. Greggory. He gave me to understand
+you had an--er--teapot that--er--” With his eyes on the cracked white
+crockery pitcher on the table, William Henshaw came to a helpless pause.
+
+A curious expression, or rather, series of expressions crossed Mrs.
+Greggory's face. Terror, joy, dismay, and relief seemed, one after the
+other to fight for supremacy. Relief in the end conquered, though even
+yet there was a second hurriedly apprehensive glance toward the door
+before she spoke.
+
+“The Lowestoft! Yes, I'm so glad!--that is, of course I must be glad.
+I'll get it.” Her voice broke as she pulled herself from her chair.
+There was only despairing sorrow on her face now.
+
+The man rose at once.
+
+“But, madam, perhaps--don't let me--” I he began stammeringly. “Of
+course--Billy!” he broke off in an entirely different voice. “Jove! What
+a beauty!”
+
+Mrs. Greggory had thrown open the door of a small cupboard near the
+collector's chair, disclosing on one of the shelves a beautifully shaped
+teapot, creamy in tint, and exquisitely decorated in a rose design. Near
+it set a tray-like plate of the same ware and decoration.
+
+“If you'll lift it down, please, yourself,” motioned Mrs. Greggory. “I
+don't like to--with these,” she explained, tapping the crutches at her
+side.
+
+With fingers that were almost reverent in their appreciation, the
+collector reached for the teapot. His eyes sparkled.
+
+“Billy, look, what a beauty! And it's a Lowestoft, too, the real
+thing--the genuine, true soft paste! And there's the tray--did you
+notice?” he exulted, turning back to the shelf. “You _don't_ see that
+every day! They get separated, most generally, you know.”
+
+“These pieces have been in our family for generations,” said Mrs.
+Greggory with an accent of pride. “You'll find them quite perfect, I
+think.”
+
+“Perfect! I should say they were,” cried the man.
+
+“They are, then--valuable?” Mrs. Greggory's voice shook.
+
+“Indeed they are! But you must know that.”
+
+“I have been told so. Yet to me their chief value, of course, lies in
+their association. My mother and my grandmother owned that teapot, sir.”
+ Again her voice broke.
+
+William Henshaw cleared his throat.
+
+“But, madam, if you do not wish to sell--” He stopped abruptly. His
+longing eyes had gone back to the enticing bit of china.
+
+Mrs. Greggory gave a low cry.
+
+“But I do--that is, I must. Mr. Harlow says that it is valuable, and
+that it will bring in money; and we need--money.” She threw a quick
+glance toward the hall door, though she did not pause in her remarks. “I
+can't do much at work that pays. I sew”--she nodded toward the machine
+by the window--“but with only one foot to make it go--You see, the
+other is--is inclined to shirk a little,” she finished with a wistful
+whimsicality.
+
+Billy turned away sharply. There was a lump in her throat and a smart in
+her eyes. She was conscious suddenly of a fierce anger against--she did
+not know what, exactly; but she fancied it was against the teapot,
+or against Uncle William for wanting the teapot, or for _not_ wanting
+it--if he did not buy it.
+
+“And so you see, I do very much wish to sell.”
+
+Mrs. Greggory said then. “Perhaps you will tell me what it would be
+worth to you,” she concluded tremulously.
+
+The collector's eyes glowed. He picked up the teapot with careful
+rapture and examined it. Then he turned to the tray. After a moment he
+spoke.
+
+“I have only one other in my collection as rare,” he said. “I paid a
+hundred dollars for that. I shall be glad to give you the same for this,
+madam.”
+
+Mrs. Greggory started visibly.
+
+“A hundred dollars? So much as that?” she cried almost joyously. “Why,
+nothing else that we've had has brought--Of course, if it's worth that
+to you--” She paused suddenly. A quick step had sounded in the hall
+outside. The next moment the door flew open and a young woman, who
+looked to be about twenty-three or twenty-four years old, burst into the
+room.
+
+“Mother, only think, I've--” She stopped, and drew back a little.
+Her startled eyes went from one face to another, then dropped to the
+Lowestoft teapot in the man's hands. Her expression changed at once. She
+shut the door quickly and hurried forward.
+
+“Mother, what is it? Who are these people?” she asked sharply.
+
+Billy lifted her chin the least bit. She was conscious of a feeling
+which she could not name: Billy was not used to being called “these
+people” in precisely that tone of voice. William Henshaw, too, raised
+his chin. He, also, was not in the habit of being referred to as “these
+people.”
+
+“My name is Henshaw, Miss--Greggory, I presume,” he said quietly. “I was
+sent here by Mr. Harlow.”
+
+“About the teapot, my dear, you know,” stammered Mrs. Greggory,
+wetting her lips with an air of hurried apology and conciliation. “This
+gentleman says he will be glad to buy it. Er--my daughter, Alice, Mr.
+Henshaw,” she hastened on, in embarrassed introduction; “and Miss--”
+
+“Neilson,” supplied the man, as she looked at Billy, and hesitated.
+
+A swift red stained Alice Greggory's face. With barely an acknowledgment
+of the introductions she turned to her mother.
+
+“Yes, dear, but that won't be necessary now. As I started to tell you
+when I came in, I have two new pupils; and so”--turning to the man again
+“I thank you for your offer, but we have decided not to sell the teapot
+at present.” As she finished her sentence she stepped one side as if to
+make room for the strangers to reach the door.
+
+William Henshaw frowned angrily--that was the man; but his eyes--the
+collector's eyes--sought the teapot longingly. Before either the man or
+the collector could speak, however; Mrs. Greggory interposed quick words
+of remonstrance.
+
+“But, Alice, my dear,” she almost sobbed. “You didn't wait to let me
+tell you. Mr. Henshaw says it is worth a hundred dollars to him. He will
+give us--a hundred dollars.”
+
+“A hundred dollars!” echoed the girl, faintly.
+
+It was plain to be seen that she was wavering. Billy, watching the
+little scene, with mingled emotions, saw the glance with which the girl
+swept the bare little room; and she knew that there was not a patch or
+darn or poverty spot in sight, or out of sight, which that glance did
+not encompass.
+
+Billy was wondering which she herself desired more--that Uncle William
+should buy the Lowestoft, or that he should not. She knew she wished
+Mrs. Greggory to have the hundred dollars. There was no doubt on
+that point. Then Uncle William spoke. His words carried the righteous
+indignation of the man who thinks he has been unjustly treated, and the
+final plea of the collector who sees a coveted treasure slipping from
+his grasp.
+
+“I am very sorry, of course, if my offer has annoyed you,” he said
+stiffly. “I certainly should not have made it had I not had Mrs.
+Greggory's assurance that she wished to sell the teapot.”
+
+Alice Greggory turned as if stung.
+
+“_Wished to sell!_” She repeated the words with superb disdain. She was
+plainly very angry. Her blue-gray eyes gleamed with scorn, and her whole
+face was suffused with a red that had swept to the roots of her
+soft hair. “Do you think a woman _wishes_ to sell a thing that she's
+treasured all her life, a thing that is perhaps the last visible
+reminder of the days when she was living--not merely existing?”
+
+“Alice, Alice, my love!” protested the sweet-faced cripple, agitatedly.
+
+“I can't help it,” stormed the girl, hotly. “I know how much you think
+of that teapot that was grandmother's. I know what it cost you to make
+up your mind to sell it at all. And then to hear these people talk about
+your _wishing_ to sell it! Perhaps they think, too, we _wish_ to live
+in a place like this; that we _wish_ to have rugs that are darned,
+and chairs that are broken, and garments that are patches instead of
+clothes!”
+
+“Alice!” gasped Mrs. Greggory in dismayed horror.
+
+With a little outward fling of her two hands Alice Greggory stepped
+back. Her face had grown white again.
+
+“I beg your pardon, of course,” she said in a voice that was bitterly
+quiet. “I should not have spoken so. You are very kind, Mr. Henshaw, but
+I do not think we care to sell the Lowestoft to-day.”
+
+Both words and manner were obviously a dismissal; and with a puzzled
+sigh William Henshaw picked up his hat. His face showed very clearly
+that he did not know what to do, or what to say; but it showed, too, as
+clearly, that he longed to do something, or say something. During the
+brief minute that he hesitated, however, Billy sprang forward.
+
+“Mrs. Greggory, please, won't you let _me_ buy the teapot? And
+then--won't you keep it for me--here? I haven't the hundred dollars with
+me, but I'll send it right away. You will let me do it, won't you?”
+
+It was an impulsive speech, and a foolish one, of course, from the
+standpoint of sense and logic and reasonableness; but it was one that
+might be expected, perhaps, from Billy.
+
+Mrs. Greggory must have divined, in a way, the spirit that prompted it,
+for her eyes grew wet, and with a choking “Dear child!” she reached out
+and caught Billy's hand in both her own--even while she shook her head
+in denial.
+
+Not so her daughter. Alice Greggory flushed scarlet. She drew herself
+proudly erect.
+
+“Thank you,” she said with crisp coldness; “but, distasteful as darns
+and patches are to us, we prefer them, infinitely, to--charity!”
+
+“Oh, but, please, I didn't mean--you didn't understand,” faltered Billy.
+
+For answer Alice Greggory walked deliberately to the door and held it
+open.
+
+“Oh, Alice, my dear,” pleaded Mrs. Greggory again, feebly.
+
+“Come, Billy! We'll bid you good morning, ladies,” said William
+Henshaw then, decisively. And Billy, with a little wistful pat on Mrs.
+Greggory's clasped hands, went.
+
+Once down the long four flights of stairs and out on the sidewalk,
+William Henshaw drew a long breath.
+
+“Well, by Jove! Billy, the next time I take you curio hunting, it won't
+be to this place,” he fumed.
+
+“Wasn't it awful!” choked Billy.
+
+“Awful! The girl was the most stubborn, unreasonable, vixenish little
+puss I ever saw. I didn't want her old Lowestoft if she didn't want
+to sell it! But to practically invite me there, and then treat me like
+that!” scolded the collector, his face growing red with anger. “Still, I
+was sorry for the poor little old lady. I wish, somehow, she could have
+that hundred dollars!” It was the man who said this, not the collector.
+
+“So do I,” rejoined Billy, dolefully. “But that girl was so--so queer!”
+ she sighed, with a frown. Billy was puzzled. For the first time,
+perhaps, in her life, she knew what it was to have her proffered “ice
+cream” disdainfully refused.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII. ONLY A LOVE SONG, BUT--
+
+
+Kate and little Kate left for the West on the afternoon of
+the fifteenth, and Bertram arrived from New York that evening.
+Notwithstanding the confusion of all this, Billy still had time to give
+some thought to her experience of the morning with Uncle William.
+The forlorn little room with its poverty-stricken furnishings and its
+crippled mistress was very vivid in Billy's memory. Equally vivid were
+the flashing eyes of Alice Greggory as she had opened the door at the
+last.
+
+“For,” as Billy explained to Bertram that evening, after she had told
+him the story of the morning's adventure, “you see, dear, I had never
+been really _turned out_ of a house before!”
+
+“I should think not,” scowled her lover, indignantly; “and it's safe to
+say you never will again. The impertinence of it! But then, you won't
+see them any more, sweetheart, so we'll just forget it.”
+
+“Forget it! Why, Bertram, I couldn't! You couldn't, if you'd been there.
+Besides, of course I shall see them again!”
+
+Bertram's jaw dropped.
+
+“Why, Billy, you don't mean that Will, or you either, would try again
+for that trumpery teapot!”
+
+“Of course not,” flashed Billy, heatedly. “It isn't the teapot--it's
+that dear little Mrs. Greggory. Why, dearie, you don't know how poor
+they are! Everything in sight is so old and thin and worn it's enough to
+break your heart. The rug isn't anything but darns, nor the tablecloth,
+either--except patches. It's awful, Bertram!”
+
+“I know, darling; but _you_ don't expect to buy them new rugs and new
+tablecloths, do you?”
+
+Billy gave one of her unexpected laughs.
+
+“Mercy!” she chuckled. “Only picture Miss Alice's face if I _should_ try
+to buy them rugs and tablecloths! No, dear,” she went on more seriously,
+“I sha'n't do that, of course--though I'd like to; but I shall try to
+see Mrs. Greggory again, if it's nothing more than a rose or a book or a
+new magazine that I can take to her.”
+
+“Or a smile--which I fancy will be the best gift of the lot,” amended
+Bertram, fondly.
+
+Billy dimpled and shook her head.
+
+“Smiles--my smiles--are not so valuable, I'm afraid--except to you,
+perhaps,” she laughed.
+
+“Self-evident facts need no proving,” retorted Bertram. “Well, and what
+else has happened in all these ages I've been away?”
+
+Billy brought her hands together with a sudden cry.
+
+“Oh, and I haven't told you!” she exclaimed. “I'm writing a new song--a
+love song. Mary Jane wrote the words. They're beautiful.”
+
+Bertram stiffened.
+
+“Indeed! And is--Mary Jane a poet, with all the rest?” he asked, with
+affected lightness.
+
+“Oh, no, of course not,” smiled Billy; “but these words _are_ pretty.
+And they just sang themselves into the dearest little melody right away.
+So I'm writing the music for them.”
+
+“Lucky Mary Jane!” murmured Bertram, still with a lightness that he
+hoped would pass for indifference. (Bertram was ashamed of himself, but
+deep within him was a growing consciousness that he knew the meaning
+of the vague irritation that he always felt at the mere mention of
+Arkwright's name.) “And will the title-page say, 'Words by Mary Jane
+Arkwright'?” he finished.
+
+“That's what I asked him,” laughed Billy.
+
+
+“I even suggested 'Methuselah John' for a change. Oh, but, dearie,” she
+broke off with shy eagerness, “I just want you to hear a little of what
+I've done with it. You see, really, all the time, I suspect, I've been
+singing it--to you,” she confessed with an endearing blush, as she
+sprang lightly to her feet and hurried to the piano.
+
+It was a bad ten minutes that Bertram Henshaw spent then. How he could
+love a song and hate it at the same time he did not understand; but he
+knew that he was doing exactly that. To hear Billy carol “Sweetheart, my
+sweetheart!” with that joyous tenderness was bliss unspeakable--until he
+remembered that Arkwright wrote the “Sweetheart, my sweetheart!” then it
+was--(Even in his thoughts Bertram bit the word off short. He was not a
+swearing man.) When he looked at Billy now at the piano, and thought of
+her singing--as she said she had sung--that song to him all through the
+last three days, his heart glowed. But when he looked at her and thought
+of Arkwright, who had made possible that singing, his heart froze with
+terror.
+
+From the very first it had been music that Bertram had feared. He could
+not forget that Billy herself had once told him that never would she
+love any man better than she loved her music; that she was not going
+to marry. All this had been at the first--the very first. He had boldly
+scorned the idea then, and had said:
+
+“So it's music--a cold, senseless thing of spidery marks on clean white
+paper--that is my only rival!”
+
+He had said, too, that he was going to win. And he had won--but
+not until after long weeks of fearing, hoping, striving, and
+despairing--this last when Kate's blundering had nearly made her
+William's wife. Then, on that memorable day in September, Billy had
+walked straight into his arms; and he knew that he had, indeed, won.
+That is, he had supposed that he knew--until Arkwright came.
+
+Very sharply now, as he listened to Billy's singing, Bertram told
+himself to be reasonable, to be sensible; that Billy did, indeed, love
+him. Was she not, according to her own dear assertion, singing that song
+to him? But it was Arkwright's song. He remembered that, too--and grew
+faint at the thought. True, he had won when his rival, music, had been
+a “cold, senseless thing of spidery marks” on paper; but would that
+winning stand when “music” had become a thing of flesh and blood--a man
+of undeniable charm, good looks, and winsomeness; a man whose thoughts,
+aims, and words were the personification of the thing Billy, in the long
+ago, had declared she loved best of all--music?
+
+Bertram shivered as with a sudden chill; then Billy rose from the piano.
+
+“There!” she breathed, her face shyly radiant with the glory of the
+song. “Did you--like it?”
+
+Bertram did his best; but, in his state of mind, the very radiance of
+her face was only an added torture, and his tongue stumbled over the
+words of praise and appreciation that he tried to say. He saw, then, the
+happy light in Billy's eyes change to troubled questioning and grieved
+disappointment; and he hated himself for a jealous brute. More earnestly
+than ever, now, he tried to force the ring of sincerity into his voice;
+but he knew that he had miserably failed when he heard her falter:
+
+“Of course, dear, I--I haven't got it nearly perfected yet. It'll be
+much better, later.”
+
+“But it s{sic} fine, now, sweetheart--indeed it is,” protested Bertram,
+hurriedly.
+
+“Well, of course I'm glad--if you like it,” murmured Billy; but the glow
+did not come back to her face.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII. SUGARPLUMS
+
+
+Those short December days after Bertram's return from New York were busy
+ones for everybody. Miss Winthrop was not in town to give sittings for
+her portrait, it is true; but her absence only afforded Bertram time and
+opportunity to attend to other work that had been more or less delayed
+and neglected. He was often at Hillside, however, and the lovers managed
+to snatch many an hour of quiet happiness from the rush and confusion of
+the Christmas preparations.
+
+Bertram was assuring himself now that his jealous fears of Arkwright
+were groundless. Billy seldom mentioned the man, and, as the days
+passed, she spoke only once of his being at the house. The song, too,
+she said little of; and Bertram--though he was ashamed to own it to
+himself--breathed more freely.
+
+The real facts of the case were that Billy had told Arkwright that she
+should have no time to give attention to the song until after Christmas;
+and her manner had so plainly shown him that she considered himself
+synonymous with the song, that he had reluctantly taken the hint and
+kept away.
+
+“I'll make her care for me sometime--for something besides a song,” he
+told himself with fierce consolation--but Billy did not know this.
+
+Aside from Bertram, Christmas filled all of Billy's thoughts these days.
+There were such a lot of things she wished to do.
+
+“But, after all, they're only sugarplums, you know, that I'm giving,
+dear,” she declared to Bertram one day, when he had remonstrated with
+with her for so taxing her time and strength. “I can't really do much.”
+
+“Much!” scoffed Bertram.
+
+“But it isn't much, honestly--compared to what there is to do,” argued
+Billy. “You see, dear, it's just this,” she went on, her bright face
+sobering a little. “There are such a lot of people in the world who
+aren't really poor. That is, they have bread, and probably meat, to eat,
+and enough clothes to keep them warm. But when you've said that, you've
+said it all. Books, music, fun, and frosting on their cake they know
+nothing about--except to long for them.”
+
+“But there are the churches and the charities, and all those long-named
+Societies--I thought that was what they were for,” declared Bertram,
+still a little aggrievedly, his worried eyes on Billy's tired face.
+
+“Oh, but the churches and charities don't frost cakes nor give
+sugarplums,” smiled Billy. “And it's right that they shouldn't, too,”
+ she added quickly. “They have more than they can do now with the roast
+beef and coal and flannel petticoats that are really necessary.”
+
+“And so it's just frosting and sugarplums, is it--these books and
+magazines and concert tickets and lace collars for the crippled boy, the
+spinster lady, the little widow, and all the rest of those people who
+were here last summer?”
+
+Billy turned in confused surprise.
+
+“Why, Bertram, however in the world did you find out about all--that?”
+
+“I didn't. I just guessed it--and it seems 'the boy guessed right the
+very first time,'” laughed Bertram, teasingly, but with a tender light
+in his eyes. “Oh, and I suppose you'll be sending a frosted cake to the
+Lowestoft lady, too, eh?”
+
+Billy's chin rose to a defiant stubbornness.
+
+“I'm going to try to--if I can find out what kind of frosting she
+likes.”
+
+“How about the Alice lady--or perhaps I should say, the Lady Alice?”
+ smiled the man.
+
+Billy relaxed visibly.
+
+“Yes, I know,” she sighed. “There is--the Lady Alice. But, anyhow, she
+can't call a Christmas present 'charity'--not if it's only a little bit
+of frosting!” Billy's chin came up again.
+
+“And you're going to, really, dare to send her something?”
+
+“Yes,” avowed Billy. “I'm going down there one of these days, in the
+morning--”
+
+“You're going down there! Billy--not alone?”
+
+“Yes. Why not?”
+
+“But, dearie, you mustn't. It was a horrid place, Will says.”
+
+“So it was horrid--to live in. It was everything that was cheap and mean
+and forlorn. But it was quiet and respectable. 'Tisn't as if I didn't
+know the way, Bertram; and I'm sure that where that poor crippled woman
+and daughter are safe, I shall be. Mrs. Greggory is a lady, Bertram,
+well-born and well-bred, I'm sure--and that's the pity of it, to have
+to live in a place like that! They have seen better days, I know. Those
+pitiful little worn crutches of hers were mahogany, I'm sure, Bertram,
+and they were silver mounted.”
+
+Bertram made a restless movement.
+
+“I know, dear; but if you had some one with you! It wouldn't do for
+Will, of course, nor me--under the circumstances. But there's Aunt
+Hannah--” He paused hopefully.
+
+Billy chuckled.
+
+“Bless your dear heart! Aunt Hannah would call for a dozen shawls in
+that place--if she had breath enough to call for any after she got to
+the top of those four flights!”
+
+“Yes, I suppose so,” rejoined Bertram, with an unwilling smile.
+“Still--well, you _can_ take Rosa,” he concluded decisively.
+
+“How Miss Alice would like that--to catch me going 'slumming' with
+my maid!” cried Billy, righteous indignation in her voice. “Honestly,
+Bertram, I think even gentle Mrs. Greggory wouldn't stand for that.”
+
+“Then leave Rosa outside in the hall,” planned Bertram, promptly; and
+after a few more arguments, Billy finally agreed to this.
+
+It was with Rosa, therefore, that she set out the next morning for the
+little room up four flights on the narrow West End street.
+
+Leaving the maid on the top stair of the fourth flight, Billy tapped
+at Mrs. Greggory's door. To her joy Mrs. Greggory herself answered the
+knock.
+
+“Oh! Why--why, good morning,” murmured the lady, in evident
+embarrassment. “Won't you--come m?”
+
+“Thank you. May I?--just a minute?” smiled Billy, brightly.
+
+As she entered the room, Billy threw a hasty look about her. There was
+no one but themselves present. With a sigh of satisfaction, therefore,
+the girl took the chair Mrs. Greggory offered, and began to speak.
+
+“I was down this way--that is, I came this way this morning,” she began
+a little hastily; “and I wanted just to come up and tell you how sorry
+I was about--about that teapot the other day. We didn't want it, of
+course--if you didn't want us to have it.”
+
+A swift change crossed Mrs. Greggory's perturbed face.
+
+“Oh, then you didn't come for it again--to-day,” she said. “I'm so glad!
+I didn't want to refuse--_you_.”
+
+“Indeed I didn't come for it--and we sha'n't again. Don't worry about
+that, please.”
+
+Mrs. Greggory sighed.
+
+“I'm afraid you thought me very rude and--and impossible the other day,”
+ she stammered. “And please let me take this opportunity right now to
+apologize for my daughter. She was overwrought and excited. She didn't
+know what she was saying or doing, I'm sure. She was ashamed, I think
+after you left.”
+
+Billy raised a quick hand of protest.
+
+“Don't, please don't, Mrs. Greggory,” she begged.
+
+“But it was our fault that you came. We _asked_ you to come--through Mr.
+Harlow,” rejoined the other, hurriedly. “And Mr. Henshaw--was that his
+name?--was so kind in every way. I'm glad of this chance to tell you how
+much we really did appreciate it--and _your_ offer, too, which we could
+not, of course, accept,” she finished, the bright color flooding her
+delicate face.
+
+Again Billy raised a protesting hand; but the little woman in the
+opposite chair hurried on. There was still more, evidently, that she
+wished to say.
+
+“I hope Mr. Henshaw did not feel too disappointed--about the Lowestoft.
+We didn't want to let it go if we could help it; and we hope now to keep
+it.”
+
+“Of course,” murmured Billy, sympathetically.
+
+“My daughter knew, you see, how much I have always thought of it, and
+she was determined that I should not give it up. She said I should
+have that much left, anyway. You see--my daughter is very unreconciled,
+still, to things as they are; and no wonder, perhaps. They are so
+different--from what they were!” Her voice broke a little.
+
+“Of course,” said Billy again, and this time the words were tinged with
+impatient indignation. “If only there were something one could do to
+help!”
+
+“Thank you, my dear, but there isn't--indeed there isn't,” rejoined
+the other, quickly; and Billy, looking into the proudly lifted face,
+realized suddenly that daughter Alice had perhaps inherited some traits
+from mother. “We shall get along very well, I am sure. My daughter
+has still another pupil. She will be home soon to tell you herself,
+perhaps.”
+
+Billy rose with a haste so marked it was almost impolite, as she
+murmured:
+
+“Will she? I'm afraid, though, that I sha'n't see her, after all, for I
+must go. And may I leave these, please?” she added, hurriedly unpinning
+the bunch of white carnations from her coat. “It seems a pity to let
+them wilt, when you can put them in water right here.” Her studiously
+casual voice gave no hint that those particular pinks had been bought
+less than half an hour before of a Park Street florist so that Mrs.
+Greggory _might_ put them in water--right there.
+
+“Oh, oh, how lovely!” breathed Mrs. Greggory, her face deep in the
+feathery bed of sweetness. Before she could half say “Thank you,”
+ however? she found herself alone.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX. ALICE GREGGORY
+
+
+Christmas came and went; and in a flurry of snow and sleet January
+arrived. The holidays over, matters and things seemed to settle down to
+the winter routine.
+
+Miss Winthrop had prolonged her visit in Washington until after
+Christmas, but she had returned to Boston now--and with her she had
+brought a brand-new idea for her portrait; an idea that caused her to
+sweep aside with superb disdain all poses and costumes and sketches to
+date, and announce herself with disarming winsomeness as “all ready now
+to really begin!”
+
+Bertram Henshaw was vexed, but helpless. Decidedly he wished to paint
+Miss Marguerite Winthrop's portrait; but to attempt to paint it when all
+matters were not to the lady's liking were worse than useless, unless
+he wished to hang this portrait in the gallery of failures along with
+Anderson's and Fullam's--and that was not the goal he had set for it. As
+to the sordid money part of the affair--the great J. G. Winthrop himself
+had come to the artist, and in one terse sentence had doubled the
+original price and expressed himself as hopeful that Henshaw would put
+up with “the child's notions.” It was the old financier's next sentence,
+however, that put the zest of real determination into Bertram, for
+because of it, the artist saw what this portrait was going to mean to
+the stern old man, and how dear was the original of it to a heart that
+was commonly reported “on the street” to be made of stone.
+
+Obviously, then, indeed, there was nothing for Bertram Henshaw to do
+but to begin the new portrait. And he began it--though still, it must be
+confessed, with inward questionings. Before a week had passed, however,
+every trace of irritation had fled, and he was once again the absorbed
+artist who sees the vision of his desire taking palpable shape at the
+end of his brush.
+
+“It's all right,” he said to Billy then, one evening. “I'm glad she
+changed. It's going to be the best, the very best thing I've ever
+done--I think! by the sketches.”
+
+“I'm so glad!” exclaimed Billy. “I'm so glad!” The repetition was
+so vehement that it sounded almost as if she were trying to convince
+herself as well as Bertram of something that was not true.
+
+But it was true--Billy told herself very indignantly that it was; indeed
+it was! Yet the very fact that she had to tell herself this, caused her
+to know how perilously near she was to being actually jealous of that
+portrait of Marguerite Winthrop. And it shamed her.
+
+Very sternly these days Billy reminded herself of what Kate had
+said about Bertram's belonging first to his Art. She thought with
+mortification, too, that it _did_ look as if she were not the proper
+wife for an artist if she were going to feel like this--always. Very
+resolutely, then, Billy turned to her music. This was all the more
+easily done, for, not only did she have her usual concerts and the opera
+to enjoy, but she had become interested in an operetta her club was
+about to give; also she had taken up the new song again. Christmas being
+over, Mr. Arkwright had been to the house several times. He had changed
+some of the words and she had improved the melody. The work on the
+accompaniment was progressing finely now, and Billy was so glad!--when
+she was absorbed in her music she forgot sometimes that she was ever so
+unfit an artist's sweetheart as to be--jealous of a portrait.
+
+It was quite early in the month that the usually expected “January thaw”
+ came, and it was on a comparatively mild Friday at this time that a
+matter of business took Billy into the neighborhood of Symphony Hall at
+about eleven o'clock in the morning. Dismissing John and the car upon
+her arrival, she said that she would later walk to the home of a friend
+near by, where she would remain until it was time for the Symphony
+Concert.
+
+This friend was a girl whom Billy had known at school. She was studying
+now at the Conservatory of Music; and she had often urged Billy to come
+and have luncheon with her in her tiny apartment, which she shared with
+three other girls and a widowed aunt for housekeeper. On this particular
+Friday it had occurred to Billy that, owing to her business appointment
+at eleven and the Symphony Concert at half-past two, the intervening
+time would give her just the opportunity she had been seeking to
+enable her to accept her friend's invitation. A question asked, and
+enthusiastically answered in the affirmative, over the telephone that
+morning, therefore, had speedily completed arrangements, and she had
+agreed to be at her friend's door by twelve o'clock, or before.
+
+As it happened, business did not take quite so long as she had expected,
+and half-past eleven found her well on her way to Miss Henderson's home.
+
+In spite of the warm sunshine and the slushy snow in the streets, there
+was a cold, raw wind, and Billy was beginning to feel thankful that she
+had not far to go when she rounded a corner and came upon a long line of
+humanity that curved itself back and forth on the wide expanse of steps
+before Symphony Hall and then stretched itself far up the Avenue.
+
+“Why, what--” she began under her breath; then suddenly she understood.
+It was Friday. A world-famous pianist was to play with the Symphony
+Orchestra that afternoon. This must be the line of patient waiters for
+the twenty-five-cent balcony seats that Mr. Arkwright had told about.
+With sympathetic, interested eyes, then, Billy stepped one side to watch
+the line, for a moment.
+
+Almost at once two girls brushed by her, and one was saying:
+
+“What a shame!--and after all our struggles to get here! If only we
+hadn't lost that other train!”
+
+“We're too late--you no need to hurry!” the other wailed shrilly to a
+third girl who was hastening toward them. “The line is 'way beyond
+the Children's Hospital and around the corner now--and the ones there
+_never_ get in!”
+
+At the look of tragic disappointment that crossed the third girl's face,
+Billy's heart ached. Her first impulse, of course, was to pull her
+own symphony ticket from her muff and hurry forward with a “Here, take
+mine!” But that _would_ hardly do, she knew--though she would like to
+see Aunt Hannah's aghast face if this girl in the red sweater and white
+tam-o'-shanter should suddenly emerge from among the sumptuous satins
+and furs and plumes that afternoon and claim the adjacent orchestra
+chair. But it was out of the question, of course. There was only one
+seat, and there were three girls, besides all those others. With a sigh,
+then, Billy turned her eyes back to those others--those many others that
+made up the long line stretching its weary length up the Avenue.
+
+There were more women than men, yet the men were there: jolly young men
+who were plainly students; older men whose refined faces and threadbare
+overcoats hinted at cultured minds and starved bodies; other men who
+showed no hollows in their cheeks nor near-holes in their garments. It
+seemed to Billy that women of almost all sorts were there, young, old,
+and middle-aged; students in tailored suits, widows in crape and veil;
+girls that were members of a merry party, women that were plainly
+forlorn and alone.
+
+Some in the line shuffled restlessly; some stood rigidly quiet. One had
+brought a camp stool; many were seated on the steps. Beyond, where the
+line passed an open lot, a wooden fence afforded a convenient prop. One
+read a book, another a paper. Three were studying what was probably
+the score of the symphony or of the concerto they expected to hear that
+afternoon.
+
+A few did not appear to mind the biting wind, but most of them, by
+turned-up coat-collars or bent heads, testified to the contrary. Not
+far from Billy a woman nibbled a sandwich furtively, while beyond her a
+group of girls were hilariously merry over four triangles of pie which
+they held up where all might see.
+
+Many of the faces were youthful, happy, and alert with anticipation;
+but others carried a wistfulness and a weariness that made Billy's heart
+ache. Her eyes, indeed, filled with quick tears. Later she turned to go,
+and it was then that she saw in the line a face that she knew--a face
+that drooped with such a white misery of spent strength that she hurried
+straight toward it with a low cry.
+
+“Miss Greggory!” she exclaimed, when she reached the girl. “You look
+actually ill. Are you ill?”
+
+For a brief second only dazed questioning stared from the girl's
+blue-gray eyes. Billy knew when the recognition came, for she saw the
+painful color stain the white face red.
+
+“Thank you, no. I am not ill, Miss Neilson,” said the girl, coldly.
+
+“But you look so tired out!”
+
+“I have been standing here some time; that is all.”
+
+Billy threw a hurried glance down the far-reaching line that she
+knew had formed since the girl's two tired feet had taken their first
+position.
+
+“But you must have come--so early! It isn't twelve o'clock yet,” she
+faltered.
+
+A slight smile curved Alice Greggory's lips.
+
+“Yes, it was early,” she rejoined a little bitterly; “but it had to be,
+you know. I wanted to hear the music; and with this soloist, and this
+weather, I knew that many others--would want to hear the music, too.”
+
+“But you look so white! How much longer--when will they let you in?”
+ demanded Billy, raising indignant eyes to the huge, gray-pillared
+building before her, much as if she would pull down the walls if she
+could, and make way for this tired girl at her side.
+
+Miss Greggory's thin shoulders rose and fell in an expressive shrug.
+
+“Half-past one.”
+
+Billy gave a dismayed cry.
+
+“Half-past one--almost two hours more! But, Miss Greggory, you
+can't--how can you stand it till then? You've shivered three times since
+I came, and you look as if you were going to faint away.”
+
+Miss Greggory shook her head.
+
+“It is nothing, really,” she insisted. “I am quite well. It is only--I
+didn't happen to feel like eating much breakfast this morning; and that,
+with no luncheon--” She let a gesture finish her sentence.
+
+“No luncheon! Why--oh, you couldn't leave your place, of course,”
+ frowned Billy.
+
+“No, and”--Alice Greggory lifted her head a little proudly--“I do not
+care to eat--here.” Her scornful eyes were on one of the pieces of pie
+down the line--no longer a triangle.
+
+“Of course not,” agreed Billy, promptly. She paused, frowned, and
+bit her lip. Suddenly her face cleared. “There! the very thing,” she
+exulted. “You shall have my ticket this afternoon, Miss Greggory, then
+you won't have to stay here another minute. Meanwhile, there is an
+excellent restaurant--”
+
+“Thank you--no. I couldn't do that,” cut in the other, sharply, but in a
+low voice.
+
+“But you'll take my ticket,” begged Billy.
+
+Miss Greggory shook her head.
+
+“Certainly not.”
+
+“But I want you to, please. I shall be very unhappy if you don't,”
+ grieved Billy.
+
+The other made a peremptory gesture.
+
+“_I_ should be very unhappy if I did,” she said with cold emphasis.
+“Really, Miss Neilson,” she went on in a low voice, throwing an
+apprehensive glance at the man ahead, who was apparently absorbed in his
+newspaper, “I'm afraid I shall have to ask you to let me go on in my own
+way. You are very kind, but there is nothing you can do; nothing. You
+were very kind, too, of course, to send the book and the flowers to
+mother at Christmas; but--”
+
+“Never mind that, please,” interrupted Billy, hurriedly. Billy's head
+was lifted now. Her eyes were no longer pleading. Her round little chin
+looked square and determined. “If you simply will not take my ticket
+this afternoon, you _must_ do this. Go to some restaurant near here and
+get a good luncheon--something that will sustain you. I will take your
+place here.”
+
+“_Miss Neilson!_”
+
+Billy smiled radiantly. It was the first time she had ever seen
+Alice Greggory's haughtily cold reserve break into anything like
+naturalness--the astonished incredulity of that “Miss Neilson!” was
+plainly straight from the heart; so, too, were the amazed words that
+followed.
+
+“_You_--will stand _here?_”
+
+“Certainly; I will keep your place. Don't worry. You sha'n't lose it.”
+ Billy spoke with a smiling indifference that was meant to convey the
+impression that standing in line for a twenty-five-cent seat was a
+daily habit of hers. “There's a restaurant only a little way--right down
+there,” she finished. And before the dazed Alice Greggory knew quite
+what was happening she found herself outside the line, and the other in
+her place.
+
+“But, Miss Neilson, I can't--you mustn't--” she stammered; then, because
+of something in the unyieldingness of the square young chin above the
+sealskin coat, and because she could not (she knew) use actual force
+to drag the owner of that chin out of the line, she bowed her head in
+acquiescence.
+
+“Well, then--I will, long enough for some coffee and maybe a sandwich.
+And--thank you,” she choked, as she turned and hurried away.
+
+Billy drew the deep breath of one who has triumphed after long
+struggles--but the breath broke off short in a gasp of dismay: coming
+straight up the Avenue toward her was the one person in the world Billy
+wished least to see at that moment--Bertram Henshaw. Billy remembered
+then that she had twice lately heard her lover speak of calling at the
+Boston Opera House concerning a commission to paint an ideal head to
+represent “Music” for some decorative purpose. The Opera House was only
+a short distance up the Avenue. Doubtless he was on his way there now.
+
+He was very near by this time, and Billy held her breath suspended.
+There was a chance, of course, that he might not notice her; and Billy
+was counting on that chance--until a gust of wind whirled a loose
+half-sheet of newspaper from the hands of the man in front of her, and
+naturally attracted Bertram's eyes to its vicinity--and to hers. The
+next moment he was at her side and his dumfounded but softly-breathed
+“_Billy!_” was in her ears.
+
+Billy bubbled into low laughter--there were such a lot of funny
+situations in the world, and of them all this one was about the
+drollest, she thought.
+
+“Yes, I know,” she gurgled. “You don't have to say it-your face is
+saying even more than your tongue _could!_ This is just for a girl I
+know. I'm keeping her place.”
+
+Bertram frowned. He looked as if he were meditating picking Billy up and
+walking off with her.
+
+“But, Billy,” he protested just above his breath, “this isn't sugarplums
+nor frosting; it's plain suicide--standing out in this wind like
+this! Besides--” He stopped with an angrily despairing glance at her
+surroundings.
+
+“Yes, I know,” she nodded, a little soberly, understanding the look and
+answering that first; “it isn't pleasant nor comfortable, in lots of
+ways--but _she's_ had it all the morning. As for the cold--I'm as warm
+as toast. It won't be long, anyway; she's just gone to get something to
+eat. Then I'm going to May Henderson's for luncheon.”
+
+Bertram sighed impatiently and opened his lips--only to close them with
+the words unsaid. There was nothing he could do, and he had already said
+too much, he thought, with a savage glance at the man ahead who still
+had enough of his paper left to serve for a pretence at reading. As
+Bertram could see, however, the man was not reading a word--he was too
+acutely conscious of the handsome young woman in the long sealskin
+coat behind him. Billy was already the cynosure of dozens of eyes, and
+Bertram knew that his own arrival on the scene had not lessened the
+interest of the owners of those eyes. He only hoped devoutly that no
+one in the line knew him ar Billy, and that no one quite knew what had
+happened. He did not wish to see himself and his fiancée the subject
+of inch-high headlines in some evening paper figuring as:
+
+“Talented young composer and her famous artist lover take poor girl's
+place in a twenty-five-cent ticket line.”
+
+He shivered at the thought.
+
+“Are you cold?” worried Billy. “If you are, don't stand here, please!”
+
+He shook his head silently. His eyes were searching the street for the
+only one whose coming could bring him relief.
+
+It must have been but a coffee-and-sandwich luncheon for the girl, for
+soon she came. The man surmised that it was she, as soon as he saw her,
+and stepped back at once. He had no wish for introductions. A moment
+later the girl was in Billy's place, and Billy herself was at his side.
+
+“That was Alice Greggory, Bertram,” she told him, as they walked on
+swiftly; “and Bertram, she was actually almost _crying_ when she took my
+place.”
+
+“Humph! Well, I should think she'd better be,” growled Bertram,
+perversely.
+
+“Pooh! It didn't hurt me any, dearie,” laughed Billy with a conciliatory
+pat on his arm as they turned down the street upon which her friend
+lived. “And now can you come in and see May a minute?”
+
+“I'm afraid not,” regretted Bertram. “I wish I could, but I'm busier
+than busy to-day--and I was _supposed_ to be already late when I saw
+you. Jove, Billy, I just couldn't believe my eyes!”
+
+“You looked it,” twinkled Billy. “It was worth a farm just to see your
+face!”
+
+“I'd want the farm--if I was going through that again,” retorted the
+man, grimly--Bertram was still seeing that newspaper heading.
+
+But Billy only laughed again.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX. ARKWRIGHT TELLS A STORY
+
+
+Arkwright called Monday afternoon by appointment; and together he and
+Billy put the finishing touches to the new song.
+
+It was when, with Aunt Hannah, they were having tea before the fire
+a little later, that Billy told of her adventure the preceding Friday
+afternoon in front of Symphony Hall.
+
+“You knew the girl, of course--I think you said you knew the girl,”
+ ventured Arkwright.
+
+“Oh, yes. She was Alice Greggory. I met her with Uncle William first,
+over a Lowestoft teapot. Maybe you'd like to know _how_ I met her,”
+ smiled Billy.
+
+“Alice Greggory?” Arkwright's eyes showed a sudden interest. “I used to
+know an Alice Greggory, but it isn't the same one, probably. Her mother
+was a cripple.”
+
+Billy gave a little cry.
+
+“Why, it is--it must be! _My_ Alice Greggory's mother is a cripple. Oh,
+do you know them, really?”
+
+“Well, it does look like it,” rejoined Arkwright, showing even deeper
+interest. “I haven't seen them for four or five years. They used to live
+in our town. The mother was a little sweet-faced woman with young eyes
+and prematurely white hair.”
+
+“That describes my Mrs. Greggory exactly,” cried Billy's eager voice.
+“And the daughter?”
+
+“Alice? Why--as I said, it's been four years since I've seen her.” A
+touch of constraint had come into Arkwright's voice which Billy's keen
+ear was quick to detect. “She was nineteen then and very pretty.”
+
+“About my height, and with light-brown hair and big blue-gray eyes that
+look steely cold when she's angry?” questioned Billy.
+
+“I reckon that's about it,” acknowledged the man, with a faint smile.
+
+“Then they _are_ the ones,” declared the girl, plainly excited. “Isn't
+that splendid? Now we can know them, and perhaps do something for
+them. I love that dear little mother already, and I think I should the
+daughter--if she didn't put out so many prickers that I couldn't get
+near her! But tell us about them. How did they come here? Why didn't you
+know they were here?”
+
+“Are you good at answering a dozen questions at once?” asked Aunt
+Hannah, turning smiling eyes from Billy to the man at her side.
+
+“Well, I can try,” he offered. “To begin with, they are Judge Greggory's
+widow and daughter. They belong to fine families on both sides, and they
+used to be well off--really wealthy, for a small town. But the judge was
+better at money-making than he was at money-keeping, and when he came to
+die his income stopped, of course, and his estate was found to be in bad
+shape through reckless loans and worthless investments. That was eight
+years ago. Things went from bad to worse then, until there was almost
+nothing left.”
+
+“I knew there was some such story as that back of them,” declared Billy.
+“But how do you suppose they came here?”
+
+“To get away from--everybody, I suspect,” replied Arkwright. “That would
+be like them. They were very proud; and it isn't easy, you know, to be
+nobody where you've been somebody. It doesn't hurt quite so hard--to be
+nobody where you've never been anything but nobody.”
+
+“I suppose so,” sighed Billy. “Still--they must have had friends.”
+
+“They did, of course; but when the love of one's friends becomes _too_
+highly seasoned with pity, it doesn't make a pleasant morsel to swallow,
+specially if you don't like the taste of the pity--and there are people
+who don't, you know. The Greggorys were that kind. They were morbidly
+so. From their cheap little cottage, where they did their own work, they
+stepped out in their shabby garments and old-fashioned hats with heads
+even more proudly erect than in the old days when their home and their
+gowns and their doings were the admiration and envy of the town. You
+see, they didn't want--that pity.”
+
+“I _do_ see,” cried Billy, her face aglow with sudden understanding;
+“and I don't believe pity would be--nice!” Her own chin was held high as
+she spoke.
+
+“It must have been hard, indeed,” murmured Aunt Hannah with a sigh, as
+she set down her teacup.
+
+“It was,” nodded Arkwright. “Of course Mrs. Greggory, with her crippled
+foot, could do nothing to bring in any money except to sew a little. It
+all depended on Alice; and when matters got to their worst she began
+to teach. She was fond of music, and could play the piano well; and of
+course she had had the best instruction she could get from city teachers
+only twenty miles away from our home town. Young as she was--about
+seventeen when she began to teach, I think--she got a few beginners
+right away, and in two years she had worked up quite a class, meanwhile
+keeping on with her own studies, herself.
+
+“They might have carried the thing through, maybe,” continued Arkwright,
+“and never _apparently_ known that the 'pity' existed, if it hadn't been
+for some ugly rumors that suddenly arose attacking the Judge's honesty
+in an old matter that somebody raked up. That was too much. Under this
+last straw their courage broke utterly. Alice dismissed every pupil,
+sold almost all their remaining goods--they had lots of quite valuable
+heirlooms; I suspect that's where your Lowestoft teapot came in--and
+with the money thus gained they left town. Until they could go, they
+scarcely showed themselves once on the street, they were never at home
+to callers, and they left without telling one soul where they were
+going, so far as we could ever learn.”
+
+“Why, the poor dears!” cried Billy. “How they must have suffered! But
+things will be different now. You'll go to see them, of course, and--”
+ At the look that came into Arkwright's face, she stopped in surprise.
+
+“You forget; they wouldn't wish to see me,” demurred the man. And again
+Billy noticed the odd constraint in his voice.
+
+“But they wouldn't mind _you--here_,” argued Billy.
+
+“I'm afraid they would. In fact, I'm sure they'd refuse entirely to see
+me.”
+
+Billy's eyes grew determined.
+
+“But they can't refuse--if I bring about a meeting just casually, you
+know,” she challenged.
+
+Arkwright laughed.
+
+“Well, I won't pretend to say as to the consequences of that,” he
+rejoined, rising to his feet; “but they might be disastrous. Wasn't it
+you yourself who were telling me a few minutes ago how steely cold Miss
+Alice's eyes got when she was angry?”
+
+Billy knew by the way the man spoke that, for some reason, he did not
+wish to prolong the subject of his meeting the Greggorys. She made a
+quick shift, therefore, to another phase of the matter.
+
+“But tell me, please, before you go, how did those rumors come
+out--about Judge Greggory's honesty, I mean?”
+
+“Why, I never knew, exactly,” frowned Arkwright, musingly. “Yet it
+seems, too, that mother did say in one letter, while I was in Paris,
+that some of the accusations had been found to be false, and that there
+was a prospect that the Judge's good name might be saved, after all.”
+
+“Oh, I wish it might,” sighed Billy. “Think what it would mean to those
+women!”
+
+“'Twould mean everything,” cried Arkwright, warmly; “and I'll write
+to mother to-night, I will, and find out just what there is to it-if
+anything. Then you can tell them,” he finished a little stiffly.
+
+“Yes--or you,” nodded Billy, lightly. And because she began at once to
+speak of something else, the first part of her sentence passed without
+comment.
+
+The door had scarcely closed behind Arkwright when Billy turned to Aunt
+Hannah a beaming face.
+
+“Aunt Hannah, did you notice?” she cried, “how Mary Jane looked and
+acted whenever Alice Greggory was spoken of? There was something between
+them--I'm sure there was; and they quarrelled, probably.”
+
+“Why, no, dear; I didn't see anything unusual,” murmured the elder lady.
+
+“Well, I did. And I'm going to be the fairy godmother that straightens
+everything all out, too. See if I'm not! They'd make a splendid couple,
+Aunt Hannah. I'm going right down there to-morrow.”
+
+“Billy, my dear!” exclaimed the more conservative old lady, “aren't
+you taking things a little too much for granted? Maybe they don't wish
+for--for a fairy godmother!”
+
+“Oh, _they_ won't know I'm a fairy godmother--not one of them; and of
+course I wouldn't mention even a hint to anybody,” laughed Billy. “I'm
+just going down to get acquainted with the Greggorys; that's all. Only
+think, Aunt Hannah, what they must have suffered! And look at the place
+they're living in now--gentlewomen like them!”
+
+“Yes, yes, poor things, poor things!” sighed Aunt Hannah.
+
+“I hope I'll find out that she's really good--at teaching, I mean--the
+daughter,” resumed Billy, after a moment's pause. “If she is, there's
+one thing I can do to help, anyhow. I can get some of Marie's old pupils
+for her. I _know_ some of them haven't begun with a new teacher, yet;
+and Mrs. Carleton told me last Friday that neither she nor her sister
+was at all satisfied with the one their girls _have_ taken. They'd
+change, I know, in a minute, at my recommendation--that is, of course,
+if I can _give_ the recommendation,” continued Billy, with a troubled
+frown. “Anyhow, I'm going down to begin operations to-morrow.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI. A MATTER OF STRAIGHT BUSINESS
+
+
+True to her assertion, Billy went down to the Greggorys' the next day.
+This time she did not take Rosa with her. Even Aunt Hannah conceded that
+it would not be necessary. She had not been gone ten minutes, however,
+when the telephone bell rang, and Rosa came to say that Mr. Bertram
+Henshaw wanted to speak with Mrs. Stetson.
+
+“Rosa says that Billy's not there,” called Bertram's aggrieved voice,
+when Aunt Hannah had said, “Good morning, my boy.”
+
+“Dear me, no, Bertram. She's in a fever of excitement this morning.
+She'll probably tell you all about it when you come out here to-night.
+You _are_ coming out to-night, aren't you?”
+
+“Yes; oh, yes! But what is it? Where's she gone?”
+
+Aunt Hannah laughed softly.
+
+“Well, she's gone down to the Greggorys'.”
+
+“The Greggorys'! What--again?”
+
+“Oh, you might as well get used to it, Bertram,” bantered Aunt Hannah,
+“for there'll be a good many 'agains,' I fancy.”
+
+“Why, Aunt Hannah, what do you mean?” Bertram's voice was not quite
+pleased.
+
+“Oh, she'll tell you. It's only that the Greggorys have turned out to be
+old friends of Mr. Arkwright's.”
+
+“_Friends_ of Arkwright's!” Bertram's voice was decidedly displeased
+now.
+
+“Yes; and there's quite a story to it all, as well. Billy is wildly
+excited, as you'd know she would be. You'll hear all about it to-night,
+of course.”
+
+“Yes, of course,” echoed Bertram. But there was no ring of enthusiasm in
+his voice, neither then, nor when he said good-by a moment later.
+
+Billy, meanwhile, on her way to the Greggory home, was, as Aunt Hannah
+had said, “wildly excited.” It seemed so strange and wonderful and
+delightful--the whole affair: that she should have found them because
+of a Lowestoft teapot, that Arkwright should know them, and that there
+should be the chance now that she might help them--in some way; though
+this last, she knew, could be accomplished only through the exercise of
+the greatest tact and delicacy. She had not forgotten that Arkwright had
+told her of their hatred of pity.
+
+In the sober second thought of the morning, Billy was not sure now of a
+possible romance in connection with Arkwright and the daughter, Alice;
+but she had by no means abandoned the idea, and she meant to keep
+her eyes open--and if there should be a chance to bring such a thing
+about--! Meanwhile, of course, she should not mention the matter, even
+to Bertram.
+
+Just what would be her method of procedure this first morning, Billy had
+not determined. The pretty potted azalea in her hand would be excuse for
+her entrance into the room. After that, circumstances must decide for
+themselves.
+
+Mrs. Greggory was found to be alone at home as before, and Billy was
+glad. She would rather begin with one than two, she thought. The little
+woman greeted her cordially, gave misty-eyed thanks for the beautiful
+plant, and also for Billy's kind thoughtfulness Friday afternoon. From
+that she was very skilfully led to talk more of the daughter; and
+soon Billy was getting just the information she wanted--information
+concerning the character, aims, and daily life of Alice Greggory.
+
+“You see, we have some money--a very little,” explained Mrs.
+Greggory, after a time; “though to get it we have had to sell all our
+treasures--but the Lowestoft,” with a quick glance into Billy's
+eyes. “We need not, perhaps, live in quite so poor a place; but we
+prefer--just now--to spend the little money we have for something
+other than imitation comfort--lessons, for instance, and an occasional
+concert. My daughter is studying even while she is teaching. She hopes
+to train herself for an accompanist, and for a teacher. She does not
+aspire to concert solo work. She understands her limitations.”
+
+“But she is probably--very good--at teaching.” Billy hesitated a little.
+
+“She is; very good. She has the best of recommendations.” A little
+proudly Mrs. Greggory gave the names of two Boston pianists--names that
+would carry weight anywhere.
+
+Unconsciously Billy relaxed. She did not know until that moment how
+she had worried for fear she could not, conscientiously, recommend this
+Alice Greggory.
+
+“Of course,” resumed the mother, “Alice's pupils are few, and they pay
+low prices; but she is gaining. She goes to the houses, of course. She
+herself practises two hours a day at a house up on Pinckney Street. She
+gives lessons to a little girl in return.”
+
+“I see,” nodded Billy, brightly; “and I've been thinking, Mrs.
+Greggory--maybe I know of some pupils she could get. I have a friend who
+has just given hers up, owing to her marriage. Sometime, soon, I'm going
+to talk to your daughter, if I may, and--”
+
+“And here she is right now,” interposed Mrs. Greggory, as the door
+opened under a hurried hand.
+
+Billy flushed and bit her lip. She was disturbed and disappointed. She
+did not particularly wish to see Alice Greggory just then. She wished
+even less to see her when she noted the swift change that came to the
+girl's face at sight of herself.
+
+“Oh! Why-good morning, Miss Neilson,” murmured Miss Greggory with a
+smile so forced that her mother hurriedly looked to the azalea in search
+of a possible peacemaker.
+
+“My dear, see,” she stammered, “what Miss Neilson has brought me. And
+it's so full of blossoms, too! And she says it'll remain so for a long,
+long time--if we'll only keep it wet.”
+
+Alice Greggory murmured a low something--a something that she tried,
+evidently, very hard to make politely appropriate and appreciative. Yet
+her manner, as she took off her hat and coat and sat down, so plainly
+said: “You are very kind, of course, but I wish you would keep yourself
+and your plants at home!” that Mrs. Greggory began a hurried apology,
+much as if the words had indeed been spoken.
+
+“My daughter is really ill this morning. You mustn't mind--that is, I'm
+afraid you'll think--you see, she took cold last week; a bad cold--and
+she isn't over it, yet,” finished the little woman in painful
+embarrassment.
+
+“Of course she took cold--standing all those hours in that horrid wind,
+Friday!” cried Billy, indignantly.
+
+A quick red flew to Alice Greggory's face. Billy saw it at once and
+fervently wished she had spoken of anything but that Friday afternoon.
+It looked almost as if she were _reminding_ them of what she had
+done that day. In her confusion, and in her anxiety to say
+something--anything that would get their minds off that idea--she
+uttered now the first words that came into her head. As it happened,
+they were the last words that sober second thought would have told her
+to say.
+
+“Never mind, Mrs. Greggory. We'll have her all well and strong soon;
+never fear! Just wait till I send Peggy and Mary Jane to take her out
+for a drive one of these mild, sunny days. You have no idea how much
+good it will do her!”
+
+Alice Greggory got suddenly to her feet. Her face was very white now.
+Her eyes had the steely coldness that Billy knew so well. Her voice,
+when she spoke, was low and sternly controlled.
+
+“Miss Neilson, you will think me rude, of course, especially after your
+great kindness to me the other day; but I can't help it. It seems to me
+best to speak now before it goes any further.”
+
+“Alice, dear,” remonstrated Mrs. Greggory, extending a frightened hand.
+
+The girl did not turn her head nor hesitate; but she caught the extended
+hand and held it warmly in both her own, with gentle little pats, while
+she went on speaking.
+
+“I'm sure mother agrees with me that it is best, for the present, that
+we keep quite to ourselves. I cannot question your kindness, of course,
+after your somewhat unusual favor the other day; but I am very sure that
+your friends, Miss Peggy, and Miss Mary Jane, have no real desire
+to make my acquaintance, nor--if you'll pardon me--have I, under the
+circumstances, any wish to make theirs.”
+
+“Oh, Alice, Alice,” began the little mother, in dismay; but a rippling
+laugh from their visitor brought an angry flush even to her gentle face.
+
+Billy understood the flush, and struggled for self-control.
+
+“Please--please, forgive me!” she choked. “But you see--you couldn't, of
+course, know that Mary Jane and Peggy aren't _girls_. They're just a man
+and an automobile!”
+
+An unwilling smile trembled on Alice Greggory's lips; but she still
+stood her ground.
+
+“After all, girls, or men and automobiles, Miss Neilson--it makes little
+difference. They're--charity. And it's not so long that we've been
+objects of charity that we quite really enjoy it--yet.”
+
+There was a moment's hush. Billy's eyes had filled with tears.
+
+“I never even _thought_--charity,” said Billy, so gently that a faint
+red stole into the white cheeks opposite.
+
+For a tense minute Alice Greggory held herself erect; then, with a
+complete change of manner and voice, she released her mother's hand,
+dropped into her own chair again, and said wearily:
+
+“I know you didn't, Miss Neilson. It's all my foolish pride, of course.
+It's only that I was thinking how dearly I would love to meet girls
+again--just as _girls!_ But--I no longer have any business with pride,
+of course. I shall be pleased, I'm sure,” she went on dully, “to accept
+anything you may do for us, from automobile rides to--to red flannel
+petticoats.”
+
+Billy almost--but not quite--laughed. Still, the laugh would have been
+near to a sob, had it been given. Surprising as was the quick transition
+in the girl's manner, and absurd as was the juxtaposition of automobiles
+and red flannel petticoats, the white misery of Alice Greggory's face
+and the weary despair of her attitude were tragic--specially to one who
+knew her story as did Billy Neilson. And it was because Billy did
+know her story that she did not make the mistake now of offering pity.
+Instead, she said with a bright smile, and a casual manner that gave no
+hint of studied labor:
+
+“Well, as it happens, Miss Greggory, what I want to-day has nothing
+whatever to do with automobiles or red flannel petticoats. It's a
+matter of straight business.” (How Billy blessed the thought that had
+so suddenly come to her!) “Your mother tells me you play accompaniments.
+Now a girls' club, of which I am a member, is getting up an operetta for
+charity, and we need an accompanist. There is no one in the club who
+is able, and at the same time willing, to spend the amount of time
+necessary for practice and rehearsals. So we had decided to hire one
+outside, and I have been given the task of finding one. It has occurred
+to me that perhaps you would be willing to undertake it for us. Would
+you?”
+
+Billy knew, at once, from the quick change in the other's face and
+manner, that she had taken exactly the right course to relieve the
+strain of the situation. Despair and lassitude fell away from Alice
+Greggory almost like a garment. Her countenance became alert and
+interested.
+
+“Indeed I would! I should be glad to do it.”
+
+“Good! Then can you come out to my home sometime to-morrow, and go over
+the music with me? Rehearsals will not begin until next week; but I can
+give you the music, and tell you something of what we are planning to
+do.”
+
+“Yes. I could come at ten in the morning for an hour, or at three in
+the afternoon for two hours or more,” replied Miss Greggory, after a
+moment's hesitation.
+
+“Suppose we call it in the afternoon, then,” smiled Billy, as she rose
+to her feet. “And now I must go--and here's my address,” she finished,
+taking out her card and laying it on the table near her.
+
+For reasons of her own Billy went away that morning without saying
+anything more about the proposed new pupils. New pupils were not
+automobile rides nor petticoats, to be sure--but she did not care to
+risk disturbing the present interested happiness of Alice Greggory's
+face by mentioning anything that might be construed as too officious an
+assistance.
+
+On the whole, Billy felt well pleased with her morning's work. To Aunt
+Hannah, upon her return, she expressed herself thus:
+
+“It's splendid--even better than I hoped. I shall have a chance
+to-morrow, of course, to see for myself just how well she plays, and all
+that. I'm pretty sure, though, from what I hear, that that part will be
+all right. Then the operetta will give us a chance to see a good deal of
+her, and to bring about a natural meeting between her and Mary Jane. Oh,
+Aunt Hannah, I couldn't have _planned_ it better--and there the whole
+thing just tumbled into my hands! I knew it had the minute I remembered
+about the operetta. You know I'm chairman, and they left me to get the
+accompanist; and like a flash it came to me, when I was wondering _what_
+to say or do to get her out of that awful state she was in--'Ask her to
+be your accompanist.' And I did. And I'm so glad I did! Oh, Aunt Hannah,
+it's coming out lovely!--I know it is.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII. PLANS AND PLOTTINGS
+
+
+To Billy, Alice Greggory's first visit to Hillside was in every way a
+delight and a satisfaction. To Alice, it was even more than that.
+For the first time in years she found herself welcomed into a home of
+wealth, culture, and refinement as an equal; and the frank cordiality
+and naturalness of her hostess's evident expectation of meeting a
+congenial companion was like balm to a sensitive soul rendered morbid by
+long years of superciliousness and snubbing.
+
+No wonder that under the cheery friendliness of it all, Alice Greggory's
+cold reserve vanished, and that in its place came something very like
+her old ease and charm of manner. By the time Aunt Hannah--according to
+previous agreement--came into the room, the two girls were laughing and
+chatting over the operetta as if they had known each other for years.
+
+Much to Billy's delight, Alice Greggory, as a musician, proved to be
+eminently satisfactory. She was quick at sight reading, and accurate.
+She played easily, and with good expression. Particularly was she a
+good accompanist, possessing to a marked degree that happy faculty of
+_accompanying_ a singer: which means that she neither led the way nor
+lagged behind, being always exactly in sympathetic step--than which
+nothing is more soul-satisfying to the singer.
+
+It was after the music for the operetta had been well-practised and
+discussed that Alice Greggory chanced to see one of Billy's own songs
+lying near her. With a pleased smile she picked it up.
+
+“Oh, you know this, too!” she cried. “I played it for a lady only the
+other day. It's so pretty, I think--all of hers are, that I have seen.
+Billy Neilson is a girl, you know, they say, in spite of--” She stopped
+abruptly. Her eyes grew wide and questioning. “Miss Neilson--it can't
+be--you don't mean--is your name--it _is--you!_” she finished joyously,
+as the telltale color dyed Billy's face. The next moment her own cheeks
+burned scarlet. “And to think of my letting _you_ stand in line for a
+twenty-five-cent admission!” she scorned.
+
+“Nonsense!” laughed Billy. “It didn't hurt me any more than it did
+you. Come!”--in looking about for a quick something to take her guest's
+attention, Billy's eyes fell on the manuscript copy of her new song,
+bearing Arkwright's name. Yielding to a daring impulse, she drew it
+hastily forward. “Here's a new one--a brand-new one, not even printed
+yet. Don't you think the words are pretty?” she asked.
+
+As she had hoped, Alice Greggory's eyes, after they had glanced half-way
+through the first page, sought the name at the left side below the
+title.
+
+“'Words by M. J.--'”--there was a visible start, and a pause before the
+“'Arkwright'” was uttered in a slightly different tone.
+
+Billy noted both the start and the pause--and gloried in them.
+
+“Yes; the words are by M. J. Arkwright,” she said with smooth unconcern,
+but with a covert glance at the other's face. “Ever hear of him?”
+
+Alice Greggory gave a short little laugh.
+
+“Probably not--this one. I used to know an M. J. Arkwright, long ago;
+but he wasn't--a poet, so far as I know,” she finished, with a little
+catch in her breath that made Billy long to take her into a warm
+embrace.
+
+Alice Greggory turned then to the music. She had much to say of
+this--very much; but she had nothing more whatever to say of Mr. M. J.
+Arkwright in spite of the tempting conversation bait that Billy dropped
+so freely. After that, Rosa brought in tea and toast, and the little
+frosted cakes that were always such a favorite with Billy's guests. Then
+Alice Greggory said good-by--her eyes full of tears that Billy pretended
+not to see.
+
+“There!” breathed Billy, as soon as she had Aunt Hannah to herself
+again. “What did I tell you? Did you see Miss Greggory's start and blush
+and hear her sigh just over the _name_ of M. J. Arkwright? Just as if--!
+Now I want them to meet; only it must be casual, Aunt Hannah--casual!
+And I'd rather wait till Mary Jane hears from his mother, if possible,
+so if there _is_ anything good to tell the poor girl, he can tell it.”
+
+“Yes, of course. Dear child!--I hope he can,” murmured Aunt Hannah.
+(Aunt Hannah had ceased now trying to make Billy refrain from the
+reprehensible “Mary Jane.” In fact, if the truth were known, Aunt Hannah
+herself in her thoughts--and sometimes in her words--called him “Mary
+Jane.”) “But, indeed, my dear, I didn't see anything stiff, or--or
+repelling about Miss Greggory, as you said there was.”
+
+“There wasn't--to-day,” smiled Billy. “Honestly, Aunt Hannah, I should
+never have known her for the same girl--who showed me the door that
+first morning,” she finished merrily, as she turned to go up-stairs.
+
+It was the next day that Cyril and Marie came home from their honeymoon.
+They went directly to their pretty little apartment on Beacon Street,
+Brookline, within easy walking distance of Billy's own cozy home.
+
+Cyril intended to build in a year or two. Meanwhile they had a very
+pretty, convenient home which was, according to Bertram, “electrified
+to within an inch of its life, and equipped with everything that
+was fireless, smokeless, dustless, and laborless.” In it Marie had a
+spotlessly white kitchen where she might make puddings to her heart's
+content.
+
+Marie had--again according to Bertram--“a visiting acquaintance with a
+maid.” In other words, a stout woman was engaged to come two days in the
+week to wash, iron, and scrub; also to come in each night to wash the
+dinner dishes, thus leaving Marie's evenings free--“for the shaded
+lamp,” Billy said.
+
+Marie had not arrived at this--to her, delightful--arrangement of a
+“visiting acquaintance” without some opposition from her friends. Even
+Billy had stood somewhat aghast.
+
+“But, my dear, won't it be hard for you, to do so much?” she argued one
+day. “You know you aren't very strong.”
+
+“I know; but it won't be hard, as I've planned it,” replied Marie,
+“specially when I've been longing for years to do this very thing. Why,
+Billy, if I had to stand by and watch a maid do all these things I
+want to do myself, I should feel just like--like a hungry man who sees
+another man eating up his dinner! Oh, of course,” she added plaintively,
+after Billy's laughter had subsided, “I sha'n't do it always. I don't
+expect to. Of course, when we have a house--I'm not sure, then, though,
+that I sha'n't dress up the maid and order her to receive the calls and
+go to the pink teas, while I make her puddings,” she finished saucily,
+as Billy began to laugh again.
+
+The bride and groom, as was proper, were, soon after their arrival,
+invited to dine at both William's and Billy's. Then, until Marie's “At
+Homes” should begin, the devoted couple settled down to quiet days
+by themselves, with only occasional visits from the family to
+interrupt--“interrupt” was Bertram's word, not Marie's. Though it is
+safe to say it was not far different from the one Cyril used--in his
+thoughts.
+
+Bertram himself, these days, was more than busy. Besides working on
+Miss Winthrop's portrait, and on two or three other commissions, he was
+putting the finishing touches to four pictures which he was to show in
+the exhibition soon to be held by a prominent Art Club of which he was
+the acknowledged “star” member. Naturally, therefore, his time was
+well occupied. Naturally, too, Billy, knowing this, lashed herself more
+sternly than ever into a daily reminder of Kate's assertion that he
+belonged first to his Art.
+
+In pursuance of this idea, Billy was careful to see that no engagement
+with herself should in any way interfere with the artist's work, and
+that no word of hers should attempt to keep him at her side when ART
+called. (Billy always spelled that word now in her mind with tall, black
+letters--the way it had sounded when it fell from Kate's lips.) That
+these tactics on her part were beginning to fill her lover with vague
+alarm and a very definite unrest, she did not once suspect. Eagerly,
+therefore,--even with conscientious delight--she welcomed the new
+song-words that Arkwright brought--they would give her something else
+to take up her time and attention. She welcomed them, also, for another
+reason: they would bring Arkwright more often to the house, and this
+would, of course, lead to that “casual meeting” between him and Alice
+Greggory when the rehearsals for the operetta should commence--which
+would be very soon now. And Billy did so long to bring about that
+meeting!
+
+To Billy, all this was but “occupying her mind,” and playing Cupid's
+assistant to a worthy young couple torn cruelly apart by an unfeeling
+fate. To Bertram--to Bertram it was terror, and woe, and all manner of
+torture; for in it Bertram saw only a growing fondness on the part
+of Billy for Arkwright, Arkwright's music, Arkwright's words, and
+Arkwright's friends.
+
+The first rehearsal for the operetta came on Wednesday evening. There
+would be another on Thursday afternoon. Billy had told Alice Greggory to
+arrange her pupils so that she could stay Wednesday night at Hillside,
+if the crippled mother could get along alone--and she could, Alice
+had said. Thursday forenoon, therefore, Alice Greggory would, in all
+probability, be at Hillside, specially as there would doubtless be an
+appointment or two for private rehearsal with some nervous soloist whose
+part was not progressing well. Such being the case, Billy had a plan
+she meant to carry out. She was highly pleased, therefore, when Thursday
+morning came, and everything, apparently, was working exactly to her
+mind.
+
+Alice was there. She had an appointment at quarter of eleven with
+the leading tenor, and another later with the alto. After breakfast,
+therefore, Billy said decisively:
+
+“Now, if you please, Miss Greggory, I'm going to put you up-stairs on
+the couch in the sewing-room for a nap.”
+
+“But I've just got up,” remonstrated Miss Greggory.
+
+“I know you have,” smiled Billy; “but you were very late to bed last
+night, and you've got a hard day before you. I insist upon your resting.
+You will be absolutely undisturbed there, and you must shut the door
+and not come down-stairs till I send for you. Mr. Johnson isn't due till
+quarter of eleven, is he?”
+
+“N-no.”
+
+“Then come with me,” directed Billy, leading the way up-stairs. “There,
+now, don't come down till I call you,” she went on, when they had
+reached the little room at the end of the hall. “I'm going to leave Aunt
+Hannah's door open, so you'll have good air--she isn't in there. She's
+writing letters in my room, Now here's a book, and you _may_ read, but
+I should prefer you to sleep,” she nodded brightly as she went out and
+shut the door quietly. Then, like the guilty conspirator she was, she
+went down-stairs to wait for Arkwright.
+
+It was a fine plan. Arkwright was due at ten o'clock--Billy had
+specially asked him to come at that hour. He would not know, of course,
+that Alice Greggory was in the house; but soon after his arrival Billy
+meant to excuse herself for a moment, slip up-stairs and send Alice
+Greggory down for a book, a pair of scissors, a shawl for Aunt
+Hannah--anything would do for a pretext, anything so that the girl might
+walk into the living-room and find Arkwright waiting for her alone.
+And then--What happened next was, in Billy's mind, very vague, but very
+attractive as a nucleus for one's thoughts, nevertheless.
+
+All this was, indeed, a fine plan; but--(If only fine plans would not so
+often have a “but”!) In Billy's case the “but” had to do with things
+so apparently unrelated as were Aunt Hannah's clock and a negro's coal
+wagon. The clock struck eleven at half-past ten, and the wagon dumped
+itself to destruction directly in front of a trolley car in which sat
+Mr. M. J. Arkwright, hurrying to keep his appointment with Miss Billy
+Neilson. It was almost half-past ten when Arkwright finally rang the
+bell at Hillside. Billy greeted him so eagerly, and at the same time
+with such evident disappointment at his late arrival, that Arkwright's
+heart sang with joy.
+
+“But there's a rehearsal at quarter of eleven,” exclaimed Billy, in
+answer to his hurried explanation of the delay; “and this gives so
+little time for--for--so little time, you know,” she finished in
+confusion, casting frantically about in her mind for an excuse to hurry
+up-stairs and send Alice Greggory down before it should be quite too
+late.
+
+No wonder that Arkwright, noting the sparkle in her eye, the agitation
+in her manner, and the embarrassed red in her cheek, took new courage.
+For so long had this girl held him at the end of a major third or a
+diminished seventh; for so long had she blithely accepted his every word
+and act as devotion to music, not herself--for so long had she done all
+this that he had come to fear that never would she do anything else. No
+wonder then, that now, in the soft radiance of the strange, new light on
+her face, his own face glowed ardently, and that he leaned forward with
+an impetuous rush of eager words.
+
+“But there is time, Miss Billy--if you'd give me leave--to say--”
+
+“I'm afraid I kept you waiting,” interrupted the hurried voice of Alice
+Greggory from the hall doorway. “I was asleep, I think, when a clock
+somewhere, striking eleven--Why, Mr.--Arkwright!”
+
+Not until Alice Greggory had nearly crossed the room did she see that
+the man standing by her hostess was--not the tenor she had expected
+to find--but an old acquaintance. Then it was that the tremulous
+“Mr.-Arkwright!” fell from her lips.
+
+Billy and Arkwright had turned at her first words. At her last,
+Arkwright, with a half-despairing, half-reproachful glance at Billy,
+stepped forward.
+
+“Miss Greggory!--you _are_ Miss Alice Greggory, I am sure,” he said
+pleasantly.
+
+At the first opportunity Billy murmured a hasty excuse and left the
+room. To Aunt Hannah she flew with a woebegone face.
+
+“Oh, Aunt Hannah, Aunt Hannah,” she wailed, half laughing, half crying;
+“that wretched little fib-teller of a clock of yours spoiled it all!”
+
+“Spoiled it! Spoiled what, child?”
+
+“My first meeting between Mary Jane and Miss Greggory. I had it all
+arranged that they were to have it _alone_; but that miserable little
+fibber up-stairs struck eleven at half-past ten, and Miss Greggory heard
+it and thought she was fifteen minutes late. So down she hurried, half
+awake, and spoiled all my plans. Now she's sitting in there with him, in
+chairs the length of the room apart, discussing the snowstorm last night
+or the moonrise this morning--or some other such silly thing. And I had
+it so beautifully planned!”
+
+“Well, well, dear, I'm sorry, I'm sure,” smiled Aunt Hannah; “but I
+can't think any real harm is done. Did Mary Jane have anything to tell
+her--about her father, I mean?”
+
+Only the faintest flicker of Billy's eyelid testified that the everyday
+accustomedness of that “Mary Jane” on Aunt Hannah's lips had not escaped
+her.
+
+“No, nothing definite. Yet there was a little. Friends are still trying
+to clear his name, and I believe are meeting with increasing success.
+I don't know, of course, whether he'll say anything about it
+to-day--_now_. To think I had to be right round under foot like that
+when they met!” went on Billy, indignantly. “I shouldn't have been, in a
+minute more, though. I was just trying to think up an excuse to come
+up and send down Miss Greggory, when Mary Jane began to tell me
+something--I haven't the faintest idea what--then _she_ appeared, and it
+was all over. And there's the doorbell, and the tenor, I suppose; so of
+course it's all over now,” she sighed, rising to go down-stairs.
+
+As it chanced, however, it was not the tenor, but a message from him--a
+message that brought dire consternation to the Chairman of the Committee
+of Arrangements. The tenor had thrown up his part. He could not take it;
+it was too difficult. He felt that this should be told--at once rather
+than to worry along for another week or two, and then give up. So he had
+told it.
+
+“But what shall we do, Miss Greggory?” appealed Billy. “It _is_ a hard
+part, you know; but if Mr. Tobey can't take it, I don't know who can. We
+don't want to hire a singer for it, if we can help it. The profits
+are to go to the Home for Crippled Children, you know,” she explained,
+turning to Arkwright, “and we decided to hire only the accompanist.”
+
+An odd expression flitted across Miss Greggory's face.
+
+“Mr. Arkwright used to sing--tenor,” she observed quietly.
+
+“As if he didn't now--a perfectly glorious tenor,” retorted Billy. “But
+as if _he_ would take _this!_”
+
+For only a brief moment did Arkwright hesitate; then blandly he
+suggested:
+
+“Suppose you try him, and see.”
+
+Billy sat suddenly erect.
+
+“Would you, really? _Could_ you--take the time, and all?” she cried.
+
+“Yes, I think I would--under the circumstances,” he smiled. “I think
+I could, too, though I might not be able to attend all the rehearsals.
+Still, if I find I have to ask permission, I'll endeavor to convince
+the powers-that-be that singing in this operetta will be just the
+stepping-stone I need to success in Grand Opera.”
+
+“Oh, if you only would take it,” breathed Billy, “we'd be so glad!”
+
+“Well,” said Arkwright, his eyes on Billy's frankly delighted face, “as
+I said before--under the circumstances I think I would.”
+
+“Thank you! Then it's all beautifully settled,” rejoiced Billy, with a
+happy sigh; and unconsciously she gave Alice Greggory's hand near her a
+little pat.
+
+In Billy's mind the “circumstances” of Arkwright's acceptance of the
+part were Alice Greggory and her position as accompanist, of course.
+Billy would have been surprised indeed--and dismayed--had she known that
+in Arkwright's mind the “circumstances” were herself, and the fact that
+she, too, had a part in the operetta, necessitating her presence at
+rehearsals, and hinting at a delightful comradeship impossible, perhaps,
+otherwise.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII. THE CAUSE AND BERTRAM
+
+
+February came The operetta, for which Billy was working so hard, was
+to be given the twentieth. The Art Exhibition, for which Bertram was
+preparing his four pictures, was to open the sixteenth, with a private
+view for specially invited friends the evening before.
+
+On the eleventh day of February Mrs. Greggory and her daughter arrived
+at Hillside for a ten-days' visit. Not until after a great deal of
+pleading and argument, however, had Billy been able to bring this about.
+
+“But, my dears, both of you,” Billy had at last said to them; “just
+listen. We shall have numberless rehearsals during those last ten
+days before the thing comes off. They will be at all hours, and of all
+lengths. You, Miss Greggory, will have to be on hand for them all, of
+course, and will have to stay all night several times, probably. You,
+Mrs. Greggory, ought not to be alone down here. There is no sensible,
+valid reason why you should not both come out to the house for those ten
+days; and I shall feel seriously hurt and offended if you do not consent
+to do it.”
+
+“But--my pupils,” Alice Greggory had demurred.
+
+“You can go in town from my home at any time to give your lessons, and
+a little shifting about and arranging for those ten days will enable you
+to set the hours conveniently one after another, I am sure, so you can
+attend to several on one trip. Meanwhile your mother will be having a
+lovely time teaching Aunt Hannah how to knit a new shawl; so you won't
+have to be worrying about her.”
+
+After all, it had been the great good and pleasure which the visit would
+bring to Mrs. Greggory that had been the final straw to tip the scales.
+On the eleventh of February, therefore, in the company of the once
+scorned “Peggy and Mary Jane,” Alice Greggory and her mother had arrived
+at Hillside.
+
+Ever since the first meeting of Alice Greggory and Arkwright, Billy had
+been sorely troubled by the conduct of the two young people. She had,
+as she mournfully told herself, been able to make nothing of it. The two
+were civility itself to each other, but very plainly they were not at
+ease in each other's company; and Billy, much to her surprise, had to
+admit that Arkwright did not appear to appreciate the “circumstances”
+ now that he had them. The pair called each other, ceremoniously, “Mr.
+Arkwright,” and “Miss Greggory”--but then, that, of course, did not
+“signify,” Billy declared to herself.
+
+“I suppose you don't ever call him 'Mary Jane,'” she said to the girl, a
+little mischievously, one day.
+
+“'Mary Jane'? Mr. Arkwright? No, I don't,” rejoined Miss Greggory, with
+an odd smile. Then, after a moment, she added: “I believe his brothers
+and sisters used to, however.”
+
+“Yes, I know,” laughed Billy. “We thought he was a real Mary Jane,
+once.” And she told the story of his arrival. “So you see,” she
+finished, when Alice Greggory had done laughing over the tale, “he
+always will be 'Mary Jane' to us. By the way, what is his name?”
+
+Miss Greggory looked up in surprise.
+
+“Why, it's--” She stopped short, her eyes questioning. “Why, hasn't he
+ever told you?” she queried.
+
+Billy lifted her chin.
+
+“No. He told us to guess it, and we have guessed everything we can think
+of, even up to 'Methuselah John'; but he says we haven't hit it yet.”
+
+“'Methuselah John,' indeed!” laughed the other, merrily.
+
+“Well, I'm sure that's a nice, solid name,” defended Billy, her chin
+still at a challenging tilt. “If it isn't 'Methuselah John,' what is it,
+then?”
+
+But Alice Greggory shook her head. She, too, it seemed, could be firm,
+on occasion. And though she smiled brightly, all she would say, was:
+
+“If he hasn't told you, I sha'n't. You'll have to go to him.”
+
+“Oh, well, I can still call him 'Mary Jane,'” retorted Billy, with airy
+disdain.
+
+All this, however, so far as Billy could see, was not in the least
+helping along the cause that had become so dear to her--the reuniting of
+a pair of lovers. It occurred to her then, one day, that perhaps, after
+all, they were not lovers, and did not wish to be reunited. At
+this disquieting thought Billy decided, suddenly, to go almost to
+headquarters. She would speak to Mrs. Greggory if ever the opportunity
+offered. Great was her joy, therefore, when, a day or two after the
+Greggorys arrived at the house, Mrs. Greggory's chance reference to
+Arkwright and her daughter gave Billy the opportunity she sought.
+
+“They used to know each other long ago, Mr. Arkwright tells me,” Billy
+began warily.
+
+“Yes.”
+
+The quietly polite monosyllable was not very encouraging, to be sure;
+but Billy, secure in her conviction that her cause was a righteous one,
+refused to be daunted.
+
+“I think it was so romantic--their running across each other like this,
+Mrs. Greggory,” she murmured. “And there _was_ a romance, wasn't there?
+I have just felt in my bones that there was--a romance!”
+
+Billy held her breath. It was what she had meant to say, but now that
+she had said it, the words seemed very fearsome indeed--to say to Mrs.
+Greggory. Then Billy remembered her Cause, and took heart--Billy was
+spelling it now with a capital C.
+
+For a long minute Mrs. Greggory did not answer--for so long a minute
+that Billy's breath dropped into a fluttering sigh, and her Cause became
+suddenly “IMPERTINENCE” spelled in black capitals. Then Mrs. Greggory
+spoke slowly, a little sadly.
+
+“I don't mind saying to you that I did hope, once, that there would be a
+romance there. They were the best of friends, and they were well-suited
+to each other in tastes and temperament. I think, indeed, that the
+romance was well under way (though there was never an engagement)
+when--” Mrs. Greggory paused and wet her lips. Her voice, when she
+resumed, carried the stern note so familiar to Billy in her first
+acquaintance with this woman and her daughter. “As I presume
+Mr. Arkwright has told you, we have met with many changes in our
+life--changes which necessitated a new home and a new mode of
+living. Naturally, under those circumstances, old friends--and old
+romances--must change, too.”
+
+“But, Mrs. Greggory,” stammered Billy, “I'm sure Mr. Arkwright would
+want--” An up-lifted hand silenced her peremptorily.
+
+“Mr. Arkwright was very kind, and a gentleman, always,” interposed the
+lady, coldly; “but Judge Greggory's daughter would not allow herself
+to be placed where apologies for her father would be necessary--_ever!_
+There, please, dear Miss Neilson, let us not talk of it any more,”
+ begged Mrs. Greggory, brokenly.
+
+“No, indeed, of course not!” cried Billy; but her heart rejoiced.
+
+She understood it all now. Arkwright and Alice Greggory had been almost
+lovers when the charges against the Judge's honor had plunged the family
+into despairing humiliation. Then had come the time when, according
+to Arkwright's own story, the two women had shut themselves indoors,
+refused to see their friends, and left town as soon as possible. Thus
+had come the breaking of whatever tie there was between Alice Greggory
+and Arkwright. Not to have broken it would have meant, for Alice, the
+placing of herself in a position where, sometime, apologies must be made
+for her father. This was what Mrs. Greggory had meant--and again, as
+Billy thought of it, Billy's heart rejoiced.
+
+Was not her way clear now before her? Did she not have it in her power,
+possibly--even probably--to bring happiness where only sadness was
+before? As if it would not be a simple thing to rekindle the old
+flame--to make these two estranged hearts beat as one again!
+
+Not now was the Cause an IMPERTINENCE in tall black letters. It was,
+instead, a shining beacon in letters of flame guiding straight to
+victory.
+
+Billy went to sleep that night making plans for Alice Greggory and
+Arkwright to be thrown together naturally--“just as a matter of course,
+you know,” she said drowsily to herself, all in the dark.
+
+Some three or four miles away down Beacon Street at that moment Bertram
+Henshaw, in the Strata, was, as it happened, not falling asleep. He was
+lying broadly and unhappily awake Bertram very frequently lay broadly
+and unhappily awake these days--or rather nights. He told himself, on
+these occasions, that it was perfectly natural--indeed it was!--that
+Billy should be with Arkwright and his friends, the Greggorys, so much.
+There were the new songs, and the operetta with its rehearsals as a
+cause for it all. At the same time, deep within his fearful soul was the
+consciousness that Arkwright, the Greggorys, and the operetta were but
+Music--Music, the spectre that from the first had dogged his footsteps.
+
+With Billy's behavior toward himself, Bertram could find no fault. She
+was always her sweet, loyal, lovable self, eager to hear of his work,
+earnestly solicitous that it should be a success. She even--as he
+sometimes half-irritably remembered--had once told him that she realized
+he belonged to Art before he did to himself; and when he had indignantly
+denied this, she had only laughed and thrown a kiss at him, with the
+remark that he ought to hear his sister Kate's opinion of that matter.
+As if he wanted Kate's opinion on that or anything else that concerned
+him and Billy!
+
+Once, torn by jealousy, and exasperated at the frequent interruptions of
+their quiet hours together, he had complained openly.
+
+“Actually, Billy, it's worse than Marie's wedding,” he declared, “_Then_
+it was tablecloths and napkins that could be dumped in a chair. _Now_
+it's a girl who wants to rehearse, or a woman that wants a different
+wig, or a telephone message that the sopranos have quarrelled again. I
+loathe that operetta!”
+
+Billy laughed, but she frowned, too.
+
+“I know, dear; I don't like that part. I wish they _would_ let me alone
+when I'm with you! But as for the operetta, it is really a good thing,
+dear, and you'll say so when you see it. It's going to be a great
+success--I can say that because my part is only a small one, you know.
+We shall make lots of money for the Home, too, I'm sure.”
+
+“But you're wearing yourself all out with it, dear,” scowled Bertram.
+
+“Nonsense! I like it; besides, when I'm doing this I'm not telephoning
+you to come and amuse me. Just think what a lot of extra time you have
+for your work!”
+
+“Don't want it,” avowed Bertram.
+
+“But the _work_ may,” retorted Billy, showing all her dimples. “Never
+mind, though; it'll all be over after the twentieth. _This_ isn't an
+understudy like Marie's wedding, you know,” she finished demurely.
+
+“Thank heaven for that!” Bertram had breathed fervently. But even as he
+said the words he grew sick with fear. What if, after all, this _were_
+an understudy to what was to come later when Music, his rival, had
+really conquered?
+
+Bertram knew that however secure might seem Billy's affection for
+himself, there was still in his own mind a horrid fear lest underneath
+that security were an unconscious, growing fondness for something he
+could not give, for some one that he was not--a fondness that would one
+day cause Billy to awake. As Bertram, in his morbid fancy pictured it,
+he realized only too well what that awakening would mean to himself.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV. THE ARTIST AND HIS ART
+
+
+The private view of the paintings and drawings of the Brush and Pencil
+Club on the evening of the fifteenth was a great success. Society sent
+its fairest women in frocks that were pictures in themselves. Art
+sent its severest critics and its most ardent devotees. The Press sent
+reporters that the World might know what Art and Society were doing, and
+how they did it.
+
+Before the canvases signed with Bertram Henshaw's name there was always
+to be found an admiring group representing both Art and Society with
+the Press on the outskirts to report. William Henshaw, coming unobserved
+upon one such group, paused a moment to smile at the various more or
+less disconnected comments.
+
+“What a lovely blue!”
+
+“Marvellous color sense!”
+
+“Now those shadows are--”
+
+“He gets his high lights so--”
+
+“I declare, she looks just like Blanche Payton!”
+
+“Every line there is full of meaning.”
+
+“I suppose it's very fine, but--”
+
+“Now, I say, Henshaw is--”
+
+“Is this by the man that's painting Margy Winthrop's portrait?”
+
+“It's idealism, man, idealism!”
+
+“I'm going to have a dress just that shade of blue.”
+
+“Isn't that just too sweet!”
+
+“Now for realism, I consider Henshaw--”
+
+“There aren't many with his sensitive, brilliant touch.”
+
+“Oh, what a pretty picture!”
+
+William moved on then.
+
+Billy was rapturously proud of Bertram that evening. He was, of course,
+the centre of congratulations and hearty praise. At his side, Billy,
+with sparkling eyes, welcomed each smiling congratulation and gloried in
+every commendatory word she heard.
+
+“Oh, Bertram, isn't it splendid! I'm so proud of you,” she whispered
+softly, when a moment's lull gave her opportunity.
+
+“They're all words, words, idle words,” he laughed; but his eyes shone.
+
+“Just as if they weren't all true!” she bridled, turning to greet
+William, who came up at that moment. “Isn't it fine, Uncle William?” she
+beamed. “And aren't we proud of him?”
+
+“We are, indeed,” smiled the man. “But if you and Bertram want to get
+the real opinion of this crowd, you should go and stand near one of his
+pictures five minutes. As a sort of crazy--quilt criticism it can't be
+beat.”
+
+“I know,” laughed Bertram. “I've done it, in days long gone.”
+
+“Bertram, not really?” cried Billy.
+
+“Sure! As if every young artist at the first didn't don goggles or a
+false mustache and study the pictures on either side of his own till he
+could paint them with his eyes shut!”
+
+“And what did you hear?” demanded the girl.
+
+“What didn't I hear?” laughed her lover. “But I didn't do it but once
+or twice. I lost my head one day and began to argue the question of
+perspective with a couple of old codgers who were criticizing a bit of
+foreshortening that was my special pet. I forgot my goggles and sailed
+in. The game was up then, of course; and I never put them on again. But
+it was worth a farm to see their faces when I stood 'discovered' as the
+stage-folk say.”
+
+“Serves you right, sir--listening like that,” scolded Billy.
+
+Bertram laughed and shrugged his shoulders.
+
+“Well, it cured me, anyhow. I haven't done it since,” he declared.
+
+It was some time later, on the way home, that Bertram said:
+
+“It was gratifying, of course, Billy, and I liked it. It would be absurd
+to say I didn't like the many pleasant words of apparently sincere
+appreciation I heard to-night. But I couldn't help thinking of the next
+time--always the next time.”
+
+“The next time?” Billy's eyes were slightly puzzled.
+
+“That I exhibit, I mean. The Bohemian Ten hold their exhibition next
+month, you know. I shall show just one picture--the portrait of Miss
+Winthrop.”
+
+“Oh, Bertram!”
+
+“It'll be 'Oh, Bertram!' then, dear, if it isn't a success,” he sighed.
+“I don't believe you realize yet what that thing is going to mean for
+me.”
+
+“Well, I should think I might,” retorted Billy, a little tremulously,
+“after all I've heard about it. I should think _everybody_ knew you were
+doing it, Bertram. Actually, I'm not sure Marie's scrub-lady won't ask
+me some day how Mr. Bertram's picture is coming on!”
+
+“That's the dickens of it, in a way,” sighed Bertram, with a faint
+smile. “I am amazed--and a little frightened, I'll admit--at the
+universality of the interest. You see, the Winthrops have been pleased
+to spread it, for one reason or another, and of course many already know
+of the failures of Anderson and Fullam. That's why, if I should fail--”
+
+“But you aren't going to fail,” interposed the girl, resolutely.
+
+“No, I know I'm not. I only said 'if,'” fenced the man, his voice not
+quite steady.
+
+“There isn't going to be any 'if,'” settled Billy. “Now tell me, when is
+the exhibition?”
+
+“March twentieth--the private view. Mr. Winthrop is not only willing,
+but anxious, that I show it. I wasn't sure that he'd want me to--in
+an exhibition. But it seems he does. His daughter says he has every
+confidence in the portrait and wants everybody to see it.”
+
+“That's where he shows his good sense,” declared Billy. Then, with
+just a touch of constraint, she asked: “And how is the new, latest pose
+coming on?”
+
+“Very well, I think,” answered Bertram, a little hesitatingly. “We've
+had so many, many interruptions, though, that it is surprising how slow
+it is moving. In the first place, Miss Winthrop is gone more than half
+the time (she goes again to-morrow for a week!), and in this portrait
+I'm not painting a stroke without my model before me. I mean to take no
+chances, you see; and Miss Winthrop is perfectly willing to give me all
+the sittings I wish for. Of course, if she hadn't changed the pose and
+costume so many times, it would have been done long ago--and she knows
+it.”
+
+“Of course--she knows it,” murmured Billy, a little faintly, but with a
+peculiar intonation in her voice.
+
+“And so you see,” sighed Bertram, “what the twentieth of March is going
+to mean for me.”
+
+“It's going to mean a splendid triumph!” asserted Billy; and this time
+her voice was not faint, and it carried only a ring of loyal confidence.
+
+“You blessed comforter!” murmured Bertram, giving with his eyes the
+caress that his lips would so much have preferred to give--under more
+propitious circumstances.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV. THE OPERETTA
+
+
+The sixteenth, seventeenth, and eighteenth of February were, for Billy,
+and for all concerned in the success of the operetta, days of hurry,
+worry, and feverish excitement, as was to be expected, of course. Each
+afternoon and every evening saw rehearsals in whole, or in parts. A
+friend of the Club-president's sister-in-law-a woman whose husband was
+stage manager of a Boston theatre--had consented to come and “coach”
+ the performers. At her appearance the performers--promptly thrown into
+nervous spasms by this fearsome nearness to the “real thing”--forgot
+half their cues, and conducted themselves generally like frightened
+school children on “piece day,” much to their own and every one else's
+despair. Then, on the evening of the nineteenth, came the final dress
+rehearsal on the stage of the pretty little hall that had been engaged
+for the performance of the operetta.
+
+The dress rehearsal, like most of its kind, was, for every one, nothing
+but a nightmare of discord, discouragement, and disaster. Everybody's
+nerves were on edge, everybody was sure the thing would be a “flat
+failure.” The soprano sang off the key, the alto forgot to shriek
+“Beware, beware!” until it was so late there was nothing to beware of;
+the basso stepped on Billy's trailing frock and tore it; even the tenor,
+Arkwright himself, seemed to have lost every bit of vim from his acting.
+The chorus sang “Oh, be joyful!” with dirge-like solemnity, and danced
+as if legs and feet were made of wood. The lovers, after the fashion of
+amateur actors from time immemorial, “made love like sticks.”
+
+Billy, when the dismal thing had dragged its way through the final
+note, sat “down front,” crying softly in the semi-darkness while she
+was waiting for Alice Greggory to “run it through just once more” with a
+pair of tired-faced, fluffy-skirted fairies who could _not_ learn that a
+duet meant a _duet_--not two solos, independently hurried or retarded as
+one's fancy for the moment dictated.
+
+To Billy, just then, life did not look to be even half worth the living.
+Her head ached, her throat was going-to-be-sore, her shoe hurt, and her
+dress--the trailing frock that had been under the basso's foot--could
+not possibly be decently repaired before to-morrow night, she was sure.
+
+Bad as these things were, however, they were only the intimate,
+immediate woes. Beyond and around them lay others many others. To be
+sure, Bertram and happiness were supposed to be somewhere in the dim
+and uncertain future; but between her and them lay all these other woes,
+chief of which was the unutterable tragedy of to-morrow night.
+
+It was to be a failure, of course. Billy had calmly made up her mind to
+that, now. But then, she was used to failures, she told herself. Was she
+not plainly failing every day of her life to bring about even friendship
+between Alice Greggory and Arkwright? Did they not emphatically and
+systematically refuse to be “thrown together,” either naturally, or
+unnaturally? And yet--whenever again could she expect such opportunities
+to further her Cause as had been hers the past few weeks, through the
+operetta and its rehearsals? Certainly, never again! It had been a
+failure like all the rest; like the operetta, in particular.
+
+Billy did not mean that any one should know she was crying. She supposed
+that all the performers except herself and the two earth-bound fairies
+by the piano with Alice Greggory were gone. She knew that John with
+Peggy was probably waiting at the door outside, and she hoped that soon
+the fairies would decide to go home and go to bed, and let other people
+do the same. For her part, she did not see why they were struggling so
+hard, anyway. Why needn't they go ahead and sing their duet like two
+solos if they wanted to? As if a little thing like that could make a
+feather's weight of difference in the grand total of to-morrow night's
+wretchedness when the final curtain should have been rung down on their
+shame!
+
+“Miss Neilson, you aren't--crying!” exclaimed a low voice; and Billy
+turned to find Arkwright standing by her side in the dim light.
+
+“Oh, no--yes--well, maybe I was, a little,” stammered Billy, trying to
+speak very unconcernedly. “How warm it is in here! Do you think it's
+going to rain?--that is, outdoors, of course, I mean.”
+
+Arkwright dropped into the seat behind Billy and leaned forward, his
+eyes striving to read the girl's half-averted face. If Billy had turned,
+she would have seen that Arkwright's own face showed white and a little
+drawn-looking in the feeble rays from the light by the piano. But
+Billy did not turn. She kept her eyes steadily averted; and she went on
+speaking--airy, inconsequential words.
+
+“Dear me, if those girls _would_ only pull together! But then, what's
+the difference? I supposed you had gone home long ago, Mr. Arkwright.”
+
+“Miss Neilson, you _are_ crying!” Arkwright's voice was low and
+vibrant. “As if anything or anybody in the world _could_ make _you_ cry!
+Please--you have only to command me, and I will sally forth at once to
+slay the offender.” His words were light, but his voice still shook with
+emotion.
+
+Billy gave an hysterical little giggle. Angrily she brushed the
+persistent tears from her eyes.
+
+“All right, then; I'll dub you my Sir Knight,” she faltered. “But I'll
+warn you--you'll have your hands full. You'll have to slay my headache,
+and my throat-ache, and my shoe that hurts, and the man who stepped on
+my dress, and--and everybody in the operetta, including myself.”
+
+“Everybody--in the operetta!” Arkwright did look a little startled, at
+this wholesale slaughter.
+
+“Yes. Did you ever see such an awful, awful thing as that was to-night?”
+ moaned the girl.
+
+Arkwright's face relaxed.
+
+“Oh, so _that's_ what it is!” he laughed lightly. “Then it's only a bogy
+of fear that I've got to slay, after all; and I'll despatch that right
+now with a single blow. Dress rehearsals always go like that to-night.
+I've been in a dozen, and I never yet saw one go half decent. Don't you
+worry. The worse the rehearsal, the better the performance, every time!”
+
+Billy blinked off the tears and essayed a smile as she retorted:
+
+“Well, if that's so, then ours to-morrow night ought to be a--a--”
+
+“A corker,” helped out Arkwright, promptly; “and it will be, too. You
+poor child, you're worn out; and no wonder! But don't worry another
+bit about the operetta. Now is there anything else I can do for you?
+Anything else I can slay?”
+
+Billy laughed tremulously.
+
+“N-no, thank you; not that you can--slay, I fancy,” she sighed.
+“That is--not that you _will_,” she amended wistfully, with a sudden
+remembrance of the Cause, for which he might do so much--if he only
+would.
+
+Arkwright bent a little nearer. His breath stirred the loose, curling
+hair behind Billy's ear. His eyes had flashed into sudden fire.
+
+“But you don't know what I'd do if I could,” he murmured unsteadily. “If
+you'd let me tell you--if you only knew the wish that has lain closest
+to my heart for--”
+
+“Miss Neilson, please,” called the despairing voice of one of the
+earth-bound fairies; “Miss Neilson, you _are_ there, aren't you?”
+
+“Yes, I'm right here,” answered Billy, wearily. Arkwright answered, too,
+but not aloud--which was wise.
+
+“Oh dear! you're tired, I know,” wailed the fairy, “but if you would
+please come and help us just a minute! Could you?”
+
+“Why, yes, of course.” Billy rose to her feet, still wearily.
+
+Arkwright touched her arm. She turned and saw his face. It was very
+white--so white that her eyes widened in surprised questioning.
+
+As if answering the unspoken words, the man shook his head.
+
+“I can't, now, of course,” he said. “But there _is_ something I want to
+say--a story I want to tell you--after to-morrow, perhaps. May I?”
+
+To Billy, the tremor of his voice, the suffering in his eyes, and the
+“story” he was begging to tell could have but one interpretation: Alice
+Greggory. Her face, therefore, was a glory of tender sympathy as she
+reached out her hand in farewell.
+
+“Of course you may,” she cried. “Come any time after to-morrow night,
+please,” she smiled encouragingly, as she turned toward the stage.
+
+Behind her, Arkwright stumbled twice as he walked up the incline toward
+the outer door--stumbled, not because of the semi-darkness of the little
+theatre, but because of the blinding radiance of a girl's illumined face
+which he had, a moment before, read all unknowingly exactly wrong.
+
+
+A little more than twenty-four hours later, Billy Neilson, in her own
+room, drew a long breath of relief. It was twelve o'clock on the night
+of the twentieth, and the operetta was over.
+
+To Billy, life was eminently worth living to-night. Her head did not
+ache, her throat was not sore, her shoe did not hurt, her dress had
+been mended so successfully by Aunt Hannah, and with such comforting
+celerity, that long before night one would never have suspected the
+filmy thing had known the devastating tread of any man's foot. Better
+yet, the soprano had sung exactly to key, the alto had shrieked
+“Beware!” to thrilling purpose, Arkwright had shown all his old charm
+and vim, and the chorus had been prodigies of joyousness and marvels
+of lightness. Even the lovers had lost their stiffness, while the two
+earth-bound fairies of the night before had found so amiable a meeting
+point that their solos sounded, to the uninitiated, very like, indeed,
+a duet. The operetta was, in short, a glorious and gratifying success,
+both artistically and financially. Nor was this all that, to Billy, made
+life worth the living: Arkwright had begged permission that evening to
+come up the following afternoon to tell her his “story”; and Billy, who
+was so joyously confident that this story meant the final crowning of
+her Cause with victory, had given happy consent.
+
+Bertram was to come up in the evening, and Billy was anticipating that,
+too, particularly: it had been so long since they had known a really
+free, comfortable evening together, with nothing to interrupt.
+Doubtless, too, after Arkwright's visit of the afternoon, she would be
+in a position to tell Bertram the story of the suspended romance between
+Arkwright and Miss Greggory, and perhaps something, also, of her own
+efforts to bring the couple together again. On the whole, life did,
+indeed, look decidedly worth the living as Billy, with a contented sigh,
+turned over to go to sleep.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI. ARKWRIGHT TELLS ANOTHER STORY
+
+
+Promptly at the suggested hour on the day after the operetta, Arkwright
+rang Billy Neilson's doorbell. Promptly, too, Billy herself came into
+the living-room to greet him.
+
+Billy was in white to-day--a soft, creamy white wool with a touch of
+black velvet at her throat and in her hair. The man thought she had
+never looked so lovely: Arkwright was still under the spell wrought by
+the soft radiance of Billy's face the two times he had mentioned his
+“story.”
+
+Until the night before the operetta Arkwright had been more than
+doubtful of the way that story would be received, should he ever
+summon the courage to tell it. Since then his fears had been changed to
+rapturous hopes. It was very eagerly, therefore, that he turned now to
+greet Billy as she came into the room.
+
+“Suppose we don't have any music to-day. Suppose we give the whole time
+up to the story,” she smiled brightly, as she held out her hand.
+
+Arkwright's heart leaped; but almost at once it throbbed with a vague
+uneasiness. He would have preferred to see her blush and be a little shy
+over that story. Still--there was a chance, of course, that she did not
+know what the story was. But if that were the case, what of the radiance
+in her face? What of--Finding himself in a tangled labyrinth that led
+apparently only to disappointment and disaster, Arkwright pulled himself
+up with a firm hand.
+
+“You are very kind,” he murmured, as he relinquished her fingers and
+seated himself near her. “You are sure, then, that you wish to hear the
+story?”
+
+“Very sure,” smiled Billy.
+
+Arkwright hesitated. Again he longed to see a little embarrassment in
+the bright face opposite. Suddenly it came to him, however, that if
+Billy knew what he was about to say, it would manifestly not be her part
+to act as if she knew! With a lighter heart, then, he began his story.
+
+“You want it from the beginning?”
+
+“By all means! I never dip into books, nor peek at the ending. I don't
+think it's fair to the author.”
+
+“Then I will, indeed, begin at the beginning,” smiled Arkwright, “for
+I'm specially anxious that you shall be--even more than 'fair' to me.”
+ His voice shook a little, but he hurried on. “There's a--girl--in it; a
+very dear, lovely girl.”
+
+“Of course--if it's a nice story,” twinkled Billy.
+
+“And--there's a man, too. It's a love story, you see.”
+
+“Again of course--if it's interesting.” Billy laughed mischievously, but
+she flushed a little.
+
+“Still, the man doesn't amount to much, after all, perhaps. I might as
+well own up at the beginning--I'm the man.”
+
+“That will do for you to say, as long as you're telling the story,”
+ smiled Billy. “We'll let it pass for proper modesty on your part. But I
+shall say--the personal touch only adds to the interest.”
+
+Arkwright drew in his breath.
+
+“We'll hope--it'll really be so,” he murmured.
+
+There was a moment's silence. Arkwright seemed to be hesitating what to
+say.
+
+“Well?” prompted Billy, with a smile. “We have the hero and the heroine;
+now what happens next? Do you know,” she added, “I have always thought
+that part must bother the story-writers--to get the couple to doing
+interesting things, after they'd got them introduced.”
+
+Arkwright sighed.
+
+“Perhaps--on paper; but, you see, my story has been _lived_, so far. So
+it's quite different.”
+
+“Very well, then--what did happen?” smiled Billy.
+
+“I was trying to think--of the first thing. You see it began with a
+picture, a photograph of the girl. Mother had it. I saw it, and wanted
+it, and--” Arkwright had started to say “and took it.” But he stopped
+with the last two words unsaid. It was not time, yet, he deemed, to tell
+this girl how much that picture had been to him for so many months past.
+He hurried on a little precipitately. “You see, I had heard about this
+girl a lot; and I liked--what I heard.”
+
+“You mean--you didn't know her--at the first?” Billy's eyes were
+surprised. Billy had supposed that Arkwright had always known Alice
+Greggory.
+
+“No, I didn't know the girl--till afterwards. Before that I was always
+dreaming and wondering what she would be like.”
+
+“Oh!” Billy subsided into her chair, still with the puzzled questioning
+in her eyes.
+
+“Then I met her.”
+
+“Yes?”
+
+“And she was everything and more than I had pictured her.”
+
+“And you fell in love at once?” Billy's voice had grown confident again.
+
+“Oh, I was already in love,” sighed Arkwright. “I simply sank deeper.”
+
+“Oh-h!” breathed Billy, sympathetically. “And the girl?”
+
+“She didn't care--or know--for a long time. I'm not really sure she
+cares--or knows--even now.” Arkwright's eyes were wistfully fixed on
+Billy's face.
+
+“Oh, but you can't tell, always, about girls,” murmured Billy,
+hurriedly. A faint pink had stolen to her forehead. She was thinking of
+Alice Greggory, and wondering if, indeed, Alice did care; and if she,
+Billy, might dare to assure this man--what she believed to be true--that
+his sweetheart was only waiting for him to come to her and tell her that
+he loved her.
+
+Arkwright saw the color sweep to Billy's forehead, and took sudden
+courage. He leaned forward eagerly. A tender light came to his eyes. The
+expression on his face was unmistakable.
+
+“Billy, do you mean, really, that there is--hope for me?” he begged
+brokenly.
+
+Billy gave a visible start. A quick something like shocked terror came
+to her eyes. She drew back and would have risen to her feet had the
+thought not come to her that twice before she had supposed a man was
+making love to her, when subsequent events proved that she had been
+mortifyingly mistaken: once when Cyril had told her of his love for
+Marie; and again when William had asked her to come back as a daughter
+to the house she had left desolate.
+
+Telling herself sternly now not to be for the third time a “foolish
+little simpleton,” she summoned all her wits, forced a cheery smile to
+her lips, and said:
+
+“Well, really, Mr. Arkwright, of course I can't answer for the girl, so
+I'm not the one to give hope; and--”
+
+“But you are the one,” interrupted the man, passionately. “You're the
+only one! As if from the very first I hadn't loved you, and--”
+
+“No, no, not that--not that! I'm mistaken! I'm not understanding what
+you mean,” pleaded a horror-stricken voice. Billy was on her feet now,
+holding up two protesting hands, palms outward.
+
+“Miss Neilson, you don't mean--that you haven't known--all this
+time--that it was you?” The man, now, was on his feet, his eyes hurt and
+unbelieving, looking into hers.
+
+Billy paled. She began slowly to back away. Her eyes, still fixed on
+his, carried the shrinking terror of one who sees a horrid vision.
+
+“But you know--you _must_ know that I am not yours to win!” she
+reproached him sharply. “I'm to be Bertram Henshaw's--_wife_.” From
+Billy's shocked young lips the word dropped with a ringing force that
+was at once accusatory and prohibitive. It was as if, by the mere
+utterance of the word, wife, she had drawn a sacred circle about her and
+placed herself in sanctuary.
+
+From the blazing accusation in her eyes Arkwright fell back.
+
+“Wife! You are to be Bertram Henshaw's wife!” he exclaimed. There was no
+mistaking the amazed incredulity on his face.
+
+Billy caught her breath. The righteous indignation in her eyes fled, and
+a terrified appeal took its place.
+
+“You don't mean that you _didn't--know?_” she faltered.
+
+There was a moment's silence. A power quite outside herself kept Billy's
+eyes on Arkwright's face, and forced her to watch the change there from
+unbelief to belief, and from belief to set misery.
+
+“No, I did not know,” said the man then, dully, as he turned, rested his
+arm on the mantel behind him, and half shielded his face with his hand.
+
+Billy sank into a low chair. Her fingers fluttered nervously to her
+throat. Her piteous, beseeching eyes were on the broad back and bent
+head of the man before her.
+
+“But I--I don't see how you could have helped--knowing,” she stammered
+at last. “I don't see how such a thing could have happened that you
+shouldn't know!”
+
+“I've been trying to think, myself,” returned the man, still in a dull,
+emotionless voice.
+
+“It's been so--so much a matter of course. I supposed everybody knew
+it,” maintained Billy.
+
+“Perhaps that's just it--that it was--so much a matter of course,”
+ rejoined the man. “You see, I know very few of your friends, anyway--who
+would be apt to mention it to me.”
+
+“But the announcements--oh, you weren't here then,” moaned Billy. “But
+you must have known that--that he came here a good deal--that we were
+together so much!”
+
+“To a certain extent, yes,” sighed Arkwright. “But I took your
+friendship with him and his brothers as--as a matter of course. _That_
+was _my_ 'matter of course,' you see,” he went on bitterly. “I knew
+you were Mr. William Henshaw's namesake, and Calderwell had told me
+the story of your coming to them when you were left alone in the world.
+Calderwell had said, too, that--” Arkwright paused, then hurried on a
+little constrainedly--“well, he said something that led me to think Mr.
+Bertram Henshaw was not a marrying man, anyway.”
+
+Billy winced and changed color. She had noticed the pause, and she knew
+very well what it was that Calderwell had said to occasion that pause.
+Must _always_ she be reminded that no one expected Bertram Henshaw to
+love any girl--except to paint?
+
+“But--but Mr. Calderwell must know about the engagement--now,” she
+stammered.
+
+“Very likely, but I have not happened to hear from him since my arrival
+in Boston. We do not correspond.”
+
+There was a long silence, then Arkwright spoke again.
+
+“I think I understand now--many things. I wonder I did not see them
+before; but I never thought of Bertram Henshaw's being--If Calderwell
+hadn't said--” Again Arkwright stopped with his sentence half complete,
+and again Billy winced. “I've been a blind fool. I was so intent on my
+own--I've been a blind fool; that's all,” repeated Arkwright, with a
+break in his voice.
+
+Billy tried to speak, but instead of words, there came only a choking
+sob.
+
+Arkwright turned sharply.
+
+“Miss Neilson, don't--please,” he begged. “There is no need that you
+should suffer--too.”
+
+“But I am so ashamed that such a thing _could_ happen,” she faltered.
+“I'm sure, some way, I must be to blame. But I never thought. I was
+blind, too. I was wrapped up in my own affairs. I never suspected. I
+never even _thought_ to suspect! I thought of course you knew. It was
+just the music that brought us together, I supposed; and you were
+just like one of the family, anyway. I always thought of you as Aunt
+Hannah's--” She stopped with a vivid blush.
+
+“As Aunt Hannah's niece, Mary Jane, of course,” supplied Arkwright,
+bitterly, turning back to his old position. “And that was my own fault,
+too. My name, Miss Neilson, is Michael Jeremiah,” he went on wearily,
+after a moment's hesitation, his voice showing his utter abandonment to
+despair. “When a boy at school I got heartily sick of the 'Mike' and
+the 'Jerry' and the even worse 'Tom and Jerry' that my young friends
+delighted in; so as soon as possible I sought obscurity and peace in 'M.
+J.' Much to my surprise and annoyance the initials proved to be little
+better, for they became at once the biggest sort of whet to people's
+curiosity. Naturally, the more determined persistent inquirers were to
+know the name, the more determined I became that they shouldn't. All
+very silly and very foolish, of course. Certainly it seems so now,” he
+finished.
+
+Billy was silent. She was trying to find something, _anything_, to say,
+when Arkwright began speaking again, still in that dull, hopeless voice
+that Billy thought would break her heart.
+
+“As for the 'Mary Jane'--that was another foolishness, of course. My
+small brothers and sisters originated it; others followed, on occasion,
+even Calderwell. Perhaps you did not know, but he was the friend who, by
+his laughing question, 'Why don't you, Mary Jane?' put into my head the
+crazy scheme of writing to Aunt Hannah and letting her think I was a
+real Mary Jane. You see what I stooped to do, Miss Neilson, for the
+chance of meeting and knowing you.”
+
+Billy gave a low cry. She had suddenly remembered the beginning of
+Arkwright's story. For the first time she realized that he had been
+talking then about herself, not Alice Greggory.
+
+“But you don't mean that you--cared--that I was the--” She could not
+finish.
+
+Arkwright turned from the mantel with a gesture of utter despair.
+
+“Yes, I cared then. I had heard of you. I had sung your songs. I was
+determined to meet you. So I came--and met you. After that I was more
+determined than ever to win you. Perhaps you see, now, why I was so
+blind to--to any other possibility. But it doesn't do any good--to talk
+like this. I understand now. Only, please, don't blame yourself,” he
+begged as he saw her eyes fill with tears. The next moment he was gone.
+
+Billy had turned away and was crying softly, so she did not see him go.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII. THE THING THAT WAS THE TRUTH
+
+
+Bertram called that evening. Billy had no story now to tell--nothing
+of the interrupted romance between Alice Greggory and Arkwright. Billy
+carefully, indeed, avoided mentioning Arkwright's name.
+
+Ever since the man's departure that afternoon, Billy had been
+frantically trying to assure herself that she was not to blame; that she
+would not be supposed to know he cared for her; that it had all been as
+he said it was--his foolish blindness. But even when she had partially
+comforted herself by these assertions, she could not by any means escape
+the haunting vision of the man's stern-set, suffering face as she had
+seen it that afternoon; nor could she keep from weeping at the memory of
+the words he had said, and at the thought that never again could their
+pleasant friendship be quite the same--if, indeed, there could be any
+friendship at all between them.
+
+But if Billy expected that her red eyes, pale cheeks, and generally
+troubled appearance and unquiet manner were to be passed unnoticed by
+her lover's keen eyes that evening, she found herself much mistaken.
+
+“Sweetheart, what _is_ the matter?” demanded Bertram resolutely, at
+last, when his more indirect questions had been evasively turned aside.
+“You can't make me think there isn't something the trouble, because I
+know there is!”
+
+“Well, then, there is, dear,” smiled Billy, tearfully; “but please just
+don't let us talk of it. I--I want to forget it. Truly I do.”
+
+“But I want to know so _I_ can forget it,” persisted Bertram. “What is
+it? Maybe I could help.”
+
+She shook her head with a little frightened cry.
+
+“No, no--you can't help--really.”
+
+“But, sweetheart, you don't know. Perhaps I could. Won't you _tell_ me
+about it?”
+
+Billy looked distressed.
+
+“I can't, dear--truly. You see, it isn't quite mine--to tell.”
+
+“Not yours!”
+
+“Not--entirely.”
+
+“But it makes you feel bad?”
+
+“Yes--very.”
+
+“Then can't I know that part?”
+
+“Oh, no--no, indeed, no! You see--it wouldn't be fair--to the other.”
+
+Bertram stared a little. Then his mouth set into stern lines.
+
+“Billy, what are you talking about? Seems to me I have a right to know.”
+
+Billy hesitated. To her mind, a girl who would tell of the unrequited
+love of a man for herself, was unspeakably base. To tell Bertram
+Arkwright's love story was therefore impossible. Yet, in some way, she
+must set Bertram's mind at rest.
+
+“Dearest,” she began slowly, her eyes wistfully pleading, “just what it
+is, I can't tell you. In a way it's another's secret, and I don't feel
+that I have the right to tell it. It's just something that I learned
+this afternoon.”
+
+“But it has made you cry!”
+
+“Yes. It made me feel very unhappy.”
+
+“Then--it was something you couldn't help?”
+
+To Bertram's surprise, the face he was watching so intently flushed
+scarlet.
+
+“No, I couldn't help it--now; though I might have--once.” Billy spoke
+this last just above her breath. Then she went on, beseechingly:
+“Bertram, please, please don't talk of it any more. It--it's just
+spoiling our happy evening together!”
+
+Bertram bit his lip, and drew a long sigh.
+
+“All right, dear; you know best, of course--since I don't know
+_anything_ about it,” he finished a little stiffly.
+
+Billy began to talk then very brightly of Aunt Hannah and her shawls,
+and of a visit she had made to Cyril and Marie that morning.
+
+“And, do you know? Aunt Hannah's clock _has_ done a good turn, at last,
+and justified its existence. Listen,” she cried gayly. “Marie had a
+letter from her mother's Cousin Jane. Cousin Jane couldn't sleep nights,
+because she was always lying awake to find out just what time it was;
+so Marie had written her about Aunt Hannah's clock. And now this Cousin
+Jane has fixed _her_ clock, and she sleeps like a top, just because she
+knows there'll never be but half an hour that she doesn't know what time
+it is!”
+
+Bertram smiled, and murmured a polite “Well, I'm sure that's fine!”; but
+the words were plainly abstracted, and the frown had not left his brow.
+Nor did it quite leave till some time later, when Billy, in answer to a
+question of his about another operetta, cried, with a shudder:
+
+“Mercy, I hope not, dear! I don't want to _hear_ the word 'operetta'
+again for a year!”
+
+Bertram smiled, then, broadly. He, too, would be quite satisfied not
+to hear the word “operetta” for a year. Operetta, to Bertram, meant
+interruptions, interferences, and the constant presence of Arkwright,
+the Greggorys, and innumerable creatures who wished to rehearse or to
+change wigs--all of which Bertram abhorred. No wonder, therefore, that
+he smiled, and that the frown disappeared from his brow. He thought he
+saw, ahead, serene, blissful days for Billy and himself.
+
+As the days, however, began to pass, one by one, Bertram Henshaw found
+them to be anything but serene and blissful. The operetta, with its
+rehearsals and its interruptions, was gone, certainly; but he was
+becoming seriously troubled about Billy.
+
+Billy did not act natural. Sometimes she seemed like her old self; and
+he breathed more freely, telling himself that his fears were groundless.
+Then would come the haunting shadow to her eyes, the droop to her mouth,
+and the nervousness to her manner that he so dreaded. Worse yet, all
+this seemed to be connected in some strange way with Arkwright. He found
+this out by accident one day. She had been talking and laughing brightly
+about something, when he chanced to introduce Arkwright's name.
+
+“By the way, where is Mary Jane these days?” he asked then.
+
+“I don't know, I'm sure. He hasn't been here lately,” murmured Billy,
+reaching for a book on the table.
+
+At a peculiar something in her voice, he had looked up quickly, only to
+find, to his great surprise, that her face showed a painful flush as she
+bent over the book in her hand.
+
+He had said nothing more at the time, but he had not forgotten. Several
+times, after that, he had introduced the man's name, and never had it
+failed to bring a rush of color, a biting of the lip, or a quick change
+of position followed always by the troubled eyes and nervous manner that
+he had learned to dread. He noticed then that never, of her own free
+will, did she herself mention the man; never did she speak of him with
+the old frank lightness as “Mary Jane.”
+
+By casual questions asked from time to time, Bertram had learned that
+Arkwright never came there now, and that the song-writing together had
+been given up. Curiously enough, this discovery, which would once have
+filled Bertram with joy, served now only to deepen his distress. That
+there was anything inconsistent in the fact that he was more frightened
+now at the man's absence than he had been before at his presence,
+did not occur to him. He knew only that he was frightened, and badly
+frightened.
+
+Bertram had not forgotten the evening after the operetta, and Billy's
+tear-stained face on that occasion. He dated the whole thing, in fact,
+from that evening. He fell to wondering one day if that, too, had
+anything to do with Arkwright. He determined then to find out.
+Shamelessly--for the good of the cause--he set a trap for Billy's unwary
+feet.
+
+Very adroitly one day he led the talk straight to Arkwright; then he
+asked abruptly:
+
+“Where is the chap, I wonder! Why, he hasn't shown up once since the
+operetta, has he?”
+
+Billy, always truthful,--and just now always embarrassed when
+Arkwright's name was mentioned,--walked straight into the trap.
+
+“Oh, yes; well, he was here once--the day after the operetta. I haven't
+seen him since.”
+
+Bertram answered a light something, but his face grew a little white.
+Now that the trap had been sprung and the victim caught, he almost
+wished that he had not set any trap at all.
+
+He knew now it was true. Arkwright had been with Billy the day after the
+operetta, and her tears and her distress that evening had been caused by
+something Arkwright had said. It was Arkwright's secret that she could
+not tell. It was Arkwright to whom she must be fair. It was Arkwright's
+sorrow that she “could not help--now.”
+
+Naturally, with these tools in his hands, and aided by days of brooding
+and nights of sleeplessness, it did not take Bertram long to fashion The
+Thing that finally loomed before him as The Truth.
+
+He understood it all now. Music had conquered. Billy and Arkwright had
+found that they loved each other. On the day after the operetta, they
+had met, and had had some sort of scene together--doubtless Arkwright
+had declared his love. That was the “secret” that Billy could not tell
+and be “fair.” Billy, of course,--loyal little soul that she was,--had
+sent him away at once. Was her hand not already pledged? That was why
+she could not “help it-now.” (Bertram writhed in agony at the thought.)
+Since that meeting Arkwright had not been near the house. Billy had
+found, however, that her heart had gone with Arkwright; hence the shadow
+in her eyes, the nervousness in her manner, and the embarrassment that
+she always showed at the mention of his name.
+
+That Billy was still outwardly loyal to himself, and that she still kept
+to her engagement, did not surprise Bertram in the least. That was like
+Billy. Bertram had not forgotten how, less than a year before, this same
+Billy had held herself loyal and true to an engagement with William,
+because a wretched mistake all around had caused her to give her promise
+to be William's wife under the impression that she was carrying out
+William's dearest wish. Bertram remembered her face as it had looked all
+those long summer days while her heart was being slowly broken; and he
+thought he could see that same look in her eyes now. All of which only
+goes to prove with what woeful skill Bertram had fashioned this Thing
+that was looming before him as The Truth.
+
+The exhibition of “The Bohemian Ten” was to open with a private view
+on the evening of the twentieth of March. Bertram Henshaw's one
+contribution was to be his portrait of Miss Marguerite Winthrop--the
+piece of work that had come to mean so much to him; the piece of work
+upon which already he felt the focus of multitudes of eyes.
+
+Miss Winthrop was in Boston now, and it was during these early March
+days that Bertram was supposed to be putting in his best work on the
+portrait; but, unfortunately, it was during these same early March days
+that he was engaged, also, in fashioning The Thing--and the two did not
+harmonize.
+
+The Thing, indeed, was a jealous creature, and would brook no rival.
+She filled his eyes with horrid visions, and his brain with sickening
+thoughts. Between him and his model she flung a veil of fear; and she
+set his hand to trembling, and his brush to making blunders with the
+paints on his palette.
+
+Bertram saw The Thing, and saw, too, the grievous result of her
+presence. Despairingly he fought against her and her work; but The Thing
+had become full grown now, and was The Truth. Hence she was not to be
+banished. She even, in a taunting way, seemed sometimes to be justifying
+her presence, for she reminded him:
+
+“After all, what's the difference? What do you care for this, or
+anything again if Billy is lost to you?”
+
+But the artist told himself fiercely that he did care--that he must
+care--for his work; and he struggled--how he struggled!--to ignore the
+horrid visions and the sickening thoughts, and to pierce the veil of
+fear so that his hand might be steady and his brush regain its skill.
+
+And so he worked. Sometimes he let his work remain. Sometimes one hour
+saw only the erasing of what the hour before had wrought. Sometimes the
+elusive something in Marguerite Winthrop's face seemed right at the tip
+of his brush--on the canvas, even. He saw success then so plainly that
+for a moment it almost--but not quite--blotted out The Thing. At other
+times that elusive something on the high-bred face of his model was a
+veritable will-o'-the-wisp, refusing to be caught and held, even in his
+eye. The artist knew then that his picture would be hung with Anderson's
+and Fullam's.
+
+But the portrait was, irrefutably, nearing completion, and it was to be
+exhibited the twentieth of the month. Bertram knew these for facts.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVIII. BILLY TAKES HER TURN
+
+
+If for Billy those first twenty days of March did not carry quite the
+tragedy they contained for Bertram, they were, nevertheless, not really
+happy ones. She was vaguely troubled by a curious something in Bertram's
+behavior that she could not name; she was grieved over Arkwright's
+sorrow, and she was constantly probing her own past conduct to see
+if anywhere she could find that she was to blame for that sorrow. She
+missed, too, undeniably, Arkwright's cheery presence, and the charm
+and inspiration of his music. Nor was she finding it easy to give
+satisfactory answers to the questions Aunt Hannah, William, and Bertram
+so often asked her as to where Mary Jane was.
+
+Even her music was little comfort to her these days. She was not
+writing anything. There was no song in her heart to tempt her to write.
+Arkwright's new words that he had brought her were out of the question,
+of course. They had been put away with the manuscript of the completed
+song, which had not, fortunately, gone to the publishers. Billy had
+waited, intending to send them together. She was so glad, now, that she
+had waited. Just once, since Arkwright's last call, she had tried to
+sing that song. But she had stopped at the end of the first two lines.
+The full meaning of those words, as coming from Arkwright, had swept
+over her then, and she had snatched up the manuscript and hidden it
+under the bottom pile of music in her cabinet ... And she had presumed
+to sing that love song to Bertram!
+
+Arkwright had written Billy once--a kind, courteous, manly note that had
+made her cry. He had begged her again not to blame herself, and he had
+said that he hoped he should be strong enough sometime to wish to call
+occasionally--if she were willing--and renew their pleasant hours with
+their music; but, for the present, he knew there was nothing for him to
+do but to stay away. He had signed himself “Michael Jeremiah Arkwright”;
+and to Billy that was the most pathetic thing in the letter--it sounded
+so hopeless and dreary to one who knew the jaunty “M. J.”
+
+Alice Greggory, Billy saw frequently. Billy and Aunt Hannah were great
+friends with the Greggorys now, and had been ever since the Greggorys'
+ten-days' visit at Hillside. The cheery little cripple, with the gentle
+tap, tap, tap of her crutches, had won everybody's heart the very
+first day; and Alice was scarcely less of a favorite, after the sunny
+friendliness of Hillside had thawed her stiff reserve into naturalness.
+
+Billy had little to say to Alice Greggory of Arkwright. Billy was no
+longer trying to play Cupid's assistant. The Cause, for which she had
+so valiantly worked, had been felled by Arkwright's own hand--but that
+there were still some faint stirrings of life in it was evidenced by
+Billy's secret delight when one day Alice Greggory chanced to mention
+that Arkwright had called the night before upon her and her mother.
+
+“He brought us news of our old home,” she explained a little hurriedly,
+to Billy. “He had heard from his mother, and he thought some things she
+said would be interesting to us.”
+
+“Of course,” murmured Billy, carefully excluding from her voice any hint
+of the delight she felt, but hoping, all the while, that Alice would
+continue the subject.
+
+Alice, however, had nothing more to say; and Billy was left in
+entire ignorance of what the news was that Arkwright had brought.
+She suspected, though, that it had something to do with Alice's
+father--certainly she hoped that it had; for if Arkwright had called to
+tell it, it must be good.
+
+Billy had found a new home for the Greggorys; although at first they had
+drawn sensitively back, and had said that they preferred to remain where
+they were, they had later gratefully accepted it. A little couple from
+South Boston, to whom Billy had given a two weeks' outing the summer
+before, had moved into town and taken a flat in the South End. They had
+two extra rooms which they had told Billy they would like to let for
+light house-keeping, if only they knew just the right people to take
+into such close quarters with themselves. Billy at once thought of the
+Greggorys, and spoke of them. The little couple were delighted, and the
+Greggorys were scarcely less so when they at last became convinced that
+only a very little more money than they were already paying would give
+themselves a much pleasanter home, and would at the same time be a real
+boon to two young people who were trying to meet expenses. So the change
+was made, and general happiness all round had resulted--so much so, that
+Bertram had said to Billy, when he heard of it:
+
+“It looks as if this was a case where your cake is frosted on both
+sides.”
+
+“Nonsense! This isn't frosting--it's business,” Billy had laughed.
+
+“And the new pupils you have found for Miss Alice--they're business,
+too, I suppose?”
+
+“Certainly,” retorted Billy, with decision. Then she had given a low
+laugh and said: “Mercy! If Alice Greggory thought it was anything _but_
+business, I verily believe she would refuse every one of the new pupils,
+and begin to-night to carry back the tables and chairs herself to those
+wretched rooms she left last month!”
+
+Bertram had smiled, but the smile had been a fleeting one, and the
+brooding look of gloom that Billy had noticed so frequently, of late,
+had come back to his eyes.
+
+Billy was not a little disturbed over Bertram these days. He did not
+seem to be his natural, cheery self at all. He talked little, and what
+he did say seldom showed a trace of his usually whimsical way of putting
+things. He was kindness itself to her, and seemed particularly anxious
+to please her in every way; but she frequently found his eyes fixed on
+her with a sombre questioning that almost frightened her. The more she
+thought of it, the more she wondered what the question was, that he did
+not dare to ask; and whether it was of herself or himself that he would
+ask it--if he did dare. Then, with benumbing force, one day, a possible
+solution of the mystery came to her, he had found out that it was true
+(what all his friends had declared of him)--he did not really love any
+girl, except to paint!
+
+The minute this thought came to her, Billy thrust it indignantly away.
+It was disloyal to Bertram and unworthy of herself, even to think such
+a thing. She told herself then that it was only the portrait of Miss
+Winthrop that was troubling him. She knew that he was worried over that.
+He had confessed to her that actually sometimes he was beginning to fear
+his hand had lost its cunning. As if that were not enough to bring the
+gloom to any man's face--to any artist's!
+
+No sooner, however, had Billy arrived at this point in her mental
+argument, than a new element entered--her old lurking jealousy, of which
+she was heartily ashamed, but which she had never yet been able quite to
+subdue; her jealousy of the beautiful girl with the beautiful name (not
+Billy), whose portrait had needed so much time and so many sittings to
+finish. What if Bertram had found that he loved _her?_ What if that
+were why his hand had lost its cunning--because, though loving her, he
+realized that he was bound to another, Billy herself?
+
+This thought, too, Billy cast from her at once as again disloyal and
+unworthy. But both thoughts, having once entered her brain, had made for
+themselves roads over which the second passing was much easier than the
+first--as Billy found to her sorrow. Certainly, as the days went by,
+and as Bertram's face and manner became more and more a tragedy of
+suffering, Billy found it increasingly difficult to keep those
+thoughts from wearing their roads of suspicion into horrid deep ruts of
+certainty.
+
+Only with William and Marie, now, could Billy escape from it all. With
+William she sought new curios and catalogued the old. With Marie she
+beat eggs and whipped cream in the shining kitchen, and tried to think
+that nothing in the world mattered except that the cake in the oven
+should not fall.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIX. KATE WRITES A LETTER
+
+
+Bertram feared that he knew, before the portrait was hung, that it was
+a failure. He was sure that he knew it on the evening of the twentieth
+when he encountered the swiftly averted eyes of some of his artist
+friends, and saw the perplexed frown on the faces of others. But he
+knew, afterwards, that he did not really know it--till he read the
+newspapers during the next few days.
+
+There was praise--oh, yes; the faint praise that kills. There was some
+adverse criticism, too; but it was of the light, insincere variety that
+is given to mediocre work by unimportant artists. Then, here and there,
+appeared the signed critiques of the men whose opinion counted--and
+Bertram knew that he had failed. Neither as a work of art, nor as a
+likeness, was the portrait the success that Henshaw's former work would
+seem to indicate that it should have been. Indeed, as one caustic pen
+put it, if this were to be taken as a sample of what was to follow--then
+the famous originator of “The Face of a Girl” had “a most distinguished
+future behind him.”
+
+Seldom, if ever before, had an exhibited portrait attracted so much
+attention. As Bertram had said, uncounted eyes were watching for it
+before it was hung, because it was a portrait of the noted beauty,
+Marguerite Winthrop, and because two other well-known artists had failed
+where he, Bertram Henshaw, was hoping to succeed. After it was hung, and
+the uncounted eyes had seen it--either literally, or through the eyes
+of the critics--interest seemed rather to grow than to lessen, for other
+uncounted eyes wanted to see what all the fuss was about, anyway. And
+when these eyes had seen, their owners talked. Nor did they, by any
+means, all talk against the portrait. Some were as loud in its praise as
+were others in its condemnation; all of which, of course, but helped to
+attract more eyes to the cause of it all.
+
+For Bertram and his friends these days were, naturally, trying ones.
+William finally dreaded to open his newspaper. (It had become the
+fashion, when murders and divorces were scarce, occasionally to
+“feature” somebody's opinion of the Henshaw portrait, on the first
+page--something that had almost never been known to happen before.)
+Cyril, according to Marie, played “perfectly awful things on his piano
+every day, now.” Aunt Hannah had said “Oh, my grief and conscience!”
+ so many times that it melted now into a wordless groan whenever a new
+unfriendly criticism of the portrait met her indignant eyes.
+
+Of all Bertram's friends, Billy, perhaps not unnaturally, was the
+angriest. Not only did she, after a time, refuse to read the papers,
+but she refused even to allow certain ones to be brought into the house,
+foolish and unreasonable as she knew this to be.
+
+As to the artist himself, Bertram's face showed drawn lines and his eyes
+sombre shadows, but his words and manner carried a stolid indifference
+that to Billy was at once heartbreaking and maddening.
+
+“But, Bertram, why don't you do something? Why don't you say something?
+Why don't you act something?” she burst out one day.
+
+The artist shrugged his shoulders.
+
+“But, my dear, what can I say, or do, or act?” he asked.
+
+“I don't know, of course,” sighed Billy. “But I know what I'd like to
+do. I should like to go out and--fight somebody!”
+
+So fierce were words and manner, coupled as they were with a pair of
+gentle eyes ablaze and two soft little hands doubled into menacing
+fists, that Bertram laughed.
+
+“What a fiery little champion it is, to be sure,” he said tenderly. “But
+as if fighting could do any good--in this case!”
+
+Billy's tense muscles relaxed. Her eyes filled with tears.
+
+“No, I don't suppose it would,” she choked, beginning to cry, so that
+Bertram had to turn comforter.
+
+“Come, come, dear,” he begged; “don't take it so to heart. It's not
+so bad, after all. I've still my good right hand left, and we'll hope
+there's something in it yet--that'll be worth while.”
+
+“But _this_ one isn't bad,” stormed Billy. “It's splendid! I'm sure, I
+think it's a b-beautiful portrait, and I don't see _what_ people mean by
+talking so about it!”
+
+Bertram shook his head. His eyes grew sombre again.
+
+“Thank you, dear. But I know--and you know, really--that it isn't a
+splendid portrait. I've done lots better work than that.”
+
+“Then why don't they look at those, and let this alone?” wailed Billy,
+with indignation.
+
+“Because I deliberately put up this for them to see,” smiled the artist,
+wearily.
+
+Billy sighed, and twisted in her chair.
+
+“What does--Mr. Winthrop say?” she asked at last, in a faint voice.
+
+Bertram lifted his head.
+
+“Mr. Winthrop's been a trump all through, dear. He's already insisted on
+paying for this--and he's ordered another.”
+
+“Another!”
+
+“Yes. The old fellow never minces his words, as you may know. He came
+to me one day, put his hand on my shoulder, and said tersely: 'Will you
+give me another, same terms? Go in, boy, and win. Show 'em! I lost
+the first ten thousand I made. I didn't the next!' That's all he said.
+Before I could even choke out an answer he was gone. Gorry! talk about
+his having a 'heart of stone'! I don't believe another man in the
+country would have done that--and done it in the way he did--in the face
+of all this talk,” finished Bertram, his eyes luminous with feeling.
+
+Billy hesitated.
+
+“Perhaps--his daughter--influenced him--some.”
+
+“Perhaps,” nodded Bertram. “She, too, has been very kind, all the way
+through.”
+
+Billy hesitated again.
+
+“But I thought--it was going so splendidly,” she faltered, in a
+half-stifled voice.
+
+“So it was--at the first.”
+
+“Then what--ailed it, at the last, do you suppose?” Billy was holding
+her breath till he should answer.
+
+The man got to his feet.
+
+“Billy, don't--don't ask me,” he begged. “Please don't let's talk of
+it any more. It can't do any good! I just flunked--that's all. My
+hand failed me. Maybe I tried too hard. Maybe I was tired. Maybe
+something--troubled me. Never mind, dear, what it was. It can do no good
+even to think of that--now. So just let's--drop it, please, dear,” he
+finished, his face working with emotion.
+
+And Billy dropped it--so far as words were concerned; but she could not
+drop it from her thoughts--specially after Kate's letter came.
+
+Kate's letter was addressed to Billy, and it said, after speaking of
+various other matters:
+
+“And now about poor Bertram's failure.” (Billy frowned. In Billy's
+presence no one was allowed to say “Bertram's failure”; but a letter
+has a most annoying privilege of saying what it pleases without let or
+hindrance, unless one tears it up--and a letter destroyed unread remains
+always such a tantalizing mystery of possibilities! So Billy let the
+letter talk.) “Of course we have heard of it away out here. I do wish if
+Bertram _must_ paint such famous people, he would manage to flatter them
+up--in the painting, I mean, of course--enough so that it might pass for
+a success!
+
+“The technical part of all this criticism I don't pretend to understand
+in the least; but from what I hear and read, he must, indeed, have made
+a terrible mess of it, and of course I'm very sorry--and some surprised,
+too, for usually he paints such pretty pictures!
+
+“Still, on the other hand, Billy, I'm not surprised. William says that
+Bertram has been completely out of fix over something, and as gloomy as
+an owl, for weeks past; and of course, under those circumstances, the
+poor boy could not be expected to do good work. Now William, being a
+man, is not supposed to understand what the trouble is. But I, being a
+woman, can see through a pane of glass when it's held right up before
+me; and I can guess, of course, that a woman is at the bottom of it--she
+always is!--and that you, being his special fancy at the moment” (Billy
+almost did tear the letter now--but not quite), “are that woman.
+
+“Now, Billy, you don't like such frank talk, of course; but, on the
+other hand, I know you do not want to ruin the dear boy's career. So,
+for heaven's sake, if you two have been having one of those quarrels
+that lovers so delight in--do, please, for the good of the cause, make
+up quick, or else quarrel harder and break it off entirely--which,
+honestly, would be the better way, I think, all around.
+
+“There, there, my dear child, don't bristle up! I am very fond of you,
+and would dearly love to have you for a sister--if you'd only take
+William, as you should! But, as you very well know, I never did approve
+of this last match at all, for either of your sakes.
+
+“He can't make you happy, my dear, and you can't make him happy.
+Bertram never was--and never will be--a marrying man. He's too
+temperamental--too thoroughly wrapped up in his Art. Girls have never
+meant anything to him but a beautiful picture to paint. And they never
+will. They can't. He's made that way. Listen! I can prove it to you. Up
+to this winter he's always been a care-free, happy, jolly fellow, and
+you _know_ what beautiful work he has done. Never before has he tied
+himself to any one girl till last fall. Then you two entered into this
+absurd engagement.
+
+“Now what has it been since? William wrote me himself not a fortnight
+ago that he'd been worried to death over Bertram for weeks past,
+he's been so moody, so irritable, so fretted over his work, so unlike
+himself. And his picture has _failed_ dismally. Of course William
+doesn't understand; but I do. I know you've probably quarrelled, or
+something. You know how flighty and unreliable you can be sometimes,
+Billy, and I don't say that to mean anything against you, either--that's
+_your_ way. You're just as temperamental in your art, music, as Bertram
+is in his. You're utterly unsuited to him. If Bertram is to marry
+_anybody_, it should be some quiet, staid, sensible girl who would be
+a _help_ to him. But when I think of you two flyaway flutterbudgets
+marrying--!
+
+“Now, for heaven's sake, Billy, _do_ make up or something--and do it
+now. Don't, for pity's sake, let Bertram ever put out another such a
+piece of work to shame us all like this. Do you want to ruin his career?
+
+“Faithfully yours,
+
+“KATE HARTWELL.
+
+“P. S. _I_ think William's the one for you. He's devoted to you, and
+his quiet, sensible affection is just what your temperament needs. I
+_always_ thought William was the one for you. Think it over.
+
+“P. S. No. 2. You can see by the above that it isn't you I'm objecting
+to, my dear. It's just _you-and-Bertram_.
+
+“K.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXX. “I'VE HINDERED HIM”
+
+
+Billy was shaking with anger and terror by the time she had finished
+reading Kate's letter. Anger was uppermost at the moment, and with one
+sweeping wrench of her trembling fingers she tore the closely written
+sheets straight through the middle, and flung them into the little
+wicker basket by her desk. Then she went down-stairs and played her
+noisiest, merriest Tarantella, and tried to see how fast she could make
+her fingers fly.
+
+But Billy could not, of course, play tarantellas all day; and even while
+she did play them she could not forget that waste-basket up-stairs, and
+the horror it contained. The anger was still uppermost, but the terror
+was prodding her at every turn, and demanding to know just what it was
+that Kate had written in that letter, anyway. It is not strange then,
+perhaps, that before two hours passed, Billy went up-stairs, took the
+letter from the basket, matched together the torn half-sheets and forced
+her shrinking eyes to read every word again-just to satisfy that terror
+which would not be silenced.
+
+At the end of the second reading, Billy reminded herself with stern
+calmness that it was only Kate, after all; that nobody ought to mind
+what Kate said; that certainly _she_, Billy, ought not--after the
+experience she had already had with her unpleasant interference! Kate
+did not know what she was talking about, anyway. This was only another
+case of her trying “to manage.” She did so love to manage--everything!
+
+At this point Billy got out her pen and paper and wrote to Kate.
+
+It was a formal, cold little letter, not at all the sort that Billy's
+friends usually received. It thanked Kate for her advice, and for
+her “kind willingness” to have Billy for a sister; but it hinted that
+perhaps Kate did not realize that as long as Billy was the one who would
+have to _live_ with the chosen man, it would be pleasanter to take the
+one Billy loved, which happened in this case to be Bertram--not William.
+As for any “quarrel” being the cause of whatever fancied trouble there
+was with the new picture--the letter scouted that idea in no uncertain
+terms. There had been no suggestion of a quarrel even once since the
+engagement.
+
+Then Billy signed her name and took the letter out to post immediately.
+
+For the first few minutes after the letter had been dropped into the
+green box at the corner, Billy held her head high, and told herself that
+the matter was now closed. She had sent Kate a courteous, dignified,
+conclusive, effectual answer, and she thought with much satisfaction of
+the things she had said.
+
+Very soon, however, she began to think--not so much of what _she_
+had said--but of what Kate had said. Many of Kate's sentences were
+unpleasantly vivid in her mind. They seemed, indeed, to stand out in
+letters of flame, and they began to burn, and burn, and burn. These were
+some of them:
+
+“William says that Bertram has been completely out of fix over
+something, and as gloomy as an owl for weeks past.”
+
+“A woman is at the bottom of it--... you are that woman.”
+
+“You can't make him happy.”
+
+“Bertram never was--and never will be--a marrying man.”
+
+“Girls have never meant anything to him but a beautiful picture to
+paint. And they never will.”
+
+“Up to this winter he's always been a carefree, happy, jolly fellow,
+and you _know_ what beautiful work he has done. Never before has he tied
+himself to any one girl until last fall.”
+
+“Now what has it been since?”
+
+“He's been so moody, so irritable, so fretted over his work, so unlike
+himself; and his picture has failed, dismally.”
+
+“Do you want to ruin his career?”
+
+Billy began to see now that she had not really answered Kate's letter at
+all. The matter was not closed. Her reply had been, perhaps, courteous
+and dignified--but it had not been conclusive nor effectual.
+
+Billy had reached home now, and she was crying. Bertram _had_ acted
+strangely, of late. Bertram _had_ seemed troubled over something. His
+picture _had_--With a little shudder Billy tossed aside these thoughts,
+and dug at her teary eyes with a determined hand. Fiercely she told
+herself that the matter _was_ settled. Very scornfully she declared that
+it was “only Kate,” after all, and that she _would not_ let Kate make
+her unhappy again! Forthwith she picked up a current magazine and began
+to read.
+
+As it chanced, however, even here Billy found no peace; for the first
+article she opened to was headed in huge black type:
+
+
+“MARRIAGE AND THE ARTISTIC TEMPERAMENT.”
+
+
+With a little cry Billy flung the magazine far from her, and picked up
+another. But even “The Elusiveness of Chopin,” which she found here,
+could not keep her thoughts nor her eyes from wandering to the discarded
+thing in the corner, lying ignominiously face down with crumpled,
+out-flung leaves.
+
+Billy knew that in the end she should go over and pick that magazine
+up, and read that article from beginning to end. She was not surprised,
+therefore, when she did it--but she was not any the happier for having
+done it.
+
+The writer of the article did not approve of marriage and the artistic
+temperament. He said the artist belonged to his Art, and to posterity
+through his Art. The essay fairly bristled with many-lettered words and
+high-sounding phrases, few of which Billy really understood. She did
+understand enough, however, to feel, guiltily, when the thing was
+finished, that already she had married Bertram, and by so doing had
+committed a Crime. She had slain Art, stifled Ambition, destroyed
+Inspiration, and been a nuisance generally. In consequence of which
+Bertram would henceforth and forevermore be doomed to Littleness.
+
+Naturally, in this state of mind, and with this vision before her, Billy
+was anything but her bright, easy self when she met Bertram an hour or
+two later. Naturally, too, Bertram, still the tormented victim of the
+bugaboo his jealous fears had fashioned, was just in the mood to
+place the worst possible construction on his sweetheart's very evident
+unhappiness. With sighs, unspoken questions, and frequently averted
+eyes, therefore, the wretched evening passed, a pitiful misery to them
+both.
+
+During the days that followed, Billy thought that the world itself
+must be in league with Kate, so often did she encounter Kate's letter
+masquerading under some thin disguise. She did not stop to realize that
+because she was so afraid she _would_ find it, she _did_ find it. In
+the books she read, in the plays she saw, in the chance words she heard
+spoken by friend or stranger--always there was something to feed her
+fears in one way or another. Even in a yellowed newspaper that had
+covered the top shelf in her closet she found one day a symposium
+on whether or not an artist's wife should be an artist; and she
+shuddered--but she read every opinion given.
+
+Some writers said no, and some, yes; and some said it all depended--on
+the artist and his wife. Billy found much food for thought, some for
+amusement, and a little that made for peace of mind. On the whole
+it opened up a new phase of the matter, perhaps. At all events, upon
+finishing it she almost sobbed:
+
+“One would think that just because I write a song now and then, I was
+going to let Bertram starve, and go with holes in his socks and no
+buttons on his clothes!”
+
+It was that afternoon that Billy went to see Marie; but even there she
+did not escape, for the gentle Marie all unknowingly added her mite to
+the woeful whole.
+
+Billy found Marie in tears.
+
+“Why, Marie!” she cried in dismay.
+
+“Sh-h!” warned Marie, turning agonized eyes toward the closed door of
+Cyril's den.
+
+“But, dear, what is it?” begged Billy, with no less dismay, but with
+greater caution.
+
+“Sh-h!” admonished Marie again.
+
+On tiptoe, then, she led the way to a room at the other end of the tiny
+apartment. Once there; she explained in a more natural tone of voice:
+
+“Cyril's at work on a new piece for the piano.”
+
+“Well, what if he is?” demanded Billy. “That needn't make you cry, need
+it?”
+
+“Oh, no--no, indeed,” demurred Marie, in a shocked voice.
+
+“Well, then, what is it?”
+
+Marie hesitated; then, with the abandon of a hurt child that longs for
+sympathy, she sobbed:
+
+“It--it's just that I'm afraid, after all, that I'm not good enough for
+Cyril.”
+
+Billy stared frankly.
+
+“Not _good_ enough, Marie Henshaw! Whatever in the world do you mean?”
+
+“Well, not good _for_ him, then. Listen! To-day, I know, in lots of
+ways I must have disappointed him. First, he put on some socks that I'd
+darned. They were the first since our marriage that I'd found to
+darn, and I'd been so proud and--and happy while I _was_ darning them.
+But--but he took 'em off right after breakfast and threw 'em in a
+corner. Then he put on a new pair, and said that I--I needn't darn any
+more; that it made--bunches. Billy, _my darns--bunches!_” Marie's face
+and voice were tragic.
+
+“Nonsense, dear! Don't let that fret you,” comforted Billy, promptly,
+trying not to laugh too hard. “It wasn't _your_ darns; it was just
+darns--anybody's darns. Cyril won't wear darned socks. Aunt Hannah told
+me so long ago, and I said then there'd be a tragedy when _you_ found it
+out. So don't worry over that.”
+
+“Oh, but that isn't all,” moaned Marie. “Listen! You know how quiet he
+must have everything when he's composing--and he ought to have it, too!
+But I forgot, this morning, and put on some old shoes that didn't have
+any rubber heels, and I ran the carpet sweeper, and I rattled tins in
+the kitchen. But I never thought a thing until he opened his door and
+asked me _please_ to change my shoes and let the--the confounded dirt
+go, and didn't I have any dishes in the house but what were made of that
+abominable tin s-stuff,” she finished in a wail of misery.
+
+Billy burst into a ringing laugh, but Marie's aghast face and upraised
+hand speedily reduced it to a convulsive giggle.
+
+“You dear child! Cyril's always like that when he's composing,” soothed
+Billy. “I supposed you knew it, dear. Don't you fret! Run along and make
+him his favorite pudding, and by night both of you will have forgotten
+there ever were such things in the world as tins and shoes and carpet
+sweepers that clatter.”
+
+Marie shook her head. Her dismal face did not relax.
+
+“You don't understand,” she moaned. “It's myself. I've _hindered_ him!”
+ She brought out the word with an agony of slow horror. “And only to-day
+I read-here, look!” she faltered, going to the table and picking up with
+shaking hands a magazine.
+
+Billy recognized it by the cover at once--another like it had been flung
+not so long ago by her own hand into the corner. She was not surprised,
+therefore, to see very soon at the end of Marie's trembling finger:
+
+“Marriage and the Artistic Temperament.”
+
+Billy did not give a ringing laugh this time. She gave an involuntary
+little shudder, though she tried valiantly to turn it all off with a
+light word of scorn, and a cheery pat on Marie's heaving shoulders. But
+she went home very soon; and it was plain to be seen that her visit to
+Marie had not brought her peace.
+
+Billy knew Kate's letter, by heart, now, both in the original, and in
+its different versions, and she knew that, despite her struggles, she
+was being forced straight toward Kate's own verdict: that she, Billy,
+_was_ the cause, in some way, of the deplorable change in Bertram's
+appearance, manner, and work. Before she would quite surrender to this
+heart-sickening belief, however, she determined to ask Bertram himself.
+Falteringly, but resolutely, therefore, one day, she questioned him.
+
+“Bertram, once you hinted that the picture did not go right because you
+were troubled over something; and I've been wondering--was it about--me,
+in any way, that you were troubled?”
+
+Billy had her answer before the man spoke. She had it in the quick
+terror that sprang to his eyes, and the dull red that swept from his
+neck to his forehead. His reply, so far as words went did not count, for
+it evaded everything and told nothing. But Billy knew without words.
+She knew, too, what she must do. For the time being she took Bertram's
+evasive answer as he so evidently wished it to be taken; but that
+evening, after he had gone, she wrote him a little note and broke the
+engagement. So heartbroken was she--and so fearful was she that he
+should suspect this--that her note, when completed, was a cold little
+thing of few words, which carried no hint that its very coldness was but
+the heart-break in the disguise of pride.
+
+This was like Billy in all ways. Billy, had she lived in the days of
+the Christian martyrs, would have been the first to walk with head erect
+into the Arena of Sacrifice. The arena now was just everyday living, the
+lions were her own devouring misery, and the cause was Bertram's best
+good.
+
+From Bertram's own self she had it now--that she had been the cause of
+his being troubled; so she could doubt no longer. The only part that was
+uncertain was the reason why he had been troubled. Whether his bond to
+her had become irksome because of his love for another, or because of
+his love for no girl--except to paint, Billy did not know. But that it
+was irksome she did not doubt now. Besides, as if she were going to slay
+his Art, stifle his Ambition, destroy his Inspiration, and be a nuisance
+generally just so that _she_ might be happy! Indeed, no! Hence she broke
+the engagement.
+
+This was the letter:
+
+
+     “DEAR BERTRAM:--You won't make the
+     move, so I must. I knew, from the way you spoke
+     to-day, that it _was_ about me that you were
+     troubled, even though you generously tried to
+     make me think it was not. And so the picture did
+     not go well.
+
+     “Now, dear, we have not been happy together
+     lately. You have seen it; so have I. I fear our
+     engagement was a mistake, so I'm going to send
+     back your ring to-morrow, and I'm writing this
+     letter to-night. Please don't try to see me just
+     yet. You _know_ what I am doing is best--all
+     round.
+               “Always your friend,
+                       “BILLY.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXI. FLIGHT
+
+
+Billy feared if she did not mail the letter at once she would not have
+the courage to mail it at all. So she slipped down-stairs very quietly
+and went herself to the post box a little way down the street; then she
+came back and sobbed herself to sleep--though not until after she had
+sobbed awake for long hours of wretchedness.
+
+When she awoke in the morning, heavy-eyed and unrested, there came to
+her first the vague horror of some shadow hanging over her, then the
+sickening consciousness of what that shadow was. For one wild minute
+Billy felt that she must run to the telephone, summon Bertram, and
+beseech him to return unread the letter he would receive from her that
+day. Then there came to her the memory of Bertram's face as it had
+looked the night before when she had asked him if she were the cause of
+his being troubled. There came, too, the memory of Kate's scathing
+“Do you want to ruin his career?” Even the hated magazine article and
+Marie's tragic “I've _hindered_ him!” added their mite; and Billy knew
+that she should not go to the telephone, nor summon Bertram.
+
+The one fatal mistake now would be to let Bertram see her own distress.
+If once he should suspect how she suffered in doing this thing, there
+would be a scene that Billy felt she had not the courage to face. She
+must, therefore, manage in some way not to see Bertram--not to let him
+see her until she felt more sure of her self-control no matter what he
+said. The easiest way to do this was, of course, to go away. But where?
+How? She must think. Meanwhile, for these first few hours, she would not
+tell any one, even Aunt Hannah, what had happened. There must _no one_
+speak to her of it, yet. That she could not endure. Aunt Hannah would,
+of course, shiver, groan “Oh, my grief and conscience!” and call for
+another shawl; and Billy just now felt as if she should scream if she
+heard Aunt Hannah say “Oh, my grief and conscience!”--over that. Billy
+went down to breakfast, therefore, with a determination to act exactly
+as usual, so that Aunt Hannah should not know--yet.
+
+When people try to “act exactly as usual,” they generally end in acting
+quite the opposite; and Billy was no exception to the rule. Hence her
+attempted cheerfulness became flippantness, and her laughter giggles
+that rang too frequently to be quite sincere--though from Aunt Hannah
+it all elicited only an affectionate smile at “the dear child's high
+spirits.”
+
+A little later, when Aunt Hannah was glancing over the morning
+paper--now no longer barred from the door--she gave a sudden cry.
+
+“Billy, just listen to this!” she exclaimed, reading from the paper in
+her hand. “'A new tenor in “The Girl of the Golden West.” Appearance
+of Mr. M. J. Arkwright at the Boston Opera House to-night. Owing to the
+sudden illness of Dubassi, who was to have taken the part of Johnson
+tonight, an exceptional opportunity has come to a young tenor singer,
+one of the most promising pupils at the Conservatory school. Arkwright
+is said to have a fine voice, a particularly good stage presence, and
+a purity of tone and smoothness of execution that few of his age and
+experience can show. Only a short time ago he appeared as the duke at
+one of the popular-priced Saturday night performances of “Rigoletto”;
+and his extraordinary success on that occasion, coupled with his
+familiarity with, and fitness for the part of Johnson in “The Girl
+of the Golden West,” led to his being chosen to take Dubassi's place
+to-night. His performance is awaited with the greatest of interest.' Now
+isn't that splendid for Mary Jane? I'm so glad!” beamed Aunt Hannah.
+
+“Of course we're glad!” cried Billy. “And didn't it come just in time?
+This is the last week of opera, anyway, you know.”
+
+“But it says he sang before--on a Saturday night,” declared Aunt Hannah,
+going back to the paper in her hand. “Now wouldn't you have thought we'd
+have heard of it, or read of it? And wouldn't you have thought he'd have
+told us?”
+
+“Oh, well, maybe he didn't happen to see us so he could tell us,”
+ returned Billy with elaborate carelessness.
+
+“I know it; but it's so funny he _hasn't_ seen us,” contended Aunt
+Hannah, frowning. “You know how much he used to be here.”
+
+Billy colored, and hurried into the fray.
+
+“Oh, but he must have been so busy, with all this, you know. And of
+course we didn't see it in the paper--because we didn't have any paper
+at that time, probably. Oh, yes, that's my fault, I know,” she laughed;
+“and I was silly, I'll own. But we'll make up for it now. We'll go, of
+course, I wish it had been on our regular season-ticket night, but I
+fancy we can get seats somewhere; and I'm going to ask Alice Greggory
+and her mother, too. I'll go down there this morning to tell them, and
+to get the tickets. I've got it all planned.”
+
+Billy had, indeed, “got it all planned.” She had been longing for
+something that would take her away from the house--and if possible away
+from herself. This would do the one easily, and might help on the other.
+She rose at once.
+
+“I'll go right away,” she said.
+
+“But, my dear,” frowned Aunt Hannah, anxiously, “I don't believe I can
+go to-night--though I'd love to, dearly.”
+
+“But why not?”
+
+“I'm tired and half sick with a headache this morning. I didn't sleep,
+and I've taken cold somewhere,” sighed the lady, pulling the top shawl a
+little higher about her throat.
+
+“Why, you poor dear, what a shame!”
+
+“Won't Bertram go?” asked Aunt Hannah.
+
+Billy shook her head--but she did not meet Aunt Hannah's eyes.
+
+“Oh, no. I sha'n't even ask him. He said last night he had a banquet
+on for to-night--one of his art clubs, I believe.” Billy's voice was
+casualness itself.
+
+“But you'll have the Greggorys--that is, Mrs. Greggory _can_ go, can't
+she?” inquired Aunt Hannah.
+
+“Oh, yes; I'm sure she can,” nodded Billy. “You know she went to the
+operetta, and this is just the same--only bigger.”
+
+“Yes, yes, I know,” murmured Aunt Hannah.
+
+“Dear me! How can she get about so on those two wretched little sticks?
+She's a perfect marvel to me.”
+
+“She is to me, too,” sighed Billy, as she hurried from the room.
+
+Billy was, indeed, in a hurry. To herself she said she wanted to get
+away--away! And she got away as soon as she could.
+
+She had her plans all made. She would go first to the Greggorys' and
+invite them to attend the opera with her that evening. Then she would
+get the tickets. Just what she would do with the rest of the day she did
+not know. She knew only that she would not go home until time to dress
+for dinner and the opera. She did not tell Aunt Hannah this, however,
+when she left the house. She planned to telephone it from somewhere down
+town, later. She told herself that she _could not_ stay all day under
+the sharp eyes of Aunt Hannah--but she managed, nevertheless, to bid
+that lady a particularly blithe and bright-faced good-by.
+
+
+Billy had not been long gone when the telephone bell rang. Aunt Hannah
+answered it.
+
+“Why, Bertram, is that you?” she called, in answer to the words that
+came to her across the wire. “Why, I hardly knew your voice!”
+
+“Didn't you? Well, is--is Billy there?”
+
+“No, she isn't. She's gone down to see Alice Greggory.”
+
+“Oh!” So evident was the disappointment in the voice that Aunt Hannah
+added hastily:
+
+“I'm so sorry! She hasn't been gone ten minutes. But--is there any
+message?”
+
+“No, thank you. There's no--message.” The voice hesitated, then went on
+a little constrainedly. “How--how is Billy this morning? She--she's all
+right, isn't she?”
+
+Aunt Hannah laughed in obvious amusement.
+
+“Bless your dear heart, yes, my boy! Has it been such a _long_ time
+since last evening--when you saw her yourself? Yes, she's all right. In
+fact, I was thinking at the breakfast table how pretty she looked with
+her pink cheeks and her bright eyes. She seemed to be in such high
+spirits.”
+
+An inarticulate something that Aunt Hannah could not quite catch
+came across the line; then a somewhat hurried “All right. Thank you.
+Good-by.”
+
+The next time Aunt Hannah was called to the telephone, Billy spoke to
+her.
+
+“Aunt Hannah, don't wait luncheon for me, please. I shall get it in
+town. And don't expect me till five o'clock. I have some shopping to
+do.”
+
+“All right, dear,” replied Aunt Hannah. “Did you get the tickets?”
+
+“Yes, and the Greggorys will go. Oh, and Aunt Hannah!”
+
+“Yes, dear.”
+
+“Please tell John to bring Peggy around early enough to-night so we can
+go down and get the Greggorys. I told them we'd call for them.”
+
+“Very well, dear. I'll tell him.”
+
+“Thank you. How's the poor head?”
+
+“Better, a little, I think.”
+
+“That's good. Won't you repent and go, too?”
+
+“No--oh, no, indeed!”
+
+“All right, then; good-by. I'm sorry!”
+
+“So'm I. Good-by,” sighed Aunt Hannah, as she hung up the receiver and
+turned away.
+
+It was after five o'clock when Billy got home, and so hurried were the
+dressing and the dinner that Aunt Hannah forgot to mention Bertram's
+telephone call till just as Billy was ready to start for the Greggorys'.
+
+“There! and I forgot,” she confessed. “Bertram called you up just after
+you left this morning, my dear.”
+
+“Did he?” Billy's face was turned away, but Aunt Hannah did not notice
+that.
+
+“Yes. Oh, he didn't want anything special,” smiled the lady,
+“only--well, he did ask if you were all right this morning,” she
+finished with quiet mischief.
+
+“Did he?” murmured Billy again. This time there was a little sound after
+the words, which Aunt Hannah would have taken for a sob if she had not
+known that it must have been a laugh.
+
+Then Billy was gone.
+
+At eight o'clock the doorbell rang, and a minute later Rosa came up
+to say that Mr. Bertram Henshaw was down-stairs and wished to see Mrs.
+Stetson.
+
+Mrs. Stetson went down at once.
+
+“Why, my dear boy,” she exclaimed, as she entered the room; “Billy said
+you had a banquet on for to-night!”
+
+“Yes, I know; but--I didn't go.” Bertram's face was pale and drawn. His
+voice did not sound natural.
+
+“Why, Bertram, you look ill! _Are_ you ill?” The man made an impatient
+gesture.
+
+“No, no, I'm not ill--I'm not ill at all. Rosa says--Billy's not here.”
+
+“No; she's gone to the opera with the Greggorys.”
+
+“The _opera!_” There was a grieved hurt in Bertram's voice that
+Aunt Hannah quite misunderstood. She hastened to give an apologetic
+explanation.
+
+“Yes. She would have told you--she would have asked you to join them,
+I'm sure, but she said you were going to a banquet. I'm _sure_ she said
+so.”
+
+“Yes, I did tell her so--last night,” nodded Bertram, dully.
+
+Aunt Hannah frowned a little. Still more anxiously she endeavored to
+explain to this disappointed lover why his sweetheart was not at home to
+greet him.
+
+“Well, then, of course, my boy, she'd never think of your coming here
+to-night; and when she found Mr. Arkwright was going to sing--”
+
+“Arkwright!” There was no listlessness in Bertram's voice or manner now.
+
+“Yes. Didn't you see it in the paper? Such a splendid chance for him!
+His picture was there, too.”
+
+“No. I didn't see it.”
+
+“Then you don't know about it, of course,” smiled Aunt Hannah. “But he's
+to take the part of Johnson in 'The Girl of the Golden West.' Isn't that
+splendid? I'm so glad! And Billy was, too. She hurried right off this
+morning to get the tickets and to ask the Greggorys.”
+
+“Oh!” Bertram got to his feet a little abruptly, and held out his hand.
+“Well, then, I might as well say good-by then, I suppose,” he suggested
+with a laugh that Aunt Hannah thought was a bit forced. Before she could
+remind him again, though, that Billy was really not to blame for not
+being there to welcome him, he was gone. And Aunt Hannah could only go
+up-stairs and meditate on the unreasonableness of lovers in general, and
+of Bertram in particular.
+
+Aunt Hannah had gone to bed, but she was still awake, when Billy came
+home, so she heard the automobile come to a stop before the door, and
+she called to Billy when the girl came upstairs.
+
+“Billy, dear, come in here. I'm awake! I want to hear about it. Was it
+good?”
+
+Billy stopped in the doorway. The light from the hall struck her face.
+There was no brightness in her eyes now, no pink in her cheeks.
+
+“Oh, yes, it was good--very good,” she replied listlessly.
+
+“Why, Billy, how queer you answer! What was the matter? Wasn't Mary
+Jane--all right?”
+
+“Mary Jane? Oh!--oh, yes; he was very good, Aunt Hannah.”
+
+“'Very good,' indeed!” echoed the lady, indignantly. “He must have
+been!--when you speak as if you'd actually forgotten that he sang at
+all, anyway!”
+
+Billy had forgotten--almost. Billy had found that, in spite of her
+getting away from the house, she had not got away from herself once, all
+day. She tried now, however, to summon her acting powers of the morning.
+
+“But it was splendid, really, Aunt Hannah,” she cried, with some show
+of animation. “And they clapped and cheered and gave him any number of
+curtain calls. We were so proud of him! But you see, I _am_ tired,” she
+broke off wearily.
+
+“You poor child, of course you are, and you look like a ghost! I won't
+keep you another minute. Run along to bed. Oh--Bertram didn't go to that
+banquet, after all. He came here,” she added, as Billy turned to go.
+
+“Bertram!” The girl wheeled sharply.
+
+“Yes. He wanted you, of course. I found I didn't do, at all,” chuckled
+Aunt Hannah. “Did you suppose I would?”
+
+There was no answer. Billy had gone.
+
+
+In the long night watches Billy fought it out with herself. (Billy had
+always fought things out with herself.) She must go away. She knew that.
+Already Bertram had telephoned, and called. He evidently meant to see
+her--and she could not see him. She dared not. If she did--Billy knew
+now how pitifully little it would take to make her actually _willing_ to
+slay Bertram's Art, stifle his Ambition, destroy his Inspiration, and be
+a nuisance generally--if only she could have Bertram while she was doing
+it all. Sternly then she asked herself if she had no pride; if she had
+forgotten that it was because of her that the Winthrop portrait had not
+been a success--because of her, either for the reason that he loved now
+Miss Winthrop, or else that he loved no girl--except to paint.
+
+Very early in the morning a white-faced, red-eyed Billy appeared at Aunt
+Hannah's bedside.
+
+“Billy!” exclaimed Aunt Hannah, plainly appalled.
+
+Billy sat down on the edge of the bed.
+
+“Aunt Hannah,” she began in a monotonous voice as if she were reciting
+a lesson she had learned by heart, “please listen, and please try not to
+be too surprised. You were saying the other day that you would like to
+visit your old home town. Well, I think that's a very nice idea. If you
+don't mind we'll go to-day.”
+
+Aunt Hannah pulled herself half erect in bed.
+
+“_To-day_--child?”
+
+“Yes,” nodded Billy, unsmilingly. “We shall have to go somewhere to-day,
+and I thought you would like that place best.”
+
+“But--Billy!--what does this mean?”
+
+Billy sighed heavily.
+
+“Yes, I understand. You'll have to know the rest, of course. I've broken
+my engagement. I don't want to see Bertram. That's why I'm going away.”
+
+Aunt Hannah fell nervelessly back on the pillow. Her teeth fairly
+chattered.
+
+“Oh, my grief and conscience--_Billy!_ Won't you please pull up that
+blanket,” she moaned. “Billy, what do you mean?”
+
+Billy shook her head and got to her feet.
+
+“I can't tell any more now, really, Aunt Hannah. Please don't ask me;
+and don't--talk. You _will_--go with me, won't you?” And Aunt Hannah,
+with her terrified eyes on Billy's piteously agitated face, nodded her
+head and choked:
+
+“Why, of course I'll go--anywhere--with you, Billy; but--why did you do
+it, why did you do it?”
+
+A little later, Billy, in her own room, wrote this note to Bertram:
+
+
+     “DEAR BERTRAM:--I'm going away to-day.
+     That'll be best all around. You'll agree to that,
+     I'm sure. Please don't try to see me, and please
+     don't write. It wouldn't make either one of us
+     any happier. You must know that.
+
+             “As ever your friend,
+
+                    “BILLY.”
+
+
+Bertram, when he read it, grew only a shade more white, a degree more
+sick at heart. Then he kissed the letter gently and put it away with the
+other.
+
+To Bertram, the thing was very clear. Billy had come now to the
+conclusion that it would be wrong to give herself where she could not
+give her heart. And in this he agreed with her--bitter as it was for
+him. Certainly he did not want Billy, if Billy did not want him, he told
+himself. He would now, of course, accede to her request. He would not
+write to her--and make her suffer more. But to Bertram, at that moment,
+it seemed that the very sun in the heavens had gone out.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXII. PETE TO THE RESCUE
+
+
+One by one the weeks passed and became a month. Then other weeks became
+other months. It was July when Billy, homesick and weary, came back to
+Hillside with Aunt Hannah.
+
+Home looked wonderfully good to Billy, in spite of the fact that she had
+so dreaded to see it. Billy had made up her mind, however, that, come
+sometime she must. She could not, of course, stay always away. Perhaps,
+too, it would be just as easy at home as it was away. Certainly it could
+not be any harder. She was convinced of that. Besides, she did not want
+Bertram to think--
+
+Billy had received only meagre news from Boston since she went away.
+Bertram had not written at all. William had written twice--hurt,
+grieved, puzzled, questioning letters that were very hard to answer.
+From Marie, too, had come letters of much the same sort. By far the
+cheeriest epistles had come from Alice Greggory. They contained, indeed,
+about the only comfort Billy had known for weeks, for they showed very
+plainly to Billy that Arkwright's heart had been caught on the rebound;
+and that in Alice Greggory he was finding the sweetest sort of balm for
+his wounded feelings. From these letters Billy learned, too, that Judge
+Greggory's honor had been wholly vindicated; and, as Billy told Aunt
+Hannah, “anybody could put two and two together and make four, now.”
+
+It was eight o'clock on a rainy July evening that Billy and Aunt Hannah
+arrived at Hillside; and it was only a little past eight that Aunt
+Hannah was summoned to the telephone. When she came back to Billy she
+was crying and wringing her hands.
+
+Billy sprang to her feet.
+
+“Why, Aunt Hannah, what is it? What's the matter?” she demanded.
+
+Aunt Hannah sank into a chair, still wringing her hands.
+
+“Oh, Billy, Billy, how can I tell you, how can I tell you?” she moaned.
+
+“You must tell me! Aunt Hannah, what is it?”
+
+“Oh--oh--oh! Billy, I can't--I can't!”
+
+“But you'll have to! What is it, Aunt Hannah?”
+
+“It's--B-Bertram!”
+
+“Bertram!” Billy's face grew ashen. “Quick, quick--what do you mean?”
+
+For answer, Aunt Hannah covered her face with her hands and began to sob
+aloud. Billy, almost beside herself now with terror and anxiety, dropped
+on her knees and tried to pull away the shaking hands.
+
+“Aunt Hannah, you must tell me! You must--you must!”
+
+“I can't, Billy. It's Bertram. He's--_hurt!_” choked Aunt Hannah,
+hysterically.
+
+“Hurt! How?”
+
+“I don't know. Pete told me.”
+
+“Pete!”
+
+“Yes. Rosa had told him we were coming, and he called me up. He said
+maybe I could do something. So he told me.”
+
+“Yes, yes! But told you what?”
+
+“That he was hurt.”
+
+“How?”
+
+“I couldn't hear all, but I think 'twas an accident--automobile. And,
+Billy, Billy--Pete says it's his arm--his right arm--and that maybe he
+can't ever p-paint again!”
+
+“Oh-h!” Billy fell back as if the words had been a blow. “Not that, Aunt
+Hannah--not that!”
+
+“That's what Pete said. I couldn't get all of it, but I got that.
+And, Billy, he's been out of his head--though he isn't now, Pete
+says--and--and--and he's been calling for you.”
+
+“For--_me?_” A swift change came to Billy's face.
+
+“Yes. Over and over again he called for you--while he was crazy, you
+know. That's why Pete told me. He said he didn't rightly understand what
+the trouble was, but he didn't believe there was any trouble, _really_,
+between you two; anyway, that you wouldn't think there was, if you could
+hear him, and know how he wanted you, and--why, Billy!”
+
+Billy was on her feet now. Her fingers were on the electric push-button
+that would summon Rosa. Her face was illumined. The next moment Rosa
+appeared.
+
+“Tell John to bring Peggy to the door at once, please,” directed her
+mistress.
+
+“Billy!” gasped Aunt Hannah again, as the maid disappeared. Billy was
+tremblingly putting on the hat she had but just taken off. “Billy, what
+are you going to do?”
+
+Billy turned in obvious surprise.
+
+“Why, I'm going to Bertram, of course.”
+
+“To Bertram! But it's nearly half-past eight, child, and it rains, and
+everything!”
+
+“But Bertram _wants_ me!” exclaimed Billy. “As if I'd mind rain, or
+time, or anything else, _now!_”
+
+“But--but--oh, my grief and conscience!” groaned Aunt Hannah, beginning
+to wring her hands again.
+
+Billy reached for her coat. Aunt Hannah stirred into sudden action.
+
+“But, Billy, if you'd only wait till to-morrow,” she quavered, putting
+out a feebly restraining hand.
+
+“To-morrow!” The young voice rang with supreme scorn. “Do you think I'd
+wait till to-morrow--after all this? I say Bertram _wants_ me.” Billy
+picked up her gloves.
+
+“But you broke it off, dear--you said you did; and to go down there
+to-night--like this--”
+
+Billy lifted her head. Her eyes shone. Her whole face was a glory of
+love and pride.
+
+“That was before. I didn't know. He _wants_ me, Aunt Hannah. Did
+you hear? He _wants_ me! And now I won't even--hinder him, if he
+can't--p-paint again!” Billy's voice broke. The glory left her face. Her
+eyes brimmed with tears, but her head was still bravely uplifted. “I'm
+going to Bertram!”
+
+Blindly Aunt Hannah got to her feet. Still more blindly she reached for
+her bonnet and cloak on the chair near her.
+
+“Oh, will you go, too?” asked Billy, abstractedly, hurrying to the
+window to look for the motor car.
+
+“Will I go, too!” burst out Aunt Hannah's indignant voice. “Do you think
+I'd let you go alone, and at this time of night, on such a wild-goose
+chase as this?”
+
+“I don't know, I'm sure,” murmured Billy, still abstractedly, peering
+out into the rain.
+
+“Don't know, indeed! Oh, my grief and conscience!” groaned Aunt Hannah,
+setting her bonnet hopelessly askew on top of her agitated head.
+
+But Billy did not even answer now. Her face was pressed hard against the
+window-pane.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIII. BERTRAM TAKES THE REINS
+
+
+With stiffly pompous dignity Pete opened the door. The next moment
+he fell back in amazement before the impetuous rush of a starry-eyed,
+flushed-cheeked young woman who demanded:
+
+“Where is he, Pete?”
+
+“Miss Billy!” gasped the old man. Then he saw Aunt Hannah--Aunt Hannah
+with her bonnet askew, her neck-bow awry, one hand bare, and the other
+half covered with a glove wrong side out. Aunt Hannah's cheeks, too,
+were flushed, and her eyes starry, but with dismay and anger--the last
+because she did not like the way Pete had said Miss Billy's name. It was
+one matter for her to object to this thing Billy was doing--but quite
+another for Pete to do it.
+
+“Of course it's she!” retorted Aunt Hannah, testily. “As if you yourself
+didn't bring her here with your crazy messages at this time of night!”
+
+“Pete, where is he?” interposed Billy. “Tell Mr. Bertram I am here--or,
+wait! I'll go right in and surprise him.”
+
+“_Billy!_” This time it was Aunt Hannah who gasped her name.
+
+Pete had recovered himself by now, but he did not even glance toward
+Aunt Hannah. His face was beaming, and his old eyes were shining.
+
+“Miss Billy, Miss Billy, you're an angel straight from heaven, you
+are--you are! Oh, I'm so glad you came! It'll be all right now--all
+right! He's in the den, Miss Billy.”
+
+Billy turned eagerly, but before she could take so much as one step
+toward the door at the end of the hall, Aunt Hannah's indignant voice
+arrested her.
+
+“Billy-stop! You're not an angel; you're a young woman--and a crazy
+one, at that! Whatever angels do, young women don't go unannounced and
+unchaperoned into young men's rooms! Pete, go tell your master that _we_
+are here, and ask if he will receive _us_.”
+
+Pete's lips twitched. The emphatic “we” and “us” were not lost on him.
+But his face was preternaturally grave when he spoke.
+
+“Mr. Bertram is up and dressed, ma'am. He's in the den. I'll speak to
+him.”
+
+Pete, once again the punctilious butler, stalked to the door of
+Bertram's den and threw it wide open.
+
+Opposite the door, on a low couch, lay Bertram, his head bandaged, and
+his right arm in a sling. His face was turned toward the door, but his
+eyes were closed. He looked very white, and his features were pitifully
+drawn with suffering.
+
+“Mr. Bertram,” began Pete--but he got no further. A flying figure
+brushed by him and fell on its knees by the couch, with a low cry.
+
+Bertram's eyes flew open. Across his face swept such a radiant look of
+unearthly joy that Pete sobbed audibly and fled to the kitchen. Dong
+Ling found him there a minute later polishing a silver teaspoon with
+a fringed napkin that had been spread over Bertram's tray. In the hall
+above Aunt Hannah was crying into William's gray linen duster that hung
+on the hall-rack--Aunt Hannah's handkerchief was on the floor back at
+Hillside.
+
+In the den neither Billy nor Bertram knew or cared what had become of
+Aunt Hannah and Pete. There were just two people in their world--two
+people, and unutterable, incredible, overwhelming rapture and peace.
+Then, very gradually it dawned over them that there was, after all,
+something strange and unexplained in it all.
+
+“But, dearest, what does it mean--you here like this?” asked Bertram
+then. As if to make sure that she was “here, like this,” he drew her
+even closer--Bertram was so thankful that he did have one arm that was
+usable.
+
+Billy, on her knees by the couch, snuggled into the curve of the one arm
+with a contented little sigh.
+
+“Well, you see, just as soon as I found out to-night that you wanted me,
+I came,” she said.
+
+“You darling! That was--” Bertram stopped suddenly. A puzzled frown
+showed below the fantastic bandage about his head. “'As soon as,'” he
+quoted then scornfully. “Were you ever by any possible chance thinking I
+_didn't_ want you?”
+
+Billy's eyes widened a little.
+
+“Why, Bertram, dear, don't you see? When you were so troubled that
+the picture didn't go well, and I found out it was about me you were
+troubled--I--”
+
+“Well?” Bertram's voice was a little strained.
+
+“Why, of--of course,” stammered Billy, “I couldn't help thinking that
+maybe you had found out you _didn't_ want me.”
+
+“_Didn't want you!_” groaned Bertram, his tense muscles relaxing. “May I
+ask why?”
+
+Billy blushed.
+
+“I wasn't quite sure why,” she faltered; “only, of course, I thought
+of--of Miss Winthrop, you know, or that maybe it was because you didn't
+care for _any_ girl, only to paint--oh, oh, Bertram! Pete told us,” she
+broke off wildly, beginning to sob.
+
+“Pete told you that I didn't care for any girl, only to paint?” demanded
+Bertram, angry and mystified.
+
+“No, no,” sobbed Billy, “not that. It was all the others that told
+me that! Pete told Aunt Hannah about the accident, you know, and he
+said--he said--Oh, Bertram, I _can't_ say it! But that's one of the
+things that made me know I _could_ come now, you see, because I--I
+wouldn't hinder you, nor slay your Art, nor any other of those dreadful
+things if--if you couldn't ever--p-paint again,” finished Billy in an
+uncontrollable burst of grief.
+
+“There, there, dear,” comforted Bertram, patting the bronze-gold head
+on his breast. “I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking
+about--except the last; but I know there _can't_ be anything that ought
+to make you cry like that. As for my not painting again--you didn't
+understand Pete, dearie. That was what they were afraid of at
+first--that I'd lose my arm; but that danger is all past now. I'm
+loads better. Of course I'm going to paint again--and better than ever
+before--_now!_”
+
+Billy lifted her head. A look that was almost terror came to her eyes.
+She pulled herself half away from Bertram's encircling arm.
+
+“Why, Billy,” cried the man, in pained surprise. “You don't mean to say
+you're _sorry_ I'm going to paint again!”
+
+“No, no! Oh, no, Bertram--never that!” she faltered, still regarding
+him with fearful eyes. “It's only--for _me_, you know. I _can't_ go back
+now, and not have you--after this!--even if I do hinder you, and--”
+
+“_Hinder me!_ What are you talking about, Billy?”
+
+Billy drew a quivering sigh.
+
+“Well, to begin with, Kate said--”
+
+“Good heavens! Is Kate in _this_, too?” Bertram's voice was savage now.
+
+“Well, she wrote a letter.”
+
+“I'll warrant she did! Great Scott, Billy! Don't you know Kate by this
+time?”
+
+“Y-yes, I said so, too. But, Bertram, what she wrote was true. I found
+it everywhere, afterwards--in magazines and papers, and even in Marie.”
+
+“Humph! Well, dearie, I don't know yet what you found, but I do know you
+wouldn't have found it at all if it hadn't been for Kate--and I wish I
+had her here this minute!”
+
+Billy giggled hysterically.
+
+“I don't--not _right_ here,” she cooed, nestling comfortably against
+her lover's arm. “But you see, dear, she never _has_ approved of the
+marriage.”
+
+“Well, who's doing the marrying--she, or I?” “That's what I said,
+too--only in another way,” sighed Billy. “But she called us flyaway
+flutterbudgets, and she said I'd ruin your career, if I did marry you.”
+
+“Well, I can tell you right now, Billy, you will ruin it if you don't!”
+ declared Bertram. “That's what ailed me all the time I was painting that
+miserable portrait. I was so worried--for fear I'd lose you.”
+
+“Lose me! Why, Bertram Henshaw, what do you mean?”
+
+A shamed red crept to the man's forehead.
+
+“Well, I suppose I might as well own up now as any time. I was scared
+blue, Billy, with jealousy of--Arkwright.”
+
+Billy laughed gayly--but she shifted her position and did not meet her
+lover's eyes.
+
+“Arkwright? Nonsense!” she cried. “Why, he's going to marry Alice
+Greggory. I know he is! I can see it as plain as day in her letters.
+He's there a lot.”
+
+“And you never did think for a minute, Billy, that you cared for him?”
+ Bertram's gaze searched Billy's face a little fearfully. He had not been
+slow to mark that swift lowering of her eyelids. But Billy looked him
+now straight in the face--it was a level, frank gaze of absolute truth.
+
+“Never, dear,” she said firmly. (Billy was so glad Bertram had turned
+the question on _her_ love instead of Arkwright's!) “There has never
+really been any one but you.”
+
+“Thank God for that,” breathed Bertram, as he drew the bright head
+nearer and held it close.
+
+After a minute Billy stirred and sighed happily.
+
+“Aren't lovers the beat'em for imagining things?” she murmured.
+
+“They certainly are.”
+
+“You see--I wasn't in love with Mr. Arkwright.”
+
+“I see--I hope.”
+
+“And--and you didn't care _specially_ for--for Miss Winthrop?”
+
+“Eh? Well, no!” exploded Bertram. “Do you mean to say you really--”
+
+Billy put a soft finger on his lips.
+
+“Er--'people who live in _glass houses_,' you know,” she reminded him,
+with roguish eyes.
+
+Bertram kissed the finger and subsided.
+
+“Humph!” he commented.
+
+There was a long silence; then, a little breathlessly, Billy asked:
+
+“And you don't--after all, love me--just to paint?”
+
+“Well, what is that? Is that Kate, too?” demanded Bertram, grimly.
+
+Billy laughed.
+
+“No--oh, she said it, all right, but, you see, _everybody_ said that to
+me, Bertram; and that's what made me so--so worried sometimes when you
+talked about the tilt of my chin, and all that.”
+
+“Well, by Jove!” breathed Bertram.
+
+There was another silence. Then, suddenly, Bertram stirred.
+
+“Billy, I'm going to marry you to-morrow,” he announced decisively.
+
+Billy lifted her head and sat back in palpitating dismay.
+
+“Bertram! What an absurd idea!”
+
+“Well, I am. I don't _know_ as I can trust you out of my sight till
+_then!_ You'll read something, or hear something, or get a letter from
+Kate after breakfast to-morrow morning, that will set you 'saving me'
+again; and I don't want to be saved--that way. I'm going to marry you
+to-morrow. I'll get--” He stopped short, with a sudden frown. “Confound
+that law! I forgot. Great Scott, Billy, I'll have to trust you five
+days, after all! There's a new law about the license. We've _got_ to
+wait five days--and maybe more, counting in the notice, and all.”
+
+Billy laughed softly.
+
+“Five days, indeed, sir! I wonder if you think I can get ready to be
+married in five days.”
+
+
+“Don't want you to get ready,” retorted Bertram, promptly. “I saw Marie
+get ready, and I had all I wanted of it. If you really must have all
+those miles of tablecloths and napkins and doilies and lace rufflings
+we'll do it afterwards,--not before.”
+
+“But--”
+
+“Besides, I _need_ you to take care of me,” cut in Bertram, craftily.
+
+“Bertram, do you--really?”
+
+The tender glow on Billy's face told its own story, and Bertram's eager
+eyes were not slow to read it.
+
+“Sweetheart, see here, dear,” he cried softly, tightening his good left
+arm. And forthwith he began to tell her how much he did, indeed, need
+her.
+
+
+“Billy, my dear!” It was Aunt Hannah's plaintive voice at the doorway,
+a little later. “We must go home; and William is here, too, and wants to
+see you.”
+
+Billy rose at once as Aunt Hannah entered the room.
+
+“Yes, Aunt Hannah, I'll come; besides”--she glanced at Bertram
+mischievously--“I shall need all the time I've got to prepare for--my
+wedding.”
+
+“Your wedding! You mean it'll be before--October?” Aunt Hannah glanced
+from one to the other uncertainly. Something in their smiling faces sent
+a quick suspicion to her eyes.
+
+“Yes,” nodded Billy, demurely. “It's next Tuesday, you see.”
+
+“Next Tuesday! But that's only a week away,” gasped Aunt Hannah.
+
+“Yes, a week.”
+
+“But, child, your trousseau--the wedding--the--the--a week!” Aunt Hannah
+could not articulate further.
+
+“Yes, I know; that is a good while,” cut in Bertram, airily. “We wanted
+it to-morrow, but we had to wait, on account of the new license law.
+Otherwise it wouldn't have been so long, and--”
+
+But Aunt Hannah was gone. With a low-breathed “Long! Oh, my grief and
+conscience--_William!_” she had fled through the hall door.
+
+“Well, it _is_ long,” maintained Bertram, with tender eyes, as he
+reached out his hand to say good-night.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's Miss Billy's Decision, by Eleanor H. Porter
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diff --git a/362-0.zip b/362-0.zip
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Miss Billy's Decision, by Eleanor H. Porter
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Miss Billy's Decision
+
+Author: Eleanor H. Porter
+
+Release Date: July 8, 2008 [EBook #362]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MISS BILLY'S DECISION ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Charles Keller
+
+
+
+
+
+MISS BILLY'S DECISION
+
+By Eleanor H. Porter
+
+Author of "Miss Billy," etc.
+
+
+TO My Cousin Helen
+
+
+                                        CONTENTS
+          CHAPTER
+          I.      CALDERWELL DOES SOME TALKING
+          II.     AUNT HANNAH GETS A LETTER
+          III.    BILLY AND BERTRAM
+          IV.     FOR MARY JANE
+          V.      MARIE SPEAKS HER MIND
+          VI.     AT THE SIGN OF THE PINK
+          VII.    OLD FRIENDS AND NEW
+          VIII.   M. J. OPENS THE GAME
+          IX.     A RUG, A PICTURE, AND A GIRL AFRAID
+          X.      A JOB FOR PETE--AND FOR BERTRAM
+          XI.     A CLOCK AND AUNT HANNAH
+          XII.    SISTER KATE
+          XIII.   CYRIL AND A WEDDING
+          XIV.    M. J. MAKES ANOTHER MOVE
+          XV.     "MR. BILLY" AND "MISS MARY JANE"
+          XVI.    A GIRL AND A BIT OF LOWESTOFT
+          XVII.   ONLY A LOVE SONG, BUT--
+          XVIII.  SUGARPLUMS
+          XIX.    ALICE GREGGORY
+          XX.     ARKWRIGHT TELLS A STORY
+          XXI.    A MATTER OF STRAIGHT BUSINESS
+          XXII.   PLANS AND PLOTTINGS
+          XXIII.  THE CAUSE AND BERTRAM
+          XXIV.   THE ARTIST AND HIS ART
+          XXV.    THE OPERETTA
+          XXVI.   ARKWRIGHT TELLS ANOTHER STORY
+          XXVII.  THE THING THAT WAS THE TRUTH
+          XXVIII. BILLY TAKES HER TURN
+          XXIX.   KATE WRITES A LETTER
+          XXX.    "I'VE HINDERED HIM"
+          XXXI.   FLIGHT
+          XXXII.  PETE TO THE RESCUE
+          XXXIII. BERTRAM TAKES THE REINS
+
+
+
+
+
+MISS BILLY'S DECISION
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I. CALDERWELL DOES SOME TALKING
+
+
+Calderwell had met Mr. M. J. Arkwright in London through a common
+friend; since then they had tramped half over Europe together in a
+comradeship that was as delightful as it was unusual. As Calderwell put
+it in a letter to his sister, Belle:
+
+"We smoke the same cigar and drink the same tea (he's just as much of
+an old woman on that subject as I am!), and we agree beautifully on
+all necessary points of living, from tipping to late sleeping in the
+morning; while as for politics and religion--we disagree in those just
+enough to lend spice to an otherwise tame existence."
+
+Farther along in this same letter Calderwell touched upon his new friend
+again.
+
+"I admit, however, I would like to know his name. To find out what that
+mysterious 'M. J.' stands for has got to be pretty nearly an obsession
+with me. I am about ready to pick his pocket or rifle his trunk in
+search of some lurking 'Martin' or 'John' that will set me at peace. As
+it is, I confess that I have ogled his incoming mail and his outgoing
+baggage shamelessly, only to be slapped in the face always and
+everlastingly by that bland 'M. J.' I've got my revenge, now, though. To
+myself I call him 'Mary Jane'--and his broad-shouldered, brown-bearded
+six feet of muscular manhood would so like to be called 'Mary Jane'!
+By the way, Belle, if you ever hear of murder and sudden death in my
+direction, better set the sleuths on the trail of Arkwright. Six to one
+you'll find I called him 'Mary Jane' to his face!"
+
+Calderwell was thinking of that letter now, as he sat at a small table
+in a Paris caf�. Opposite him was the six feet of muscular manhood,
+broad shoulders, pointed brown beard, and all--and he had just addressed
+it, inadvertently, as "Mary Jane."
+
+During the brief, sickening moment of silence after the name had left
+his lips, Calderwell was conscious of a whimsical realization of the
+lights, music, and laughter all about him.
+
+"Well, I chose as safe a place as I could!" he was thinking. Then
+Arkwright spoke.
+
+"How long since you've been in correspondence with members of my
+family?"
+
+"Eh?"
+
+Arkwright laughed grimly.
+
+"Perhaps you thought of it yourself, then--I'll admit you're capable of
+it," he nodded, reaching for a cigar. "But it so happens you hit upon my
+family's favorite name for me."
+
+"_Mary Jane!_ You mean they actually _call_ you that?"
+
+"Yes," bowed the big fellow, calmly, as he struck a light.
+"Appropriate!--don't you think?"
+
+Calderwell did not answer. He thought he could not.
+
+"Well, silence gives consent, they say," laughed the other. "Anyhow, you
+must have had _some_ reason for calling me that."
+
+"Arkwright, what _does_ 'M. J.' stand for?" demanded Calderwell.
+
+"Oh, is that it?" smiled the man opposite. "Well, I'll own those
+initials have been something of a puzzle to people. One man declares
+they're 'Merely Jokes'; but another, not so friendly, says they stand
+for 'Mostly Jealousy' of more fortunate chaps who have real names for
+a handle. My small brothers and sisters, discovering, with the usual
+perspicacity of one's family on such matters, that I never signed, or
+called myself anything but 'M. J.,' dubbed me 'Mary Jane.' And there you
+have it."
+
+"Mary Jane! You!"
+
+Arkwright smiled oddly.
+
+"Oh, well, what's the difference? Would you deprive them of their
+innocent amusement? And they do so love that 'Mary Jane'! Besides,
+what's in a name, anyway?" he went on, eyeing the glowing tip of the
+cigar between his fingers. "'A rose by any other name--'--you've
+heard that, probably. Names don't always signify, my dear fellow. For
+instance, I know a 'Billy'--but he's a girl."
+
+Calderwell gave a sudden start.
+
+"You don't mean Billy--Neilson?"
+
+The other turned sharply.
+
+"Do _you_ know Billy Neilson?"
+
+Calderwell gave his friend a glance from scornful eyes.
+
+"Do I know Billy Neilson?" he cried. "Does a fellow usually know the
+girl he's proposed to regularly once in three months? Oh, I know I'm
+telling tales out of school, of course," he went on, in response to the
+look that had come into the brown eyes opposite. "But what's the use?
+Everybody knows it--that knows us. Billy herself got so she took it as
+a matter of course--and refused as a matter of course, too; just as she
+would refuse a serving of apple pie at dinner, if she hadn't wanted it."
+
+"Apple pie!" scouted Arkwright.
+
+Calderwell shrugged his shoulders.
+
+"My dear fellow, you don't seem to realize it, but for the last six
+months you have been assisting at the obsequies of a dead romance."
+
+"Indeed! And is it--buried, yet?"
+
+"Oh, no," sighed Calderwell, cheerfully. "I shall go back one of these
+days, I'll warrant, and begin the same old game again; though I will
+acknowledge that the last refusal was so very decided that it's been a
+year, almost, since I received it. I think I was really convinced, for
+a while, that--that she didn't want that apple pie," he finished with
+a whimsical lightness that did not quite coincide with the stern lines
+that had come to his mouth.
+
+For a moment there was silence, then Calderwell spoke again.
+
+"Where did you know--Miss Billy?"
+
+"Oh, I don't know her at all. I know of her--through Aunt Hannah."
+
+Calderwell sat suddenly erect.
+
+"Aunt Hannah! Is she your aunt, too? Jove! This _is_ a little old world,
+after all; isn't it?"
+
+"She isn't my aunt. She's my mother's third cousin. None of us have seen
+her for years, but she writes to mother occasionally; and, of course,
+for some time now, her letters have been running over full of Billy. She
+lives with her, I believe; doesn't she?"
+
+"She does," rejoined Calderwell, with an unexpected chuckle. "I wonder
+if you know how she happened to live with her, at first."
+
+"Why, no, I reckon not. What do you mean?"
+
+Calderwell chuckled again.
+
+"Well, I'll tell you. You, being a 'Mary Jane,' ought to appreciate it.
+You see, Billy was named for one William Henshaw, her father's chum,
+who promptly forgot all about her. At eighteen, Billy, being left quite
+alone in the world, wrote to 'Uncle William' and asked to come and live
+with him."
+
+"Well?"
+
+"But it wasn't well. William was a forty-year-old widower who lived with
+two younger brothers, an old butler, and a Chinese cook in one of those
+funny old Beacon Street houses in Boston. 'The Strata,' Bertram called
+it. Bright boy--Bertram!"
+
+"The Strata!"
+
+"Yes. I wish you could see that house, Arkwright. It's a regular layer
+cake. Cyril--he's the second brother; must be thirty-four or five
+now--lives on the top floor in a rugless, curtainless, music-mad
+existence--just a plain crank. Below him comes William. William collects
+things--everything from tenpenny nails to teapots, I should say, and
+they're all there in his rooms. Farther down somewhere comes Bertram.
+He's _the_ Bertram Henshaw, you understand; the artist."
+
+"Not the 'Face-of-a-Girl' Henshaw?"
+
+"The same; only of course four years ago he wasn't quite so well known
+as he is now. Well, to resume and go on. It was into this house, this
+masculine paradise ruled over by Pete and Dong Ling in the kitchen, that
+Billy's na�ve request for a home came."
+
+"Great Scott!" breathed Arkwright, appreciatively.
+
+"Yes. Well, the letter was signed 'Billy.' They took her for a boy,
+naturally, and after something of a struggle they agreed to let 'him'
+come. For his particular delectation they fixed up a room next to
+Bertram with guns and fishing rods, and such ladylike specialties; and
+William went to the station to meet the boy."
+
+"With never a suspicion?"
+
+"With never a suspicion."
+
+"Gorry!"
+
+"Well, 'he' came, and 'she' conquered. I guess things were lively for
+a while, though. Oh, there was a kitten, too, I believe, 'Spunk,' who
+added to the gayety of nations."
+
+"But what did the Henshaws do?"
+
+"Well, I wasn't there, of course; but Bertram says they spun around like
+tops gone mad for a time, but finally quieted down enough to summon a
+married sister for immediate propriety, and to establish Aunt Hannah for
+permanency the next day."
+
+"So that's how it happened! Well, by George!" cried Arkwright.
+
+"Yes," nodded the other. "So you see there are untold possibilities just
+in a name. Remember that. Just suppose _you_, as Mary Jane, should beg a
+home in a feminine household--say in Miss Billy's, for instance!"
+
+"I'd like to," retorted Arkwright, with sudden warmth.
+
+Calderwell stared a little.
+
+The other laughed shamefacedly.
+
+"Oh, it's only that I happen to have a devouring curiosity to meet
+that special young lady. I sing her songs (you know she's written some
+dandies!), I've heard a lot about her, and I've seen her picture."
+(He did not add that he had also purloined that same picture from his
+mother's bureau--the picture being a gift from Aunt Hannah.) "So you
+see I would, indeed, like to occupy a corner in the fair Miss Billy's
+household. I could write to Aunt Hannah and beg a home with her, you
+know; eh?"
+
+"Of course! Why don't you--'Mary Jane'?" laughed Calderwell. "Billy'd
+take you all right. She's had a little Miss Hawthorn, a music teacher,
+there for months. She's always doing stunts of that sort. Belle writes
+me that she's had a dozen forlornites there all this last summer, two
+or three at a time-tired widows, lonesome old maids, and crippled
+kids--just to give them a royal good time. So you see she'd take you,
+without a doubt. Jove! what a pair you'd make: Miss Billy and Mr. Mary
+Jane! You'd drive the suffragettes into conniption fits--just by the
+sound of you!"
+
+Arkwright laughed quietly; then he frowned.
+
+"But how about it?" he asked. "I thought she was keeping house with Aunt
+Hannah. Didn't she stay at all with the Henshaws?"
+
+"Oh, yes, a few months. I never knew just why she did leave, but I
+fancied, from something Billy herself said once, that she discovered she
+was creating rather too much of an upheaval in the Strata. So she took
+herself off. She went to school, and travelled considerably. She was
+over here when I met her first. After that she was with us all one
+summer on the yacht. A couple of years ago, or so, she went back to
+Boston, bought a house and settled down with Aunt Hannah."
+
+"And she's not married--or even engaged?"
+
+"Wasn't the last I heard. I haven't seen her since December, and I've
+heard from her only indirectly. She corresponds with my sister, and so
+do I--intermittently. I heard a month ago from Belle, and _she_ had a
+letter from Billy in August. But I heard nothing of any engagement."
+
+"How about the Henshaws? I should think there might be a chance there
+for a romance--a charming girl, and three unattached men."
+
+Calderwell gave a slow shake of the head.
+
+"I don't think so. William is--let me see--nearly forty-five, I guess,
+by this time; and he isn't a marrying man. He buried his heart with his
+wife and baby years ago. Cyril, according to Bertram, 'hates women
+and all other confusion,' so that ought to let him out. As for Bertram
+himself--Bertram is 'only Bertram.' He's always been that. Bertram loves
+girls--to paint; but I can't imagine him making serious love to any one.
+It would always be the tilt of a chin or the turn of a cheek that he was
+admiring--to paint. No, there's no chance for a romance there, I'll
+warrant."
+
+"But there's--yourself."
+
+Calderwell's eyebrows rose the fraction of an inch.
+
+"Oh, of course. I presume January or February will find me back there,"
+he admitted with a sigh and a shrug. Then, a little bitterly, he added:
+"No, Arkwright. I shall keep away if I can. I _know_ there's no chance
+for me--now."
+
+"Then you'll leave me a clear field?" bantered the other.
+
+"Of course--'Mary Jane,'" retorted Calderwell, with equal lightness.
+
+"Thank you."
+
+"Oh, you needn't," laughed Calderwell. "My giving you the right of way
+doesn't insure you a thoroughfare for yourself--there are others, you
+know. Billy Neilson has had sighing swains about I her, I imagine, since
+she could walk and talk. She is a wonderfully fascinating little bit of
+femininity, and she has a heart of pure gold. All is, I envy the man who
+wins it--for the man who wins that, wins her."
+
+There was no answer. Arkwright sat with his eyes on the moving throng
+outside the window near them. Perhaps he had not heard. At all events,
+when he spoke some time later, it was of a matter far removed from Miss
+Billy Neilson, or the way to her heart. Nor was the young lady mentioned
+between them again that day.
+
+Long hours later, just before parting for the night, Arkwright said:
+
+"Calderwell, I'm sorry, but I believe, after all, I can't take that trip
+to the lakes with you. I--I'm going home next week."
+
+"Home! Hang it, Arkwright! I'd counted on you. Isn't this rather
+sudden?"
+
+"Yes, and no. I'll own I've been drifting about with you contentedly
+enough for the last six months to make you think mountain-climbing and
+boat-paddling were the end and aim of my existence. But they aren't, you
+know, really."
+
+"Nonsense! At heart you're as much of a vagabond as I am; and you know
+it."
+
+"Perhaps. But unfortunately I don't happen to carry your pocketbook."
+
+"You may, if you like. I'll hand it over any time," grinned Calderwell.
+
+"Thanks. You know well enough what I mean," shrugged the other.
+
+There was a moment's silence; then Calderwell queried:
+
+"Arkwright, how old are you?"
+
+"Twenty-four."
+
+"Good! Then you're merely travelling to supplement your education, see?"
+
+"Oh, yes, I see. But something besides my education has got to be
+supplemented now, I reckon."
+
+"What are you going to do?"
+
+There was an almost imperceptible hesitation; then, a little shortly,
+came the answer:
+
+"Hit the trail for Grand Opera, and bring up, probably--in vaudeville."
+
+Calderwell smiled appreciatively.
+
+"You _can_ sing like the devil," he admitted.
+
+"Thanks," returned his friend, with uplifted eyebrows. "Do you mind
+calling it 'an angel'--just for this occasion?"
+
+"Oh, the matin�e-girls will do that fast enough. But, I say,
+Arkwright, what are you going to do with those initials then?"
+
+"Let 'em alone."
+
+"Oh, no, you won't. And you won't be 'Mary Jane,' either. Imagine a Mary
+Jane in Grand Opera! I know what you'll be. You'll be 'Se�or Martini
+Johnini Arkwrightino'! By the way, you didn't say what that 'M. J.'
+really did stand for," hinted Calderwell, shamelessly.
+
+"'Merely Jokes'--in your estimation, evidently," shrugged the other.
+"But my going isn't a joke, Calderwell. I'm really going. And I'm going
+to work."
+
+"But--how shall you manage?"
+
+"Time will tell."
+
+Calderwell frowned and stirred restlessly in his chair.
+
+"But, honestly, now, to--to follow that trail of yours will take
+money. And--er--" a faint red stole to his forehead--"don't they
+have--er--patrons for these young and budding geniuses? Why can't I have
+a hand in this trail, too--or maybe you'd call it a foot, eh? I'd be no
+end glad to, Arkwright."
+
+"Thanks, old man." The red was duplicated this time above the brown
+silky beard. "That was mighty kind of you, and I appreciate it; but it
+won't be necessary. A generous, but perhaps misguided bachelor uncle
+left me a few thousands a year or so ago; and I'm going to put them all
+down my throat--or rather, _into_ it--before I give up."
+
+"Where you going to study? New York?"
+
+Again there was an almost imperceptible hesitation before the answer
+came.
+
+"I'm not quite prepared to say."
+
+"Why not try it here?"
+
+Arkwright shook his head.
+
+"I did plan to, when I came over but I've changed my mind. I believe I'd
+rather work while longer in America."
+
+"Hm-m," murmured Calderwell.
+
+There was a brief silence, followed by other questions and other
+answers; after which the friends said good night.
+
+In his own room, as he was dropping off to sleep, Calderwell muttered
+drowsily:
+
+"By George! I haven't found out yet what that blamed 'M. J.' stands
+for!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II. AUNT HANNAH GETS A LETTER
+
+
+In the cozy living-room at Hillside, Billy Neilson's pretty home on
+Corey Hill, Billy herself sat writing at the desk. Her pen had just
+traced the date, "October twenty-fifth," when Mrs. Stetson entered with
+a letter in her hand.
+
+"Writing, my dear? Then don't let me disturb you." She turned as if to
+go.
+
+Billy dropped her pen, sprang to her feet, flew to the little woman's
+side and whirled her half across the room.
+
+"There!" she exclaimed, as she plumped the breathless and scandalized
+Aunt Hannah into the biggest easy chair. "I feel better. I just had to
+let off steam some way. It's so lovely you came in just when you did!"
+
+"Indeed! I--I'm not so sure of that," stammered the lady, dropping the
+letter into her lap, and patting with agitated fingers her cap, her
+curls, the two shawls about her shoulders, and the lace at her throat.
+"My grief and conscience, Billy! Wors't you _ever_ grow up?"
+
+"Hope not," purred Billy cheerfully, dropping herself on to a low
+hassock at Aunt Hannah's feet.
+
+"But, my dear, you--you're engaged!"
+
+Billy bubbled into a chuckling laugh.
+
+"As if I didn't know that, when I've just written a dozen notes to
+announce it! And, oh, Aunt Hannah, such a time as I've had, telling what
+a dear Bertram is, and how I love, love, _love_ him, and what beautiful
+eyes he has, and _such_ a nose, and--"
+
+"Billy!" Aunt Hannah was sitting erect in pale horror.
+
+"Eh?" Billy's eyes were roguish.
+
+"You didn't write that in those notes!"
+
+"Write it? Oh, no! That's only what I _wanted_ to write," chuckled
+Billy. "What I really did write was as staid and proper as--here, let me
+show you," she broke off, springing to her feet and running over to her
+desk. "There! this is about what I wrote to them all," she finished,
+whipping a note out of one of the unsealed envelopes on the desk and
+spreading it open before Aunt Hannah's suspicious eyes.
+
+"Hm-m; that is very good--for you," admitted the lady.
+
+"Well, I like that!--after all my stern self-control and self-sacrifice
+to keep out all those things I _wanted_ to write," bridled Billy.
+"Besides, they'd have been ever so much more interesting reading than
+these will be," she pouted, as she took the note from her companion's
+hand.
+
+"I don't doubt it," observed Aunt Hannah, dryly.
+
+Billy laughed, and tossed the note back on the desk.
+
+"I'm writing to Belle Calderwell, now," she announced musingly, dropping
+herself again on the hassock. "I suppose she'll tell Hugh."
+
+"Poor boy! He'll be disappointed."
+
+Billy sighed, but she uptilted her chin a little.
+
+"He ought not to be. I told him long, long ago, the very first time,
+that--that I couldn't."
+
+"I know, dear; but--they don't always understand." Aunt Hannah sighed
+in sympathy with the far-away Hugh Calderwell, as she looked down at the
+bright young face near her.
+
+There was a moment's silence; then Billy gave a little laugh.
+
+"He _will_ be surprised," she said. "He told me once that Bertram
+wouldn't ever care for any girl except to paint. To paint, indeed! As
+if Bertram didn't love me--just _me!_--if he never saw another tube of
+paint!"
+
+"I think he does, my dear."
+
+Again there was silence; then, from Billy's lips there came softly:
+
+"Just think; we've been engaged almost four weeks--and to-morrow it'll
+be announced. I'm so glad I didn't ever announce the other two!"
+
+"The other _two!_" cried Aunt Hannah.
+
+Billy laughed.
+
+"Oh, I forgot. You didn't know about Cyril."
+
+"Cyril!"
+
+"Oh, there didn't anybody know it, either not even Cyril himself,"
+dimpled Billy, mischievously. "I just engaged myself to him in
+imagination, you know, to see how I'd like it. I didn't like it. But
+it didn't last, anyhow, very long--just three weeks, I believe. Then I
+broke it off," she finished, with unsmiling mouth, but dancing eyes.
+
+"Billy!" protested Aunt Hannah, feebly.
+
+"But I _am_ glad only the family knew about my engagement to Uncle
+William--oh, Aunt Hannah, you don't know how good it does seem to call
+him 'Uncle' again. It was always slipping out, anyhow, all the time we
+were engaged; and of course it was awful then."
+
+"That only goes to prove, my dear, how entirely unsuitable it was, from
+the start."
+
+A bright color flooded Billy's face.
+
+"I know; but if a girl _will_ think a man is asking for a wife when all
+he wants is a daughter, and if she blandly says 'Yes, thank you, I'll
+marry you,' I don't know what you can expect!"
+
+"You can expect just what you got--misery, and almost a tragedy,"
+retorted Aunt Hannah, severely.
+
+A tender light came into Billy's eyes.
+
+"Dear Uncle William! What a jewel he was, all the way through! And he'd
+have marched straight to the altar, too, with never a flicker of an
+eyelid, I know--self-sacrificing martyr that he was!"
+
+"Martyr!" bristled Aunt Hannah, with extraordinary violence for her.
+"I'm thinking that term belonged somewhere else. A month ago, Billy
+Neilson, you did not look as if you'd live out half your days. But I
+suppose _you'd_ have gone to the altar, too, with never a flicker of an
+eyelid!"
+
+"But I thought I had to," protested Billy. "I couldn't grieve Uncle
+William so, after Mrs. Hartwell had said how he--he wanted me."
+
+Aunt Hannah's lips grew stern at the corners.
+
+"There are times when--when I think it would be wiser if Mrs. Kate
+Hartwell would attend to her own affairs!" Aunt Hannah's voice fairly
+shook with wrath.
+
+"Why-Aunt Hannah!" reproved Billy in mischievous horror. "I'm shocked at
+you!"
+
+Aunt Hannah flushed miserably.
+
+"There, there, child, forget I said it. I ought not to have said it, of
+course," she murmured agitatedly.
+
+Billy laughed.
+
+"You should have heard what Uncle William said! But never mind. We all
+found out the mistake before it was too late, and everything is lovely
+now, even to Cyril and Marie. Did you ever see anything so beatifically
+happy as that couple are? Bertram says he hasn't heard a dirge from
+Cyril's rooms for three weeks; and that if anybody else played the kind
+of music he's been playing, it would be just common garden ragtime!"
+
+"Music! Oh, my grief and conscience! That makes me think, Billy. If I'm
+not actually forgetting what I came in here for," cried Aunt Hannah,
+fumbling in the folds of her dress for the letter that had slipped from
+her lap. "I've had word from a young niece. She's going to study music
+in Boston."
+
+"A niece?"
+
+"Well, not really, you know. She calls me 'Aunt,' just as you and the
+Henshaw boys do. But I really am related to _her_, for her mother and I
+are third cousins, while it was my husband who was distantly related to
+the Henshaw family."
+
+"What's her name?"
+
+"'Mary Jane Arkwright.' Where is that letter?"
+
+"Here it is, on the floor," reported Billy. "Were you going to read it
+to me?" she asked, as she picked it up.
+
+"Yes--if you don't mind."
+
+"I'd love to hear it."
+
+"Then I'll read it. It--it rather annoys me in some ways. I thought the
+whole family understood that I wasn't living by myself any longer--that
+I was living with you. I'm sure I thought I wrote them that, long ago.
+But this sounds almost as if they didn't understand it--at least, as if
+this girl didn't."
+
+"How old is she?"
+
+"I don't know; but she must be some old, to be coming here to Boston to
+study music, alone--singing, I think she said."
+
+"You don't remember her, then?"
+
+Aunt Hannah frowned and paused, the letter half withdrawn from its
+envelope.
+
+"No--but that isn't strange. They live West. I haven't seen any of them
+for years. I know there are several children--and I suppose I've been
+told their names. I know there's a boy--the eldest, I think--who is
+quite a singer, and there's a girl who paints, I believe; but I don't
+seem to remember a 'Mary Jane.'"
+
+"Never mind! Suppose we let Mary Jane speak for herself," suggested
+Billy, dropping her chin into the small pink cup of her hand, and
+settling herself to listen.
+
+"Very well," sighed Aunt Hannah; and she opened the letter and began to
+read.
+
+
+     "DEAR AUNT HANNAH:--This is to tell you
+     that I'm coming to Boston to study singing in
+     the school for Grand Opera, and I'm planning to
+     look you up. Do you object? I said to a friend
+     the other day that I'd half a mind to write to Aunt
+     Hannah and beg a home with her; and my friend
+     retorted: 'Why don't you, Mary Jane?' But
+     that, of course, I should not think of doing.
+
+     "But I know I shall be lonesome, Aunt Hannah,
+     and I hope you'll let me see you once in a
+     while, anyway. I plan now to come next week
+     --I've already got as far as New York, as you see
+     by the address--and I shall hope to see you
+     soon.
+
+     "All the family would send love, I know.
+                  "M. J. ARKWRIGHT."
+
+
+"Grand Opera! Oh, how perfectly lovely," cried Billy.
+
+"Yes, but Billy, do you think she is expecting me to invite her to make
+her home with me? I shall have to write and explain that I can't--if she
+does, of course."
+
+Billy frowned and hesitated.
+
+"Why, it sounded--a little--that way; but--" Suddenly her face cleared.
+"Aunt Hannah, I've thought of the very thing. We _will_ take her!"
+
+"Oh, Billy, I couldn't think of letting you do that," demurred Aunt
+Hannah. "You're very kind--but, oh, no; not that!"
+
+"Why not? I think it would be lovely; and we can just as well as not.
+After Marie is married in December, she can have that room. Until then
+she can have the little blue room next to me."
+
+"But--but--we don't know anything about her."
+
+"We know she's your niece, and she's lonesome; and we know she's
+musical. I shall love her for every one of those things. Of course we'll
+take her!"
+
+"But--I don't know anything about her age."
+
+"All the more reason why she should be looked out for, then," retorted
+Billy, promptly. "Why, Aunt Hannah, just as if you didn't want to give
+this lonesome, unprotected young girl a home!"
+
+"Oh, I do, of course; but--"
+
+"Then it's all settled," interposed Billy, springing to her feet.
+
+"But what if we--we shouldn't like her?"
+
+"Nonsense! What if she shouldn't like us?" laughed Billy. "However, if
+you'd feel better, just ask her to come and stay with us a month. We
+shall keep her all right, afterwards. See if we don't!"
+
+Slowly Aunt Hannah got to her feet.
+
+"Very well, dear. I'll write, of course, as you tell me to; and it's
+lovely of you to do it. Now I'll leave you to your letters. I've
+hindered you far too long, as it is."
+
+"You've rested me," declared Billy, flinging wide her arms.
+
+Aunt Hannah, fearing a second dizzying whirl impelled by those same
+young arms, drew her shawls about her shoulders and backed hastily
+toward the hall door.
+
+Billy laughed.
+
+"Oh, I won't again--to-day," she promised merrily. Then, as the lady
+reached the arched doorway: "Tell Mary Jane to let us know the day
+and train and we'll meet her. Oh, and Aunt Hannah, tell her to wear a
+pink--a white pink; and tell her we will, too," she finished gayly.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III. BILLY AND BERTRAM
+
+
+Bertram called that evening. Before the open fire in the living-room he
+found a pensive Billy awaiting him--a Billy who let herself be kissed,
+it is true, and who even kissed back, shyly, adorably; but a Billy who
+looked at him with wide, almost frightened eyes.
+
+"Why, darling, what's the matter?" he demanded, his own eyes growing
+wide and frightened.
+
+"Bertram, it's--done!"
+
+"What's done? What do you mean?"
+
+"Our engagement. It's--announced. I wrote stacks of notes to-day,
+and even now there are some left for to-morrow. And then there's--the
+newspapers. Bertram, right away, now, _everybody_ will know it." Her
+voice was tragic.
+
+Bertram relaxed visibly. A tender light came to his eyes.
+
+"Well, didn't you expect everybody would know it, my dear?"
+
+"Y-yes; but--"
+
+At her hesitation, the tender light changed to a quick fear.
+
+"Billy, you aren't--sorry?"
+
+The pink glory that suffused her face answered him before her words did.
+
+"Sorry! Oh, never, Bertram! It's only that it won't be ours any
+longer--that is, it won't belong to just our two selves. Everybody will
+know it. And they'll bow and smile and say 'How lovely!' to our faces,
+and 'Did you ever?' to our backs. Oh, no, I'm not sorry, Bertram; but I
+am--afraid."
+
+"_Afraid_--Billy!"
+
+"Yes."
+
+Billy sighed, and gazed with pensive eyes into the fire.
+
+Across Bertram's face swept surprise, consternation, and dismay. Bertram
+had thought he knew Billy in all her moods and fancies; but he did not
+know her in this one.
+
+"Why, Billy!" he breathed.
+
+Billy drew another sigh. It seemed to come from the very bottoms of her
+small, satin-slippered feet.
+
+"Well, I am. You're _the_ Bertram Henshaw. You know lots and lots of
+people that I never even saw. And they'll come and stand around and
+stare and lift their lorgnettes and say: 'Is that the one? Dear me!'"
+
+Bertram gave a relieved laugh.
+
+"Nonsense, sweetheart! I should think you were a picture I'd painted and
+hung on a wall."
+
+"I shall feel as if I were--with all those friends of yours. Bertram,
+what if they don't like it?" Her voice had grown tragic again.
+
+"_Like_ it!"
+
+"Yes. The picture--me, I mean."
+
+"They can't help liking it," he retorted, with the prompt certainty of
+an adoring lover.
+
+Billy shook her head. Her eyes had gone back to the fire.
+
+"Oh, yes, they can. I can hear them. 'What, _she_--Bertram Henshaw's
+wife?--a frivolous, inconsequential "Billy" like that?' Bertram!"--Billy
+turned fiercely despairing eyes on her lover--"Bertram, sometimes I
+wish my name were 'Clarissa Cordelia,' or 'Arabella Maud,' or 'Hannah
+Jane'--anything that's feminine and proper!"
+
+Bertram's ringing laugh brought a faint smile to Billy's lips. But the
+words that followed the laugh, and the caressing touch of the man's
+hands sent a flood of shy color to her face.
+
+"'Hannah Jane,' indeed! As if I'd exchange my Billy for her or any
+Clarissa or Arabella that ever grew! I adore Billy--flame, nature,
+and--"
+
+"And naughtiness?" put in Billy herself.
+
+"Yes--if there be any," laughed Bertram, fondly. "But, see," he added,
+taking a tiny box from his pocket, "see what I've brought for this same
+Billy to wear. She'd have had it long ago if she hadn't insisted on
+waiting for this announcement business."
+
+"Oh, Bertram, what a beauty!" dimpled Billy, as the flawless diamond in
+Bertram's fingers caught the light and sent it back in a flash of flame
+and crimson.
+
+"Now you are mine--really mine, sweetheart!" The man's voice and hand
+shook as he slipped the ring on Billy's outstretched finger.
+
+Billy caught her breath with almost a sob.
+
+"And I'm so glad to be--yours, dear," she murmured brokenly. "And--and
+I'll make you proud that I am yours, even if I am just 'Billy,'" she
+choked. "Oh, I know I'll write such beautiful, beautiful songs now."
+
+The man drew her into a close embrace.
+
+"As if I cared for that," he scoffed lovingly.
+
+Billy looked up in quick horror.
+
+"Why, Bertram, you don't mean you don't--care?"
+
+He laughed lightly, and took the dismayed little face between his two
+hands.
+
+"Care, darling? of course I care! You know how I love your music. I
+care about everything that concerns you. I meant that I'm proud of you
+_now_--just you. I love _you_, you know."
+
+There was a moment's pause. Billy's eyes, as they looked at him, carried
+a curious intentness in their dark depths.
+
+"You mean, you like--the turn of my head and the tilt of my chin?" she
+asked a little breathlessly.
+
+"I adore them!" came the prompt answer.
+
+To Bertram's utter amazement, Billy drew back with a sharp cry.
+
+"No, no--not that!"
+
+"Why, _Billy!_"
+
+Billy laughed unexpectedly; then she sighed.
+
+"Oh, it's all right, of course," she assured him hastily. "It's only--"
+Billy stopped and blushed. Billy was thinking of what Hugh Calderwell
+had once said to her: that Bertram Henshaw would never love any girl
+seriously; that it would always be the turn of her head or the tilt of
+her chin that he loved--to paint.
+
+"Well; only what?" demanded Bertram.
+
+Billy blushed the more deeply, but she gave a light laugh.
+
+"Nothing, only something Hugh Calderwell said to me once. You see,
+Bertram, I don't think Hugh ever thought you would--marry."
+
+"Oh, didn't he?" bridled Bertram. "Well, that only goes to show how much
+he knows about it. Er--did you announce it--to him?" Bertram's voice was
+almost savage now.
+
+Billy smiled.
+
+"No; but I did to his sister, and she'll tell him. Oh, Bertram, such a
+time as I had over those notes," went on Billy, with a chuckle. Her
+eyes were dancing, and she was seeming more like her usual self, Bertram
+thought. "You see there were such a lot of things I wanted to say, about
+what a dear you were, and how much I--I liked you, and that you had such
+lovely eyes, and a nose--"
+
+"Billy!" This time it was Bertram who was sitting erect in pale horror.
+
+Billy threw him a roguish glance.
+
+"Goosey! You are as bad as Aunt Hannah! I said that was what I _wanted_
+to say. What I really said was--quite another matter," she finished with
+a saucy uptilting of her chin.
+
+Bertram relaxed with a laugh.
+
+"You witch!" His admiring eyes still lingered on her face. "Billy, I'm
+going to paint you sometime in just that pose. You're adorable!"
+
+"Pooh! Just another face of a girl," teased the adorable one.
+
+Bertram gave a sudden exclamation.
+
+"There! And I haven't told you, yet. Guess what my next commission is."
+
+"To paint a portrait?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Can't. Who is it?"
+
+"J. G. Winthrop's daughter."
+
+"Not _the_ J. G. Winthrop?"
+
+"The same."
+
+"Oh, Bertram, how splendid!"
+
+"Isn't it? And then the girl herself! Have you seen her? But you
+haven't, I know, unless you met her abroad. She hasn't been in Boston
+for years until now."
+
+"No, I haven't seen her. Is she so _very_ beautiful?" Billy spoke a
+little soberly.
+
+"Yes--and no." The artist lifted his head alertly. What Billy called
+his "painting look" came to his face. "It isn't that her features are so
+regular--though her mouth and chin are perfect. But her face has so much
+character, and there's an elusive something about her eyes--Jove! If
+I can only catch it, it'll be the best thing yet that I've ever done,
+Billy."
+
+"Will it? I'm so glad--and you'll get it, I know you will," claimed
+Billy, clearing her throat a little nervously.
+
+"I wish I felt so sure," sighed Bertram. "But it'll be a great thing if
+I do get it--J. G. Winthrop's daughter, you know, besides the merit of
+the likeness itself."
+
+"Yes; yes, indeed!" Billy cleared her throat again. "You've seen her, of
+course, lately?"
+
+"Oh, yes. I was there half the morning discussing the details--sittings
+and costume, and deciding on the pose."
+
+"Did you find one--to suit?"
+
+"Find one!" The artist made a despairing gesture. "I found a dozen that
+I wanted. The trouble was to tell which I wanted the most."
+
+Billy gave a nervous little laugh.
+
+"Isn't that--unusual?" she asked.
+
+Bertram lifted his eyebrows with a quizzical smile.
+
+"Well, they aren't all Marguerite Winthrops," he reminded her.
+
+"Marguerite!" cried Billy. "Oh, is her name Marguerite? I do think
+Marguerite is the dearest name!" Billy's eyes and voice were wistful.
+
+"I don't--not the _dearest_. Oh, it's all well enough, of course, but it
+can't be compared for a moment to--well, say, 'Billy'!"
+
+Billy smiled, but she shook her head.
+
+"I'm afraid you're not a good judge of names," she objected.
+
+"Yes, I am; though, for that matter, I should love your name, no matter
+what it was."
+
+"Even if 'twas 'Mary Jane,' eh?" bantered Billy. "Well, you'll have a
+chance to find out how you like that name pretty quick, sir. We're going
+to have one here."
+
+"You're going to have a Mary Jane here? Do you mean that Rosa's going
+away?"
+
+"Mercy! I hope not," shuddered Billy. "You don't find a Rosa in every
+kitchen--and never in employment agencies! My Mary Jane is a niece of
+Aunt Hannah's,--or rather, a cousin. She's coming to Boston to study
+music, and I've invited her here. We've asked her for a month, though I
+presume we shall keep her right along."
+
+Bertram frowned.
+
+"Well, of course, that's very nice for--_Mary Jane_," he sighed with
+meaning emphasis.
+
+Billy laughed.
+
+"Don't worry, dear. She won't bother us any."
+
+"Oh, yes, she will," sighed Bertram. "She'll be 'round--lots; you see
+if she isn't. Billy, I think sometimes you're almost too kind--to other
+folks."
+
+"Never!" laughed Billy. "Besides, what would you have me do when a
+lonesome young girl was coming to Boston? Anyhow, _you're_ not the one
+to talk, young man. I've known _you_ to take in a lonesome girl and give
+her a home," she flashed merrily.
+
+Bertram chuckled.
+
+"Jove! What a time that was!" he exclaimed, regarding his companion with
+fond eyes. "And Spunk, too! Is she going to bring a Spunk?"
+
+"Not that I've heard," smiled Billy; "but she _is_ going to wear a
+pink."
+
+"Not really, Billy?"
+
+"Of course she is! I told her to. How do you suppose we could know her
+when we saw her, if she didn't?" demanded the girl, indignantly. "And
+what is more, sir, there will be _two_ pinks worn this time. _I_ sha'n't
+do as Uncle William did, and leave off my pink. Only think what long
+minutes--that seemed hours of misery--I spent waiting there in that
+train-shed, just because I didn't know which man was my Uncle William!"
+
+Bertram laughed and shrugged his shoulders.
+
+"Well, your Mary Jane won't probably turn out to be quite such a
+bombshell as our Billy did--unless she should prove to be a boy," he
+added whimsically. "Oh, but Billy, she _can't_ turn out to be such a
+dear treasure," finished the man. And at the adoring look in his eyes
+Billy blushed deeply--and promptly forgot all about Mary Jane and her
+pink.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV. FOR MARY JANE
+
+
+"I have a letter here from Mary Jane, my dear," announced Aunt Hannah at
+the luncheon table one day.
+
+"Have you?" Billy raised interested eyes from her own letters. "What
+does she say?"
+
+"She will be here Thursday. Her train is due at the South Station at
+four-thirty. She seems to be very grateful to you for your offer to let
+her come right here for a month; but she says she's afraid you don't
+realize, perhaps, just what you are doing--to take her in like that,
+with her singing, and all."
+
+"Nonsense! She doesn't refuse, does she?"
+
+"Oh, no; she doesn't refuse--but she doesn't accept either, exactly, as
+I can see. I've read the letter over twice, too. I'll let you judge for
+yourself by and by, when you have time to read it."
+
+Billy laughed.
+
+"Never mind. I don't want to read it. She's just a little shy about
+coming, that's all. She'll stay all right, when we come to meet her.
+What time did you say it was, Thursday?"
+
+"Half past four, South Station."
+
+"Thursday, at half past four. Let me see--that's the day of the
+Carletons' 'At Home,' isn't it?"
+
+"Oh, my grief and conscience, yes! But I had forgotten it. What shall we
+do?"
+
+"Oh, that will be easy. We'll just go to the Carletons' early and have
+John wait, then take us from there to the South Station. Meanwhile we'll
+make sure that the little blue room is all ready for her. I put in my
+white enamel work-basket yesterday, and that pretty little blue case for
+hairpins and curling tongs that I bought at the fair. I want the room to
+look homey to her, you know."
+
+"As if it could look any other way, if _you_ had anything to do with
+it," sighed Aunt Hannah, admiringly.
+
+Billy laughed.
+
+"If we get stranded we might ask the Henshaw boys to help us out, Aunt
+Hannah. They'd probably suggest guns and swords. That's the way they
+fixed up _my_ room."
+
+Aunt Hannah raised shocked hands of protest.
+
+"As if we would! Mercy, what a time that was!"
+
+Billy laughed again.
+
+"I never shall forget, _never_, my first glimpse of that room when Mrs.
+Hartwell switched on the lights. Oh, Aunt Hannah, I wish you could have
+seen it before they took out those guns and spiders!"
+
+"As if I didn't see quite enough when I saw William's face that morning
+he came for me!" retorted Aunt Hannah, spiritedly.
+
+"Dear Uncle William! What an old saint he has been all the way through,"
+mused Billy aloud. "And Cyril--who would ever have believed that the
+day would come when Cyril would say to me, as he did last night, that he
+felt as if Marie had been gone a month. It's been just seven days, you
+know."
+
+"I know. She comes to-morrow, doesn't she?"
+
+"Yes, and I'm glad. I shall tell Marie she needn't leave Cyril on _my_
+hands again. Bertram says that at home Cyril hasn't played a dirge since
+his engagement; but I notice that up here--where Marie might be, but
+isn't--his tunes would never be mistaken for ragtime. By the way," she
+added, as she rose from the table, "that's another surprise in store for
+Hugh Calderwell. He always declared that Cyril wasn't a marrying man,
+either, any more than Bertram. You know he said Bertram only cared for
+girls to paint; but--" She stopped and looked inquiringly at Rosa, who
+had appeared at that moment in the hall doorway.
+
+"It's the telephone, Miss Neilson. Mr. Bertram Henshaw wants you."
+
+A few minutes later Aunt Hannah heard Billy at the piano. For fifteen,
+twenty, thirty minutes the brilliant scales and arpeggios rippled
+through the rooms and up the stairs to Aunt Hannah, who knew, by the
+very sound of them, that some unusual nervousness was being worked off
+at the finger tips that played them. At the end of forty-five minutes
+Aunt Hannah went down-stairs.
+
+"Billy, my dear, excuse me, but have you forgotten what time it is?
+Weren't you going out with Bertram?"
+
+Billy stopped playing at once, but she did not turn her head. Her
+fingers busied themselves with some music on the piano.
+
+"We aren't going, Aunt Hannah," she said.
+
+"Bertram can't."
+
+"_Can't!_"
+
+"Well, he didn't want to--so of course I said not to. He's been painting
+this morning on a new portrait, and she said he might stay to luncheon
+and keep right on for a while this afternoon, if he liked. And--he did
+like, so he stayed."
+
+"Why, how--how--" Aunt Hannah stopped helplessly.
+
+"Oh, no, not at all," interposed Billy, lightly. "He told me all about
+it the other night. It's going to be a very wonderful portrait; and,
+of course, I wouldn't want to interfere with--his work!" And again a
+brilliant scale rippled from Billy's fingers after a crashing chord in
+the bass.
+
+Slowly Aunt Hannah turned and went up-stairs. Her eyes were troubled.
+Not since Billy's engagement had she heard Billy play like that.
+
+Bertram did not find a pensive Billy awaiting him that evening. He
+found a bright-eyed, flushed-cheeked Billy, who let herself be
+kissed--once--but who did not kiss back; a blithe, elusive Billy, who
+played tripping little melodies, and sang jolly little songs, instead
+of sitting before the fire and talking; a Billy who at last turned, and
+asked tranquilly:
+
+"Well, how did the picture go?"
+
+Bertram rose then, crossed the room, and took Billy very gently into his
+arms.
+
+"Sweetheart, you were a dear this noon to let me off like that," he
+began in a voice shaken with emotion. "You don't know, perhaps, exactly
+what you did. You see, I was nearly wild between wanting to be with you,
+and wanting to go on with my work. And I was just at that point
+where one little word from you, one hint that you wanted me to come
+anyway--and I should have come. But you didn't say it, nor hint it. Like
+the brave little bit of inspiration that you are, you bade me stay and
+go on with my work."
+
+The "inspiration's" head drooped a little lower, but this only brought
+a wealth of soft bronze hair to just where Bertram could lay his cheek
+against it--and Bertram promptly took advantage of his opportunity. "And
+so I stayed, Billy, and I did good work; I know I did good work. Why,
+Billy,"--Bertram stepped back now, and held Billy by the shoulders at
+arms' length--"Billy, that's going to be the best work I've ever done. I
+can see it coming even now, under my fingers."
+
+Billy lifted her head and looked into her lover's face. His eyes were
+glowing. His cheeks were flushed. His whole countenance was aflame with
+the soul of the artist who sees his vision taking shape before him. And
+Billy, looking at him, felt suddenly--ashamed.
+
+"Oh, Bertram, I'm proud, proud, _proud_ of you!" she breathed. "Come,
+let's go over to the fire-and talk!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V. MARIE SPEAKS HER MIND
+
+
+Billy with John and Peggy met Marie Hawthorn at the station. "Peggy"
+was short for "Pegasus," and was what Billy always called her luxurious,
+seven-seated touring car.
+
+"I simply won't call it 'automobile,'" she had declared when she bought
+it. "In the first place, it takes too long to say it, and in the second
+place, I don't want to add one more to the nineteen different ways to
+pronounce it that I hear all around me every day now. As for calling it
+my 'car,' or my 'motor car'--I should expect to see a Pullman or one
+of those huge black trucks before my door, if I ordered it by either of
+those names. Neither will I insult the beautiful thing by calling it a
+'machine.' Its name is Pegasus. I shall call it 'Peggy.'"
+
+And "Peggy" she called it. John sniffed his disdain, and Billy's friends
+made no secret of their amused tolerance; but, in an astonishingly short
+time, half the automobile owners of her acquaintance were calling their
+own cars "Peggy"; and even the dignified John himself was heard to order
+"some gasoline for Peggy," quite as a matter of course.
+
+When Marie Hawthorn stepped from the train at the North Station she
+greeted Billy with affectionate warmth, though at once her blue eyes
+swept the space beyond expectantly and eagerly.
+
+Billy's lips curved in a mischievous smile.
+
+"No, he didn't come," she said. "He didn't want to--a little bit."
+
+Marie grew actually pale.
+
+"Didn't _want_ to!" she stammered.
+
+Billy gave her a spasmodic hug.
+
+"Goosey! No, he didn't--a _little_ bit; but he did a great _big_ bit.
+As if you didn't know he was dying to come, Marie! But he simply
+couldn't--something about his concert Monday night. He told me over the
+telephone; but between his joy that you were coming, and his rage that
+he couldn't see you the first minute you did come, I couldn't quite make
+out what was the trouble. But he's coming to dinner to-night, so he'll
+doubtless tell you all about it."
+
+Marie sighed her relief.
+
+"Oh, that's all right then. I was afraid he was sick--when I didn't see
+him."
+
+Billy laughed softly.
+
+"No, he isn't sick, Marie; but you needn't go away again before the
+wedding--not to leave him on my hands. I wouldn't have believed Cyril
+Henshaw, confirmed old bachelor and avowed woman-hater, could have acted
+the part of a love-sick boy as he has the last week or two."
+
+The rose-flush on Marie's cheek spread to the roots of her fine yellow
+hair.
+
+"Billy, dear, he--he didn't!"
+
+"Marie, dear--he--he did!"
+
+Marie laughed. She did not say anything, but the rose-flush deepened
+as she occupied herself very busily in getting her trunk-check from the
+little hand bag she carried.
+
+Cyril was not mentioned again until the two girls, veils tied and coats
+buttoned, were snugly ensconced in the tonneau, and Peggy's nose was
+turned toward home. Then Billy asked:
+
+"Have you settled on where you're going to live?"
+
+"Not quite. We're going to talk of that to-night; but we _do_ know that
+we aren't going to live at the Strata."
+
+"Marie!"
+
+Marie stirred uneasily at the obvious disappointment and reproach in her
+friend's voice.
+
+"But, dear, it wouldn't be wise, I'm sure," she argued hastily. "There
+will be you and Bertram--"
+
+"We sha'n't be there for a year, nearly," cut in Billy, with swift
+promptness. "Besides, I think it would be lovely--all together."
+
+Marie smiled, but she shook her head.
+
+"Lovely--but not practical, dear."
+
+Billy laughed ruefully.
+
+"I know; you're worrying about those puddings of yours. You're afraid
+somebody is going to interfere with your making quite so many as you
+want to; and Cyril is worrying for fear there'll be somebody else in the
+circle of his shaded lamp besides his little Marie with the light on her
+hair, and the mending basket by her side."
+
+"Billy, what are you talking about?"
+
+Billy threw a roguish glance into her friend's amazed blue eyes.
+
+"Oh, just a little picture Cyril drew once for me of what home meant for
+him: a room with a table and a shaded lamp, and a little woman beside it
+with the light on her hair and a great basket of sewing by her side."
+
+Marie's eyes softened.
+
+"Did he say--that?"
+
+"Yes. Oh, he declared he shouldn't want her to sit under that lamp all
+the time, of course; but he hoped she'd like that sort of thing."
+
+Marie threw a quick glance at the stolid back of John beyond the two
+empty seats in front of them. Although she knew he could not hear her
+words, instinctively she lowered her voice.
+
+"Did you know--then--about--me?" she asked, with heightened color.
+
+"No, only that there was a girl somewhere who, he hoped, would sit under
+the lamp some day. And when I asked him if the girl did like that sort
+of thing, he said yes, he thought so; for she had told him once that
+the things she liked best of all to do were to mend stockings and make
+puddings. Then I knew, of course, 'twas you, for I'd heard you say the
+same thing. So I sent him right along out to you in the summer-house."
+
+The pink flush on Marie's face grew to a red one. Her blue eyes turned
+again to John's broad back, then drifted to the long, imposing line of
+windowed walls and doorways on the right. The automobile was passing
+smoothly along Beacon Street now with the Public Garden just behind them
+on the left. After a moment Marie turned to Billy again.
+
+"I'm so glad he wants--just puddings and stockings," she began a little
+breathlessly. "You see, for so long I supposed he _wouldn't_ want
+anything but a very brilliant, talented wife who could play and sing
+beautifully; a wife he'd be proud of--like you."
+
+"Me? Nonsense!" laughed Billy. "Cyril never wanted me, and I never
+wanted him--only once for a few minutes, so to speak, when I thought,
+I did. In spite of our music, we aren't a mite congenial. I like people
+around; he doesn't. I like to go to plays; he doesn't. He likes rainy
+days, and I abhor them. Mercy! Life with me for him would be one long
+jangling discord, my love, while with you it'll be one long sweet song!"
+
+Marie drew a deep breath. Her eyes were fixed on a point far ahead up
+the curveless street.
+
+"I hope it will, indeed!" she breathed.
+
+Not until they were almost home did Billy say suddenly:
+
+"Oh, did Cyril write you? A young relative of Aunt Hannah's is coming
+to-morrow to stay a while at the house."
+
+"Er--yes, Cyril told me," admitted Marie.
+
+Billy smiled.
+
+"Didn't like it, I suppose; eh?" she queried shrewdly.
+
+"N-no, I'm afraid he didn't--very well. He said she'd be--one more to be
+around."
+
+"There, what did I tell you?" dimpled Billy. "You can see what you're
+coming to when you do get that shaded lamp and the mending basket!"
+
+A moment later, coming in sight of the house, Billy saw a tall,
+smooth-shaven man standing on the porch. The man lifted his hat and
+waved it gayly, baring a slightly bald head to the sun.
+
+"It's Uncle William--bless his heart!" cried Billy. "They're all coming
+to dinner, then he and Aunt Hannah and Bertram and I are going down to
+the Hollis Street Theatre and let you and Cyril have a taste of what
+that shaded lamp is going to be. I hope you won't be lonesome," she
+finished mischievously, as the car drew up before the door.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI. AT THE SIGN OF THE PINK
+
+
+After a week of beautiful autumn weather, Thursday dawned raw and cold.
+By noon an east wind had made the temperature still more uncomfortable.
+
+At two o'clock Aunt Hannah tapped at Billy's chamber door. She showed a
+troubled face to the girl who answered her knock.
+
+"Billy, _would_ you mind very much if I asked you to go alone to the
+Carletons' and to meet Mary Jane?" she inquired anxiously.
+
+"Why, no--that is, of course I should _mind_, dear, because I always
+like to have you go to places with me. But it isn't necessary. You
+aren't sick; are you?"
+
+"N-no, not exactly; but I have been sneezing all the morning, and taking
+camphor and sugar to break it up--if it is a cold. But it is so raw and
+Novemberish out, that--"
+
+"Why, of course you sha'n't go, you poor dear! Mercy! don't get one
+of those dreadful colds on to you before the wedding! Have you felt
+a draft? Where's another shawl?" Billy turned and cast searching eyes
+about the room--Billy always kept shawls everywhere for Aunt Hannah's
+shoulders and feet. Bertram had been known to say, indeed, that a room,
+according to Aunt Hannah, was not fully furnished unless it contained
+from one to four shawls, assorted as to size and warmth. Shawls,
+certainly, did seem to be a necessity with Aunt Hannah, as she usually
+wore from one to three at the same time--which again caused Bertram to
+declare that he always counted Aunt Hannah's shawls when he wished to
+know what the thermometer was.
+
+"No, I'm not cold, and I haven't felt a draft," said Aunt Hannah now. "I
+put on my thickest gray shawl this morning with the little pink one for
+down-stairs, and the blue one for breakfast; so you see I've been very
+careful. But I _have_ sneezed six times, so I think 'twould be safer not
+to go out in this east wind. You were going to stop for Mrs. Granger,
+anyway, weren't you? So you'll have her with you for the tea."
+
+"Yes, dear, don't worry. I'll take your cards and explain to Mrs.
+Carleton and her daughters."
+
+"And, of course, as far as Mary Jane is concerned, I don't know her any
+more than you do; so I couldn't be any help there," sighed Aunt Hannah.
+
+"Not a bit," smiled Billy, cheerily. "Don't give it another thought, my
+dear. I sha'n't have a bit of trouble. All I'll have to do is to look
+for a girl alone with a pink. Of course I'll have mine on, too, and
+she'll be watching for me. So just run along and take your nap, dear,
+and be all rested and ready to welcome her when she comes," finished
+Billy, stooping to give the soft, faintly pink cheek a warm kiss.
+
+"Well, thank you, my dear; perhaps I will," sighed Aunt Hannah, drawing
+the gray shawl about her as she turned away contentedly.
+
+Mrs. Carleton's tea that afternoon was, for Billy, not an occasion of
+unalloyed joy. It was the first time she had appeared at a gathering of
+any size since the announcement of her engagement; and, as she dolefully
+told Bertram afterwards, she had very much the feeling of the picture
+hung on the wall.
+
+"And they _did_ put up their lorgnettes and say, 'Is _that_ the one?'"
+she declared; "and I know some of them finished with 'Did you ever?'
+too," she sighed.
+
+But Billy did not stay long in Mrs. Carleton's softly-lighted,
+flower-perfumed rooms. At ten minutes past four she was saying good-by
+to a group of friends who were vainly urging her to remain longer.
+
+"I can't--I really can't," she declared. "I'm due at the South Station
+at half past four to meet a Miss Arkwright, a young cousin of Aunt
+Hannah's, whom I've never seen before. We're to meet at the sign of
+the pink," she explained smilingly, just touching the single flower she
+wore.
+
+Her hostess gave a sudden laugh.
+
+"Let me see, my dear; if I remember rightly, you've had experience
+before, meeting at this sign of the pink. At least, I have a very vivid
+recollection of Mr. William Henshaw's going once to meet a _boy_ with
+a pink, who turned out to be a girl. Now, to even things up, your girl
+should turn out to be a boy!"
+
+Billy smiled and reddened.
+
+"Perhaps--but I don't think to-day will strike the balance," she
+retorted, backing toward the door. "This young lady's name is 'Mary
+Jane'; and I'll leave it to you to find anything very masculine in
+that!"
+
+It was a short drive from Mrs. Carleton's Commonwealth Avenue home to
+the South Station, and Peggy made as quick work of it as the narrow,
+congested cross streets would allow. In ample time Billy found herself
+in the great waiting-room, with John saying respectfully in her ear:
+
+"The man says the train comes in on Track Fourteen, Miss, an' it's on
+time."
+
+At twenty-nine minutes past four Billy left her seat and walked down the
+train-shed platform to Track Number Fourteen. She had pinned the pink
+now to the outside of her long coat, and it made an attractive dash
+of white against the dark-blue velvet. Billy was looking particularly
+lovely to-day. Framing her face was the big dark-blue velvet picture hat
+with its becoming white plumes.
+
+During the brief minutes' wait before the clanging locomotive puffed
+into view far down the long track, Billy's thoughts involuntarily went
+back to that other watcher beside a train gate not quite five years
+before.
+
+"Dear Uncle William!" she murmured tenderly. Then suddenly she
+laughed--so nearly aloud that a man behind her gave her a covert glance
+from curious eyes. "My! but what a jolt I must have been to Uncle
+William!" Billy was thinking.
+
+The next minute she drew nearer the gate and regarded with absorbed
+attention the long line of passengers already sweeping up the narrow
+aisle between the cars.
+
+Hurrying men came first, with long strides, and eyes that looked
+straight ahead. These Billy let pass with a mere glance. The next group
+showed a sprinkling of women--women whose trig hats and linen collars
+spelled promptness as well as certainty of aim and accomplishment. To
+these, also, Billy paid scant attention. Couples came next--the men
+anxious-eyed, and usually walking two steps ahead of their companions;
+the women plainly flustered and hurried, and invariably buttoning gloves
+or gathering up trailing ends of scarfs or boas.
+
+The crowd was thickening fast, now, and Billy's eyes were alert.
+Children were appearing, and young women walking alone. One of these
+wore a bunch of violets. Billy gave her a second glance. Then she saw a
+pink--but it was on the coat lapel of a tall young fellow with a brown
+beard; so with a slight frown she looked beyond down the line.
+
+Old men came now, and old women; fleshy women, and women with small
+children and babies. Couples came, too--dawdling couples, plainly newly
+married: the men were not two steps ahead, and the women's gloves were
+buttoned and their furs in place.
+
+Gradually the line thinned, and soon there were left only an old man
+with a cane, and a young woman with three children. Yet nowhere had
+Billy seen a girl wearing a white carnation, and walking alone.
+
+With a deeper frown on her face Billy turned and looked about her. She
+thought that somewhere in the crowd she had missed Mary Jane, and that
+she would find her now, standing near. But there was no one standing
+near except the good-looking young fellow with the little pointed
+brown beard, who, as Billy noticed a second time, was wearing a white
+carnation.
+
+As she glanced toward him, their eyes met. Then, to Billy's unbounded
+amazement, the man advanced with uplifted hat.
+
+"I beg your pardon, but is not this--Miss Neilson?"
+
+Billy drew back with just a touch of hauteur.
+
+"Y-yes," she murmured.
+
+"I thought so--yet I was expecting to see you with Aunt Hannah. I am M.
+J. Arkwright, Miss Neilson."
+
+For a brief instant Billy stared dazedly.
+
+"You don't mean--Mary Jane?" she gasped.
+
+"I'm afraid I do." His lips twitched.
+
+"But I thought--we were expecting--" She stopped helplessly. For one
+more brief instant she stared; then, suddenly, a swift change came to
+her face. Her eyes danced.
+
+"Oh--oh!" she chuckled. "How perfectly funny! You _have_ evened things
+up, after all. To think that Mary Jane should be a--" She paused and
+flashed almost angrily suspicious eyes into his face. "But mine _was_
+'Billy,'" she cried. "Your name isn't really--Mary Jane'?"
+
+"I am often called that." His brown eyes twinkled, but they did not
+swerve from their direct gaze into her own.
+
+"But--" Billy hesitated, and turned her eyes away. She saw then that
+many curious glances were already being flung in her direction. The
+color in her cheeks deepened. With an odd little gesture she seemed to
+toss something aside. "Never mind," she laughed a little hysterically.
+"If you'll pick up your bag, please, Mr. Mary Jane, and come with me.
+John and Peggy are waiting. Or--I forgot--you have a trunk, of course?"
+
+The man raised a protesting hand.
+
+"Thank you; but, Miss Neilson, really--I couldn't think of trespassing
+on your hospitality--now, you know."
+
+"But we--we invited you," stammered Billy.
+
+He shook his head.
+
+"You invited _Miss_ Mary Jane."
+
+Billy bubbled into low laughter.
+
+"I beg your pardon, but it _is_ funny," she sighed. "You see _I_ came
+once just the same way, and now to have the tables turned like this!
+What will Aunt Hannah say--what will everybody say? Come, I want them to
+begin--to say it," she chuckled irrepressibly.
+
+"Thank you, but I shall go to a hotel, of course. Later, if you'll be so
+good as to let me call, and explain--!"
+
+"But I'm afraid Aunt Hannah will think--" Billy stopped abruptly. Some
+distance away she saw John coming toward them. She turned hurriedly to
+the man at her side. Her eyes still danced, but her voice was mockingly
+serious. "Really, Mr. Mary Jane, I'm afraid you'll have to come to
+dinner; then you can settle the rest with Aunt Hannah. John is almost
+upon us--and _I_ don't want to make explanations. Do you?"
+
+"John," she said airily to the somewhat dazed chauffeur (who had been
+told he was to meet a young woman), "take Mr. Arkwright's bag, please,
+and show him where Peggy is waiting. It will be five minutes, perhaps,
+before I can come--if you'll kindly excuse me," she added to Arkwright,
+with a flashing glance from merry eyes. "I have some--telephoning to
+do."
+
+All the way to the telephone booth Billy was trying to bring order out
+of the chaos of her mind; but all the way, too, she was chuckling.
+
+"To think that this thing should have happened to _me!_" she
+said, almost aloud. "And here I am telephoning just like Uncle
+William--Bertram said Uncle William _did_ telephone about _me!_"
+
+In due course Billy had Aunt Hannah at the other end of the wire.
+
+"Aunt Hannah, listen. I'd never have believed it, but it's happened.
+Mary Jane is--a man."
+
+Billy heard a dismayed gasp and a muttered "Oh, my grief and
+conscience!" then a shaking "Wha-at?"
+
+"I say, Mary Jane is a man." Billy was enjoying herself hugely.
+
+"A _ma-an!_"
+
+"Yes; a great big man with a brown beard. He's waiting now with John and
+I must go."
+
+"But, Billy, I don't understand," chattered an agitated voice over the
+line. "He--he called himself 'Mary Jane.' He hasn't any business to be
+a big man with a brown beard! What shall we do? We don't want a big man
+with a brown beard--here!"
+
+Billy laughed roguishly.
+
+"I don't know. _You_ asked him! How he will like that little blue
+room--Aunt Hannah!" Billy's voice turned suddenly tragic. "For pity's
+sake take out those curling tongs and hairpins, and the work-basket.
+I'd _never_ hear the last of it if he saw those, I know. He's just that
+kind!"
+
+A half stifled groan came over the wire.
+
+"Billy, he can't stay here."
+
+Billy laughed again.
+
+"No, no, dear; he won't, I know. He says he's going to a hotel. But
+I had to bring him home to dinner; there was no other way, under the
+circumstances. He won't stay. Don't you worry. But good-by. I must
+go. _Remember those curling tongs!_" And the receiver clicked sharply
+against the hook.
+
+In the automobile some minutes later, Billy and Mr. M. J. Arkwright
+were speeding toward Corey Hill. It was during a slight pause in the
+conversation that Billy turned to her companion with a demure:
+
+"I telephoned Aunt Hannah, Mr. Arkwright. I thought she ought to
+be--warned."
+
+"You are very kind. What did she say?--if I may ask."
+
+There was a brief moment of hesitation before Billy answered.
+
+"She said you called yourself 'Mary Jane,' and that you hadn't any
+business to be a big man with a brown beard."
+
+Arkwright laughed.
+
+"I'm afraid I owe Aunt Hannah an apology," he said. He hesitated,
+glanced admiringly at the glowing, half-averted face near him, then went
+on decisively. He wore the air of a man who has set the match to his
+bridges. "I signed both letters 'M. J. Arkwright,' but in the first one
+I quoted a remark of a friend, and in that remark I was addressed as
+'Mary Jane.' I did not know but Aunt Hannah knew of the nickname."
+(Arkwright was speaking a little slowly now, as if weighing his words.)
+"But when she answered, I saw that she did not; for, from something she
+said, I realized that she thought I was a real Mary Jane. For the joke
+of the thing I let it pass. But--if she noticed my letter carefully, she
+saw that I did not accept your kind invitation to give 'Mary Jane' a
+home."
+
+"Yes, we noticed that," nodded Billy, merrily. "But we didn't think you
+meant it. You see we pictured you as a shy young thing. But, really,"
+she went on with a low laugh, "you see your coming as a masculine 'Mary
+Jane' was particularly funny--for me; for, though perhaps you didn't
+know it, I came once to this very same city, wearing a pink, and was
+expected to be Billy, a boy. And only to-day a lady warned me that
+your coming might even things up. But I didn't believe it would--a Mary
+Jane!"
+
+Arkwright laughed. Again he hesitated, and seemed to be weighing his
+words.
+
+"Yes, I heard about that coming of yours. I might almost say--that's why
+I--let the mistake pass in Aunt Hannah's letter," he said.
+
+Billy turned with reproachful eyes.
+
+"Oh, how could--you? But then--it was a temptation!" She laughed
+suddenly. "What sinful joy you must have had watching me hunt for 'Mary
+Jane.'"
+
+"I didn't," acknowledged the other, with unexpected candor. "I
+felt--ashamed. And when I saw you were there alone without Aunt Hannah,
+I came very near not speaking at all--until I realized that that would
+be even worse, under the circumstances."
+
+"Of course it would," smiled Billy, brightly; "so I don't see but I
+shall have to forgive you, after all. And here we are at home, Mr. Mary
+Jane. By the way, what did you say that 'M. J.' did stand for?" she
+asked, as the car came to a stop.
+
+The man did not seem to hear; at least he did not answer. He was
+helping his hostess to alight. A moment later a plainly agitated Aunt
+Hannah--her gray shawl topped with a huge black one--opened the door of
+the house.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII. OLD FRIENDS AND NEW
+
+
+At ten minutes before six on the afternoon of Arkwright's arrival, Billy
+came into the living-room to welcome the three Henshaw brothers, who, as
+was frequently the case, were dining at Hillside.
+
+Bertram thought Billy had never looked prettier than she did this
+afternoon with the bronze sheen of her pretty house gown bringing
+out the bronze lights in her dark eyes and in the soft waves of her
+beautiful hair. Her countenance, too, carried a peculiar something that
+the artist's eye was quick to detect, and that the artist's fingers
+tingled to put on canvas.
+
+"Jove! Billy," he said low in her ear, as he greeted her, "I wish I had
+a brush in my hand this minute. I'd have a 'Face of a Girl' that would
+be worth while!"
+
+Billy laughed and dimpled her appreciation; but down in her heart she
+was conscious of a vague unrest. Billy wished, sometimes, that she did
+not so often seem to Bertram--a picture.
+
+She turned to Cyril with outstretched hand.
+
+"Oh, yes, Marie's coming," she smiled in answer to the quick shifting
+of Cyril's eyes to the hall doorway. "And Aunt Hannah, too. They're
+up-stairs."
+
+"And Mary Jane?" demanded William, a little anxiously
+
+"Will's getting nervous," volunteered Bertram, airily. "He wants to see
+Mary Jane. You see we've told him that we shall expect him to see that
+she doesn't bother us four too much, you know. He's expected always to
+remove her quietly but effectually, whenever he sees that she is likely
+to interrupt a t�te-�-t�te. Naturally, then, Will wants to see
+Mary Jane."
+
+Billy began to laugh hysterically. She dropped into a chair and raised
+both her hands, palms outward.
+
+"Don't, don't--please don't!" she choked, "or I shall die. I've had all
+I can stand, already."
+
+"All you can stand?"
+
+"What do you mean?"
+
+"Is she so--impossible?" This last was from Bertram, spoken softly, and
+with a hurried glance toward the hall.
+
+Billy dropped her hands and lifted her head. By heroic effort she pulled
+her face into sobriety--all but her eyes--and announced:
+
+"Mary Jane is--a man."
+
+"Wha-at?"
+
+"A _man!_"
+
+"Billy!"
+
+Three masculine forms sat suddenly erect.
+
+"Yes. Oh, Uncle William, I know now just how you felt--I know, I know,"
+gurgled Billy, incoherently. "There he stood with his pink just as I
+did--only he had a brown beard, and he didn't have Spunk--and I had to
+telephone to prepare folks, just as you did. And the room--the room!
+I fixed the room, too," she babbled breathlessly, "only I had curling
+tongs and hair pins in it instead of guns and spiders!"
+
+"Child, child! what _are_ you talking about?" William's face was red.
+
+"A _man!_--_Mary Jane!_" Cyril was merely cross.
+
+"Billy, what does this mean?" Bertram had grown a little white.
+
+Billy began to laugh again, yet she was plainly trying to control
+herself.
+
+"I'll tell you. I must tell you. Aunt Hannah is keeping him up-stairs
+so I can tell you," she panted. "But it was so funny, when I expected a
+girl, you know, to see him with his brown beard, and he was so tall and
+big! And, of course, it made me think how _I_ came, and was a girl when
+you expected a boy; and Mrs. Carleton had just said to-day that maybe
+this girl would even things up. Oh, it was so funny!"
+
+"Billy, my-my dear," remonstrated Uncle William, mildly.
+
+"But what _is_ his name?" demanded Cyril.
+
+"Did the creature sign himself 'Mary Jane'?" exploded Bertram.
+
+"I don't know his name, except that it's 'M. J.'--and that's how he
+signed the letters. But he _is_ called 'Mary Jane' sometimes, and in the
+letter he quoted somebody's speech--I've forgotten just how--but in it
+he was called 'Mary Jane,' and, of course, Aunt Hannah took him for a
+girl," explained Billy, grown a little more coherent now.
+
+"Didn't he write again?" asked William.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Well, why didn't he correct the mistake, then?" demanded Bertram.
+
+Billy chuckled.
+
+"He didn't want to, I guess. He thought it was too good a joke."
+
+"Joke!" scoffed Cyril.
+
+"But, see here, Billy, he isn't going to live here--now?" Bertram's
+voice was almost savage.
+
+"Oh, no, he isn't going to live here--now," interposed smooth tones from
+the doorway.
+
+"Mr.--Arkwright!" breathed Billy, confusedly.
+
+Three crimson-faced men sprang to their feet. The situation, for a
+moment, threatened embarrassed misery for all concerned; but Arkwright,
+with a cheery smile, advanced straight toward Bertram, and held out a
+friendly hand.
+
+"The proverbial fate of listeners," he said easily; "but I don't blame
+you at all. No, 'he' isn't going to live here," he went on, grasping
+each brother's hand in turn, as Billy murmured faint introductions; "and
+what is more, he hereby asks everybody's pardon for the annoyance his
+little joke has caused. He might add that he's heartily-ashamed of
+himself, as well; but if any of you--" Arkwright turned to the three
+tall men still standing by their chairs--"if any of you had suffered
+what he has at the hands of a swarm of youngsters for that name's sake,
+you wouldn't blame him for being tempted to get what fun he could out of
+Mary Jane--if there ever came a chance!"
+
+Naturally, after this, there could be nothing stiff or embarrassing.
+Billy laughed in relief, and motioned Mr. Arkwright to a seat near her.
+William said "Of course, of course!" and shook hands again. Bertram and
+Cyril laughed shamefacedly and sat down. Somebody said: "But what does
+the 'M. J.' stand for, anyhow?" Nobody answered this, however; perhaps
+because Aunt Hannah and Marie appeared just then in the doorway.
+
+Dinner proved to be a lively meal. In the newcomer, Bertram met his
+match for wit and satire; and "Mr. Mary Jane," as he was promptly called
+by every one but Aunt Hannah, was found to be a most entertaining guest.
+
+After dinner somebody suggested music.
+
+Cyril frowned, and got up abruptly. Still frowning, he turned to a
+bookcase near him and began to take down and examine some of the books.
+
+Bertram twinkled and glanced at Billy.
+
+"Which is it, Cyril?" he called with cheerful impertinence; "stool,
+piano, or audience that is the matter to-night?"
+
+Only a shrug from Cyril answered.
+
+"You see," explained Bertram, jauntily, to Arkwright, whose eyes were
+slightly puzzled, "Cyril never plays unless the piano and the pedals and
+the weather and your ears and my watch and his fingers are just right!"
+
+"Nonsense!" scorned Cyril, dropping his book and walking back to his
+chair. "I don't feel like playing to-night; that's all."
+
+"You see," nodded Bertram again.
+
+"I see," bowed Arkwright with quiet amusement.
+
+"I believe--Mr. Mary Jane--sings," observed Billy, at this point,
+demurely.
+
+"Why, yes, of course," chimed in Aunt Hannah with some nervousness.
+"That's what she--I mean he--was coming to Boston for--to study music."
+
+Everybody laughed.
+
+"Won't you sing, please?" asked Billy. "Can you--without your notes? I
+have lots of songs if you want them."
+
+For a moment--but only a moment--Arkwright hesitated; then he rose and
+went to the piano.
+
+With the easy sureness of the trained musician his fingers dropped to
+the keys and slid into preliminary chords and arpeggios to test the
+touch of the piano; then, with a sweetness and purity that made every
+listener turn in amazed delight, a well-trained tenor began the "Thro'
+the leaves the night winds moving," of Schubert's Serenade.
+
+Cyril's chin had lifted at the first tone. He was listening now with
+very obvious pleasure. Bertram, too, was showing by his attitude the
+keenest appreciation. William and Aunt Hannah, resting back in their
+chairs, were contentedly nodding their approval to each other. Marie in
+her corner was motionless with rapture. As to Billy--Billy was plainly
+oblivious of everything but the song and the singer. She seemed scarcely
+to move or to breathe till the song's completion; then there came a low
+"Oh, how beautiful!" through her parted lips.
+
+Bertram, looking at her, was conscious of a vague irritation.
+
+"Arkwright, you're a lucky dog," he declared almost crossly. "I wish I
+could sing like that!"
+
+"I wish I could paint a 'Face of a Girl,'" smiled the tenor as he turned
+from the piano.
+
+"Oh, but, Mr. Arkwright, don't stop," objected Billy, springing to her
+feet and going to her music cabinet by the piano. "There's a little song
+of Nevin's I want you to sing. There, here it is. Just let me play it
+for you." And she slipped into the place the singer had just left.
+
+It was the beginning of the end. After Nevin came De Koven, and after
+De Koven, Gounod. Then came Nevin again, Billy still playing the
+accompaniment. Next followed a duet. Billy did not consider herself much
+of a singer, but her voice was sweet and true, and not without training.
+It blended very prettily with the clear, pure tenor.
+
+William and Aunt Hannah still smiled contentedly in their chairs, though
+Aunt Hannah had reached for the pink shawl near her--the music had sent
+little shivers down her spine. Cyril, with Marie, had slipped into the
+little reception-room across the hall, ostensibly to look at some plans
+for a house, although--as everybody knew--they were not intending to
+build for a year.
+
+Bertram, still sitting stiffly erect in his chair, was not conscious
+of a vague irritation now. He was conscious of a very real, and a very
+decided one--an irritation that was directed against himself, against
+Billy, and against this man, Arkwright; but chiefly against music,
+_per se_. He hated music. He wished he could sing. He wondered how long
+it took to teach a man to sing, anyhow; and he wondered if a man could
+sing--who never had sung.
+
+At this point the duet came to an end, and Billy and her guest left
+the piano. Almost at once, after this, Arkwright made his very graceful
+adieus, and went off with his suit-case to the hotel where, as he had
+informed Aunt Hannah, his room was already engaged.
+
+William went home then, and Aunt Hannah went up-stairs. Cyril and Marie
+withdrew into a still more secluded corner to look at their plans, and
+Bertram found himself at last alone with Billy. He forgot, then, in
+the blissful hour he spent with her before the open fire, how he hated
+music; though he did say, just before he went home that night:
+
+"Billy, how long does it take--to learn to sing?"
+
+"Why, I don't know, I'm sure," replied Billy, abstractedly; then, with
+sudden fervor: "Oh, Bertram, hasn't Mr. Mary Jane a beautiful voice?"
+
+Bertram wished then he had not asked the question; but all he said was:
+
+"'Mr. Mary Jane,' indeed! What an absurd name!"
+
+"But doesn't he sing beautifully?"
+
+"Eh? Oh, yes, he sings all right," said Bertram's tongue. Bertram's
+manner said: "Oh, yes, anybody can sing."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII. M. J. OPENS THE GAME
+
+
+On the morning after Cyril's first concert of the season, Billy sat
+sewing with Aunt Hannah in the little sitting-room at the end of the
+hall upstairs. Aunt Hannah wore only one shawl this morning,--which
+meant that she was feeling unusually well.
+
+"Marie ought to be here to mend these stockings," remarked Billy, as she
+critically examined a tiny break in the black silk mesh stretched across
+the darning-egg in her hand; "only she'd want a bigger hole. She does so
+love to make a beautiful black latticework bridge across a yawning white
+china sea--and you'd think the safety of an army depended on the way
+each plank was laid, too," she concluded.
+
+Aunt Hannah smiled tranquilly, but she did not speak.
+
+"I suppose you don't happen to know if Cyril does wear big holes in his
+socks," resumed Billy, after a moment's silence. "If you'll believe it,
+that thought popped into my head last night when Cyril was playing
+that concerto so superbly. It did, actually--right in the middle of the
+adagio movement, too. And in spite of my joy and pride in the music I
+had all I could do to keep from nudging Marie right there and then and
+asking her whether or not the dear man was hard on his hose."
+
+"Billy!" gasped the shocked Aunt Hannah; but the gasp broke at once into
+what--in Aunt Hannah--passed for a chuckle. "If I remember rightly, when
+I was there at the house with you at first, my dear, William told me
+that Cyril wouldn't wear any sock after it came to mending."
+
+"Horrors!" Billy waved her stocking in mock despair. "That will never
+do in the world. It would break Marie's heart. You know how she dotes on
+darning."
+
+"Yes, I know," smiled Aunt Hannah. "By the way, where is she this
+morning?"
+
+Billy raised her eyebrows quizzically.
+
+"Gone to look at an apartment in Cambridge, I believe. Really,
+Aunt Hannah, between her home-hunting in the morning, and her
+furniture-and-rug hunting in the afternoon, and her poring over
+house-plans in the evening, I can't get her to attend to her clothes at
+all. Never did I see a bride so utterly indifferent to her trousseau as
+Marie Hawthorn--and her wedding less than a month away!"
+
+"But she's been shopping with you once or twice, since she came back,
+hasn't she? And she said it was for her trousseau."
+
+Billy laughed.
+
+"Her trousseau! Oh, yes, it was. I'll tell you what she got for her
+trousseau that first day. We started out to buy two hats, some lace for
+her wedding gown, some cr�pe de Chine and net for a little dinner
+frock, and some silk for a couple of waists to go with her tailored
+suit; and what did we get? We purchased a new-style egg-beater and a
+set of cake tins. Marie got into the kitchen department and I simply
+couldn't get her out of it. But the next day I was not to be inveigled
+below stairs by any plaintive prayer for a nutmeg-grater or a soda
+spoon. She _shopped_ that day, and to some purpose. We accomplished
+lots."
+
+Aunt Hannah looked a little concerned.
+
+"But she must have _some_ things started!"
+
+"Oh, she has--'most everything now. _I've_ seen to that. Of course her
+outfit is very simple, anyway. Marie hasn't much money, you know, and
+she simply won't let me do half what I want to. Still, she had saved
+up some money, and I've finally convinced her that a trousseau doesn't
+consist of egg-beaters and cake tins, and that Cyril would want her to
+look pretty. That name will fetch her every time, and I've learned to
+use it beautifully. I think if I told her Cyril approved of short hair
+and near-sightedness she'd I cut off her golden locks and don spectacles
+on the spot."
+
+Aunt Hannah laughed softly.
+
+"What a child you are, Billy! Besides, just as if Marie were the only
+one in the house who is ruled by a magic name!"
+
+The color deepened in Billy's cheeks.
+
+"Well, of course, any girl--cares something--for the man she loves. Just
+as if I wouldn't do anything in the world I could for Bertram!"
+
+"Oh, that makes me think; who was that young woman Bertram was talking
+with last evening--just after he left us, I mean?"
+
+"Miss Winthrop--Miss Marguerite Winthrop. Bertram is--is painting her
+portrait, you know."
+
+"Oh, is that the one?" murmured Aunt Hannah. "Hm-m; well, she has a
+beautiful face."
+
+"Yes, she has." Billy spoke very cheerfully. She even hummed a little
+tune as she carefully selected a needle from the cushion in her basket.
+
+"There's a peculiar something in her face," mused Aunt Hannah, aloud.
+
+The little tune stopped abruptly, ending in a nervous laugh.
+
+"Dear me! I wonder how it feels to have a peculiar something in your
+face. Bertram, too, says she has it. He's trying to 'catch it,' he says.
+I wonder now--if he does catch it, does she lose it?" Flippant as were
+the words, the voice that uttered them shook a little.
+
+Aunt Hannah smiled indulgently--Aunt Hannah had heard only the
+flippancy, not the shake.
+
+"I don't know, my dear. You might ask him this afternoon."
+
+Billy made a sudden movement. The china egg in her lap rolled to the
+floor.
+
+"Oh, but I don't see him this afternoon," she said lightly, as she
+stooped to pick up the egg.
+
+"Why, I'm sure he told me--" Aunt Hannah's sentence ended in a
+questioning pause.
+
+"Yes, I know," nodded Billy, brightly; "but he's told me something
+since. He isn't going. He telephoned me this morning. Miss Winthrop
+wanted the sitting changed from to-morrow to this afternoon. He said he
+knew I'd understand."
+
+"Why, yes; but--" Aunt Hannah did not finish her sentence. The whir of
+an electric bell had sounded through the house. A few moments later Rosa
+appeared in the open doorway.
+
+"It,'s Mr. Arkwright, Miss. He said as how he had brought the music,"
+she announced.
+
+"Tell him I'll be down at once," directed the mistress of Hillside.
+
+As the maid disappeared, Billy put aside her work and sprang lightly to
+her feet.
+
+"Now wasn't that nice of him? We were talking last night about some
+duets he had, and he said he'd bring them over. I didn't know he'd come
+so soon, though."
+
+Billy had almost reached the bottom of the stairway, when a low,
+familiar strain of music drifted out from the living-room. Billy caught
+her breath, and held her foot suspended. The next moment the familiar
+strain of music had become a lullaby--one of Billy's own--and sung now
+by a melting tenor voice that lingered caressingly and understandingly
+on every tender cadence.
+
+Motionless and almost breathless, Billy waited until the last
+low "lul-la-by" vibrated into silence; then with shining eyes and
+outstretched hands she entered the living-room.
+
+"Oh, that was--beautiful," she breathed.
+
+Arkwright was on his feet instantly. His eyes, too, were alight.
+
+"I could not resist singing it just once--here," he said a little
+unsteadily, as their hands met.
+
+"But to hear my little song sung like that! I couldn't believe it was
+mine," choked Billy, still plainly very much moved. "You sang it as I've
+never heard it sung before."
+
+Arkwright shook his head slowly.
+
+"The inspiration of the room--that is all,", he said. "It is a beautiful
+song. All of your songs are beautiful."
+
+Billy blushed rosily.
+
+"Thank you. You know--more of them, then?"
+
+"I think I know them all--unless you have some new ones out. Have you
+some new ones, lately?"
+
+Billy shook her head.
+
+"No; I haven't written anything since last spring."
+
+"But you're going to?"
+
+She drew a long sigh.
+
+"Yes, oh, yes. I know that _now_--" With a swift biting of her lower
+lip Billy caught herself up in time. As if she could tell this man, this
+stranger, what she had told Bertram that night by the fire--that she
+knew that now, _now_ she would write beautiful songs, with his love, and
+his pride in her, as incentives. "Oh, yes, I think I shall write more
+one of these days," she finished lightly. "But come, this isn't singing
+duets! I want to see the music you brought."
+
+They sang then, one after another of the duets. To Billy, the music was
+new and interesting. To Billy, too, it was new (and interesting) to hear
+her own voice blending with another's so perfectly--to feel herself a
+part of such exquisite harmony.
+
+"Oh, oh!" she breathed ecstatically, after the last note of a
+particularly beautiful phrase. "I never knew before how lovely it was to
+sing duets."
+
+"Nor I," replied Arkwright in a voice that was not quite steady.
+
+Arkwright's eyes were on the enraptured face of the girl so near him.
+It was well, perhaps, that Billy did not happen to turn and catch their
+expression. Still, it might have been better if she had turned, after
+all. But Billy's eyes were on the music before her. Her fingers were
+busy with the fluttering pages, searching for another duet.
+
+"Didn't you?" she murmured abstractedly. "I supposed _you'd_ sung them
+before; but you see I never did--until the other night. There, let's try
+this one!"
+
+"This one" was followed by another and another. Then Billy drew a long
+breath.
+
+"There! that must positively be the last," she declared reluctantly.
+"I'm so hoarse now I can scarcely croak. You see, I don't pretend to
+sing, really."
+
+"Don't you? You sing far better than some who do, anyhow," retorted the
+man, warmly.
+
+"Thank you," smiled Billy; "that was nice of you to say so--for my
+sake--and the others aren't here to care. But tell me of yourself. I
+haven't had a chance to ask you yet; and--I think you said Mary Jane was
+going to study for Grand Opera."
+
+Arkwright laughed and shrugged his shoulders.
+
+"She is; but, as I told Calderwell, she's quite likely to bring up in
+vaudeville."
+
+"Calderwell! Do you mean--Hugh Calderwell?" Billy's cheeks showed a
+deeper color.
+
+The man gave an embarrassed little laugh. He had not meant to let that
+name slip out just yet.
+
+"Yes." He hesitated, then plunged on recklessly. "We tramped half over
+Europe together last summer."
+
+"Did you?" Billy left her seat at the piano for one nearer the fire.
+"But this isn't telling me about your own plans," she hurried on a
+little precipitately. "You've studied before, of course. Your voice
+shows that."
+
+"Oh, yes; I've studied singing several years, and I've had a year or two
+of church work, besides a little concert practice of a mild sort."
+
+"Have you begun here, yet?"
+
+"Y-yes, I've had my voice tried."
+
+Billy sat erect with eager interest.
+
+"They liked it, of course?"
+
+Arkwright laughed.
+
+"I'm not saying that."
+
+"No, but I am," declared Billy, with conviction. "They couldn't help
+liking it."
+
+Arkwright laughed again. Just how well they had "liked it" he did not
+intend to say. Their remarks had been quite too flattering to repeat
+even to this very plainly interested young woman--delightful and
+heart-warming as was this same show of interest, to himself.
+
+"Thank you," was all he said.
+
+Billy gave an excited little bounce in her chair.
+
+"And you'll begin to learn r�les right away?"
+
+"I already have, some--after a fashion--before I came here."
+
+"Really? How splendid! Why, then you'll be acting them next right on the
+Boston Opera House stage, and we'll all go to hear you. How perfectly
+lovely! I can hardly wait."
+
+Arkwright laughed--but his eyes glowed with pleasure.
+
+"Aren't you hurrying things a little?" he ventured.
+
+"But they do let the students appear," argued Billy. "I knew a girl last
+year who went on in 'Aida,' and she was a pupil at the School. She sang
+first in a Sunday concert, then they put her in the bill for a Saturday
+night. She did splendidly--so well that they gave her a chance later at
+a subscription performance. Oh, you'll be there--and soon, too!"
+
+"Thank you! I only wish the powers that could put me there had your
+flattering enthusiasm on the matter," he smiled.
+
+"I don't worry any," nodded Billy, "only please don't 'arrive' too
+soon--not before the wedding, you know," she added jokingly. "We shall
+be too busy to give you proper attention until after that."
+
+A peculiar look crossed Arkwright's face.
+
+"The--_wedding?_" he asked, a little faintly.
+
+"Yes. Didn't you know? My friend, Miss Hawthorn, is to marry Mr. Cyril
+Henshaw next month."
+
+The man opposite relaxed visibly.
+
+"Oh, _Miss Hawthorn!_ No, I didn't know," he murmured; then, with sudden
+astonishment he added: "And to Mr. Cyril, the musician, did you say?"
+
+"Yes. You seem surprised."
+
+"I am." Arkwright paused, then went on almost defiantly. "You see,
+Calderwell was telling me only last September how very unmarriageable
+all the Henshaw brothers were. So I am surprised--naturally," finished
+Arkwright, as he rose to take his leave.
+
+A swift crimson stained Billy's face.
+
+"But surely you must know that--that--"
+
+"That he has a right to change his mind, of course," supplemented
+Arkwright smilingly, coming to her rescue in the evident confusion
+that would not let her finish her sentence. "But Calderwell made it so
+emphatic, you see, about all the brothers. He said that William had lost
+his heart long ago; that Cyril hadn't any to lose; and that Bertram--"
+
+"But, Mr. Arkwright, Bertram is--is--" Billy had moistened her lips, and
+plunged hurriedly in to prevent Arkwright's next words. But again was
+she unable to finish her sentence, and again was she forced to listen
+to a very different completion from the smiling lips of the man at her
+side.
+
+"Is an artist, of course," said Arkwright. "That's what Calderwell
+declared--that it would always be the tilt of a chin or the curve of a
+cheek that the artist loved--to paint."
+
+Billy drew back suddenly. Her face paled. As if _now_ she could tell
+this man that Bertram Henshaw was engaged to her! He would find it out
+soon, of course, for himself; and perhaps he, like Hugh Calderwell,
+would think it was the curve of _her_ cheek, or the tilt of _her_ chin--
+
+Billy lifted her chin very defiantly now as she held out her hand in
+good-by.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX. A RUG, A PICTURE, AND A GIRL AFRAID
+
+
+Thanksgiving came. Once again the Henshaw brothers invited Billy and
+Aunt Hannah to spend the day with them. This time, however, there was to
+be an additional guest present in the person of Marie Hawthorn.
+
+And what a day it was, for everything and everybody concerned! First
+the Strata itself: from Dong Ling's kitchen in the basement to Cyril's
+domain on the top floor, the house was as spick-and-span as Pete's eager
+old hands could make it. In the drawing-room and in Bertram's den and
+studio, great clusters of pink roses perfumed the air, and brightened
+the sombre richness of the old-time furnishings. Before the open fire in
+the den a sleek gray cat--adorned with a huge ribbon bow the exact shade
+of the roses (Bertram had seen to that!)--winked and blinked sleepy
+yellow eyes. In Bertram's studio the latest "Face of a Girl" had made
+way for a group of canvases and plaques, every one of which showed Billy
+Neilson in one pose or another. Up-stairs, where William's chaos of
+treasures filled shelves and cabinets, the place of honor was given to
+a small black velvet square on which rested a pair of quaint Battersea
+enamel mirror knobs. In Cyril's rooms--usually so austerely bare--a
+handsome Oriental rug and several curtain-draped chairs hinted at
+purchases made at the instigation of a taste other than his own.
+
+When the doorbell rang Pete admitted the ladies with a promptness that
+was suggestive of surreptitious watching at some window. On Pete's
+face the dignity of his high office and the delight of the moment were
+fighting for mastery. The dignity held firmly through Mrs. Stetson's
+friendly greeting; but it fled in defeat when Billy Neilson stepped over
+the threshold with a cheery "Good morning, Pete."
+
+"Laws! But it's good to be seein' you here again," stammered the
+man,--delight now in sole possession.
+
+"She'll be coming to stay, one of these days, Pete," smiled the eldest
+Henshaw, hurrying forward.
+
+"I wish she had now," whispered Bertram, who, in spite of William's
+quick stride, had reached Billy's side first.
+
+From the stairway came the patter of a man's slippered feet.
+
+"The rug has come, and the curtains, too," called a "householder" sort
+of voice that few would have recognized as belonging to Cyril Henshaw.
+"You must all come up-stairs and see them after dinner." The voice,
+apparently, spoke to everybody; but the eyes of the owner of the voice
+plainly saw only the fair-haired young woman who stood a little in the
+shadow behind Billy, and who was looking about her now as at something a
+little fearsome, but very dear.
+
+"You know--I've never been--where you live--before," explained Marie
+Hawthorn in a low, vibrant tone, when Cyril bent over her to take the
+furs from her shoulders.
+
+In Bertram's den a little later, as hosts and guests advanced toward
+the fire, the sleek gray cat rose, stretched lazily, and turned her head
+with majestic condescension.
+
+"Well, Spunkie, come here," commanded Billy, snapping her fingers at
+the slow-moving creature on the hearthrug. "Spunkie, when I am your
+mistress, you'll have to change either your name or your nature. As if
+I were going to have such a bunch of independent moderation as you
+masquerading as an understudy to my frisky little Spunk!"
+
+Everybody laughed. William regarded his namesake with fond eyes as he
+said:
+
+"Spunkie doesn't seem to be worrying." The cat had jumped into Billy's
+lap with a matter-of-course air that was unmistakable--and to Bertram,
+adorable. Bertram's eyes, as they rested on Billy, were even fonder than
+were his brother's.
+
+"I don't think any one is--_worrying_," he said with quiet emphasis.
+
+Billy smiled.
+
+"I should think they might be," she answered. "Only think how dreadfully
+upsetting I was in the first place!"
+
+William's beaming face grew a little stern.
+
+"Nobody knew it but Kate--and she didn't _know_ it; she only imagined
+it," he said tersely.
+
+Billy shook her head.
+
+"I'm not so sure," she demurred. "As I look back at it now, I think I
+can discern a few evidences myself--that I was upsetting. I was a bother
+to Bertram in his painting, I am sure."
+
+"You were an inspiration," corrected Bertram. "Think of the posing you
+did for me."
+
+A swift something like a shadow crossed Billy's face; but before her
+lover could question its meaning, it was gone.
+
+"And I know I was a torment to Cyril." Billy had turned to the musician
+now.
+
+"Well, I admit you were a little--upsetting, at times," retorted that
+individual, with something of his old imperturbable rudeness.
+
+"Nonsense!" cut in William, sharply. "You were never anything but a
+comfort in the house, Billy, my dear--and you never will be."
+
+"Thank you," murmured Billy, demurely. "I'll remember that--when Pete
+and I disagree about the table decorations, and Dong Ling doesn't like
+the way I want my soup seasoned."
+
+An anxious frown showed on Bertram's face.
+
+"Billy," he said in a low voice, as the others laughed at her sally,
+"you needn't have Pete nor Dong Ling here if you don't want them."
+
+"Don't want them!" echoed Billy, indignantly. "Of course I want them!"
+
+"But--Pete _is_ old, and--"
+
+"Yes; and where's he grown old? For whom has he worked the last fifty
+years, while he's been growing old? I wonder if you think I'd let Pete
+leave this house as long as he _wants_ to stay! As for Dong Ling--"
+
+A sudden movement of Bertram's hand arrested her words. She looked up to
+find Pete in the doorway.
+
+"Dinner is served, sir," announced the old butler, his eyes on his
+master's face.
+
+William rose with alacrity, and gave his arm to Aunt Hannah.
+
+"Well, I'm sure we're ready for dinner," he declared.
+
+It was a good dinner, and it was well served. It could scarcely have
+been otherwise with Dong Ling in the kitchen and Pete in the dining-room
+doing their utmost to please. But even had the turkey been tough instead
+of tender, and even had the pies been filled with sawdust instead of
+with delicious mincemeat, it is doubtful if four at the table would have
+known the difference: Cyril and Marie at one end were discussing where
+to put their new sideboard in their dining-room, and Bertram and Billy
+at the other were talking of the next Thanksgiving, when, according to
+Bertram, the Strata would have the "dearest little mistress that ever
+was born." As if, under these circumstances, the tenderness of the
+turkey or the toothsomeness of the mince pie mattered! To Aunt Hannah
+and William, in the centre of the table, however, it did matter; so it
+was well, of course, that the dinner was a good one.
+
+"And now," said Cyril, when dinner was over, "suppose you come up and
+see the rug."
+
+In compliance with this suggestion, the six trailed up the long flights
+of stairs then, Billy carrying an extra shawl for Aunt Hannah--Cyril's
+rooms were always cool.
+
+"Oh, yes, I knew we should need it," she nodded to Bertram, as she
+picked up the shawl from the hall stand where she had left it when she
+came in. "That's why I brought it."
+
+"Oh, my grief and conscience, Cyril, how _can_ you stand it?--to climb
+stairs like this," panted Aunt Hannah, as she reached the top of the
+last flight and dropped breathlessly into the nearest chair--from which
+Marie had rescued a curtain just in time.
+
+"Well, I'm not sure I could--if I were always to eat a Thanksgiving
+dinner just before," laughed Cyril. "Maybe I ought to have waited and
+let you rest an hour or two."
+
+"But 'twould have been too dark, then, to see the rug," objected Marie.
+"It's a genuine Persian--a Kirman, you know; and I'm so proud of it,"
+she added, turning to the others. "I wanted you to see the colors by
+daylight. Cyril likes it better, anyhow, in the daytime."
+
+"Fancy Cyril _liking_ any sort of a rug at any time," chuckled Bertram,
+his eyes on the rich, softly blended colors of the rug before him.
+"Honestly, Miss Marie," he added, turning to the little bride elect,
+"how did you ever manage to get him to buy _any_ rug? He won't have so
+much as a ravelling on the floor up here to walk on."
+
+A startled dismay came into Marie's blue eyes.
+
+"Why, I thought he wanted rugs," she faltered. "I'm sure he said--"
+
+"Of course I want rugs," interrupted Cyril, irritably. "I want them
+everywhere except in my own especial den. You don't suppose I want to
+hear other people clattering over bare floors all day, do you?"
+
+"Of course not!" Bertram's face was preternaturally grave as he turned
+to the little music teacher. "I hope, Miss Marie, that you wear rubber
+heels on your shoes," he observed solicitously.
+
+Even Cyril laughed at this, though all he said was:
+
+"Come, come, I got you up here to look at the rug."
+
+Bertram, however, was not to be silenced.
+
+"And another thing, Miss Marie," he resumed, with the air of a true and
+tried adviser. "Just let me give you a pointer. I've lived with your
+future husband a good many years, and I know what I'm talking about."
+
+"Bertram, be still," growled Cyril.
+
+Bertram refused to be still.
+
+"Whenever you want to know anything about Cyril, listen to his playing.
+For instance: if, after dinner, you hear a dreamy waltz or a sleepy
+nocturne, you may know that all is well. But if on your ears there falls
+anything like a dirge, or the wail of a lost spirit gone mad, better
+look to your soup and see if it hasn't been scorched, or taste of your
+pudding and see if you didn't put in salt instead of sugar."
+
+"Bertram, will you be still?" cut in Cyril, testily, again.
+
+"After all, judging from what Billy tells me," resumed Bertram,
+cheerfully, "what I've said won't be so important to you, for you aren't
+the kind that scorches soups or uses salt for sugar. So maybe I'd better
+put it to you this way: if you want a new sealskin coat or an extra
+diamond tiara, tackle him when he plays like this!" And with a swift
+turn Bertram dropped himself to the piano stool and dashed into a
+rollicking melody that half the newsboys of Boston were whistling.
+
+What happened next was a surprise to every one. Bertram, very much as
+if he were a naughty little boy, was jerked by a wrathful brother's hand
+off the piano stool. The next moment the wrathful brother himself sat at
+the piano, and there burst on five pairs of astonished ears a crashing
+dissonance which was but the prelude to music such as few of the party
+often heard.
+
+Spellbound they listened while rippling runs and sonorous harmonies
+filled the room to overflowing, as if under the fingers of the player
+there were--not the keyboard of a piano--but the violins, flutes,
+cornets, trombones, bass viols and kettledrums of a full orchestra.
+
+Billy, perhaps, of them all, best understood. She knew that in those
+tripping melodies and crashing chords were Cyril's joy at the presence
+of Marie, his wrath at the flippancy of Bertram, his ecstasy at that for
+which the rug and curtains stood--the little woman sewing in the radiant
+circle of a shaded lamp. Billy knew that all this and more were finding
+voice at Cyril's finger tips. The others, too, understood in a way; but
+they, unlike Billy, were not in the habit of finding on a few score bits
+of wood and ivory a vent for their moods and fancies.
+
+The music was softer now. The resounding chords and purling runs had
+become a bell-like melody that wound itself in and out of a maze of
+exquisite harmonies, now hiding, now coming out clear and unafraid, like
+a mountain stream emerging into a sunlit meadow from the leafy shadows
+of its forest home.
+
+In a breathless hush the melody quivered into silence. It was Bertram
+who broke the pause with a long-drawn:
+
+"By George!" Then, a little unsteadily: "If it's I that set you going
+like that, old chap, I'll come up and play ragtime every day!"
+
+Cyril shrugged his shoulders and got to his feet.
+
+"If you've seen all you want of the rug we'll go down-stairs," he said
+nonchalantly.
+
+"But we haven't!" chorussed several indignant voices. And for the next
+few minutes not even the owner of the beautiful Kirman could find any
+fault with the quantity or the quality of the attention bestowed on
+his new possession. But Billy, under cover of the chatter, said
+reproachfully in his ear:
+
+"Oh, Cyril, to think you can play like that--and won't--on demand!"
+
+"I can't--on demand," shrugged Cyril again.
+
+On the way down-stairs they stopped at William's rooms.
+
+"I want you to see a couple of Batterseas I got last week," cried
+the collector eagerly, as he led the way to the black velvet square.
+"They're fine--and I think she looks like you," he finished, turning
+to Billy, and holding out one of the knobs, on which was a beautifully
+executed miniature of a young girl with dark, dreamy eyes.
+
+"Oh, how pretty!" exclaimed Marie, over Billy's shoulder. "But what are
+they?"
+
+The collector turned, his face alight.
+
+"Mirror knobs. I've got lots of them. Would you like to see
+them--really? They're right here."
+
+The next minute Marie found herself looking into a cabinet where lay a
+score or more of round and oval discs of glass, porcelain, and metal,
+framed in silver, gilt, and brass, and mounted on long spikes.
+
+"Oh, how pretty," cried Marie again; "but how--how queer! Tell me about
+them, please."
+
+William drew a long breath. His eyes glistened. William loved to
+talk--when he had a curio and a listener.
+
+"I will. Our great-grandmothers used them, you know, to support their
+mirrors, or to fasten back their curtains," he explained ardently.
+"Now here's another Battersea enamel, but it isn't so good as my new
+ones--that face is almost a caricature."
+
+"But what a beautiful ship--on that round one!" exclaimed Marie. "And
+what's this one?--glass?"
+
+"Yes; but that's not so rare as the others. Still, it's pretty enough.
+Did you notice this one, with the bright red and blue and green on the
+white background?--regular Chinese mode of decoration, that is."
+
+"Er--any time, William," began Bertram, mischievously; but William did
+not seem to hear.
+
+"Now in this corner," he went on, warming to his subject, "are
+the enamelled porcelains. They were probably made at the Worcester
+works--England, you know; and I think many of them are quite as pretty
+as the Batterseas. You see it was at Worcester that they invented
+that variation of the transfer printing process that they called bat
+printing, where they used oil instead of ink, and gelatine instead of
+paper. Now engravings for that kind of printing were usually in stipple
+work--dots, you know--so the prints on these knobs can easily be
+distinguished from those of the transfer printing. See? Now, this one
+is--"
+
+"Er, of course, William, any time--" interposed Bertram again, his eyes
+twinkling.
+
+William stopped with a laugh.
+
+"Yes, I know. 'Tis time I talked of something else, Bertram," he
+conceded.
+
+"But 'twas lovely, and I _was_ interested, really," claimed Marie.
+"Besides, there are such a lot of things here that I'd like to see," she
+finished, turning slowly about.
+
+"These are what he was collecting last year," murmured Billy, hovering
+over a small cabinet where were some beautiful specimens of antique
+jewelry brooches, necklaces, armlets, Rajah rings, and anklets, gorgeous
+in color and exquisite in workmanship.
+
+"Well, here is something you _will_ enjoy," declared Bertram, with an
+airy flourish. "Do you see those teapots? Well, we can have tea every
+day in the year, and not use one of them but five times. I've counted.
+There are exactly seventy-three," he concluded, as he laughingly led the
+way from the room.
+
+"How about leap year?" quizzed Billy.
+
+"Ho! Trust Will to find another 'Old Blue' or a 'perfect treasure of a
+black basalt' by that time," shrugged Bertram.
+
+Below William's rooms was the floor once Bertram's, but afterwards given
+over to the use of Billy and Aunt Hannah. The rooms were open to-day,
+and were bright with sunshine and roses; but they were very plainly
+unoccupied.
+
+"And you don't use them yet?" remonstrated Billy, as she paused at an
+open door.
+
+"No. These are Mrs. Bertram Henshaw's rooms," said the youngest Henshaw
+brother in a voice that made Billy hurry away with a dimpling blush.
+
+"They were Billy's--and they can never seem any one's but Billy's, now,"
+declared William to Marie, as they went down the stairs.
+
+"And now for the den and some good stories before the fire," proposed
+Bertram, as the six reached the first floor again.
+
+"But we haven't seen your pictures, yet," objected Billy.
+
+Bertram made a deprecatory gesture.
+
+"There's nothing much--" he began; but he stopped at once, with an odd
+laugh. "Well, I sha'n't say _that_," he finished, flinging open the door
+of his studio, and pressing a button that flooded the room with light.
+The next moment, as they stood before those plaques and panels and
+canvases--on each of which was a pictured "Billy"--they understood the
+change in his sentence, and they laughed appreciatively.
+
+"'Much,' indeed!" exclaimed William.
+
+"Oh, how lovely!" breathed Marie.
+
+"My grief and conscience, Bertram! All these--and of Billy? I knew you
+had a good many, but--" Aunt Hannah paused impotently, her eyes going
+from Bertram's face to the pictures again.
+
+"But how--when did you do them?" queried Marie.
+
+"Some of them from memory. More of them from life. A lot of them were
+just sketches that I did when she was here in the house four or five
+years ago," answered Bertram; "like this, for instance." And he pulled
+into a better light a picture of a laughing, dark-eyed girl holding
+against her cheek a small gray kitten, with alert, bright eyes. "The
+original and only Spunk," he announced.
+
+"What a dear little cat!" cried Marie.
+
+"You should have seen it--in the flesh," remarked Cyril, dryly. "No
+paint nor painter could imprison that untamed bit of Satanic mischief on
+any canvas that ever grew!"
+
+Everybody laughed--everybody but Billy. Billy, indeed, of them all, had
+been strangely silent ever since they entered the studio. She stood now
+a little apart. Her eyes were wide, and a bit frightened. Her fingers
+were twisting the corners of her handkerchief nervously. She was looking
+to the right and to the left, and everywhere she saw--herself.
+
+Sometimes it was her full face, sometimes her profile; sometimes there
+were only her eyes peeping from above a fan, or peering from out brown
+shadows of nothingness. Once it was merely the back of her head showing
+the mass of waving hair with its high lights of burnished bronze. Again
+it was still the back of her head with below it the bare, slender
+neck and the scarf-draped shoulders. In this picture the curve of a
+half-turned cheek showed plainly, and in the background was visible
+a hand holding four playing cards, at which the pictured girl was
+evidently looking. Sometimes it was a merry Billy with dancing eyes;
+sometimes a demure Billy with long lashes caressing a flushed cheek.
+Sometimes it was a wistful Billy with eyes that looked straight into
+yours with peculiar appeal. But always it was--Billy.
+
+"There, I think the tilt of this chin is perfect." It was Bertram
+speaking.
+
+Billy gave a sudden cry. Her face whitened. She stumbled forward.
+
+"No, no, Bertram, you--you didn't mean the--the tilt of the chin," she
+faltered wildly.
+
+The man turned in amazement.
+
+"Why--Billy!" he stammered. "Billy, what is it?"
+
+The girl fell back at once. She tried to laugh lightly. She had seen the
+dismayed questioning in her lover's eyes, and in the eyes of William and
+the others.
+
+"N-nothing," she gesticulated hurriedly. "It was nothing at all, truly."
+
+"But, Billy, it _was_ something." Bertram's eyes were still troubled.
+"Was it the picture? I thought you liked this picture."
+
+Billy laughed again--this time more naturally.
+
+"Bertram, I'm ashamed of you--expecting me to say I 'like' any of this,"
+she scolded, with a wave of her hands toward the omnipresent Billy.
+"Why, I feel as if I were in a room with a thousand mirrors, and that
+I'd been discovered putting rouge on my cheeks and lampblack on my
+eyebrows!"
+
+William laughed fondly. Aunt Hannah and Marie gave an indulgent smile.
+Cyril actually chuckled. Bertram only still wore a puzzled expression as
+he laid aside the canvas in his hands.
+
+Billy examined intently a sketch she had found with its back to the
+wall. It was not a pretty sketch; it was not even a finished one,
+and Billy did not in the least care what it was. But her lips cried
+interestedly:
+
+"Oh, Bertram, what is this?"
+
+There was no answer. Bertram was still engaged, apparently, in putting
+away some sketches. Over by the doorway leading to the den Marie and
+Aunt Hannah, followed by William and Cyril, were just disappearing
+behind a huge easel. In another minute the merry chatter of their voices
+came from the room beyond. Bertram hurried then straight across the
+studio to the girl still bending over the sketch in the corner.
+
+"Bertram!" gasped Billy, as a kiss brushed her cheek.
+
+"Pooh! They're gone. Besides, what if they did see? Billy, what was the
+matter with the tilt of that chin?"
+
+Billy gave an hysterical little laugh--at least, Bertram tried to assure
+himself that it was a laugh, though it had sounded almost like a sob.
+
+"Bertram, if you say another word about--about the tilt of that chin, I
+shall _scream!_" she panted.
+
+"Why, Billy!"
+
+With a nervous little movement Billy turned and began to reverse the
+canvases nearest her.
+
+"Come, sir," she commanded gayly. "Billy has been on exhibition
+quite long enough. It is high time she was turned face to the wall to
+meditate, and grow more modest."
+
+Bertram did not answer. Neither did he make a move to assist her. His
+ardent gray eyes were following her slim, graceful figure admiringly.
+
+"Billy, it doesn't seem true, yet, that you're really mine," he said at
+last, in a low voice shaken with emotion.
+
+Billy turned abruptly. A peculiar radiance shone in her eyes and
+glorified her face. As she stood, she was close to a picture on an easel
+and full in the soft glow of the shaded lights above it.
+
+"Then you _do_ want me," she began, "--just _me!_--not to--" she stopped
+short. The man opposite had taken an eager step toward her. On his
+face was the look she knew so well, the look she had come almost to
+dread--the "painting look."
+
+"Billy, stand just as you are," he was saying. "Don't move. Jove! But
+that effect is perfect with those dark shadows beyond, and just your
+hair and face and throat showing. I declare, I've half a mind to
+sketch--" But Billy, with a little cry, was gone.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+A JOB FOR PETE--AND FOR BERTRAM
+
+
+The early days in December were busy ones, certainly, in the little
+house on Corey Hill. Marie was to be married the twelfth. It was to be
+a home wedding, and a very simple one--according to Billy, and according
+to what Marie had said it was to be. Billy still serenely spoke of it
+as a "simple affair," but Marie was beginning to be fearful. As the
+days passed, bringing with them more and more frequent evidences either
+tangible or intangible of orders to stationers, caterers, and florists,
+her fears found voice in a protest.
+
+"But Billy, it was to be a _simple_ wedding," she cried.
+
+"And so it is."
+
+"But what is this I hear about a breakfast?"
+
+Billy's chin assumed its most stubborn squareness.
+
+"I don't know, I'm sure, what you did hear," she retorted calmly.
+
+"Billy!"
+
+Billy laughed. The chin was just as stubborn, but the smiling lips above
+it graced it with an air of charming concession.
+
+"There, there, dear," coaxed the mistress of Hillside, "don't fret.
+Besides, I'm sure I should think you, of all people, would want your
+guests _fed!_"
+
+"But this is so elaborate, from what I hear."
+
+"Nonsense! Not a bit of it."
+
+"Rosa says there'll be salads and cakes and ices--and I don't know what
+all."
+
+Billy looked concerned.
+
+"Well, of course, Marie, if you'd _rather_ have oatmeal and doughnuts,"
+she began with kind solicitude; but she got no farther.
+
+"Billy!" besought the bride elect. "Won't you be serious? And there's
+the cake in wedding boxes, too."
+
+"I know, but boxes are so much easier and cleaner than--just fingers,"
+apologized an anxiously serious voice.
+
+Marie answered with an indignant, grieved glance and hurried on.
+
+"And the flowers--roses, dozens of them, in December! Billy, I can't let
+you do all this for me."
+
+"Nonsense, dear!" laughed Billy. "Why, I love to do it. Besides, when
+you're gone, just think how lonesome I'll be! I shall have to adopt
+somebody else then--now that Mary Jane has proved to be nothing but a
+disappointing man instead of a nice little girl like you," she finished
+whimsically.
+
+Marie did not smile. The frown still lay between her delicate brows.
+
+"And for my trousseau--there were so many things that you simply would
+buy!"
+
+"I didn't get one of the egg-beaters," Billy reminded her anxiously.
+
+Marie smiled now, but she shook her head, too.
+
+"Billy, I cannot have you do all this for me."
+
+"Why not?"
+
+At the unexpectedly direct question, Marie fell back a little.
+
+"Why, because I--I can't," she stammered. "I can't get them for myself,
+and--and--"
+
+"Don't you love me?"
+
+A pink flush stole to Marie's face.
+
+"Indeed I do, dearly."
+
+"Don't I love you?"
+
+The flush deepened.
+
+"I--I hope so."
+
+"Then why won't you let me do what I want to, and be happy in it? Money,
+just money, isn't any good unless you can exchange it for something you
+want. And just now I want pink roses and ice cream and lace flounces
+for you. Marie,"--Billy's voice trembled a little--"I never had a sister
+till I had you, and I have had such a good time buying things that I
+thought you wanted! But, of course, if you don't want them--" The words
+ended in a choking sob, and down went Billy's head into her folded arms
+on the desk before her.
+
+Marie sprang to her feet and cuddled the bowed head in a loving embrace.
+
+"But I do want them, dear; I want them all--every single one," she
+urged. "Now promise me--promise me that you'll do them all, just as
+you'd planned! You will, won't you?"
+
+There was the briefest of hesitations, then came the muffled reply:
+
+"Yes--if you really want them."
+
+"I do, dear--indeed I do. I love pretty weddings, and I--I always hoped
+that I could have one--if I ever married. So you must know, dear, how I
+really do want all those things," declared Marie, fervently. "And now I
+must go. I promised to meet Cyril at Park Street at three o'clock."
+And she hurried from the room--and not until she was half-way to her
+destination did it suddenly occur to her that she had been urging,
+actually urging Miss Billy Neilson to buy for her pink roses, ice cream,
+and lace flounces.
+
+Her cheeks burned with shame then. But almost at once she smiled.
+
+"Now wasn't that just like Billy?" she was saying to herself, with a
+tender glow in her eyes.
+
+
+It was early in December that Pete came one day with a package for Marie
+from Cyril. Marie was not at home, and Billy herself went downstairs to
+take the package from the old man's hands.
+
+"Mr. Cyril said to give it to Miss Hawthorn," stammered the old servant,
+his face lighting up as Billy entered the room; "but I'm sure he
+wouldn't mind _your_ taking it."
+
+"I'm afraid I'll have to take it, Pete, unless you want to carry it
+back with you," she smiled. "I'll see that Miss Hawthorn has it the very
+first moment she comes in."
+
+"Thank you, Miss. It does my old eyes good to see your bright face." He
+hesitated, then turned slowly. "Good day, Miss Billy."
+
+Billy laid the package on the table. Her eyes were thoughtful as she
+looked after the old man, who was now almost to the door. Something in
+his bowed form appealed to her strangely. She took a quick step toward
+him.
+
+"You'll miss Mr. Cyril, Pete," she said pleasantly.
+
+The old man stopped at once and turned. He lifted his head a little
+proudly.
+
+"Yes, Miss. I--I was there when he was born. Mr. Cyril's a fine man."
+
+"Indeed he is. Perhaps it's your good care that's helped, some--to make
+him so," smiled the girl, vaguely wishing that she could say something
+that would drive the wistful look from the dim old eyes before her.
+
+For a moment Billy thought she had succeeded. The old servant drew
+himself stiffly erect. In his eyes shone the loyal pride of more than
+fifty years' honest service. Almost at once, however, the pride died
+away, and the wistfulness returned.
+
+"Thank ye, Miss; but I don't lay no claim to that, of course," he said.
+"Mr. Cyril's a fine man, and we shall miss him; but--I cal'late changes
+must come--to all of us."
+
+Billy's brown eyes grew a little misty.
+
+"I suppose they must," she admitted.
+
+The old man hesitated; then, as if impelled by some hidden force, he
+plunged on:
+
+"Yes; and they'll be comin' to you one of these days, Miss, and that's
+what I was wantin' to speak to ye about. I understand, of course, that
+when you get there you'll be wantin' younger blood to serve ye. My feet
+ain't so spry as they once was, and my old hands blunder sometimes,
+in spite of what my head bids 'em do. So I wanted to tell ye--that of
+course I shouldn't expect to stay. I'd go."
+
+As he said the words, Pete stood with head and shoulders erect, his eyes
+looking straight forward but not at Billy.
+
+"Don't you _want_ to stay?" The girlish voice was a little reproachful.
+
+Pete's head drooped.
+
+"Not if--I'm not wanted," came the husky reply.
+
+With an impulsive movement Billy came straight to the old man's side and
+held out her hand.
+
+"Pete!"
+
+Amazement, incredulity, and a look that was almost terror crossed the
+old man's face; then a flood of dull red blotted them all out and left
+only worshipful rapture. With a choking cry he took the slim little hand
+in both his rough and twisted ones much as if he were possessing himself
+of a treasured bit of eggshell china.
+
+"Miss Billy!"
+
+"Pete, there aren't a pair of feet in Boston, nor a pair of hands,
+either, that I'd rather have serve me than yours, no matter if they
+stumble and blunder all day! I shall love stumbles and blunders--if you
+make them. Now run home, and don't ever let me hear another syllable
+about your leaving!"
+
+They were not the words Billy had intended to say. She had meant to
+speak of his long, faithful service, and of how much they appreciated
+it; but, to her surprise, Billy found her own eyes wet and her own voice
+trembling, and the words that she would have said she found fast shut
+in her throat. So there was nothing to do but to stammer out
+something--anything, that would help to keep her from yielding to that
+absurd and awful desire to fall on the old servant's neck and cry.
+
+"Not another syllable!" she repeated sternly.
+
+"Miss Billy!" choked Pete again. Then he turned and fled with anything
+but his usual dignity.
+
+Bertram called that evening. When Billy came to him in the living-room,
+her slender self was almost hidden behind the swirls of damask linen in
+her arms.
+
+Bertram's eyes grew mutinous.
+
+"Do you expect me to hug all that?" he demanded.
+
+Billy flashed him a mischievous glance.
+
+"Of course not! You don't _have_ to hug anything, you know."
+
+For answer he impetuously swept the offending linen into the nearest
+chair and drew the girl into his arms.
+
+"Oh! And see how you've crushed poor Marie's table-cloth!" she cried,
+with reproachful eyes.
+
+Bertram sniffed imperturbably.
+
+"I'm not sure but I'd like to crush Marie," he alleged.
+
+"Bertram!"
+
+"I can't help it. See here, Billy." He loosened his clasp and held the
+girl off at arm's length, regarding her with stormy eyes. "It's Marie,
+Marie, Marie--always. If I telephone in the morning, you've gone
+shopping with Marie. If I want you in the afternoon for something,
+you're at the dressmaker's with Marie. If I call in the evening--"
+
+"I'm here," interrupted Billy, with decision.
+
+"Oh, yes, you're here," admitted Bertram, aggrievedly, "and so are
+dozens of napkins, miles of table-cloths, and yards upon yards of lace
+and flummydiddles you call 'doilies.' They all belong to Marie, and they
+fill your arms and your thoughts full, until there isn't an inch of room
+for me. Billy, when is this thing going to end?"
+
+Billy laughed softly. Her eyes danced.
+
+"The twelfth;--that is, there'll be a--pause, then."
+
+"Well, I'm thankful if--eh?" broke off the man, with a sudden change of
+manner. "What do you mean by 'a pause'?"
+
+Billy cast down her eyes demurely.
+
+"Well, of course _this_ ends the twelfth with Marie's wedding; but
+I've sort of regarded it as an--understudy for one that's coming next
+October, you see."
+
+"Billy, you darling!" breathed a supremely happy voice in a shell-like
+ear--Billy was not at arm's length now.
+
+Billy smiled, but she drew away with gentle firmness.
+
+"And now I must go back to my sewing," she said.
+
+Bertram's arms did not loosen. His eyes had grown mutinous again.
+
+"That is," she amended, "I must be practising my part of--the
+understudy, you know."
+
+"You darling!" breathed Bertram again; this time, however, he let her
+go.
+
+"But, honestly, is it all necessary?" he sighed despairingly, as she
+seated herself and gathered the table-cloth into her lap. "Do you have
+to do so much of it all?"
+
+"I do," smiled Billy, "unless you want your brother to run the risk of
+leading his bride to the altar and finding her robed in a kitchen apron
+with an egg-beater in her hand for a bouquet."
+
+Bertram laughed.
+
+"Is it so bad as that?"
+
+"No, of course not--quite. But never have I seen a bride so utterly
+oblivious to clothes as Marie was till one day in despair I told her
+that Cyril never could bear a dowdy woman."
+
+"As if Cyril, in the old days, ever could bear any sort of woman!"
+scoffed Bertram, merrily.
+
+"I know; but I didn't mention that part," smiled Billy. "I just singled
+out the dowdy one."
+
+"Did it work?"
+
+Billy made a gesture of despair.
+
+"Did it work! It worked too well. Marie gave me one horrified look,
+then at once and immediately she became possessed with the idea that
+she _was_ a dowdy woman. And from that day to this she has pursued every
+lurking wrinkle and every fold awry, until her dressmaker's life isn't
+worth the living; and I'm beginning to think mine isn't, either, for I
+have to assure her at least four times every day now that she is _not_ a
+dowdy woman."
+
+"You poor dear," laughed Bertram. "No wonder you don't have time to give
+to me!"
+
+A peculiar expression crossed Billy's face.
+
+"Oh, but I'm not the _only_ one who, at times, is otherwise engaged,
+sir," she reminded him.
+
+"What do you mean?"
+
+"There was yesterday, and last Monday, and last week Wednesday, and--"
+
+"Oh, but you _let_ me off, then," argued Bertram, anxiously. "And you
+said--"
+
+"That I didn't wish to interfere with your work--which was quite true,"
+interrupted Billy in her turn, smoothly. "By the way,"--Billy was
+examining her stitches very closely now--"how is Miss Winthrop's
+portrait coming on?"
+
+"Splendidly!--that is, it _was_, until she began to put off the sittings
+for her pink teas and folderols. She's going to Washington next week,
+too, to be gone nearly a fortnight," finished Bertram, gloomily.
+
+"Aren't you putting more work than usual into this one--and more
+sittings?"
+
+"Well, yes," laughed Bertram, a little shortly. "You see, she's changed
+the pose twice already."
+
+"Changed it!"
+
+"Yes. Wasn't satisfied. Fancied she wanted it different."
+
+"But can't you--don't you have something to say about it?"
+
+"Oh, yes, of course; and she claims she'll yield to my judgment, anyhow.
+But what's the use? She's been a spoiled darling all her life, and in
+the habit of having her own way about everything. Naturally, under those
+circumstances, I can't expect to get a satisfactory portrait, if she's
+out of tune with the pose. Besides, I will own, so far her suggestions
+have made for improvement--probably because she's been happy in making
+them, so her expression has been good."
+
+Billy wet her lips.
+
+"I saw her the other night," she said lightly. (If the lightness was
+a little artificial Bertram did not seem to notice it.) "She is
+certainly--very beautiful."
+
+"Yes." Bertram got to his feet and began to walk up and down the little
+room. His eyes were alight. On his face the "painting look" was king.
+"It's going to mean a lot to me--this picture, Billy. In the first place
+I'm just at the point in my career where a big success would mean a
+lot--and where a big failure would mean more. And this portrait is bound
+to be one or the other from the very nature of the thing."
+
+"I-is it?" Billy's voice was a little faint.
+
+"Yes. First, because of who the sitter is, and secondly because of what
+she is. She is, of course, the most famous subject I've had, and half
+the artistic world knows by this time that Marguerite Winthrop is being
+done by Henshaw. You can see what it'll be--if I fail."
+
+"But you won't fail, Bertram!"
+
+The artist lifted his chin and threw back his shoulders.
+
+"No, of course not; but--" He hesitated, frowned, and dropped himself
+into a chair. His eyes studied the fire moodily. "You see," he resumed,
+after a moment, "there's a peculiar, elusive something about her
+expression--" (Billy stirred restlessly and gave her thread so savage a
+jerk that it broke)"--a something that isn't easily caught by the brush.
+Anderson and Fullam--big fellows, both of them--didn't catch it. At
+least, I've understood that neither her family nor her friends are
+satisfied with _their_ portraits. And to succeed where Anderson and
+Fullam failed--Jove! Billy, a chance like that doesn't come to a fellow
+twice in a lifetime!" Bertram was out of his chair, again, tramping up
+and down the little room.
+
+Billy tossed her work aside and sprang to her feet. Her eyes, too, were
+alight, now.
+
+"But you aren't going to fail, dear," she cried, holding out both her
+hands. "You're going to succeed!"
+
+Bertram caught the hands and kissed first one then the other of their
+soft little palms.
+
+"Of course I am," he agreed passionately, leading her to the sofa, and
+seating himself at her side.
+
+"Yes, but you must really _feel_ it," she urged; "feel the '_sure_' in
+yourself. You have to!--to doing things. That's what I told Mary Jane
+yesterday, when he was running on about what _he_ wanted to do--in his
+singing, you know."
+
+Bertram stiffened a little. A quick frown came to his face.
+
+"Mary Jane, indeed! Of all the absurd names to give a full-grown,
+six-foot man! Billy, do, for pity's sake, call him by his name--if he's
+got one."
+
+Billy broke into a rippling laugh.
+
+"I wish I could, dear," she sighed ingenuously.
+
+"Honestly, it bothers me because I _can't_ think of him as anything but
+'Mary Jane.' It seems so silly!"
+
+"It certainly does--when one remembers his beard."
+
+"Oh, he's shaved that off now. He looks rather better, too."
+
+Bertram turned a little sharply.
+
+"Do you see the fellow--often?"
+
+Billy laughed merrily.
+
+"No. He's about as disgruntled as you are over the way the wedding
+monopolizes everything. He's been up once or twice to see Aunt Hannah
+and to get acquainted, as he expresses it, and once he brought up some
+music and we sang; but he declares the wedding hasn't given him half a
+show."
+
+"Indeed! Well, that's a pity, I'm sure," rejoined Bertram, icily.
+
+Billy turned in slight surprise.
+
+"Why, Bertram, don't you like Mary Jane?"
+
+"Billy, for heaven's sake! _Hasn't_ he got any name but that?"
+
+Billy clapped her hands together suddenly.
+
+"There, that makes me think. He told Aunt Hannah and me to guess what
+his name was, and we never hit it once. What do you think it is? The
+initials are M. J."
+
+"I couldn't say, I'm sure. What is it?"
+
+"Oh, he didn't tell us. You see he left us to guess it."
+
+"Did he?"
+
+"Yes," mused Billy, abstractedly, her eyes on the dancing fire. The next
+minute she stirred and settled herself more comfortably in the curve
+of her lover's arm. "But there! who cares what his name is? I'm sure I
+don't."
+
+"Nor I," echoed Bertram in a voice that he tried to make not too
+fervent. He had not forgotten Billy's surprised: "Why, Bertram, don't
+you like Mary Jane?" and he did not like to call forth a repetition of
+it. Abruptly, therefore, he changed the subject. "By the way, what did
+you do to Pete to-day?" he asked laughingly. "He came home in a seventh
+heaven of happiness babbling of what an angel straight from the sky Miss
+Billy was. Naturally I agreed with him on that point. But what did you
+do to him?"
+
+Billy smiled.
+
+"Nothing--only engaged him for our butler--for life."
+
+"Oh, I see. That was dear of you, Billy."
+
+"As if I'd do anything else! And now for Dong Ling, I suppose, some
+day."
+
+Bertram chuckled.
+
+"Well, maybe I can help you there," he hinted. "You see, his Celestial
+Majesty came to me himself the other day, and said, after sundry and
+various preliminaries, that he should be 'velly much glad' when the
+'Little Missee' came to live with me, for then he could go back to China
+with a heart at rest, as he had money 'velly much plenty' and didn't
+wish to be 'Melican man' any longer."
+
+"Dear me," smiled Billy, "what a happy state of affairs--for him. But
+for you--do you realize, young man, what that means for you? A new wife
+and a new cook all at once? And you know I'm not Marie!"
+
+"Ho! I'm not worrying," retorted Bertram with a contented smile;
+"besides, as perhaps you noticed, it wasn't Marie that I asked--to marry
+me!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI. A CLOCK AND AUNT HANNAH
+
+
+Mrs. Kate Hartwell, the Henshaw brothers' sister from the West, was
+expected on the tenth. Her husband could not come, she had written, but
+she would bring with her, little Kate, the youngest child. The boys,
+Paul and Egbert, would stay with their father.
+
+Billy received the news of little Kate's coming with outspoken delight.
+
+"The very thing!" she cried. "We'll have her for a flower girl. She was
+a dear little creature, as I remember her."
+
+Aunt Hannah gave a sudden low laugh.
+
+"Yes, I remember," she observed. "Kate told me, after you spent the
+first day with her, that you graciously informed her that little
+Kate was almost as nice as Spunk. Kate did not fully appreciate the
+compliment, I fear."
+
+Billy made a wry face.
+
+"Did I say that? Dear me! I _was_ a terror in those days, wasn't I?
+But then," and she laughed softly, "really, Aunt Hannah, that was the
+prettiest thing I knew how to say, for I considered Spunk the top-notch
+of desirability."
+
+"I think I should have liked to know Spunk," smiled Marie from the other
+side of the sewing table.
+
+"He was a dear," declared Billy. "I had another 'most as good when I
+first came to Hillside, but he got lost. For a time it seemed as if I
+never wanted another, but I've about come to the conclusion now that I
+do, and I've told Bertram to find one for me if he can. You see I
+shall be lonesome after you're gone, Marie, and I'll have to have
+_something_," she finished mischievously.
+
+"Oh, I don't mind the inference--as long as I know your admiration of
+cats," laughed Marie.
+
+"Let me see; Kate writes she is coming the tenth," murmured Aunt Hannah,
+going back to the letter in her hand.
+
+"Good!" nodded Billy. "That will give time to put little Kate through
+her paces as flower girl."
+
+"Yes, and it will give Big Kate time to _try_ to make your breakfast a
+supper, and your roses pinks--or sunflowers," cut in a new voice, dryly.
+
+"Cyril!" chorussed the three ladies in horror, adoration, and
+amusement--according to whether the voice belonged to Aunt Hannah,
+Marie, or Billy.
+
+Cyril shrugged his shoulders and smiled.
+
+"I beg your pardon," he apologized; "but Rosa said you were in here
+sewing, and I told her not to bother. I'd announce myself. Just as I
+got to the door I chanced to hear Billy's speech, and I couldn't
+resist making the amendment. Maybe you've forgotten Kate's love of
+managing--but I haven't," he finished, as he sauntered over to the chair
+nearest Marie.
+
+"No, I haven't--forgotten," observed Billy, meaningly.
+
+"Nor I--nor anybody else," declared a severe voice--both the words and
+the severity being most extraordinary as coming from the usually gentle
+Aunt Hannah.
+
+"Oh, well, never mind," spoke up Billy, quickly. "Everything's all right
+now, so let's forget it. She always meant it for kindness, I'm sure."
+
+"Even when she told you in the first place what a--er--torment you were
+to us?" quizzed Cyril.
+
+"Yes," flashed Billy. "She was being kind to _you_, then."
+
+"Humph!" vouchsafed Cyril.
+
+For a moment no one spoke. Cyril's eyes were on Marie, who was nervously
+trying to smooth back a few fluffy wisps of hair that had escaped from
+restraining combs and pins.
+
+"What's the matter with the hair, little girl?" asked Cyril in a
+voice that was caressingly irritable. "You've been fussing with that
+long-suffering curl for the last five minutes!"
+
+Marie's delicate face flushed painfully.
+
+"It's got loose--my hair," she stammered, "and it looks so dowdy that
+way!"
+
+Billy dropped her thread suddenly. She sprang for it at once, before
+Cyril could make a move to get it. She had to dive far under a chair
+to capture it--which may explain why her face was so very red when she
+finally reached her seat again.
+
+
+On the morning of the tenth, Billy, Marie, and Aunt Hannah were once
+more sewing together, this time in the little sitting-room at the end of
+the hall up-stairs.
+
+Billy's fingers, in particular, were flying very fast.
+
+"I told John to have Peggy at the door at eleven," she said, after a
+time; "but I think I can finish running in this ribbon before then. I
+haven't much to do to get ready to go."
+
+"I hope Kate's train won't be late," worried Aunt Hannah.
+
+"I hope not," replied Billy; "but I told Rosa to delay luncheon, anyway,
+till we get here. I--" She stopped abruptly and turned a listening
+ear toward the door of Aunt Hannah's room, which was open. A clock was
+striking. "Mercy! that can't be eleven now," she cried. "But it must
+be--it was ten before I came up-stairs." She got to her feet hurriedly.
+
+Aunt Hannah put out a restraining hand.
+
+"No, no, dear, that's half-past ten."
+
+"But it struck eleven."
+
+"Yes, I know. It does--at half-past ten."
+
+"Why, the little wretch," laughed Billy, dropping back into her chair
+and picking up her work again. "The idea of its telling fibs like that
+and frightening people half out of their lives! I'll have it fixed right
+away. Maybe John can do it--he's always so handy about such things."
+
+"But I don't want it fixed," demurred Aunt Hannah.
+
+Billy stared a little.
+
+"You don't want it fixed! Maybe you like to have it strike eleven when
+it's half-past ten!" Billy's voice was merrily sarcastic.
+
+"Y-yes, I do," stammered the lady, apologetically. "You see, I--I worked
+very hard to fix it so it would strike that way."
+
+"_Aunt Hannah!_"
+
+"Well, I did," retorted the lady, with unexpected spirit. "I wanted to
+know what time it was in the night--I'm awake such a lot."
+
+"But I don't see." Billy's eyes were perplexed. "Why must you make it
+tell fibs in order to--to find out the truth?" she laughed.
+
+Aunt Hannah elevated her chin a little.
+
+"Because that clock was always striking one."
+
+"One!"
+
+"Yes--half-past, you know; and I never knew which half-past it was."
+
+"But it must strike half-past now, just the same!"
+
+"It does." There was the triumphant ring of the conqueror in Aunt
+Hannah's voice. "But now it strikes half-past _on the hour_, and the
+clock in the hall tells me _then_ what time it is, so I don't care."
+
+For one more brief minute Billy stared, before a sudden light of
+understanding illumined her face. Then her laugh rang out gleefully.
+
+"Oh, Aunt Hannah, Aunt Hannah," she gurgled. "If Bertram wouldn't
+call you the limit--making a clock strike eleven so you'll know it's
+half-past ten!"
+
+Aunt Hannah colored a little, but she stood her ground.
+
+"Well, there's only half an hour, anyway, now, that I don't know what
+time it is," she maintained, "for one or the other of those clocks
+strikes the hour every thirty minutes. Even during those never-ending
+three ones that strike one after the other in the middle of the night,
+I can tell now, for the hall clock has a different sound for the
+half-hours, you know, so I can tell whether it's one or a half-past."
+
+"Of course," chuckled Billy.
+
+"I'm sure I think it's a splendid idea," chimed in Marie, valiantly;
+"and I'm going to write it to mother's Cousin Jane right away. She's an
+invalid, and she's always lying awake nights wondering what time it is.
+The doctor says actually he believes she'd get well if he could find
+some way of letting her know the time at night, so she'd get some sleep;
+for she simply can't go to sleep till she knows. She can't bear a light
+in the room, and it wakes her all up to turn an electric switch, or
+anything of that kind."
+
+"Why doesn't she have one of those phosphorous things?" questioned
+Billy.
+
+Marie laughed quietly.
+
+"She did. I sent her one,--and she stood it just one night."
+
+"Stood it!"
+
+"Yes. She declared it gave her the creeps, and that she wouldn't have
+the spooky thing staring at her all night like that. So it's got to be
+something she can hear, and I'm going to tell her Mrs. Stetson's plan
+right away."
+
+"Well, I'm sure I wish you would," cried that lady, with prompt
+interest; "and she'll like it, I'm sure. And tell her if she can hear
+a _town_ clock strike, it's just the same, and even better; for there
+aren't any half-hours at all to think of there."
+
+"I will--and I think it's lovely," declared Marie.
+
+"Of course it's lovely," smiled Billy, rising; "but I fancy I'd better
+go and get ready to meet Mrs. Hartwell, or the 'lovely' thing will be
+telling me that it's half-past eleven!" And she tripped laughingly from
+the room.
+
+Promptly at the appointed time John with Peggy drew up before the
+door, and Billy, muffled in furs, stepped into the car, which, with its
+protecting top and sides and glass wind-shield, was in its winter dress.
+
+"Yes'm, 'tis a little chilly, Miss," said John, in answer to her
+greeting, as he tucked the heavy robes about her.
+
+"Oh, well, I shall be very comfortable, I'm sure," smiled Billy. "Just
+don't drive too rapidly, specially coming home. I shall have to get a
+limousine, I think, when my ship comes in, John."
+
+John's grizzled old face twitched. So evident were the words that were
+not spoken that Billy asked laughingly:
+
+"Well, John, what is it?"
+
+John reddened furiously.
+
+"Nothing, Miss. I was only thinkin' that if you didn't 'tend ter haulin'
+in so many other folks's ships, yours might get in sooner."
+
+"Why, John! Nonsense! I--I love to haul in other folks's ships," laughed
+the girl, embarrassedly.
+
+"Yes, Miss; I know you do," grunted John.
+
+Billy colored.
+
+"No, no--that is, I mean--I don't do it--very much," she stammered.
+
+John did not answer apparently; but Billy was sure she caught a
+low-muttered, indignant "much!" as he snapped the door shut and took his
+place at the wheel.
+
+To herself she laughed softly. She thought she possessed the secret now
+of some of John's disapproving glances toward her humble guests of the
+summer before.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII. SISTER KATE
+
+
+At the station Mrs. Hartwell's train was found to be gratifyingly on
+time; and in due course Billy was extending a cordial welcome to a tall,
+handsome woman who carried herself with an unmistakable air of assured
+competence. Accompanying her was a little girl with big blue eyes and
+yellow curls.
+
+"I am very glad to see you both," smiled Billy, holding out a friendly
+hand to Mrs. Hartwell, and stooping to kiss the round cheek of the
+little girl.
+
+"Thank you, you are very kind," murmured the lady; "but--are you alone,
+Billy? Where are the boys?"
+
+"Uncle William is out of town, and Cyril is rushed to death and sent his
+excuses. Bertram did mean to come, but he telephoned this morning that
+he couldn't, after all. I'm sorry, but I'm afraid you'll have to make
+the best of just me," condoled Billy. "They'll be out to the house
+this evening, of course--all but Uncle William. He doesn't return until
+to-morrow."
+
+"Oh, doesn't he?" murmured the lady, reaching for her daughter's hand.
+
+Billy looked down with a smile.
+
+"And this is little Kate, I suppose," she said, "whom I haven't seen for
+such a long, long time. Let me see, you are how old now?"
+
+"I'm eight. I've been eight six weeks."
+
+Billy's eyes twinkled.
+
+"And you don't remember me, I suppose."
+
+The little girl shook her head.
+
+"No; but I know who you are," she added, with shy eagerness. "You're
+going to be my Aunt Billy, and you're going to marry my Uncle William--I
+mean, my Uncle Bertram."
+
+Billy's face changed color. Mrs. Hartwell gave a despairing gesture.
+
+"Kate, my dear, I told you to be sure and remember that it was your
+Uncle Bertram now. You see," she added in a discouraged aside to Billy,
+"she can't seem to forget the first one. But then, what can you expect?"
+laughed Mrs. Hartwell, a little disagreeably. "Such abrupt changes from
+one brother to another are somewhat disconcerting, you know."
+
+Billy bit her lip. For a moment she said nothing, then, a little
+constrainedly, she rejoined:
+
+"Perhaps. Still--let us hope we have the right one, now."
+
+Mrs. Hartwell raised her eyebrows.
+
+"Well, my dear, I'm not so confident of that. _My_ choice has been and
+always will be--William."
+
+Billy bit her lip again. This time her brown eyes flashed a little.
+
+"Is that so? But you see, after all, _you_ aren't making the--the
+choice." Billy spoke lightly, gayly; and she ended with a bright little
+laugh, as if to hide any intended impertinence.
+
+It was Mrs. Hartwell's turn to bite her lip--and she did it.
+
+"So it seems," she rejoined frigidly, after the briefest of pauses.
+
+It was not until they were on their way to Corey Hill some time later
+that Mrs. Hartwell turned with the question:
+
+"Cyril is to be married in church, I suppose?"
+
+"No. They both preferred a home wedding."
+
+"Oh, what a pity! Church weddings are so attractive!"
+
+"To those who like them," amended Billy in spite of herself.
+
+"To every one, I think," corrected Mrs. Hartwell, positively.
+
+Billy laughed. She was beginning to discern that it did not do much
+harm--nor much good--to disagree with her guest.
+
+"It's in the evening, then, of course?" pursued Mrs. Hartwell.
+
+"No; at noon."
+
+"Oh, how could you let them?"
+
+"But they preferred it, Mrs. Hartwell."
+
+"What if they did?" retorted the lady, sharply. "Can't you do as you
+please in your own home? Evening weddings are so much prettier! We can't
+change now, of course, with the guests all invited. That is, I suppose
+you do have guests!"
+
+Mrs. Hartwell's voice was aggrievedly despairing.
+
+"Oh, yes," smiled Billy, demurely. "We have guests invited--and I'm
+afraid we can't change the time."
+
+"No, of course not; but it's too bad. I conclude there are announcements
+only, as I got no cards.
+
+"Announcements only," bowed Billy.
+
+"I wish Cyril had consulted _me_, a little, about this affair."
+
+Billy did not answer. She could not trust herself to speak just then.
+Cyril's words of two days before were in her ears: "Yes, and it will
+give Big Kate time to try to make your breakfast supper, and your roses
+pinks--or sunflowers."
+
+In a moment Mrs. Hartwell spoke again.
+
+"Of course a noon wedding is quite pretty if you darken the rooms and
+have lights--you're going to do that, I suppose?"
+
+Billy shook her head slowly.
+
+"I'm afraid not, Mrs. Hartwell. That isn't the plan, now."
+
+"Not darken the rooms!" exclaimed Mrs. Hartwell. "Why, it won't--"
+She stopped suddenly, and fell back in her seat. The look of annoyed
+disappointment gave way to one of confident relief. "But then, _that
+can_ be changed," she finished serenely.
+
+Billy opened her lips, but she shut them without speaking. After a
+minute she opened them again.
+
+"You might consult--Cyril--about that," she said in a quiet voice.
+
+"Yes, I will," nodded Mrs. Hartwell, brightly. She was looking pleased
+and happy again. "I love weddings. Don't you? You can _do_ so much with
+them!"
+
+"Can you?" laughed Billy, irrepressibly.
+
+"Yes. Cyril is happy, of course. Still, I can't imagine _him_ in love
+with any woman."
+
+"I think Marie can."
+
+"I suppose so. I don't seem to remember her much; still, I think I saw
+her once or twice when I was on last June. Music teacher, wasn't she?"
+
+"Yes. She is a very sweet girl."
+
+"Hm-m; I suppose so. Still, I think 'twould have been better if Cyril
+could have selected some one that _wasn't_ musical--say a more domestic
+wife. He's so terribly unpractical himself about household matters."
+
+Billy gave a ringing laugh and stood up. The car had come to a stop
+before her own door.
+
+"Do you? Just you wait till you see Marie's trousseau of--egg-beaters
+and cake tins," she chuckled.
+
+Mrs. Hartwell looked blank.
+
+"Whatever in the world do you mean, Billy?" she demanded fretfully, as
+she followed her hostess from the car. "I declare! aren't you ever going
+to grow beyond making those absurd remarks of yours?"
+
+"Maybe--sometime," laughed Billy, as she took little Kate's hand and led
+the way up the steps.
+
+Luncheon in the cozy dining-room at Hillside that day was not entirely
+a success. At least there were not present exactly the harmony and
+tranquillity that are conceded to be the best sauce for one's food. The
+wedding, of course, was the all-absorbing topic of conversation; and
+Billy, between Aunt Hannah's attempts to be polite, Marie's to be
+sweet-tempered, Mrs. Hartwell's to be dictatorial, and her own to be
+pacifying as well as firm, had a hard time of it. If it had not been
+for two or three diversions created by little Kate, the meal would have
+been, indeed, a dismal failure.
+
+But little Kate--most of the time the personification of proper
+little-girlhood--had a disconcerting faculty of occasionally dropping a
+word here, or a question there, with startling effect. As, for instance,
+when she asked Billy "Who's going to boss your wedding?" and again when
+she calmly informed her mother that when _she_ was married she was not
+going to have any wedding at all to bother with, anyhow. She was going
+to elope, and she should choose somebody's chauffeur, because he'd know
+how to go the farthest and fastest so her mother couldn't catch up with
+her and tell her how she ought to have done it.
+
+After luncheon Aunt Hannah went up-stairs for rest and recuperation.
+Marie took little Kate and went for a brisk walk--for the same purpose.
+This left Billy alone with her guest.
+
+"Perhaps you would like a nap, too, Mrs. Hartwell," suggested Billy,
+as they passed into the living-room. There was a curious note of almost
+hopefulness in her voice.
+
+Mrs. Hartwell scorned naps, and she said so very emphatically. She said
+something else, too.
+
+"Billy, why do you always call me 'Mrs. Hartwell' in that stiff, formal
+fashion? You used to call me 'Aunt Kate.'"
+
+"But I was very young then." Billy's voice was troubled. Billy had
+been trying so hard for the last two hours to be the graciously cordial
+hostess to this woman--Bertram's sister.
+
+"Very true. Then why not 'Kate' now?"
+
+Billy hesitated. She was wondering why it seemed so hard to call Mrs.
+Hartwell "Kate."
+
+"Of course," resumed the lady, "when you're Bertram's wife and my
+sister--"
+
+"Why, of course," cried Billy, in a sudden flood of understanding.
+Curiously enough, she had never before thought of Mrs. Hartwell as _her_
+sister. "I shall be glad to call you 'Kate'--if you like."
+
+"Thank you. I shall like it very much, Billy," nodded the other
+cordially. "Indeed, my dear, I'm very fond of you, and I was delighted
+to hear you were to be my sister. If only--it could have stayed William
+instead of Bertram."
+
+"But it couldn't," smiled Billy. "It wasn't William--that I loved."
+
+"But _Bertram!_--it's so absurd."
+
+"Absurd!" The smile was gone now.
+
+"Yes. Forgive me, Billy, but I was about as much surprised to hear of
+Bertram's engagement as I was of Cyril's."
+
+Billy grew a little white.
+
+"But Bertram was never an avowed--woman-hater, like Cyril, was he?"
+
+"'Woman-hater'--dear me, no! He was a woman-lover, always. As if his
+eternal 'Face of a Girl' didn't prove that! Bertram has always loved
+women--to paint. But as for his ever taking them seriously--why, Billy,
+what's the matter?"
+
+Billy had risen suddenly.
+
+"If you'll excuse me, please, just a few minutes," Billy said very
+quietly. "I want to speak to Rosa in the kitchen. I'll be back--soon."
+
+In the kitchen Billy spoke to Rosa--she wondered afterwards what she
+said. Certainly she did not stay in the kitchen long enough to say much.
+In her own room a minute later, with the door fast closed, she took
+from her table the photograph of Bertram and held it in her two hands,
+talking to it softly, but a little wildly.
+
+"I didn't listen! I didn't stay! Do you hear? I came to you. She
+shall not say anything that will make trouble between you and me. I've
+suffered enough through her already! And she doesn't _know_--she didn't
+know before, and she doesn't now. She's only imagining. I will not
+not--_not_ believe that you love me--just to paint. No matter what they
+say--all of them! I _will not!_"
+
+Billy put the photograph back on the table then, and went down-stairs to
+her guest. She smiled brightly, though her face was a little pale.
+
+"I wondered if perhaps you wouldn't like some music," she said
+pleasantly, going straight to the piano.
+
+"Indeed I would!" agreed Mrs. Hartwell.
+
+Billy sat down then and played--played as Mrs. Hartwell had never heard
+her play before.
+
+"Why, Billy, you amaze me," she cried, when the pianist stopped and
+whirled about. "I had no idea you could play like that!"
+
+Billy smiled enigmatically. Billy was thinking that Mrs. Hartwell would,
+indeed, have been surprised if she had known that in that playing
+were herself, the ride home, the luncheon, Bertram, and the girl--whom
+Bertram _did not love only to paint!_
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII. CYRIL AND A WEDDING
+
+
+The twelfth was a beautiful day. Clear, frosty air set the blood to
+tingling and the eyes to sparkling, even if it were not your wedding
+day; while if it were--
+
+It _was_ Marie Hawthorn's wedding day, and certainly her eyes sparkled
+and her blood tingled as she threw open the window of her room and
+breathed long and deep of the fresh morning air before going down to
+breakfast.
+
+"They say 'Happy is the bride that the sun shines on,'" she whispered
+softly to an English sparrow that cocked his eye at her from a
+neighboring tree branch. "As if a bride wouldn't be happy, sun or no
+sun," she scoffed tenderly, as she turned to go down-stairs.
+
+As it happens, however, tingling blood and sparkling eyes are a matter
+of more than weather, or even weddings, as was proved a little later
+when the telephone bell rang.
+
+Kate answered the ring.
+
+"Hullo, is that you, Kate?" called a despairing voice.
+
+"Yes. Good morning, Bertram. Isn't this a fine day for the wedding?"
+
+"Fine! Oh, yes, I suppose so, though I must confess I haven't noticed
+it--and you wouldn't, if you had a lunatic on your hands."
+
+"A lunatic!"
+
+"Yes. Maybe you have, though. Is Marie rampaging around the house like a
+wild creature, and asking ten questions and making twenty threats to the
+minute?"
+
+"Certainly not! Don't be absurd, Bertram. What do you mean?"
+
+"See here, Kate, that show comes off at twelve sharp, doesn't it?"
+
+"Show, indeed!" retorted Kate, indignantly. "The _wedding_ is at noon
+sharp--as the best man should know very well."
+
+"All right; then tell Billy, please, to see that it is sharp, or I won't
+answer for the consequences."
+
+"What do you mean? What is the matter?"
+
+"Cyril. He's broken loose at last. I've been expecting it all along.
+I've simply marvelled at the meekness with which he has submitted
+himself to be tied up with white ribbons and topped with roses."
+
+"Nonsense, Bertram!"
+
+"Well, it amounts to that. Anyhow, he thinks it does, and he's wild. I
+wish you could have heard the thunderous performance on his piano with
+which he woke me up this morning. Billy says he plays everything--his
+past, present, and future. All is, if he was playing his future this
+morning, I pity the girl who's got to live it with him."
+
+"Bertram!"
+
+Bertram chuckled remorselessly.
+
+"Well, I do. But I'll warrant he wasn't playing his future this morning.
+He was playing his present--the wedding. You see, he's just waked up to
+the fact that it'll be a perfect orgy of women and other confusion,
+and he doesn't like it. All the samee,{sic} I've had to assure him just
+fourteen times this morning that the ring, the license, the carriage,
+the minister's fee, and my sanity are all O. K. When he isn't asking
+questions he's making threats to snake the parson up there an hour ahead
+of time and be off with Marie before a soul comes."
+
+"What an absurd idea!"
+
+"Cyril doesn't think so. Indeed, Kate, I've had a hard struggle to
+convince him that the guests wouldn't think it the most delightful
+experience of their lives if they should come and find the ceremony over
+with and the bride gone."
+
+"Well, you remind Cyril, please, that there are other people besides
+himself concerned in this wedding," observed Kate, icily.
+
+"I have," purred Bertram, "and he says all right, let them have it,
+then. He's gone now to look up proxy marriages, I believe."
+
+"Proxy marriages, indeed! Come, come, Bertram, I've got something to do
+this morning besides to stand here listening to your nonsense. See
+that you and Cyril get here on time--that's all!" And she hung up the
+receiver with an impatient jerk.
+
+She turned to confront the startled eyes of the bride elect.
+
+"What is it? Is anything wrong--with Cyril?" faltered Marie.
+
+Kate laughed and raised her eyebrows slightly.
+
+"Nothing but a little stage fright, my dear."
+
+"Stage fright!"
+
+"Yes. Bertram says he's trying to find some one to play his r�le, I
+believe, in the ceremony."
+
+"_Mrs. Hartwell!_"
+
+At the look of dismayed terror that came into Marie's face, Mrs.
+Hartwell laughed reassuringly.
+
+"There, there, dear child, don't look so horror-stricken. There probably
+never was a man yet who wouldn't have fled from the wedding part of his
+marriage if he could; and you know how Cyril hates fuss and feathers.
+The wonder to me is that he's stood it as long as he has. I thought I
+saw it coming, last night at the rehearsal--and now I know I did."
+
+Marie still looked distressed.
+
+"But he never said--I thought--" She stopped helplessly.
+
+"Of course he didn't, child. He never said anything but that he loved
+you, and he never thought anything but that you were going to be his.
+Men never do--till the wedding day. Then they never think of anything
+but a place to run," she finished laughingly, as she began to arrange on
+a stand the quantity of little white boxes waiting for her.
+
+"But if he'd told me--in time, I wouldn't have had a thing--but the
+minister," faltered Marie.
+
+"And when you think so much of a pretty wedding, too? Nonsense! It isn't
+good for a man, to give up to his whims like that!"
+
+Marie's cheeks grew a deeper pink. Her nostrils dilated a little.
+
+"It wouldn't be a 'whim,' Mrs. Hartwell, and I should be _glad_ to give
+up," she said with decision.
+
+Mrs. Hartwell laughed again, her amused eyes on Marie's face.
+
+"Dear me, child! don't you know that if men had their way, they'd--well,
+if men married men there'd never be such a thing in the world as a
+shower bouquet or a piece of wedding cake!"
+
+There was no reply. A little precipitately Marie turned and hurried
+away. A moment later she was laying a restraining hand on Billy, who was
+filling tall vases with superb long-stemmed roses in the kitchen.
+
+"Billy, please," she panted, "couldn't we do without those? Couldn't we
+send them to some--some hospital?--and the wedding cake, too, and--"
+
+"The wedding cake--to some _hospital!_"
+
+"No, of course not--to the hospital. It would make them sick to eat it,
+wouldn't it?" That there was no shadow of a smile on Marie's face showed
+how desperate, indeed, was her state of mind. "I only meant that I
+didn't want them myself, nor the shower bouquet, nor the rooms darkened,
+nor little Kate as the flower girl--and would you mind very much if I
+asked you not to be my maid of honor?"
+
+"_Marie!_"
+
+Marie covered her face with her hands then and began to sob brokenly;
+so there was nothing for Billy to do but to take her into her arms with
+soothing little murmurs and pettings. By degrees, then, the whole story
+came out.
+
+Billy almost laughed--but she almost cried, too. Then she said:
+
+"Dearie, I don't believe Cyril feels or acts half so bad as Bertram and
+Kate make out, and, anyhow, if he did, it's too late now to--to send the
+wedding cake to the hospital, or make any other of the little changes
+you suggest." Billy's lips puckered into a half-smile, but her eyes were
+grave. "Besides, there are your music pupils trimming the living-room
+this minute with evergreen, there's little Kate making her flower-girl
+wreath, and Mrs. Hartwell stacking cake boxes in the hall, to say
+nothing of Rosa gloating over the best china in the dining-room, and
+Aunt Hannah putting purple bows into the new lace cap she's counting
+on wearing. Only think how disappointed they'd all be if I should say:
+'Never mind--stop that. Marie's just going to have a minister. No fuss,
+no feathers!' Why, dearie, even the roses are hanging their heads for
+grief," she went on mistily, lifting with gentle fingers one of the
+full-petalled pink beauties near her. "Besides, there's your--guests."
+
+"Oh, of course, I knew I couldn't--really," sighed Marie, as she turned
+to go up-stairs, all the light and joy gone from her face.
+
+Billy, once assured that Marie was out of hearing, ran to the telephone.
+
+Bertram answered.
+
+"Bertram, tell Cyril I want to speak to him, please."
+
+"All right, dear, but go easy. Better strike up your tuning fork to find
+his pitch to-day. You'll discover it's a high one, all right."
+
+A moment later Cyril's tersely nervous "Good morning, Billy," came
+across the line.
+
+Billy drew in her breath and cast a hurriedly apprehensive glance over
+her shoulder to make sure Marie was not near.
+
+"Cyril," she called in a low voice, "if you care a shred for Marie, for
+heaven's sake call her up and tell her that you dote on pink roses, and
+pink ribbons, and pink breakfasts--and pink wedding cake!"
+
+"But I don't."
+
+"Oh, yes, you do--to-day! You would--if you could see Marie now."
+
+"What do you mean?"
+
+"Nothing, only she overheard part of Bertram's nonsensical talk with
+Kate a little while ago, and she's ready to cast the last ravelling
+of white satin and conventionality behind her, and go with you to the
+justice of the peace."
+
+"Sensible girl!"
+
+"Yes, but she can't, you know, with fifty guests coming to the wedding,
+and twice as many more to the reception. Honestly, Cyril, she's
+broken-hearted. You must do something. She's--coming!" And the receiver
+clicked sharply into place.
+
+Five minutes later Marie was called to the telephone. Dejectedly,
+wistful-eyed, she went. Just what were the words that hummed across the
+wire into the pink little ear of the bride-to-be, Billy never knew;
+but a Marie that was anything but wistful-eyed and dejected left the
+telephone a little later, and was heard very soon in the room above
+trilling merry snatches of a little song. Contentedly, then, Billy went
+back to her roses.
+
+It was a pretty wedding, a very pretty wedding. Every one said that. The
+pink and green of the decorations, the soft lights (Kate had had her way
+about darkening the rooms), the pretty frocks and smiling faces of the
+guests all helped. Then there were the dainty flower girl, little Kate,
+the charming maid of honor, Billy, the stalwart, handsome best man,
+Bertram, to say nothing of the delicately beautiful bride, who looked
+like some fairy visitor from another world in the floating shimmer of
+her gossamer silk and tulle. There was, too, not quite unnoticed, the
+bridegroom; tall, of distinguished bearing, and with features that were
+clear cut and-to-day-rather pale.
+
+Then came the reception--the "women and confusion" of Cyril's
+fears--followed by the going away of the bride and groom with its merry
+warfare of confetti and old shoes.
+
+At four o'clock, however, with only William and Bertram remaining for
+guests, something like quiet descended at last on the little house.
+
+"Well, it's over," sighed Billy, dropping exhaustedly into a big chair
+in the living-room.
+
+"And _well_ over," supplemented Aunt Hannah, covering her white shawl
+with a warmer blue one.
+
+"Yes, I think it was," nodded Kate. "It was really a very pretty
+wedding."
+
+"With your help, Kate--eh?" teased William.
+
+"Well, I flatter myself I did do some good," bridled Kate, as she turned
+to help little Kate take the flower wreath from her head.
+
+"Even if you did hurry into my room and scare me into conniption fits
+telling me I'd be late," laughed Billy.
+
+Kate tossed her head.
+
+"Well, how was I to know that Aunt Hannah's clock only meant half-past
+eleven when it struck twelve?" she retorted.
+
+Everybody laughed.
+
+"Oh, well, it was a pretty wedding," declared William, with a long sigh.
+
+"It'll do--for an understudy," said Bertram softly, for Billy's ears
+alone.
+
+Only the added color and the swift glance showed that Billy heard, for
+when she spoke she said:
+
+"And didn't Cyril behave beautifully? 'Most every time I looked at him
+he was talking to some woman."
+
+"Oh, no, he wasn't--begging your pardon, my dear," objected Bertram. "I
+watched him, too, even more closely than you did, and it was always the
+_woman_ who was talking to _Cyril!_"
+
+Billy laughed.
+
+"Well, anyhow," she maintained, "he listened. He didn't run away."
+
+"As if a bridegroom could!" cried Kate.
+
+"I'm going to," avowed Bertram, his nose in the air.
+
+"Pooh!" scoffed Kate. Then she added eagerly: "You must be married in
+church, Billy, and in the evening."
+
+Bertram's nose came suddenly out of the air. His eyes met Kate's
+squarely.
+
+"Billy hasn't decided yet how _she_ does want to be married," he said
+with unnecessary emphasis.
+
+Billy laughed and interposed a quick change of subject.
+
+"I think people had a pretty good time, too, for a wedding, don't you?"
+she asked. "I was sorry Mary Jane couldn't be here--'twould have been
+such a good chance for him to meet our friends."
+
+"As--_Mary Jane?_" asked Bertram, a little stiffly.
+
+"Really, my dear," murmured Aunt Hannah, "I think it _would_ be more
+respectful to call him by his name."
+
+"By the way, what is his name?" questioned William.
+
+"That's what we don't know," laughed Billy.
+
+"Well, you know the 'Arkwright,' don't you?" put in Bertram. Bertram,
+too, laughed, but it was a little forcedly. "I suppose if you knew his
+name was 'Methuselah,' you wouldn't call him that--yet, would you?"
+
+Billy clapped her hands, and threw a merry glance at Aunt Hannah.
+
+"There! we never thought of 'Methuselah,'" she gurgled gleefully. "Maybe
+it _is_ 'Methuselah,' now--'Methuselah John'! You see, he's told us to
+try to guess it," she explained, turning to William; "but, honestly, I
+don't believe, whatever it is, I'll ever think of him as anything but
+'Mary Jane.'"
+
+"Well, as far as I can judge, he has nobody but himself to thank for
+that, so he can't do any complaining," smiled William, as he rose to go.
+"Well, how about it, Bertram? I suppose you're going to stay a while to
+comfort the lonely--eh, boy?"
+
+"Of course he is--and so are you, too, Uncle William," spoke up Billy,
+with affectionate cordiality. "As if I'd let you go back to a forlorn
+dinner in that great house to-night! Indeed, no!"
+
+William smiled, hesitated, and sat down.
+
+"Well, of course--" he began.
+
+"Yes, of course," finished Billy, quickly. "I'll telephone Pete that
+you'll stay here--both of you."
+
+It was at this point that little Kate, who had been turning interested
+eyes from one brother to the other, interposed a clear, high-pitched
+question.
+
+"Uncle William, didn't you _want_ to marry my going-to-be-Aunt Billy?"
+
+"Kate!" gasped her mother, "didn't I tell you--" Her voice trailed into
+an incoherent murmur of remonstrance.
+
+Billy blushed. Bertram said a low word under his breath. Aunt Hannah's
+"Oh, my grief and conscience!" was almost a groan.
+
+William laughed lightly.
+
+"Well, my little lady," he suggested, "let us put it the other way and
+say that quite probably she didn't want to marry me."
+
+"Does she want to marry Uncle Bertram?" "Kate!" gasped Billy and Mrs.
+Hartwell together this time, fearful of what might be coming next.
+
+"We'll hope so," nodded Uncle William, speaking in a cheerfully
+matter-of-fact voice, intended to discourage curiosity.
+
+The little girl frowned and pondered. Her elders cast about in their
+minds for a speedy change of subject; but their somewhat scattered wits
+were not quick enough. It was little Kate who spoke next.
+
+"Uncle William, would she have got Uncle Cyril if Aunt Marie hadn't
+nabbed him first?"
+
+"Kate!" The word was a chorus of dismay this time.
+
+Mrs. Hartwell struggled to her feet.
+
+"Come, come, Kate, we must go up-stairs--to bed," she stammered.
+
+The little girl drew back indignantly.
+
+"To bed? Why, mama, I haven't had my supper yet!"
+
+"What? Oh, sure enough--the lights! I forgot. Well, then, come up--to
+change your dress," finished Mrs. Hartwell, as with a despairing look
+and gesture she led her young daughter from the room.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV. M. J. MAKES ANOTHER MOVE
+
+
+Billy came down-stairs on the thirteenth of December to find everywhere
+the peculiar flatness that always follows a day which for weeks has been
+the focus of one's aims and thoughts and labor.
+
+"It's just as if everything had stopped at Marie's wedding, and there
+wasn't anything more to do," she complained to Aunt Hannah at the
+breakfast table. "Everything seems so--queer!"
+
+"It won't--long, dear," smiled Aunt Hannah, tranquilly, as she buttered
+her roll, "specially after Bertram comes back. How long does he stay in
+New York?"
+
+"Only three days; but I'm just sure it's going to seem three weeks,
+now," sighed Billy. "But he simply had to go--else he wouldn't have
+gone."
+
+"I've no doubt of it," observed Aunt Hannah. And at the meaning
+emphasis of her words, Billy laughed a little. After a minute she said
+aggrievedly:
+
+"I had supposed that I could at least have a sort of 'after the ball'
+celebration this morning picking up and straightening things around.
+But John and Rosa have done it all. There isn't so much as a rose
+leaf anywhere on the floor. Of course most of the flowers went to
+the hospital last night, anyway. As for Marie's room--it looks as
+spick-and-span as if it had never seen a scrap of ribbon or an inch of
+tulle."
+
+"But--the wedding presents?"
+
+"All carried down to the kitchen and half packed now, ready to go over
+to the new home. John says he'll take them over in Peggy this afternoon,
+after he takes Mrs. Hartwell's trunk to Uncle William's."
+
+"Well, you can at least go over to the apartment and work," suggested
+Aunt Hannah, hopefully.
+
+"Humph! Can I?" scoffed Billy. "As if I could--when Marie left strict
+orders that not one thing was to be touched till she got here. They
+arranged everything but the presents before the wedding, anyway; and
+Marie wants to fix those herself after she gets back. Mercy! Aunt
+Hannah, if I should so much as move a plate one inch in the china
+closet, Marie would know it--and change it when she got home," laughed
+Billy, as she rose from the table. "No, I can't go to work over there."
+
+"But there's your music, my dear. You said you were going to write some
+new songs after the wedding."
+
+"I was," sighed Billy, walking to the window, and looking listlessly
+at the bare, brown world outside; "but I can't write songs--when there
+aren't any songs in my head to write."
+
+"No, of course not; but they'll come, dear, in time. You're tired, now,"
+soothed Aunt Hannah, as she turned to leave the room.
+
+"It's the reaction, of course," murmured Aunt Hannah to herself, on the
+way up-stairs. "She's had the whole thing on her hands--dear child!"
+
+A few minutes later, from the living-room, came a plaintive little minor
+melody. Billy was at the piano.
+
+Kate and little Kate had, the night before, gone home with William.
+It had been a sudden decision, brought about by the realization that
+Bertram's trip to New York would leave William alone. Her trunk was to
+be carried there to-day, and she would leave for home from there, at the
+end of a two or three days' visit.
+
+It began to snow at twelve o'clock. All the morning the sky had been
+gray and threatening; and the threats took visible shape at noon in
+myriads of white snow feathers that filled the air to the blinding
+point, and turned the brown, bare world into a thing of fairylike
+beauty. Billy, however, with a rare frown upon her face, looked out upon
+it with disapproving eyes.
+
+"I _was_ going in town--and I believe I'll go now," she cried.
+
+"Don't, dear, please don't," begged Aunt Hannah. "See, the flakes are
+smaller now, and the wind is coming up. We're in for a blizzard--I'm
+sure we are. And you know you have some cold, already."
+
+"All right," sighed Billy. "Then it's me for the knitting work and the
+fire, I suppose," she finished, with a whimsicality that did not hide
+the wistful disappointment of her voice.
+
+She was not knitting, however, she was sewing with Aunt Hannah when at
+four o'clock Rosa brought in the card.
+
+Billy glanced at the name, then sprang to her feet with a glad little
+cry.
+
+"It's Mary Jane!" she exclaimed, as Rosa disappeared. "Now wasn't he a
+dear to think to come to-day? You'll be down, won't you?"
+
+Aunt Hannah smiled even while she frowned.
+
+"Oh, Billy!" she remonstrated. "Yes, I'll come down, of course, a little
+later, and I'm glad _Mr. Arkwright_ came," she said with reproving
+emphasis.
+
+Billy laughed and threw a mischievous glance over her shoulder.
+
+"All right," she nodded. "I'll go and tell _Mr. Arkwright_ you'll be
+down directly."
+
+In the living-room Billy greeted her visitor with a frankly cordial
+hand.
+
+"How did you know, Mr. Arkwright, that I was feeling specially restless
+and lonesome to-day?" she demanded.
+
+A glad light sprang to the man's dark eyes.
+
+"I didn't know it," he rejoined. "I only knew that I was specially
+restless and lonesome myself."
+
+Arkwright's voice was not quite steady. The unmistakable friendliness in
+the girl's words and manner had sent a quick throb of joy to his heart.
+Her evident delight in his coming had filled him with rapture. He could
+not know that it was only the chill of the snowstorm that had given
+warmth to her handclasp, the dreariness of the day that had made her
+greeting so cordial, the loneliness of a maiden whose lover is away that
+had made his presence so welcome.
+
+"Well, I'm glad you came, anyway," sighed Billy, contentedly; "though I
+suppose I ought to be sorry that you were lonesome--but I'm afraid I'm
+not, for now you'll know just how I felt, so you won't mind if I'm a
+little wild and erratic. You see, the tension has snapped," she added
+laughingly, as she seated herself.
+
+"Tension?"
+
+"The wedding, you know. For so many weeks we've been seeing just
+December twelfth, that we'd apparently forgotten all about the
+thirteenth that came after it; so when I got up this morning I felt
+just as you do when the clock has stopped ticking. But it was a lovely
+wedding, Mr. Arkwright. I'm sorry you could not be here."
+
+"Thank you; so am I--though usually, I will confess, I'm not much
+good at attending 'functions' and meeting strangers. As perhaps you've
+guessed, Miss Neilson, I'm not particularly a society chap."
+
+"Of course you aren't! People who are doing things--real things--seldom
+are. But we aren't the society kind ourselves, you know--not the capital
+S kind. We like sociability, which is vastly different from liking
+Society. Oh, we have friends, to be sure, who dote on 'pink teas
+and purple pageants,' as Cyril calls them; and we even go ourselves
+sometimes. But if you had been here yesterday, Mr. Arkwright, you'd have
+met lots like yourself, men and women who are doing things: singing,
+playing, painting, illustrating, writing. Why, we even had a poet,
+sir--only he didn't have long hair, so he didn't look the part a bit,"
+she finished laughingly.
+
+"Is long hair--necessary--for poets?" Arkwright's smile was quizzical.
+
+"Dear me, no; not now. But it used to be, didn't it? And for painters,
+too. But now they look just like--folks."
+
+Arkwright laughed.
+
+"It isn't possible that you are sighing for the velvet coats and flowing
+ties of the past, is it, Miss Neilson?"
+
+"I'm afraid it is," dimpled Billy. "I _love_ velvet coats and flowing
+ties!"
+
+"May singers wear them? I shall don them at once, anyhow, at a venture,"
+declared the man, promptly.
+
+Billy smiled and shook her head.
+
+"I don't think you will. You all like your horrid fuzzy tweeds and
+worsteds too well!"
+
+"You speak with feeling. One would almost suspect that you already had
+tried to bring about a reform--and failed. Perhaps Mr. Cyril, now, or
+Mr. Bertram--" Arkwright stopped with a whimsical smile.
+
+Billy flushed a little. As it happened, she had, indeed, had a merry
+tilt with Bertram on that very subject, and he had laughingly promised
+that his wedding present to her would be a velvet house coat for
+himself. It was on the point of Billy's tongue now to say this to
+Arkwright; but another glance at the provoking smile on his lips drove
+the words back in angry confusion. For the second time, in the presence
+of this man, Billy found herself unable to refer to her engagement to
+Bertram Henshaw--though this time she did not in the least doubt that
+Arkwright already knew of it.
+
+With a little gesture of playful scorn she rose and went to the piano.
+
+"Come, let us try some duets," she suggested. "That's lots nicer than
+quarrelling over velvet coats; and Aunt Hannah will be down presently to
+hear us sing."
+
+Before she had ceased speaking, Arkwright was at her side with an
+exclamation of eager acquiescence.
+
+It was after the second duet that Arkwright asked, a little diffidently.
+
+"Have you written any new songs lately?"
+
+"No."
+
+"You're going to?"
+
+"Perhaps--if I find one to write."
+
+"You mean--you have no words?"
+
+"Yes--and no. I have some words, both of my own and other people's; but
+I haven't found in any one of them, yet--a melody."
+
+Arkwright hesitated. His right hand went almost to his inner coat
+pocket--then fell back at his side. The next moment he picked up a sheet
+of music.
+
+"Are you too tired to try this?" he asked.
+
+A puzzled frown appeared on Billy's face.
+
+"Why, no, but--"
+
+"Well, children, I've come down to hear the music," announced Aunt
+Hannah, smilingly, from the doorway; "only--Billy, _will_ you run up
+and get my pink shawl, too? This room _is_ colder than I thought, and
+there's only the white one down here."
+
+"Of course," cried Billy, rising at once. "You shall have a dozen
+shawls, if you like," she laughed, as she left the room.
+
+What a cozy time it was--the hour that followed, after Billy returned
+with the pink shawl! Outside, the wind howled at the windows and flung
+the snow against the glass in sleety crashes. Inside, the man and the
+girl sang duets until they were tired; then, with Aunt Hannah, they
+feasted royally on the buttered toast, tea, and frosted cakes that
+Rosa served on a little table before the roaring fire. It was then that
+Arkwright talked of himself, telling them something of his studies, and
+of the life he was living.
+
+"After all, you see there's just this difference between my friends
+and yours," he said, at last. "Your friends _are_ doing things. They've
+succeeded. Mine haven't, yet--they're only _trying_."
+
+"But they will succeed," cried Billy.
+
+"Some of them," amended the man.
+
+"Not--all of them?" Billy looked a little troubled.
+
+Arkwright shook his head slowly.
+
+"No. They couldn't--all of them, you know. Some haven't the talent, some
+haven't the perseverance, and some haven't the money."
+
+"But all that seems such a pity-when they've tried," grieved Billy.
+
+"It is a pity, Miss Neilson. Disappointed hopes are always a pity,
+aren't they?"
+
+"Y-yes," sighed the girl. "But--if there were only something one could
+do to--help!"
+
+Arkwright's eyes grew deep with feeling, but his voice, when he spoke,
+was purposely light.
+
+"I'm afraid that would be quite too big a contract for even your
+generosity, Miss Neilson--to mend all the broken hopes in the world," he
+prophesied.
+
+"I have known great good to come from great disappointments," remarked
+Aunt Hannah, a bit didactically.
+
+"So have I," laughed Arkwright, still determined to drive the troubled
+shadow from the face he was watching so intently. "For instance: a
+fellow I know was feeling all cut up last Friday because he was just too
+late to get into Symphony Hall on the twenty-five-cent admission. Half
+an hour afterwards his disappointment was turned to joy--a friend who
+had an orchestra chair couldn't use his ticket that day, and so handed
+it over to him."
+
+Billy turned interestedly.
+
+"What are those twenty-five-cent tickets to the Symphony?"
+
+"Then--you don't know?"
+
+"Not exactly. I've heard of them, in a vague fashion."
+
+"Then you've missed one of the sights of Boston if you haven't ever
+seen that long line of patient waiters at the door of Symphony Hall of a
+Friday morning."
+
+"Morning! But the concert isn't till afternoon!"
+
+"No, but the waiting is," retorted Arkwright. "You see, those admissions
+are limited--five hundred and five, I believe--and they're rush seats,
+at that. First come, first served; and if you're too late you aren't
+served at all. So the first arrival comes bright and early. I've heard
+that he has been known to come at peep of day when there's a Paderewski
+or a Melba for a drawing card. But I've got my doubts of that. Anyhow,
+I never saw them there much before half-past eight. But many's the cold,
+stormy day I've seen those steps in front of the Hall packed for hours,
+and a long line reaching away up the avenue."
+
+Billy's eyes widened.
+
+"And they'll stand all that time and wait?"
+
+"To be sure they will. You see, each pays twenty-five cents at the door,
+until the limit is reached, then the rest are turned away. Naturally
+they don't want to be turned away, so they try to get there early enough
+to be among the fortunate five hundred and five. Besides, the earlier
+you are, the better seat you are likely to get."
+
+"But only think of _standing_ all that time!"
+
+"Oh, they bring camp chairs, sometimes, I've heard, and then there are
+the steps. You don't know what a really fine seat a stone step is--if
+you have a _big_ enough bundle of newspapers to cushion it with! They
+bring their luncheons, too, with books, papers, and knitting work for
+fine days, I've been told--some of them. All the comforts of home, you
+see," smiled Arkwright.
+
+"Why, how--how dreadful!" stammered Billy.
+
+"Oh, but they don't think it's dreadful at all," corrected Arkwright,
+quickly. "For twenty-five cents they can hear all that you hear down in
+your orchestra chair, for which you've paid so high a premium."
+
+"But who--who are they? Where do they come from? Who _would_ go and
+stand hours like that to get a twenty-five-cent seat?" questioned Billy.
+
+"Who are they? Anybody, everybody, from anywhere? everywhere; people
+who have the music hunger but not the money to satisfy it," he rejoined.
+"Students, teachers, a little milliner from South Boston, a little
+dressmaker from Chelsea, a housewife from Cambridge, a stranger from the
+uttermost parts of the earth; maybe a widow who used to sit down-stairs,
+or a professor who has seen better days. Really to know that line,
+you should see it for yourself, Miss Neilson," smiled Arkwright, as
+he reluctantly rose to go. "Some Friday, however, before you take your
+seat, just glance up at that packed top balcony and judge by the
+faces you see there whether their owners think they're getting their
+twenty-five-cents' worth, or not."
+
+"I will," nodded Billy, with a smile; but the smile came from her lips
+only, not her eyes: Billy was wishing, at that moment, that she owned
+the whole of Symphony Hall--to give away. But that was like Billy. When
+she was seven years old she had proposed to her Aunt Ella that they take
+all the thirty-five orphans from the Hampden Falls Orphan Asylum to live
+with them, so that little Sallie Cook and the other orphans might have
+ice cream every day, if they wanted it. Since then Billy had always been
+trying--in a way--to give ice cream to some one who wanted it.
+
+Arkwright was almost at the door when he turned abruptly. His face was
+an abashed red. From his pocket he had taken a small folded paper.
+
+"Do you suppose--in this--you might find--that melody?" he stammered in
+a low voice. The next moment he was gone, having left in Billy's fingers
+a paper upon which was written in a clear-cut, masculine hand six
+four-line stanzas.
+
+Billy read them at once, hurriedly, then more carefully.
+
+"Why, they're beautiful," she breathed, "just beautiful! Where did he
+get them, I wonder? It's a love song--and such a pretty one! I believe
+there _is_ a melody in it," she exulted, pausing to hum a line or
+two. "There is--I know there is; and I'll write it--for Bertram," she
+finished, crossing joyously to the piano.
+
+Half-way down Corey Hill at that moment, Arkwright was buffeting
+the wind and snow. He, too, was thinking joyously of those
+stanzas--joyously, yet at the same time fearfully. Arkwright himself had
+written those lines--though not for Bertram.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV. "MR. BILLY" AND "MISS MARY JANE"
+
+
+On the fourteenth of December Billy came down-stairs alert, interested,
+and happy. She had received a dear letter from Bertram (mailed on the
+way to New York), the sun was shining, and her fingers were fairly
+tingling to put on paper the little melody that was now surging
+riotously through her brain. Emphatically, the restlessness of the day
+before was gone now. Once more Billy's "clock" had "begun to tick."
+
+After breakfast Billy went straight to the telephone and called up
+Arkwright. Even one side of the conversation Aunt Hannah did not hear
+very clearly; but in five minutes a radiant-faced Billy danced into the
+room.
+
+"Aunt Hannah, just listen! Only think--Mary Jane wrote the words
+himself, so of course I can use them!"
+
+"Billy, dear, _can't_ you say 'Mr. Arkwright'?" pleaded Aunt Hannah.
+
+Billy laughed and gave the anxious-eyed little old lady an impulsive
+hug.
+
+"Of course! I'll say 'His Majesty' if you like, dear," she chuckled.
+"But did you hear--did you realize? They're his own words, so there's no
+question of rights or permission, or anything. And he's coming up this
+afternoon to hear my melody, and to make a few little changes in the
+words, maybe. Oh, Aunt Hannah, you don't know how good it seems to get
+into my music again!"
+
+"Yes, yes, dear, of course; but--" Aunt Hannah's sentence ended in a
+vaguely troubled pause.
+
+Billy turned in surprise.
+
+"Why, Aunt Hannah, aren't you glad? You _said_ you'd be glad!"
+
+"Yes, dear; and I am--very glad. It's only--if it doesn't take too much
+time--and if Bertram doesn't mind."
+
+Billy flushed. She laughed a little bitterly.
+
+"No, it won't take too much time, I fancy, and--so far as Bertram is
+concerned--if what Sister Kate says is true, Aunt Hannah, he'll be glad
+to have me occupy a little of my time with something besides himself."
+
+"Fiddlededee!" bristled Aunt Hannah.
+
+"What did she mean by that?"
+
+Billy smiled ruefully.
+
+"Well, probably I did need it. She said it night before last just before
+she went home with Uncle William. She declared that I seemed to forget
+entirely that Bertram belonged to his Art first, before he belonged to
+me; and that it was exactly as she had supposed it would be--a perfect
+absurdity for Bertram to think of marrying anybody."
+
+"Fiddlededee!" ejaculated the irate Aunt Hannah, even more sharply. "I
+hope you have too much good sense to mind what Kate says, Billy."
+
+"Yes, I know," sighed the girl; "but of course I can see some things for
+myself, and I suppose I did make--a little fuss about his going to New
+York the other night. And I will own that I've had a real struggle with
+myself sometimes, lately, not to mind--his giving so much time to
+his portrait painting. And of course both of those are very
+reprehensible--in an artist's wife," she finished, a little tremulously.
+
+"Humph! Well, I don't think I should worry about that," observed Aunt
+Hannah with grim positiveness.
+
+"No, I don't mean to," smiled Billy, wistfully. "I only told you so
+you'd understand that it was just as well if I did have something to
+take up my mind--besides Bertram. And of course music would be the most
+natural thing."
+
+"Yes, of course," agreed Aunt Hannah.
+
+"And it seems actually almost providential that Mary--I mean Mr.
+Arkwright is here to help me, now that Cyril is gone," went on Billy,
+still a little wistfully.
+
+"Yes, of course. He isn't like--a stranger," murmured Aunt Hannah. Aunt
+Hannah's voice sounded as if she were trying to convince herself--of
+something.
+
+"No, indeed! He seems just like one of the family to me, almost as if he
+were really--your niece, Mary Jane," laughed Billy.
+
+Aunt Hannah moved restlessly.
+
+"Billy," she hazarded, "he knows, of course, of your engagement?"
+
+"Why, of course he does, Aunt Hannah everybody does!" Billy's eyes were
+plainly surprised.
+
+"Yes, yes, of course--he must," subsided Aunt Hannah, confusedly, hoping
+that Billy would not divine the hidden reason behind her question. She
+was relieved when Billy's next words showed that she had not divined it.
+
+"I told you, didn't I? He's coming up this afternoon. He can't get here
+till five, though; but he's so interested! He's about as crazy over the
+thing as I am. And it's going to be fine, Aunt Hannah, when it's done.
+You just wait and see!" she finished gayly, as she tripped from the
+room.
+
+Left to herself, Aunt Hannah drew a long breath.
+
+"I'm glad she didn't suspect," she was thinking. "I believe she'd
+consider even the _question_ disloyal to Bertram--dear child! And of
+course Mary"--Aunt Hannah corrected herself with cheeks aflame--"I mean
+Mr. Arkwright does--know."
+
+It was just here, however, that Aunt Hannah was mistaken. Mr. Arkwright
+did not--know. He had not reached Boston when the engagement was
+announced. He knew none of Billy's friends in town save the Henshaw
+brothers. He had not heard from Calderwell since he came to Boston. The
+very evident intimacy of Billy with the Henshaw brothers he accepted as
+a matter of course, knowing the history of their acquaintance, and the
+fact that Billy was Mr. William Henshaw's namesake. As to Bertram
+being Billy's lover--that idea had long ago been killed at birth by
+Calderwell's emphatic assertion that the artist would never care for any
+girl--except to paint. Since coming to Boston, Arkwright had seen little
+of the two together. His work, his friends, and his general mode of life
+precluded that. Because of all this, therefore, Arkwright did not--know;
+which was a pity--for Arkwright, and for some others.
+
+Promptly at five o'clock that afternoon, Arkwright rang Billy's
+doorbell, and was admitted by Rosa to the living-room, where Billy was
+at the piano.
+
+Billy sprang to her feet with a joyous word of greeting.
+
+"I'm so glad you've come," she sighed happily. "I want you to hear the
+melody your pretty words have sung to me. Though, maybe, after all, you
+won't like it, you know," she finished with arch wistfulness.
+
+"As if I could help liking it," smiled the man, trying to keep from his
+voice the ecstatic delight that the touch of her hand had brought him.
+
+Billy shook her head and seated herself again at the piano.
+
+"The words are lovely," she declared, sorting out two or three sheets of
+manuscript music from the quantity on the rack before her. "But there's
+one place--the rhythm, you know--if you could change it. There!--but
+listen. First I'm going to play it straight through to you." And she
+dropped her fingers to the keyboard. The next moment a tenderly sweet
+melody--with only a chord now and then for accompaniment--filled
+Arkwright's soul with rapture. Then Billy began to sing, very softly,
+the words!
+
+No wonder Arkwright's soul was filled with rapture. They were his words,
+wrung straight from his heart; and they were being sung by the girl
+for whom they were written. They were being sung with feeling, too--so
+evident a feeling that the man's pulse quickened, and his eyes flashed a
+sudden fire. Arkwright could not know, of course, that Billy, in her own
+mind, was singing that song--to Bertram Henshaw.
+
+The fire was still in Arkwright's eyes when the song was ended; but
+Billy very plainly did not see it. With a frowning sigh and a murmured
+"There!" she began to talk of "rhythm" and "accent" and "cadence"; and
+to point out with anxious care why three syllables instead of two were
+needed at the end of a certain line. From this she passed eagerly to
+the accompaniment, and Arkwright at once found himself lost in a maze
+of "minor thirds" and "diminished sevenths," until he was forced to
+turn from the singer to the song. Still, watching her a little later, he
+noticed her absorbed face and eager enthusiasm, her earnest pursuance of
+an elusive harmony, and he wondered: did she, or did she not sing that
+song with feeling a little while before?
+
+Arkwright had not settled this question to his own satisfaction when
+Aunt Hannah came in at half-past five, and he was conscious of a vague
+disappointment as he rose to greet her. Billy, however, turned an
+untroubled face to the newcomer.
+
+"We're doing finely, Aunt Hannah," she cried. Then, suddenly, she flung
+a laughing question to the man. "How about it, sir? Are we going to put
+on the title-page: 'Words by Mary Jane Arkwright'--or will you unveil
+the mystery for us now?"
+
+"Have you guessed it?" he bantered.
+
+"No--unless it's 'Methuselah John.' We did think of that the other day."
+
+"Wrong again!" he laughed.
+
+"Then it'll have to be 'Mary Jane,'" retorted Billy, with calm
+naughtiness, refusing to meet Aunt Hannah's beseechingly reproving eyes.
+Then suddenly she chuckled. "It would be a combination, wouldn't it?
+'Words by Mary Jane Arkwright. Music by Billy Neilson'! We'd have
+sighing swains writing to 'Dear Miss Arkwright,' telling how touching
+were _her_ words; and lovelorn damsels thanking _Mr_. Neilson for _his_
+soul-inspiring music!"
+
+"Billy, my dear!" remonstrated Aunt Hannah, faintly.
+
+"Yes, yes, I know; that was bad--and I won't again, truly," promised
+Billy. But her eyes danced, and the next moment she had whirled about on
+the piano stool and dashed into a Chopin waltz. The room itself, then,
+seemed to be full of the twinkling feet of elves.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI. A GIRL AND A BIT OF LOWESTOFT
+
+
+Immediately after breakfast the next morning, Billy was summoned to the
+telephone.
+
+"Oh, good morning, Uncle William," she called, in answer to the
+masculine voice that replied to her "Hullo."
+
+"Billy, are you very busy this morning?"
+
+"No, indeed--not if you want me."
+
+"Well, I do, my dear." Uncle William's voice was troubled. "I want you
+to go with me, if you can, to see a Mrs. Greggory. She's got a teapot I
+want. It's a genuine Lowestoft, Harlow says. Will you go?"
+
+"Of course I will! What time?"
+
+"Eleven if you can, at Park Street. She's at the West End. I don't dare
+to put it off for fear I'll lose it. Harlow says others will have to
+know of it, of course. You see, she's just made up her mind to sell it,
+and asked him to find a customer. I wouldn't trouble you, but he says
+they're peculiar--the daughter, especially--and may need some careful
+handling. That's why I wanted you--though I wanted you to see the
+tea-pot, too,--it'll be yours some day, you know."
+
+Billy, all alone at her end of the line, blushed. That she was one day
+to be mistress of the Strata and all it contained was still anything but
+"common" to her.
+
+"I'd love to see it, and I'll come gladly; but I'm afraid I won't be
+much help, Uncle William," she worried.
+
+"I'll take the risk of that. You see, Harlow says that about half the
+time she isn't sure she wants to sell it, after all."
+
+"Why, how funny! Well, I'll come. At eleven, you say, at Park Street?"
+
+"Yes; and thank you, my dear. I tried to get Kate to go, too; but she
+wouldn't. By the way, I'm going to bring you home to luncheon. Kate
+leaves this afternoon, you know, and it's been so snowy she hasn't
+thought best to try to get over to the house. Maybe Aunt Hannah would
+come, too, for luncheon. Would she?"
+
+"I'm afraid not," returned Billy, with a rueful laugh. "She's got
+_three_ shawls on this morning, and you know that always means that
+she's felt a draft somewhere--poor dear. I'll tell her, though, and I'll
+see you at eleven," finished Billy, as she hung up the receiver.
+
+Promptly at the appointed time Billy met Uncle William at Park Street,
+and together they set out for the West End street named on the paper in
+his pocket. But when the shabby house on the narrow little street was
+reached, the man looked about him with a troubled frown.
+
+"I declare, Billy, I'm not sure but we'd better turn back," he fretted.
+"I didn't mean to take you to such a place as this."
+
+Billy shivered a little; but after one glance at the man's disappointed
+face she lifted a determined chin.
+
+"Nonsense, Uncle William! Of course you won't turn back. I don't
+mind--for myself; but only think of the people whose _homes_ are here,"
+she finished, just above her breath.
+
+Mrs. Greggory was found to be living in two back rooms at the top of
+four flights of stairs, up which William Henshaw toiled with increasing
+weariness and dismay, punctuating each flight with a despairing: "Billy,
+really, I think we should turn back!"
+
+But Billy would not turn back, and at last they found themselves in the
+presence of a white-haired, sweet-faced woman who said yes, she was
+Mrs. Greggory; yes, she was. Even as she uttered the words, however,
+she looked fearfully over her shoulders as if expecting to hear from the
+hall behind them a voice denying her assertion.
+
+Mrs. Greggory was a cripple. Her slender little body was poised on two
+once-costly crutches. Both the worn places on the crutches, and the
+skill with which the little woman swung herself about the room testified
+that the crippled condition was not a new one.
+
+Billy's eyes were brimming with pity and dismay. Mechanically she had
+taken the chair toward which Mrs. Greggory had motioned her. She had
+tried not to seem to look about her; but there was not one detail of
+the bare little room, from its faded rug to the patched but spotless
+tablecloth, that was not stamped on her brain.
+
+Mrs. Greggory had seated herself now, and William Henshaw had cleared
+his throat nervously. Billy did not know whether she herself were the
+more distressed or the more relieved to hear him stammer:
+
+"We--er--I came from Harlow, Mrs. Greggory. He gave me to understand
+you had an--er--teapot that--er--" With his eyes on the cracked white
+crockery pitcher on the table, William Henshaw came to a helpless pause.
+
+A curious expression, or rather, series of expressions crossed Mrs.
+Greggory's face. Terror, joy, dismay, and relief seemed, one after the
+other to fight for supremacy. Relief in the end conquered, though even
+yet there was a second hurriedly apprehensive glance toward the door
+before she spoke.
+
+"The Lowestoft! Yes, I'm so glad!--that is, of course I must be glad.
+I'll get it." Her voice broke as she pulled herself from her chair.
+There was only despairing sorrow on her face now.
+
+The man rose at once.
+
+"But, madam, perhaps--don't let me--" I he began stammeringly. "Of
+course--Billy!" he broke off in an entirely different voice. "Jove! What
+a beauty!"
+
+Mrs. Greggory had thrown open the door of a small cupboard near the
+collector's chair, disclosing on one of the shelves a beautifully shaped
+teapot, creamy in tint, and exquisitely decorated in a rose design. Near
+it set a tray-like plate of the same ware and decoration.
+
+"If you'll lift it down, please, yourself," motioned Mrs. Greggory. "I
+don't like to--with these," she explained, tapping the crutches at her
+side.
+
+With fingers that were almost reverent in their appreciation, the
+collector reached for the teapot. His eyes sparkled.
+
+"Billy, look, what a beauty! And it's a Lowestoft, too, the real
+thing--the genuine, true soft paste! And there's the tray--did you
+notice?" he exulted, turning back to the shelf. "You _don't_ see that
+every day! They get separated, most generally, you know."
+
+"These pieces have been in our family for generations," said Mrs.
+Greggory with an accent of pride. "You'll find them quite perfect, I
+think."
+
+"Perfect! I should say they were," cried the man.
+
+"They are, then--valuable?" Mrs. Greggory's voice shook.
+
+"Indeed they are! But you must know that."
+
+"I have been told so. Yet to me their chief value, of course, lies in
+their association. My mother and my grandmother owned that teapot, sir."
+Again her voice broke.
+
+William Henshaw cleared his throat.
+
+"But, madam, if you do not wish to sell--" He stopped abruptly. His
+longing eyes had gone back to the enticing bit of china.
+
+Mrs. Greggory gave a low cry.
+
+"But I do--that is, I must. Mr. Harlow says that it is valuable, and
+that it will bring in money; and we need--money." She threw a quick
+glance toward the hall door, though she did not pause in her remarks. "I
+can't do much at work that pays. I sew"--she nodded toward the machine
+by the window--"but with only one foot to make it go--You see, the
+other is--is inclined to shirk a little," she finished with a wistful
+whimsicality.
+
+Billy turned away sharply. There was a lump in her throat and a smart in
+her eyes. She was conscious suddenly of a fierce anger against--she did
+not know what, exactly; but she fancied it was against the teapot,
+or against Uncle William for wanting the teapot, or for _not_ wanting
+it--if he did not buy it.
+
+"And so you see, I do very much wish to sell."
+
+Mrs. Greggory said then. "Perhaps you will tell me what it would be
+worth to you," she concluded tremulously.
+
+The collector's eyes glowed. He picked up the teapot with careful
+rapture and examined it. Then he turned to the tray. After a moment he
+spoke.
+
+"I have only one other in my collection as rare," he said. "I paid a
+hundred dollars for that. I shall be glad to give you the same for this,
+madam."
+
+Mrs. Greggory started visibly.
+
+"A hundred dollars? So much as that?" she cried almost joyously. "Why,
+nothing else that we've had has brought--Of course, if it's worth that
+to you--" She paused suddenly. A quick step had sounded in the hall
+outside. The next moment the door flew open and a young woman, who
+looked to be about twenty-three or twenty-four years old, burst into the
+room.
+
+"Mother, only think, I've--" She stopped, and drew back a little.
+Her startled eyes went from one face to another, then dropped to the
+Lowestoft teapot in the man's hands. Her expression changed at once. She
+shut the door quickly and hurried forward.
+
+"Mother, what is it? Who are these people?" she asked sharply.
+
+Billy lifted her chin the least bit. She was conscious of a feeling
+which she could not name: Billy was not used to being called "these
+people" in precisely that tone of voice. William Henshaw, too, raised
+his chin. He, also, was not in the habit of being referred to as "these
+people."
+
+"My name is Henshaw, Miss--Greggory, I presume," he said quietly. "I was
+sent here by Mr. Harlow."
+
+"About the teapot, my dear, you know," stammered Mrs. Greggory,
+wetting her lips with an air of hurried apology and conciliation. "This
+gentleman says he will be glad to buy it. Er--my daughter, Alice, Mr.
+Henshaw," she hastened on, in embarrassed introduction; "and Miss--"
+
+"Neilson," supplied the man, as she looked at Billy, and hesitated.
+
+A swift red stained Alice Greggory's face. With barely an acknowledgment
+of the introductions she turned to her mother.
+
+"Yes, dear, but that won't be necessary now. As I started to tell you
+when I came in, I have two new pupils; and so"--turning to the man again
+"I thank you for your offer, but we have decided not to sell the teapot
+at present." As she finished her sentence she stepped one side as if to
+make room for the strangers to reach the door.
+
+William Henshaw frowned angrily--that was the man; but his eyes--the
+collector's eyes--sought the teapot longingly. Before either the man or
+the collector could speak, however; Mrs. Greggory interposed quick words
+of remonstrance.
+
+"But, Alice, my dear," she almost sobbed. "You didn't wait to let me
+tell you. Mr. Henshaw says it is worth a hundred dollars to him. He will
+give us--a hundred dollars."
+
+"A hundred dollars!" echoed the girl, faintly.
+
+It was plain to be seen that she was wavering. Billy, watching the
+little scene, with mingled emotions, saw the glance with which the girl
+swept the bare little room; and she knew that there was not a patch or
+darn or poverty spot in sight, or out of sight, which that glance did
+not encompass.
+
+Billy was wondering which she herself desired more--that Uncle William
+should buy the Lowestoft, or that he should not. She knew she wished
+Mrs. Greggory to have the hundred dollars. There was no doubt on
+that point. Then Uncle William spoke. His words carried the righteous
+indignation of the man who thinks he has been unjustly treated, and the
+final plea of the collector who sees a coveted treasure slipping from
+his grasp.
+
+"I am very sorry, of course, if my offer has annoyed you," he said
+stiffly. "I certainly should not have made it had I not had Mrs.
+Greggory's assurance that she wished to sell the teapot."
+
+Alice Greggory turned as if stung.
+
+"_Wished to sell!_" She repeated the words with superb disdain. She was
+plainly very angry. Her blue-gray eyes gleamed with scorn, and her whole
+face was suffused with a red that had swept to the roots of her
+soft hair. "Do you think a woman _wishes_ to sell a thing that she's
+treasured all her life, a thing that is perhaps the last visible
+reminder of the days when she was living--not merely existing?"
+
+"Alice, Alice, my love!" protested the sweet-faced cripple, agitatedly.
+
+"I can't help it," stormed the girl, hotly. "I know how much you think
+of that teapot that was grandmother's. I know what it cost you to make
+up your mind to sell it at all. And then to hear these people talk about
+your _wishing_ to sell it! Perhaps they think, too, we _wish_ to live
+in a place like this; that we _wish_ to have rugs that are darned,
+and chairs that are broken, and garments that are patches instead of
+clothes!"
+
+"Alice!" gasped Mrs. Greggory in dismayed horror.
+
+With a little outward fling of her two hands Alice Greggory stepped
+back. Her face had grown white again.
+
+"I beg your pardon, of course," she said in a voice that was bitterly
+quiet. "I should not have spoken so. You are very kind, Mr. Henshaw, but
+I do not think we care to sell the Lowestoft to-day."
+
+Both words and manner were obviously a dismissal; and with a puzzled
+sigh William Henshaw picked up his hat. His face showed very clearly
+that he did not know what to do, or what to say; but it showed, too, as
+clearly, that he longed to do something, or say something. During the
+brief minute that he hesitated, however, Billy sprang forward.
+
+"Mrs. Greggory, please, won't you let _me_ buy the teapot? And
+then--won't you keep it for me--here? I haven't the hundred dollars with
+me, but I'll send it right away. You will let me do it, won't you?"
+
+It was an impulsive speech, and a foolish one, of course, from the
+standpoint of sense and logic and reasonableness; but it was one that
+might be expected, perhaps, from Billy.
+
+Mrs. Greggory must have divined, in a way, the spirit that prompted it,
+for her eyes grew wet, and with a choking "Dear child!" she reached out
+and caught Billy's hand in both her own--even while she shook her head
+in denial.
+
+Not so her daughter. Alice Greggory flushed scarlet. She drew herself
+proudly erect.
+
+"Thank you," she said with crisp coldness; "but, distasteful as darns
+and patches are to us, we prefer them, infinitely, to--charity!"
+
+"Oh, but, please, I didn't mean--you didn't understand," faltered Billy.
+
+For answer Alice Greggory walked deliberately to the door and held it
+open.
+
+"Oh, Alice, my dear," pleaded Mrs. Greggory again, feebly.
+
+"Come, Billy! We'll bid you good morning, ladies," said William
+Henshaw then, decisively. And Billy, with a little wistful pat on Mrs.
+Greggory's clasped hands, went.
+
+Once down the long four flights of stairs and out on the sidewalk,
+William Henshaw drew a long breath.
+
+"Well, by Jove! Billy, the next time I take you curio hunting, it won't
+be to this place," he fumed.
+
+"Wasn't it awful!" choked Billy.
+
+"Awful! The girl was the most stubborn, unreasonable, vixenish little
+puss I ever saw. I didn't want her old Lowestoft if she didn't want
+to sell it! But to practically invite me there, and then treat me like
+that!" scolded the collector, his face growing red with anger. "Still, I
+was sorry for the poor little old lady. I wish, somehow, she could have
+that hundred dollars!" It was the man who said this, not the collector.
+
+"So do I," rejoined Billy, dolefully. "But that girl was so--so queer!"
+she sighed, with a frown. Billy was puzzled. For the first time,
+perhaps, in her life, she knew what it was to have her proffered "ice
+cream" disdainfully refused.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII. ONLY A LOVE SONG, BUT--
+
+
+Kate and little Kate left for the West on the afternoon of
+the fifteenth, and Bertram arrived from New York that evening.
+Notwithstanding the confusion of all this, Billy still had time to give
+some thought to her experience of the morning with Uncle William.
+The forlorn little room with its poverty-stricken furnishings and its
+crippled mistress was very vivid in Billy's memory. Equally vivid were
+the flashing eyes of Alice Greggory as she had opened the door at the
+last.
+
+"For," as Billy explained to Bertram that evening, after she had told
+him the story of the morning's adventure, "you see, dear, I had never
+been really _turned out_ of a house before!"
+
+"I should think not," scowled her lover, indignantly; "and it's safe to
+say you never will again. The impertinence of it! But then, you won't
+see them any more, sweetheart, so we'll just forget it."
+
+"Forget it! Why, Bertram, I couldn't! You couldn't, if you'd been there.
+Besides, of course I shall see them again!"
+
+Bertram's jaw dropped.
+
+"Why, Billy, you don't mean that Will, or you either, would try again
+for that trumpery teapot!"
+
+"Of course not," flashed Billy, heatedly. "It isn't the teapot--it's
+that dear little Mrs. Greggory. Why, dearie, you don't know how poor
+they are! Everything in sight is so old and thin and worn it's enough to
+break your heart. The rug isn't anything but darns, nor the tablecloth,
+either--except patches. It's awful, Bertram!"
+
+"I know, darling; but _you_ don't expect to buy them new rugs and new
+tablecloths, do you?"
+
+Billy gave one of her unexpected laughs.
+
+"Mercy!" she chuckled. "Only picture Miss Alice's face if I _should_ try
+to buy them rugs and tablecloths! No, dear," she went on more seriously,
+"I sha'n't do that, of course--though I'd like to; but I shall try to
+see Mrs. Greggory again, if it's nothing more than a rose or a book or a
+new magazine that I can take to her."
+
+"Or a smile--which I fancy will be the best gift of the lot," amended
+Bertram, fondly.
+
+Billy dimpled and shook her head.
+
+"Smiles--my smiles--are not so valuable, I'm afraid--except to you,
+perhaps," she laughed.
+
+"Self-evident facts need no proving," retorted Bertram. "Well, and what
+else has happened in all these ages I've been away?"
+
+Billy brought her hands together with a sudden cry.
+
+"Oh, and I haven't told you!" she exclaimed. "I'm writing a new song--a
+love song. Mary Jane wrote the words. They're beautiful."
+
+Bertram stiffened.
+
+"Indeed! And is--Mary Jane a poet, with all the rest?" he asked, with
+affected lightness.
+
+"Oh, no, of course not," smiled Billy; "but these words _are_ pretty.
+And they just sang themselves into the dearest little melody right away.
+So I'm writing the music for them."
+
+"Lucky Mary Jane!" murmured Bertram, still with a lightness that he
+hoped would pass for indifference. (Bertram was ashamed of himself, but
+deep within him was a growing consciousness that he knew the meaning
+of the vague irritation that he always felt at the mere mention of
+Arkwright's name.) "And will the title-page say, 'Words by Mary Jane
+Arkwright'?" he finished.
+
+"That's what I asked him," laughed Billy.
+
+
+"I even suggested 'Methuselah John' for a change. Oh, but, dearie," she
+broke off with shy eagerness, "I just want you to hear a little of what
+I've done with it. You see, really, all the time, I suspect, I've been
+singing it--to you," she confessed with an endearing blush, as she
+sprang lightly to her feet and hurried to the piano.
+
+It was a bad ten minutes that Bertram Henshaw spent then. How he could
+love a song and hate it at the same time he did not understand; but he
+knew that he was doing exactly that. To hear Billy carol "Sweetheart, my
+sweetheart!" with that joyous tenderness was bliss unspeakable--until he
+remembered that Arkwright wrote the "Sweetheart, my sweetheart!" then it
+was--(Even in his thoughts Bertram bit the word off short. He was not a
+swearing man.) When he looked at Billy now at the piano, and thought of
+her singing--as she said she had sung--that song to him all through the
+last three days, his heart glowed. But when he looked at her and thought
+of Arkwright, who had made possible that singing, his heart froze with
+terror.
+
+From the very first it had been music that Bertram had feared. He could
+not forget that Billy herself had once told him that never would she
+love any man better than she loved her music; that she was not going
+to marry. All this had been at the first--the very first. He had boldly
+scorned the idea then, and had said:
+
+"So it's music--a cold, senseless thing of spidery marks on clean white
+paper--that is my only rival!"
+
+He had said, too, that he was going to win. And he had won--but
+not until after long weeks of fearing, hoping, striving, and
+despairing--this last when Kate's blundering had nearly made her
+William's wife. Then, on that memorable day in September, Billy had
+walked straight into his arms; and he knew that he had, indeed, won.
+That is, he had supposed that he knew--until Arkwright came.
+
+Very sharply now, as he listened to Billy's singing, Bertram told
+himself to be reasonable, to be sensible; that Billy did, indeed, love
+him. Was she not, according to her own dear assertion, singing that song
+to him? But it was Arkwright's song. He remembered that, too--and grew
+faint at the thought. True, he had won when his rival, music, had been
+a "cold, senseless thing of spidery marks" on paper; but would that
+winning stand when "music" had become a thing of flesh and blood--a man
+of undeniable charm, good looks, and winsomeness; a man whose thoughts,
+aims, and words were the personification of the thing Billy, in the long
+ago, had declared she loved best of all--music?
+
+Bertram shivered as with a sudden chill; then Billy rose from the piano.
+
+"There!" she breathed, her face shyly radiant with the glory of the
+song. "Did you--like it?"
+
+Bertram did his best; but, in his state of mind, the very radiance of
+her face was only an added torture, and his tongue stumbled over the
+words of praise and appreciation that he tried to say. He saw, then, the
+happy light in Billy's eyes change to troubled questioning and grieved
+disappointment; and he hated himself for a jealous brute. More earnestly
+than ever, now, he tried to force the ring of sincerity into his voice;
+but he knew that he had miserably failed when he heard her falter:
+
+"Of course, dear, I--I haven't got it nearly perfected yet. It'll be
+much better, later."
+
+"But it s{sic} fine, now, sweetheart--indeed it is," protested Bertram,
+hurriedly.
+
+"Well, of course I'm glad--if you like it," murmured Billy; but the glow
+did not come back to her face.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII. SUGARPLUMS
+
+
+Those short December days after Bertram's return from New York were busy
+ones for everybody. Miss Winthrop was not in town to give sittings for
+her portrait, it is true; but her absence only afforded Bertram time and
+opportunity to attend to other work that had been more or less delayed
+and neglected. He was often at Hillside, however, and the lovers managed
+to snatch many an hour of quiet happiness from the rush and confusion of
+the Christmas preparations.
+
+Bertram was assuring himself now that his jealous fears of Arkwright
+were groundless. Billy seldom mentioned the man, and, as the days
+passed, she spoke only once of his being at the house. The song, too,
+she said little of; and Bertram--though he was ashamed to own it to
+himself--breathed more freely.
+
+The real facts of the case were that Billy had told Arkwright that she
+should have no time to give attention to the song until after Christmas;
+and her manner had so plainly shown him that she considered himself
+synonymous with the song, that he had reluctantly taken the hint and
+kept away.
+
+"I'll make her care for me sometime--for something besides a song," he
+told himself with fierce consolation--but Billy did not know this.
+
+Aside from Bertram, Christmas filled all of Billy's thoughts these days.
+There were such a lot of things she wished to do.
+
+"But, after all, they're only sugarplums, you know, that I'm giving,
+dear," she declared to Bertram one day, when he had remonstrated with
+with her for so taxing her time and strength. "I can't really do much."
+
+"Much!" scoffed Bertram.
+
+"But it isn't much, honestly--compared to what there is to do," argued
+Billy. "You see, dear, it's just this," she went on, her bright face
+sobering a little. "There are such a lot of people in the world who
+aren't really poor. That is, they have bread, and probably meat, to eat,
+and enough clothes to keep them warm. But when you've said that, you've
+said it all. Books, music, fun, and frosting on their cake they know
+nothing about--except to long for them."
+
+"But there are the churches and the charities, and all those long-named
+Societies--I thought that was what they were for," declared Bertram,
+still a little aggrievedly, his worried eyes on Billy's tired face.
+
+"Oh, but the churches and charities don't frost cakes nor give
+sugarplums," smiled Billy. "And it's right that they shouldn't, too,"
+she added quickly. "They have more than they can do now with the roast
+beef and coal and flannel petticoats that are really necessary."
+
+"And so it's just frosting and sugarplums, is it--these books and
+magazines and concert tickets and lace collars for the crippled boy, the
+spinster lady, the little widow, and all the rest of those people who
+were here last summer?"
+
+Billy turned in confused surprise.
+
+"Why, Bertram, however in the world did you find out about all--that?"
+
+"I didn't. I just guessed it--and it seems 'the boy guessed right the
+very first time,'" laughed Bertram, teasingly, but with a tender light
+in his eyes. "Oh, and I suppose you'll be sending a frosted cake to the
+Lowestoft lady, too, eh?"
+
+Billy's chin rose to a defiant stubbornness.
+
+"I'm going to try to--if I can find out what kind of frosting she
+likes."
+
+"How about the Alice lady--or perhaps I should say, the Lady Alice?"
+smiled the man.
+
+Billy relaxed visibly.
+
+"Yes, I know," she sighed. "There is--the Lady Alice. But, anyhow, she
+can't call a Christmas present 'charity'--not if it's only a little bit
+of frosting!" Billy's chin came up again.
+
+"And you're going to, really, dare to send her something?"
+
+"Yes," avowed Billy. "I'm going down there one of these days, in the
+morning--"
+
+"You're going down there! Billy--not alone?"
+
+"Yes. Why not?"
+
+"But, dearie, you mustn't. It was a horrid place, Will says."
+
+"So it was horrid--to live in. It was everything that was cheap and mean
+and forlorn. But it was quiet and respectable. 'Tisn't as if I didn't
+know the way, Bertram; and I'm sure that where that poor crippled woman
+and daughter are safe, I shall be. Mrs. Greggory is a lady, Bertram,
+well-born and well-bred, I'm sure--and that's the pity of it, to have
+to live in a place like that! They have seen better days, I know. Those
+pitiful little worn crutches of hers were mahogany, I'm sure, Bertram,
+and they were silver mounted."
+
+Bertram made a restless movement.
+
+"I know, dear; but if you had some one with you! It wouldn't do for
+Will, of course, nor me--under the circumstances. But there's Aunt
+Hannah--" He paused hopefully.
+
+Billy chuckled.
+
+"Bless your dear heart! Aunt Hannah would call for a dozen shawls in
+that place--if she had breath enough to call for any after she got to
+the top of those four flights!"
+
+"Yes, I suppose so," rejoined Bertram, with an unwilling smile.
+"Still--well, you _can_ take Rosa," he concluded decisively.
+
+"How Miss Alice would like that--to catch me going 'slumming' with
+my maid!" cried Billy, righteous indignation in her voice. "Honestly,
+Bertram, I think even gentle Mrs. Greggory wouldn't stand for that."
+
+"Then leave Rosa outside in the hall," planned Bertram, promptly; and
+after a few more arguments, Billy finally agreed to this.
+
+It was with Rosa, therefore, that she set out the next morning for the
+little room up four flights on the narrow West End street.
+
+Leaving the maid on the top stair of the fourth flight, Billy tapped
+at Mrs. Greggory's door. To her joy Mrs. Greggory herself answered the
+knock.
+
+"Oh! Why--why, good morning," murmured the lady, in evident
+embarrassment. "Won't you--come m?"
+
+"Thank you. May I?--just a minute?" smiled Billy, brightly.
+
+As she entered the room, Billy threw a hasty look about her. There was
+no one but themselves present. With a sigh of satisfaction, therefore,
+the girl took the chair Mrs. Greggory offered, and began to speak.
+
+"I was down this way--that is, I came this way this morning," she began
+a little hastily; "and I wanted just to come up and tell you how sorry
+I was about--about that teapot the other day. We didn't want it, of
+course--if you didn't want us to have it."
+
+A swift change crossed Mrs. Greggory's perturbed face.
+
+"Oh, then you didn't come for it again--to-day," she said. "I'm so glad!
+I didn't want to refuse--_you_."
+
+"Indeed I didn't come for it--and we sha'n't again. Don't worry about
+that, please."
+
+Mrs. Greggory sighed.
+
+"I'm afraid you thought me very rude and--and impossible the other day,"
+she stammered. "And please let me take this opportunity right now to
+apologize for my daughter. She was overwrought and excited. She didn't
+know what she was saying or doing, I'm sure. She was ashamed, I think
+after you left."
+
+Billy raised a quick hand of protest.
+
+"Don't, please don't, Mrs. Greggory," she begged.
+
+"But it was our fault that you came. We _asked_ you to come--through Mr.
+Harlow," rejoined the other, hurriedly. "And Mr. Henshaw--was that his
+name?--was so kind in every way. I'm glad of this chance to tell you how
+much we really did appreciate it--and _your_ offer, too, which we could
+not, of course, accept," she finished, the bright color flooding her
+delicate face.
+
+Again Billy raised a protesting hand; but the little woman in the
+opposite chair hurried on. There was still more, evidently, that she
+wished to say.
+
+"I hope Mr. Henshaw did not feel too disappointed--about the Lowestoft.
+We didn't want to let it go if we could help it; and we hope now to keep
+it."
+
+"Of course," murmured Billy, sympathetically.
+
+"My daughter knew, you see, how much I have always thought of it, and
+she was determined that I should not give it up. She said I should
+have that much left, anyway. You see--my daughter is very unreconciled,
+still, to things as they are; and no wonder, perhaps. They are so
+different--from what they were!" Her voice broke a little.
+
+"Of course," said Billy again, and this time the words were tinged with
+impatient indignation. "If only there were something one could do to
+help!"
+
+"Thank you, my dear, but there isn't--indeed there isn't," rejoined
+the other, quickly; and Billy, looking into the proudly lifted face,
+realized suddenly that daughter Alice had perhaps inherited some traits
+from mother. "We shall get along very well, I am sure. My daughter
+has still another pupil. She will be home soon to tell you herself,
+perhaps."
+
+Billy rose with a haste so marked it was almost impolite, as she
+murmured:
+
+"Will she? I'm afraid, though, that I sha'n't see her, after all, for I
+must go. And may I leave these, please?" she added, hurriedly unpinning
+the bunch of white carnations from her coat. "It seems a pity to let
+them wilt, when you can put them in water right here." Her studiously
+casual voice gave no hint that those particular pinks had been bought
+less than half an hour before of a Park Street florist so that Mrs.
+Greggory _might_ put them in water--right there.
+
+"Oh, oh, how lovely!" breathed Mrs. Greggory, her face deep in the
+feathery bed of sweetness. Before she could half say "Thank you,"
+however? she found herself alone.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX. ALICE GREGGORY
+
+
+Christmas came and went; and in a flurry of snow and sleet January
+arrived. The holidays over, matters and things seemed to settle down to
+the winter routine.
+
+Miss Winthrop had prolonged her visit in Washington until after
+Christmas, but she had returned to Boston now--and with her she had
+brought a brand-new idea for her portrait; an idea that caused her to
+sweep aside with superb disdain all poses and costumes and sketches to
+date, and announce herself with disarming winsomeness as "all ready now
+to really begin!"
+
+Bertram Henshaw was vexed, but helpless. Decidedly he wished to paint
+Miss Marguerite Winthrop's portrait; but to attempt to paint it when all
+matters were not to the lady's liking were worse than useless, unless
+he wished to hang this portrait in the gallery of failures along with
+Anderson's and Fullam's--and that was not the goal he had set for it. As
+to the sordid money part of the affair--the great J. G. Winthrop himself
+had come to the artist, and in one terse sentence had doubled the
+original price and expressed himself as hopeful that Henshaw would put
+up with "the child's notions." It was the old financier's next sentence,
+however, that put the zest of real determination into Bertram, for
+because of it, the artist saw what this portrait was going to mean to
+the stern old man, and how dear was the original of it to a heart that
+was commonly reported "on the street" to be made of stone.
+
+Obviously, then, indeed, there was nothing for Bertram Henshaw to do
+but to begin the new portrait. And he began it--though still, it must be
+confessed, with inward questionings. Before a week had passed, however,
+every trace of irritation had fled, and he was once again the absorbed
+artist who sees the vision of his desire taking palpable shape at the
+end of his brush.
+
+"It's all right," he said to Billy then, one evening. "I'm glad she
+changed. It's going to be the best, the very best thing I've ever
+done--I think! by the sketches."
+
+"I'm so glad!" exclaimed Billy. "I'm so glad!" The repetition was
+so vehement that it sounded almost as if she were trying to convince
+herself as well as Bertram of something that was not true.
+
+But it was true--Billy told herself very indignantly that it was; indeed
+it was! Yet the very fact that she had to tell herself this, caused her
+to know how perilously near she was to being actually jealous of that
+portrait of Marguerite Winthrop. And it shamed her.
+
+Very sternly these days Billy reminded herself of what Kate had
+said about Bertram's belonging first to his Art. She thought with
+mortification, too, that it _did_ look as if she were not the proper
+wife for an artist if she were going to feel like this--always. Very
+resolutely, then, Billy turned to her music. This was all the more
+easily done, for, not only did she have her usual concerts and the opera
+to enjoy, but she had become interested in an operetta her club was
+about to give; also she had taken up the new song again. Christmas being
+over, Mr. Arkwright had been to the house several times. He had changed
+some of the words and she had improved the melody. The work on the
+accompaniment was progressing finely now, and Billy was so glad!--when
+she was absorbed in her music she forgot sometimes that she was ever so
+unfit an artist's sweetheart as to be--jealous of a portrait.
+
+It was quite early in the month that the usually expected "January thaw"
+came, and it was on a comparatively mild Friday at this time that a
+matter of business took Billy into the neighborhood of Symphony Hall at
+about eleven o'clock in the morning. Dismissing John and the car upon
+her arrival, she said that she would later walk to the home of a friend
+near by, where she would remain until it was time for the Symphony
+Concert.
+
+This friend was a girl whom Billy had known at school. She was studying
+now at the Conservatory of Music; and she had often urged Billy to come
+and have luncheon with her in her tiny apartment, which she shared with
+three other girls and a widowed aunt for housekeeper. On this particular
+Friday it had occurred to Billy that, owing to her business appointment
+at eleven and the Symphony Concert at half-past two, the intervening
+time would give her just the opportunity she had been seeking to
+enable her to accept her friend's invitation. A question asked, and
+enthusiastically answered in the affirmative, over the telephone that
+morning, therefore, had speedily completed arrangements, and she had
+agreed to be at her friend's door by twelve o'clock, or before.
+
+As it happened, business did not take quite so long as she had expected,
+and half-past eleven found her well on her way to Miss Henderson's home.
+
+In spite of the warm sunshine and the slushy snow in the streets, there
+was a cold, raw wind, and Billy was beginning to feel thankful that she
+had not far to go when she rounded a corner and came upon a long line of
+humanity that curved itself back and forth on the wide expanse of steps
+before Symphony Hall and then stretched itself far up the Avenue.
+
+"Why, what--" she began under her breath; then suddenly she understood.
+It was Friday. A world-famous pianist was to play with the Symphony
+Orchestra that afternoon. This must be the line of patient waiters for
+the twenty-five-cent balcony seats that Mr. Arkwright had told about.
+With sympathetic, interested eyes, then, Billy stepped one side to watch
+the line, for a moment.
+
+Almost at once two girls brushed by her, and one was saying:
+
+"What a shame!--and after all our struggles to get here! If only we
+hadn't lost that other train!"
+
+"We're too late--you no need to hurry!" the other wailed shrilly to a
+third girl who was hastening toward them. "The line is 'way beyond
+the Children's Hospital and around the corner now--and the ones there
+_never_ get in!"
+
+At the look of tragic disappointment that crossed the third girl's face,
+Billy's heart ached. Her first impulse, of course, was to pull her
+own symphony ticket from her muff and hurry forward with a "Here, take
+mine!" But that _would_ hardly do, she knew--though she would like to
+see Aunt Hannah's aghast face if this girl in the red sweater and white
+tam-o'-shanter should suddenly emerge from among the sumptuous satins
+and furs and plumes that afternoon and claim the adjacent orchestra
+chair. But it was out of the question, of course. There was only one
+seat, and there were three girls, besides all those others. With a sigh,
+then, Billy turned her eyes back to those others--those many others that
+made up the long line stretching its weary length up the Avenue.
+
+There were more women than men, yet the men were there: jolly young men
+who were plainly students; older men whose refined faces and threadbare
+overcoats hinted at cultured minds and starved bodies; other men who
+showed no hollows in their cheeks nor near-holes in their garments. It
+seemed to Billy that women of almost all sorts were there, young, old,
+and middle-aged; students in tailored suits, widows in crape and veil;
+girls that were members of a merry party, women that were plainly
+forlorn and alone.
+
+Some in the line shuffled restlessly; some stood rigidly quiet. One had
+brought a camp stool; many were seated on the steps. Beyond, where the
+line passed an open lot, a wooden fence afforded a convenient prop. One
+read a book, another a paper. Three were studying what was probably
+the score of the symphony or of the concerto they expected to hear that
+afternoon.
+
+A few did not appear to mind the biting wind, but most of them, by
+turned-up coat-collars or bent heads, testified to the contrary. Not
+far from Billy a woman nibbled a sandwich furtively, while beyond her a
+group of girls were hilariously merry over four triangles of pie which
+they held up where all might see.
+
+Many of the faces were youthful, happy, and alert with anticipation;
+but others carried a wistfulness and a weariness that made Billy's heart
+ache. Her eyes, indeed, filled with quick tears. Later she turned to go,
+and it was then that she saw in the line a face that she knew--a face
+that drooped with such a white misery of spent strength that she hurried
+straight toward it with a low cry.
+
+"Miss Greggory!" she exclaimed, when she reached the girl. "You look
+actually ill. Are you ill?"
+
+For a brief second only dazed questioning stared from the girl's
+blue-gray eyes. Billy knew when the recognition came, for she saw the
+painful color stain the white face red.
+
+"Thank you, no. I am not ill, Miss Neilson," said the girl, coldly.
+
+"But you look so tired out!"
+
+"I have been standing here some time; that is all."
+
+Billy threw a hurried glance down the far-reaching line that she
+knew had formed since the girl's two tired feet had taken their first
+position.
+
+"But you must have come--so early! It isn't twelve o'clock yet," she
+faltered.
+
+A slight smile curved Alice Greggory's lips.
+
+"Yes, it was early," she rejoined a little bitterly; "but it had to be,
+you know. I wanted to hear the music; and with this soloist, and this
+weather, I knew that many others--would want to hear the music, too."
+
+"But you look so white! How much longer--when will they let you in?"
+demanded Billy, raising indignant eyes to the huge, gray-pillared
+building before her, much as if she would pull down the walls if she
+could, and make way for this tired girl at her side.
+
+Miss Greggory's thin shoulders rose and fell in an expressive shrug.
+
+"Half-past one."
+
+Billy gave a dismayed cry.
+
+"Half-past one--almost two hours more! But, Miss Greggory, you
+can't--how can you stand it till then? You've shivered three times since
+I came, and you look as if you were going to faint away."
+
+Miss Greggory shook her head.
+
+"It is nothing, really," she insisted. "I am quite well. It is only--I
+didn't happen to feel like eating much breakfast this morning; and that,
+with no luncheon--" She let a gesture finish her sentence.
+
+"No luncheon! Why--oh, you couldn't leave your place, of course,"
+frowned Billy.
+
+"No, and"--Alice Greggory lifted her head a little proudly--"I do not
+care to eat--here." Her scornful eyes were on one of the pieces of pie
+down the line--no longer a triangle.
+
+"Of course not," agreed Billy, promptly. She paused, frowned, and
+bit her lip. Suddenly her face cleared. "There! the very thing," she
+exulted. "You shall have my ticket this afternoon, Miss Greggory, then
+you won't have to stay here another minute. Meanwhile, there is an
+excellent restaurant--"
+
+"Thank you--no. I couldn't do that," cut in the other, sharply, but in a
+low voice.
+
+"But you'll take my ticket," begged Billy.
+
+Miss Greggory shook her head.
+
+"Certainly not."
+
+"But I want you to, please. I shall be very unhappy if you don't,"
+grieved Billy.
+
+The other made a peremptory gesture.
+
+"_I_ should be very unhappy if I did," she said with cold emphasis.
+"Really, Miss Neilson," she went on in a low voice, throwing an
+apprehensive glance at the man ahead, who was apparently absorbed in his
+newspaper, "I'm afraid I shall have to ask you to let me go on in my own
+way. You are very kind, but there is nothing you can do; nothing. You
+were very kind, too, of course, to send the book and the flowers to
+mother at Christmas; but--"
+
+"Never mind that, please," interrupted Billy, hurriedly. Billy's head
+was lifted now. Her eyes were no longer pleading. Her round little chin
+looked square and determined. "If you simply will not take my ticket
+this afternoon, you _must_ do this. Go to some restaurant near here and
+get a good luncheon--something that will sustain you. I will take your
+place here."
+
+"_Miss Neilson!_"
+
+Billy smiled radiantly. It was the first time she had ever seen
+Alice Greggory's haughtily cold reserve break into anything like
+naturalness--the astonished incredulity of that "Miss Neilson!" was
+plainly straight from the heart; so, too, were the amazed words that
+followed.
+
+"_You_--will stand _here?_"
+
+"Certainly; I will keep your place. Don't worry. You sha'n't lose it."
+Billy spoke with a smiling indifference that was meant to convey the
+impression that standing in line for a twenty-five-cent seat was a
+daily habit of hers. "There's a restaurant only a little way--right down
+there," she finished. And before the dazed Alice Greggory knew quite
+what was happening she found herself outside the line, and the other in
+her place.
+
+"But, Miss Neilson, I can't--you mustn't--" she stammered; then, because
+of something in the unyieldingness of the square young chin above the
+sealskin coat, and because she could not (she knew) use actual force
+to drag the owner of that chin out of the line, she bowed her head in
+acquiescence.
+
+"Well, then--I will, long enough for some coffee and maybe a sandwich.
+And--thank you," she choked, as she turned and hurried away.
+
+Billy drew the deep breath of one who has triumphed after long
+struggles--but the breath broke off short in a gasp of dismay: coming
+straight up the Avenue toward her was the one person in the world Billy
+wished least to see at that moment--Bertram Henshaw. Billy remembered
+then that she had twice lately heard her lover speak of calling at the
+Boston Opera House concerning a commission to paint an ideal head to
+represent "Music" for some decorative purpose. The Opera House was only
+a short distance up the Avenue. Doubtless he was on his way there now.
+
+He was very near by this time, and Billy held her breath suspended.
+There was a chance, of course, that he might not notice her; and Billy
+was counting on that chance--until a gust of wind whirled a loose
+half-sheet of newspaper from the hands of the man in front of her, and
+naturally attracted Bertram's eyes to its vicinity--and to hers. The
+next moment he was at her side and his dumfounded but softly-breathed
+"_Billy!_" was in her ears.
+
+Billy bubbled into low laughter--there were such a lot of funny
+situations in the world, and of them all this one was about the
+drollest, she thought.
+
+"Yes, I know," she gurgled. "You don't have to say it-your face is
+saying even more than your tongue _could!_ This is just for a girl I
+know. I'm keeping her place."
+
+Bertram frowned. He looked as if he were meditating picking Billy up and
+walking off with her.
+
+"But, Billy," he protested just above his breath, "this isn't sugarplums
+nor frosting; it's plain suicide--standing out in this wind like
+this! Besides--" He stopped with an angrily despairing glance at her
+surroundings.
+
+"Yes, I know," she nodded, a little soberly, understanding the look and
+answering that first; "it isn't pleasant nor comfortable, in lots of
+ways--but _she's_ had it all the morning. As for the cold--I'm as warm
+as toast. It won't be long, anyway; she's just gone to get something to
+eat. Then I'm going to May Henderson's for luncheon."
+
+Bertram sighed impatiently and opened his lips--only to close them with
+the words unsaid. There was nothing he could do, and he had already said
+too much, he thought, with a savage glance at the man ahead who still
+had enough of his paper left to serve for a pretence at reading. As
+Bertram could see, however, the man was not reading a word--he was too
+acutely conscious of the handsome young woman in the long sealskin
+coat behind him. Billy was already the cynosure of dozens of eyes, and
+Bertram knew that his own arrival on the scene had not lessened the
+interest of the owners of those eyes. He only hoped devoutly that no
+one in the line knew him ar Billy, and that no one quite knew what had
+happened. He did not wish to see himself and his fianc�e the subject
+of inch-high headlines in some evening paper figuring as:
+
+"Talented young composer and her famous artist lover take poor girl's
+place in a twenty-five-cent ticket line."
+
+He shivered at the thought.
+
+"Are you cold?" worried Billy. "If you are, don't stand here, please!"
+
+He shook his head silently. His eyes were searching the street for the
+only one whose coming could bring him relief.
+
+It must have been but a coffee-and-sandwich luncheon for the girl, for
+soon she came. The man surmised that it was she, as soon as he saw her,
+and stepped back at once. He had no wish for introductions. A moment
+later the girl was in Billy's place, and Billy herself was at his side.
+
+"That was Alice Greggory, Bertram," she told him, as they walked on
+swiftly; "and Bertram, she was actually almost _crying_ when she took my
+place."
+
+"Humph! Well, I should think she'd better be," growled Bertram,
+perversely.
+
+"Pooh! It didn't hurt me any, dearie," laughed Billy with a conciliatory
+pat on his arm as they turned down the street upon which her friend
+lived. "And now can you come in and see May a minute?"
+
+"I'm afraid not," regretted Bertram. "I wish I could, but I'm busier
+than busy to-day--and I was _supposed_ to be already late when I saw
+you. Jove, Billy, I just couldn't believe my eyes!"
+
+"You looked it," twinkled Billy. "It was worth a farm just to see your
+face!"
+
+"I'd want the farm--if I was going through that again," retorted the
+man, grimly--Bertram was still seeing that newspaper heading.
+
+But Billy only laughed again.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX. ARKWRIGHT TELLS A STORY
+
+
+Arkwright called Monday afternoon by appointment; and together he and
+Billy put the finishing touches to the new song.
+
+It was when, with Aunt Hannah, they were having tea before the fire
+a little later, that Billy told of her adventure the preceding Friday
+afternoon in front of Symphony Hall.
+
+"You knew the girl, of course--I think you said you knew the girl,"
+ventured Arkwright.
+
+"Oh, yes. She was Alice Greggory. I met her with Uncle William first,
+over a Lowestoft teapot. Maybe you'd like to know _how_ I met her,"
+smiled Billy.
+
+"Alice Greggory?" Arkwright's eyes showed a sudden interest. "I used to
+know an Alice Greggory, but it isn't the same one, probably. Her mother
+was a cripple."
+
+Billy gave a little cry.
+
+"Why, it is--it must be! _My_ Alice Greggory's mother is a cripple. Oh,
+do you know them, really?"
+
+"Well, it does look like it," rejoined Arkwright, showing even deeper
+interest. "I haven't seen them for four or five years. They used to live
+in our town. The mother was a little sweet-faced woman with young eyes
+and prematurely white hair."
+
+"That describes my Mrs. Greggory exactly," cried Billy's eager voice.
+"And the daughter?"
+
+"Alice? Why--as I said, it's been four years since I've seen her." A
+touch of constraint had come into Arkwright's voice which Billy's keen
+ear was quick to detect. "She was nineteen then and very pretty."
+
+"About my height, and with light-brown hair and big blue-gray eyes that
+look steely cold when she's angry?" questioned Billy.
+
+"I reckon that's about it," acknowledged the man, with a faint smile.
+
+"Then they _are_ the ones," declared the girl, plainly excited. "Isn't
+that splendid? Now we can know them, and perhaps do something for
+them. I love that dear little mother already, and I think I should the
+daughter--if she didn't put out so many prickers that I couldn't get
+near her! But tell us about them. How did they come here? Why didn't you
+know they were here?"
+
+"Are you good at answering a dozen questions at once?" asked Aunt
+Hannah, turning smiling eyes from Billy to the man at her side.
+
+"Well, I can try," he offered. "To begin with, they are Judge Greggory's
+widow and daughter. They belong to fine families on both sides, and they
+used to be well off--really wealthy, for a small town. But the judge was
+better at money-making than he was at money-keeping, and when he came to
+die his income stopped, of course, and his estate was found to be in bad
+shape through reckless loans and worthless investments. That was eight
+years ago. Things went from bad to worse then, until there was almost
+nothing left."
+
+"I knew there was some such story as that back of them," declared Billy.
+"But how do you suppose they came here?"
+
+"To get away from--everybody, I suspect," replied Arkwright. "That would
+be like them. They were very proud; and it isn't easy, you know, to be
+nobody where you've been somebody. It doesn't hurt quite so hard--to be
+nobody where you've never been anything but nobody."
+
+"I suppose so," sighed Billy. "Still--they must have had friends."
+
+"They did, of course; but when the love of one's friends becomes _too_
+highly seasoned with pity, it doesn't make a pleasant morsel to swallow,
+specially if you don't like the taste of the pity--and there are people
+who don't, you know. The Greggorys were that kind. They were morbidly
+so. From their cheap little cottage, where they did their own work, they
+stepped out in their shabby garments and old-fashioned hats with heads
+even more proudly erect than in the old days when their home and their
+gowns and their doings were the admiration and envy of the town. You
+see, they didn't want--that pity."
+
+"I _do_ see," cried Billy, her face aglow with sudden understanding;
+"and I don't believe pity would be--nice!" Her own chin was held high as
+she spoke.
+
+"It must have been hard, indeed," murmured Aunt Hannah with a sigh, as
+she set down her teacup.
+
+"It was," nodded Arkwright. "Of course Mrs. Greggory, with her crippled
+foot, could do nothing to bring in any money except to sew a little. It
+all depended on Alice; and when matters got to their worst she began
+to teach. She was fond of music, and could play the piano well; and of
+course she had had the best instruction she could get from city teachers
+only twenty miles away from our home town. Young as she was--about
+seventeen when she began to teach, I think--she got a few beginners
+right away, and in two years she had worked up quite a class, meanwhile
+keeping on with her own studies, herself.
+
+"They might have carried the thing through, maybe," continued Arkwright,
+"and never _apparently_ known that the 'pity' existed, if it hadn't been
+for some ugly rumors that suddenly arose attacking the Judge's honesty
+in an old matter that somebody raked up. That was too much. Under this
+last straw their courage broke utterly. Alice dismissed every pupil,
+sold almost all their remaining goods--they had lots of quite valuable
+heirlooms; I suspect that's where your Lowestoft teapot came in--and
+with the money thus gained they left town. Until they could go, they
+scarcely showed themselves once on the street, they were never at home
+to callers, and they left without telling one soul where they were
+going, so far as we could ever learn."
+
+"Why, the poor dears!" cried Billy. "How they must have suffered! But
+things will be different now. You'll go to see them, of course, and--"
+At the look that came into Arkwright's face, she stopped in surprise.
+
+"You forget; they wouldn't wish to see me," demurred the man. And again
+Billy noticed the odd constraint in his voice.
+
+"But they wouldn't mind _you--here_," argued Billy.
+
+"I'm afraid they would. In fact, I'm sure they'd refuse entirely to see
+me."
+
+Billy's eyes grew determined.
+
+"But they can't refuse--if I bring about a meeting just casually, you
+know," she challenged.
+
+Arkwright laughed.
+
+"Well, I won't pretend to say as to the consequences of that," he
+rejoined, rising to his feet; "but they might be disastrous. Wasn't it
+you yourself who were telling me a few minutes ago how steely cold Miss
+Alice's eyes got when she was angry?"
+
+Billy knew by the way the man spoke that, for some reason, he did not
+wish to prolong the subject of his meeting the Greggorys. She made a
+quick shift, therefore, to another phase of the matter.
+
+"But tell me, please, before you go, how did those rumors come
+out--about Judge Greggory's honesty, I mean?"
+
+"Why, I never knew, exactly," frowned Arkwright, musingly. "Yet it
+seems, too, that mother did say in one letter, while I was in Paris,
+that some of the accusations had been found to be false, and that there
+was a prospect that the Judge's good name might be saved, after all."
+
+"Oh, I wish it might," sighed Billy. "Think what it would mean to those
+women!"
+
+"'Twould mean everything," cried Arkwright, warmly; "and I'll write
+to mother to-night, I will, and find out just what there is to it-if
+anything. Then you can tell them," he finished a little stiffly.
+
+"Yes--or you," nodded Billy, lightly. And because she began at once to
+speak of something else, the first part of her sentence passed without
+comment.
+
+The door had scarcely closed behind Arkwright when Billy turned to Aunt
+Hannah a beaming face.
+
+"Aunt Hannah, did you notice?" she cried, "how Mary Jane looked and
+acted whenever Alice Greggory was spoken of? There was something between
+them--I'm sure there was; and they quarrelled, probably."
+
+"Why, no, dear; I didn't see anything unusual," murmured the elder lady.
+
+"Well, I did. And I'm going to be the fairy godmother that straightens
+everything all out, too. See if I'm not! They'd make a splendid couple,
+Aunt Hannah. I'm going right down there to-morrow."
+
+"Billy, my dear!" exclaimed the more conservative old lady, "aren't
+you taking things a little too much for granted? Maybe they don't wish
+for--for a fairy godmother!"
+
+"Oh, _they_ won't know I'm a fairy godmother--not one of them; and of
+course I wouldn't mention even a hint to anybody," laughed Billy. "I'm
+just going down to get acquainted with the Greggorys; that's all. Only
+think, Aunt Hannah, what they must have suffered! And look at the place
+they're living in now--gentlewomen like them!"
+
+"Yes, yes, poor things, poor things!" sighed Aunt Hannah.
+
+"I hope I'll find out that she's really good--at teaching, I mean--the
+daughter," resumed Billy, after a moment's pause. "If she is, there's
+one thing I can do to help, anyhow. I can get some of Marie's old pupils
+for her. I _know_ some of them haven't begun with a new teacher, yet;
+and Mrs. Carleton told me last Friday that neither she nor her sister
+was at all satisfied with the one their girls _have_ taken. They'd
+change, I know, in a minute, at my recommendation--that is, of course,
+if I can _give_ the recommendation," continued Billy, with a troubled
+frown. "Anyhow, I'm going down to begin operations to-morrow."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI. A MATTER OF STRAIGHT BUSINESS
+
+
+True to her assertion, Billy went down to the Greggorys' the next day.
+This time she did not take Rosa with her. Even Aunt Hannah conceded that
+it would not be necessary. She had not been gone ten minutes, however,
+when the telephone bell rang, and Rosa came to say that Mr. Bertram
+Henshaw wanted to speak with Mrs. Stetson.
+
+"Rosa says that Billy's not there," called Bertram's aggrieved voice,
+when Aunt Hannah had said, "Good morning, my boy."
+
+"Dear me, no, Bertram. She's in a fever of excitement this morning.
+She'll probably tell you all about it when you come out here to-night.
+You _are_ coming out to-night, aren't you?"
+
+"Yes; oh, yes! But what is it? Where's she gone?"
+
+Aunt Hannah laughed softly.
+
+"Well, she's gone down to the Greggorys'."
+
+"The Greggorys'! What--again?"
+
+"Oh, you might as well get used to it, Bertram," bantered Aunt Hannah,
+"for there'll be a good many 'agains,' I fancy."
+
+"Why, Aunt Hannah, what do you mean?" Bertram's voice was not quite
+pleased.
+
+"Oh, she'll tell you. It's only that the Greggorys have turned out to be
+old friends of Mr. Arkwright's."
+
+"_Friends_ of Arkwright's!" Bertram's voice was decidedly displeased
+now.
+
+"Yes; and there's quite a story to it all, as well. Billy is wildly
+excited, as you'd know she would be. You'll hear all about it to-night,
+of course."
+
+"Yes, of course," echoed Bertram. But there was no ring of enthusiasm in
+his voice, neither then, nor when he said good-by a moment later.
+
+Billy, meanwhile, on her way to the Greggory home, was, as Aunt Hannah
+had said, "wildly excited." It seemed so strange and wonderful and
+delightful--the whole affair: that she should have found them because
+of a Lowestoft teapot, that Arkwright should know them, and that there
+should be the chance now that she might help them--in some way; though
+this last, she knew, could be accomplished only through the exercise of
+the greatest tact and delicacy. She had not forgotten that Arkwright had
+told her of their hatred of pity.
+
+In the sober second thought of the morning, Billy was not sure now of a
+possible romance in connection with Arkwright and the daughter, Alice;
+but she had by no means abandoned the idea, and she meant to keep
+her eyes open--and if there should be a chance to bring such a thing
+about--! Meanwhile, of course, she should not mention the matter, even
+to Bertram.
+
+Just what would be her method of procedure this first morning, Billy had
+not determined. The pretty potted azalea in her hand would be excuse for
+her entrance into the room. After that, circumstances must decide for
+themselves.
+
+Mrs. Greggory was found to be alone at home as before, and Billy was
+glad. She would rather begin with one than two, she thought. The little
+woman greeted her cordially, gave misty-eyed thanks for the beautiful
+plant, and also for Billy's kind thoughtfulness Friday afternoon. From
+that she was very skilfully led to talk more of the daughter; and
+soon Billy was getting just the information she wanted--information
+concerning the character, aims, and daily life of Alice Greggory.
+
+"You see, we have some money--a very little," explained Mrs.
+Greggory, after a time; "though to get it we have had to sell all our
+treasures--but the Lowestoft," with a quick glance into Billy's
+eyes. "We need not, perhaps, live in quite so poor a place; but we
+prefer--just now--to spend the little money we have for something
+other than imitation comfort--lessons, for instance, and an occasional
+concert. My daughter is studying even while she is teaching. She hopes
+to train herself for an accompanist, and for a teacher. She does not
+aspire to concert solo work. She understands her limitations."
+
+"But she is probably--very good--at teaching." Billy hesitated a little.
+
+"She is; very good. She has the best of recommendations." A little
+proudly Mrs. Greggory gave the names of two Boston pianists--names that
+would carry weight anywhere.
+
+Unconsciously Billy relaxed. She did not know until that moment how
+she had worried for fear she could not, conscientiously, recommend this
+Alice Greggory.
+
+"Of course," resumed the mother, "Alice's pupils are few, and they pay
+low prices; but she is gaining. She goes to the houses, of course. She
+herself practises two hours a day at a house up on Pinckney Street. She
+gives lessons to a little girl in return."
+
+"I see," nodded Billy, brightly; "and I've been thinking, Mrs.
+Greggory--maybe I know of some pupils she could get. I have a friend who
+has just given hers up, owing to her marriage. Sometime, soon, I'm going
+to talk to your daughter, if I may, and--"
+
+"And here she is right now," interposed Mrs. Greggory, as the door
+opened under a hurried hand.
+
+Billy flushed and bit her lip. She was disturbed and disappointed. She
+did not particularly wish to see Alice Greggory just then. She wished
+even less to see her when she noted the swift change that came to the
+girl's face at sight of herself.
+
+"Oh! Why-good morning, Miss Neilson," murmured Miss Greggory with a
+smile so forced that her mother hurriedly looked to the azalea in search
+of a possible peacemaker.
+
+"My dear, see," she stammered, "what Miss Neilson has brought me. And
+it's so full of blossoms, too! And she says it'll remain so for a long,
+long time--if we'll only keep it wet."
+
+Alice Greggory murmured a low something--a something that she tried,
+evidently, very hard to make politely appropriate and appreciative. Yet
+her manner, as she took off her hat and coat and sat down, so plainly
+said: "You are very kind, of course, but I wish you would keep yourself
+and your plants at home!" that Mrs. Greggory began a hurried apology,
+much as if the words had indeed been spoken.
+
+"My daughter is really ill this morning. You mustn't mind--that is, I'm
+afraid you'll think--you see, she took cold last week; a bad cold--and
+she isn't over it, yet," finished the little woman in painful
+embarrassment.
+
+"Of course she took cold--standing all those hours in that horrid wind,
+Friday!" cried Billy, indignantly.
+
+A quick red flew to Alice Greggory's face. Billy saw it at once and
+fervently wished she had spoken of anything but that Friday afternoon.
+It looked almost as if she were _reminding_ them of what she had
+done that day. In her confusion, and in her anxiety to say
+something--anything that would get their minds off that idea--she
+uttered now the first words that came into her head. As it happened,
+they were the last words that sober second thought would have told her
+to say.
+
+"Never mind, Mrs. Greggory. We'll have her all well and strong soon;
+never fear! Just wait till I send Peggy and Mary Jane to take her out
+for a drive one of these mild, sunny days. You have no idea how much
+good it will do her!"
+
+Alice Greggory got suddenly to her feet. Her face was very white now.
+Her eyes had the steely coldness that Billy knew so well. Her voice,
+when she spoke, was low and sternly controlled.
+
+"Miss Neilson, you will think me rude, of course, especially after your
+great kindness to me the other day; but I can't help it. It seems to me
+best to speak now before it goes any further."
+
+"Alice, dear," remonstrated Mrs. Greggory, extending a frightened hand.
+
+The girl did not turn her head nor hesitate; but she caught the extended
+hand and held it warmly in both her own, with gentle little pats, while
+she went on speaking.
+
+"I'm sure mother agrees with me that it is best, for the present, that
+we keep quite to ourselves. I cannot question your kindness, of course,
+after your somewhat unusual favor the other day; but I am very sure that
+your friends, Miss Peggy, and Miss Mary Jane, have no real desire
+to make my acquaintance, nor--if you'll pardon me--have I, under the
+circumstances, any wish to make theirs."
+
+"Oh, Alice, Alice," began the little mother, in dismay; but a rippling
+laugh from their visitor brought an angry flush even to her gentle face.
+
+Billy understood the flush, and struggled for self-control.
+
+"Please--please, forgive me!" she choked. "But you see--you couldn't, of
+course, know that Mary Jane and Peggy aren't _girls_. They're just a man
+and an automobile!"
+
+An unwilling smile trembled on Alice Greggory's lips; but she still
+stood her ground.
+
+"After all, girls, or men and automobiles, Miss Neilson--it makes little
+difference. They're--charity. And it's not so long that we've been
+objects of charity that we quite really enjoy it--yet."
+
+There was a moment's hush. Billy's eyes had filled with tears.
+
+"I never even _thought_--charity," said Billy, so gently that a faint
+red stole into the white cheeks opposite.
+
+For a tense minute Alice Greggory held herself erect; then, with a
+complete change of manner and voice, she released her mother's hand,
+dropped into her own chair again, and said wearily:
+
+"I know you didn't, Miss Neilson. It's all my foolish pride, of course.
+It's only that I was thinking how dearly I would love to meet girls
+again--just as _girls!_ But--I no longer have any business with pride,
+of course. I shall be pleased, I'm sure," she went on dully, "to accept
+anything you may do for us, from automobile rides to--to red flannel
+petticoats."
+
+Billy almost--but not quite--laughed. Still, the laugh would have been
+near to a sob, had it been given. Surprising as was the quick transition
+in the girl's manner, and absurd as was the juxtaposition of automobiles
+and red flannel petticoats, the white misery of Alice Greggory's face
+and the weary despair of her attitude were tragic--specially to one who
+knew her story as did Billy Neilson. And it was because Billy did
+know her story that she did not make the mistake now of offering pity.
+Instead, she said with a bright smile, and a casual manner that gave no
+hint of studied labor:
+
+"Well, as it happens, Miss Greggory, what I want to-day has nothing
+whatever to do with automobiles or red flannel petticoats. It's a
+matter of straight business." (How Billy blessed the thought that had
+so suddenly come to her!) "Your mother tells me you play accompaniments.
+Now a girls' club, of which I am a member, is getting up an operetta for
+charity, and we need an accompanist. There is no one in the club who
+is able, and at the same time willing, to spend the amount of time
+necessary for practice and rehearsals. So we had decided to hire one
+outside, and I have been given the task of finding one. It has occurred
+to me that perhaps you would be willing to undertake it for us. Would
+you?"
+
+Billy knew, at once, from the quick change in the other's face and
+manner, that she had taken exactly the right course to relieve the
+strain of the situation. Despair and lassitude fell away from Alice
+Greggory almost like a garment. Her countenance became alert and
+interested.
+
+"Indeed I would! I should be glad to do it."
+
+"Good! Then can you come out to my home sometime to-morrow, and go over
+the music with me? Rehearsals will not begin until next week; but I can
+give you the music, and tell you something of what we are planning to
+do."
+
+"Yes. I could come at ten in the morning for an hour, or at three in
+the afternoon for two hours or more," replied Miss Greggory, after a
+moment's hesitation.
+
+"Suppose we call it in the afternoon, then," smiled Billy, as she rose
+to her feet. "And now I must go--and here's my address," she finished,
+taking out her card and laying it on the table near her.
+
+For reasons of her own Billy went away that morning without saying
+anything more about the proposed new pupils. New pupils were not
+automobile rides nor petticoats, to be sure--but she did not care to
+risk disturbing the present interested happiness of Alice Greggory's
+face by mentioning anything that might be construed as too officious an
+assistance.
+
+On the whole, Billy felt well pleased with her morning's work. To Aunt
+Hannah, upon her return, she expressed herself thus:
+
+"It's splendid--even better than I hoped. I shall have a chance
+to-morrow, of course, to see for myself just how well she plays, and all
+that. I'm pretty sure, though, from what I hear, that that part will be
+all right. Then the operetta will give us a chance to see a good deal of
+her, and to bring about a natural meeting between her and Mary Jane. Oh,
+Aunt Hannah, I couldn't have _planned_ it better--and there the whole
+thing just tumbled into my hands! I knew it had the minute I remembered
+about the operetta. You know I'm chairman, and they left me to get the
+accompanist; and like a flash it came to me, when I was wondering _what_
+to say or do to get her out of that awful state she was in--'Ask her to
+be your accompanist.' And I did. And I'm so glad I did! Oh, Aunt Hannah,
+it's coming out lovely!--I know it is."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII. PLANS AND PLOTTINGS
+
+
+To Billy, Alice Greggory's first visit to Hillside was in every way a
+delight and a satisfaction. To Alice, it was even more than that.
+For the first time in years she found herself welcomed into a home of
+wealth, culture, and refinement as an equal; and the frank cordiality
+and naturalness of her hostess's evident expectation of meeting a
+congenial companion was like balm to a sensitive soul rendered morbid by
+long years of superciliousness and snubbing.
+
+No wonder that under the cheery friendliness of it all, Alice Greggory's
+cold reserve vanished, and that in its place came something very like
+her old ease and charm of manner. By the time Aunt Hannah--according to
+previous agreement--came into the room, the two girls were laughing and
+chatting over the operetta as if they had known each other for years.
+
+Much to Billy's delight, Alice Greggory, as a musician, proved to be
+eminently satisfactory. She was quick at sight reading, and accurate.
+She played easily, and with good expression. Particularly was she a
+good accompanist, possessing to a marked degree that happy faculty of
+_accompanying_ a singer: which means that she neither led the way nor
+lagged behind, being always exactly in sympathetic step--than which
+nothing is more soul-satisfying to the singer.
+
+It was after the music for the operetta had been well-practised and
+discussed that Alice Greggory chanced to see one of Billy's own songs
+lying near her. With a pleased smile she picked it up.
+
+"Oh, you know this, too!" she cried. "I played it for a lady only the
+other day. It's so pretty, I think--all of hers are, that I have seen.
+Billy Neilson is a girl, you know, they say, in spite of--" She stopped
+abruptly. Her eyes grew wide and questioning. "Miss Neilson--it can't
+be--you don't mean--is your name--it _is--you!_" she finished joyously,
+as the telltale color dyed Billy's face. The next moment her own cheeks
+burned scarlet. "And to think of my letting _you_ stand in line for a
+twenty-five-cent admission!" she scorned.
+
+"Nonsense!" laughed Billy. "It didn't hurt me any more than it did
+you. Come!"--in looking about for a quick something to take her guest's
+attention, Billy's eyes fell on the manuscript copy of her new song,
+bearing Arkwright's name. Yielding to a daring impulse, she drew it
+hastily forward. "Here's a new one--a brand-new one, not even printed
+yet. Don't you think the words are pretty?" she asked.
+
+As she had hoped, Alice Greggory's eyes, after they had glanced half-way
+through the first page, sought the name at the left side below the
+title.
+
+"'Words by M. J.--'"--there was a visible start, and a pause before the
+"'Arkwright'" was uttered in a slightly different tone.
+
+Billy noted both the start and the pause--and gloried in them.
+
+"Yes; the words are by M. J. Arkwright," she said with smooth unconcern,
+but with a covert glance at the other's face. "Ever hear of him?"
+
+Alice Greggory gave a short little laugh.
+
+"Probably not--this one. I used to know an M. J. Arkwright, long ago;
+but he wasn't--a poet, so far as I know," she finished, with a little
+catch in her breath that made Billy long to take her into a warm
+embrace.
+
+Alice Greggory turned then to the music. She had much to say of
+this--very much; but she had nothing more whatever to say of Mr. M. J.
+Arkwright in spite of the tempting conversation bait that Billy dropped
+so freely. After that, Rosa brought in tea and toast, and the little
+frosted cakes that were always such a favorite with Billy's guests. Then
+Alice Greggory said good-by--her eyes full of tears that Billy pretended
+not to see.
+
+"There!" breathed Billy, as soon as she had Aunt Hannah to herself
+again. "What did I tell you? Did you see Miss Greggory's start and blush
+and hear her sigh just over the _name_ of M. J. Arkwright? Just as if--!
+Now I want them to meet; only it must be casual, Aunt Hannah--casual!
+And I'd rather wait till Mary Jane hears from his mother, if possible,
+so if there _is_ anything good to tell the poor girl, he can tell it."
+
+"Yes, of course. Dear child!--I hope he can," murmured Aunt Hannah.
+(Aunt Hannah had ceased now trying to make Billy refrain from the
+reprehensible "Mary Jane." In fact, if the truth were known, Aunt Hannah
+herself in her thoughts--and sometimes in her words--called him "Mary
+Jane.") "But, indeed, my dear, I didn't see anything stiff, or--or
+repelling about Miss Greggory, as you said there was."
+
+"There wasn't--to-day," smiled Billy. "Honestly, Aunt Hannah, I should
+never have known her for the same girl--who showed me the door that
+first morning," she finished merrily, as she turned to go up-stairs.
+
+It was the next day that Cyril and Marie came home from their honeymoon.
+They went directly to their pretty little apartment on Beacon Street,
+Brookline, within easy walking distance of Billy's own cozy home.
+
+Cyril intended to build in a year or two. Meanwhile they had a very
+pretty, convenient home which was, according to Bertram, "electrified
+to within an inch of its life, and equipped with everything that
+was fireless, smokeless, dustless, and laborless." In it Marie had a
+spotlessly white kitchen where she might make puddings to her heart's
+content.
+
+Marie had--again according to Bertram--"a visiting acquaintance with a
+maid." In other words, a stout woman was engaged to come two days in the
+week to wash, iron, and scrub; also to come in each night to wash the
+dinner dishes, thus leaving Marie's evenings free--"for the shaded
+lamp," Billy said.
+
+Marie had not arrived at this--to her, delightful--arrangement of a
+"visiting acquaintance" without some opposition from her friends. Even
+Billy had stood somewhat aghast.
+
+"But, my dear, won't it be hard for you, to do so much?" she argued one
+day. "You know you aren't very strong."
+
+"I know; but it won't be hard, as I've planned it," replied Marie,
+"specially when I've been longing for years to do this very thing. Why,
+Billy, if I had to stand by and watch a maid do all these things I
+want to do myself, I should feel just like--like a hungry man who sees
+another man eating up his dinner! Oh, of course," she added plaintively,
+after Billy's laughter had subsided, "I sha'n't do it always. I don't
+expect to. Of course, when we have a house--I'm not sure, then, though,
+that I sha'n't dress up the maid and order her to receive the calls and
+go to the pink teas, while I make her puddings," she finished saucily,
+as Billy began to laugh again.
+
+The bride and groom, as was proper, were, soon after their arrival,
+invited to dine at both William's and Billy's. Then, until Marie's "At
+Homes" should begin, the devoted couple settled down to quiet days
+by themselves, with only occasional visits from the family to
+interrupt--"interrupt" was Bertram's word, not Marie's. Though it is
+safe to say it was not far different from the one Cyril used--in his
+thoughts.
+
+Bertram himself, these days, was more than busy. Besides working on
+Miss Winthrop's portrait, and on two or three other commissions, he was
+putting the finishing touches to four pictures which he was to show in
+the exhibition soon to be held by a prominent Art Club of which he was
+the acknowledged "star" member. Naturally, therefore, his time was
+well occupied. Naturally, too, Billy, knowing this, lashed herself more
+sternly than ever into a daily reminder of Kate's assertion that he
+belonged first to his Art.
+
+In pursuance of this idea, Billy was careful to see that no engagement
+with herself should in any way interfere with the artist's work, and
+that no word of hers should attempt to keep him at her side when ART
+called. (Billy always spelled that word now in her mind with tall, black
+letters--the way it had sounded when it fell from Kate's lips.) That
+these tactics on her part were beginning to fill her lover with vague
+alarm and a very definite unrest, she did not once suspect. Eagerly,
+therefore,--even with conscientious delight--she welcomed the new
+song-words that Arkwright brought--they would give her something else
+to take up her time and attention. She welcomed them, also, for another
+reason: they would bring Arkwright more often to the house, and this
+would, of course, lead to that "casual meeting" between him and Alice
+Greggory when the rehearsals for the operetta should commence--which
+would be very soon now. And Billy did so long to bring about that
+meeting!
+
+To Billy, all this was but "occupying her mind," and playing Cupid's
+assistant to a worthy young couple torn cruelly apart by an unfeeling
+fate. To Bertram--to Bertram it was terror, and woe, and all manner of
+torture; for in it Bertram saw only a growing fondness on the part
+of Billy for Arkwright, Arkwright's music, Arkwright's words, and
+Arkwright's friends.
+
+The first rehearsal for the operetta came on Wednesday evening. There
+would be another on Thursday afternoon. Billy had told Alice Greggory to
+arrange her pupils so that she could stay Wednesday night at Hillside,
+if the crippled mother could get along alone--and she could, Alice
+had said. Thursday forenoon, therefore, Alice Greggory would, in all
+probability, be at Hillside, specially as there would doubtless be an
+appointment or two for private rehearsal with some nervous soloist whose
+part was not progressing well. Such being the case, Billy had a plan
+she meant to carry out. She was highly pleased, therefore, when Thursday
+morning came, and everything, apparently, was working exactly to her
+mind.
+
+Alice was there. She had an appointment at quarter of eleven with
+the leading tenor, and another later with the alto. After breakfast,
+therefore, Billy said decisively:
+
+"Now, if you please, Miss Greggory, I'm going to put you up-stairs on
+the couch in the sewing-room for a nap."
+
+"But I've just got up," remonstrated Miss Greggory.
+
+"I know you have," smiled Billy; "but you were very late to bed last
+night, and you've got a hard day before you. I insist upon your resting.
+You will be absolutely undisturbed there, and you must shut the door
+and not come down-stairs till I send for you. Mr. Johnson isn't due till
+quarter of eleven, is he?"
+
+"N-no."
+
+"Then come with me," directed Billy, leading the way up-stairs. "There,
+now, don't come down till I call you," she went on, when they had
+reached the little room at the end of the hall. "I'm going to leave Aunt
+Hannah's door open, so you'll have good air--she isn't in there. She's
+writing letters in my room, Now here's a book, and you _may_ read, but
+I should prefer you to sleep," she nodded brightly as she went out and
+shut the door quietly. Then, like the guilty conspirator she was, she
+went down-stairs to wait for Arkwright.
+
+It was a fine plan. Arkwright was due at ten o'clock--Billy had
+specially asked him to come at that hour. He would not know, of course,
+that Alice Greggory was in the house; but soon after his arrival Billy
+meant to excuse herself for a moment, slip up-stairs and send Alice
+Greggory down for a book, a pair of scissors, a shawl for Aunt
+Hannah--anything would do for a pretext, anything so that the girl might
+walk into the living-room and find Arkwright waiting for her alone.
+And then--What happened next was, in Billy's mind, very vague, but very
+attractive as a nucleus for one's thoughts, nevertheless.
+
+All this was, indeed, a fine plan; but--(If only fine plans would not so
+often have a "but"!) In Billy's case the "but" had to do with things
+so apparently unrelated as were Aunt Hannah's clock and a negro's coal
+wagon. The clock struck eleven at half-past ten, and the wagon dumped
+itself to destruction directly in front of a trolley car in which sat
+Mr. M. J. Arkwright, hurrying to keep his appointment with Miss Billy
+Neilson. It was almost half-past ten when Arkwright finally rang the
+bell at Hillside. Billy greeted him so eagerly, and at the same time
+with such evident disappointment at his late arrival, that Arkwright's
+heart sang with joy.
+
+"But there's a rehearsal at quarter of eleven," exclaimed Billy, in
+answer to his hurried explanation of the delay; "and this gives so
+little time for--for--so little time, you know," she finished in
+confusion, casting frantically about in her mind for an excuse to hurry
+up-stairs and send Alice Greggory down before it should be quite too
+late.
+
+No wonder that Arkwright, noting the sparkle in her eye, the agitation
+in her manner, and the embarrassed red in her cheek, took new courage.
+For so long had this girl held him at the end of a major third or a
+diminished seventh; for so long had she blithely accepted his every word
+and act as devotion to music, not herself--for so long had she done all
+this that he had come to fear that never would she do anything else. No
+wonder then, that now, in the soft radiance of the strange, new light on
+her face, his own face glowed ardently, and that he leaned forward with
+an impetuous rush of eager words.
+
+"But there is time, Miss Billy--if you'd give me leave--to say--"
+
+"I'm afraid I kept you waiting," interrupted the hurried voice of Alice
+Greggory from the hall doorway. "I was asleep, I think, when a clock
+somewhere, striking eleven--Why, Mr.--Arkwright!"
+
+Not until Alice Greggory had nearly crossed the room did she see that
+the man standing by her hostess was--not the tenor she had expected
+to find--but an old acquaintance. Then it was that the tremulous
+"Mr.-Arkwright!" fell from her lips.
+
+Billy and Arkwright had turned at her first words. At her last,
+Arkwright, with a half-despairing, half-reproachful glance at Billy,
+stepped forward.
+
+"Miss Greggory!--you _are_ Miss Alice Greggory, I am sure," he said
+pleasantly.
+
+At the first opportunity Billy murmured a hasty excuse and left the
+room. To Aunt Hannah she flew with a woebegone face.
+
+"Oh, Aunt Hannah, Aunt Hannah," she wailed, half laughing, half crying;
+"that wretched little fib-teller of a clock of yours spoiled it all!"
+
+"Spoiled it! Spoiled what, child?"
+
+"My first meeting between Mary Jane and Miss Greggory. I had it all
+arranged that they were to have it _alone_; but that miserable little
+fibber up-stairs struck eleven at half-past ten, and Miss Greggory heard
+it and thought she was fifteen minutes late. So down she hurried, half
+awake, and spoiled all my plans. Now she's sitting in there with him, in
+chairs the length of the room apart, discussing the snowstorm last night
+or the moonrise this morning--or some other such silly thing. And I had
+it so beautifully planned!"
+
+"Well, well, dear, I'm sorry, I'm sure," smiled Aunt Hannah; "but I
+can't think any real harm is done. Did Mary Jane have anything to tell
+her--about her father, I mean?"
+
+Only the faintest flicker of Billy's eyelid testified that the everyday
+accustomedness of that "Mary Jane" on Aunt Hannah's lips had not escaped
+her.
+
+"No, nothing definite. Yet there was a little. Friends are still trying
+to clear his name, and I believe are meeting with increasing success.
+I don't know, of course, whether he'll say anything about it
+to-day--_now_. To think I had to be right round under foot like that
+when they met!" went on Billy, indignantly. "I shouldn't have been, in a
+minute more, though. I was just trying to think up an excuse to come
+up and send down Miss Greggory, when Mary Jane began to tell me
+something--I haven't the faintest idea what--then _she_ appeared, and it
+was all over. And there's the doorbell, and the tenor, I suppose; so of
+course it's all over now," she sighed, rising to go down-stairs.
+
+As it chanced, however, it was not the tenor, but a message from him--a
+message that brought dire consternation to the Chairman of the Committee
+of Arrangements. The tenor had thrown up his part. He could not take it;
+it was too difficult. He felt that this should be told--at once rather
+than to worry along for another week or two, and then give up. So he had
+told it.
+
+"But what shall we do, Miss Greggory?" appealed Billy. "It _is_ a hard
+part, you know; but if Mr. Tobey can't take it, I don't know who can. We
+don't want to hire a singer for it, if we can help it. The profits
+are to go to the Home for Crippled Children, you know," she explained,
+turning to Arkwright, "and we decided to hire only the accompanist."
+
+An odd expression flitted across Miss Greggory's face.
+
+"Mr. Arkwright used to sing--tenor," she observed quietly.
+
+"As if he didn't now--a perfectly glorious tenor," retorted Billy. "But
+as if _he_ would take _this!_"
+
+For only a brief moment did Arkwright hesitate; then blandly he
+suggested:
+
+"Suppose you try him, and see."
+
+Billy sat suddenly erect.
+
+"Would you, really? _Could_ you--take the time, and all?" she cried.
+
+"Yes, I think I would--under the circumstances," he smiled. "I think
+I could, too, though I might not be able to attend all the rehearsals.
+Still, if I find I have to ask permission, I'll endeavor to convince
+the powers-that-be that singing in this operetta will be just the
+stepping-stone I need to success in Grand Opera."
+
+"Oh, if you only would take it," breathed Billy, "we'd be so glad!"
+
+"Well," said Arkwright, his eyes on Billy's frankly delighted face, "as
+I said before--under the circumstances I think I would."
+
+"Thank you! Then it's all beautifully settled," rejoiced Billy, with a
+happy sigh; and unconsciously she gave Alice Greggory's hand near her a
+little pat.
+
+In Billy's mind the "circumstances" of Arkwright's acceptance of the
+part were Alice Greggory and her position as accompanist, of course.
+Billy would have been surprised indeed--and dismayed--had she known that
+in Arkwright's mind the "circumstances" were herself, and the fact that
+she, too, had a part in the operetta, necessitating her presence at
+rehearsals, and hinting at a delightful comradeship impossible, perhaps,
+otherwise.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII. THE CAUSE AND BERTRAM
+
+
+February came The operetta, for which Billy was working so hard, was
+to be given the twentieth. The Art Exhibition, for which Bertram was
+preparing his four pictures, was to open the sixteenth, with a private
+view for specially invited friends the evening before.
+
+On the eleventh day of February Mrs. Greggory and her daughter arrived
+at Hillside for a ten-days' visit. Not until after a great deal of
+pleading and argument, however, had Billy been able to bring this about.
+
+"But, my dears, both of you," Billy had at last said to them; "just
+listen. We shall have numberless rehearsals during those last ten
+days before the thing comes off. They will be at all hours, and of all
+lengths. You, Miss Greggory, will have to be on hand for them all, of
+course, and will have to stay all night several times, probably. You,
+Mrs. Greggory, ought not to be alone down here. There is no sensible,
+valid reason why you should not both come out to the house for those ten
+days; and I shall feel seriously hurt and offended if you do not consent
+to do it."
+
+"But--my pupils," Alice Greggory had demurred.
+
+"You can go in town from my home at any time to give your lessons, and
+a little shifting about and arranging for those ten days will enable you
+to set the hours conveniently one after another, I am sure, so you can
+attend to several on one trip. Meanwhile your mother will be having a
+lovely time teaching Aunt Hannah how to knit a new shawl; so you won't
+have to be worrying about her."
+
+After all, it had been the great good and pleasure which the visit would
+bring to Mrs. Greggory that had been the final straw to tip the scales.
+On the eleventh of February, therefore, in the company of the once
+scorned "Peggy and Mary Jane," Alice Greggory and her mother had arrived
+at Hillside.
+
+Ever since the first meeting of Alice Greggory and Arkwright, Billy had
+been sorely troubled by the conduct of the two young people. She had,
+as she mournfully told herself, been able to make nothing of it. The two
+were civility itself to each other, but very plainly they were not at
+ease in each other's company; and Billy, much to her surprise, had to
+admit that Arkwright did not appear to appreciate the "circumstances"
+now that he had them. The pair called each other, ceremoniously, "Mr.
+Arkwright," and "Miss Greggory"--but then, that, of course, did not
+"signify," Billy declared to herself.
+
+"I suppose you don't ever call him 'Mary Jane,'" she said to the girl, a
+little mischievously, one day.
+
+"'Mary Jane'? Mr. Arkwright? No, I don't," rejoined Miss Greggory, with
+an odd smile. Then, after a moment, she added: "I believe his brothers
+and sisters used to, however."
+
+"Yes, I know," laughed Billy. "We thought he was a real Mary Jane,
+once." And she told the story of his arrival. "So you see," she
+finished, when Alice Greggory had done laughing over the tale, "he
+always will be 'Mary Jane' to us. By the way, what is his name?"
+
+Miss Greggory looked up in surprise.
+
+"Why, it's--" She stopped short, her eyes questioning. "Why, hasn't he
+ever told you?" she queried.
+
+Billy lifted her chin.
+
+"No. He told us to guess it, and we have guessed everything we can think
+of, even up to 'Methuselah John'; but he says we haven't hit it yet."
+
+"'Methuselah John,' indeed!" laughed the other, merrily.
+
+"Well, I'm sure that's a nice, solid name," defended Billy, her chin
+still at a challenging tilt. "If it isn't 'Methuselah John,' what is it,
+then?"
+
+But Alice Greggory shook her head. She, too, it seemed, could be firm,
+on occasion. And though she smiled brightly, all she would say, was:
+
+"If he hasn't told you, I sha'n't. You'll have to go to him."
+
+"Oh, well, I can still call him 'Mary Jane,'" retorted Billy, with airy
+disdain.
+
+All this, however, so far as Billy could see, was not in the least
+helping along the cause that had become so dear to her--the reuniting of
+a pair of lovers. It occurred to her then, one day, that perhaps, after
+all, they were not lovers, and did not wish to be reunited. At
+this disquieting thought Billy decided, suddenly, to go almost to
+headquarters. She would speak to Mrs. Greggory if ever the opportunity
+offered. Great was her joy, therefore, when, a day or two after the
+Greggorys arrived at the house, Mrs. Greggory's chance reference to
+Arkwright and her daughter gave Billy the opportunity she sought.
+
+"They used to know each other long ago, Mr. Arkwright tells me," Billy
+began warily.
+
+"Yes."
+
+The quietly polite monosyllable was not very encouraging, to be sure;
+but Billy, secure in her conviction that her cause was a righteous one,
+refused to be daunted.
+
+"I think it was so romantic--their running across each other like this,
+Mrs. Greggory," she murmured. "And there _was_ a romance, wasn't there?
+I have just felt in my bones that there was--a romance!"
+
+Billy held her breath. It was what she had meant to say, but now that
+she had said it, the words seemed very fearsome indeed--to say to Mrs.
+Greggory. Then Billy remembered her Cause, and took heart--Billy was
+spelling it now with a capital C.
+
+For a long minute Mrs. Greggory did not answer--for so long a minute
+that Billy's breath dropped into a fluttering sigh, and her Cause became
+suddenly "IMPERTINENCE" spelled in black capitals. Then Mrs. Greggory
+spoke slowly, a little sadly.
+
+"I don't mind saying to you that I did hope, once, that there would be a
+romance there. They were the best of friends, and they were well-suited
+to each other in tastes and temperament. I think, indeed, that the
+romance was well under way (though there was never an engagement)
+when--" Mrs. Greggory paused and wet her lips. Her voice, when she
+resumed, carried the stern note so familiar to Billy in her first
+acquaintance with this woman and her daughter. "As I presume
+Mr. Arkwright has told you, we have met with many changes in our
+life--changes which necessitated a new home and a new mode of
+living. Naturally, under those circumstances, old friends--and old
+romances--must change, too."
+
+"But, Mrs. Greggory," stammered Billy, "I'm sure Mr. Arkwright would
+want--" An up-lifted hand silenced her peremptorily.
+
+"Mr. Arkwright was very kind, and a gentleman, always," interposed the
+lady, coldly; "but Judge Greggory's daughter would not allow herself
+to be placed where apologies for her father would be necessary--_ever!_
+There, please, dear Miss Neilson, let us not talk of it any more,"
+begged Mrs. Greggory, brokenly.
+
+"No, indeed, of course not!" cried Billy; but her heart rejoiced.
+
+She understood it all now. Arkwright and Alice Greggory had been almost
+lovers when the charges against the Judge's honor had plunged the family
+into despairing humiliation. Then had come the time when, according
+to Arkwright's own story, the two women had shut themselves indoors,
+refused to see their friends, and left town as soon as possible. Thus
+had come the breaking of whatever tie there was between Alice Greggory
+and Arkwright. Not to have broken it would have meant, for Alice, the
+placing of herself in a position where, sometime, apologies must be made
+for her father. This was what Mrs. Greggory had meant--and again, as
+Billy thought of it, Billy's heart rejoiced.
+
+Was not her way clear now before her? Did she not have it in her power,
+possibly--even probably--to bring happiness where only sadness was
+before? As if it would not be a simple thing to rekindle the old
+flame--to make these two estranged hearts beat as one again!
+
+Not now was the Cause an IMPERTINENCE in tall black letters. It was,
+instead, a shining beacon in letters of flame guiding straight to
+victory.
+
+Billy went to sleep that night making plans for Alice Greggory and
+Arkwright to be thrown together naturally--"just as a matter of course,
+you know," she said drowsily to herself, all in the dark.
+
+Some three or four miles away down Beacon Street at that moment Bertram
+Henshaw, in the Strata, was, as it happened, not falling asleep. He was
+lying broadly and unhappily awake Bertram very frequently lay broadly
+and unhappily awake these days--or rather nights. He told himself, on
+these occasions, that it was perfectly natural--indeed it was!--that
+Billy should be with Arkwright and his friends, the Greggorys, so much.
+There were the new songs, and the operetta with its rehearsals as a
+cause for it all. At the same time, deep within his fearful soul was the
+consciousness that Arkwright, the Greggorys, and the operetta were but
+Music--Music, the spectre that from the first had dogged his footsteps.
+
+With Billy's behavior toward himself, Bertram could find no fault. She
+was always her sweet, loyal, lovable self, eager to hear of his work,
+earnestly solicitous that it should be a success. She even--as he
+sometimes half-irritably remembered--had once told him that she realized
+he belonged to Art before he did to himself; and when he had indignantly
+denied this, she had only laughed and thrown a kiss at him, with the
+remark that he ought to hear his sister Kate's opinion of that matter.
+As if he wanted Kate's opinion on that or anything else that concerned
+him and Billy!
+
+Once, torn by jealousy, and exasperated at the frequent interruptions of
+their quiet hours together, he had complained openly.
+
+"Actually, Billy, it's worse than Marie's wedding," he declared, "_Then_
+it was tablecloths and napkins that could be dumped in a chair. _Now_
+it's a girl who wants to rehearse, or a woman that wants a different
+wig, or a telephone message that the sopranos have quarrelled again. I
+loathe that operetta!"
+
+Billy laughed, but she frowned, too.
+
+"I know, dear; I don't like that part. I wish they _would_ let me alone
+when I'm with you! But as for the operetta, it is really a good thing,
+dear, and you'll say so when you see it. It's going to be a great
+success--I can say that because my part is only a small one, you know.
+We shall make lots of money for the Home, too, I'm sure."
+
+"But you're wearing yourself all out with it, dear," scowled Bertram.
+
+"Nonsense! I like it; besides, when I'm doing this I'm not telephoning
+you to come and amuse me. Just think what a lot of extra time you have
+for your work!"
+
+"Don't want it," avowed Bertram.
+
+"But the _work_ may," retorted Billy, showing all her dimples. "Never
+mind, though; it'll all be over after the twentieth. _This_ isn't an
+understudy like Marie's wedding, you know," she finished demurely.
+
+"Thank heaven for that!" Bertram had breathed fervently. But even as he
+said the words he grew sick with fear. What if, after all, this _were_
+an understudy to what was to come later when Music, his rival, had
+really conquered?
+
+Bertram knew that however secure might seem Billy's affection for
+himself, there was still in his own mind a horrid fear lest underneath
+that security were an unconscious, growing fondness for something he
+could not give, for some one that he was not--a fondness that would one
+day cause Billy to awake. As Bertram, in his morbid fancy pictured it,
+he realized only too well what that awakening would mean to himself.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV. THE ARTIST AND HIS ART
+
+
+The private view of the paintings and drawings of the Brush and Pencil
+Club on the evening of the fifteenth was a great success. Society sent
+its fairest women in frocks that were pictures in themselves. Art
+sent its severest critics and its most ardent devotees. The Press sent
+reporters that the World might know what Art and Society were doing, and
+how they did it.
+
+Before the canvases signed with Bertram Henshaw's name there was always
+to be found an admiring group representing both Art and Society with
+the Press on the outskirts to report. William Henshaw, coming unobserved
+upon one such group, paused a moment to smile at the various more or
+less disconnected comments.
+
+"What a lovely blue!"
+
+"Marvellous color sense!"
+
+"Now those shadows are--"
+
+"He gets his high lights so--"
+
+"I declare, she looks just like Blanche Payton!"
+
+"Every line there is full of meaning."
+
+"I suppose it's very fine, but--"
+
+"Now, I say, Henshaw is--"
+
+"Is this by the man that's painting Margy Winthrop's portrait?"
+
+"It's idealism, man, idealism!"
+
+"I'm going to have a dress just that shade of blue."
+
+"Isn't that just too sweet!"
+
+"Now for realism, I consider Henshaw--"
+
+"There aren't many with his sensitive, brilliant touch."
+
+"Oh, what a pretty picture!"
+
+William moved on then.
+
+Billy was rapturously proud of Bertram that evening. He was, of course,
+the centre of congratulations and hearty praise. At his side, Billy,
+with sparkling eyes, welcomed each smiling congratulation and gloried in
+every commendatory word she heard.
+
+"Oh, Bertram, isn't it splendid! I'm so proud of you," she whispered
+softly, when a moment's lull gave her opportunity.
+
+"They're all words, words, idle words," he laughed; but his eyes shone.
+
+"Just as if they weren't all true!" she bridled, turning to greet
+William, who came up at that moment. "Isn't it fine, Uncle William?" she
+beamed. "And aren't we proud of him?"
+
+"We are, indeed," smiled the man. "But if you and Bertram want to get
+the real opinion of this crowd, you should go and stand near one of his
+pictures five minutes. As a sort of crazy--quilt criticism it can't be
+beat."
+
+"I know," laughed Bertram. "I've done it, in days long gone."
+
+"Bertram, not really?" cried Billy.
+
+"Sure! As if every young artist at the first didn't don goggles or a
+false mustache and study the pictures on either side of his own till he
+could paint them with his eyes shut!"
+
+"And what did you hear?" demanded the girl.
+
+"What didn't I hear?" laughed her lover. "But I didn't do it but once
+or twice. I lost my head one day and began to argue the question of
+perspective with a couple of old codgers who were criticizing a bit of
+foreshortening that was my special pet. I forgot my goggles and sailed
+in. The game was up then, of course; and I never put them on again. But
+it was worth a farm to see their faces when I stood 'discovered' as the
+stage-folk say."
+
+"Serves you right, sir--listening like that," scolded Billy.
+
+Bertram laughed and shrugged his shoulders.
+
+"Well, it cured me, anyhow. I haven't done it since," he declared.
+
+It was some time later, on the way home, that Bertram said:
+
+"It was gratifying, of course, Billy, and I liked it. It would be absurd
+to say I didn't like the many pleasant words of apparently sincere
+appreciation I heard to-night. But I couldn't help thinking of the next
+time--always the next time."
+
+"The next time?" Billy's eyes were slightly puzzled.
+
+"That I exhibit, I mean. The Bohemian Ten hold their exhibition next
+month, you know. I shall show just one picture--the portrait of Miss
+Winthrop."
+
+"Oh, Bertram!"
+
+"It'll be 'Oh, Bertram!' then, dear, if it isn't a success," he sighed.
+"I don't believe you realize yet what that thing is going to mean for
+me."
+
+"Well, I should think I might," retorted Billy, a little tremulously,
+"after all I've heard about it. I should think _everybody_ knew you were
+doing it, Bertram. Actually, I'm not sure Marie's scrub-lady won't ask
+me some day how Mr. Bertram's picture is coming on!"
+
+"That's the dickens of it, in a way," sighed Bertram, with a faint
+smile. "I am amazed--and a little frightened, I'll admit--at the
+universality of the interest. You see, the Winthrops have been pleased
+to spread it, for one reason or another, and of course many already know
+of the failures of Anderson and Fullam. That's why, if I should fail--"
+
+"But you aren't going to fail," interposed the girl, resolutely.
+
+"No, I know I'm not. I only said 'if,'" fenced the man, his voice not
+quite steady.
+
+"There isn't going to be any 'if,'" settled Billy. "Now tell me, when is
+the exhibition?"
+
+"March twentieth--the private view. Mr. Winthrop is not only willing,
+but anxious, that I show it. I wasn't sure that he'd want me to--in
+an exhibition. But it seems he does. His daughter says he has every
+confidence in the portrait and wants everybody to see it."
+
+"That's where he shows his good sense," declared Billy. Then, with
+just a touch of constraint, she asked: "And how is the new, latest pose
+coming on?"
+
+"Very well, I think," answered Bertram, a little hesitatingly. "We've
+had so many, many interruptions, though, that it is surprising how slow
+it is moving. In the first place, Miss Winthrop is gone more than half
+the time (she goes again to-morrow for a week!), and in this portrait
+I'm not painting a stroke without my model before me. I mean to take no
+chances, you see; and Miss Winthrop is perfectly willing to give me all
+the sittings I wish for. Of course, if she hadn't changed the pose and
+costume so many times, it would have been done long ago--and she knows
+it."
+
+"Of course--she knows it," murmured Billy, a little faintly, but with a
+peculiar intonation in her voice.
+
+"And so you see," sighed Bertram, "what the twentieth of March is going
+to mean for me."
+
+"It's going to mean a splendid triumph!" asserted Billy; and this time
+her voice was not faint, and it carried only a ring of loyal confidence.
+
+"You blessed comforter!" murmured Bertram, giving with his eyes the
+caress that his lips would so much have preferred to give--under more
+propitious circumstances.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV. THE OPERETTA
+
+
+The sixteenth, seventeenth, and eighteenth of February were, for Billy,
+and for all concerned in the success of the operetta, days of hurry,
+worry, and feverish excitement, as was to be expected, of course. Each
+afternoon and every evening saw rehearsals in whole, or in parts. A
+friend of the Club-president's sister-in-law-a woman whose husband was
+stage manager of a Boston theatre--had consented to come and "coach"
+the performers. At her appearance the performers--promptly thrown into
+nervous spasms by this fearsome nearness to the "real thing"--forgot
+half their cues, and conducted themselves generally like frightened
+school children on "piece day," much to their own and every one else's
+despair. Then, on the evening of the nineteenth, came the final dress
+rehearsal on the stage of the pretty little hall that had been engaged
+for the performance of the operetta.
+
+The dress rehearsal, like most of its kind, was, for every one, nothing
+but a nightmare of discord, discouragement, and disaster. Everybody's
+nerves were on edge, everybody was sure the thing would be a "flat
+failure." The soprano sang off the key, the alto forgot to shriek
+"Beware, beware!" until it was so late there was nothing to beware of;
+the basso stepped on Billy's trailing frock and tore it; even the tenor,
+Arkwright himself, seemed to have lost every bit of vim from his acting.
+The chorus sang "Oh, be joyful!" with dirge-like solemnity, and danced
+as if legs and feet were made of wood. The lovers, after the fashion of
+amateur actors from time immemorial, "made love like sticks."
+
+Billy, when the dismal thing had dragged its way through the final
+note, sat "down front," crying softly in the semi-darkness while she
+was waiting for Alice Greggory to "run it through just once more" with a
+pair of tired-faced, fluffy-skirted fairies who could _not_ learn that a
+duet meant a _duet_--not two solos, independently hurried or retarded as
+one's fancy for the moment dictated.
+
+To Billy, just then, life did not look to be even half worth the living.
+Her head ached, her throat was going-to-be-sore, her shoe hurt, and her
+dress--the trailing frock that had been under the basso's foot--could
+not possibly be decently repaired before to-morrow night, she was sure.
+
+Bad as these things were, however, they were only the intimate,
+immediate woes. Beyond and around them lay others many others. To be
+sure, Bertram and happiness were supposed to be somewhere in the dim
+and uncertain future; but between her and them lay all these other woes,
+chief of which was the unutterable tragedy of to-morrow night.
+
+It was to be a failure, of course. Billy had calmly made up her mind to
+that, now. But then, she was used to failures, she told herself. Was she
+not plainly failing every day of her life to bring about even friendship
+between Alice Greggory and Arkwright? Did they not emphatically and
+systematically refuse to be "thrown together," either naturally, or
+unnaturally? And yet--whenever again could she expect such opportunities
+to further her Cause as had been hers the past few weeks, through the
+operetta and its rehearsals? Certainly, never again! It had been a
+failure like all the rest; like the operetta, in particular.
+
+Billy did not mean that any one should know she was crying. She supposed
+that all the performers except herself and the two earth-bound fairies
+by the piano with Alice Greggory were gone. She knew that John with
+Peggy was probably waiting at the door outside, and she hoped that soon
+the fairies would decide to go home and go to bed, and let other people
+do the same. For her part, she did not see why they were struggling so
+hard, anyway. Why needn't they go ahead and sing their duet like two
+solos if they wanted to? As if a little thing like that could make a
+feather's weight of difference in the grand total of to-morrow night's
+wretchedness when the final curtain should have been rung down on their
+shame!
+
+"Miss Neilson, you aren't--crying!" exclaimed a low voice; and Billy
+turned to find Arkwright standing by her side in the dim light.
+
+"Oh, no--yes--well, maybe I was, a little," stammered Billy, trying to
+speak very unconcernedly. "How warm it is in here! Do you think it's
+going to rain?--that is, outdoors, of course, I mean."
+
+Arkwright dropped into the seat behind Billy and leaned forward, his
+eyes striving to read the girl's half-averted face. If Billy had turned,
+she would have seen that Arkwright's own face showed white and a little
+drawn-looking in the feeble rays from the light by the piano. But
+Billy did not turn. She kept her eyes steadily averted; and she went on
+speaking--airy, inconsequential words.
+
+"Dear me, if those girls _would_ only pull together! But then, what's
+the difference? I supposed you had gone home long ago, Mr. Arkwright."
+
+"Miss Neilson, you _are_ crying!" Arkwright's voice was low and
+vibrant. "As if anything or anybody in the world _could_ make _you_ cry!
+Please--you have only to command me, and I will sally forth at once to
+slay the offender." His words were light, but his voice still shook with
+emotion.
+
+Billy gave an hysterical little giggle. Angrily she brushed the
+persistent tears from her eyes.
+
+"All right, then; I'll dub you my Sir Knight," she faltered. "But I'll
+warn you--you'll have your hands full. You'll have to slay my headache,
+and my throat-ache, and my shoe that hurts, and the man who stepped on
+my dress, and--and everybody in the operetta, including myself."
+
+"Everybody--in the operetta!" Arkwright did look a little startled, at
+this wholesale slaughter.
+
+"Yes. Did you ever see such an awful, awful thing as that was to-night?"
+moaned the girl.
+
+Arkwright's face relaxed.
+
+"Oh, so _that's_ what it is!" he laughed lightly. "Then it's only a bogy
+of fear that I've got to slay, after all; and I'll despatch that right
+now with a single blow. Dress rehearsals always go like that to-night.
+I've been in a dozen, and I never yet saw one go half decent. Don't you
+worry. The worse the rehearsal, the better the performance, every time!"
+
+Billy blinked off the tears and essayed a smile as she retorted:
+
+"Well, if that's so, then ours to-morrow night ought to be a--a--"
+
+"A corker," helped out Arkwright, promptly; "and it will be, too. You
+poor child, you're worn out; and no wonder! But don't worry another
+bit about the operetta. Now is there anything else I can do for you?
+Anything else I can slay?"
+
+Billy laughed tremulously.
+
+"N-no, thank you; not that you can--slay, I fancy," she sighed.
+"That is--not that you _will_," she amended wistfully, with a sudden
+remembrance of the Cause, for which he might do so much--if he only
+would.
+
+Arkwright bent a little nearer. His breath stirred the loose, curling
+hair behind Billy's ear. His eyes had flashed into sudden fire.
+
+"But you don't know what I'd do if I could," he murmured unsteadily. "If
+you'd let me tell you--if you only knew the wish that has lain closest
+to my heart for--"
+
+"Miss Neilson, please," called the despairing voice of one of the
+earth-bound fairies; "Miss Neilson, you _are_ there, aren't you?"
+
+"Yes, I'm right here," answered Billy, wearily. Arkwright answered, too,
+but not aloud--which was wise.
+
+"Oh dear! you're tired, I know," wailed the fairy, "but if you would
+please come and help us just a minute! Could you?"
+
+"Why, yes, of course." Billy rose to her feet, still wearily.
+
+Arkwright touched her arm. She turned and saw his face. It was very
+white--so white that her eyes widened in surprised questioning.
+
+As if answering the unspoken words, the man shook his head.
+
+"I can't, now, of course," he said. "But there _is_ something I want to
+say--a story I want to tell you--after to-morrow, perhaps. May I?"
+
+To Billy, the tremor of his voice, the suffering in his eyes, and the
+"story" he was begging to tell could have but one interpretation: Alice
+Greggory. Her face, therefore, was a glory of tender sympathy as she
+reached out her hand in farewell.
+
+"Of course you may," she cried. "Come any time after to-morrow night,
+please," she smiled encouragingly, as she turned toward the stage.
+
+Behind her, Arkwright stumbled twice as he walked up the incline toward
+the outer door--stumbled, not because of the semi-darkness of the little
+theatre, but because of the blinding radiance of a girl's illumined face
+which he had, a moment before, read all unknowingly exactly wrong.
+
+
+A little more than twenty-four hours later, Billy Neilson, in her own
+room, drew a long breath of relief. It was twelve o'clock on the night
+of the twentieth, and the operetta was over.
+
+To Billy, life was eminently worth living to-night. Her head did not
+ache, her throat was not sore, her shoe did not hurt, her dress had
+been mended so successfully by Aunt Hannah, and with such comforting
+celerity, that long before night one would never have suspected the
+filmy thing had known the devastating tread of any man's foot. Better
+yet, the soprano had sung exactly to key, the alto had shrieked
+"Beware!" to thrilling purpose, Arkwright had shown all his old charm
+and vim, and the chorus had been prodigies of joyousness and marvels
+of lightness. Even the lovers had lost their stiffness, while the two
+earth-bound fairies of the night before had found so amiable a meeting
+point that their solos sounded, to the uninitiated, very like, indeed,
+a duet. The operetta was, in short, a glorious and gratifying success,
+both artistically and financially. Nor was this all that, to Billy, made
+life worth the living: Arkwright had begged permission that evening to
+come up the following afternoon to tell her his "story"; and Billy, who
+was so joyously confident that this story meant the final crowning of
+her Cause with victory, had given happy consent.
+
+Bertram was to come up in the evening, and Billy was anticipating that,
+too, particularly: it had been so long since they had known a really
+free, comfortable evening together, with nothing to interrupt.
+Doubtless, too, after Arkwright's visit of the afternoon, she would be
+in a position to tell Bertram the story of the suspended romance between
+Arkwright and Miss Greggory, and perhaps something, also, of her own
+efforts to bring the couple together again. On the whole, life did,
+indeed, look decidedly worth the living as Billy, with a contented sigh,
+turned over to go to sleep.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI. ARKWRIGHT TELLS ANOTHER STORY
+
+
+Promptly at the suggested hour on the day after the operetta, Arkwright
+rang Billy Neilson's doorbell. Promptly, too, Billy herself came into
+the living-room to greet him.
+
+Billy was in white to-day--a soft, creamy white wool with a touch of
+black velvet at her throat and in her hair. The man thought she had
+never looked so lovely: Arkwright was still under the spell wrought by
+the soft radiance of Billy's face the two times he had mentioned his
+"story."
+
+Until the night before the operetta Arkwright had been more than
+doubtful of the way that story would be received, should he ever
+summon the courage to tell it. Since then his fears had been changed to
+rapturous hopes. It was very eagerly, therefore, that he turned now to
+greet Billy as she came into the room.
+
+"Suppose we don't have any music to-day. Suppose we give the whole time
+up to the story," she smiled brightly, as she held out her hand.
+
+Arkwright's heart leaped; but almost at once it throbbed with a vague
+uneasiness. He would have preferred to see her blush and be a little shy
+over that story. Still--there was a chance, of course, that she did not
+know what the story was. But if that were the case, what of the radiance
+in her face? What of--Finding himself in a tangled labyrinth that led
+apparently only to disappointment and disaster, Arkwright pulled himself
+up with a firm hand.
+
+"You are very kind," he murmured, as he relinquished her fingers and
+seated himself near her. "You are sure, then, that you wish to hear the
+story?"
+
+"Very sure," smiled Billy.
+
+Arkwright hesitated. Again he longed to see a little embarrassment in
+the bright face opposite. Suddenly it came to him, however, that if
+Billy knew what he was about to say, it would manifestly not be her part
+to act as if she knew! With a lighter heart, then, he began his story.
+
+"You want it from the beginning?"
+
+"By all means! I never dip into books, nor peek at the ending. I don't
+think it's fair to the author."
+
+"Then I will, indeed, begin at the beginning," smiled Arkwright, "for
+I'm specially anxious that you shall be--even more than 'fair' to me."
+His voice shook a little, but he hurried on. "There's a--girl--in it; a
+very dear, lovely girl."
+
+"Of course--if it's a nice story," twinkled Billy.
+
+"And--there's a man, too. It's a love story, you see."
+
+"Again of course--if it's interesting." Billy laughed mischievously, but
+she flushed a little.
+
+"Still, the man doesn't amount to much, after all, perhaps. I might as
+well own up at the beginning--I'm the man."
+
+"That will do for you to say, as long as you're telling the story,"
+smiled Billy. "We'll let it pass for proper modesty on your part. But I
+shall say--the personal touch only adds to the interest."
+
+Arkwright drew in his breath.
+
+"We'll hope--it'll really be so," he murmured.
+
+There was a moment's silence. Arkwright seemed to be hesitating what to
+say.
+
+"Well?" prompted Billy, with a smile. "We have the hero and the heroine;
+now what happens next? Do you know," she added, "I have always thought
+that part must bother the story-writers--to get the couple to doing
+interesting things, after they'd got them introduced."
+
+Arkwright sighed.
+
+"Perhaps--on paper; but, you see, my story has been _lived_, so far. So
+it's quite different."
+
+"Very well, then--what did happen?" smiled Billy.
+
+"I was trying to think--of the first thing. You see it began with a
+picture, a photograph of the girl. Mother had it. I saw it, and wanted
+it, and--" Arkwright had started to say "and took it." But he stopped
+with the last two words unsaid. It was not time, yet, he deemed, to tell
+this girl how much that picture had been to him for so many months past.
+He hurried on a little precipitately. "You see, I had heard about this
+girl a lot; and I liked--what I heard."
+
+"You mean--you didn't know her--at the first?" Billy's eyes were
+surprised. Billy had supposed that Arkwright had always known Alice
+Greggory.
+
+"No, I didn't know the girl--till afterwards. Before that I was always
+dreaming and wondering what she would be like."
+
+"Oh!" Billy subsided into her chair, still with the puzzled questioning
+in her eyes.
+
+"Then I met her."
+
+"Yes?"
+
+"And she was everything and more than I had pictured her."
+
+"And you fell in love at once?" Billy's voice had grown confident again.
+
+"Oh, I was already in love," sighed Arkwright. "I simply sank deeper."
+
+"Oh-h!" breathed Billy, sympathetically. "And the girl?"
+
+"She didn't care--or know--for a long time. I'm not really sure she
+cares--or knows--even now." Arkwright's eyes were wistfully fixed on
+Billy's face.
+
+"Oh, but you can't tell, always, about girls," murmured Billy,
+hurriedly. A faint pink had stolen to her forehead. She was thinking of
+Alice Greggory, and wondering if, indeed, Alice did care; and if she,
+Billy, might dare to assure this man--what she believed to be true--that
+his sweetheart was only waiting for him to come to her and tell her that
+he loved her.
+
+Arkwright saw the color sweep to Billy's forehead, and took sudden
+courage. He leaned forward eagerly. A tender light came to his eyes. The
+expression on his face was unmistakable.
+
+"Billy, do you mean, really, that there is--hope for me?" he begged
+brokenly.
+
+Billy gave a visible start. A quick something like shocked terror came
+to her eyes. She drew back and would have risen to her feet had the
+thought not come to her that twice before she had supposed a man was
+making love to her, when subsequent events proved that she had been
+mortifyingly mistaken: once when Cyril had told her of his love for
+Marie; and again when William had asked her to come back as a daughter
+to the house she had left desolate.
+
+Telling herself sternly now not to be for the third time a "foolish
+little simpleton," she summoned all her wits, forced a cheery smile to
+her lips, and said:
+
+"Well, really, Mr. Arkwright, of course I can't answer for the girl, so
+I'm not the one to give hope; and--"
+
+"But you are the one," interrupted the man, passionately. "You're the
+only one! As if from the very first I hadn't loved you, and--"
+
+"No, no, not that--not that! I'm mistaken! I'm not understanding what
+you mean," pleaded a horror-stricken voice. Billy was on her feet now,
+holding up two protesting hands, palms outward.
+
+"Miss Neilson, you don't mean--that you haven't known--all this
+time--that it was you?" The man, now, was on his feet, his eyes hurt and
+unbelieving, looking into hers.
+
+Billy paled. She began slowly to back away. Her eyes, still fixed on
+his, carried the shrinking terror of one who sees a horrid vision.
+
+"But you know--you _must_ know that I am not yours to win!" she
+reproached him sharply. "I'm to be Bertram Henshaw's--_wife_." From
+Billy's shocked young lips the word dropped with a ringing force that
+was at once accusatory and prohibitive. It was as if, by the mere
+utterance of the word, wife, she had drawn a sacred circle about her and
+placed herself in sanctuary.
+
+From the blazing accusation in her eyes Arkwright fell back.
+
+"Wife! You are to be Bertram Henshaw's wife!" he exclaimed. There was no
+mistaking the amazed incredulity on his face.
+
+Billy caught her breath. The righteous indignation in her eyes fled, and
+a terrified appeal took its place.
+
+"You don't mean that you _didn't--know?_" she faltered.
+
+There was a moment's silence. A power quite outside herself kept Billy's
+eyes on Arkwright's face, and forced her to watch the change there from
+unbelief to belief, and from belief to set misery.
+
+"No, I did not know," said the man then, dully, as he turned, rested his
+arm on the mantel behind him, and half shielded his face with his hand.
+
+Billy sank into a low chair. Her fingers fluttered nervously to her
+throat. Her piteous, beseeching eyes were on the broad back and bent
+head of the man before her.
+
+"But I--I don't see how you could have helped--knowing," she stammered
+at last. "I don't see how such a thing could have happened that you
+shouldn't know!"
+
+"I've been trying to think, myself," returned the man, still in a dull,
+emotionless voice.
+
+"It's been so--so much a matter of course. I supposed everybody knew
+it," maintained Billy.
+
+"Perhaps that's just it--that it was--so much a matter of course,"
+rejoined the man. "You see, I know very few of your friends, anyway--who
+would be apt to mention it to me."
+
+"But the announcements--oh, you weren't here then," moaned Billy. "But
+you must have known that--that he came here a good deal--that we were
+together so much!"
+
+"To a certain extent, yes," sighed Arkwright. "But I took your
+friendship with him and his brothers as--as a matter of course. _That_
+was _my_ 'matter of course,' you see," he went on bitterly. "I knew
+you were Mr. William Henshaw's namesake, and Calderwell had told me
+the story of your coming to them when you were left alone in the world.
+Calderwell had said, too, that--" Arkwright paused, then hurried on a
+little constrainedly--"well, he said something that led me to think Mr.
+Bertram Henshaw was not a marrying man, anyway."
+
+Billy winced and changed color. She had noticed the pause, and she knew
+very well what it was that Calderwell had said to occasion that pause.
+Must _always_ she be reminded that no one expected Bertram Henshaw to
+love any girl--except to paint?
+
+"But--but Mr. Calderwell must know about the engagement--now," she
+stammered.
+
+"Very likely, but I have not happened to hear from him since my arrival
+in Boston. We do not correspond."
+
+There was a long silence, then Arkwright spoke again.
+
+"I think I understand now--many things. I wonder I did not see them
+before; but I never thought of Bertram Henshaw's being--If Calderwell
+hadn't said--" Again Arkwright stopped with his sentence half complete,
+and again Billy winced. "I've been a blind fool. I was so intent on my
+own--I've been a blind fool; that's all," repeated Arkwright, with a
+break in his voice.
+
+Billy tried to speak, but instead of words, there came only a choking
+sob.
+
+Arkwright turned sharply.
+
+"Miss Neilson, don't--please," he begged. "There is no need that you
+should suffer--too."
+
+"But I am so ashamed that such a thing _could_ happen," she faltered.
+"I'm sure, some way, I must be to blame. But I never thought. I was
+blind, too. I was wrapped up in my own affairs. I never suspected. I
+never even _thought_ to suspect! I thought of course you knew. It was
+just the music that brought us together, I supposed; and you were
+just like one of the family, anyway. I always thought of you as Aunt
+Hannah's--" She stopped with a vivid blush.
+
+"As Aunt Hannah's niece, Mary Jane, of course," supplied Arkwright,
+bitterly, turning back to his old position. "And that was my own fault,
+too. My name, Miss Neilson, is Michael Jeremiah," he went on wearily,
+after a moment's hesitation, his voice showing his utter abandonment to
+despair. "When a boy at school I got heartily sick of the 'Mike' and
+the 'Jerry' and the even worse 'Tom and Jerry' that my young friends
+delighted in; so as soon as possible I sought obscurity and peace in 'M.
+J.' Much to my surprise and annoyance the initials proved to be little
+better, for they became at once the biggest sort of whet to people's
+curiosity. Naturally, the more determined persistent inquirers were to
+know the name, the more determined I became that they shouldn't. All
+very silly and very foolish, of course. Certainly it seems so now," he
+finished.
+
+Billy was silent. She was trying to find something, _anything_, to say,
+when Arkwright began speaking again, still in that dull, hopeless voice
+that Billy thought would break her heart.
+
+"As for the 'Mary Jane'--that was another foolishness, of course. My
+small brothers and sisters originated it; others followed, on occasion,
+even Calderwell. Perhaps you did not know, but he was the friend who, by
+his laughing question, 'Why don't you, Mary Jane?' put into my head the
+crazy scheme of writing to Aunt Hannah and letting her think I was a
+real Mary Jane. You see what I stooped to do, Miss Neilson, for the
+chance of meeting and knowing you."
+
+Billy gave a low cry. She had suddenly remembered the beginning of
+Arkwright's story. For the first time she realized that he had been
+talking then about herself, not Alice Greggory.
+
+"But you don't mean that you--cared--that I was the--" She could not
+finish.
+
+Arkwright turned from the mantel with a gesture of utter despair.
+
+"Yes, I cared then. I had heard of you. I had sung your songs. I was
+determined to meet you. So I came--and met you. After that I was more
+determined than ever to win you. Perhaps you see, now, why I was so
+blind to--to any other possibility. But it doesn't do any good--to talk
+like this. I understand now. Only, please, don't blame yourself," he
+begged as he saw her eyes fill with tears. The next moment he was gone.
+
+Billy had turned away and was crying softly, so she did not see him go.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII. THE THING THAT WAS THE TRUTH
+
+
+Bertram called that evening. Billy had no story now to tell--nothing
+of the interrupted romance between Alice Greggory and Arkwright. Billy
+carefully, indeed, avoided mentioning Arkwright's name.
+
+Ever since the man's departure that afternoon, Billy had been
+frantically trying to assure herself that she was not to blame; that she
+would not be supposed to know he cared for her; that it had all been as
+he said it was--his foolish blindness. But even when she had partially
+comforted herself by these assertions, she could not by any means escape
+the haunting vision of the man's stern-set, suffering face as she had
+seen it that afternoon; nor could she keep from weeping at the memory of
+the words he had said, and at the thought that never again could their
+pleasant friendship be quite the same--if, indeed, there could be any
+friendship at all between them.
+
+But if Billy expected that her red eyes, pale cheeks, and generally
+troubled appearance and unquiet manner were to be passed unnoticed by
+her lover's keen eyes that evening, she found herself much mistaken.
+
+"Sweetheart, what _is_ the matter?" demanded Bertram resolutely, at
+last, when his more indirect questions had been evasively turned aside.
+"You can't make me think there isn't something the trouble, because I
+know there is!"
+
+"Well, then, there is, dear," smiled Billy, tearfully; "but please just
+don't let us talk of it. I--I want to forget it. Truly I do."
+
+"But I want to know so _I_ can forget it," persisted Bertram. "What is
+it? Maybe I could help."
+
+She shook her head with a little frightened cry.
+
+"No, no--you can't help--really."
+
+"But, sweetheart, you don't know. Perhaps I could. Won't you _tell_ me
+about it?"
+
+Billy looked distressed.
+
+"I can't, dear--truly. You see, it isn't quite mine--to tell."
+
+"Not yours!"
+
+"Not--entirely."
+
+"But it makes you feel bad?"
+
+"Yes--very."
+
+"Then can't I know that part?"
+
+"Oh, no--no, indeed, no! You see--it wouldn't be fair--to the other."
+
+Bertram stared a little. Then his mouth set into stern lines.
+
+"Billy, what are you talking about? Seems to me I have a right to know."
+
+Billy hesitated. To her mind, a girl who would tell of the unrequited
+love of a man for herself, was unspeakably base. To tell Bertram
+Arkwright's love story was therefore impossible. Yet, in some way, she
+must set Bertram's mind at rest.
+
+"Dearest," she began slowly, her eyes wistfully pleading, "just what it
+is, I can't tell you. In a way it's another's secret, and I don't feel
+that I have the right to tell it. It's just something that I learned
+this afternoon."
+
+"But it has made you cry!"
+
+"Yes. It made me feel very unhappy."
+
+"Then--it was something you couldn't help?"
+
+To Bertram's surprise, the face he was watching so intently flushed
+scarlet.
+
+"No, I couldn't help it--now; though I might have--once." Billy spoke
+this last just above her breath. Then she went on, beseechingly:
+"Bertram, please, please don't talk of it any more. It--it's just
+spoiling our happy evening together!"
+
+Bertram bit his lip, and drew a long sigh.
+
+"All right, dear; you know best, of course--since I don't know
+_anything_ about it," he finished a little stiffly.
+
+Billy began to talk then very brightly of Aunt Hannah and her shawls,
+and of a visit she had made to Cyril and Marie that morning.
+
+"And, do you know? Aunt Hannah's clock _has_ done a good turn, at last,
+and justified its existence. Listen," she cried gayly. "Marie had a
+letter from her mother's Cousin Jane. Cousin Jane couldn't sleep nights,
+because she was always lying awake to find out just what time it was;
+so Marie had written her about Aunt Hannah's clock. And now this Cousin
+Jane has fixed _her_ clock, and she sleeps like a top, just because she
+knows there'll never be but half an hour that she doesn't know what time
+it is!"
+
+Bertram smiled, and murmured a polite "Well, I'm sure that's fine!"; but
+the words were plainly abstracted, and the frown had not left his brow.
+Nor did it quite leave till some time later, when Billy, in answer to a
+question of his about another operetta, cried, with a shudder:
+
+"Mercy, I hope not, dear! I don't want to _hear_ the word 'operetta'
+again for a year!"
+
+Bertram smiled, then, broadly. He, too, would be quite satisfied not
+to hear the word "operetta" for a year. Operetta, to Bertram, meant
+interruptions, interferences, and the constant presence of Arkwright,
+the Greggorys, and innumerable creatures who wished to rehearse or to
+change wigs--all of which Bertram abhorred. No wonder, therefore, that
+he smiled, and that the frown disappeared from his brow. He thought he
+saw, ahead, serene, blissful days for Billy and himself.
+
+As the days, however, began to pass, one by one, Bertram Henshaw found
+them to be anything but serene and blissful. The operetta, with its
+rehearsals and its interruptions, was gone, certainly; but he was
+becoming seriously troubled about Billy.
+
+Billy did not act natural. Sometimes she seemed like her old self; and
+he breathed more freely, telling himself that his fears were groundless.
+Then would come the haunting shadow to her eyes, the droop to her mouth,
+and the nervousness to her manner that he so dreaded. Worse yet, all
+this seemed to be connected in some strange way with Arkwright. He found
+this out by accident one day. She had been talking and laughing brightly
+about something, when he chanced to introduce Arkwright's name.
+
+"By the way, where is Mary Jane these days?" he asked then.
+
+"I don't know, I'm sure. He hasn't been here lately," murmured Billy,
+reaching for a book on the table.
+
+At a peculiar something in her voice, he had looked up quickly, only to
+find, to his great surprise, that her face showed a painful flush as she
+bent over the book in her hand.
+
+He had said nothing more at the time, but he had not forgotten. Several
+times, after that, he had introduced the man's name, and never had it
+failed to bring a rush of color, a biting of the lip, or a quick change
+of position followed always by the troubled eyes and nervous manner that
+he had learned to dread. He noticed then that never, of her own free
+will, did she herself mention the man; never did she speak of him with
+the old frank lightness as "Mary Jane."
+
+By casual questions asked from time to time, Bertram had learned that
+Arkwright never came there now, and that the song-writing together had
+been given up. Curiously enough, this discovery, which would once have
+filled Bertram with joy, served now only to deepen his distress. That
+there was anything inconsistent in the fact that he was more frightened
+now at the man's absence than he had been before at his presence,
+did not occur to him. He knew only that he was frightened, and badly
+frightened.
+
+Bertram had not forgotten the evening after the operetta, and Billy's
+tear-stained face on that occasion. He dated the whole thing, in fact,
+from that evening. He fell to wondering one day if that, too, had
+anything to do with Arkwright. He determined then to find out.
+Shamelessly--for the good of the cause--he set a trap for Billy's unwary
+feet.
+
+Very adroitly one day he led the talk straight to Arkwright; then he
+asked abruptly:
+
+"Where is the chap, I wonder! Why, he hasn't shown up once since the
+operetta, has he?"
+
+Billy, always truthful,--and just now always embarrassed when
+Arkwright's name was mentioned,--walked straight into the trap.
+
+"Oh, yes; well, he was here once--the day after the operetta. I haven't
+seen him since."
+
+Bertram answered a light something, but his face grew a little white.
+Now that the trap had been sprung and the victim caught, he almost
+wished that he had not set any trap at all.
+
+He knew now it was true. Arkwright had been with Billy the day after the
+operetta, and her tears and her distress that evening had been caused by
+something Arkwright had said. It was Arkwright's secret that she could
+not tell. It was Arkwright to whom she must be fair. It was Arkwright's
+sorrow that she "could not help--now."
+
+Naturally, with these tools in his hands, and aided by days of brooding
+and nights of sleeplessness, it did not take Bertram long to fashion The
+Thing that finally loomed before him as The Truth.
+
+He understood it all now. Music had conquered. Billy and Arkwright had
+found that they loved each other. On the day after the operetta, they
+had met, and had had some sort of scene together--doubtless Arkwright
+had declared his love. That was the "secret" that Billy could not tell
+and be "fair." Billy, of course,--loyal little soul that she was,--had
+sent him away at once. Was her hand not already pledged? That was why
+she could not "help it-now." (Bertram writhed in agony at the thought.)
+Since that meeting Arkwright had not been near the house. Billy had
+found, however, that her heart had gone with Arkwright; hence the shadow
+in her eyes, the nervousness in her manner, and the embarrassment that
+she always showed at the mention of his name.
+
+That Billy was still outwardly loyal to himself, and that she still kept
+to her engagement, did not surprise Bertram in the least. That was like
+Billy. Bertram had not forgotten how, less than a year before, this same
+Billy had held herself loyal and true to an engagement with William,
+because a wretched mistake all around had caused her to give her promise
+to be William's wife under the impression that she was carrying out
+William's dearest wish. Bertram remembered her face as it had looked all
+those long summer days while her heart was being slowly broken; and he
+thought he could see that same look in her eyes now. All of which only
+goes to prove with what woeful skill Bertram had fashioned this Thing
+that was looming before him as The Truth.
+
+The exhibition of "The Bohemian Ten" was to open with a private view
+on the evening of the twentieth of March. Bertram Henshaw's one
+contribution was to be his portrait of Miss Marguerite Winthrop--the
+piece of work that had come to mean so much to him; the piece of work
+upon which already he felt the focus of multitudes of eyes.
+
+Miss Winthrop was in Boston now, and it was during these early March
+days that Bertram was supposed to be putting in his best work on the
+portrait; but, unfortunately, it was during these same early March days
+that he was engaged, also, in fashioning The Thing--and the two did not
+harmonize.
+
+The Thing, indeed, was a jealous creature, and would brook no rival.
+She filled his eyes with horrid visions, and his brain with sickening
+thoughts. Between him and his model she flung a veil of fear; and she
+set his hand to trembling, and his brush to making blunders with the
+paints on his palette.
+
+Bertram saw The Thing, and saw, too, the grievous result of her
+presence. Despairingly he fought against her and her work; but The Thing
+had become full grown now, and was The Truth. Hence she was not to be
+banished. She even, in a taunting way, seemed sometimes to be justifying
+her presence, for she reminded him:
+
+"After all, what's the difference? What do you care for this, or
+anything again if Billy is lost to you?"
+
+But the artist told himself fiercely that he did care--that he must
+care--for his work; and he struggled--how he struggled!--to ignore the
+horrid visions and the sickening thoughts, and to pierce the veil of
+fear so that his hand might be steady and his brush regain its skill.
+
+And so he worked. Sometimes he let his work remain. Sometimes one hour
+saw only the erasing of what the hour before had wrought. Sometimes the
+elusive something in Marguerite Winthrop's face seemed right at the tip
+of his brush--on the canvas, even. He saw success then so plainly that
+for a moment it almost--but not quite--blotted out The Thing. At other
+times that elusive something on the high-bred face of his model was a
+veritable will-o'-the-wisp, refusing to be caught and held, even in his
+eye. The artist knew then that his picture would be hung with Anderson's
+and Fullam's.
+
+But the portrait was, irrefutably, nearing completion, and it was to be
+exhibited the twentieth of the month. Bertram knew these for facts.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVIII. BILLY TAKES HER TURN
+
+
+If for Billy those first twenty days of March did not carry quite the
+tragedy they contained for Bertram, they were, nevertheless, not really
+happy ones. She was vaguely troubled by a curious something in Bertram's
+behavior that she could not name; she was grieved over Arkwright's
+sorrow, and she was constantly probing her own past conduct to see
+if anywhere she could find that she was to blame for that sorrow. She
+missed, too, undeniably, Arkwright's cheery presence, and the charm
+and inspiration of his music. Nor was she finding it easy to give
+satisfactory answers to the questions Aunt Hannah, William, and Bertram
+so often asked her as to where Mary Jane was.
+
+Even her music was little comfort to her these days. She was not
+writing anything. There was no song in her heart to tempt her to write.
+Arkwright's new words that he had brought her were out of the question,
+of course. They had been put away with the manuscript of the completed
+song, which had not, fortunately, gone to the publishers. Billy had
+waited, intending to send them together. She was so glad, now, that she
+had waited. Just once, since Arkwright's last call, she had tried to
+sing that song. But she had stopped at the end of the first two lines.
+The full meaning of those words, as coming from Arkwright, had swept
+over her then, and she had snatched up the manuscript and hidden it
+under the bottom pile of music in her cabinet ... And she had presumed
+to sing that love song to Bertram!
+
+Arkwright had written Billy once--a kind, courteous, manly note that had
+made her cry. He had begged her again not to blame herself, and he had
+said that he hoped he should be strong enough sometime to wish to call
+occasionally--if she were willing--and renew their pleasant hours with
+their music; but, for the present, he knew there was nothing for him to
+do but to stay away. He had signed himself "Michael Jeremiah Arkwright";
+and to Billy that was the most pathetic thing in the letter--it sounded
+so hopeless and dreary to one who knew the jaunty "M. J."
+
+Alice Greggory, Billy saw frequently. Billy and Aunt Hannah were great
+friends with the Greggorys now, and had been ever since the Greggorys'
+ten-days' visit at Hillside. The cheery little cripple, with the gentle
+tap, tap, tap of her crutches, had won everybody's heart the very
+first day; and Alice was scarcely less of a favorite, after the sunny
+friendliness of Hillside had thawed her stiff reserve into naturalness.
+
+Billy had little to say to Alice Greggory of Arkwright. Billy was no
+longer trying to play Cupid's assistant. The Cause, for which she had
+so valiantly worked, had been felled by Arkwright's own hand--but that
+there were still some faint stirrings of life in it was evidenced by
+Billy's secret delight when one day Alice Greggory chanced to mention
+that Arkwright had called the night before upon her and her mother.
+
+"He brought us news of our old home," she explained a little hurriedly,
+to Billy. "He had heard from his mother, and he thought some things she
+said would be interesting to us."
+
+"Of course," murmured Billy, carefully excluding from her voice any hint
+of the delight she felt, but hoping, all the while, that Alice would
+continue the subject.
+
+Alice, however, had nothing more to say; and Billy was left in
+entire ignorance of what the news was that Arkwright had brought.
+She suspected, though, that it had something to do with Alice's
+father--certainly she hoped that it had; for if Arkwright had called to
+tell it, it must be good.
+
+Billy had found a new home for the Greggorys; although at first they had
+drawn sensitively back, and had said that they preferred to remain where
+they were, they had later gratefully accepted it. A little couple from
+South Boston, to whom Billy had given a two weeks' outing the summer
+before, had moved into town and taken a flat in the South End. They had
+two extra rooms which they had told Billy they would like to let for
+light house-keeping, if only they knew just the right people to take
+into such close quarters with themselves. Billy at once thought of the
+Greggorys, and spoke of them. The little couple were delighted, and the
+Greggorys were scarcely less so when they at last became convinced that
+only a very little more money than they were already paying would give
+themselves a much pleasanter home, and would at the same time be a real
+boon to two young people who were trying to meet expenses. So the change
+was made, and general happiness all round had resulted--so much so, that
+Bertram had said to Billy, when he heard of it:
+
+"It looks as if this was a case where your cake is frosted on both
+sides."
+
+"Nonsense! This isn't frosting--it's business," Billy had laughed.
+
+"And the new pupils you have found for Miss Alice--they're business,
+too, I suppose?"
+
+"Certainly," retorted Billy, with decision. Then she had given a low
+laugh and said: "Mercy! If Alice Greggory thought it was anything _but_
+business, I verily believe she would refuse every one of the new pupils,
+and begin to-night to carry back the tables and chairs herself to those
+wretched rooms she left last month!"
+
+Bertram had smiled, but the smile had been a fleeting one, and the
+brooding look of gloom that Billy had noticed so frequently, of late,
+had come back to his eyes.
+
+Billy was not a little disturbed over Bertram these days. He did not
+seem to be his natural, cheery self at all. He talked little, and what
+he did say seldom showed a trace of his usually whimsical way of putting
+things. He was kindness itself to her, and seemed particularly anxious
+to please her in every way; but she frequently found his eyes fixed on
+her with a sombre questioning that almost frightened her. The more she
+thought of it, the more she wondered what the question was, that he did
+not dare to ask; and whether it was of herself or himself that he would
+ask it--if he did dare. Then, with benumbing force, one day, a possible
+solution of the mystery came to her, he had found out that it was true
+(what all his friends had declared of him)--he did not really love any
+girl, except to paint!
+
+The minute this thought came to her, Billy thrust it indignantly away.
+It was disloyal to Bertram and unworthy of herself, even to think such
+a thing. She told herself then that it was only the portrait of Miss
+Winthrop that was troubling him. She knew that he was worried over that.
+He had confessed to her that actually sometimes he was beginning to fear
+his hand had lost its cunning. As if that were not enough to bring the
+gloom to any man's face--to any artist's!
+
+No sooner, however, had Billy arrived at this point in her mental
+argument, than a new element entered--her old lurking jealousy, of which
+she was heartily ashamed, but which she had never yet been able quite to
+subdue; her jealousy of the beautiful girl with the beautiful name (not
+Billy), whose portrait had needed so much time and so many sittings to
+finish. What if Bertram had found that he loved _her?_ What if that
+were why his hand had lost its cunning--because, though loving her, he
+realized that he was bound to another, Billy herself?
+
+This thought, too, Billy cast from her at once as again disloyal and
+unworthy. But both thoughts, having once entered her brain, had made for
+themselves roads over which the second passing was much easier than the
+first--as Billy found to her sorrow. Certainly, as the days went by,
+and as Bertram's face and manner became more and more a tragedy of
+suffering, Billy found it increasingly difficult to keep those
+thoughts from wearing their roads of suspicion into horrid deep ruts of
+certainty.
+
+Only with William and Marie, now, could Billy escape from it all. With
+William she sought new curios and catalogued the old. With Marie she
+beat eggs and whipped cream in the shining kitchen, and tried to think
+that nothing in the world mattered except that the cake in the oven
+should not fall.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIX. KATE WRITES A LETTER
+
+
+Bertram feared that he knew, before the portrait was hung, that it was
+a failure. He was sure that he knew it on the evening of the twentieth
+when he encountered the swiftly averted eyes of some of his artist
+friends, and saw the perplexed frown on the faces of others. But he
+knew, afterwards, that he did not really know it--till he read the
+newspapers during the next few days.
+
+There was praise--oh, yes; the faint praise that kills. There was some
+adverse criticism, too; but it was of the light, insincere variety that
+is given to mediocre work by unimportant artists. Then, here and there,
+appeared the signed critiques of the men whose opinion counted--and
+Bertram knew that he had failed. Neither as a work of art, nor as a
+likeness, was the portrait the success that Henshaw's former work would
+seem to indicate that it should have been. Indeed, as one caustic pen
+put it, if this were to be taken as a sample of what was to follow--then
+the famous originator of "The Face of a Girl" had "a most distinguished
+future behind him."
+
+Seldom, if ever before, had an exhibited portrait attracted so much
+attention. As Bertram had said, uncounted eyes were watching for it
+before it was hung, because it was a portrait of the noted beauty,
+Marguerite Winthrop, and because two other well-known artists had failed
+where he, Bertram Henshaw, was hoping to succeed. After it was hung, and
+the uncounted eyes had seen it--either literally, or through the eyes
+of the critics--interest seemed rather to grow than to lessen, for other
+uncounted eyes wanted to see what all the fuss was about, anyway. And
+when these eyes had seen, their owners talked. Nor did they, by any
+means, all talk against the portrait. Some were as loud in its praise as
+were others in its condemnation; all of which, of course, but helped to
+attract more eyes to the cause of it all.
+
+For Bertram and his friends these days were, naturally, trying ones.
+William finally dreaded to open his newspaper. (It had become the
+fashion, when murders and divorces were scarce, occasionally to
+"feature" somebody's opinion of the Henshaw portrait, on the first
+page--something that had almost never been known to happen before.)
+Cyril, according to Marie, played "perfectly awful things on his piano
+every day, now." Aunt Hannah had said "Oh, my grief and conscience!"
+so many times that it melted now into a wordless groan whenever a new
+unfriendly criticism of the portrait met her indignant eyes.
+
+Of all Bertram's friends, Billy, perhaps not unnaturally, was the
+angriest. Not only did she, after a time, refuse to read the papers,
+but she refused even to allow certain ones to be brought into the house,
+foolish and unreasonable as she knew this to be.
+
+As to the artist himself, Bertram's face showed drawn lines and his eyes
+sombre shadows, but his words and manner carried a stolid indifference
+that to Billy was at once heartbreaking and maddening.
+
+"But, Bertram, why don't you do something? Why don't you say something?
+Why don't you act something?" she burst out one day.
+
+The artist shrugged his shoulders.
+
+"But, my dear, what can I say, or do, or act?" he asked.
+
+"I don't know, of course," sighed Billy. "But I know what I'd like to
+do. I should like to go out and--fight somebody!"
+
+So fierce were words and manner, coupled as they were with a pair of
+gentle eyes ablaze and two soft little hands doubled into menacing
+fists, that Bertram laughed.
+
+"What a fiery little champion it is, to be sure," he said tenderly. "But
+as if fighting could do any good--in this case!"
+
+Billy's tense muscles relaxed. Her eyes filled with tears.
+
+"No, I don't suppose it would," she choked, beginning to cry, so that
+Bertram had to turn comforter.
+
+"Come, come, dear," he begged; "don't take it so to heart. It's not
+so bad, after all. I've still my good right hand left, and we'll hope
+there's something in it yet--that'll be worth while."
+
+"But _this_ one isn't bad," stormed Billy. "It's splendid! I'm sure, I
+think it's a b-beautiful portrait, and I don't see _what_ people mean by
+talking so about it!"
+
+Bertram shook his head. His eyes grew sombre again.
+
+"Thank you, dear. But I know--and you know, really--that it isn't a
+splendid portrait. I've done lots better work than that."
+
+"Then why don't they look at those, and let this alone?" wailed Billy,
+with indignation.
+
+"Because I deliberately put up this for them to see," smiled the artist,
+wearily.
+
+Billy sighed, and twisted in her chair.
+
+"What does--Mr. Winthrop say?" she asked at last, in a faint voice.
+
+Bertram lifted his head.
+
+"Mr. Winthrop's been a trump all through, dear. He's already insisted on
+paying for this--and he's ordered another."
+
+"Another!"
+
+"Yes. The old fellow never minces his words, as you may know. He came
+to me one day, put his hand on my shoulder, and said tersely: 'Will you
+give me another, same terms? Go in, boy, and win. Show 'em! I lost
+the first ten thousand I made. I didn't the next!' That's all he said.
+Before I could even choke out an answer he was gone. Gorry! talk about
+his having a 'heart of stone'! I don't believe another man in the
+country would have done that--and done it in the way he did--in the face
+of all this talk," finished Bertram, his eyes luminous with feeling.
+
+Billy hesitated.
+
+"Perhaps--his daughter--influenced him--some."
+
+"Perhaps," nodded Bertram. "She, too, has been very kind, all the way
+through."
+
+Billy hesitated again.
+
+"But I thought--it was going so splendidly," she faltered, in a
+half-stifled voice.
+
+"So it was--at the first."
+
+"Then what--ailed it, at the last, do you suppose?" Billy was holding
+her breath till he should answer.
+
+The man got to his feet.
+
+"Billy, don't--don't ask me," he begged. "Please don't let's talk of
+it any more. It can't do any good! I just flunked--that's all. My
+hand failed me. Maybe I tried too hard. Maybe I was tired. Maybe
+something--troubled me. Never mind, dear, what it was. It can do no good
+even to think of that--now. So just let's--drop it, please, dear," he
+finished, his face working with emotion.
+
+And Billy dropped it--so far as words were concerned; but she could not
+drop it from her thoughts--specially after Kate's letter came.
+
+Kate's letter was addressed to Billy, and it said, after speaking of
+various other matters:
+
+"And now about poor Bertram's failure." (Billy frowned. In Billy's
+presence no one was allowed to say "Bertram's failure"; but a letter
+has a most annoying privilege of saying what it pleases without let or
+hindrance, unless one tears it up--and a letter destroyed unread remains
+always such a tantalizing mystery of possibilities! So Billy let the
+letter talk.) "Of course we have heard of it away out here. I do wish if
+Bertram _must_ paint such famous people, he would manage to flatter them
+up--in the painting, I mean, of course--enough so that it might pass for
+a success!
+
+"The technical part of all this criticism I don't pretend to understand
+in the least; but from what I hear and read, he must, indeed, have made
+a terrible mess of it, and of course I'm very sorry--and some surprised,
+too, for usually he paints such pretty pictures!
+
+"Still, on the other hand, Billy, I'm not surprised. William says that
+Bertram has been completely out of fix over something, and as gloomy as
+an owl, for weeks past; and of course, under those circumstances, the
+poor boy could not be expected to do good work. Now William, being a
+man, is not supposed to understand what the trouble is. But I, being a
+woman, can see through a pane of glass when it's held right up before
+me; and I can guess, of course, that a woman is at the bottom of it--she
+always is!--and that you, being his special fancy at the moment" (Billy
+almost did tear the letter now--but not quite), "are that woman.
+
+"Now, Billy, you don't like such frank talk, of course; but, on the
+other hand, I know you do not want to ruin the dear boy's career. So,
+for heaven's sake, if you two have been having one of those quarrels
+that lovers so delight in--do, please, for the good of the cause, make
+up quick, or else quarrel harder and break it off entirely--which,
+honestly, would be the better way, I think, all around.
+
+"There, there, my dear child, don't bristle up! I am very fond of you,
+and would dearly love to have you for a sister--if you'd only take
+William, as you should! But, as you very well know, I never did approve
+of this last match at all, for either of your sakes.
+
+"He can't make you happy, my dear, and you can't make him happy.
+Bertram never was--and never will be--a marrying man. He's too
+temperamental--too thoroughly wrapped up in his Art. Girls have never
+meant anything to him but a beautiful picture to paint. And they never
+will. They can't. He's made that way. Listen! I can prove it to you. Up
+to this winter he's always been a care-free, happy, jolly fellow, and
+you _know_ what beautiful work he has done. Never before has he tied
+himself to any one girl till last fall. Then you two entered into this
+absurd engagement.
+
+"Now what has it been since? William wrote me himself not a fortnight
+ago that he'd been worried to death over Bertram for weeks past,
+he's been so moody, so irritable, so fretted over his work, so unlike
+himself. And his picture has _failed_ dismally. Of course William
+doesn't understand; but I do. I know you've probably quarrelled, or
+something. You know how flighty and unreliable you can be sometimes,
+Billy, and I don't say that to mean anything against you, either--that's
+_your_ way. You're just as temperamental in your art, music, as Bertram
+is in his. You're utterly unsuited to him. If Bertram is to marry
+_anybody_, it should be some quiet, staid, sensible girl who would be
+a _help_ to him. But when I think of you two flyaway flutterbudgets
+marrying--!
+
+"Now, for heaven's sake, Billy, _do_ make up or something--and do it
+now. Don't, for pity's sake, let Bertram ever put out another such a
+piece of work to shame us all like this. Do you want to ruin his career?
+
+"Faithfully yours,
+
+"KATE HARTWELL.
+
+"P. S. _I_ think William's the one for you. He's devoted to you, and
+his quiet, sensible affection is just what your temperament needs. I
+_always_ thought William was the one for you. Think it over.
+
+"P. S. No. 2. You can see by the above that it isn't you I'm objecting
+to, my dear. It's just _you-and-Bertram_.
+
+"K."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXX. "I'VE HINDERED HIM"
+
+
+Billy was shaking with anger and terror by the time she had finished
+reading Kate's letter. Anger was uppermost at the moment, and with one
+sweeping wrench of her trembling fingers she tore the closely written
+sheets straight through the middle, and flung them into the little
+wicker basket by her desk. Then she went down-stairs and played her
+noisiest, merriest Tarantella, and tried to see how fast she could make
+her fingers fly.
+
+But Billy could not, of course, play tarantellas all day; and even while
+she did play them she could not forget that waste-basket up-stairs, and
+the horror it contained. The anger was still uppermost, but the terror
+was prodding her at every turn, and demanding to know just what it was
+that Kate had written in that letter, anyway. It is not strange then,
+perhaps, that before two hours passed, Billy went up-stairs, took the
+letter from the basket, matched together the torn half-sheets and forced
+her shrinking eyes to read every word again-just to satisfy that terror
+which would not be silenced.
+
+At the end of the second reading, Billy reminded herself with stern
+calmness that it was only Kate, after all; that nobody ought to mind
+what Kate said; that certainly _she_, Billy, ought not--after the
+experience she had already had with her unpleasant interference! Kate
+did not know what she was talking about, anyway. This was only another
+case of her trying "to manage." She did so love to manage--everything!
+
+At this point Billy got out her pen and paper and wrote to Kate.
+
+It was a formal, cold little letter, not at all the sort that Billy's
+friends usually received. It thanked Kate for her advice, and for
+her "kind willingness" to have Billy for a sister; but it hinted that
+perhaps Kate did not realize that as long as Billy was the one who would
+have to _live_ with the chosen man, it would be pleasanter to take the
+one Billy loved, which happened in this case to be Bertram--not William.
+As for any "quarrel" being the cause of whatever fancied trouble there
+was with the new picture--the letter scouted that idea in no uncertain
+terms. There had been no suggestion of a quarrel even once since the
+engagement.
+
+Then Billy signed her name and took the letter out to post immediately.
+
+For the first few minutes after the letter had been dropped into the
+green box at the corner, Billy held her head high, and told herself that
+the matter was now closed. She had sent Kate a courteous, dignified,
+conclusive, effectual answer, and she thought with much satisfaction of
+the things she had said.
+
+Very soon, however, she began to think--not so much of what _she_
+had said--but of what Kate had said. Many of Kate's sentences were
+unpleasantly vivid in her mind. They seemed, indeed, to stand out in
+letters of flame, and they began to burn, and burn, and burn. These were
+some of them:
+
+"William says that Bertram has been completely out of fix over
+something, and as gloomy as an owl for weeks past."
+
+"A woman is at the bottom of it--... you are that woman."
+
+"You can't make him happy."
+
+"Bertram never was--and never will be--a marrying man."
+
+"Girls have never meant anything to him but a beautiful picture to
+paint. And they never will."
+
+"Up to this winter he's always been a carefree, happy, jolly fellow,
+and you _know_ what beautiful work he has done. Never before has he tied
+himself to any one girl until last fall."
+
+"Now what has it been since?"
+
+"He's been so moody, so irritable, so fretted over his work, so unlike
+himself; and his picture has failed, dismally."
+
+"Do you want to ruin his career?"
+
+Billy began to see now that she had not really answered Kate's letter at
+all. The matter was not closed. Her reply had been, perhaps, courteous
+and dignified--but it had not been conclusive nor effectual.
+
+Billy had reached home now, and she was crying. Bertram _had_ acted
+strangely, of late. Bertram _had_ seemed troubled over something. His
+picture _had_--With a little shudder Billy tossed aside these thoughts,
+and dug at her teary eyes with a determined hand. Fiercely she told
+herself that the matter _was_ settled. Very scornfully she declared that
+it was "only Kate," after all, and that she _would not_ let Kate make
+her unhappy again! Forthwith she picked up a current magazine and began
+to read.
+
+As it chanced, however, even here Billy found no peace; for the first
+article she opened to was headed in huge black type:
+
+
+"MARRIAGE AND THE ARTISTIC TEMPERAMENT."
+
+
+With a little cry Billy flung the magazine far from her, and picked up
+another. But even "The Elusiveness of Chopin," which she found here,
+could not keep her thoughts nor her eyes from wandering to the discarded
+thing in the corner, lying ignominiously face down with crumpled,
+out-flung leaves.
+
+Billy knew that in the end she should go over and pick that magazine
+up, and read that article from beginning to end. She was not surprised,
+therefore, when she did it--but she was not any the happier for having
+done it.
+
+The writer of the article did not approve of marriage and the artistic
+temperament. He said the artist belonged to his Art, and to posterity
+through his Art. The essay fairly bristled with many-lettered words and
+high-sounding phrases, few of which Billy really understood. She did
+understand enough, however, to feel, guiltily, when the thing was
+finished, that already she had married Bertram, and by so doing had
+committed a Crime. She had slain Art, stifled Ambition, destroyed
+Inspiration, and been a nuisance generally. In consequence of which
+Bertram would henceforth and forevermore be doomed to Littleness.
+
+Naturally, in this state of mind, and with this vision before her, Billy
+was anything but her bright, easy self when she met Bertram an hour or
+two later. Naturally, too, Bertram, still the tormented victim of the
+bugaboo his jealous fears had fashioned, was just in the mood to
+place the worst possible construction on his sweetheart's very evident
+unhappiness. With sighs, unspoken questions, and frequently averted
+eyes, therefore, the wretched evening passed, a pitiful misery to them
+both.
+
+During the days that followed, Billy thought that the world itself
+must be in league with Kate, so often did she encounter Kate's letter
+masquerading under some thin disguise. She did not stop to realize that
+because she was so afraid she _would_ find it, she _did_ find it. In
+the books she read, in the plays she saw, in the chance words she heard
+spoken by friend or stranger--always there was something to feed her
+fears in one way or another. Even in a yellowed newspaper that had
+covered the top shelf in her closet she found one day a symposium
+on whether or not an artist's wife should be an artist; and she
+shuddered--but she read every opinion given.
+
+Some writers said no, and some, yes; and some said it all depended--on
+the artist and his wife. Billy found much food for thought, some for
+amusement, and a little that made for peace of mind. On the whole
+it opened up a new phase of the matter, perhaps. At all events, upon
+finishing it she almost sobbed:
+
+"One would think that just because I write a song now and then, I was
+going to let Bertram starve, and go with holes in his socks and no
+buttons on his clothes!"
+
+It was that afternoon that Billy went to see Marie; but even there she
+did not escape, for the gentle Marie all unknowingly added her mite to
+the woeful whole.
+
+Billy found Marie in tears.
+
+"Why, Marie!" she cried in dismay.
+
+"Sh-h!" warned Marie, turning agonized eyes toward the closed door of
+Cyril's den.
+
+"But, dear, what is it?" begged Billy, with no less dismay, but with
+greater caution.
+
+"Sh-h!" admonished Marie again.
+
+On tiptoe, then, she led the way to a room at the other end of the tiny
+apartment. Once there; she explained in a more natural tone of voice:
+
+"Cyril's at work on a new piece for the piano."
+
+"Well, what if he is?" demanded Billy. "That needn't make you cry, need
+it?"
+
+"Oh, no--no, indeed," demurred Marie, in a shocked voice.
+
+"Well, then, what is it?"
+
+Marie hesitated; then, with the abandon of a hurt child that longs for
+sympathy, she sobbed:
+
+"It--it's just that I'm afraid, after all, that I'm not good enough for
+Cyril."
+
+Billy stared frankly.
+
+"Not _good_ enough, Marie Henshaw! Whatever in the world do you mean?"
+
+"Well, not good _for_ him, then. Listen! To-day, I know, in lots of
+ways I must have disappointed him. First, he put on some socks that I'd
+darned. They were the first since our marriage that I'd found to
+darn, and I'd been so proud and--and happy while I _was_ darning them.
+But--but he took 'em off right after breakfast and threw 'em in a
+corner. Then he put on a new pair, and said that I--I needn't darn any
+more; that it made--bunches. Billy, _my darns--bunches!_" Marie's face
+and voice were tragic.
+
+"Nonsense, dear! Don't let that fret you," comforted Billy, promptly,
+trying not to laugh too hard. "It wasn't _your_ darns; it was just
+darns--anybody's darns. Cyril won't wear darned socks. Aunt Hannah told
+me so long ago, and I said then there'd be a tragedy when _you_ found it
+out. So don't worry over that."
+
+"Oh, but that isn't all," moaned Marie. "Listen! You know how quiet he
+must have everything when he's composing--and he ought to have it, too!
+But I forgot, this morning, and put on some old shoes that didn't have
+any rubber heels, and I ran the carpet sweeper, and I rattled tins in
+the kitchen. But I never thought a thing until he opened his door and
+asked me _please_ to change my shoes and let the--the confounded dirt
+go, and didn't I have any dishes in the house but what were made of that
+abominable tin s-stuff," she finished in a wail of misery.
+
+Billy burst into a ringing laugh, but Marie's aghast face and upraised
+hand speedily reduced it to a convulsive giggle.
+
+"You dear child! Cyril's always like that when he's composing," soothed
+Billy. "I supposed you knew it, dear. Don't you fret! Run along and make
+him his favorite pudding, and by night both of you will have forgotten
+there ever were such things in the world as tins and shoes and carpet
+sweepers that clatter."
+
+Marie shook her head. Her dismal face did not relax.
+
+"You don't understand," she moaned. "It's myself. I've _hindered_ him!"
+She brought out the word with an agony of slow horror. "And only to-day
+I read-here, look!" she faltered, going to the table and picking up with
+shaking hands a magazine.
+
+Billy recognized it by the cover at once--another like it had been flung
+not so long ago by her own hand into the corner. She was not surprised,
+therefore, to see very soon at the end of Marie's trembling finger:
+
+"Marriage and the Artistic Temperament."
+
+Billy did not give a ringing laugh this time. She gave an involuntary
+little shudder, though she tried valiantly to turn it all off with a
+light word of scorn, and a cheery pat on Marie's heaving shoulders. But
+she went home very soon; and it was plain to be seen that her visit to
+Marie had not brought her peace.
+
+Billy knew Kate's letter, by heart, now, both in the original, and in
+its different versions, and she knew that, despite her struggles, she
+was being forced straight toward Kate's own verdict: that she, Billy,
+_was_ the cause, in some way, of the deplorable change in Bertram's
+appearance, manner, and work. Before she would quite surrender to this
+heart-sickening belief, however, she determined to ask Bertram himself.
+Falteringly, but resolutely, therefore, one day, she questioned him.
+
+"Bertram, once you hinted that the picture did not go right because you
+were troubled over something; and I've been wondering--was it about--me,
+in any way, that you were troubled?"
+
+Billy had her answer before the man spoke. She had it in the quick
+terror that sprang to his eyes, and the dull red that swept from his
+neck to his forehead. His reply, so far as words went did not count, for
+it evaded everything and told nothing. But Billy knew without words.
+She knew, too, what she must do. For the time being she took Bertram's
+evasive answer as he so evidently wished it to be taken; but that
+evening, after he had gone, she wrote him a little note and broke the
+engagement. So heartbroken was she--and so fearful was she that he
+should suspect this--that her note, when completed, was a cold little
+thing of few words, which carried no hint that its very coldness was but
+the heart-break in the disguise of pride.
+
+This was like Billy in all ways. Billy, had she lived in the days of
+the Christian martyrs, would have been the first to walk with head erect
+into the Arena of Sacrifice. The arena now was just everyday living, the
+lions were her own devouring misery, and the cause was Bertram's best
+good.
+
+From Bertram's own self she had it now--that she had been the cause of
+his being troubled; so she could doubt no longer. The only part that was
+uncertain was the reason why he had been troubled. Whether his bond to
+her had become irksome because of his love for another, or because of
+his love for no girl--except to paint, Billy did not know. But that it
+was irksome she did not doubt now. Besides, as if she were going to slay
+his Art, stifle his Ambition, destroy his Inspiration, and be a nuisance
+generally just so that _she_ might be happy! Indeed, no! Hence she broke
+the engagement.
+
+This was the letter:
+
+
+     "DEAR BERTRAM:--You won't make the
+     move, so I must. I knew, from the way you spoke
+     to-day, that it _was_ about me that you were
+     troubled, even though you generously tried to
+     make me think it was not. And so the picture did
+     not go well.
+
+     "Now, dear, we have not been happy together
+     lately. You have seen it; so have I. I fear our
+     engagement was a mistake, so I'm going to send
+     back your ring to-morrow, and I'm writing this
+     letter to-night. Please don't try to see me just
+     yet. You _know_ what I am doing is best--all
+     round.
+               "Always your friend,
+                       "BILLY."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXI. FLIGHT
+
+
+Billy feared if she did not mail the letter at once she would not have
+the courage to mail it at all. So she slipped down-stairs very quietly
+and went herself to the post box a little way down the street; then she
+came back and sobbed herself to sleep--though not until after she had
+sobbed awake for long hours of wretchedness.
+
+When she awoke in the morning, heavy-eyed and unrested, there came to
+her first the vague horror of some shadow hanging over her, then the
+sickening consciousness of what that shadow was. For one wild minute
+Billy felt that she must run to the telephone, summon Bertram, and
+beseech him to return unread the letter he would receive from her that
+day. Then there came to her the memory of Bertram's face as it had
+looked the night before when she had asked him if she were the cause of
+his being troubled. There came, too, the memory of Kate's scathing
+"Do you want to ruin his career?" Even the hated magazine article and
+Marie's tragic "I've _hindered_ him!" added their mite; and Billy knew
+that she should not go to the telephone, nor summon Bertram.
+
+The one fatal mistake now would be to let Bertram see her own distress.
+If once he should suspect how she suffered in doing this thing, there
+would be a scene that Billy felt she had not the courage to face. She
+must, therefore, manage in some way not to see Bertram--not to let him
+see her until she felt more sure of her self-control no matter what he
+said. The easiest way to do this was, of course, to go away. But where?
+How? She must think. Meanwhile, for these first few hours, she would not
+tell any one, even Aunt Hannah, what had happened. There must _no one_
+speak to her of it, yet. That she could not endure. Aunt Hannah would,
+of course, shiver, groan "Oh, my grief and conscience!" and call for
+another shawl; and Billy just now felt as if she should scream if she
+heard Aunt Hannah say "Oh, my grief and conscience!"--over that. Billy
+went down to breakfast, therefore, with a determination to act exactly
+as usual, so that Aunt Hannah should not know--yet.
+
+When people try to "act exactly as usual," they generally end in acting
+quite the opposite; and Billy was no exception to the rule. Hence her
+attempted cheerfulness became flippantness, and her laughter giggles
+that rang too frequently to be quite sincere--though from Aunt Hannah
+it all elicited only an affectionate smile at "the dear child's high
+spirits."
+
+A little later, when Aunt Hannah was glancing over the morning
+paper--now no longer barred from the door--she gave a sudden cry.
+
+"Billy, just listen to this!" she exclaimed, reading from the paper in
+her hand. "'A new tenor in "The Girl of the Golden West." Appearance
+of Mr. M. J. Arkwright at the Boston Opera House to-night. Owing to the
+sudden illness of Dubassi, who was to have taken the part of Johnson
+tonight, an exceptional opportunity has come to a young tenor singer,
+one of the most promising pupils at the Conservatory school. Arkwright
+is said to have a fine voice, a particularly good stage presence, and
+a purity of tone and smoothness of execution that few of his age and
+experience can show. Only a short time ago he appeared as the duke at
+one of the popular-priced Saturday night performances of "Rigoletto";
+and his extraordinary success on that occasion, coupled with his
+familiarity with, and fitness for the part of Johnson in "The Girl
+of the Golden West," led to his being chosen to take Dubassi's place
+to-night. His performance is awaited with the greatest of interest.' Now
+isn't that splendid for Mary Jane? I'm so glad!" beamed Aunt Hannah.
+
+"Of course we're glad!" cried Billy. "And didn't it come just in time?
+This is the last week of opera, anyway, you know."
+
+"But it says he sang before--on a Saturday night," declared Aunt Hannah,
+going back to the paper in her hand. "Now wouldn't you have thought we'd
+have heard of it, or read of it? And wouldn't you have thought he'd have
+told us?"
+
+"Oh, well, maybe he didn't happen to see us so he could tell us,"
+returned Billy with elaborate carelessness.
+
+"I know it; but it's so funny he _hasn't_ seen us," contended Aunt
+Hannah, frowning. "You know how much he used to be here."
+
+Billy colored, and hurried into the fray.
+
+"Oh, but he must have been so busy, with all this, you know. And of
+course we didn't see it in the paper--because we didn't have any paper
+at that time, probably. Oh, yes, that's my fault, I know," she laughed;
+"and I was silly, I'll own. But we'll make up for it now. We'll go, of
+course, I wish it had been on our regular season-ticket night, but I
+fancy we can get seats somewhere; and I'm going to ask Alice Greggory
+and her mother, too. I'll go down there this morning to tell them, and
+to get the tickets. I've got it all planned."
+
+Billy had, indeed, "got it all planned." She had been longing for
+something that would take her away from the house--and if possible away
+from herself. This would do the one easily, and might help on the other.
+She rose at once.
+
+"I'll go right away," she said.
+
+"But, my dear," frowned Aunt Hannah, anxiously, "I don't believe I can
+go to-night--though I'd love to, dearly."
+
+"But why not?"
+
+"I'm tired and half sick with a headache this morning. I didn't sleep,
+and I've taken cold somewhere," sighed the lady, pulling the top shawl a
+little higher about her throat.
+
+"Why, you poor dear, what a shame!"
+
+"Won't Bertram go?" asked Aunt Hannah.
+
+Billy shook her head--but she did not meet Aunt Hannah's eyes.
+
+"Oh, no. I sha'n't even ask him. He said last night he had a banquet
+on for to-night--one of his art clubs, I believe." Billy's voice was
+casualness itself.
+
+"But you'll have the Greggorys--that is, Mrs. Greggory _can_ go, can't
+she?" inquired Aunt Hannah.
+
+"Oh, yes; I'm sure she can," nodded Billy. "You know she went to the
+operetta, and this is just the same--only bigger."
+
+"Yes, yes, I know," murmured Aunt Hannah.
+
+"Dear me! How can she get about so on those two wretched little sticks?
+She's a perfect marvel to me."
+
+"She is to me, too," sighed Billy, as she hurried from the room.
+
+Billy was, indeed, in a hurry. To herself she said she wanted to get
+away--away! And she got away as soon as she could.
+
+She had her plans all made. She would go first to the Greggorys' and
+invite them to attend the opera with her that evening. Then she would
+get the tickets. Just what she would do with the rest of the day she did
+not know. She knew only that she would not go home until time to dress
+for dinner and the opera. She did not tell Aunt Hannah this, however,
+when she left the house. She planned to telephone it from somewhere down
+town, later. She told herself that she _could not_ stay all day under
+the sharp eyes of Aunt Hannah--but she managed, nevertheless, to bid
+that lady a particularly blithe and bright-faced good-by.
+
+
+Billy had not been long gone when the telephone bell rang. Aunt Hannah
+answered it.
+
+"Why, Bertram, is that you?" she called, in answer to the words that
+came to her across the wire. "Why, I hardly knew your voice!"
+
+"Didn't you? Well, is--is Billy there?"
+
+"No, she isn't. She's gone down to see Alice Greggory."
+
+"Oh!" So evident was the disappointment in the voice that Aunt Hannah
+added hastily:
+
+"I'm so sorry! She hasn't been gone ten minutes. But--is there any
+message?"
+
+"No, thank you. There's no--message." The voice hesitated, then went on
+a little constrainedly. "How--how is Billy this morning? She--she's all
+right, isn't she?"
+
+Aunt Hannah laughed in obvious amusement.
+
+"Bless your dear heart, yes, my boy! Has it been such a _long_ time
+since last evening--when you saw her yourself? Yes, she's all right. In
+fact, I was thinking at the breakfast table how pretty she looked with
+her pink cheeks and her bright eyes. She seemed to be in such high
+spirits."
+
+An inarticulate something that Aunt Hannah could not quite catch
+came across the line; then a somewhat hurried "All right. Thank you.
+Good-by."
+
+The next time Aunt Hannah was called to the telephone, Billy spoke to
+her.
+
+"Aunt Hannah, don't wait luncheon for me, please. I shall get it in
+town. And don't expect me till five o'clock. I have some shopping to
+do."
+
+"All right, dear," replied Aunt Hannah. "Did you get the tickets?"
+
+"Yes, and the Greggorys will go. Oh, and Aunt Hannah!"
+
+"Yes, dear."
+
+"Please tell John to bring Peggy around early enough to-night so we can
+go down and get the Greggorys. I told them we'd call for them."
+
+"Very well, dear. I'll tell him."
+
+"Thank you. How's the poor head?"
+
+"Better, a little, I think."
+
+"That's good. Won't you repent and go, too?"
+
+"No--oh, no, indeed!"
+
+"All right, then; good-by. I'm sorry!"
+
+"So'm I. Good-by," sighed Aunt Hannah, as she hung up the receiver and
+turned away.
+
+It was after five o'clock when Billy got home, and so hurried were the
+dressing and the dinner that Aunt Hannah forgot to mention Bertram's
+telephone call till just as Billy was ready to start for the Greggorys'.
+
+"There! and I forgot," she confessed. "Bertram called you up just after
+you left this morning, my dear."
+
+"Did he?" Billy's face was turned away, but Aunt Hannah did not notice
+that.
+
+"Yes. Oh, he didn't want anything special," smiled the lady,
+"only--well, he did ask if you were all right this morning," she
+finished with quiet mischief.
+
+"Did he?" murmured Billy again. This time there was a little sound after
+the words, which Aunt Hannah would have taken for a sob if she had not
+known that it must have been a laugh.
+
+Then Billy was gone.
+
+At eight o'clock the doorbell rang, and a minute later Rosa came up
+to say that Mr. Bertram Henshaw was down-stairs and wished to see Mrs.
+Stetson.
+
+Mrs. Stetson went down at once.
+
+"Why, my dear boy," she exclaimed, as she entered the room; "Billy said
+you had a banquet on for to-night!"
+
+"Yes, I know; but--I didn't go." Bertram's face was pale and drawn. His
+voice did not sound natural.
+
+"Why, Bertram, you look ill! _Are_ you ill?" The man made an impatient
+gesture.
+
+"No, no, I'm not ill--I'm not ill at all. Rosa says--Billy's not here."
+
+"No; she's gone to the opera with the Greggorys."
+
+"The _opera!_" There was a grieved hurt in Bertram's voice that
+Aunt Hannah quite misunderstood. She hastened to give an apologetic
+explanation.
+
+"Yes. She would have told you--she would have asked you to join them,
+I'm sure, but she said you were going to a banquet. I'm _sure_ she said
+so."
+
+"Yes, I did tell her so--last night," nodded Bertram, dully.
+
+Aunt Hannah frowned a little. Still more anxiously she endeavored to
+explain to this disappointed lover why his sweetheart was not at home to
+greet him.
+
+"Well, then, of course, my boy, she'd never think of your coming here
+to-night; and when she found Mr. Arkwright was going to sing--"
+
+"Arkwright!" There was no listlessness in Bertram's voice or manner now.
+
+"Yes. Didn't you see it in the paper? Such a splendid chance for him!
+His picture was there, too."
+
+"No. I didn't see it."
+
+"Then you don't know about it, of course," smiled Aunt Hannah. "But he's
+to take the part of Johnson in 'The Girl of the Golden West.' Isn't that
+splendid? I'm so glad! And Billy was, too. She hurried right off this
+morning to get the tickets and to ask the Greggorys."
+
+"Oh!" Bertram got to his feet a little abruptly, and held out his hand.
+"Well, then, I might as well say good-by then, I suppose," he suggested
+with a laugh that Aunt Hannah thought was a bit forced. Before she could
+remind him again, though, that Billy was really not to blame for not
+being there to welcome him, he was gone. And Aunt Hannah could only go
+up-stairs and meditate on the unreasonableness of lovers in general, and
+of Bertram in particular.
+
+Aunt Hannah had gone to bed, but she was still awake, when Billy came
+home, so she heard the automobile come to a stop before the door, and
+she called to Billy when the girl came upstairs.
+
+"Billy, dear, come in here. I'm awake! I want to hear about it. Was it
+good?"
+
+Billy stopped in the doorway. The light from the hall struck her face.
+There was no brightness in her eyes now, no pink in her cheeks.
+
+"Oh, yes, it was good--very good," she replied listlessly.
+
+"Why, Billy, how queer you answer! What was the matter? Wasn't Mary
+Jane--all right?"
+
+"Mary Jane? Oh!--oh, yes; he was very good, Aunt Hannah."
+
+"'Very good,' indeed!" echoed the lady, indignantly. "He must have
+been!--when you speak as if you'd actually forgotten that he sang at
+all, anyway!"
+
+Billy had forgotten--almost. Billy had found that, in spite of her
+getting away from the house, she had not got away from herself once, all
+day. She tried now, however, to summon her acting powers of the morning.
+
+"But it was splendid, really, Aunt Hannah," she cried, with some show
+of animation. "And they clapped and cheered and gave him any number of
+curtain calls. We were so proud of him! But you see, I _am_ tired," she
+broke off wearily.
+
+"You poor child, of course you are, and you look like a ghost! I won't
+keep you another minute. Run along to bed. Oh--Bertram didn't go to that
+banquet, after all. He came here," she added, as Billy turned to go.
+
+"Bertram!" The girl wheeled sharply.
+
+"Yes. He wanted you, of course. I found I didn't do, at all," chuckled
+Aunt Hannah. "Did you suppose I would?"
+
+There was no answer. Billy had gone.
+
+
+In the long night watches Billy fought it out with herself. (Billy had
+always fought things out with herself.) She must go away. She knew that.
+Already Bertram had telephoned, and called. He evidently meant to see
+her--and she could not see him. She dared not. If she did--Billy knew
+now how pitifully little it would take to make her actually _willing_ to
+slay Bertram's Art, stifle his Ambition, destroy his Inspiration, and be
+a nuisance generally--if only she could have Bertram while she was doing
+it all. Sternly then she asked herself if she had no pride; if she had
+forgotten that it was because of her that the Winthrop portrait had not
+been a success--because of her, either for the reason that he loved now
+Miss Winthrop, or else that he loved no girl--except to paint.
+
+Very early in the morning a white-faced, red-eyed Billy appeared at Aunt
+Hannah's bedside.
+
+"Billy!" exclaimed Aunt Hannah, plainly appalled.
+
+Billy sat down on the edge of the bed.
+
+"Aunt Hannah," she began in a monotonous voice as if she were reciting
+a lesson she had learned by heart, "please listen, and please try not to
+be too surprised. You were saying the other day that you would like to
+visit your old home town. Well, I think that's a very nice idea. If you
+don't mind we'll go to-day."
+
+Aunt Hannah pulled herself half erect in bed.
+
+"_To-day_--child?"
+
+"Yes," nodded Billy, unsmilingly. "We shall have to go somewhere to-day,
+and I thought you would like that place best."
+
+"But--Billy!--what does this mean?"
+
+Billy sighed heavily.
+
+"Yes, I understand. You'll have to know the rest, of course. I've broken
+my engagement. I don't want to see Bertram. That's why I'm going away."
+
+Aunt Hannah fell nervelessly back on the pillow. Her teeth fairly
+chattered.
+
+"Oh, my grief and conscience--_Billy!_ Won't you please pull up that
+blanket," she moaned. "Billy, what do you mean?"
+
+Billy shook her head and got to her feet.
+
+"I can't tell any more now, really, Aunt Hannah. Please don't ask me;
+and don't--talk. You _will_--go with me, won't you?" And Aunt Hannah,
+with her terrified eyes on Billy's piteously agitated face, nodded her
+head and choked:
+
+"Why, of course I'll go--anywhere--with you, Billy; but--why did you do
+it, why did you do it?"
+
+A little later, Billy, in her own room, wrote this note to Bertram:
+
+
+     "DEAR BERTRAM:--I'm going away to-day.
+     That'll be best all around. You'll agree to that,
+     I'm sure. Please don't try to see me, and please
+     don't write. It wouldn't make either one of us
+     any happier. You must know that.
+
+             "As ever your friend,
+
+                    "BILLY."
+
+
+Bertram, when he read it, grew only a shade more white, a degree more
+sick at heart. Then he kissed the letter gently and put it away with the
+other.
+
+To Bertram, the thing was very clear. Billy had come now to the
+conclusion that it would be wrong to give herself where she could not
+give her heart. And in this he agreed with her--bitter as it was for
+him. Certainly he did not want Billy, if Billy did not want him, he told
+himself. He would now, of course, accede to her request. He would not
+write to her--and make her suffer more. But to Bertram, at that moment,
+it seemed that the very sun in the heavens had gone out.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXII. PETE TO THE RESCUE
+
+
+One by one the weeks passed and became a month. Then other weeks became
+other months. It was July when Billy, homesick and weary, came back to
+Hillside with Aunt Hannah.
+
+Home looked wonderfully good to Billy, in spite of the fact that she had
+so dreaded to see it. Billy had made up her mind, however, that, come
+sometime she must. She could not, of course, stay always away. Perhaps,
+too, it would be just as easy at home as it was away. Certainly it could
+not be any harder. She was convinced of that. Besides, she did not want
+Bertram to think--
+
+Billy had received only meagre news from Boston since she went away.
+Bertram had not written at all. William had written twice--hurt,
+grieved, puzzled, questioning letters that were very hard to answer.
+From Marie, too, had come letters of much the same sort. By far the
+cheeriest epistles had come from Alice Greggory. They contained, indeed,
+about the only comfort Billy had known for weeks, for they showed very
+plainly to Billy that Arkwright's heart had been caught on the rebound;
+and that in Alice Greggory he was finding the sweetest sort of balm for
+his wounded feelings. From these letters Billy learned, too, that Judge
+Greggory's honor had been wholly vindicated; and, as Billy told Aunt
+Hannah, "anybody could put two and two together and make four, now."
+
+It was eight o'clock on a rainy July evening that Billy and Aunt Hannah
+arrived at Hillside; and it was only a little past eight that Aunt
+Hannah was summoned to the telephone. When she came back to Billy she
+was crying and wringing her hands.
+
+Billy sprang to her feet.
+
+"Why, Aunt Hannah, what is it? What's the matter?" she demanded.
+
+Aunt Hannah sank into a chair, still wringing her hands.
+
+"Oh, Billy, Billy, how can I tell you, how can I tell you?" she moaned.
+
+"You must tell me! Aunt Hannah, what is it?"
+
+"Oh--oh--oh! Billy, I can't--I can't!"
+
+"But you'll have to! What is it, Aunt Hannah?"
+
+"It's--B-Bertram!"
+
+"Bertram!" Billy's face grew ashen. "Quick, quick--what do you mean?"
+
+For answer, Aunt Hannah covered her face with her hands and began to sob
+aloud. Billy, almost beside herself now with terror and anxiety, dropped
+on her knees and tried to pull away the shaking hands.
+
+"Aunt Hannah, you must tell me! You must--you must!"
+
+"I can't, Billy. It's Bertram. He's--_hurt!_" choked Aunt Hannah,
+hysterically.
+
+"Hurt! How?"
+
+"I don't know. Pete told me."
+
+"Pete!"
+
+"Yes. Rosa had told him we were coming, and he called me up. He said
+maybe I could do something. So he told me."
+
+"Yes, yes! But told you what?"
+
+"That he was hurt."
+
+"How?"
+
+"I couldn't hear all, but I think 'twas an accident--automobile. And,
+Billy, Billy--Pete says it's his arm--his right arm--and that maybe he
+can't ever p-paint again!"
+
+"Oh-h!" Billy fell back as if the words had been a blow. "Not that, Aunt
+Hannah--not that!"
+
+"That's what Pete said. I couldn't get all of it, but I got that.
+And, Billy, he's been out of his head--though he isn't now, Pete
+says--and--and--and he's been calling for you."
+
+"For--_me?_" A swift change came to Billy's face.
+
+"Yes. Over and over again he called for you--while he was crazy, you
+know. That's why Pete told me. He said he didn't rightly understand what
+the trouble was, but he didn't believe there was any trouble, _really_,
+between you two; anyway, that you wouldn't think there was, if you could
+hear him, and know how he wanted you, and--why, Billy!"
+
+Billy was on her feet now. Her fingers were on the electric push-button
+that would summon Rosa. Her face was illumined. The next moment Rosa
+appeared.
+
+"Tell John to bring Peggy to the door at once, please," directed her
+mistress.
+
+"Billy!" gasped Aunt Hannah again, as the maid disappeared. Billy was
+tremblingly putting on the hat she had but just taken off. "Billy, what
+are you going to do?"
+
+Billy turned in obvious surprise.
+
+"Why, I'm going to Bertram, of course."
+
+"To Bertram! But it's nearly half-past eight, child, and it rains, and
+everything!"
+
+"But Bertram _wants_ me!" exclaimed Billy. "As if I'd mind rain, or
+time, or anything else, _now!_"
+
+"But--but--oh, my grief and conscience!" groaned Aunt Hannah, beginning
+to wring her hands again.
+
+Billy reached for her coat. Aunt Hannah stirred into sudden action.
+
+"But, Billy, if you'd only wait till to-morrow," she quavered, putting
+out a feebly restraining hand.
+
+"To-morrow!" The young voice rang with supreme scorn. "Do you think I'd
+wait till to-morrow--after all this? I say Bertram _wants_ me." Billy
+picked up her gloves.
+
+"But you broke it off, dear--you said you did; and to go down there
+to-night--like this--"
+
+Billy lifted her head. Her eyes shone. Her whole face was a glory of
+love and pride.
+
+"That was before. I didn't know. He _wants_ me, Aunt Hannah. Did
+you hear? He _wants_ me! And now I won't even--hinder him, if he
+can't--p-paint again!" Billy's voice broke. The glory left her face. Her
+eyes brimmed with tears, but her head was still bravely uplifted. "I'm
+going to Bertram!"
+
+Blindly Aunt Hannah got to her feet. Still more blindly she reached for
+her bonnet and cloak on the chair near her.
+
+"Oh, will you go, too?" asked Billy, abstractedly, hurrying to the
+window to look for the motor car.
+
+"Will I go, too!" burst out Aunt Hannah's indignant voice. "Do you think
+I'd let you go alone, and at this time of night, on such a wild-goose
+chase as this?"
+
+"I don't know, I'm sure," murmured Billy, still abstractedly, peering
+out into the rain.
+
+"Don't know, indeed! Oh, my grief and conscience!" groaned Aunt Hannah,
+setting her bonnet hopelessly askew on top of her agitated head.
+
+But Billy did not even answer now. Her face was pressed hard against the
+window-pane.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIII. BERTRAM TAKES THE REINS
+
+
+With stiffly pompous dignity Pete opened the door. The next moment
+he fell back in amazement before the impetuous rush of a starry-eyed,
+flushed-cheeked young woman who demanded:
+
+"Where is he, Pete?"
+
+"Miss Billy!" gasped the old man. Then he saw Aunt Hannah--Aunt Hannah
+with her bonnet askew, her neck-bow awry, one hand bare, and the other
+half covered with a glove wrong side out. Aunt Hannah's cheeks, too,
+were flushed, and her eyes starry, but with dismay and anger--the last
+because she did not like the way Pete had said Miss Billy's name. It was
+one matter for her to object to this thing Billy was doing--but quite
+another for Pete to do it.
+
+"Of course it's she!" retorted Aunt Hannah, testily. "As if you yourself
+didn't bring her here with your crazy messages at this time of night!"
+
+"Pete, where is he?" interposed Billy. "Tell Mr. Bertram I am here--or,
+wait! I'll go right in and surprise him."
+
+"_Billy!_" This time it was Aunt Hannah who gasped her name.
+
+Pete had recovered himself by now, but he did not even glance toward
+Aunt Hannah. His face was beaming, and his old eyes were shining.
+
+"Miss Billy, Miss Billy, you're an angel straight from heaven, you
+are--you are! Oh, I'm so glad you came! It'll be all right now--all
+right! He's in the den, Miss Billy."
+
+Billy turned eagerly, but before she could take so much as one step
+toward the door at the end of the hall, Aunt Hannah's indignant voice
+arrested her.
+
+"Billy-stop! You're not an angel; you're a young woman--and a crazy
+one, at that! Whatever angels do, young women don't go unannounced and
+unchaperoned into young men's rooms! Pete, go tell your master that _we_
+are here, and ask if he will receive _us_."
+
+Pete's lips twitched. The emphatic "we" and "us" were not lost on him.
+But his face was preternaturally grave when he spoke.
+
+"Mr. Bertram is up and dressed, ma'am. He's in the den. I'll speak to
+him."
+
+Pete, once again the punctilious butler, stalked to the door of
+Bertram's den and threw it wide open.
+
+Opposite the door, on a low couch, lay Bertram, his head bandaged, and
+his right arm in a sling. His face was turned toward the door, but his
+eyes were closed. He looked very white, and his features were pitifully
+drawn with suffering.
+
+"Mr. Bertram," began Pete--but he got no further. A flying figure
+brushed by him and fell on its knees by the couch, with a low cry.
+
+Bertram's eyes flew open. Across his face swept such a radiant look of
+unearthly joy that Pete sobbed audibly and fled to the kitchen. Dong
+Ling found him there a minute later polishing a silver teaspoon with
+a fringed napkin that had been spread over Bertram's tray. In the hall
+above Aunt Hannah was crying into William's gray linen duster that hung
+on the hall-rack--Aunt Hannah's handkerchief was on the floor back at
+Hillside.
+
+In the den neither Billy nor Bertram knew or cared what had become of
+Aunt Hannah and Pete. There were just two people in their world--two
+people, and unutterable, incredible, overwhelming rapture and peace.
+Then, very gradually it dawned over them that there was, after all,
+something strange and unexplained in it all.
+
+"But, dearest, what does it mean--you here like this?" asked Bertram
+then. As if to make sure that she was "here, like this," he drew her
+even closer--Bertram was so thankful that he did have one arm that was
+usable.
+
+Billy, on her knees by the couch, snuggled into the curve of the one arm
+with a contented little sigh.
+
+"Well, you see, just as soon as I found out to-night that you wanted me,
+I came," she said.
+
+"You darling! That was--" Bertram stopped suddenly. A puzzled frown
+showed below the fantastic bandage about his head. "'As soon as,'" he
+quoted then scornfully. "Were you ever by any possible chance thinking I
+_didn't_ want you?"
+
+Billy's eyes widened a little.
+
+"Why, Bertram, dear, don't you see? When you were so troubled that
+the picture didn't go well, and I found out it was about me you were
+troubled--I--"
+
+"Well?" Bertram's voice was a little strained.
+
+"Why, of--of course," stammered Billy, "I couldn't help thinking that
+maybe you had found out you _didn't_ want me."
+
+"_Didn't want you!_" groaned Bertram, his tense muscles relaxing. "May I
+ask why?"
+
+Billy blushed.
+
+"I wasn't quite sure why," she faltered; "only, of course, I thought
+of--of Miss Winthrop, you know, or that maybe it was because you didn't
+care for _any_ girl, only to paint--oh, oh, Bertram! Pete told us," she
+broke off wildly, beginning to sob.
+
+"Pete told you that I didn't care for any girl, only to paint?" demanded
+Bertram, angry and mystified.
+
+"No, no," sobbed Billy, "not that. It was all the others that told
+me that! Pete told Aunt Hannah about the accident, you know, and he
+said--he said--Oh, Bertram, I _can't_ say it! But that's one of the
+things that made me know I _could_ come now, you see, because I--I
+wouldn't hinder you, nor slay your Art, nor any other of those dreadful
+things if--if you couldn't ever--p-paint again," finished Billy in an
+uncontrollable burst of grief.
+
+"There, there, dear," comforted Bertram, patting the bronze-gold head
+on his breast. "I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking
+about--except the last; but I know there _can't_ be anything that ought
+to make you cry like that. As for my not painting again--you didn't
+understand Pete, dearie. That was what they were afraid of at
+first--that I'd lose my arm; but that danger is all past now. I'm
+loads better. Of course I'm going to paint again--and better than ever
+before--_now!_"
+
+Billy lifted her head. A look that was almost terror came to her eyes.
+She pulled herself half away from Bertram's encircling arm.
+
+"Why, Billy," cried the man, in pained surprise. "You don't mean to say
+you're _sorry_ I'm going to paint again!"
+
+"No, no! Oh, no, Bertram--never that!" she faltered, still regarding
+him with fearful eyes. "It's only--for _me_, you know. I _can't_ go back
+now, and not have you--after this!--even if I do hinder you, and--"
+
+"_Hinder me!_ What are you talking about, Billy?"
+
+Billy drew a quivering sigh.
+
+"Well, to begin with, Kate said--"
+
+"Good heavens! Is Kate in _this_, too?" Bertram's voice was savage now.
+
+"Well, she wrote a letter."
+
+"I'll warrant she did! Great Scott, Billy! Don't you know Kate by this
+time?"
+
+"Y-yes, I said so, too. But, Bertram, what she wrote was true. I found
+it everywhere, afterwards--in magazines and papers, and even in Marie."
+
+"Humph! Well, dearie, I don't know yet what you found, but I do know you
+wouldn't have found it at all if it hadn't been for Kate--and I wish I
+had her here this minute!"
+
+Billy giggled hysterically.
+
+"I don't--not _right_ here," she cooed, nestling comfortably against
+her lover's arm. "But you see, dear, she never _has_ approved of the
+marriage."
+
+"Well, who's doing the marrying--she, or I?" "That's what I said,
+too--only in another way," sighed Billy. "But she called us flyaway
+flutterbudgets, and she said I'd ruin your career, if I did marry you."
+
+"Well, I can tell you right now, Billy, you will ruin it if you don't!"
+declared Bertram. "That's what ailed me all the time I was painting that
+miserable portrait. I was so worried--for fear I'd lose you."
+
+"Lose me! Why, Bertram Henshaw, what do you mean?"
+
+A shamed red crept to the man's forehead.
+
+"Well, I suppose I might as well own up now as any time. I was scared
+blue, Billy, with jealousy of--Arkwright."
+
+Billy laughed gayly--but she shifted her position and did not meet her
+lover's eyes.
+
+"Arkwright? Nonsense!" she cried. "Why, he's going to marry Alice
+Greggory. I know he is! I can see it as plain as day in her letters.
+He's there a lot."
+
+"And you never did think for a minute, Billy, that you cared for him?"
+Bertram's gaze searched Billy's face a little fearfully. He had not been
+slow to mark that swift lowering of her eyelids. But Billy looked him
+now straight in the face--it was a level, frank gaze of absolute truth.
+
+"Never, dear," she said firmly. (Billy was so glad Bertram had turned
+the question on _her_ love instead of Arkwright's!) "There has never
+really been any one but you."
+
+"Thank God for that," breathed Bertram, as he drew the bright head
+nearer and held it close.
+
+After a minute Billy stirred and sighed happily.
+
+"Aren't lovers the beat'em for imagining things?" she murmured.
+
+"They certainly are."
+
+"You see--I wasn't in love with Mr. Arkwright."
+
+"I see--I hope."
+
+"And--and you didn't care _specially_ for--for Miss Winthrop?"
+
+"Eh? Well, no!" exploded Bertram. "Do you mean to say you really--"
+
+Billy put a soft finger on his lips.
+
+"Er--'people who live in _glass houses_,' you know," she reminded him,
+with roguish eyes.
+
+Bertram kissed the finger and subsided.
+
+"Humph!" he commented.
+
+There was a long silence; then, a little breathlessly, Billy asked:
+
+"And you don't--after all, love me--just to paint?"
+
+"Well, what is that? Is that Kate, too?" demanded Bertram, grimly.
+
+Billy laughed.
+
+"No--oh, she said it, all right, but, you see, _everybody_ said that to
+me, Bertram; and that's what made me so--so worried sometimes when you
+talked about the tilt of my chin, and all that."
+
+"Well, by Jove!" breathed Bertram.
+
+There was another silence. Then, suddenly, Bertram stirred.
+
+"Billy, I'm going to marry you to-morrow," he announced decisively.
+
+Billy lifted her head and sat back in palpitating dismay.
+
+"Bertram! What an absurd idea!"
+
+"Well, I am. I don't _know_ as I can trust you out of my sight till
+_then!_ You'll read something, or hear something, or get a letter from
+Kate after breakfast to-morrow morning, that will set you 'saving me'
+again; and I don't want to be saved--that way. I'm going to marry you
+to-morrow. I'll get--" He stopped short, with a sudden frown. "Confound
+that law! I forgot. Great Scott, Billy, I'll have to trust you five
+days, after all! There's a new law about the license. We've _got_ to
+wait five days--and maybe more, counting in the notice, and all."
+
+Billy laughed softly.
+
+"Five days, indeed, sir! I wonder if you think I can get ready to be
+married in five days."
+
+
+"Don't want you to get ready," retorted Bertram, promptly. "I saw Marie
+get ready, and I had all I wanted of it. If you really must have all
+those miles of tablecloths and napkins and doilies and lace rufflings
+we'll do it afterwards,--not before."
+
+"But--"
+
+"Besides, I _need_ you to take care of me," cut in Bertram, craftily.
+
+"Bertram, do you--really?"
+
+The tender glow on Billy's face told its own story, and Bertram's eager
+eyes were not slow to read it.
+
+"Sweetheart, see here, dear," he cried softly, tightening his good left
+arm. And forthwith he began to tell her how much he did, indeed, need
+her.
+
+
+"Billy, my dear!" It was Aunt Hannah's plaintive voice at the doorway,
+a little later. "We must go home; and William is here, too, and wants to
+see you."
+
+Billy rose at once as Aunt Hannah entered the room.
+
+"Yes, Aunt Hannah, I'll come; besides"--she glanced at Bertram
+mischievously--"I shall need all the time I've got to prepare for--my
+wedding."
+
+"Your wedding! You mean it'll be before--October?" Aunt Hannah glanced
+from one to the other uncertainly. Something in their smiling faces sent
+a quick suspicion to her eyes.
+
+"Yes," nodded Billy, demurely. "It's next Tuesday, you see."
+
+"Next Tuesday! But that's only a week away," gasped Aunt Hannah.
+
+"Yes, a week."
+
+"But, child, your trousseau--the wedding--the--the--a week!" Aunt Hannah
+could not articulate further.
+
+"Yes, I know; that is a good while," cut in Bertram, airily. "We wanted
+it to-morrow, but we had to wait, on account of the new license law.
+Otherwise it wouldn't have been so long, and--"
+
+But Aunt Hannah was gone. With a low-breathed "Long! Oh, my grief and
+conscience--_William!_" she had fled through the hall door.
+
+"Well, it _is_ long," maintained Bertram, with tender eyes, as he
+reached out his hand to say good-night.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's Miss Billy's Decision, by Eleanor H. Porter
+
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diff --git a/362-8.zip b/362-8.zip
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+<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?>
+
+<!DOCTYPE html
+   PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN"
+   "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" >
+
+<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en">
+  <head>
+    <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" />
+    <title>
+      Miss Billy's Decision, by Eleanor H. Porter
+    </title>
+    <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve">
+
+    body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify}
+    P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; }
+    H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; }
+    hr  { width: 50%; text-align: center;}
+    .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; }
+    blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;}
+    .mynote    {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;}
+    .toc       { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;}
+    .toc2      { margin-left: 20%;}
+    div.fig    { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; }
+    div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; }
+    .figleft   {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;}
+    .figright  {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;}
+    .pagenum   {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal;
+               margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%;
+               text-align: right;}
+    pre        { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;}
+
+</style>
+  </head>
+  <body>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Miss Billy's Decision, by Eleanor H. Porter
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Miss Billy's Decision
+
+Author: Eleanor H. Porter
+
+Release Date: July 8, 2008 [EBook #362]
+Last Updated: March 9, 2018
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MISS BILLY'S DECISION ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Charles Keller, and David Widger
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <h1>
+      MISS BILLY'S DECISION
+    </h1>
+    <p>
+      <br />
+    </p>
+    <h2>
+      By Eleanor H. Porter
+    </h2>
+    <h4>
+      Author of &ldquo;Miss Billy,&rdquo; etc.
+    </h4>
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <h4>
+      TO <br /> My Cousin Helen
+    </h4>
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <blockquote>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big>
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        <br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <big><b>MISS BILLY'S DECISION</b></big>
+        </a><br /> <br /> <br /> <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;CALDERWELL
+        DOES SOME TALKING <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;AUNT
+        HANNAH GETS A LETTER <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III.
+        </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;BILLY AND BERTRAM <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0004">
+        CHAPTER IV. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;FOR MARY JANE <br /><br /> <a
+        href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;MARIE SPEAKS HER MIND
+        <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;AT THE
+        SIGN OF THE PINK <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;OLD
+        FRIENDS AND NEW <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;M.
+        J. OPENS THE GAME <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;A
+        RUG, A PICTURE, AND A GIRL AFRAID <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0010">
+        CHAPTER X. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;A JOB FOR PETE&mdash;AND FOR BERTRAM <br /><br />
+        <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;A CLOCK AND AUNT
+        HANNAH <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;SISTER
+        KATE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;CYRIL
+        AND A WEDDING <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;M.
+        J. MAKES ANOTHER MOVE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV.
+        </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;"MR. BILLY&rdquo; AND &ldquo;MISS MARY JANE&rdquo; <br /><br /> <a
+        href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;A GIRL AND A BIT OF
+        LOWESTOFT <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;ONLY
+        A LOVE SONG, BUT&mdash; <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER
+        XVIII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;SUGARPLUMS <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0019">
+        CHAPTER XIX. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;ALICE GREGGORY <br /><br /> <a
+        href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;ARKWRIGHT TELLS A
+        STORY <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XXI. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;A
+        MATTER OF STRAIGHT BUSINESS <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER
+        XXII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;PLANS AND PLOTTINGS <br /><br /> <a
+        href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XXIII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE CAUSE AND
+        BERTRAM <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER XXIV. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE
+        ARTIST AND HIS ART <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER XXV. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE
+        OPERETTA <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER XXVI. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;ARKWRIGHT
+        TELLS ANOTHER STORY <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER XXVII.
+        </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE THING THAT WAS THE TRUTH <br /><br /> <a
+        href="#link2HCH0028"> CHAPTER XXVIII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;BILLY TAKES HER
+        TURN <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0029"> CHAPTER XXIX. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;KATE
+        WRITES A LETTER <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0030"> CHAPTER XXX. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;"I'VE
+        HINDERED HIM&rdquo; <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0031"> CHAPTER XXXI. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;FLIGHT
+        <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0032"> CHAPTER XXXII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;PETE
+        TO THE RESCUE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0033"> CHAPTER XXXIII. &nbsp;&nbsp;</a>&nbsp;&nbsp;BERTRAM
+        TAKES THE REINS <br /><br />
+      </p>
+    </blockquote>
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <h1>
+      MISS BILLY'S DECISION
+    </h1>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER I. CALDERWELL DOES SOME TALKING
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Calderwell had met Mr. M. J. Arkwright in London through a common friend;
+      since then they had tramped half over Europe together in a comradeship
+      that was as delightful as it was unusual. As Calderwell put it in a letter
+      to his sister, Belle:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We smoke the same cigar and drink the same tea (he's just as much of an
+      old woman on that subject as I am!), and we agree beautifully on all
+      necessary points of living, from tipping to late sleeping in the morning;
+      while as for politics and religion&mdash;we disagree in those just enough
+      to lend spice to an otherwise tame existence.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Farther along in this same letter Calderwell touched upon his new friend
+      again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I admit, however, I would like to know his name. To find out what that
+      mysterious 'M. J.' stands for has got to be pretty nearly an obsession
+      with me. I am about ready to pick his pocket or rifle his trunk in search
+      of some lurking 'Martin' or 'John' that will set me at peace. As it is, I
+      confess that I have ogled his incoming mail and his outgoing baggage
+      shamelessly, only to be slapped in the face always and everlastingly by
+      that bland 'M. J.' I've got my revenge, now, though. To myself I call him
+      'Mary Jane'&mdash;and his broad-shouldered, brown-bearded six feet of
+      muscular manhood would so like to be called 'Mary Jane'! By the way,
+      Belle, if you ever hear of murder and sudden death in my direction, better
+      set the sleuths on the trail of Arkwright. Six to one you'll find I called
+      him 'Mary Jane' to his face!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Calderwell was thinking of that letter now, as he sat at a small table in
+      a Paris café. Opposite him was the six feet of muscular manhood, broad
+      shoulders, pointed brown beard, and all&mdash;and he had just addressed
+      it, inadvertently, as &ldquo;Mary Jane.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      During the brief, sickening moment of silence after the name had left his
+      lips, Calderwell was conscious of a whimsical realization of the lights,
+      music, and laughter all about him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I chose as safe a place as I could!&rdquo; he was thinking. Then
+      Arkwright spoke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How long since you've been in correspondence with members of my family?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright laughed grimly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps you thought of it yourself, then&mdash;I'll admit you're capable
+      of it,&rdquo; he nodded, reaching for a cigar. &ldquo;But it so happens you hit upon
+      my family's favorite name for me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;<i>Mary Jane!</i> You mean they actually <i>call</i> you that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; bowed the big fellow, calmly, as he struck a light. &ldquo;Appropriate!&mdash;don't
+      you think?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Calderwell did not answer. He thought he could not.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, silence gives consent, they say,&rdquo; laughed the other. &ldquo;Anyhow, you
+      must have had <i>some</i> reason for calling me that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Arkwright, what <i>does</i> 'M. J.' stand for?&rdquo; demanded Calderwell.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, is that it?&rdquo; smiled the man opposite. &ldquo;Well, I'll own those initials
+      have been something of a puzzle to people. One man declares they're
+      'Merely Jokes'; but another, not so friendly, says they stand for 'Mostly
+      Jealousy' of more fortunate chaps who have real names for a handle. My
+      small brothers and sisters, discovering, with the usual perspicacity of
+      one's family on such matters, that I never signed, or called myself
+      anything but 'M. J.,' dubbed me 'Mary Jane.' And there you have it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mary Jane! You!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright smiled oddly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, well, what's the difference? Would you deprive them of their innocent
+      amusement? And they do so love that 'Mary Jane'! Besides, what's in a
+      name, anyway?&rdquo; he went on, eyeing the glowing tip of the cigar between his
+      fingers. &ldquo;'A rose by any other name&mdash;'&mdash;you've heard that,
+      probably. Names don't always signify, my dear fellow. For instance, I know
+      a 'Billy'&mdash;but he's a girl.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Calderwell gave a sudden start.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You don't mean Billy&mdash;Neilson?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The other turned sharply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do <i>you</i> know Billy Neilson?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Calderwell gave his friend a glance from scornful eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do I know Billy Neilson?&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;Does a fellow usually know the girl
+      he's proposed to regularly once in three months? Oh, I know I'm telling
+      tales out of school, of course,&rdquo; he went on, in response to the look that
+      had come into the brown eyes opposite. &ldquo;But what's the use? Everybody
+      knows it&mdash;that knows us. Billy herself got so she took it as a matter
+      of course&mdash;and refused as a matter of course, too; just as she would
+      refuse a serving of apple pie at dinner, if she hadn't wanted it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Apple pie!&rdquo; scouted Arkwright.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Calderwell shrugged his shoulders.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My dear fellow, you don't seem to realize it, but for the last six months
+      you have been assisting at the obsequies of a dead romance.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Indeed! And is it&mdash;buried, yet?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no,&rdquo; sighed Calderwell, cheerfully. &ldquo;I shall go back one of these
+      days, I'll warrant, and begin the same old game again; though I will
+      acknowledge that the last refusal was so very decided that it's been a
+      year, almost, since I received it. I think I was really convinced, for a
+      while, that&mdash;that she didn't want that apple pie,&rdquo; he finished with a
+      whimsical lightness that did not quite coincide with the stern lines that
+      had come to his mouth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For a moment there was silence, then Calderwell spoke again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where did you know&mdash;Miss Billy?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I don't know her at all. I know of her&mdash;through Aunt Hannah.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Calderwell sat suddenly erect.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aunt Hannah! Is she your aunt, too? Jove! This <i>is</i> a little old
+      world, after all; isn't it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She isn't my aunt. She's my mother's third cousin. None of us have seen
+      her for years, but she writes to mother occasionally; and, of course, for
+      some time now, her letters have been running over full of Billy. She lives
+      with her, I believe; doesn't she?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She does,&rdquo; rejoined Calderwell, with an unexpected chuckle. &ldquo;I wonder if
+      you know how she happened to live with her, at first.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, no, I reckon not. What do you mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Calderwell chuckled again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I'll tell you. You, being a 'Mary Jane,' ought to appreciate it.
+      You see, Billy was named for one William Henshaw, her father's chum, who
+      promptly forgot all about her. At eighteen, Billy, being left quite alone
+      in the world, wrote to 'Uncle William' and asked to come and live with
+      him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But it wasn't well. William was a forty-year-old widower who lived with
+      two younger brothers, an old butler, and a Chinese cook in one of those
+      funny old Beacon Street houses in Boston. 'The Strata,' Bertram called it.
+      Bright boy&mdash;Bertram!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Strata!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. I wish you could see that house, Arkwright. It's a regular layer
+      cake. Cyril&mdash;he's the second brother; must be thirty-four or five now&mdash;lives
+      on the top floor in a rugless, curtainless, music-mad existence&mdash;just
+      a plain crank. Below him comes William. William collects things&mdash;everything
+      from tenpenny nails to teapots, I should say, and they're all there in his
+      rooms. Farther down somewhere comes Bertram. He's <i>the</i> Bertram
+      Henshaw, you understand; the artist.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not the 'Face-of-a-Girl' Henshaw?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The same; only of course four years ago he wasn't quite so well known as
+      he is now. Well, to resume and go on. It was into this house, this
+      masculine paradise ruled over by Pete and Dong Ling in the kitchen, that
+      Billy's naïve request for a home came.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Great Scott!&rdquo; breathed Arkwright, appreciatively.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. Well, the letter was signed 'Billy.' They took her for a boy,
+      naturally, and after something of a struggle they agreed to let 'him'
+      come. For his particular delectation they fixed up a room next to Bertram
+      with guns and fishing rods, and such ladylike specialties; and William
+      went to the station to meet the boy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;With never a suspicion?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;With never a suspicion.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Gorry!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, 'he' came, and 'she' conquered. I guess things were lively for a
+      while, though. Oh, there was a kitten, too, I believe, 'Spunk,' who added
+      to the gayety of nations.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But what did the Henshaws do?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I wasn't there, of course; but Bertram says they spun around like
+      tops gone mad for a time, but finally quieted down enough to summon a
+      married sister for immediate propriety, and to establish Aunt Hannah for
+      permanency the next day.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So that's how it happened! Well, by George!&rdquo; cried Arkwright.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; nodded the other. &ldquo;So you see there are untold possibilities just
+      in a name. Remember that. Just suppose <i>you</i>, as Mary Jane, should
+      beg a home in a feminine household&mdash;say in Miss Billy's, for
+      instance!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'd like to,&rdquo; retorted Arkwright, with sudden warmth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Calderwell stared a little.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The other laughed shamefacedly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, it's only that I happen to have a devouring curiosity to meet that
+      special young lady. I sing her songs (you know she's written some
+      dandies!), I've heard a lot about her, and I've seen her picture.&rdquo; (He did
+      not add that he had also purloined that same picture from his mother's
+      bureau&mdash;the picture being a gift from Aunt Hannah.) &ldquo;So you see I
+      would, indeed, like to occupy a corner in the fair Miss Billy's household.
+      I could write to Aunt Hannah and beg a home with her, you know; eh?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course! Why don't you&mdash;'Mary Jane'?&rdquo; laughed Calderwell. &ldquo;Billy'd
+      take you all right. She's had a little Miss Hawthorn, a music teacher,
+      there for months. She's always doing stunts of that sort. Belle writes me
+      that she's had a dozen forlornites there all this last summer, two or
+      three at a time-tired widows, lonesome old maids, and crippled kids&mdash;just
+      to give them a royal good time. So you see she'd take you, without a
+      doubt. Jove! what a pair you'd make: Miss Billy and Mr. Mary Jane! You'd
+      drive the suffragettes into conniption fits&mdash;just by the sound of
+      you!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright laughed quietly; then he frowned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But how about it?&rdquo; he asked. &ldquo;I thought she was keeping house with Aunt
+      Hannah. Didn't she stay at all with the Henshaws?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes, a few months. I never knew just why she did leave, but I
+      fancied, from something Billy herself said once, that she discovered she
+      was creating rather too much of an upheaval in the Strata. So she took
+      herself off. She went to school, and travelled considerably. She was over
+      here when I met her first. After that she was with us all one summer on
+      the yacht. A couple of years ago, or so, she went back to Boston, bought a
+      house and settled down with Aunt Hannah.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And she's not married&mdash;or even engaged?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wasn't the last I heard. I haven't seen her since December, and I've
+      heard from her only indirectly. She corresponds with my sister, and so do
+      I&mdash;intermittently. I heard a month ago from Belle, and <i>she</i> had
+      a letter from Billy in August. But I heard nothing of any engagement.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How about the Henshaws? I should think there might be a chance there for
+      a romance&mdash;a charming girl, and three unattached men.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Calderwell gave a slow shake of the head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't think so. William is&mdash;let me see&mdash;nearly forty-five, I
+      guess, by this time; and he isn't a marrying man. He buried his heart with
+      his wife and baby years ago. Cyril, according to Bertram, 'hates women and
+      all other confusion,' so that ought to let him out. As for Bertram himself&mdash;Bertram
+      is 'only Bertram.' He's always been that. Bertram loves girls&mdash;to
+      paint; but I can't imagine him making serious love to any one. It would
+      always be the tilt of a chin or the turn of a cheek that he was admiring&mdash;to
+      paint. No, there's no chance for a romance there, I'll warrant.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But there's&mdash;yourself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Calderwell's eyebrows rose the fraction of an inch.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, of course. I presume January or February will find me back there,&rdquo; he
+      admitted with a sigh and a shrug. Then, a little bitterly, he added: &ldquo;No,
+      Arkwright. I shall keep away if I can. I <i>know</i> there's no chance for
+      me&mdash;now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then you'll leave me a clear field?&rdquo; bantered the other.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course&mdash;'Mary Jane,'&rdquo; retorted Calderwell, with equal lightness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, you needn't,&rdquo; laughed Calderwell. &ldquo;My giving you the right of way
+      doesn't insure you a thoroughfare for yourself&mdash;there are others, you
+      know. Billy Neilson has had sighing swains about I her, I imagine, since
+      she could walk and talk. She is a wonderfully fascinating little bit of
+      femininity, and she has a heart of pure gold. All is, I envy the man who
+      wins it&mdash;for the man who wins that, wins her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was no answer. Arkwright sat with his eyes on the moving throng
+      outside the window near them. Perhaps he had not heard. At all events,
+      when he spoke some time later, it was of a matter far removed from Miss
+      Billy Neilson, or the way to her heart. Nor was the young lady mentioned
+      between them again that day.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Long hours later, just before parting for the night, Arkwright said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Calderwell, I'm sorry, but I believe, after all, I can't take that trip
+      to the lakes with you. I&mdash;I'm going home next week.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Home! Hang it, Arkwright! I'd counted on you. Isn't this rather sudden?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, and no. I'll own I've been drifting about with you contentedly
+      enough for the last six months to make you think mountain-climbing and
+      boat-paddling were the end and aim of my existence. But they aren't, you
+      know, really.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense! At heart you're as much of a vagabond as I am; and you know
+      it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps. But unfortunately I don't happen to carry your pocketbook.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You may, if you like. I'll hand it over any time,&rdquo; grinned Calderwell.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thanks. You know well enough what I mean,&rdquo; shrugged the other.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a moment's silence; then Calderwell queried:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Arkwright, how old are you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Twenty-four.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good! Then you're merely travelling to supplement your education, see?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes, I see. But something besides my education has got to be
+      supplemented now, I reckon.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What are you going to do?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was an almost imperceptible hesitation; then, a little shortly, came
+      the answer:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hit the trail for Grand Opera, and bring up, probably&mdash;in
+      vaudeville.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Calderwell smiled appreciatively.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You <i>can</i> sing like the devil,&rdquo; he admitted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thanks,&rdquo; returned his friend, with uplifted eyebrows. &ldquo;Do you mind
+      calling it 'an angel'&mdash;just for this occasion?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, the matinée-girls will do that fast enough. But, I say, Arkwright,
+      what are you going to do with those initials then?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let 'em alone.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no, you won't. And you won't be 'Mary Jane,' either. Imagine a Mary
+      Jane in Grand Opera! I know what you'll be. You'll be 'Señor Martini
+      Johnini Arkwrightino'! By the way, you didn't say what that 'M. J.' really
+      did stand for,&rdquo; hinted Calderwell, shamelessly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Merely Jokes'&mdash;in your estimation, evidently,&rdquo; shrugged the other.
+      &ldquo;But my going isn't a joke, Calderwell. I'm really going. And I'm going to
+      work.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But&mdash;how shall you manage?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Time will tell.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Calderwell frowned and stirred restlessly in his chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, honestly, now, to&mdash;to follow that trail of yours will take
+      money. And&mdash;er&mdash;&rdquo; a faint red stole to his forehead&mdash;&ldquo;don't
+      they have&mdash;er&mdash;patrons for these young and budding geniuses? Why
+      can't I have a hand in this trail, too&mdash;or maybe you'd call it a
+      foot, eh? I'd be no end glad to, Arkwright.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thanks, old man.&rdquo; The red was duplicated this time above the brown silky
+      beard. &ldquo;That was mighty kind of you, and I appreciate it; but it won't be
+      necessary. A generous, but perhaps misguided bachelor uncle left me a few
+      thousands a year or so ago; and I'm going to put them all down my throat&mdash;or
+      rather, <i>into</i> it&mdash;before I give up.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where you going to study? New York?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Again there was an almost imperceptible hesitation before the answer came.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm not quite prepared to say.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why not try it here?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright shook his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I did plan to, when I came over but I've changed my mind. I believe I'd
+      rather work while longer in America.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hm-m,&rdquo; murmured Calderwell.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a brief silence, followed by other questions and other answers;
+      after which the friends said good night.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In his own room, as he was dropping off to sleep, Calderwell muttered
+      drowsily:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By George! I haven't found out yet what that blamed 'M. J.' stands for!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER II. AUNT HANNAH GETS A LETTER
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      In the cozy living-room at Hillside, Billy Neilson's pretty home on Corey
+      Hill, Billy herself sat writing at the desk. Her pen had just traced the
+      date, &ldquo;October twenty-fifth,&rdquo; when Mrs. Stetson entered with a letter in
+      her hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Writing, my dear? Then don't let me disturb you.&rdquo; She turned as if to go.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy dropped her pen, sprang to her feet, flew to the little woman's side
+      and whirled her half across the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There!&rdquo; she exclaimed, as she plumped the breathless and scandalized Aunt
+      Hannah into the biggest easy chair. &ldquo;I feel better. I just had to let off
+      steam some way. It's so lovely you came in just when you did!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Indeed! I&mdash;I'm not so sure of that,&rdquo; stammered the lady, dropping
+      the letter into her lap, and patting with agitated fingers her cap, her
+      curls, the two shawls about her shoulders, and the lace at her throat. &ldquo;My
+      grief and conscience, Billy! Wors't you <i>ever</i> grow up?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hope not,&rdquo; purred Billy cheerfully, dropping herself on to a low hassock
+      at Aunt Hannah's feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, my dear, you&mdash;you're engaged!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy bubbled into a chuckling laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As if I didn't know that, when I've just written a dozen notes to
+      announce it! And, oh, Aunt Hannah, such a time as I've had, telling what a
+      dear Bertram is, and how I love, love, <i>love</i> him, and what beautiful
+      eyes he has, and <i>such</i> a nose, and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy!&rdquo; Aunt Hannah was sitting erect in pale horror.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh?&rdquo; Billy's eyes were roguish.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You didn't write that in those notes!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Write it? Oh, no! That's only what I <i>wanted</i> to write,&rdquo; chuckled
+      Billy. &ldquo;What I really did write was as staid and proper as&mdash;here, let
+      me show you,&rdquo; she broke off, springing to her feet and running over to her
+      desk. &ldquo;There! this is about what I wrote to them all,&rdquo; she finished,
+      whipping a note out of one of the unsealed envelopes on the desk and
+      spreading it open before Aunt Hannah's suspicious eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hm-m; that is very good&mdash;for you,&rdquo; admitted the lady.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I like that!&mdash;after all my stern self-control and
+      self-sacrifice to keep out all those things I <i>wanted</i> to write,&rdquo;
+       bridled Billy. &ldquo;Besides, they'd have been ever so much more interesting
+      reading than these will be,&rdquo; she pouted, as she took the note from her
+      companion's hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't doubt it,&rdquo; observed Aunt Hannah, dryly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed, and tossed the note back on the desk.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm writing to Belle Calderwell, now,&rdquo; she announced musingly, dropping
+      herself again on the hassock. &ldquo;I suppose she'll tell Hugh.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Poor boy! He'll be disappointed.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy sighed, but she uptilted her chin a little.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He ought not to be. I told him long, long ago, the very first time, that&mdash;that
+      I couldn't.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know, dear; but&mdash;they don't always understand.&rdquo; Aunt Hannah sighed
+      in sympathy with the far-away Hugh Calderwell, as she looked down at the
+      bright young face near her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a moment's silence; then Billy gave a little laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He <i>will</i> be surprised,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;He told me once that Bertram
+      wouldn't ever care for any girl except to paint. To paint, indeed! As if
+      Bertram didn't love me&mdash;just <i>me!</i>&mdash;if he never saw another
+      tube of paint!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think he does, my dear.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Again there was silence; then, from Billy's lips there came softly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Just think; we've been engaged almost four weeks&mdash;and to-morrow
+      it'll be announced. I'm so glad I didn't ever announce the other two!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The other <i>two!</i>&rdquo; cried Aunt Hannah.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I forgot. You didn't know about Cyril.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Cyril!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, there didn't anybody know it, either not even Cyril himself,&rdquo; dimpled
+      Billy, mischievously. &ldquo;I just engaged myself to him in imagination, you
+      know, to see how I'd like it. I didn't like it. But it didn't last,
+      anyhow, very long&mdash;just three weeks, I believe. Then I broke it off,&rdquo;
+       she finished, with unsmiling mouth, but dancing eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy!&rdquo; protested Aunt Hannah, feebly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I <i>am</i> glad only the family knew about my engagement to Uncle
+      William&mdash;oh, Aunt Hannah, you don't know how good it does seem to
+      call him 'Uncle' again. It was always slipping out, anyhow, all the time
+      we were engaged; and of course it was awful then.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That only goes to prove, my dear, how entirely unsuitable it was, from
+      the start.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A bright color flooded Billy's face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know; but if a girl <i>will</i> think a man is asking for a wife when
+      all he wants is a daughter, and if she blandly says 'Yes, thank you, I'll
+      marry you,' I don't know what you can expect!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You can expect just what you got&mdash;misery, and almost a tragedy,&rdquo;
+       retorted Aunt Hannah, severely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A tender light came into Billy's eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dear Uncle William! What a jewel he was, all the way through! And he'd
+      have marched straight to the altar, too, with never a flicker of an
+      eyelid, I know&mdash;self-sacrificing martyr that he was!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Martyr!&rdquo; bristled Aunt Hannah, with extraordinary violence for her. &ldquo;I'm
+      thinking that term belonged somewhere else. A month ago, Billy Neilson,
+      you did not look as if you'd live out half your days. But I suppose <i>you'd</i>
+      have gone to the altar, too, with never a flicker of an eyelid!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I thought I had to,&rdquo; protested Billy. &ldquo;I couldn't grieve Uncle
+      William so, after Mrs. Hartwell had said how he&mdash;he wanted me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah's lips grew stern at the corners.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There are times when&mdash;when I think it would be wiser if Mrs. Kate
+      Hartwell would attend to her own affairs!&rdquo; Aunt Hannah's voice fairly
+      shook with wrath.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why-Aunt Hannah!&rdquo; reproved Billy in mischievous horror. &ldquo;I'm shocked at
+      you!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah flushed miserably.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There, there, child, forget I said it. I ought not to have said it, of
+      course,&rdquo; she murmured agitatedly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You should have heard what Uncle William said! But never mind. We all
+      found out the mistake before it was too late, and everything is lovely
+      now, even to Cyril and Marie. Did you ever see anything so beatifically
+      happy as that couple are? Bertram says he hasn't heard a dirge from
+      Cyril's rooms for three weeks; and that if anybody else played the kind of
+      music he's been playing, it would be just common garden ragtime!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Music! Oh, my grief and conscience! That makes me think, Billy. If I'm
+      not actually forgetting what I came in here for,&rdquo; cried Aunt Hannah,
+      fumbling in the folds of her dress for the letter that had slipped from
+      her lap. &ldquo;I've had word from a young niece. She's going to study music in
+      Boston.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A niece?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, not really, you know. She calls me 'Aunt,' just as you and the
+      Henshaw boys do. But I really am related to <i>her</i>, for her mother and
+      I are third cousins, while it was my husband who was distantly related to
+      the Henshaw family.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What's her name?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Mary Jane Arkwright.' Where is that letter?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here it is, on the floor,&rdquo; reported Billy. &ldquo;Were you going to read it to
+      me?&rdquo; she asked, as she picked it up.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes&mdash;if you don't mind.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'd love to hear it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then I'll read it. It&mdash;it rather annoys me in some ways. I thought
+      the whole family understood that I wasn't living by myself any longer&mdash;that
+      I was living with you. I'm sure I thought I wrote them that, long ago. But
+      this sounds almost as if they didn't understand it&mdash;at least, as if
+      this girl didn't.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How old is she?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know; but she must be some old, to be coming here to Boston to
+      study music, alone&mdash;singing, I think she said.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You don't remember her, then?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah frowned and paused, the letter half withdrawn from its
+      envelope.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No&mdash;but that isn't strange. They live West. I haven't seen any of
+      them for years. I know there are several children&mdash;and I suppose I've
+      been told their names. I know there's a boy&mdash;the eldest, I think&mdash;who
+      is quite a singer, and there's a girl who paints, I believe; but I don't
+      seem to remember a 'Mary Jane.'&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never mind! Suppose we let Mary Jane speak for herself,&rdquo; suggested Billy,
+      dropping her chin into the small pink cup of her hand, and settling
+      herself to listen.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very well,&rdquo; sighed Aunt Hannah; and she opened the letter and began to
+      read.
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     &ldquo;DEAR AUNT HANNAH:&mdash;This is to tell you
+     that I'm coming to Boston to study singing in
+     the school for Grand Opera, and I'm planning to
+     look you up. Do you object? I said to a friend
+     the other day that I'd half a mind to write to Aunt
+     Hannah and beg a home with her; and my friend
+     retorted: 'Why don't you, Mary Jane?' But
+     that, of course, I should not think of doing.
+
+     &ldquo;But I know I shall be lonesome, Aunt Hannah,
+     and I hope you'll let me see you once in a
+     while, anyway. I plan now to come next week
+     &mdash;I've already got as far as New York, as you see
+     by the address&mdash;and I shall hope to see you
+     soon.
+
+     &ldquo;All the family would send love, I know.
+                  &ldquo;M. J. ARKWRIGHT.&rdquo;
+ </pre>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Grand Opera! Oh, how perfectly lovely,&rdquo; cried Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, but Billy, do you think she is expecting me to invite her to make
+      her home with me? I shall have to write and explain that I can't&mdash;if
+      she does, of course.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy frowned and hesitated.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, it sounded&mdash;a little&mdash;that way; but&mdash;&rdquo; Suddenly her
+      face cleared. &ldquo;Aunt Hannah, I've thought of the very thing. We <i>will</i>
+      take her!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Billy, I couldn't think of letting you do that,&rdquo; demurred Aunt
+      Hannah. &ldquo;You're very kind&mdash;but, oh, no; not that!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why not? I think it would be lovely; and we can just as well as not.
+      After Marie is married in December, she can have that room. Until then she
+      can have the little blue room next to me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But&mdash;but&mdash;we don't know anything about her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We know she's your niece, and she's lonesome; and we know she's musical.
+      I shall love her for every one of those things. Of course we'll take her!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But&mdash;I don't know anything about her age.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All the more reason why she should be looked out for, then,&rdquo; retorted
+      Billy, promptly. &ldquo;Why, Aunt Hannah, just as if you didn't want to give
+      this lonesome, unprotected young girl a home!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I do, of course; but&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then it's all settled,&rdquo; interposed Billy, springing to her feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But what if we&mdash;we shouldn't like her?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense! What if she shouldn't like us?&rdquo; laughed Billy. &ldquo;However, if
+      you'd feel better, just ask her to come and stay with us a month. We shall
+      keep her all right, afterwards. See if we don't!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Slowly Aunt Hannah got to her feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very well, dear. I'll write, of course, as you tell me to; and it's
+      lovely of you to do it. Now I'll leave you to your letters. I've hindered
+      you far too long, as it is.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You've rested me,&rdquo; declared Billy, flinging wide her arms.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah, fearing a second dizzying whirl impelled by those same young
+      arms, drew her shawls about her shoulders and backed hastily toward the
+      hall door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I won't again&mdash;to-day,&rdquo; she promised merrily. Then, as the lady
+      reached the arched doorway: &ldquo;Tell Mary Jane to let us know the day and
+      train and we'll meet her. Oh, and Aunt Hannah, tell her to wear a pink&mdash;a
+      white pink; and tell her we will, too,&rdquo; she finished gayly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER III. BILLY AND BERTRAM
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Bertram called that evening. Before the open fire in the living-room he
+      found a pensive Billy awaiting him&mdash;a Billy who let herself be
+      kissed, it is true, and who even kissed back, shyly, adorably; but a Billy
+      who looked at him with wide, almost frightened eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, darling, what's the matter?&rdquo; he demanded, his own eyes growing wide
+      and frightened.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bertram, it's&mdash;done!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What's done? What do you mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Our engagement. It's&mdash;announced. I wrote stacks of notes to-day, and
+      even now there are some left for to-morrow. And then there's&mdash;the
+      newspapers. Bertram, right away, now, <i>everybody</i> will know it.&rdquo; Her
+      voice was tragic.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram relaxed visibly. A tender light came to his eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, didn't you expect everybody would know it, my dear?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Y-yes; but&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At her hesitation, the tender light changed to a quick fear.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, you aren't&mdash;sorry?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The pink glory that suffused her face answered him before her words did.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sorry! Oh, never, Bertram! It's only that it won't be ours any longer&mdash;that
+      is, it won't belong to just our two selves. Everybody will know it. And
+      they'll bow and smile and say 'How lovely!' to our faces, and 'Did you
+      ever?' to our backs. Oh, no, I'm not sorry, Bertram; but I am&mdash;afraid.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;<i>Afraid</i>&mdash;Billy!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy sighed, and gazed with pensive eyes into the fire.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Across Bertram's face swept surprise, consternation, and dismay. Bertram
+      had thought he knew Billy in all her moods and fancies; but he did not
+      know her in this one.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Billy!&rdquo; he breathed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy drew another sigh. It seemed to come from the very bottoms of her
+      small, satin-slippered feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I am. You're <i>the</i> Bertram Henshaw. You know lots and lots of
+      people that I never even saw. And they'll come and stand around and stare
+      and lift their lorgnettes and say: 'Is that the one? Dear me!'&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram gave a relieved laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense, sweetheart! I should think you were a picture I'd painted and
+      hung on a wall.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I shall feel as if I were&mdash;with all those friends of yours. Bertram,
+      what if they don't like it?&rdquo; Her voice had grown tragic again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;<i>Like</i> it!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. The picture&mdash;me, I mean.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They can't help liking it,&rdquo; he retorted, with the prompt certainty of an
+      adoring lover.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy shook her head. Her eyes had gone back to the fire.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes, they can. I can hear them. 'What, <i>she</i>&mdash;Bertram
+      Henshaw's wife?&mdash;a frivolous, inconsequential &ldquo;Billy&rdquo; like that?'
+      Bertram!&rdquo;&mdash;Billy turned fiercely despairing eyes on her lover&mdash;&ldquo;Bertram,
+      sometimes I wish my name were 'Clarissa Cordelia,' or 'Arabella Maud,' or
+      'Hannah Jane'&mdash;anything that's feminine and proper!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram's ringing laugh brought a faint smile to Billy's lips. But the
+      words that followed the laugh, and the caressing touch of the man's hands
+      sent a flood of shy color to her face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Hannah Jane,' indeed! As if I'd exchange my Billy for her or any
+      Clarissa or Arabella that ever grew! I adore Billy&mdash;flame, nature,
+      and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And naughtiness?&rdquo; put in Billy herself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes&mdash;if there be any,&rdquo; laughed Bertram, fondly. &ldquo;But, see,&rdquo; he
+      added, taking a tiny box from his pocket, &ldquo;see what I've brought for this
+      same Billy to wear. She'd have had it long ago if she hadn't insisted on
+      waiting for this announcement business.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Bertram, what a beauty!&rdquo; dimpled Billy, as the flawless diamond in
+      Bertram's fingers caught the light and sent it back in a flash of flame
+      and crimson.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now you are mine&mdash;really mine, sweetheart!&rdquo; The man's voice and hand
+      shook as he slipped the ring on Billy's outstretched finger.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy caught her breath with almost a sob.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And I'm so glad to be&mdash;yours, dear,&rdquo; she murmured brokenly. &ldquo;And&mdash;and
+      I'll make you proud that I am yours, even if I am just 'Billy,'&rdquo; she
+      choked. &ldquo;Oh, I know I'll write such beautiful, beautiful songs now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The man drew her into a close embrace.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As if I cared for that,&rdquo; he scoffed lovingly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy looked up in quick horror.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Bertram, you don't mean you don't&mdash;care?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He laughed lightly, and took the dismayed little face between his two
+      hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Care, darling? of course I care! You know how I love your music. I care
+      about everything that concerns you. I meant that I'm proud of you <i>now</i>&mdash;just
+      you. I love <i>you</i>, you know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a moment's pause. Billy's eyes, as they looked at him, carried a
+      curious intentness in their dark depths.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You mean, you like&mdash;the turn of my head and the tilt of my chin?&rdquo;
+       she asked a little breathlessly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I adore them!&rdquo; came the prompt answer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To Bertram's utter amazement, Billy drew back with a sharp cry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, no&mdash;not that!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, <i>Billy!</i>&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed unexpectedly; then she sighed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, it's all right, of course,&rdquo; she assured him hastily. &ldquo;It's only&mdash;&rdquo;
+       Billy stopped and blushed. Billy was thinking of what Hugh Calderwell had
+      once said to her: that Bertram Henshaw would never love any girl
+      seriously; that it would always be the turn of her head or the tilt of her
+      chin that he loved&mdash;to paint.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well; only what?&rdquo; demanded Bertram.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy blushed the more deeply, but she gave a light laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nothing, only something Hugh Calderwell said to me once. You see,
+      Bertram, I don't think Hugh ever thought you would&mdash;marry.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, didn't he?&rdquo; bridled Bertram. &ldquo;Well, that only goes to show how much
+      he knows about it. Er&mdash;did you announce it&mdash;to him?&rdquo; Bertram's
+      voice was almost savage now.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy smiled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No; but I did to his sister, and she'll tell him. Oh, Bertram, such a
+      time as I had over those notes,&rdquo; went on Billy, with a chuckle. Her eyes
+      were dancing, and she was seeming more like her usual self, Bertram
+      thought. &ldquo;You see there were such a lot of things I wanted to say, about
+      what a dear you were, and how much I&mdash;I liked you, and that you had
+      such lovely eyes, and a nose&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy!&rdquo; This time it was Bertram who was sitting erect in pale horror.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy threw him a roguish glance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Goosey! You are as bad as Aunt Hannah! I said that was what I <i>wanted</i>
+      to say. What I really said was&mdash;quite another matter,&rdquo; she finished
+      with a saucy uptilting of her chin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram relaxed with a laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You witch!&rdquo; His admiring eyes still lingered on her face. &ldquo;Billy, I'm
+      going to paint you sometime in just that pose. You're adorable!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pooh! Just another face of a girl,&rdquo; teased the adorable one.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram gave a sudden exclamation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There! And I haven't told you, yet. Guess what my next commission is.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To paint a portrait?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Can't. Who is it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;J. G. Winthrop's daughter.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not <i>the</i> J. G. Winthrop?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The same.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Bertram, how splendid!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Isn't it? And then the girl herself! Have you seen her? But you haven't,
+      I know, unless you met her abroad. She hasn't been in Boston for years
+      until now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I haven't seen her. Is she so <i>very</i> beautiful?&rdquo; Billy spoke a
+      little soberly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes&mdash;and no.&rdquo; The artist lifted his head alertly. What Billy called
+      his &ldquo;painting look&rdquo; came to his face. &ldquo;It isn't that her features are so
+      regular&mdash;though her mouth and chin are perfect. But her face has so
+      much character, and there's an elusive something about her eyes&mdash;Jove!
+      If I can only catch it, it'll be the best thing yet that I've ever done,
+      Billy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Will it? I'm so glad&mdash;and you'll get it, I know you will,&rdquo; claimed
+      Billy, clearing her throat a little nervously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wish I felt so sure,&rdquo; sighed Bertram. &ldquo;But it'll be a great thing if I
+      do get it&mdash;J. G. Winthrop's daughter, you know, besides the merit of
+      the likeness itself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes; yes, indeed!&rdquo; Billy cleared her throat again. &ldquo;You've seen her, of
+      course, lately?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes. I was there half the morning discussing the details&mdash;sittings
+      and costume, and deciding on the pose.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did you find one&mdash;to suit?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Find one!&rdquo; The artist made a despairing gesture. &ldquo;I found a dozen that I
+      wanted. The trouble was to tell which I wanted the most.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy gave a nervous little laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Isn't that&mdash;unusual?&rdquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram lifted his eyebrows with a quizzical smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, they aren't all Marguerite Winthrops,&rdquo; he reminded her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Marguerite!&rdquo; cried Billy. &ldquo;Oh, is her name Marguerite? I do think
+      Marguerite is the dearest name!&rdquo; Billy's eyes and voice were wistful.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't&mdash;not the <i>dearest</i>. Oh, it's all well enough, of
+      course, but it can't be compared for a moment to&mdash;well, say,
+      'Billy'!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy smiled, but she shook her head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm afraid you're not a good judge of names,&rdquo; she objected.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I am; though, for that matter, I should love your name, no matter
+      what it was.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Even if 'twas 'Mary Jane,' eh?&rdquo; bantered Billy. &ldquo;Well, you'll have a
+      chance to find out how you like that name pretty quick, sir. We're going
+      to have one here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You're going to have a Mary Jane here? Do you mean that Rosa's going
+      away?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mercy! I hope not,&rdquo; shuddered Billy. &ldquo;You don't find a Rosa in every
+      kitchen&mdash;and never in employment agencies! My Mary Jane is a niece of
+      Aunt Hannah's,&mdash;or rather, a cousin. She's coming to Boston to study
+      music, and I've invited her here. We've asked her for a month, though I
+      presume we shall keep her right along.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram frowned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, of course, that's very nice for&mdash;<i>Mary Jane</i>,&rdquo; he sighed
+      with meaning emphasis.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't worry, dear. She won't bother us any.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes, she will,&rdquo; sighed Bertram. &ldquo;She'll be 'round&mdash;lots; you see
+      if she isn't. Billy, I think sometimes you're almost too kind&mdash;to
+      other folks.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never!&rdquo; laughed Billy. &ldquo;Besides, what would you have me do when a
+      lonesome young girl was coming to Boston? Anyhow, <i>you're</i> not the
+      one to talk, young man. I've known <i>you</i> to take in a lonesome girl
+      and give her a home,&rdquo; she flashed merrily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram chuckled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jove! What a time that was!&rdquo; he exclaimed, regarding his companion with
+      fond eyes. &ldquo;And Spunk, too! Is she going to bring a Spunk?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not that I've heard,&rdquo; smiled Billy; &ldquo;but she <i>is</i> going to wear a
+      pink.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not really, Billy?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course she is! I told her to. How do you suppose we could know her
+      when we saw her, if she didn't?&rdquo; demanded the girl, indignantly. &ldquo;And what
+      is more, sir, there will be <i>two</i> pinks worn this time. <i>I</i>
+      sha'n't do as Uncle William did, and leave off my pink. Only think what
+      long minutes&mdash;that seemed hours of misery&mdash;I spent waiting there
+      in that train-shed, just because I didn't know which man was my Uncle
+      William!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram laughed and shrugged his shoulders.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, your Mary Jane won't probably turn out to be quite such a bombshell
+      as our Billy did&mdash;unless she should prove to be a boy,&rdquo; he added
+      whimsically. &ldquo;Oh, but Billy, she <i>can't</i> turn out to be such a dear
+      treasure,&rdquo; finished the man. And at the adoring look in his eyes Billy
+      blushed deeply&mdash;and promptly forgot all about Mary Jane and her pink.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER IV. FOR MARY JANE
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have a letter here from Mary Jane, my dear,&rdquo; announced Aunt Hannah at
+      the luncheon table one day.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you?&rdquo; Billy raised interested eyes from her own letters. &ldquo;What does
+      she say?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She will be here Thursday. Her train is due at the South Station at
+      four-thirty. She seems to be very grateful to you for your offer to let
+      her come right here for a month; but she says she's afraid you don't
+      realize, perhaps, just what you are doing&mdash;to take her in like that,
+      with her singing, and all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense! She doesn't refuse, does she?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no; she doesn't refuse&mdash;but she doesn't accept either, exactly,
+      as I can see. I've read the letter over twice, too. I'll let you judge for
+      yourself by and by, when you have time to read it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never mind. I don't want to read it. She's just a little shy about
+      coming, that's all. She'll stay all right, when we come to meet her. What
+      time did you say it was, Thursday?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Half past four, South Station.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thursday, at half past four. Let me see&mdash;that's the day of the
+      Carletons' 'At Home,' isn't it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, my grief and conscience, yes! But I had forgotten it. What shall we
+      do?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, that will be easy. We'll just go to the Carletons' early and have
+      John wait, then take us from there to the South Station. Meanwhile we'll
+      make sure that the little blue room is all ready for her. I put in my
+      white enamel work-basket yesterday, and that pretty little blue case for
+      hairpins and curling tongs that I bought at the fair. I want the room to
+      look homey to her, you know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As if it could look any other way, if <i>you</i> had anything to do with
+      it,&rdquo; sighed Aunt Hannah, admiringly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If we get stranded we might ask the Henshaw boys to help us out, Aunt
+      Hannah. They'd probably suggest guns and swords. That's the way they fixed
+      up <i>my</i> room.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah raised shocked hands of protest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As if we would! Mercy, what a time that was!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I never shall forget, <i>never</i>, my first glimpse of that room when
+      Mrs. Hartwell switched on the lights. Oh, Aunt Hannah, I wish you could
+      have seen it before they took out those guns and spiders!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As if I didn't see quite enough when I saw William's face that morning he
+      came for me!&rdquo; retorted Aunt Hannah, spiritedly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dear Uncle William! What an old saint he has been all the way through,&rdquo;
+       mused Billy aloud. &ldquo;And Cyril&mdash;who would ever have believed that the
+      day would come when Cyril would say to me, as he did last night, that he
+      felt as if Marie had been gone a month. It's been just seven days, you
+      know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know. She comes to-morrow, doesn't she?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, and I'm glad. I shall tell Marie she needn't leave Cyril on <i>my</i>
+      hands again. Bertram says that at home Cyril hasn't played a dirge since
+      his engagement; but I notice that up here&mdash;where Marie might be, but
+      isn't&mdash;his tunes would never be mistaken for ragtime. By the way,&rdquo;
+       she added, as she rose from the table, &ldquo;that's another surprise in store
+      for Hugh Calderwell. He always declared that Cyril wasn't a marrying man,
+      either, any more than Bertram. You know he said Bertram only cared for
+      girls to paint; but&mdash;&rdquo; She stopped and looked inquiringly at Rosa,
+      who had appeared at that moment in the hall doorway.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's the telephone, Miss Neilson. Mr. Bertram Henshaw wants you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A few minutes later Aunt Hannah heard Billy at the piano. For fifteen,
+      twenty, thirty minutes the brilliant scales and arpeggios rippled through
+      the rooms and up the stairs to Aunt Hannah, who knew, by the very sound of
+      them, that some unusual nervousness was being worked off at the finger
+      tips that played them. At the end of forty-five minutes Aunt Hannah went
+      down-stairs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, my dear, excuse me, but have you forgotten what time it is?
+      Weren't you going out with Bertram?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy stopped playing at once, but she did not turn her head. Her fingers
+      busied themselves with some music on the piano.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We aren't going, Aunt Hannah,&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bertram can't.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;<i>Can't!</i>&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, he didn't want to&mdash;so of course I said not to. He's been
+      painting this morning on a new portrait, and she said he might stay to
+      luncheon and keep right on for a while this afternoon, if he liked. And&mdash;he
+      did like, so he stayed.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, how&mdash;how&mdash;&rdquo; Aunt Hannah stopped helplessly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no, not at all,&rdquo; interposed Billy, lightly. &ldquo;He told me all about it
+      the other night. It's going to be a very wonderful portrait; and, of
+      course, I wouldn't want to interfere with&mdash;his work!&rdquo; And again a
+      brilliant scale rippled from Billy's fingers after a crashing chord in the
+      bass.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Slowly Aunt Hannah turned and went up-stairs. Her eyes were troubled. Not
+      since Billy's engagement had she heard Billy play like that.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram did not find a pensive Billy awaiting him that evening. He found a
+      bright-eyed, flushed-cheeked Billy, who let herself be kissed&mdash;once&mdash;but
+      who did not kiss back; a blithe, elusive Billy, who played tripping little
+      melodies, and sang jolly little songs, instead of sitting before the fire
+      and talking; a Billy who at last turned, and asked tranquilly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, how did the picture go?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram rose then, crossed the room, and took Billy very gently into his
+      arms.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sweetheart, you were a dear this noon to let me off like that,&rdquo; he began
+      in a voice shaken with emotion. &ldquo;You don't know, perhaps, exactly what you
+      did. You see, I was nearly wild between wanting to be with you, and
+      wanting to go on with my work. And I was just at that point where one
+      little word from you, one hint that you wanted me to come anyway&mdash;and
+      I should have come. But you didn't say it, nor hint it. Like the brave
+      little bit of inspiration that you are, you bade me stay and go on with my
+      work.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The &ldquo;inspiration's&rdquo; head drooped a little lower, but this only brought a
+      wealth of soft bronze hair to just where Bertram could lay his cheek
+      against it&mdash;and Bertram promptly took advantage of his opportunity.
+      &ldquo;And so I stayed, Billy, and I did good work; I know I did good work. Why,
+      Billy,&rdquo;&mdash;Bertram stepped back now, and held Billy by the shoulders at
+      arms' length&mdash;&ldquo;Billy, that's going to be the best work I've ever
+      done. I can see it coming even now, under my fingers.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy lifted her head and looked into her lover's face. His eyes were
+      glowing. His cheeks were flushed. His whole countenance was aflame with
+      the soul of the artist who sees his vision taking shape before him. And
+      Billy, looking at him, felt suddenly&mdash;ashamed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Bertram, I'm proud, proud, <i>proud</i> of you!&rdquo; she breathed. &ldquo;Come,
+      let's go over to the fire-and talk!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER V. MARIE SPEAKS HER MIND
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Billy with John and Peggy met Marie Hawthorn at the station. &ldquo;Peggy&rdquo; was
+      short for &ldquo;Pegasus,&rdquo; and was what Billy always called her luxurious,
+      seven-seated touring car.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I simply won't call it 'automobile,'&rdquo; she had declared when she bought
+      it. &ldquo;In the first place, it takes too long to say it, and in the second
+      place, I don't want to add one more to the nineteen different ways to
+      pronounce it that I hear all around me every day now. As for calling it my
+      'car,' or my 'motor car'&mdash;I should expect to see a Pullman or one of
+      those huge black trucks before my door, if I ordered it by either of those
+      names. Neither will I insult the beautiful thing by calling it a
+      'machine.' Its name is Pegasus. I shall call it 'Peggy.'&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And &ldquo;Peggy&rdquo; she called it. John sniffed his disdain, and Billy's friends
+      made no secret of their amused tolerance; but, in an astonishingly short
+      time, half the automobile owners of her acquaintance were calling their
+      own cars &ldquo;Peggy&rdquo;; and even the dignified John himself was heard to order
+      &ldquo;some gasoline for Peggy,&rdquo; quite as a matter of course.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When Marie Hawthorn stepped from the train at the North Station she
+      greeted Billy with affectionate warmth, though at once her blue eyes swept
+      the space beyond expectantly and eagerly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy's lips curved in a mischievous smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, he didn't come,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;He didn't want to&mdash;a little bit.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Marie grew actually pale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Didn't <i>want</i> to!&rdquo; she stammered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy gave her a spasmodic hug.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Goosey! No, he didn't&mdash;a <i>little</i> bit; but he did a great <i>big</i>
+      bit. As if you didn't know he was dying to come, Marie! But he simply
+      couldn't&mdash;something about his concert Monday night. He told me over
+      the telephone; but between his joy that you were coming, and his rage that
+      he couldn't see you the first minute you did come, I couldn't quite make
+      out what was the trouble. But he's coming to dinner to-night, so he'll
+      doubtless tell you all about it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Marie sighed her relief.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, that's all right then. I was afraid he was sick&mdash;when I didn't
+      see him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed softly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, he isn't sick, Marie; but you needn't go away again before the
+      wedding&mdash;not to leave him on my hands. I wouldn't have believed Cyril
+      Henshaw, confirmed old bachelor and avowed woman-hater, could have acted
+      the part of a love-sick boy as he has the last week or two.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The rose-flush on Marie's cheek spread to the roots of her fine yellow
+      hair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, dear, he&mdash;he didn't!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Marie, dear&mdash;he&mdash;he did!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Marie laughed. She did not say anything, but the rose-flush deepened as
+      she occupied herself very busily in getting her trunk-check from the
+      little hand bag she carried.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Cyril was not mentioned again until the two girls, veils tied and coats
+      buttoned, were snugly ensconced in the tonneau, and Peggy's nose was
+      turned toward home. Then Billy asked:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you settled on where you're going to live?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not quite. We're going to talk of that to-night; but we <i>do</i> know
+      that we aren't going to live at the Strata.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Marie!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Marie stirred uneasily at the obvious disappointment and reproach in her
+      friend's voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, dear, it wouldn't be wise, I'm sure,&rdquo; she argued hastily. &ldquo;There
+      will be you and Bertram&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We sha'n't be there for a year, nearly,&rdquo; cut in Billy, with swift
+      promptness. &ldquo;Besides, I think it would be lovely&mdash;all together.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Marie smiled, but she shook her head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Lovely&mdash;but not practical, dear.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed ruefully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know; you're worrying about those puddings of yours. You're afraid
+      somebody is going to interfere with your making quite so many as you want
+      to; and Cyril is worrying for fear there'll be somebody else in the circle
+      of his shaded lamp besides his little Marie with the light on her hair,
+      and the mending basket by her side.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, what are you talking about?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy threw a roguish glance into her friend's amazed blue eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, just a little picture Cyril drew once for me of what home meant for
+      him: a room with a table and a shaded lamp, and a little woman beside it
+      with the light on her hair and a great basket of sewing by her side.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Marie's eyes softened.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did he say&mdash;that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. Oh, he declared he shouldn't want her to sit under that lamp all the
+      time, of course; but he hoped she'd like that sort of thing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Marie threw a quick glance at the stolid back of John beyond the two empty
+      seats in front of them. Although she knew he could not hear her words,
+      instinctively she lowered her voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did you know&mdash;then&mdash;about&mdash;me?&rdquo; she asked, with heightened
+      color.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, only that there was a girl somewhere who, he hoped, would sit under
+      the lamp some day. And when I asked him if the girl did like that sort of
+      thing, he said yes, he thought so; for she had told him once that the
+      things she liked best of all to do were to mend stockings and make
+      puddings. Then I knew, of course, 'twas you, for I'd heard you say the
+      same thing. So I sent him right along out to you in the summer-house.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The pink flush on Marie's face grew to a red one. Her blue eyes turned
+      again to John's broad back, then drifted to the long, imposing line of
+      windowed walls and doorways on the right. The automobile was passing
+      smoothly along Beacon Street now with the Public Garden just behind them
+      on the left. After a moment Marie turned to Billy again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm so glad he wants&mdash;just puddings and stockings,&rdquo; she began a
+      little breathlessly. &ldquo;You see, for so long I supposed he <i>wouldn't</i>
+      want anything but a very brilliant, talented wife who could play and sing
+      beautifully; a wife he'd be proud of&mdash;like you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Me? Nonsense!&rdquo; laughed Billy. &ldquo;Cyril never wanted me, and I never wanted
+      him&mdash;only once for a few minutes, so to speak, when I thought, I did.
+      In spite of our music, we aren't a mite congenial. I like people around;
+      he doesn't. I like to go to plays; he doesn't. He likes rainy days, and I
+      abhor them. Mercy! Life with me for him would be one long jangling
+      discord, my love, while with you it'll be one long sweet song!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Marie drew a deep breath. Her eyes were fixed on a point far ahead up the
+      curveless street.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I hope it will, indeed!&rdquo; she breathed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Not until they were almost home did Billy say suddenly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, did Cyril write you? A young relative of Aunt Hannah's is coming
+      to-morrow to stay a while at the house.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Er&mdash;yes, Cyril told me,&rdquo; admitted Marie.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy smiled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Didn't like it, I suppose; eh?&rdquo; she queried shrewdly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;N-no, I'm afraid he didn't&mdash;very well. He said she'd be&mdash;one
+      more to be around.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There, what did I tell you?&rdquo; dimpled Billy. &ldquo;You can see what you're
+      coming to when you do get that shaded lamp and the mending basket!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A moment later, coming in sight of the house, Billy saw a tall,
+      smooth-shaven man standing on the porch. The man lifted his hat and waved
+      it gayly, baring a slightly bald head to the sun.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's Uncle William&mdash;bless his heart!&rdquo; cried Billy. &ldquo;They're all
+      coming to dinner, then he and Aunt Hannah and Bertram and I are going down
+      to the Hollis Street Theatre and let you and Cyril have a taste of what
+      that shaded lamp is going to be. I hope you won't be lonesome,&rdquo; she
+      finished mischievously, as the car drew up before the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER VI. AT THE SIGN OF THE PINK
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      After a week of beautiful autumn weather, Thursday dawned raw and cold. By
+      noon an east wind had made the temperature still more uncomfortable.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At two o'clock Aunt Hannah tapped at Billy's chamber door. She showed a
+      troubled face to the girl who answered her knock.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, <i>would</i> you mind very much if I asked you to go alone to the
+      Carletons' and to meet Mary Jane?&rdquo; she inquired anxiously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, no&mdash;that is, of course I should <i>mind</i>, dear, because I
+      always like to have you go to places with me. But it isn't necessary. You
+      aren't sick; are you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;N-no, not exactly; but I have been sneezing all the morning, and taking
+      camphor and sugar to break it up&mdash;if it is a cold. But it is so raw
+      and Novemberish out, that&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, of course you sha'n't go, you poor dear! Mercy! don't get one of
+      those dreadful colds on to you before the wedding! Have you felt a draft?
+      Where's another shawl?&rdquo; Billy turned and cast searching eyes about the
+      room&mdash;Billy always kept shawls everywhere for Aunt Hannah's shoulders
+      and feet. Bertram had been known to say, indeed, that a room, according to
+      Aunt Hannah, was not fully furnished unless it contained from one to four
+      shawls, assorted as to size and warmth. Shawls, certainly, did seem to be
+      a necessity with Aunt Hannah, as she usually wore from one to three at the
+      same time&mdash;which again caused Bertram to declare that he always
+      counted Aunt Hannah's shawls when he wished to know what the thermometer
+      was.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I'm not cold, and I haven't felt a draft,&rdquo; said Aunt Hannah now. &ldquo;I
+      put on my thickest gray shawl this morning with the little pink one for
+      down-stairs, and the blue one for breakfast; so you see I've been very
+      careful. But I <i>have</i> sneezed six times, so I think 'twould be safer
+      not to go out in this east wind. You were going to stop for Mrs. Granger,
+      anyway, weren't you? So you'll have her with you for the tea.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, dear, don't worry. I'll take your cards and explain to Mrs. Carleton
+      and her daughters.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And, of course, as far as Mary Jane is concerned, I don't know her any
+      more than you do; so I couldn't be any help there,&rdquo; sighed Aunt Hannah.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not a bit,&rdquo; smiled Billy, cheerily. &ldquo;Don't give it another thought, my
+      dear. I sha'n't have a bit of trouble. All I'll have to do is to look for
+      a girl alone with a pink. Of course I'll have mine on, too, and she'll be
+      watching for me. So just run along and take your nap, dear, and be all
+      rested and ready to welcome her when she comes,&rdquo; finished Billy, stooping
+      to give the soft, faintly pink cheek a warm kiss.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, thank you, my dear; perhaps I will,&rdquo; sighed Aunt Hannah, drawing
+      the gray shawl about her as she turned away contentedly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Carleton's tea that afternoon was, for Billy, not an occasion of
+      unalloyed joy. It was the first time she had appeared at a gathering of
+      any size since the announcement of her engagement; and, as she dolefully
+      told Bertram afterwards, she had very much the feeling of the picture hung
+      on the wall.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And they <i>did</i> put up their lorgnettes and say, 'Is <i>that</i> the
+      one?'&rdquo; she declared; &ldquo;and I know some of them finished with 'Did you
+      ever?' too,&rdquo; she sighed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But Billy did not stay long in Mrs. Carleton's softly-lighted,
+      flower-perfumed rooms. At ten minutes past four she was saying good-by to
+      a group of friends who were vainly urging her to remain longer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can't&mdash;I really can't,&rdquo; she declared. &ldquo;I'm due at the South
+      Station at half past four to meet a Miss Arkwright, a young cousin of Aunt
+      Hannah's, whom I've never seen before. We're to meet at the sign of the
+      pink,&rdquo; she explained smilingly, just touching the single flower she wore.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Her hostess gave a sudden laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let me see, my dear; if I remember rightly, you've had experience before,
+      meeting at this sign of the pink. At least, I have a very vivid
+      recollection of Mr. William Henshaw's going once to meet a <i>boy</i> with
+      a pink, who turned out to be a girl. Now, to even things up, your girl
+      should turn out to be a boy!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy smiled and reddened.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps&mdash;but I don't think to-day will strike the balance,&rdquo; she
+      retorted, backing toward the door. &ldquo;This young lady's name is 'Mary Jane';
+      and I'll leave it to you to find anything very masculine in that!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a short drive from Mrs. Carleton's Commonwealth Avenue home to the
+      South Station, and Peggy made as quick work of it as the narrow, congested
+      cross streets would allow. In ample time Billy found herself in the great
+      waiting-room, with John saying respectfully in her ear:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The man says the train comes in on Track Fourteen, Miss, an' it's on
+      time.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At twenty-nine minutes past four Billy left her seat and walked down the
+      train-shed platform to Track Number Fourteen. She had pinned the pink now
+      to the outside of her long coat, and it made an attractive dash of white
+      against the dark-blue velvet. Billy was looking particularly lovely
+      to-day. Framing her face was the big dark-blue velvet picture hat with its
+      becoming white plumes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      During the brief minutes' wait before the clanging locomotive puffed into
+      view far down the long track, Billy's thoughts involuntarily went back to
+      that other watcher beside a train gate not quite five years before.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dear Uncle William!&rdquo; she murmured tenderly. Then suddenly she laughed&mdash;so
+      nearly aloud that a man behind her gave her a covert glance from curious
+      eyes. &ldquo;My! but what a jolt I must have been to Uncle William!&rdquo; Billy was
+      thinking.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The next minute she drew nearer the gate and regarded with absorbed
+      attention the long line of passengers already sweeping up the narrow aisle
+      between the cars.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Hurrying men came first, with long strides, and eyes that looked straight
+      ahead. These Billy let pass with a mere glance. The next group showed a
+      sprinkling of women&mdash;women whose trig hats and linen collars spelled
+      promptness as well as certainty of aim and accomplishment. To these, also,
+      Billy paid scant attention. Couples came next&mdash;the men anxious-eyed,
+      and usually walking two steps ahead of their companions; the women plainly
+      flustered and hurried, and invariably buttoning gloves or gathering up
+      trailing ends of scarfs or boas.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The crowd was thickening fast, now, and Billy's eyes were alert. Children
+      were appearing, and young women walking alone. One of these wore a bunch
+      of violets. Billy gave her a second glance. Then she saw a pink&mdash;but
+      it was on the coat lapel of a tall young fellow with a brown beard; so
+      with a slight frown she looked beyond down the line.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Old men came now, and old women; fleshy women, and women with small
+      children and babies. Couples came, too&mdash;dawdling couples, plainly
+      newly married: the men were not two steps ahead, and the women's gloves
+      were buttoned and their furs in place.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Gradually the line thinned, and soon there were left only an old man with
+      a cane, and a young woman with three children. Yet nowhere had Billy seen
+      a girl wearing a white carnation, and walking alone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With a deeper frown on her face Billy turned and looked about her. She
+      thought that somewhere in the crowd she had missed Mary Jane, and that she
+      would find her now, standing near. But there was no one standing near
+      except the good-looking young fellow with the little pointed brown beard,
+      who, as Billy noticed a second time, was wearing a white carnation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As she glanced toward him, their eyes met. Then, to Billy's unbounded
+      amazement, the man advanced with uplifted hat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I beg your pardon, but is not this&mdash;Miss Neilson?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy drew back with just a touch of hauteur.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Y-yes,&rdquo; she murmured.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I thought so&mdash;yet I was expecting to see you with Aunt Hannah. I am
+      M. J. Arkwright, Miss Neilson.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      For a brief instant Billy stared dazedly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You don't mean&mdash;Mary Jane?&rdquo; she gasped.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm afraid I do.&rdquo; His lips twitched.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I thought&mdash;we were expecting&mdash;&rdquo; She stopped helplessly. For
+      one more brief instant she stared; then, suddenly, a swift change came to
+      her face. Her eyes danced.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh&mdash;oh!&rdquo; she chuckled. &ldquo;How perfectly funny! You <i>have</i> evened
+      things up, after all. To think that Mary Jane should be a&mdash;&rdquo; She
+      paused and flashed almost angrily suspicious eyes into his face. &ldquo;But mine
+      <i>was</i> 'Billy,'&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;Your name isn't really&mdash;Mary Jane'?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am often called that.&rdquo; His brown eyes twinkled, but they did not swerve
+      from their direct gaze into her own.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But&mdash;&rdquo; Billy hesitated, and turned her eyes away. She saw then that
+      many curious glances were already being flung in her direction. The color
+      in her cheeks deepened. With an odd little gesture she seemed to toss
+      something aside. &ldquo;Never mind,&rdquo; she laughed a little hysterically. &ldquo;If
+      you'll pick up your bag, please, Mr. Mary Jane, and come with me. John and
+      Peggy are waiting. Or&mdash;I forgot&mdash;you have a trunk, of course?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The man raised a protesting hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you; but, Miss Neilson, really&mdash;I couldn't think of
+      trespassing on your hospitality&mdash;now, you know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But we&mdash;we invited you,&rdquo; stammered Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He shook his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You invited <i>Miss</i> Mary Jane.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy bubbled into low laughter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I beg your pardon, but it <i>is</i> funny,&rdquo; she sighed. &ldquo;You see <i>I</i>
+      came once just the same way, and now to have the tables turned like this!
+      What will Aunt Hannah say&mdash;what will everybody say? Come, I want them
+      to begin&mdash;to say it,&rdquo; she chuckled irrepressibly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you, but I shall go to a hotel, of course. Later, if you'll be so
+      good as to let me call, and explain&mdash;!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I'm afraid Aunt Hannah will think&mdash;&rdquo; Billy stopped abruptly.
+      Some distance away she saw John coming toward them. She turned hurriedly
+      to the man at her side. Her eyes still danced, but her voice was mockingly
+      serious. &ldquo;Really, Mr. Mary Jane, I'm afraid you'll have to come to dinner;
+      then you can settle the rest with Aunt Hannah. John is almost upon us&mdash;and
+      <i>I</i> don't want to make explanations. Do you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;John,&rdquo; she said airily to the somewhat dazed chauffeur (who had been told
+      he was to meet a young woman), &ldquo;take Mr. Arkwright's bag, please, and show
+      him where Peggy is waiting. It will be five minutes, perhaps, before I can
+      come&mdash;if you'll kindly excuse me,&rdquo; she added to Arkwright, with a
+      flashing glance from merry eyes. &ldquo;I have some&mdash;telephoning to do.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      All the way to the telephone booth Billy was trying to bring order out of
+      the chaos of her mind; but all the way, too, she was chuckling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To think that this thing should have happened to <i>me!</i>&rdquo; she said,
+      almost aloud. &ldquo;And here I am telephoning just like Uncle William&mdash;Bertram
+      said Uncle William <i>did</i> telephone about <i>me!</i>&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In due course Billy had Aunt Hannah at the other end of the wire.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aunt Hannah, listen. I'd never have believed it, but it's happened. Mary
+      Jane is&mdash;a man.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy heard a dismayed gasp and a muttered &ldquo;Oh, my grief and conscience!&rdquo;
+       then a shaking &ldquo;Wha-at?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I say, Mary Jane is a man.&rdquo; Billy was enjoying herself hugely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A <i>ma-an!</i>&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes; a great big man with a brown beard. He's waiting now with John and I
+      must go.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, Billy, I don't understand,&rdquo; chattered an agitated voice over the
+      line. &ldquo;He&mdash;he called himself 'Mary Jane.' He hasn't any business to
+      be a big man with a brown beard! What shall we do? We don't want a big man
+      with a brown beard&mdash;here!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed roguishly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know. <i>You</i> asked him! How he will like that little blue
+      room&mdash;Aunt Hannah!&rdquo; Billy's voice turned suddenly tragic. &ldquo;For pity's
+      sake take out those curling tongs and hairpins, and the work-basket. I'd
+      <i>never</i> hear the last of it if he saw those, I know. He's just that
+      kind!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A half stifled groan came over the wire.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, he can't stay here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, no, dear; he won't, I know. He says he's going to a hotel. But I had
+      to bring him home to dinner; there was no other way, under the
+      circumstances. He won't stay. Don't you worry. But good-by. I must go. <i>Remember
+      those curling tongs!</i>&rdquo; And the receiver clicked sharply against the
+      hook.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the automobile some minutes later, Billy and Mr. M. J. Arkwright were
+      speeding toward Corey Hill. It was during a slight pause in the
+      conversation that Billy turned to her companion with a demure:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I telephoned Aunt Hannah, Mr. Arkwright. I thought she ought to be&mdash;warned.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are very kind. What did she say?&mdash;if I may ask.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a brief moment of hesitation before Billy answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She said you called yourself 'Mary Jane,' and that you hadn't any
+      business to be a big man with a brown beard.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright laughed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm afraid I owe Aunt Hannah an apology,&rdquo; he said. He hesitated, glanced
+      admiringly at the glowing, half-averted face near him, then went on
+      decisively. He wore the air of a man who has set the match to his bridges.
+      &ldquo;I signed both letters 'M. J. Arkwright,' but in the first one I quoted a
+      remark of a friend, and in that remark I was addressed as 'Mary Jane.' I
+      did not know but Aunt Hannah knew of the nickname.&rdquo; (Arkwright was
+      speaking a little slowly now, as if weighing his words.) &ldquo;But when she
+      answered, I saw that she did not; for, from something she said, I realized
+      that she thought I was a real Mary Jane. For the joke of the thing I let
+      it pass. But&mdash;if she noticed my letter carefully, she saw that I did
+      not accept your kind invitation to give 'Mary Jane' a home.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, we noticed that,&rdquo; nodded Billy, merrily. &ldquo;But we didn't think you
+      meant it. You see we pictured you as a shy young thing. But, really,&rdquo; she
+      went on with a low laugh, &ldquo;you see your coming as a masculine 'Mary Jane'
+      was particularly funny&mdash;for me; for, though perhaps you didn't know
+      it, I came once to this very same city, wearing a pink, and was expected
+      to be Billy, a boy. And only to-day a lady warned me that your coming
+      might even things up. But I didn't believe it would&mdash;a Mary Jane!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright laughed. Again he hesitated, and seemed to be weighing his
+      words.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I heard about that coming of yours. I might almost say&mdash;that's
+      why I&mdash;let the mistake pass in Aunt Hannah's letter,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy turned with reproachful eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, how could&mdash;you? But then&mdash;it was a temptation!&rdquo; She laughed
+      suddenly. &ldquo;What sinful joy you must have had watching me hunt for 'Mary
+      Jane.'&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I didn't,&rdquo; acknowledged the other, with unexpected candor. &ldquo;I felt&mdash;ashamed.
+      And when I saw you were there alone without Aunt Hannah, I came very near
+      not speaking at all&mdash;until I realized that that would be even worse,
+      under the circumstances.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course it would,&rdquo; smiled Billy, brightly; &ldquo;so I don't see but I shall
+      have to forgive you, after all. And here we are at home, Mr. Mary Jane. By
+      the way, what did you say that 'M. J.' did stand for?&rdquo; she asked, as the
+      car came to a stop.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The man did not seem to hear; at least he did not answer. He was helping
+      his hostess to alight. A moment later a plainly agitated Aunt Hannah&mdash;her
+      gray shawl topped with a huge black one&mdash;opened the door of the
+      house.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER VII. OLD FRIENDS AND NEW
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      At ten minutes before six on the afternoon of Arkwright's arrival, Billy
+      came into the living-room to welcome the three Henshaw brothers, who, as
+      was frequently the case, were dining at Hillside.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram thought Billy had never looked prettier than she did this
+      afternoon with the bronze sheen of her pretty house gown bringing out the
+      bronze lights in her dark eyes and in the soft waves of her beautiful
+      hair. Her countenance, too, carried a peculiar something that the artist's
+      eye was quick to detect, and that the artist's fingers tingled to put on
+      canvas.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jove! Billy,&rdquo; he said low in her ear, as he greeted her, &ldquo;I wish I had a
+      brush in my hand this minute. I'd have a 'Face of a Girl' that would be
+      worth while!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed and dimpled her appreciation; but down in her heart she was
+      conscious of a vague unrest. Billy wished, sometimes, that she did not so
+      often seem to Bertram&mdash;a picture.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She turned to Cyril with outstretched hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes, Marie's coming,&rdquo; she smiled in answer to the quick shifting of
+      Cyril's eyes to the hall doorway. &ldquo;And Aunt Hannah, too. They're
+      up-stairs.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And Mary Jane?&rdquo; demanded William, a little anxiously
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Will's getting nervous,&rdquo; volunteered Bertram, airily. &ldquo;He wants to see
+      Mary Jane. You see we've told him that we shall expect him to see that she
+      doesn't bother us four too much, you know. He's expected always to remove
+      her quietly but effectually, whenever he sees that she is likely to
+      interrupt a tête-á-tête. Naturally, then, Will wants to see Mary Jane.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy began to laugh hysterically. She dropped into a chair and raised
+      both her hands, palms outward.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't, don't&mdash;please don't!&rdquo; she choked, &ldquo;or I shall die. I've had
+      all I can stand, already.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All you can stand?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is she so&mdash;impossible?&rdquo; This last was from Bertram, spoken softly,
+      and with a hurried glance toward the hall.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy dropped her hands and lifted her head. By heroic effort she pulled
+      her face into sobriety&mdash;all but her eyes&mdash;and announced:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mary Jane is&mdash;a man.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wha-at?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A <i>man!</i>&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Three masculine forms sat suddenly erect.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. Oh, Uncle William, I know now just how you felt&mdash;I know, I
+      know,&rdquo; gurgled Billy, incoherently. &ldquo;There he stood with his pink just as
+      I did&mdash;only he had a brown beard, and he didn't have Spunk&mdash;and
+      I had to telephone to prepare folks, just as you did. And the room&mdash;the
+      room! I fixed the room, too,&rdquo; she babbled breathlessly, &ldquo;only I had
+      curling tongs and hair pins in it instead of guns and spiders!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Child, child! what <i>are</i> you talking about?&rdquo; William's face was red.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A <i>man!</i>&mdash;<i>Mary Jane!</i>&rdquo; Cyril was merely cross.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, what does this mean?&rdquo; Bertram had grown a little white.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy began to laugh again, yet she was plainly trying to control herself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll tell you. I must tell you. Aunt Hannah is keeping him up-stairs so I
+      can tell you,&rdquo; she panted. &ldquo;But it was so funny, when I expected a girl,
+      you know, to see him with his brown beard, and he was so tall and big!
+      And, of course, it made me think how <i>I</i> came, and was a girl when
+      you expected a boy; and Mrs. Carleton had just said to-day that maybe this
+      girl would even things up. Oh, it was so funny!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, my-my dear,&rdquo; remonstrated Uncle William, mildly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But what <i>is</i> his name?&rdquo; demanded Cyril.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did the creature sign himself 'Mary Jane'?&rdquo; exploded Bertram.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know his name, except that it's 'M. J.'&mdash;and that's how he
+      signed the letters. But he <i>is</i> called 'Mary Jane' sometimes, and in
+      the letter he quoted somebody's speech&mdash;I've forgotten just how&mdash;but
+      in it he was called 'Mary Jane,' and, of course, Aunt Hannah took him for
+      a girl,&rdquo; explained Billy, grown a little more coherent now.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Didn't he write again?&rdquo; asked William.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, why didn't he correct the mistake, then?&rdquo; demanded Bertram.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy chuckled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He didn't want to, I guess. He thought it was too good a joke.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Joke!&rdquo; scoffed Cyril.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, see here, Billy, he isn't going to live here&mdash;now?&rdquo; Bertram's
+      voice was almost savage.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no, he isn't going to live here&mdash;now,&rdquo; interposed smooth tones
+      from the doorway.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr.&mdash;Arkwright!&rdquo; breathed Billy, confusedly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Three crimson-faced men sprang to their feet. The situation, for a moment,
+      threatened embarrassed misery for all concerned; but Arkwright, with a
+      cheery smile, advanced straight toward Bertram, and held out a friendly
+      hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The proverbial fate of listeners,&rdquo; he said easily; &ldquo;but I don't blame you
+      at all. No, 'he' isn't going to live here,&rdquo; he went on, grasping each
+      brother's hand in turn, as Billy murmured faint introductions; &ldquo;and what
+      is more, he hereby asks everybody's pardon for the annoyance his little
+      joke has caused. He might add that he's heartily-ashamed of himself, as
+      well; but if any of you&mdash;&rdquo; Arkwright turned to the three tall men
+      still standing by their chairs&mdash;&ldquo;if any of you had suffered what he
+      has at the hands of a swarm of youngsters for that name's sake, you
+      wouldn't blame him for being tempted to get what fun he could out of Mary
+      Jane&mdash;if there ever came a chance!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Naturally, after this, there could be nothing stiff or embarrassing. Billy
+      laughed in relief, and motioned Mr. Arkwright to a seat near her. William
+      said &ldquo;Of course, of course!&rdquo; and shook hands again. Bertram and Cyril
+      laughed shamefacedly and sat down. Somebody said: &ldquo;But what does the 'M.
+      J.' stand for, anyhow?&rdquo; Nobody answered this, however; perhaps because
+      Aunt Hannah and Marie appeared just then in the doorway.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Dinner proved to be a lively meal. In the newcomer, Bertram met his match
+      for wit and satire; and &ldquo;Mr. Mary Jane,&rdquo; as he was promptly called by
+      every one but Aunt Hannah, was found to be a most entertaining guest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After dinner somebody suggested music.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Cyril frowned, and got up abruptly. Still frowning, he turned to a
+      bookcase near him and began to take down and examine some of the books.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram twinkled and glanced at Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Which is it, Cyril?&rdquo; he called with cheerful impertinence; &ldquo;stool, piano,
+      or audience that is the matter to-night?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Only a shrug from Cyril answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You see,&rdquo; explained Bertram, jauntily, to Arkwright, whose eyes were
+      slightly puzzled, &ldquo;Cyril never plays unless the piano and the pedals and
+      the weather and your ears and my watch and his fingers are just right!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense!&rdquo; scorned Cyril, dropping his book and walking back to his
+      chair. &ldquo;I don't feel like playing to-night; that's all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You see,&rdquo; nodded Bertram again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I see,&rdquo; bowed Arkwright with quiet amusement.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I believe&mdash;Mr. Mary Jane&mdash;sings,&rdquo; observed Billy, at this
+      point, demurely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, yes, of course,&rdquo; chimed in Aunt Hannah with some nervousness.
+      &ldquo;That's what she&mdash;I mean he&mdash;was coming to Boston for&mdash;to
+      study music.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Everybody laughed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Won't you sing, please?&rdquo; asked Billy. &ldquo;Can you&mdash;without your notes?
+      I have lots of songs if you want them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      For a moment&mdash;but only a moment&mdash;Arkwright hesitated; then he
+      rose and went to the piano.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With the easy sureness of the trained musician his fingers dropped to the
+      keys and slid into preliminary chords and arpeggios to test the touch of
+      the piano; then, with a sweetness and purity that made every listener turn
+      in amazed delight, a well-trained tenor began the &ldquo;Thro' the leaves the
+      night winds moving,&rdquo; of Schubert's Serenade.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Cyril's chin had lifted at the first tone. He was listening now with very
+      obvious pleasure. Bertram, too, was showing by his attitude the keenest
+      appreciation. William and Aunt Hannah, resting back in their chairs, were
+      contentedly nodding their approval to each other. Marie in her corner was
+      motionless with rapture. As to Billy&mdash;Billy was plainly oblivious of
+      everything but the song and the singer. She seemed scarcely to move or to
+      breathe till the song's completion; then there came a low &ldquo;Oh, how
+      beautiful!&rdquo; through her parted lips.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram, looking at her, was conscious of a vague irritation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Arkwright, you're a lucky dog,&rdquo; he declared almost crossly. &ldquo;I wish I
+      could sing like that!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wish I could paint a 'Face of a Girl,'&rdquo; smiled the tenor as he turned
+      from the piano.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, but, Mr. Arkwright, don't stop,&rdquo; objected Billy, springing to her
+      feet and going to her music cabinet by the piano. &ldquo;There's a little song
+      of Nevin's I want you to sing. There, here it is. Just let me play it for
+      you.&rdquo; And she slipped into the place the singer had just left.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was the beginning of the end. After Nevin came De Koven, and after De
+      Koven, Gounod. Then came Nevin again, Billy still playing the
+      accompaniment. Next followed a duet. Billy did not consider herself much
+      of a singer, but her voice was sweet and true, and not without training.
+      It blended very prettily with the clear, pure tenor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      William and Aunt Hannah still smiled contentedly in their chairs, though
+      Aunt Hannah had reached for the pink shawl near her&mdash;the music had
+      sent little shivers down her spine. Cyril, with Marie, had slipped into
+      the little reception-room across the hall, ostensibly to look at some
+      plans for a house, although&mdash;as everybody knew&mdash;they were not
+      intending to build for a year.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram, still sitting stiffly erect in his chair, was not conscious of a
+      vague irritation now. He was conscious of a very real, and a very decided
+      one&mdash;an irritation that was directed against himself, against Billy,
+      and against this man, Arkwright; but chiefly against music, <i>per se</i>.
+      He hated music. He wished he could sing. He wondered how long it took to
+      teach a man to sing, anyhow; and he wondered if a man could sing&mdash;who
+      never had sung.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At this point the duet came to an end, and Billy and her guest left the
+      piano. Almost at once, after this, Arkwright made his very graceful
+      adieus, and went off with his suit-case to the hotel where, as he had
+      informed Aunt Hannah, his room was already engaged.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      William went home then, and Aunt Hannah went up-stairs. Cyril and Marie
+      withdrew into a still more secluded corner to look at their plans, and
+      Bertram found himself at last alone with Billy. He forgot, then, in the
+      blissful hour he spent with her before the open fire, how he hated music;
+      though he did say, just before he went home that night:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, how long does it take&mdash;to learn to sing?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, I don't know, I'm sure,&rdquo; replied Billy, abstractedly; then, with
+      sudden fervor: &ldquo;Oh, Bertram, hasn't Mr. Mary Jane a beautiful voice?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram wished then he had not asked the question; but all he said was:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Mr. Mary Jane,' indeed! What an absurd name!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But doesn't he sing beautifully?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh? Oh, yes, he sings all right,&rdquo; said Bertram's tongue. Bertram's manner
+      said: &ldquo;Oh, yes, anybody can sing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER VIII. M. J. OPENS THE GAME
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      On the morning after Cyril's first concert of the season, Billy sat sewing
+      with Aunt Hannah in the little sitting-room at the end of the hall
+      upstairs. Aunt Hannah wore only one shawl this morning,&mdash;which meant
+      that she was feeling unusually well.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Marie ought to be here to mend these stockings,&rdquo; remarked Billy, as she
+      critically examined a tiny break in the black silk mesh stretched across
+      the darning-egg in her hand; &ldquo;only she'd want a bigger hole. She does so
+      love to make a beautiful black latticework bridge across a yawning white
+      china sea&mdash;and you'd think the safety of an army depended on the way
+      each plank was laid, too,&rdquo; she concluded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah smiled tranquilly, but she did not speak.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I suppose you don't happen to know if Cyril does wear big holes in his
+      socks,&rdquo; resumed Billy, after a moment's silence. &ldquo;If you'll believe it,
+      that thought popped into my head last night when Cyril was playing that
+      concerto so superbly. It did, actually&mdash;right in the middle of the
+      adagio movement, too. And in spite of my joy and pride in the music I had
+      all I could do to keep from nudging Marie right there and then and asking
+      her whether or not the dear man was hard on his hose.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy!&rdquo; gasped the shocked Aunt Hannah; but the gasp broke at once into
+      what&mdash;in Aunt Hannah&mdash;passed for a chuckle. &ldquo;If I remember
+      rightly, when I was there at the house with you at first, my dear, William
+      told me that Cyril wouldn't wear any sock after it came to mending.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Horrors!&rdquo; Billy waved her stocking in mock despair. &ldquo;That will never do
+      in the world. It would break Marie's heart. You know how she dotes on
+      darning.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I know,&rdquo; smiled Aunt Hannah. &ldquo;By the way, where is she this
+      morning?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy raised her eyebrows quizzically.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Gone to look at an apartment in Cambridge, I believe. Really, Aunt
+      Hannah, between her home-hunting in the morning, and her furniture-and-rug
+      hunting in the afternoon, and her poring over house-plans in the evening,
+      I can't get her to attend to her clothes at all. Never did I see a bride
+      so utterly indifferent to her trousseau as Marie Hawthorn&mdash;and her
+      wedding less than a month away!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But she's been shopping with you once or twice, since she came back,
+      hasn't she? And she said it was for her trousseau.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Her trousseau! Oh, yes, it was. I'll tell you what she got for her
+      trousseau that first day. We started out to buy two hats, some lace for
+      her wedding gown, some crêpe de Chine and net for a little dinner frock,
+      and some silk for a couple of waists to go with her tailored suit; and
+      what did we get? We purchased a new-style egg-beater and a set of cake
+      tins. Marie got into the kitchen department and I simply couldn't get her
+      out of it. But the next day I was not to be inveigled below stairs by any
+      plaintive prayer for a nutmeg-grater or a soda spoon. She <i>shopped</i>
+      that day, and to some purpose. We accomplished lots.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah looked a little concerned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But she must have <i>some</i> things started!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, she has&mdash;'most everything now. <i>I've</i> seen to that. Of
+      course her outfit is very simple, anyway. Marie hasn't much money, you
+      know, and she simply won't let me do half what I want to. Still, she had
+      saved up some money, and I've finally convinced her that a trousseau
+      doesn't consist of egg-beaters and cake tins, and that Cyril would want
+      her to look pretty. That name will fetch her every time, and I've learned
+      to use it beautifully. I think if I told her Cyril approved of short hair
+      and near-sightedness she'd I cut off her golden locks and don spectacles
+      on the spot.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah laughed softly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What a child you are, Billy! Besides, just as if Marie were the only one
+      in the house who is ruled by a magic name!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The color deepened in Billy's cheeks.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, of course, any girl&mdash;cares something&mdash;for the man she
+      loves. Just as if I wouldn't do anything in the world I could for
+      Bertram!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, that makes me think; who was that young woman Bertram was talking
+      with last evening&mdash;just after he left us, I mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Winthrop&mdash;Miss Marguerite Winthrop. Bertram is&mdash;is
+      painting her portrait, you know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, is that the one?&rdquo; murmured Aunt Hannah. &ldquo;Hm-m; well, she has a
+      beautiful face.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, she has.&rdquo; Billy spoke very cheerfully. She even hummed a little tune
+      as she carefully selected a needle from the cushion in her basket.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There's a peculiar something in her face,&rdquo; mused Aunt Hannah, aloud.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little tune stopped abruptly, ending in a nervous laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dear me! I wonder how it feels to have a peculiar something in your face.
+      Bertram, too, says she has it. He's trying to 'catch it,' he says. I
+      wonder now&mdash;if he does catch it, does she lose it?&rdquo; Flippant as were
+      the words, the voice that uttered them shook a little.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah smiled indulgently&mdash;Aunt Hannah had heard only the
+      flippancy, not the shake.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know, my dear. You might ask him this afternoon.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy made a sudden movement. The china egg in her lap rolled to the
+      floor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, but I don't see him this afternoon,&rdquo; she said lightly, as she stooped
+      to pick up the egg.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, I'm sure he told me&mdash;&rdquo; Aunt Hannah's sentence ended in a
+      questioning pause.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I know,&rdquo; nodded Billy, brightly; &ldquo;but he's told me something since.
+      He isn't going. He telephoned me this morning. Miss Winthrop wanted the
+      sitting changed from to-morrow to this afternoon. He said he knew I'd
+      understand.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, yes; but&mdash;&rdquo; Aunt Hannah did not finish her sentence. The whir
+      of an electric bell had sounded through the house. A few moments later
+      Rosa appeared in the open doorway.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's Mr. Arkwright, Miss. He said as how he had brought the music,&rdquo; she
+      announced.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tell him I'll be down at once,&rdquo; directed the mistress of Hillside.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As the maid disappeared, Billy put aside her work and sprang lightly to
+      her feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now wasn't that nice of him? We were talking last night about some duets
+      he had, and he said he'd bring them over. I didn't know he'd come so soon,
+      though.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy had almost reached the bottom of the stairway, when a low, familiar
+      strain of music drifted out from the living-room. Billy caught her breath,
+      and held her foot suspended. The next moment the familiar strain of music
+      had become a lullaby&mdash;one of Billy's own&mdash;and sung now by a
+      melting tenor voice that lingered caressingly and understandingly on every
+      tender cadence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Motionless and almost breathless, Billy waited until the last low
+      &ldquo;lul-la-by&rdquo; vibrated into silence; then with shining eyes and outstretched
+      hands she entered the living-room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, that was&mdash;beautiful,&rdquo; she breathed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright was on his feet instantly. His eyes, too, were alight.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I could not resist singing it just once&mdash;here,&rdquo; he said a little
+      unsteadily, as their hands met.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But to hear my little song sung like that! I couldn't believe it was
+      mine,&rdquo; choked Billy, still plainly very much moved. &ldquo;You sang it as I've
+      never heard it sung before.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright shook his head slowly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The inspiration of the room&mdash;that is all,&rdquo;, he said. &ldquo;It is a
+      beautiful song. All of your songs are beautiful.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy blushed rosily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you. You know&mdash;more of them, then?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think I know them all&mdash;unless you have some new ones out. Have you
+      some new ones, lately?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy shook her head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No; I haven't written anything since last spring.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you're going to?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She drew a long sigh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, oh, yes. I know that <i>now</i>&mdash;&rdquo; With a swift biting of her
+      lower lip Billy caught herself up in time. As if she could tell this man,
+      this stranger, what she had told Bertram that night by the fire&mdash;that
+      she knew that now, <i>now</i> she would write beautiful songs, with his
+      love, and his pride in her, as incentives. &ldquo;Oh, yes, I think I shall write
+      more one of these days,&rdquo; she finished lightly. &ldquo;But come, this isn't
+      singing duets! I want to see the music you brought.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They sang then, one after another of the duets. To Billy, the music was
+      new and interesting. To Billy, too, it was new (and interesting) to hear
+      her own voice blending with another's so perfectly&mdash;to feel herself a
+      part of such exquisite harmony.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, oh!&rdquo; she breathed ecstatically, after the last note of a particularly
+      beautiful phrase. &ldquo;I never knew before how lovely it was to sing duets.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nor I,&rdquo; replied Arkwright in a voice that was not quite steady.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright's eyes were on the enraptured face of the girl so near him. It
+      was well, perhaps, that Billy did not happen to turn and catch their
+      expression. Still, it might have been better if she had turned, after all.
+      But Billy's eyes were on the music before her. Her fingers were busy with
+      the fluttering pages, searching for another duet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Didn't you?&rdquo; she murmured abstractedly. &ldquo;I supposed <i>you'd</i> sung
+      them before; but you see I never did&mdash;until the other night. There,
+      let's try this one!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This one&rdquo; was followed by another and another. Then Billy drew a long
+      breath.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There! that must positively be the last,&rdquo; she declared reluctantly. &ldquo;I'm
+      so hoarse now I can scarcely croak. You see, I don't pretend to sing,
+      really.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't you? You sing far better than some who do, anyhow,&rdquo; retorted the
+      man, warmly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you,&rdquo; smiled Billy; &ldquo;that was nice of you to say so&mdash;for my
+      sake&mdash;and the others aren't here to care. But tell me of yourself. I
+      haven't had a chance to ask you yet; and&mdash;I think you said Mary Jane
+      was going to study for Grand Opera.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright laughed and shrugged his shoulders.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She is; but, as I told Calderwell, she's quite likely to bring up in
+      vaudeville.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Calderwell! Do you mean&mdash;Hugh Calderwell?&rdquo; Billy's cheeks showed a
+      deeper color.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The man gave an embarrassed little laugh. He had not meant to let that
+      name slip out just yet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo; He hesitated, then plunged on recklessly. &ldquo;We tramped half over
+      Europe together last summer.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did you?&rdquo; Billy left her seat at the piano for one nearer the fire. &ldquo;But
+      this isn't telling me about your own plans,&rdquo; she hurried on a little
+      precipitately. &ldquo;You've studied before, of course. Your voice shows that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes; I've studied singing several years, and I've had a year or two
+      of church work, besides a little concert practice of a mild sort.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you begun here, yet?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Y-yes, I've had my voice tried.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy sat erect with eager interest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They liked it, of course?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright laughed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm not saying that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, but I am,&rdquo; declared Billy, with conviction. &ldquo;They couldn't help
+      liking it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright laughed again. Just how well they had &ldquo;liked it&rdquo; he did not
+      intend to say. Their remarks had been quite too flattering to repeat even
+      to this very plainly interested young woman&mdash;delightful and
+      heart-warming as was this same show of interest, to himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you,&rdquo; was all he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy gave an excited little bounce in her chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And you'll begin to learn rôles right away?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I already have, some&mdash;after a fashion&mdash;before I came here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Really? How splendid! Why, then you'll be acting them next right on the
+      Boston Opera House stage, and we'll all go to hear you. How perfectly
+      lovely! I can hardly wait.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright laughed&mdash;but his eyes glowed with pleasure.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aren't you hurrying things a little?&rdquo; he ventured.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But they do let the students appear,&rdquo; argued Billy. &ldquo;I knew a girl last
+      year who went on in 'Aida,' and she was a pupil at the School. She sang
+      first in a Sunday concert, then they put her in the bill for a Saturday
+      night. She did splendidly&mdash;so well that they gave her a chance later
+      at a subscription performance. Oh, you'll be there&mdash;and soon, too!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you! I only wish the powers that could put me there had your
+      flattering enthusiasm on the matter,&rdquo; he smiled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't worry any,&rdquo; nodded Billy, &ldquo;only please don't 'arrive' too soon&mdash;not
+      before the wedding, you know,&rdquo; she added jokingly. &ldquo;We shall be too busy
+      to give you proper attention until after that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A peculiar look crossed Arkwright's face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The&mdash;<i>wedding?</i>&rdquo; he asked, a little faintly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. Didn't you know? My friend, Miss Hawthorn, is to marry Mr. Cyril
+      Henshaw next month.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The man opposite relaxed visibly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, <i>Miss Hawthorn!</i> No, I didn't know,&rdquo; he murmured; then, with
+      sudden astonishment he added: &ldquo;And to Mr. Cyril, the musician, did you
+      say?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. You seem surprised.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am.&rdquo; Arkwright paused, then went on almost defiantly. &ldquo;You see,
+      Calderwell was telling me only last September how very unmarriageable all
+      the Henshaw brothers were. So I am surprised&mdash;naturally,&rdquo; finished
+      Arkwright, as he rose to take his leave.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A swift crimson stained Billy's face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But surely you must know that&mdash;that&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That he has a right to change his mind, of course,&rdquo; supplemented
+      Arkwright smilingly, coming to her rescue in the evident confusion that
+      would not let her finish her sentence. &ldquo;But Calderwell made it so
+      emphatic, you see, about all the brothers. He said that William had lost
+      his heart long ago; that Cyril hadn't any to lose; and that Bertram&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, Mr. Arkwright, Bertram is&mdash;is&mdash;&rdquo; Billy had moistened her
+      lips, and plunged hurriedly in to prevent Arkwright's next words. But
+      again was she unable to finish her sentence, and again was she forced to
+      listen to a very different completion from the smiling lips of the man at
+      her side.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is an artist, of course,&rdquo; said Arkwright. &ldquo;That's what Calderwell
+      declared&mdash;that it would always be the tilt of a chin or the curve of
+      a cheek that the artist loved&mdash;to paint.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy drew back suddenly. Her face paled. As if <i>now</i> she could tell
+      this man that Bertram Henshaw was engaged to her! He would find it out
+      soon, of course, for himself; and perhaps he, like Hugh Calderwell, would
+      think it was the curve of <i>her</i> cheek, or the tilt of <i>her</i> chin&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy lifted her chin very defiantly now as she held out her hand in
+      good-by.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER IX. A RUG, A PICTURE, AND A GIRL AFRAID
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Thanksgiving came. Once again the Henshaw brothers invited Billy and Aunt
+      Hannah to spend the day with them. This time, however, there was to be an
+      additional guest present in the person of Marie Hawthorn.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And what a day it was, for everything and everybody concerned! First the
+      Strata itself: from Dong Ling's kitchen in the basement to Cyril's domain
+      on the top floor, the house was as spick-and-span as Pete's eager old
+      hands could make it. In the drawing-room and in Bertram's den and studio,
+      great clusters of pink roses perfumed the air, and brightened the sombre
+      richness of the old-time furnishings. Before the open fire in the den a
+      sleek gray cat&mdash;adorned with a huge ribbon bow the exact shade of the
+      roses (Bertram had seen to that!)&mdash;winked and blinked sleepy yellow
+      eyes. In Bertram's studio the latest &ldquo;Face of a Girl&rdquo; had made way for a
+      group of canvases and plaques, every one of which showed Billy Neilson in
+      one pose or another. Up-stairs, where William's chaos of treasures filled
+      shelves and cabinets, the place of honor was given to a small black velvet
+      square on which rested a pair of quaint Battersea enamel mirror knobs. In
+      Cyril's rooms&mdash;usually so austerely bare&mdash;a handsome Oriental
+      rug and several curtain-draped chairs hinted at purchases made at the
+      instigation of a taste other than his own.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When the doorbell rang Pete admitted the ladies with a promptness that was
+      suggestive of surreptitious watching at some window. On Pete's face the
+      dignity of his high office and the delight of the moment were fighting for
+      mastery. The dignity held firmly through Mrs. Stetson's friendly greeting;
+      but it fled in defeat when Billy Neilson stepped over the threshold with a
+      cheery &ldquo;Good morning, Pete.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Laws! But it's good to be seein' you here again,&rdquo; stammered the man,&mdash;delight
+      now in sole possession.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She'll be coming to stay, one of these days, Pete,&rdquo; smiled the eldest
+      Henshaw, hurrying forward.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wish she had now,&rdquo; whispered Bertram, who, in spite of William's quick
+      stride, had reached Billy's side first.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      From the stairway came the patter of a man's slippered feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The rug has come, and the curtains, too,&rdquo; called a &ldquo;householder&rdquo; sort of
+      voice that few would have recognized as belonging to Cyril Henshaw. &ldquo;You
+      must all come up-stairs and see them after dinner.&rdquo; The voice, apparently,
+      spoke to everybody; but the eyes of the owner of the voice plainly saw
+      only the fair-haired young woman who stood a little in the shadow behind
+      Billy, and who was looking about her now as at something a little
+      fearsome, but very dear.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You know&mdash;I've never been&mdash;where you live&mdash;before,&rdquo;
+       explained Marie Hawthorn in a low, vibrant tone, when Cyril bent over her
+      to take the furs from her shoulders.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In Bertram's den a little later, as hosts and guests advanced toward the
+      fire, the sleek gray cat rose, stretched lazily, and turned her head with
+      majestic condescension.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, Spunkie, come here,&rdquo; commanded Billy, snapping her fingers at the
+      slow-moving creature on the hearthrug. &ldquo;Spunkie, when I am your mistress,
+      you'll have to change either your name or your nature. As if I were going
+      to have such a bunch of independent moderation as you masquerading as an
+      understudy to my frisky little Spunk!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Everybody laughed. William regarded his namesake with fond eyes as he
+      said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Spunkie doesn't seem to be worrying.&rdquo; The cat had jumped into Billy's lap
+      with a matter-of-course air that was unmistakable&mdash;and to Bertram,
+      adorable. Bertram's eyes, as they rested on Billy, were even fonder than
+      were his brother's.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't think any one is&mdash;<i>worrying</i>,&rdquo; he said with quiet
+      emphasis.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy smiled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I should think they might be,&rdquo; she answered. &ldquo;Only think how dreadfully
+      upsetting I was in the first place!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      William's beaming face grew a little stern.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nobody knew it but Kate&mdash;and she didn't <i>know</i> it; she only
+      imagined it,&rdquo; he said tersely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy shook her head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm not so sure,&rdquo; she demurred. &ldquo;As I look back at it now, I think I can
+      discern a few evidences myself&mdash;that I was upsetting. I was a bother
+      to Bertram in his painting, I am sure.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You were an inspiration,&rdquo; corrected Bertram. &ldquo;Think of the posing you did
+      for me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A swift something like a shadow crossed Billy's face; but before her lover
+      could question its meaning, it was gone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And I know I was a torment to Cyril.&rdquo; Billy had turned to the musician
+      now.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I admit you were a little&mdash;upsetting, at times,&rdquo; retorted that
+      individual, with something of his old imperturbable rudeness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense!&rdquo; cut in William, sharply. &ldquo;You were never anything but a
+      comfort in the house, Billy, my dear&mdash;and you never will be.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you,&rdquo; murmured Billy, demurely. &ldquo;I'll remember that&mdash;when Pete
+      and I disagree about the table decorations, and Dong Ling doesn't like the
+      way I want my soup seasoned.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      An anxious frown showed on Bertram's face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy,&rdquo; he said in a low voice, as the others laughed at her sally, &ldquo;you
+      needn't have Pete nor Dong Ling here if you don't want them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't want them!&rdquo; echoed Billy, indignantly. &ldquo;Of course I want them!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But&mdash;Pete <i>is</i> old, and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes; and where's he grown old? For whom has he worked the last fifty
+      years, while he's been growing old? I wonder if you think I'd let Pete
+      leave this house as long as he <i>wants</i> to stay! As for Dong Ling&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A sudden movement of Bertram's hand arrested her words. She looked up to
+      find Pete in the doorway.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dinner is served, sir,&rdquo; announced the old butler, his eyes on his
+      master's face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      William rose with alacrity, and gave his arm to Aunt Hannah.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I'm sure we're ready for dinner,&rdquo; he declared.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a good dinner, and it was well served. It could scarcely have been
+      otherwise with Dong Ling in the kitchen and Pete in the dining-room doing
+      their utmost to please. But even had the turkey been tough instead of
+      tender, and even had the pies been filled with sawdust instead of with
+      delicious mincemeat, it is doubtful if four at the table would have known
+      the difference: Cyril and Marie at one end were discussing where to put
+      their new sideboard in their dining-room, and Bertram and Billy at the
+      other were talking of the next Thanksgiving, when, according to Bertram,
+      the Strata would have the &ldquo;dearest little mistress that ever was born.&rdquo; As
+      if, under these circumstances, the tenderness of the turkey or the
+      toothsomeness of the mince pie mattered! To Aunt Hannah and William, in
+      the centre of the table, however, it did matter; so it was well, of
+      course, that the dinner was a good one.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And now,&rdquo; said Cyril, when dinner was over, &ldquo;suppose you come up and see
+      the rug.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In compliance with this suggestion, the six trailed up the long flights of
+      stairs then, Billy carrying an extra shawl for Aunt Hannah&mdash;Cyril's
+      rooms were always cool.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes, I knew we should need it,&rdquo; she nodded to Bertram, as she picked
+      up the shawl from the hall stand where she had left it when she came in.
+      &ldquo;That's why I brought it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, my grief and conscience, Cyril, how <i>can</i> you stand it?&mdash;to
+      climb stairs like this,&rdquo; panted Aunt Hannah, as she reached the top of the
+      last flight and dropped breathlessly into the nearest chair&mdash;from
+      which Marie had rescued a curtain just in time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I'm not sure I could&mdash;if I were always to eat a Thanksgiving
+      dinner just before,&rdquo; laughed Cyril. &ldquo;Maybe I ought to have waited and let
+      you rest an hour or two.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But 'twould have been too dark, then, to see the rug,&rdquo; objected Marie.
+      &ldquo;It's a genuine Persian&mdash;a Kirman, you know; and I'm so proud of it,&rdquo;
+       she added, turning to the others. &ldquo;I wanted you to see the colors by
+      daylight. Cyril likes it better, anyhow, in the daytime.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fancy Cyril <i>liking</i> any sort of a rug at any time,&rdquo; chuckled
+      Bertram, his eyes on the rich, softly blended colors of the rug before
+      him. &ldquo;Honestly, Miss Marie,&rdquo; he added, turning to the little bride elect,
+      &ldquo;how did you ever manage to get him to buy <i>any</i> rug? He won't have
+      so much as a ravelling on the floor up here to walk on.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A startled dismay came into Marie's blue eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, I thought he wanted rugs,&rdquo; she faltered. &ldquo;I'm sure he said&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course I want rugs,&rdquo; interrupted Cyril, irritably. &ldquo;I want them
+      everywhere except in my own especial den. You don't suppose I want to hear
+      other people clattering over bare floors all day, do you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course not!&rdquo; Bertram's face was preternaturally grave as he turned to
+      the little music teacher. &ldquo;I hope, Miss Marie, that you wear rubber heels
+      on your shoes,&rdquo; he observed solicitously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Even Cyril laughed at this, though all he said was:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come, come, I got you up here to look at the rug.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram, however, was not to be silenced.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And another thing, Miss Marie,&rdquo; he resumed, with the air of a true and
+      tried adviser. &ldquo;Just let me give you a pointer. I've lived with your
+      future husband a good many years, and I know what I'm talking about.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bertram, be still,&rdquo; growled Cyril.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram refused to be still.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Whenever you want to know anything about Cyril, listen to his playing.
+      For instance: if, after dinner, you hear a dreamy waltz or a sleepy
+      nocturne, you may know that all is well. But if on your ears there falls
+      anything like a dirge, or the wail of a lost spirit gone mad, better look
+      to your soup and see if it hasn't been scorched, or taste of your pudding
+      and see if you didn't put in salt instead of sugar.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bertram, will you be still?&rdquo; cut in Cyril, testily, again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;After all, judging from what Billy tells me,&rdquo; resumed Bertram,
+      cheerfully, &ldquo;what I've said won't be so important to you, for you aren't
+      the kind that scorches soups or uses salt for sugar. So maybe I'd better
+      put it to you this way: if you want a new sealskin coat or an extra
+      diamond tiara, tackle him when he plays like this!&rdquo; And with a swift turn
+      Bertram dropped himself to the piano stool and dashed into a rollicking
+      melody that half the newsboys of Boston were whistling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What happened next was a surprise to every one. Bertram, very much as if
+      he were a naughty little boy, was jerked by a wrathful brother's hand off
+      the piano stool. The next moment the wrathful brother himself sat at the
+      piano, and there burst on five pairs of astonished ears a crashing
+      dissonance which was but the prelude to music such as few of the party
+      often heard.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Spellbound they listened while rippling runs and sonorous harmonies filled
+      the room to overflowing, as if under the fingers of the player there were&mdash;not
+      the keyboard of a piano&mdash;but the violins, flutes, cornets, trombones,
+      bass viols and kettledrums of a full orchestra.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy, perhaps, of them all, best understood. She knew that in those
+      tripping melodies and crashing chords were Cyril's joy at the presence of
+      Marie, his wrath at the flippancy of Bertram, his ecstasy at that for
+      which the rug and curtains stood&mdash;the little woman sewing in the
+      radiant circle of a shaded lamp. Billy knew that all this and more were
+      finding voice at Cyril's finger tips. The others, too, understood in a
+      way; but they, unlike Billy, were not in the habit of finding on a few
+      score bits of wood and ivory a vent for their moods and fancies.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The music was softer now. The resounding chords and purling runs had
+      become a bell-like melody that wound itself in and out of a maze of
+      exquisite harmonies, now hiding, now coming out clear and unafraid, like a
+      mountain stream emerging into a sunlit meadow from the leafy shadows of
+      its forest home.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In a breathless hush the melody quivered into silence. It was Bertram who
+      broke the pause with a long-drawn:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By George!&rdquo; Then, a little unsteadily: &ldquo;If it's I that set you going like
+      that, old chap, I'll come up and play ragtime every day!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Cyril shrugged his shoulders and got to his feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you've seen all you want of the rug we'll go down-stairs,&rdquo; he said
+      nonchalantly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But we haven't!&rdquo; chorussed several indignant voices. And for the next few
+      minutes not even the owner of the beautiful Kirman could find any fault
+      with the quantity or the quality of the attention bestowed on his new
+      possession. But Billy, under cover of the chatter, said reproachfully in
+      his ear:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Cyril, to think you can play like that&mdash;and won't&mdash;on
+      demand!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can't&mdash;on demand,&rdquo; shrugged Cyril again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the way down-stairs they stopped at William's rooms.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I want you to see a couple of Batterseas I got last week,&rdquo; cried the
+      collector eagerly, as he led the way to the black velvet square. &ldquo;They're
+      fine&mdash;and I think she looks like you,&rdquo; he finished, turning to Billy,
+      and holding out one of the knobs, on which was a beautifully executed
+      miniature of a young girl with dark, dreamy eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, how pretty!&rdquo; exclaimed Marie, over Billy's shoulder. &ldquo;But what are
+      they?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The collector turned, his face alight.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mirror knobs. I've got lots of them. Would you like to see them&mdash;really?
+      They're right here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The next minute Marie found herself looking into a cabinet where lay a
+      score or more of round and oval discs of glass, porcelain, and metal,
+      framed in silver, gilt, and brass, and mounted on long spikes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, how pretty,&rdquo; cried Marie again; &ldquo;but how&mdash;how queer! Tell me
+      about them, please.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      William drew a long breath. His eyes glistened. William loved to talk&mdash;when
+      he had a curio and a listener.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I will. Our great-grandmothers used them, you know, to support their
+      mirrors, or to fasten back their curtains,&rdquo; he explained ardently. &ldquo;Now
+      here's another Battersea enamel, but it isn't so good as my new ones&mdash;that
+      face is almost a caricature.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But what a beautiful ship&mdash;on that round one!&rdquo; exclaimed Marie. &ldquo;And
+      what's this one?&mdash;glass?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes; but that's not so rare as the others. Still, it's pretty enough. Did
+      you notice this one, with the bright red and blue and green on the white
+      background?&mdash;regular Chinese mode of decoration, that is.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Er&mdash;any time, William,&rdquo; began Bertram, mischievously; but William
+      did not seem to hear.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now in this corner,&rdquo; he went on, warming to his subject, &ldquo;are the
+      enamelled porcelains. They were probably made at the Worcester works&mdash;England,
+      you know; and I think many of them are quite as pretty as the Batterseas.
+      You see it was at Worcester that they invented that variation of the
+      transfer printing process that they called bat printing, where they used
+      oil instead of ink, and gelatine instead of paper. Now engravings for that
+      kind of printing were usually in stipple work&mdash;dots, you know&mdash;so
+      the prints on these knobs can easily be distinguished from those of the
+      transfer printing. See? Now, this one is&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Er, of course, William, any time&mdash;&rdquo; interposed Bertram again, his
+      eyes twinkling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      William stopped with a laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I know. 'Tis time I talked of something else, Bertram,&rdquo; he conceded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But 'twas lovely, and I <i>was</i> interested, really,&rdquo; claimed Marie.
+      &ldquo;Besides, there are such a lot of things here that I'd like to see,&rdquo; she
+      finished, turning slowly about.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;These are what he was collecting last year,&rdquo; murmured Billy, hovering
+      over a small cabinet where were some beautiful specimens of antique
+      jewelry brooches, necklaces, armlets, Rajah rings, and anklets, gorgeous
+      in color and exquisite in workmanship.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, here is something you <i>will</i> enjoy,&rdquo; declared Bertram, with an
+      airy flourish. &ldquo;Do you see those teapots? Well, we can have tea every day
+      in the year, and not use one of them but five times. I've counted. There
+      are exactly seventy-three,&rdquo; he concluded, as he laughingly led the way
+      from the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How about leap year?&rdquo; quizzed Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ho! Trust Will to find another 'Old Blue' or a 'perfect treasure of a
+      black basalt' by that time,&rdquo; shrugged Bertram.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Below William's rooms was the floor once Bertram's, but afterwards given
+      over to the use of Billy and Aunt Hannah. The rooms were open to-day, and
+      were bright with sunshine and roses; but they were very plainly
+      unoccupied.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And you don't use them yet?&rdquo; remonstrated Billy, as she paused at an open
+      door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. These are Mrs. Bertram Henshaw's rooms,&rdquo; said the youngest Henshaw
+      brother in a voice that made Billy hurry away with a dimpling blush.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They were Billy's&mdash;and they can never seem any one's but Billy's,
+      now,&rdquo; declared William to Marie, as they went down the stairs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And now for the den and some good stories before the fire,&rdquo; proposed
+      Bertram, as the six reached the first floor again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But we haven't seen your pictures, yet,&rdquo; objected Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram made a deprecatory gesture.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There's nothing much&mdash;&rdquo; he began; but he stopped at once, with an
+      odd laugh. &ldquo;Well, I sha'n't say <i>that</i>,&rdquo; he finished, flinging open
+      the door of his studio, and pressing a button that flooded the room with
+      light. The next moment, as they stood before those plaques and panels and
+      canvases&mdash;on each of which was a pictured &ldquo;Billy&rdquo;&mdash;they
+      understood the change in his sentence, and they laughed appreciatively.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Much,' indeed!&rdquo; exclaimed William.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, how lovely!&rdquo; breathed Marie.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My grief and conscience, Bertram! All these&mdash;and of Billy? I knew
+      you had a good many, but&mdash;&rdquo; Aunt Hannah paused impotently, her eyes
+      going from Bertram's face to the pictures again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But how&mdash;when did you do them?&rdquo; queried Marie.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Some of them from memory. More of them from life. A lot of them were just
+      sketches that I did when she was here in the house four or five years
+      ago,&rdquo; answered Bertram; &ldquo;like this, for instance.&rdquo; And he pulled into a
+      better light a picture of a laughing, dark-eyed girl holding against her
+      cheek a small gray kitten, with alert, bright eyes. &ldquo;The original and only
+      Spunk,&rdquo; he announced.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What a dear little cat!&rdquo; cried Marie.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You should have seen it&mdash;in the flesh,&rdquo; remarked Cyril, dryly. &ldquo;No
+      paint nor painter could imprison that untamed bit of Satanic mischief on
+      any canvas that ever grew!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Everybody laughed&mdash;everybody but Billy. Billy, indeed, of them all,
+      had been strangely silent ever since they entered the studio. She stood
+      now a little apart. Her eyes were wide, and a bit frightened. Her fingers
+      were twisting the corners of her handkerchief nervously. She was looking
+      to the right and to the left, and everywhere she saw&mdash;herself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Sometimes it was her full face, sometimes her profile; sometimes there
+      were only her eyes peeping from above a fan, or peering from out brown
+      shadows of nothingness. Once it was merely the back of her head showing
+      the mass of waving hair with its high lights of burnished bronze. Again it
+      was still the back of her head with below it the bare, slender neck and
+      the scarf-draped shoulders. In this picture the curve of a half-turned
+      cheek showed plainly, and in the background was visible a hand holding
+      four playing cards, at which the pictured girl was evidently looking.
+      Sometimes it was a merry Billy with dancing eyes; sometimes a demure Billy
+      with long lashes caressing a flushed cheek. Sometimes it was a wistful
+      Billy with eyes that looked straight into yours with peculiar appeal. But
+      always it was&mdash;Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There, I think the tilt of this chin is perfect.&rdquo; It was Bertram
+      speaking.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy gave a sudden cry. Her face whitened. She stumbled forward.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, no, Bertram, you&mdash;you didn't mean the&mdash;the tilt of the
+      chin,&rdquo; she faltered wildly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The man turned in amazement.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why&mdash;Billy!&rdquo; he stammered. &ldquo;Billy, what is it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The girl fell back at once. She tried to laugh lightly. She had seen the
+      dismayed questioning in her lover's eyes, and in the eyes of William and
+      the others.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;N-nothing,&rdquo; she gesticulated hurriedly. &ldquo;It was nothing at all, truly.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, Billy, it <i>was</i> something.&rdquo; Bertram's eyes were still troubled.
+      &ldquo;Was it the picture? I thought you liked this picture.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed again&mdash;this time more naturally.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bertram, I'm ashamed of you&mdash;expecting me to say I 'like' any of
+      this,&rdquo; she scolded, with a wave of her hands toward the omnipresent Billy.
+      &ldquo;Why, I feel as if I were in a room with a thousand mirrors, and that I'd
+      been discovered putting rouge on my cheeks and lampblack on my eyebrows!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      William laughed fondly. Aunt Hannah and Marie gave an indulgent smile.
+      Cyril actually chuckled. Bertram only still wore a puzzled expression as
+      he laid aside the canvas in his hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy examined intently a sketch she had found with its back to the wall.
+      It was not a pretty sketch; it was not even a finished one, and Billy did
+      not in the least care what it was. But her lips cried interestedly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Bertram, what is this?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was no answer. Bertram was still engaged, apparently, in putting
+      away some sketches. Over by the doorway leading to the den Marie and Aunt
+      Hannah, followed by William and Cyril, were just disappearing behind a
+      huge easel. In another minute the merry chatter of their voices came from
+      the room beyond. Bertram hurried then straight across the studio to the
+      girl still bending over the sketch in the corner.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bertram!&rdquo; gasped Billy, as a kiss brushed her cheek.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pooh! They're gone. Besides, what if they did see? Billy, what was the
+      matter with the tilt of that chin?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy gave an hysterical little laugh&mdash;at least, Bertram tried to
+      assure himself that it was a laugh, though it had sounded almost like a
+      sob.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bertram, if you say another word about&mdash;about the tilt of that chin,
+      I shall <i>scream!</i>&rdquo; she panted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Billy!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      With a nervous little movement Billy turned and began to reverse the
+      canvases nearest her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come, sir,&rdquo; she commanded gayly. &ldquo;Billy has been on exhibition quite long
+      enough. It is high time she was turned face to the wall to meditate, and
+      grow more modest.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram did not answer. Neither did he make a move to assist her. His
+      ardent gray eyes were following her slim, graceful figure admiringly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, it doesn't seem true, yet, that you're really mine,&rdquo; he said at
+      last, in a low voice shaken with emotion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy turned abruptly. A peculiar radiance shone in her eyes and glorified
+      her face. As she stood, she was close to a picture on an easel and full in
+      the soft glow of the shaded lights above it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then you <i>do</i> want me,&rdquo; she began, &ldquo;&mdash;just <i>me!</i>&mdash;not
+      to&mdash;&rdquo; she stopped short. The man opposite had taken an eager step
+      toward her. On his face was the look she knew so well, the look she had
+      come almost to dread&mdash;the &ldquo;painting look.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, stand just as you are,&rdquo; he was saying. &ldquo;Don't move. Jove! But that
+      effect is perfect with those dark shadows beyond, and just your hair and
+      face and throat showing. I declare, I've half a mind to sketch&mdash;&rdquo; But
+      Billy, with a little cry, was gone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER X. A JOB FOR PETE&mdash;AND FOR BERTRAM
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      The early days in December were busy ones, certainly, in the little house
+      on Corey Hill. Marie was to be married the twelfth. It was to be a home
+      wedding, and a very simple one&mdash;according to Billy, and according to
+      what Marie had said it was to be. Billy still serenely spoke of it as a
+      &ldquo;simple affair,&rdquo; but Marie was beginning to be fearful. As the days
+      passed, bringing with them more and more frequent evidences either
+      tangible or intangible of orders to stationers, caterers, and florists,
+      her fears found voice in a protest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But Billy, it was to be a <i>simple</i> wedding,&rdquo; she cried.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And so it is.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But what is this I hear about a breakfast?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy's chin assumed its most stubborn squareness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know, I'm sure, what you did hear,&rdquo; she retorted calmly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed. The chin was just as stubborn, but the smiling lips above
+      it graced it with an air of charming concession.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There, there, dear,&rdquo; coaxed the mistress of Hillside, &ldquo;don't fret.
+      Besides, I'm sure I should think you, of all people, would want your
+      guests <i>fed!</i>&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But this is so elaborate, from what I hear.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense! Not a bit of it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Rosa says there'll be salads and cakes and ices&mdash;and I don't know
+      what all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy looked concerned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, of course, Marie, if you'd <i>rather</i> have oatmeal and
+      doughnuts,&rdquo; she began with kind solicitude; but she got no farther.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy!&rdquo; besought the bride elect. &ldquo;Won't you be serious? And there's the
+      cake in wedding boxes, too.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know, but boxes are so much easier and cleaner than&mdash;just
+      fingers,&rdquo; apologized an anxiously serious voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Marie answered with an indignant, grieved glance and hurried on.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And the flowers&mdash;roses, dozens of them, in December! Billy, I can't
+      let you do all this for me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense, dear!&rdquo; laughed Billy. &ldquo;Why, I love to do it. Besides, when
+      you're gone, just think how lonesome I'll be! I shall have to adopt
+      somebody else then&mdash;now that Mary Jane has proved to be nothing but a
+      disappointing man instead of a nice little girl like you,&rdquo; she finished
+      whimsically.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Marie did not smile. The frown still lay between her delicate brows.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And for my trousseau&mdash;there were so many things that you simply
+      would buy!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I didn't get one of the egg-beaters,&rdquo; Billy reminded her anxiously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Marie smiled now, but she shook her head, too.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, I cannot have you do all this for me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why not?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At the unexpectedly direct question, Marie fell back a little.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, because I&mdash;I can't,&rdquo; she stammered. &ldquo;I can't get them for
+      myself, and&mdash;and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't you love me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A pink flush stole to Marie's face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Indeed I do, dearly.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't I love you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The flush deepened.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&mdash;I hope so.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then why won't you let me do what I want to, and be happy in it? Money,
+      just money, isn't any good unless you can exchange it for something you
+      want. And just now I want pink roses and ice cream and lace flounces for
+      you. Marie,&rdquo;&mdash;Billy's voice trembled a little&mdash;&ldquo;I never had a
+      sister till I had you, and I have had such a good time buying things that
+      I thought you wanted! But, of course, if you don't want them&mdash;&rdquo; The
+      words ended in a choking sob, and down went Billy's head into her folded
+      arms on the desk before her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Marie sprang to her feet and cuddled the bowed head in a loving embrace.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I do want them, dear; I want them all&mdash;every single one,&rdquo; she
+      urged. &ldquo;Now promise me&mdash;promise me that you'll do them all, just as
+      you'd planned! You will, won't you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was the briefest of hesitations, then came the muffled reply:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes&mdash;if you really want them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I do, dear&mdash;indeed I do. I love pretty weddings, and I&mdash;I
+      always hoped that I could have one&mdash;if I ever married. So you must
+      know, dear, how I really do want all those things,&rdquo; declared Marie,
+      fervently. &ldquo;And now I must go. I promised to meet Cyril at Park Street at
+      three o'clock.&rdquo; And she hurried from the room&mdash;and not until she was
+      half-way to her destination did it suddenly occur to her that she had been
+      urging, actually urging Miss Billy Neilson to buy for her pink roses, ice
+      cream, and lace flounces.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Her cheeks burned with shame then. But almost at once she smiled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now wasn't that just like Billy?&rdquo; she was saying to herself, with a
+      tender glow in her eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was early in December that Pete came one day with a package for Marie
+      from Cyril. Marie was not at home, and Billy herself went downstairs to
+      take the package from the old man's hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Cyril said to give it to Miss Hawthorn,&rdquo; stammered the old servant,
+      his face lighting up as Billy entered the room; &ldquo;but I'm sure he wouldn't
+      mind <i>your</i> taking it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm afraid I'll have to take it, Pete, unless you want to carry it back
+      with you,&rdquo; she smiled. &ldquo;I'll see that Miss Hawthorn has it the very first
+      moment she comes in.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you, Miss. It does my old eyes good to see your bright face.&rdquo; He
+      hesitated, then turned slowly. &ldquo;Good day, Miss Billy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laid the package on the table. Her eyes were thoughtful as she
+      looked after the old man, who was now almost to the door. Something in his
+      bowed form appealed to her strangely. She took a quick step toward him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You'll miss Mr. Cyril, Pete,&rdquo; she said pleasantly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The old man stopped at once and turned. He lifted his head a little
+      proudly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, Miss. I&mdash;I was there when he was born. Mr. Cyril's a fine man.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Indeed he is. Perhaps it's your good care that's helped, some&mdash;to
+      make him so,&rdquo; smiled the girl, vaguely wishing that she could say
+      something that would drive the wistful look from the dim old eyes before
+      her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For a moment Billy thought she had succeeded. The old servant drew himself
+      stiffly erect. In his eyes shone the loyal pride of more than fifty years'
+      honest service. Almost at once, however, the pride died away, and the
+      wistfulness returned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank ye, Miss; but I don't lay no claim to that, of course,&rdquo; he said.
+      &ldquo;Mr. Cyril's a fine man, and we shall miss him; but&mdash;I cal'late
+      changes must come&mdash;to all of us.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy's brown eyes grew a little misty.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I suppose they must,&rdquo; she admitted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The old man hesitated; then, as if impelled by some hidden force, he
+      plunged on:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes; and they'll be comin' to you one of these days, Miss, and that's
+      what I was wantin' to speak to ye about. I understand, of course, that
+      when you get there you'll be wantin' younger blood to serve ye. My feet
+      ain't so spry as they once was, and my old hands blunder sometimes, in
+      spite of what my head bids 'em do. So I wanted to tell ye&mdash;that of
+      course I shouldn't expect to stay. I'd go.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      As he said the words, Pete stood with head and shoulders erect, his eyes
+      looking straight forward but not at Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't you <i>want</i> to stay?&rdquo; The girlish voice was a little
+      reproachful.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Pete's head drooped.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not if&mdash;I'm not wanted,&rdquo; came the husky reply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With an impulsive movement Billy came straight to the old man's side and
+      held out her hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pete!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Amazement, incredulity, and a look that was almost terror crossed the old
+      man's face; then a flood of dull red blotted them all out and left only
+      worshipful rapture. With a choking cry he took the slim little hand in
+      both his rough and twisted ones much as if he were possessing himself of a
+      treasured bit of eggshell china.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Billy!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pete, there aren't a pair of feet in Boston, nor a pair of hands, either,
+      that I'd rather have serve me than yours, no matter if they stumble and
+      blunder all day! I shall love stumbles and blunders&mdash;if you make
+      them. Now run home, and don't ever let me hear another syllable about your
+      leaving!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They were not the words Billy had intended to say. She had meant to speak
+      of his long, faithful service, and of how much they appreciated it; but,
+      to her surprise, Billy found her own eyes wet and her own voice trembling,
+      and the words that she would have said she found fast shut in her throat.
+      So there was nothing to do but to stammer out something&mdash;anything,
+      that would help to keep her from yielding to that absurd and awful desire
+      to fall on the old servant's neck and cry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not another syllable!&rdquo; she repeated sternly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Billy!&rdquo; choked Pete again. Then he turned and fled with anything but
+      his usual dignity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram called that evening. When Billy came to him in the living-room,
+      her slender self was almost hidden behind the swirls of damask linen in
+      her arms.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram's eyes grew mutinous.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you expect me to hug all that?&rdquo; he demanded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy flashed him a mischievous glance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course not! You don't <i>have</i> to hug anything, you know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      For answer he impetuously swept the offending linen into the nearest chair
+      and drew the girl into his arms.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! And see how you've crushed poor Marie's table-cloth!&rdquo; she cried, with
+      reproachful eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram sniffed imperturbably.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm not sure but I'd like to crush Marie,&rdquo; he alleged.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bertram!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can't help it. See here, Billy.&rdquo; He loosened his clasp and held the
+      girl off at arm's length, regarding her with stormy eyes. &ldquo;It's Marie,
+      Marie, Marie&mdash;always. If I telephone in the morning, you've gone
+      shopping with Marie. If I want you in the afternoon for something, you're
+      at the dressmaker's with Marie. If I call in the evening&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm here,&rdquo; interrupted Billy, with decision.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes, you're here,&rdquo; admitted Bertram, aggrievedly, &ldquo;and so are dozens
+      of napkins, miles of table-cloths, and yards upon yards of lace and
+      flummydiddles you call 'doilies.' They all belong to Marie, and they fill
+      your arms and your thoughts full, until there isn't an inch of room for
+      me. Billy, when is this thing going to end?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed softly. Her eyes danced.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The twelfth;&mdash;that is, there'll be a&mdash;pause, then.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I'm thankful if&mdash;eh?&rdquo; broke off the man, with a sudden change
+      of manner. &ldquo;What do you mean by 'a pause'?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy cast down her eyes demurely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, of course <i>this</i> ends the twelfth with Marie's wedding; but
+      I've sort of regarded it as an&mdash;understudy for one that's coming next
+      October, you see.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, you darling!&rdquo; breathed a supremely happy voice in a shell-like ear&mdash;Billy
+      was not at arm's length now.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy smiled, but she drew away with gentle firmness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And now I must go back to my sewing,&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram's arms did not loosen. His eyes had grown mutinous again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is,&rdquo; she amended, &ldquo;I must be practising my part of&mdash;the
+      understudy, you know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You darling!&rdquo; breathed Bertram again; this time, however, he let her go.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, honestly, is it all necessary?&rdquo; he sighed despairingly, as she
+      seated herself and gathered the table-cloth into her lap. &ldquo;Do you have to
+      do so much of it all?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I do,&rdquo; smiled Billy, &ldquo;unless you want your brother to run the risk of
+      leading his bride to the altar and finding her robed in a kitchen apron
+      with an egg-beater in her hand for a bouquet.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram laughed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is it so bad as that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, of course not&mdash;quite. But never have I seen a bride so utterly
+      oblivious to clothes as Marie was till one day in despair I told her that
+      Cyril never could bear a dowdy woman.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As if Cyril, in the old days, ever could bear any sort of woman!&rdquo; scoffed
+      Bertram, merrily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know; but I didn't mention that part,&rdquo; smiled Billy. &ldquo;I just singled
+      out the dowdy one.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did it work?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy made a gesture of despair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did it work! It worked too well. Marie gave me one horrified look, then
+      at once and immediately she became possessed with the idea that she <i>was</i>
+      a dowdy woman. And from that day to this she has pursued every lurking
+      wrinkle and every fold awry, until her dressmaker's life isn't worth the
+      living; and I'm beginning to think mine isn't, either, for I have to
+      assure her at least four times every day now that she is <i>not</i> a
+      dowdy woman.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You poor dear,&rdquo; laughed Bertram. &ldquo;No wonder you don't have time to give
+      to me!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A peculiar expression crossed Billy's face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, but I'm not the <i>only</i> one who, at times, is otherwise engaged,
+      sir,&rdquo; she reminded him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There was yesterday, and last Monday, and last week Wednesday, and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, but you <i>let</i> me off, then,&rdquo; argued Bertram, anxiously. &ldquo;And you
+      said&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That I didn't wish to interfere with your work&mdash;which was quite
+      true,&rdquo; interrupted Billy in her turn, smoothly. &ldquo;By the way,&rdquo;&mdash;Billy
+      was examining her stitches very closely now&mdash;&ldquo;how is Miss Winthrop's
+      portrait coming on?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Splendidly!&mdash;that is, it <i>was</i>, until she began to put off the
+      sittings for her pink teas and folderols. She's going to Washington next
+      week, too, to be gone nearly a fortnight,&rdquo; finished Bertram, gloomily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aren't you putting more work than usual into this one&mdash;and more
+      sittings?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, yes,&rdquo; laughed Bertram, a little shortly. &ldquo;You see, she's changed
+      the pose twice already.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Changed it!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. Wasn't satisfied. Fancied she wanted it different.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But can't you&mdash;don't you have something to say about it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes, of course; and she claims she'll yield to my judgment, anyhow.
+      But what's the use? She's been a spoiled darling all her life, and in the
+      habit of having her own way about everything. Naturally, under those
+      circumstances, I can't expect to get a satisfactory portrait, if she's out
+      of tune with the pose. Besides, I will own, so far her suggestions have
+      made for improvement&mdash;probably because she's been happy in making
+      them, so her expression has been good.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy wet her lips.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I saw her the other night,&rdquo; she said lightly. (If the lightness was a
+      little artificial Bertram did not seem to notice it.) &ldquo;She is certainly&mdash;very
+      beautiful.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo; Bertram got to his feet and began to walk up and down the little
+      room. His eyes were alight. On his face the &ldquo;painting look&rdquo; was king.
+      &ldquo;It's going to mean a lot to me&mdash;this picture, Billy. In the first
+      place I'm just at the point in my career where a big success would mean a
+      lot&mdash;and where a big failure would mean more. And this portrait is
+      bound to be one or the other from the very nature of the thing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I-is it?&rdquo; Billy's voice was a little faint.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. First, because of who the sitter is, and secondly because of what
+      she is. She is, of course, the most famous subject I've had, and half the
+      artistic world knows by this time that Marguerite Winthrop is being done
+      by Henshaw. You can see what it'll be&mdash;if I fail.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you won't fail, Bertram!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The artist lifted his chin and threw back his shoulders.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, of course not; but&mdash;&rdquo; He hesitated, frowned, and dropped himself
+      into a chair. His eyes studied the fire moodily. &ldquo;You see,&rdquo; he resumed,
+      after a moment, &ldquo;there's a peculiar, elusive something about her
+      expression&mdash;&rdquo; (Billy stirred restlessly and gave her thread so savage
+      a jerk that it broke)&rdquo;&mdash;a something that isn't easily caught by the
+      brush. Anderson and Fullam&mdash;big fellows, both of them&mdash;didn't
+      catch it. At least, I've understood that neither her family nor her
+      friends are satisfied with <i>their</i> portraits. And to succeed where
+      Anderson and Fullam failed&mdash;Jove! Billy, a chance like that doesn't
+      come to a fellow twice in a lifetime!&rdquo; Bertram was out of his chair,
+      again, tramping up and down the little room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy tossed her work aside and sprang to her feet. Her eyes, too, were
+      alight, now.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you aren't going to fail, dear,&rdquo; she cried, holding out both her
+      hands. &ldquo;You're going to succeed!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram caught the hands and kissed first one then the other of their soft
+      little palms.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course I am,&rdquo; he agreed passionately, leading her to the sofa, and
+      seating himself at her side.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, but you must really <i>feel</i> it,&rdquo; she urged; &ldquo;feel the '<i>sure</i>'
+      in yourself. You have to!&mdash;to doing things. That's what I told Mary
+      Jane yesterday, when he was running on about what <i>he</i> wanted to do&mdash;in
+      his singing, you know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram stiffened a little. A quick frown came to his face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mary Jane, indeed! Of all the absurd names to give a full-grown, six-foot
+      man! Billy, do, for pity's sake, call him by his name&mdash;if he's got
+      one.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy broke into a rippling laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wish I could, dear,&rdquo; she sighed ingenuously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Honestly, it bothers me because I <i>can't</i> think of him as anything
+      but 'Mary Jane.' It seems so silly!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It certainly does&mdash;when one remembers his beard.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, he's shaved that off now. He looks rather better, too.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram turned a little sharply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you see the fellow&mdash;often?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed merrily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. He's about as disgruntled as you are over the way the wedding
+      monopolizes everything. He's been up once or twice to see Aunt Hannah and
+      to get acquainted, as he expresses it, and once he brought up some music
+      and we sang; but he declares the wedding hasn't given him half a show.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Indeed! Well, that's a pity, I'm sure,&rdquo; rejoined Bertram, icily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy turned in slight surprise.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Bertram, don't you like Mary Jane?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, for heaven's sake! <i>Hasn't</i> he got any name but that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy clapped her hands together suddenly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There, that makes me think. He told Aunt Hannah and me to guess what his
+      name was, and we never hit it once. What do you think it is? The initials
+      are M. J.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I couldn't say, I'm sure. What is it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, he didn't tell us. You see he left us to guess it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did he?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; mused Billy, abstractedly, her eyes on the dancing fire. The next
+      minute she stirred and settled herself more comfortably in the curve of
+      her lover's arm. &ldquo;But there! who cares what his name is? I'm sure I
+      don't.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nor I,&rdquo; echoed Bertram in a voice that he tried to make not too fervent.
+      He had not forgotten Billy's surprised: &ldquo;Why, Bertram, don't you like Mary
+      Jane?&rdquo; and he did not like to call forth a repetition of it. Abruptly,
+      therefore, he changed the subject. &ldquo;By the way, what did you do to Pete
+      to-day?&rdquo; he asked laughingly. &ldquo;He came home in a seventh heaven of
+      happiness babbling of what an angel straight from the sky Miss Billy was.
+      Naturally I agreed with him on that point. But what did you do to him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy smiled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nothing&mdash;only engaged him for our butler&mdash;for life.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I see. That was dear of you, Billy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As if I'd do anything else! And now for Dong Ling, I suppose, some day.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram chuckled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, maybe I can help you there,&rdquo; he hinted. &ldquo;You see, his Celestial
+      Majesty came to me himself the other day, and said, after sundry and
+      various preliminaries, that he should be 'velly much glad' when the
+      'Little Missee' came to live with me, for then he could go back to China
+      with a heart at rest, as he had money 'velly much plenty' and didn't wish
+      to be 'Melican man' any longer.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dear me,&rdquo; smiled Billy, &ldquo;what a happy state of affairs&mdash;for him. But
+      for you&mdash;do you realize, young man, what that means for you? A new
+      wife and a new cook all at once? And you know I'm not Marie!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ho! I'm not worrying,&rdquo; retorted Bertram with a contented smile; &ldquo;besides,
+      as perhaps you noticed, it wasn't Marie that I asked&mdash;to marry me!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XI. A CLOCK AND AUNT HANNAH
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Kate Hartwell, the Henshaw brothers' sister from the West, was
+      expected on the tenth. Her husband could not come, she had written, but
+      she would bring with her, little Kate, the youngest child. The boys, Paul
+      and Egbert, would stay with their father.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy received the news of little Kate's coming with outspoken delight.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The very thing!&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;We'll have her for a flower girl. She was a
+      dear little creature, as I remember her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah gave a sudden low laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I remember,&rdquo; she observed. &ldquo;Kate told me, after you spent the first
+      day with her, that you graciously informed her that little Kate was almost
+      as nice as Spunk. Kate did not fully appreciate the compliment, I fear.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy made a wry face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did I say that? Dear me! I <i>was</i> a terror in those days, wasn't I?
+      But then,&rdquo; and she laughed softly, &ldquo;really, Aunt Hannah, that was the
+      prettiest thing I knew how to say, for I considered Spunk the top-notch of
+      desirability.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think I should have liked to know Spunk,&rdquo; smiled Marie from the other
+      side of the sewing table.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He was a dear,&rdquo; declared Billy. &ldquo;I had another 'most as good when I first
+      came to Hillside, but he got lost. For a time it seemed as if I never
+      wanted another, but I've about come to the conclusion now that I do, and
+      I've told Bertram to find one for me if he can. You see I shall be
+      lonesome after you're gone, Marie, and I'll have to have <i>something</i>,&rdquo;
+       she finished mischievously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I don't mind the inference&mdash;as long as I know your admiration of
+      cats,&rdquo; laughed Marie.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let me see; Kate writes she is coming the tenth,&rdquo; murmured Aunt Hannah,
+      going back to the letter in her hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good!&rdquo; nodded Billy. &ldquo;That will give time to put little Kate through her
+      paces as flower girl.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, and it will give Big Kate time to <i>try</i> to make your breakfast
+      a supper, and your roses pinks&mdash;or sunflowers,&rdquo; cut in a new voice,
+      dryly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Cyril!&rdquo; chorussed the three ladies in horror, adoration, and amusement&mdash;according
+      to whether the voice belonged to Aunt Hannah, Marie, or Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Cyril shrugged his shoulders and smiled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I beg your pardon,&rdquo; he apologized; &ldquo;but Rosa said you were in here
+      sewing, and I told her not to bother. I'd announce myself. Just as I got
+      to the door I chanced to hear Billy's speech, and I couldn't resist making
+      the amendment. Maybe you've forgotten Kate's love of managing&mdash;but I
+      haven't,&rdquo; he finished, as he sauntered over to the chair nearest Marie.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I haven't&mdash;forgotten,&rdquo; observed Billy, meaningly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nor I&mdash;nor anybody else,&rdquo; declared a severe voice&mdash;both the
+      words and the severity being most extraordinary as coming from the usually
+      gentle Aunt Hannah.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, well, never mind,&rdquo; spoke up Billy, quickly. &ldquo;Everything's all right
+      now, so let's forget it. She always meant it for kindness, I'm sure.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Even when she told you in the first place what a&mdash;er&mdash;torment
+      you were to us?&rdquo; quizzed Cyril.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; flashed Billy. &ldquo;She was being kind to <i>you</i>, then.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph!&rdquo; vouchsafed Cyril.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For a moment no one spoke. Cyril's eyes were on Marie, who was nervously
+      trying to smooth back a few fluffy wisps of hair that had escaped from
+      restraining combs and pins.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What's the matter with the hair, little girl?&rdquo; asked Cyril in a voice
+      that was caressingly irritable. &ldquo;You've been fussing with that
+      long-suffering curl for the last five minutes!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Marie's delicate face flushed painfully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's got loose&mdash;my hair,&rdquo; she stammered, &ldquo;and it looks so dowdy that
+      way!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy dropped her thread suddenly. She sprang for it at once, before Cyril
+      could make a move to get it. She had to dive far under a chair to capture
+      it&mdash;which may explain why her face was so very red when she finally
+      reached her seat again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the morning of the tenth, Billy, Marie, and Aunt Hannah were once more
+      sewing together, this time in the little sitting-room at the end of the
+      hall up-stairs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy's fingers, in particular, were flying very fast.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I told John to have Peggy at the door at eleven,&rdquo; she said, after a time;
+      &ldquo;but I think I can finish running in this ribbon before then. I haven't
+      much to do to get ready to go.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I hope Kate's train won't be late,&rdquo; worried Aunt Hannah.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I hope not,&rdquo; replied Billy; &ldquo;but I told Rosa to delay luncheon, anyway,
+      till we get here. I&mdash;&rdquo; She stopped abruptly and turned a listening
+      ear toward the door of Aunt Hannah's room, which was open. A clock was
+      striking. &ldquo;Mercy! that can't be eleven now,&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;But it must be&mdash;it
+      was ten before I came up-stairs.&rdquo; She got to her feet hurriedly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah put out a restraining hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, no, dear, that's half-past ten.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But it struck eleven.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I know. It does&mdash;at half-past ten.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, the little wretch,&rdquo; laughed Billy, dropping back into her chair and
+      picking up her work again. &ldquo;The idea of its telling fibs like that and
+      frightening people half out of their lives! I'll have it fixed right away.
+      Maybe John can do it&mdash;he's always so handy about such things.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I don't want it fixed,&rdquo; demurred Aunt Hannah.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy stared a little.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You don't want it fixed! Maybe you like to have it strike eleven when
+      it's half-past ten!&rdquo; Billy's voice was merrily sarcastic.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Y-yes, I do,&rdquo; stammered the lady, apologetically. &ldquo;You see, I&mdash;I
+      worked very hard to fix it so it would strike that way.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;<i>Aunt Hannah!</i>&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I did,&rdquo; retorted the lady, with unexpected spirit. &ldquo;I wanted to
+      know what time it was in the night&mdash;I'm awake such a lot.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I don't see.&rdquo; Billy's eyes were perplexed. &ldquo;Why must you make it tell
+      fibs in order to&mdash;to find out the truth?&rdquo; she laughed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah elevated her chin a little.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because that clock was always striking one.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;One!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes&mdash;half-past, you know; and I never knew which half-past it was.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But it must strike half-past now, just the same!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It does.&rdquo; There was the triumphant ring of the conqueror in Aunt Hannah's
+      voice. &ldquo;But now it strikes half-past <i>on the hour</i>, and the clock in
+      the hall tells me <i>then</i> what time it is, so I don't care.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      For one more brief minute Billy stared, before a sudden light of
+      understanding illumined her face. Then her laugh rang out gleefully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Aunt Hannah, Aunt Hannah,&rdquo; she gurgled. &ldquo;If Bertram wouldn't call you
+      the limit&mdash;making a clock strike eleven so you'll know it's half-past
+      ten!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah colored a little, but she stood her ground.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, there's only half an hour, anyway, now, that I don't know what time
+      it is,&rdquo; she maintained, &ldquo;for one or the other of those clocks strikes the
+      hour every thirty minutes. Even during those never-ending three ones that
+      strike one after the other in the middle of the night, I can tell now, for
+      the hall clock has a different sound for the half-hours, you know, so I
+      can tell whether it's one or a half-past.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course,&rdquo; chuckled Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm sure I think it's a splendid idea,&rdquo; chimed in Marie, valiantly; &ldquo;and
+      I'm going to write it to mother's Cousin Jane right away. She's an
+      invalid, and she's always lying awake nights wondering what time it is.
+      The doctor says actually he believes she'd get well if he could find some
+      way of letting her know the time at night, so she'd get some sleep; for
+      she simply can't go to sleep till she knows. She can't bear a light in the
+      room, and it wakes her all up to turn an electric switch, or anything of
+      that kind.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why doesn't she have one of those phosphorous things?&rdquo; questioned Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Marie laughed quietly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She did. I sent her one,&mdash;and she stood it just one night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Stood it!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. She declared it gave her the creeps, and that she wouldn't have the
+      spooky thing staring at her all night like that. So it's got to be
+      something she can hear, and I'm going to tell her Mrs. Stetson's plan
+      right away.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I'm sure I wish you would,&rdquo; cried that lady, with prompt interest;
+      &ldquo;and she'll like it, I'm sure. And tell her if she can hear a <i>town</i>
+      clock strike, it's just the same, and even better; for there aren't any
+      half-hours at all to think of there.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I will&mdash;and I think it's lovely,&rdquo; declared Marie.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course it's lovely,&rdquo; smiled Billy, rising; &ldquo;but I fancy I'd better go
+      and get ready to meet Mrs. Hartwell, or the 'lovely' thing will be telling
+      me that it's half-past eleven!&rdquo; And she tripped laughingly from the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Promptly at the appointed time John with Peggy drew up before the door,
+      and Billy, muffled in furs, stepped into the car, which, with its
+      protecting top and sides and glass wind-shield, was in its winter dress.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes'm, 'tis a little chilly, Miss,&rdquo; said John, in answer to her greeting,
+      as he tucked the heavy robes about her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, well, I shall be very comfortable, I'm sure,&rdquo; smiled Billy. &ldquo;Just
+      don't drive too rapidly, specially coming home. I shall have to get a
+      limousine, I think, when my ship comes in, John.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      John's grizzled old face twitched. So evident were the words that were not
+      spoken that Billy asked laughingly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, John, what is it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      John reddened furiously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nothing, Miss. I was only thinkin' that if you didn't 'tend ter haulin'
+      in so many other folks's ships, yours might get in sooner.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, John! Nonsense! I&mdash;I love to haul in other folks's ships,&rdquo;
+       laughed the girl, embarrassedly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, Miss; I know you do,&rdquo; grunted John.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy colored.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, no&mdash;that is, I mean&mdash;I don't do it&mdash;very much,&rdquo; she
+      stammered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      John did not answer apparently; but Billy was sure she caught a
+      low-muttered, indignant &ldquo;much!&rdquo; as he snapped the door shut and took his
+      place at the wheel.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To herself she laughed softly. She thought she possessed the secret now of
+      some of John's disapproving glances toward her humble guests of the summer
+      before.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XII. SISTER KATE
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      At the station Mrs. Hartwell's train was found to be gratifyingly on time;
+      and in due course Billy was extending a cordial welcome to a tall,
+      handsome woman who carried herself with an unmistakable air of assured
+      competence. Accompanying her was a little girl with big blue eyes and
+      yellow curls.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am very glad to see you both,&rdquo; smiled Billy, holding out a friendly
+      hand to Mrs. Hartwell, and stooping to kiss the round cheek of the little
+      girl.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you, you are very kind,&rdquo; murmured the lady; &ldquo;but&mdash;are you
+      alone, Billy? Where are the boys?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Uncle William is out of town, and Cyril is rushed to death and sent his
+      excuses. Bertram did mean to come, but he telephoned this morning that he
+      couldn't, after all. I'm sorry, but I'm afraid you'll have to make the
+      best of just me,&rdquo; condoled Billy. &ldquo;They'll be out to the house this
+      evening, of course&mdash;all but Uncle William. He doesn't return until
+      to-morrow.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, doesn't he?&rdquo; murmured the lady, reaching for her daughter's hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy looked down with a smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And this is little Kate, I suppose,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;whom I haven't seen for
+      such a long, long time. Let me see, you are how old now?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm eight. I've been eight six weeks.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy's eyes twinkled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And you don't remember me, I suppose.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The little girl shook her head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No; but I know who you are,&rdquo; she added, with shy eagerness. &ldquo;You're going
+      to be my Aunt Billy, and you're going to marry my Uncle William&mdash;I
+      mean, my Uncle Bertram.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy's face changed color. Mrs. Hartwell gave a despairing gesture.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Kate, my dear, I told you to be sure and remember that it was your Uncle
+      Bertram now. You see,&rdquo; she added in a discouraged aside to Billy, &ldquo;she
+      can't seem to forget the first one. But then, what can you expect?&rdquo;
+       laughed Mrs. Hartwell, a little disagreeably. &ldquo;Such abrupt changes from
+      one brother to another are somewhat disconcerting, you know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy bit her lip. For a moment she said nothing, then, a little
+      constrainedly, she rejoined:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps. Still&mdash;let us hope we have the right one, now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Hartwell raised her eyebrows.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, my dear, I'm not so confident of that. <i>My</i> choice has been
+      and always will be&mdash;William.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy bit her lip again. This time her brown eyes flashed a little.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is that so? But you see, after all, <i>you</i> aren't making the&mdash;the
+      choice.&rdquo; Billy spoke lightly, gayly; and she ended with a bright little
+      laugh, as if to hide any intended impertinence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was Mrs. Hartwell's turn to bite her lip&mdash;and she did it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So it seems,&rdquo; she rejoined frigidly, after the briefest of pauses.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was not until they were on their way to Corey Hill some time later that
+      Mrs. Hartwell turned with the question:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Cyril is to be married in church, I suppose?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. They both preferred a home wedding.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, what a pity! Church weddings are so attractive!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To those who like them,&rdquo; amended Billy in spite of herself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To every one, I think,&rdquo; corrected Mrs. Hartwell, positively.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed. She was beginning to discern that it did not do much harm&mdash;nor
+      much good&mdash;to disagree with her guest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's in the evening, then, of course?&rdquo; pursued Mrs. Hartwell.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No; at noon.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, how could you let them?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But they preferred it, Mrs. Hartwell.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What if they did?&rdquo; retorted the lady, sharply. &ldquo;Can't you do as you
+      please in your own home? Evening weddings are so much prettier! We can't
+      change now, of course, with the guests all invited. That is, I suppose you
+      do have guests!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Hartwell's voice was aggrievedly despairing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes,&rdquo; smiled Billy, demurely. &ldquo;We have guests invited&mdash;and I'm
+      afraid we can't change the time.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, of course not; but it's too bad. I conclude there are announcements
+      only, as I got no cards.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Announcements only,&rdquo; bowed Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wish Cyril had consulted <i>me</i>, a little, about this affair.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy did not answer. She could not trust herself to speak just then.
+      Cyril's words of two days before were in her ears: &ldquo;Yes, and it will give
+      Big Kate time to try to make your breakfast supper, and your roses pinks&mdash;or
+      sunflowers.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In a moment Mrs. Hartwell spoke again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course a noon wedding is quite pretty if you darken the rooms and have
+      lights&mdash;you're going to do that, I suppose?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy shook her head slowly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm afraid not, Mrs. Hartwell. That isn't the plan, now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not darken the rooms!&rdquo; exclaimed Mrs. Hartwell. &ldquo;Why, it won't&mdash;&rdquo;
+       She stopped suddenly, and fell back in her seat. The look of annoyed
+      disappointment gave way to one of confident relief. &ldquo;But then, <i>that can</i>
+      be changed,&rdquo; she finished serenely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy opened her lips, but she shut them without speaking. After a minute
+      she opened them again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You might consult&mdash;Cyril&mdash;about that,&rdquo; she said in a quiet
+      voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I will,&rdquo; nodded Mrs. Hartwell, brightly. She was looking pleased and
+      happy again. &ldquo;I love weddings. Don't you? You can <i>do</i> so much with
+      them!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Can you?&rdquo; laughed Billy, irrepressibly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. Cyril is happy, of course. Still, I can't imagine <i>him</i> in love
+      with any woman.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think Marie can.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I suppose so. I don't seem to remember her much; still, I think I saw her
+      once or twice when I was on last June. Music teacher, wasn't she?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. She is a very sweet girl.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hm-m; I suppose so. Still, I think 'twould have been better if Cyril
+      could have selected some one that <i>wasn't</i> musical&mdash;say a more
+      domestic wife. He's so terribly unpractical himself about household
+      matters.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy gave a ringing laugh and stood up. The car had come to a stop before
+      her own door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you? Just you wait till you see Marie's trousseau of&mdash;egg-beaters
+      and cake tins,&rdquo; she chuckled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Hartwell looked blank.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Whatever in the world do you mean, Billy?&rdquo; she demanded fretfully, as she
+      followed her hostess from the car. &ldquo;I declare! aren't you ever going to
+      grow beyond making those absurd remarks of yours?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Maybe&mdash;sometime,&rdquo; laughed Billy, as she took little Kate's hand and
+      led the way up the steps.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Luncheon in the cozy dining-room at Hillside that day was not entirely a
+      success. At least there were not present exactly the harmony and
+      tranquillity that are conceded to be the best sauce for one's food. The
+      wedding, of course, was the all-absorbing topic of conversation; and
+      Billy, between Aunt Hannah's attempts to be polite, Marie's to be
+      sweet-tempered, Mrs. Hartwell's to be dictatorial, and her own to be
+      pacifying as well as firm, had a hard time of it. If it had not been for
+      two or three diversions created by little Kate, the meal would have been,
+      indeed, a dismal failure.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But little Kate&mdash;most of the time the personification of proper
+      little-girlhood&mdash;had a disconcerting faculty of occasionally dropping
+      a word here, or a question there, with startling effect. As, for instance,
+      when she asked Billy &ldquo;Who's going to boss your wedding?&rdquo; and again when
+      she calmly informed her mother that when <i>she</i> was married she was
+      not going to have any wedding at all to bother with, anyhow. She was going
+      to elope, and she should choose somebody's chauffeur, because he'd know
+      how to go the farthest and fastest so her mother couldn't catch up with
+      her and tell her how she ought to have done it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After luncheon Aunt Hannah went up-stairs for rest and recuperation. Marie
+      took little Kate and went for a brisk walk&mdash;for the same purpose.
+      This left Billy alone with her guest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps you would like a nap, too, Mrs. Hartwell,&rdquo; suggested Billy, as
+      they passed into the living-room. There was a curious note of almost
+      hopefulness in her voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Hartwell scorned naps, and she said so very emphatically. She said
+      something else, too.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, why do you always call me 'Mrs. Hartwell' in that stiff, formal
+      fashion? You used to call me 'Aunt Kate.'&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I was very young then.&rdquo; Billy's voice was troubled. Billy had been
+      trying so hard for the last two hours to be the graciously cordial hostess
+      to this woman&mdash;Bertram's sister.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very true. Then why not 'Kate' now?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy hesitated. She was wondering why it seemed so hard to call Mrs.
+      Hartwell &ldquo;Kate.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course,&rdquo; resumed the lady, &ldquo;when you're Bertram's wife and my sister&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, of course,&rdquo; cried Billy, in a sudden flood of understanding.
+      Curiously enough, she had never before thought of Mrs. Hartwell as <i>her</i>
+      sister. &ldquo;I shall be glad to call you 'Kate'&mdash;if you like.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you. I shall like it very much, Billy,&rdquo; nodded the other cordially.
+      &ldquo;Indeed, my dear, I'm very fond of you, and I was delighted to hear you
+      were to be my sister. If only&mdash;it could have stayed William instead
+      of Bertram.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But it couldn't,&rdquo; smiled Billy. &ldquo;It wasn't William&mdash;that I loved.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But <i>Bertram!</i>&mdash;it's so absurd.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Absurd!&rdquo; The smile was gone now.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. Forgive me, Billy, but I was about as much surprised to hear of
+      Bertram's engagement as I was of Cyril's.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy grew a little white.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But Bertram was never an avowed&mdash;woman-hater, like Cyril, was he?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Woman-hater'&mdash;dear me, no! He was a woman-lover, always. As if his
+      eternal 'Face of a Girl' didn't prove that! Bertram has always loved women&mdash;to
+      paint. But as for his ever taking them seriously&mdash;why, Billy, what's
+      the matter?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy had risen suddenly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you'll excuse me, please, just a few minutes,&rdquo; Billy said very
+      quietly. &ldquo;I want to speak to Rosa in the kitchen. I'll be back&mdash;soon.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In the kitchen Billy spoke to Rosa&mdash;she wondered afterwards what she
+      said. Certainly she did not stay in the kitchen long enough to say much.
+      In her own room a minute later, with the door fast closed, she took from
+      her table the photograph of Bertram and held it in her two hands, talking
+      to it softly, but a little wildly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I didn't listen! I didn't stay! Do you hear? I came to you. She shall not
+      say anything that will make trouble between you and me. I've suffered
+      enough through her already! And she doesn't <i>know</i>&mdash;she didn't
+      know before, and she doesn't now. She's only imagining. I will not not&mdash;<i>not</i>
+      believe that you love me&mdash;just to paint. No matter what they say&mdash;all
+      of them! I <i>will not!</i>&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy put the photograph back on the table then, and went down-stairs to
+      her guest. She smiled brightly, though her face was a little pale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wondered if perhaps you wouldn't like some music,&rdquo; she said pleasantly,
+      going straight to the piano.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Indeed I would!&rdquo; agreed Mrs. Hartwell.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy sat down then and played&mdash;played as Mrs. Hartwell had never
+      heard her play before.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Billy, you amaze me,&rdquo; she cried, when the pianist stopped and
+      whirled about. &ldquo;I had no idea you could play like that!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy smiled enigmatically. Billy was thinking that Mrs. Hartwell would,
+      indeed, have been surprised if she had known that in that playing were
+      herself, the ride home, the luncheon, Bertram, and the girl&mdash;whom
+      Bertram <i>did not love only to paint!</i>
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XIII. CYRIL AND A WEDDING
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      The twelfth was a beautiful day. Clear, frosty air set the blood to
+      tingling and the eyes to sparkling, even if it were not your wedding day;
+      while if it were&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It <i>was</i> Marie Hawthorn's wedding day, and certainly her eyes
+      sparkled and her blood tingled as she threw open the window of her room
+      and breathed long and deep of the fresh morning air before going down to
+      breakfast.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They say 'Happy is the bride that the sun shines on,'&rdquo; she whispered
+      softly to an English sparrow that cocked his eye at her from a neighboring
+      tree branch. &ldquo;As if a bride wouldn't be happy, sun or no sun,&rdquo; she scoffed
+      tenderly, as she turned to go down-stairs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As it happens, however, tingling blood and sparkling eyes are a matter of
+      more than weather, or even weddings, as was proved a little later when the
+      telephone bell rang.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Kate answered the ring.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hullo, is that you, Kate?&rdquo; called a despairing voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. Good morning, Bertram. Isn't this a fine day for the wedding?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fine! Oh, yes, I suppose so, though I must confess I haven't noticed it&mdash;and
+      you wouldn't, if you had a lunatic on your hands.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A lunatic!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. Maybe you have, though. Is Marie rampaging around the house like a
+      wild creature, and asking ten questions and making twenty threats to the
+      minute?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Certainly not! Don't be absurd, Bertram. What do you mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;See here, Kate, that show comes off at twelve sharp, doesn't it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Show, indeed!&rdquo; retorted Kate, indignantly. &ldquo;The <i>wedding</i> is at noon
+      sharp&mdash;as the best man should know very well.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right; then tell Billy, please, to see that it is sharp, or I won't
+      answer for the consequences.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you mean? What is the matter?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Cyril. He's broken loose at last. I've been expecting it all along. I've
+      simply marvelled at the meekness with which he has submitted himself to be
+      tied up with white ribbons and topped with roses.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense, Bertram!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, it amounts to that. Anyhow, he thinks it does, and he's wild. I
+      wish you could have heard the thunderous performance on his piano with
+      which he woke me up this morning. Billy says he plays everything&mdash;his
+      past, present, and future. All is, if he was playing his future this
+      morning, I pity the girl who's got to live it with him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bertram!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram chuckled remorselessly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I do. But I'll warrant he wasn't playing his future this morning.
+      He was playing his present&mdash;the wedding. You see, he's just waked up
+      to the fact that it'll be a perfect orgy of women and other confusion, and
+      he doesn't like it. All the samee,{sic} I've had to assure him just
+      fourteen times this morning that the ring, the license, the carriage, the
+      minister's fee, and my sanity are all O. K. When he isn't asking questions
+      he's making threats to snake the parson up there an hour ahead of time and
+      be off with Marie before a soul comes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What an absurd idea!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Cyril doesn't think so. Indeed, Kate, I've had a hard struggle to
+      convince him that the guests wouldn't think it the most delightful
+      experience of their lives if they should come and find the ceremony over
+      with and the bride gone.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, you remind Cyril, please, that there are other people besides
+      himself concerned in this wedding,&rdquo; observed Kate, icily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have,&rdquo; purred Bertram, &ldquo;and he says all right, let them have it, then.
+      He's gone now to look up proxy marriages, I believe.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Proxy marriages, indeed! Come, come, Bertram, I've got something to do
+      this morning besides to stand here listening to your nonsense. See that
+      you and Cyril get here on time&mdash;that's all!&rdquo; And she hung up the
+      receiver with an impatient jerk.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She turned to confront the startled eyes of the bride elect.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is it? Is anything wrong&mdash;with Cyril?&rdquo; faltered Marie.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Kate laughed and raised her eyebrows slightly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nothing but a little stage fright, my dear.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Stage fright!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. Bertram says he's trying to find some one to play his rôle, I
+      believe, in the ceremony.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;<i>Mrs. Hartwell!</i>&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At the look of dismayed terror that came into Marie's face, Mrs. Hartwell
+      laughed reassuringly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There, there, dear child, don't look so horror-stricken. There probably
+      never was a man yet who wouldn't have fled from the wedding part of his
+      marriage if he could; and you know how Cyril hates fuss and feathers. The
+      wonder to me is that he's stood it as long as he has. I thought I saw it
+      coming, last night at the rehearsal&mdash;and now I know I did.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Marie still looked distressed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But he never said&mdash;I thought&mdash;&rdquo; She stopped helplessly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course he didn't, child. He never said anything but that he loved you,
+      and he never thought anything but that you were going to be his. Men never
+      do&mdash;till the wedding day. Then they never think of anything but a
+      place to run,&rdquo; she finished laughingly, as she began to arrange on a stand
+      the quantity of little white boxes waiting for her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But if he'd told me&mdash;in time, I wouldn't have had a thing&mdash;but
+      the minister,&rdquo; faltered Marie.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And when you think so much of a pretty wedding, too? Nonsense! It isn't
+      good for a man, to give up to his whims like that!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Marie's cheeks grew a deeper pink. Her nostrils dilated a little.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It wouldn't be a 'whim,' Mrs. Hartwell, and I should be <i>glad</i> to
+      give up,&rdquo; she said with decision.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Hartwell laughed again, her amused eyes on Marie's face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dear me, child! don't you know that if men had their way, they'd&mdash;well,
+      if men married men there'd never be such a thing in the world as a shower
+      bouquet or a piece of wedding cake!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was no reply. A little precipitately Marie turned and hurried away.
+      A moment later she was laying a restraining hand on Billy, who was filling
+      tall vases with superb long-stemmed roses in the kitchen.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, please,&rdquo; she panted, &ldquo;couldn't we do without those? Couldn't we
+      send them to some&mdash;some hospital?&mdash;and the wedding cake, too,
+      and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The wedding cake&mdash;to some <i>hospital!</i>&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, of course not&mdash;to the hospital. It would make them sick to eat
+      it, wouldn't it?&rdquo; That there was no shadow of a smile on Marie's face
+      showed how desperate, indeed, was her state of mind. &ldquo;I only meant that I
+      didn't want them myself, nor the shower bouquet, nor the rooms darkened,
+      nor little Kate as the flower girl&mdash;and would you mind very much if I
+      asked you not to be my maid of honor?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;<i>Marie!</i>&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Marie covered her face with her hands then and began to sob brokenly; so
+      there was nothing for Billy to do but to take her into her arms with
+      soothing little murmurs and pettings. By degrees, then, the whole story
+      came out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy almost laughed&mdash;but she almost cried, too. Then she said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dearie, I don't believe Cyril feels or acts half so bad as Bertram and
+      Kate make out, and, anyhow, if he did, it's too late now to&mdash;to send
+      the wedding cake to the hospital, or make any other of the little changes
+      you suggest.&rdquo; Billy's lips puckered into a half-smile, but her eyes were
+      grave. &ldquo;Besides, there are your music pupils trimming the living-room this
+      minute with evergreen, there's little Kate making her flower-girl wreath,
+      and Mrs. Hartwell stacking cake boxes in the hall, to say nothing of Rosa
+      gloating over the best china in the dining-room, and Aunt Hannah putting
+      purple bows into the new lace cap she's counting on wearing. Only think
+      how disappointed they'd all be if I should say: 'Never mind&mdash;stop
+      that. Marie's just going to have a minister. No fuss, no feathers!' Why,
+      dearie, even the roses are hanging their heads for grief,&rdquo; she went on
+      mistily, lifting with gentle fingers one of the full-petalled pink
+      beauties near her. &ldquo;Besides, there's your&mdash;guests.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, of course, I knew I couldn't&mdash;really,&rdquo; sighed Marie, as she
+      turned to go up-stairs, all the light and joy gone from her face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy, once assured that Marie was out of hearing, ran to the telephone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bertram, tell Cyril I want to speak to him, please.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right, dear, but go easy. Better strike up your tuning fork to find
+      his pitch to-day. You'll discover it's a high one, all right.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A moment later Cyril's tersely nervous &ldquo;Good morning, Billy,&rdquo; came across
+      the line.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy drew in her breath and cast a hurriedly apprehensive glance over her
+      shoulder to make sure Marie was not near.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Cyril,&rdquo; she called in a low voice, &ldquo;if you care a shred for Marie, for
+      heaven's sake call her up and tell her that you dote on pink roses, and
+      pink ribbons, and pink breakfasts&mdash;and pink wedding cake!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I don't.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes, you do&mdash;to-day! You would&mdash;if you could see Marie
+      now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nothing, only she overheard part of Bertram's nonsensical talk with Kate
+      a little while ago, and she's ready to cast the last ravelling of white
+      satin and conventionality behind her, and go with you to the justice of
+      the peace.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sensible girl!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, but she can't, you know, with fifty guests coming to the wedding,
+      and twice as many more to the reception. Honestly, Cyril, she's
+      broken-hearted. You must do something. She's&mdash;coming!&rdquo; And the
+      receiver clicked sharply into place.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Five minutes later Marie was called to the telephone. Dejectedly,
+      wistful-eyed, she went. Just what were the words that hummed across the
+      wire into the pink little ear of the bride-to-be, Billy never knew; but a
+      Marie that was anything but wistful-eyed and dejected left the telephone a
+      little later, and was heard very soon in the room above trilling merry
+      snatches of a little song. Contentedly, then, Billy went back to her
+      roses.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a pretty wedding, a very pretty wedding. Every one said that. The
+      pink and green of the decorations, the soft lights (Kate had had her way
+      about darkening the rooms), the pretty frocks and smiling faces of the
+      guests all helped. Then there were the dainty flower girl, little Kate,
+      the charming maid of honor, Billy, the stalwart, handsome best man,
+      Bertram, to say nothing of the delicately beautiful bride, who looked like
+      some fairy visitor from another world in the floating shimmer of her
+      gossamer silk and tulle. There was, too, not quite unnoticed, the
+      bridegroom; tall, of distinguished bearing, and with features that were
+      clear cut and-to-day-rather pale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then came the reception&mdash;the &ldquo;women and confusion&rdquo; of Cyril's fears&mdash;followed
+      by the going away of the bride and groom with its merry warfare of
+      confetti and old shoes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At four o'clock, however, with only William and Bertram remaining for
+      guests, something like quiet descended at last on the little house.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, it's over,&rdquo; sighed Billy, dropping exhaustedly into a big chair in
+      the living-room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And <i>well</i> over,&rdquo; supplemented Aunt Hannah, covering her white shawl
+      with a warmer blue one.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I think it was,&rdquo; nodded Kate. &ldquo;It was really a very pretty wedding.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;With your help, Kate&mdash;eh?&rdquo; teased William.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I flatter myself I did do some good,&rdquo; bridled Kate, as she turned
+      to help little Kate take the flower wreath from her head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Even if you did hurry into my room and scare me into conniption fits
+      telling me I'd be late,&rdquo; laughed Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Kate tossed her head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, how was I to know that Aunt Hannah's clock only meant half-past
+      eleven when it struck twelve?&rdquo; she retorted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Everybody laughed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, well, it was a pretty wedding,&rdquo; declared William, with a long sigh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It'll do&mdash;for an understudy,&rdquo; said Bertram softly, for Billy's ears
+      alone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Only the added color and the swift glance showed that Billy heard, for
+      when she spoke she said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And didn't Cyril behave beautifully? 'Most every time I looked at him he
+      was talking to some woman.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no, he wasn't&mdash;begging your pardon, my dear,&rdquo; objected Bertram.
+      &ldquo;I watched him, too, even more closely than you did, and it was always the
+      <i>woman</i> who was talking to <i>Cyril!</i>&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, anyhow,&rdquo; she maintained, &ldquo;he listened. He didn't run away.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As if a bridegroom could!&rdquo; cried Kate.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm going to,&rdquo; avowed Bertram, his nose in the air.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pooh!&rdquo; scoffed Kate. Then she added eagerly: &ldquo;You must be married in
+      church, Billy, and in the evening.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram's nose came suddenly out of the air. His eyes met Kate's squarely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy hasn't decided yet how <i>she</i> does want to be married,&rdquo; he said
+      with unnecessary emphasis.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed and interposed a quick change of subject.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think people had a pretty good time, too, for a wedding, don't you?&rdquo;
+       she asked. &ldquo;I was sorry Mary Jane couldn't be here&mdash;'twould have been
+      such a good chance for him to meet our friends.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As&mdash;<i>Mary Jane?</i>&rdquo; asked Bertram, a little stiffly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Really, my dear,&rdquo; murmured Aunt Hannah, &ldquo;I think it <i>would</i> be more
+      respectful to call him by his name.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By the way, what is his name?&rdquo; questioned William.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's what we don't know,&rdquo; laughed Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, you know the 'Arkwright,' don't you?&rdquo; put in Bertram. Bertram, too,
+      laughed, but it was a little forcedly. &ldquo;I suppose if you knew his name was
+      'Methuselah,' you wouldn't call him that&mdash;yet, would you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy clapped her hands, and threw a merry glance at Aunt Hannah.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There! we never thought of 'Methuselah,'&rdquo; she gurgled gleefully. &ldquo;Maybe
+      it <i>is</i> 'Methuselah,' now&mdash;'Methuselah John'! You see, he's told
+      us to try to guess it,&rdquo; she explained, turning to William; &ldquo;but, honestly,
+      I don't believe, whatever it is, I'll ever think of him as anything but
+      'Mary Jane.'&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, as far as I can judge, he has nobody but himself to thank for that,
+      so he can't do any complaining,&rdquo; smiled William, as he rose to go. &ldquo;Well,
+      how about it, Bertram? I suppose you're going to stay a while to comfort
+      the lonely&mdash;eh, boy?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course he is&mdash;and so are you, too, Uncle William,&rdquo; spoke up
+      Billy, with affectionate cordiality. &ldquo;As if I'd let you go back to a
+      forlorn dinner in that great house to-night! Indeed, no!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      William smiled, hesitated, and sat down.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, of course&mdash;&rdquo; he began.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, of course,&rdquo; finished Billy, quickly. &ldquo;I'll telephone Pete that
+      you'll stay here&mdash;both of you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was at this point that little Kate, who had been turning interested
+      eyes from one brother to the other, interposed a clear, high-pitched
+      question.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Uncle William, didn't you <i>want</i> to marry my going-to-be-Aunt
+      Billy?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Kate!&rdquo; gasped her mother, &ldquo;didn't I tell you&mdash;&rdquo; Her voice trailed
+      into an incoherent murmur of remonstrance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy blushed. Bertram said a low word under his breath. Aunt Hannah's
+      &ldquo;Oh, my grief and conscience!&rdquo; was almost a groan.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      William laughed lightly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, my little lady,&rdquo; he suggested, &ldquo;let us put it the other way and say
+      that quite probably she didn't want to marry me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Does she want to marry Uncle Bertram?&rdquo; &ldquo;Kate!&rdquo; gasped Billy and Mrs.
+      Hartwell together this time, fearful of what might be coming next.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We'll hope so,&rdquo; nodded Uncle William, speaking in a cheerfully
+      matter-of-fact voice, intended to discourage curiosity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little girl frowned and pondered. Her elders cast about in their minds
+      for a speedy change of subject; but their somewhat scattered wits were not
+      quick enough. It was little Kate who spoke next.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Uncle William, would she have got Uncle Cyril if Aunt Marie hadn't nabbed
+      him first?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Kate!&rdquo; The word was a chorus of dismay this time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Hartwell struggled to her feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come, come, Kate, we must go up-stairs&mdash;to bed,&rdquo; she stammered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little girl drew back indignantly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To bed? Why, mama, I haven't had my supper yet!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What? Oh, sure enough&mdash;the lights! I forgot. Well, then, come up&mdash;to
+      change your dress,&rdquo; finished Mrs. Hartwell, as with a despairing look and
+      gesture she led her young daughter from the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XIV. M. J. MAKES ANOTHER MOVE
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Billy came down-stairs on the thirteenth of December to find everywhere
+      the peculiar flatness that always follows a day which for weeks has been
+      the focus of one's aims and thoughts and labor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's just as if everything had stopped at Marie's wedding, and there
+      wasn't anything more to do,&rdquo; she complained to Aunt Hannah at the
+      breakfast table. &ldquo;Everything seems so&mdash;queer!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It won't&mdash;long, dear,&rdquo; smiled Aunt Hannah, tranquilly, as she
+      buttered her roll, &ldquo;specially after Bertram comes back. How long does he
+      stay in New York?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Only three days; but I'm just sure it's going to seem three weeks, now,&rdquo;
+       sighed Billy. &ldquo;But he simply had to go&mdash;else he wouldn't have gone.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I've no doubt of it,&rdquo; observed Aunt Hannah. And at the meaning emphasis
+      of her words, Billy laughed a little. After a minute she said aggrievedly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I had supposed that I could at least have a sort of 'after the ball'
+      celebration this morning picking up and straightening things around. But
+      John and Rosa have done it all. There isn't so much as a rose leaf
+      anywhere on the floor. Of course most of the flowers went to the hospital
+      last night, anyway. As for Marie's room&mdash;it looks as spick-and-span
+      as if it had never seen a scrap of ribbon or an inch of tulle.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But&mdash;the wedding presents?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All carried down to the kitchen and half packed now, ready to go over to
+      the new home. John says he'll take them over in Peggy this afternoon,
+      after he takes Mrs. Hartwell's trunk to Uncle William's.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, you can at least go over to the apartment and work,&rdquo; suggested Aunt
+      Hannah, hopefully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph! Can I?&rdquo; scoffed Billy. &ldquo;As if I could&mdash;when Marie left strict
+      orders that not one thing was to be touched till she got here. They
+      arranged everything but the presents before the wedding, anyway; and Marie
+      wants to fix those herself after she gets back. Mercy! Aunt Hannah, if I
+      should so much as move a plate one inch in the china closet, Marie would
+      know it&mdash;and change it when she got home,&rdquo; laughed Billy, as she rose
+      from the table. &ldquo;No, I can't go to work over there.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But there's your music, my dear. You said you were going to write some
+      new songs after the wedding.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I was,&rdquo; sighed Billy, walking to the window, and looking listlessly at
+      the bare, brown world outside; &ldquo;but I can't write songs&mdash;when there
+      aren't any songs in my head to write.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, of course not; but they'll come, dear, in time. You're tired, now,&rdquo;
+       soothed Aunt Hannah, as she turned to leave the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's the reaction, of course,&rdquo; murmured Aunt Hannah to herself, on the
+      way up-stairs. &ldquo;She's had the whole thing on her hands&mdash;dear child!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A few minutes later, from the living-room, came a plaintive little minor
+      melody. Billy was at the piano.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Kate and little Kate had, the night before, gone home with William. It had
+      been a sudden decision, brought about by the realization that Bertram's
+      trip to New York would leave William alone. Her trunk was to be carried
+      there to-day, and she would leave for home from there, at the end of a two
+      or three days' visit.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It began to snow at twelve o'clock. All the morning the sky had been gray
+      and threatening; and the threats took visible shape at noon in myriads of
+      white snow feathers that filled the air to the blinding point, and turned
+      the brown, bare world into a thing of fairylike beauty. Billy, however,
+      with a rare frown upon her face, looked out upon it with disapproving
+      eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I <i>was</i> going in town&mdash;and I believe I'll go now,&rdquo; she cried.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't, dear, please don't,&rdquo; begged Aunt Hannah. &ldquo;See, the flakes are
+      smaller now, and the wind is coming up. We're in for a blizzard&mdash;I'm
+      sure we are. And you know you have some cold, already.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right,&rdquo; sighed Billy. &ldquo;Then it's me for the knitting work and the
+      fire, I suppose,&rdquo; she finished, with a whimsicality that did not hide the
+      wistful disappointment of her voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She was not knitting, however, she was sewing with Aunt Hannah when at
+      four o'clock Rosa brought in the card.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy glanced at the name, then sprang to her feet with a glad little cry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's Mary Jane!&rdquo; she exclaimed, as Rosa disappeared. &ldquo;Now wasn't he a
+      dear to think to come to-day? You'll be down, won't you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah smiled even while she frowned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Billy!&rdquo; she remonstrated. &ldquo;Yes, I'll come down, of course, a little
+      later, and I'm glad <i>Mr. Arkwright</i> came,&rdquo; she said with reproving
+      emphasis.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed and threw a mischievous glance over her shoulder.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right,&rdquo; she nodded. &ldquo;I'll go and tell <i>Mr. Arkwright</i> you'll be
+      down directly.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In the living-room Billy greeted her visitor with a frankly cordial hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How did you know, Mr. Arkwright, that I was feeling specially restless
+      and lonesome to-day?&rdquo; she demanded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A glad light sprang to the man's dark eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I didn't know it,&rdquo; he rejoined. &ldquo;I only knew that I was specially
+      restless and lonesome myself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright's voice was not quite steady. The unmistakable friendliness in
+      the girl's words and manner had sent a quick throb of joy to his heart.
+      Her evident delight in his coming had filled him with rapture. He could
+      not know that it was only the chill of the snowstorm that had given warmth
+      to her handclasp, the dreariness of the day that had made her greeting so
+      cordial, the loneliness of a maiden whose lover is away that had made his
+      presence so welcome.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I'm glad you came, anyway,&rdquo; sighed Billy, contentedly; &ldquo;though I
+      suppose I ought to be sorry that you were lonesome&mdash;but I'm afraid
+      I'm not, for now you'll know just how I felt, so you won't mind if I'm a
+      little wild and erratic. You see, the tension has snapped,&rdquo; she added
+      laughingly, as she seated herself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tension?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The wedding, you know. For so many weeks we've been seeing just December
+      twelfth, that we'd apparently forgotten all about the thirteenth that came
+      after it; so when I got up this morning I felt just as you do when the
+      clock has stopped ticking. But it was a lovely wedding, Mr. Arkwright. I'm
+      sorry you could not be here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you; so am I&mdash;though usually, I will confess, I'm not much
+      good at attending 'functions' and meeting strangers. As perhaps you've
+      guessed, Miss Neilson, I'm not particularly a society chap.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course you aren't! People who are doing things&mdash;real things&mdash;seldom
+      are. But we aren't the society kind ourselves, you know&mdash;not the
+      capital S kind. We like sociability, which is vastly different from liking
+      Society. Oh, we have friends, to be sure, who dote on 'pink teas and
+      purple pageants,' as Cyril calls them; and we even go ourselves sometimes.
+      But if you had been here yesterday, Mr. Arkwright, you'd have met lots
+      like yourself, men and women who are doing things: singing, playing,
+      painting, illustrating, writing. Why, we even had a poet, sir&mdash;only
+      he didn't have long hair, so he didn't look the part a bit,&rdquo; she finished
+      laughingly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is long hair&mdash;necessary&mdash;for poets?&rdquo; Arkwright's smile was
+      quizzical.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dear me, no; not now. But it used to be, didn't it? And for painters,
+      too. But now they look just like&mdash;folks.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright laughed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It isn't possible that you are sighing for the velvet coats and flowing
+      ties of the past, is it, Miss Neilson?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm afraid it is,&rdquo; dimpled Billy. &ldquo;I <i>love</i> velvet coats and flowing
+      ties!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;May singers wear them? I shall don them at once, anyhow, at a venture,&rdquo;
+       declared the man, promptly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy smiled and shook her head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't think you will. You all like your horrid fuzzy tweeds and
+      worsteds too well!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You speak with feeling. One would almost suspect that you already had
+      tried to bring about a reform&mdash;and failed. Perhaps Mr. Cyril, now, or
+      Mr. Bertram&mdash;&rdquo; Arkwright stopped with a whimsical smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy flushed a little. As it happened, she had, indeed, had a merry tilt
+      with Bertram on that very subject, and he had laughingly promised that his
+      wedding present to her would be a velvet house coat for himself. It was on
+      the point of Billy's tongue now to say this to Arkwright; but another
+      glance at the provoking smile on his lips drove the words back in angry
+      confusion. For the second time, in the presence of this man, Billy found
+      herself unable to refer to her engagement to Bertram Henshaw&mdash;though
+      this time she did not in the least doubt that Arkwright already knew of
+      it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With a little gesture of playful scorn she rose and went to the piano.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come, let us try some duets,&rdquo; she suggested. &ldquo;That's lots nicer than
+      quarrelling over velvet coats; and Aunt Hannah will be down presently to
+      hear us sing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Before she had ceased speaking, Arkwright was at her side with an
+      exclamation of eager acquiescence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was after the second duet that Arkwright asked, a little diffidently.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you written any new songs lately?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You're going to?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps&mdash;if I find one to write.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You mean&mdash;you have no words?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes&mdash;and no. I have some words, both of my own and other people's;
+      but I haven't found in any one of them, yet&mdash;a melody.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright hesitated. His right hand went almost to his inner coat pocket&mdash;then
+      fell back at his side. The next moment he picked up a sheet of music.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you too tired to try this?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A puzzled frown appeared on Billy's face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, no, but&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, children, I've come down to hear the music,&rdquo; announced Aunt Hannah,
+      smilingly, from the doorway; &ldquo;only&mdash;Billy, <i>will</i> you run up and
+      get my pink shawl, too? This room <i>is</i> colder than I thought, and
+      there's only the white one down here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course,&rdquo; cried Billy, rising at once. &ldquo;You shall have a dozen shawls,
+      if you like,&rdquo; she laughed, as she left the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What a cozy time it was&mdash;the hour that followed, after Billy returned
+      with the pink shawl! Outside, the wind howled at the windows and flung the
+      snow against the glass in sleety crashes. Inside, the man and the girl
+      sang duets until they were tired; then, with Aunt Hannah, they feasted
+      royally on the buttered toast, tea, and frosted cakes that Rosa served on
+      a little table before the roaring fire. It was then that Arkwright talked
+      of himself, telling them something of his studies, and of the life he was
+      living.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;After all, you see there's just this difference between my friends and
+      yours,&rdquo; he said, at last. &ldquo;Your friends <i>are</i> doing things. They've
+      succeeded. Mine haven't, yet&mdash;they're only <i>trying</i>.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But they will succeed,&rdquo; cried Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Some of them,&rdquo; amended the man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not&mdash;all of them?&rdquo; Billy looked a little troubled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright shook his head slowly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. They couldn't&mdash;all of them, you know. Some haven't the talent,
+      some haven't the perseverance, and some haven't the money.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But all that seems such a pity-when they've tried,&rdquo; grieved Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is a pity, Miss Neilson. Disappointed hopes are always a pity, aren't
+      they?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Y-yes,&rdquo; sighed the girl. &ldquo;But&mdash;if there were only something one
+      could do to&mdash;help!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright's eyes grew deep with feeling, but his voice, when he spoke, was
+      purposely light.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm afraid that would be quite too big a contract for even your
+      generosity, Miss Neilson&mdash;to mend all the broken hopes in the world,&rdquo;
+       he prophesied.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have known great good to come from great disappointments,&rdquo; remarked
+      Aunt Hannah, a bit didactically.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So have I,&rdquo; laughed Arkwright, still determined to drive the troubled
+      shadow from the face he was watching so intently. &ldquo;For instance: a fellow
+      I know was feeling all cut up last Friday because he was just too late to
+      get into Symphony Hall on the twenty-five-cent admission. Half an hour
+      afterwards his disappointment was turned to joy&mdash;a friend who had an
+      orchestra chair couldn't use his ticket that day, and so handed it over to
+      him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy turned interestedly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What are those twenty-five-cent tickets to the Symphony?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then&mdash;you don't know?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not exactly. I've heard of them, in a vague fashion.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then you've missed one of the sights of Boston if you haven't ever seen
+      that long line of patient waiters at the door of Symphony Hall of a Friday
+      morning.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Morning! But the concert isn't till afternoon!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, but the waiting is,&rdquo; retorted Arkwright. &ldquo;You see, those admissions
+      are limited&mdash;five hundred and five, I believe&mdash;and they're rush
+      seats, at that. First come, first served; and if you're too late you
+      aren't served at all. So the first arrival comes bright and early. I've
+      heard that he has been known to come at peep of day when there's a
+      Paderewski or a Melba for a drawing card. But I've got my doubts of that.
+      Anyhow, I never saw them there much before half-past eight. But many's the
+      cold, stormy day I've seen those steps in front of the Hall packed for
+      hours, and a long line reaching away up the avenue.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy's eyes widened.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And they'll stand all that time and wait?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To be sure they will. You see, each pays twenty-five cents at the door,
+      until the limit is reached, then the rest are turned away. Naturally they
+      don't want to be turned away, so they try to get there early enough to be
+      among the fortunate five hundred and five. Besides, the earlier you are,
+      the better seat you are likely to get.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But only think of <i>standing</i> all that time!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, they bring camp chairs, sometimes, I've heard, and then there are the
+      steps. You don't know what a really fine seat a stone step is&mdash;if you
+      have a <i>big</i> enough bundle of newspapers to cushion it with! They
+      bring their luncheons, too, with books, papers, and knitting work for fine
+      days, I've been told&mdash;some of them. All the comforts of home, you
+      see,&rdquo; smiled Arkwright.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, how&mdash;how dreadful!&rdquo; stammered Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, but they don't think it's dreadful at all,&rdquo; corrected Arkwright,
+      quickly. &ldquo;For twenty-five cents they can hear all that you hear down in
+      your orchestra chair, for which you've paid so high a premium.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But who&mdash;who are they? Where do they come from? Who <i>would</i> go
+      and stand hours like that to get a twenty-five-cent seat?&rdquo; questioned
+      Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who are they? Anybody, everybody, from anywhere? everywhere; people who
+      have the music hunger but not the money to satisfy it,&rdquo; he rejoined.
+      &ldquo;Students, teachers, a little milliner from South Boston, a little
+      dressmaker from Chelsea, a housewife from Cambridge, a stranger from the
+      uttermost parts of the earth; maybe a widow who used to sit down-stairs,
+      or a professor who has seen better days. Really to know that line, you
+      should see it for yourself, Miss Neilson,&rdquo; smiled Arkwright, as he
+      reluctantly rose to go. &ldquo;Some Friday, however, before you take your seat,
+      just glance up at that packed top balcony and judge by the faces you see
+      there whether their owners think they're getting their twenty-five-cents'
+      worth, or not.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I will,&rdquo; nodded Billy, with a smile; but the smile came from her lips
+      only, not her eyes: Billy was wishing, at that moment, that she owned the
+      whole of Symphony Hall&mdash;to give away. But that was like Billy. When
+      she was seven years old she had proposed to her Aunt Ella that they take
+      all the thirty-five orphans from the Hampden Falls Orphan Asylum to live
+      with them, so that little Sallie Cook and the other orphans might have ice
+      cream every day, if they wanted it. Since then Billy had always been
+      trying&mdash;in a way&mdash;to give ice cream to some one who wanted it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright was almost at the door when he turned abruptly. His face was an
+      abashed red. From his pocket he had taken a small folded paper.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you suppose&mdash;in this&mdash;you might find&mdash;that melody?&rdquo; he
+      stammered in a low voice. The next moment he was gone, having left in
+      Billy's fingers a paper upon which was written in a clear-cut, masculine
+      hand six four-line stanzas.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy read them at once, hurriedly, then more carefully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, they're beautiful,&rdquo; she breathed, &ldquo;just beautiful! Where did he get
+      them, I wonder? It's a love song&mdash;and such a pretty one! I believe
+      there <i>is</i> a melody in it,&rdquo; she exulted, pausing to hum a line or
+      two. &ldquo;There is&mdash;I know there is; and I'll write it&mdash;for
+      Bertram,&rdquo; she finished, crossing joyously to the piano.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Half-way down Corey Hill at that moment, Arkwright was buffeting the wind
+      and snow. He, too, was thinking joyously of those stanzas&mdash;joyously,
+      yet at the same time fearfully. Arkwright himself had written those lines&mdash;though
+      not for Bertram.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XV. &ldquo;MR. BILLY&rdquo; AND &ldquo;MISS MARY JANE&rdquo;
+     </h2>
+    <p>
+      On the fourteenth of December Billy came down-stairs alert, interested,
+      and happy. She had received a dear letter from Bertram (mailed on the way
+      to New York), the sun was shining, and her fingers were fairly tingling to
+      put on paper the little melody that was now surging riotously through her
+      brain. Emphatically, the restlessness of the day before was gone now. Once
+      more Billy's &ldquo;clock&rdquo; had &ldquo;begun to tick.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      After breakfast Billy went straight to the telephone and called up
+      Arkwright. Even one side of the conversation Aunt Hannah did not hear very
+      clearly; but in five minutes a radiant-faced Billy danced into the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aunt Hannah, just listen! Only think&mdash;Mary Jane wrote the words
+      himself, so of course I can use them!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, dear, <i>can't</i> you say 'Mr. Arkwright'?&rdquo; pleaded Aunt Hannah.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed and gave the anxious-eyed little old lady an impulsive hug.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course! I'll say 'His Majesty' if you like, dear,&rdquo; she chuckled. &ldquo;But
+      did you hear&mdash;did you realize? They're his own words, so there's no
+      question of rights or permission, or anything. And he's coming up this
+      afternoon to hear my melody, and to make a few little changes in the
+      words, maybe. Oh, Aunt Hannah, you don't know how good it seems to get
+      into my music again!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, yes, dear, of course; but&mdash;&rdquo; Aunt Hannah's sentence ended in a
+      vaguely troubled pause.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy turned in surprise.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Aunt Hannah, aren't you glad? You <i>said</i> you'd be glad!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, dear; and I am&mdash;very glad. It's only&mdash;if it doesn't take
+      too much time&mdash;and if Bertram doesn't mind.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy flushed. She laughed a little bitterly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, it won't take too much time, I fancy, and&mdash;so far as Bertram is
+      concerned&mdash;if what Sister Kate says is true, Aunt Hannah, he'll be
+      glad to have me occupy a little of my time with something besides
+      himself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fiddlededee!&rdquo; bristled Aunt Hannah.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What did she mean by that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy smiled ruefully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, probably I did need it. She said it night before last just before
+      she went home with Uncle William. She declared that I seemed to forget
+      entirely that Bertram belonged to his Art first, before he belonged to me;
+      and that it was exactly as she had supposed it would be&mdash;a perfect
+      absurdity for Bertram to think of marrying anybody.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fiddlededee!&rdquo; ejaculated the irate Aunt Hannah, even more sharply. &ldquo;I
+      hope you have too much good sense to mind what Kate says, Billy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I know,&rdquo; sighed the girl; &ldquo;but of course I can see some things for
+      myself, and I suppose I did make&mdash;a little fuss about his going to
+      New York the other night. And I will own that I've had a real struggle
+      with myself sometimes, lately, not to mind&mdash;his giving so much time
+      to his portrait painting. And of course both of those are very
+      reprehensible&mdash;in an artist's wife,&rdquo; she finished, a little
+      tremulously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph! Well, I don't think I should worry about that,&rdquo; observed Aunt
+      Hannah with grim positiveness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I don't mean to,&rdquo; smiled Billy, wistfully. &ldquo;I only told you so you'd
+      understand that it was just as well if I did have something to take up my
+      mind&mdash;besides Bertram. And of course music would be the most natural
+      thing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, of course,&rdquo; agreed Aunt Hannah.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And it seems actually almost providential that Mary&mdash;I mean Mr.
+      Arkwright is here to help me, now that Cyril is gone,&rdquo; went on Billy,
+      still a little wistfully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, of course. He isn't like&mdash;a stranger,&rdquo; murmured Aunt Hannah.
+      Aunt Hannah's voice sounded as if she were trying to convince herself&mdash;of
+      something.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, indeed! He seems just like one of the family to me, almost as if he
+      were really&mdash;your niece, Mary Jane,&rdquo; laughed Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah moved restlessly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy,&rdquo; she hazarded, &ldquo;he knows, of course, of your engagement?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, of course he does, Aunt Hannah everybody does!&rdquo; Billy's eyes were
+      plainly surprised.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, yes, of course&mdash;he must,&rdquo; subsided Aunt Hannah, confusedly,
+      hoping that Billy would not divine the hidden reason behind her question.
+      She was relieved when Billy's next words showed that she had not divined
+      it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I told you, didn't I? He's coming up this afternoon. He can't get here
+      till five, though; but he's so interested! He's about as crazy over the
+      thing as I am. And it's going to be fine, Aunt Hannah, when it's done. You
+      just wait and see!&rdquo; she finished gayly, as she tripped from the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Left to herself, Aunt Hannah drew a long breath.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm glad she didn't suspect,&rdquo; she was thinking. &ldquo;I believe she'd consider
+      even the <i>question</i> disloyal to Bertram&mdash;dear child! And of
+      course Mary&rdquo;&mdash;Aunt Hannah corrected herself with cheeks aflame&mdash;&ldquo;I
+      mean Mr. Arkwright does&mdash;know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was just here, however, that Aunt Hannah was mistaken. Mr. Arkwright
+      did not&mdash;know. He had not reached Boston when the engagement was
+      announced. He knew none of Billy's friends in town save the Henshaw
+      brothers. He had not heard from Calderwell since he came to Boston. The
+      very evident intimacy of Billy with the Henshaw brothers he accepted as a
+      matter of course, knowing the history of their acquaintance, and the fact
+      that Billy was Mr. William Henshaw's namesake. As to Bertram being Billy's
+      lover&mdash;that idea had long ago been killed at birth by Calderwell's
+      emphatic assertion that the artist would never care for any girl&mdash;except
+      to paint. Since coming to Boston, Arkwright had seen little of the two
+      together. His work, his friends, and his general mode of life precluded
+      that. Because of all this, therefore, Arkwright did not&mdash;know; which
+      was a pity&mdash;for Arkwright, and for some others.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Promptly at five o'clock that afternoon, Arkwright rang Billy's doorbell,
+      and was admitted by Rosa to the living-room, where Billy was at the piano.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy sprang to her feet with a joyous word of greeting.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm so glad you've come,&rdquo; she sighed happily. &ldquo;I want you to hear the
+      melody your pretty words have sung to me. Though, maybe, after all, you
+      won't like it, you know,&rdquo; she finished with arch wistfulness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As if I could help liking it,&rdquo; smiled the man, trying to keep from his
+      voice the ecstatic delight that the touch of her hand had brought him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy shook her head and seated herself again at the piano.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The words are lovely,&rdquo; she declared, sorting out two or three sheets of
+      manuscript music from the quantity on the rack before her. &ldquo;But there's
+      one place&mdash;the rhythm, you know&mdash;if you could change it. There!&mdash;but
+      listen. First I'm going to play it straight through to you.&rdquo; And she
+      dropped her fingers to the keyboard. The next moment a tenderly sweet
+      melody&mdash;with only a chord now and then for accompaniment&mdash;filled
+      Arkwright's soul with rapture. Then Billy began to sing, very softly, the
+      words!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      No wonder Arkwright's soul was filled with rapture. They were his words,
+      wrung straight from his heart; and they were being sung by the girl for
+      whom they were written. They were being sung with feeling, too&mdash;so
+      evident a feeling that the man's pulse quickened, and his eyes flashed a
+      sudden fire. Arkwright could not know, of course, that Billy, in her own
+      mind, was singing that song&mdash;to Bertram Henshaw.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The fire was still in Arkwright's eyes when the song was ended; but Billy
+      very plainly did not see it. With a frowning sigh and a murmured &ldquo;There!&rdquo;
+       she began to talk of &ldquo;rhythm&rdquo; and &ldquo;accent&rdquo; and &ldquo;cadence&rdquo;; and to point out
+      with anxious care why three syllables instead of two were needed at the
+      end of a certain line. From this she passed eagerly to the accompaniment,
+      and Arkwright at once found himself lost in a maze of &ldquo;minor thirds&rdquo; and
+      &ldquo;diminished sevenths,&rdquo; until he was forced to turn from the singer to the
+      song. Still, watching her a little later, he noticed her absorbed face and
+      eager enthusiasm, her earnest pursuance of an elusive harmony, and he
+      wondered: did she, or did she not sing that song with feeling a little
+      while before?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright had not settled this question to his own satisfaction when Aunt
+      Hannah came in at half-past five, and he was conscious of a vague
+      disappointment as he rose to greet her. Billy, however, turned an
+      untroubled face to the newcomer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We're doing finely, Aunt Hannah,&rdquo; she cried. Then, suddenly, she flung a
+      laughing question to the man. &ldquo;How about it, sir? Are we going to put on
+      the title-page: 'Words by Mary Jane Arkwright'&mdash;or will you unveil
+      the mystery for us now?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you guessed it?&rdquo; he bantered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No&mdash;unless it's 'Methuselah John.' We did think of that the other
+      day.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wrong again!&rdquo; he laughed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then it'll have to be 'Mary Jane,'&rdquo; retorted Billy, with calm
+      naughtiness, refusing to meet Aunt Hannah's beseechingly reproving eyes.
+      Then suddenly she chuckled. &ldquo;It would be a combination, wouldn't it?
+      'Words by Mary Jane Arkwright. Music by Billy Neilson'! We'd have sighing
+      swains writing to 'Dear Miss Arkwright,' telling how touching were <i>her</i>
+      words; and lovelorn damsels thanking <i>Mr</i>. Neilson for <i>his</i>
+      soul-inspiring music!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, my dear!&rdquo; remonstrated Aunt Hannah, faintly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, yes, I know; that was bad&mdash;and I won't again, truly,&rdquo; promised
+      Billy. But her eyes danced, and the next moment she had whirled about on
+      the piano stool and dashed into a Chopin waltz. The room itself, then,
+      seemed to be full of the twinkling feet of elves.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XVI. A GIRL AND A BIT OF LOWESTOFT
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Immediately after breakfast the next morning, Billy was summoned to the
+      telephone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, good morning, Uncle William,&rdquo; she called, in answer to the masculine
+      voice that replied to her &ldquo;Hullo.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, are you very busy this morning?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, indeed&mdash;not if you want me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I do, my dear.&rdquo; Uncle William's voice was troubled. &ldquo;I want you to
+      go with me, if you can, to see a Mrs. Greggory. She's got a teapot I want.
+      It's a genuine Lowestoft, Harlow says. Will you go?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course I will! What time?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eleven if you can, at Park Street. She's at the West End. I don't dare to
+      put it off for fear I'll lose it. Harlow says others will have to know of
+      it, of course. You see, she's just made up her mind to sell it, and asked
+      him to find a customer. I wouldn't trouble you, but he says they're
+      peculiar&mdash;the daughter, especially&mdash;and may need some careful
+      handling. That's why I wanted you&mdash;though I wanted you to see the
+      tea-pot, too,&mdash;it'll be yours some day, you know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy, all alone at her end of the line, blushed. That she was one day to
+      be mistress of the Strata and all it contained was still anything but
+      &ldquo;common&rdquo; to her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'd love to see it, and I'll come gladly; but I'm afraid I won't be much
+      help, Uncle William,&rdquo; she worried.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll take the risk of that. You see, Harlow says that about half the time
+      she isn't sure she wants to sell it, after all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, how funny! Well, I'll come. At eleven, you say, at Park Street?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes; and thank you, my dear. I tried to get Kate to go, too; but she
+      wouldn't. By the way, I'm going to bring you home to luncheon. Kate leaves
+      this afternoon, you know, and it's been so snowy she hasn't thought best
+      to try to get over to the house. Maybe Aunt Hannah would come, too, for
+      luncheon. Would she?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm afraid not,&rdquo; returned Billy, with a rueful laugh. &ldquo;She's got <i>three</i>
+      shawls on this morning, and you know that always means that she's felt a
+      draft somewhere&mdash;poor dear. I'll tell her, though, and I'll see you
+      at eleven,&rdquo; finished Billy, as she hung up the receiver.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Promptly at the appointed time Billy met Uncle William at Park Street, and
+      together they set out for the West End street named on the paper in his
+      pocket. But when the shabby house on the narrow little street was reached,
+      the man looked about him with a troubled frown.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I declare, Billy, I'm not sure but we'd better turn back,&rdquo; he fretted. &ldquo;I
+      didn't mean to take you to such a place as this.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy shivered a little; but after one glance at the man's disappointed
+      face she lifted a determined chin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense, Uncle William! Of course you won't turn back. I don't mind&mdash;for
+      myself; but only think of the people whose <i>homes</i> are here,&rdquo; she
+      finished, just above her breath.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Greggory was found to be living in two back rooms at the top of four
+      flights of stairs, up which William Henshaw toiled with increasing
+      weariness and dismay, punctuating each flight with a despairing: &ldquo;Billy,
+      really, I think we should turn back!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But Billy would not turn back, and at last they found themselves in the
+      presence of a white-haired, sweet-faced woman who said yes, she was Mrs.
+      Greggory; yes, she was. Even as she uttered the words, however, she looked
+      fearfully over her shoulders as if expecting to hear from the hall behind
+      them a voice denying her assertion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Greggory was a cripple. Her slender little body was poised on two
+      once-costly crutches. Both the worn places on the crutches, and the skill
+      with which the little woman swung herself about the room testified that
+      the crippled condition was not a new one.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy's eyes were brimming with pity and dismay. Mechanically she had
+      taken the chair toward which Mrs. Greggory had motioned her. She had tried
+      not to seem to look about her; but there was not one detail of the bare
+      little room, from its faded rug to the patched but spotless tablecloth,
+      that was not stamped on her brain.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Greggory had seated herself now, and William Henshaw had cleared his
+      throat nervously. Billy did not know whether she herself were the more
+      distressed or the more relieved to hear him stammer:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We&mdash;er&mdash;I came from Harlow, Mrs. Greggory. He gave me to
+      understand you had an&mdash;er&mdash;teapot that&mdash;er&mdash;&rdquo; With his
+      eyes on the cracked white crockery pitcher on the table, William Henshaw
+      came to a helpless pause.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A curious expression, or rather, series of expressions crossed Mrs.
+      Greggory's face. Terror, joy, dismay, and relief seemed, one after the
+      other to fight for supremacy. Relief in the end conquered, though even yet
+      there was a second hurriedly apprehensive glance toward the door before
+      she spoke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Lowestoft! Yes, I'm so glad!&mdash;that is, of course I must be glad.
+      I'll get it.&rdquo; Her voice broke as she pulled herself from her chair. There
+      was only despairing sorrow on her face now.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The man rose at once.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, madam, perhaps&mdash;don't let me&mdash;&rdquo; I he began stammeringly.
+      &ldquo;Of course&mdash;Billy!&rdquo; he broke off in an entirely different voice.
+      &ldquo;Jove! What a beauty!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Greggory had thrown open the door of a small cupboard near the
+      collector's chair, disclosing on one of the shelves a beautifully shaped
+      teapot, creamy in tint, and exquisitely decorated in a rose design. Near
+      it set a tray-like plate of the same ware and decoration.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you'll lift it down, please, yourself,&rdquo; motioned Mrs. Greggory. &ldquo;I
+      don't like to&mdash;with these,&rdquo; she explained, tapping the crutches at
+      her side.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With fingers that were almost reverent in their appreciation, the
+      collector reached for the teapot. His eyes sparkled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, look, what a beauty! And it's a Lowestoft, too, the real thing&mdash;the
+      genuine, true soft paste! And there's the tray&mdash;did you notice?&rdquo; he
+      exulted, turning back to the shelf. &ldquo;You <i>don't</i> see that every day!
+      They get separated, most generally, you know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;These pieces have been in our family for generations,&rdquo; said Mrs. Greggory
+      with an accent of pride. &ldquo;You'll find them quite perfect, I think.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perfect! I should say they were,&rdquo; cried the man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They are, then&mdash;valuable?&rdquo; Mrs. Greggory's voice shook.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Indeed they are! But you must know that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have been told so. Yet to me their chief value, of course, lies in
+      their association. My mother and my grandmother owned that teapot, sir.&rdquo;
+       Again her voice broke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      William Henshaw cleared his throat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, madam, if you do not wish to sell&mdash;&rdquo; He stopped abruptly. His
+      longing eyes had gone back to the enticing bit of china.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Greggory gave a low cry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I do&mdash;that is, I must. Mr. Harlow says that it is valuable, and
+      that it will bring in money; and we need&mdash;money.&rdquo; She threw a quick
+      glance toward the hall door, though she did not pause in her remarks. &ldquo;I
+      can't do much at work that pays. I sew&rdquo;&mdash;she nodded toward the
+      machine by the window&mdash;&ldquo;but with only one foot to make it go&mdash;You
+      see, the other is&mdash;is inclined to shirk a little,&rdquo; she finished with
+      a wistful whimsicality.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy turned away sharply. There was a lump in her throat and a smart in
+      her eyes. She was conscious suddenly of a fierce anger against&mdash;she
+      did not know what, exactly; but she fancied it was against the teapot, or
+      against Uncle William for wanting the teapot, or for <i>not</i> wanting it&mdash;if
+      he did not buy it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And so you see, I do very much wish to sell.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Greggory said then. &ldquo;Perhaps you will tell me what it would be worth
+      to you,&rdquo; she concluded tremulously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The collector's eyes glowed. He picked up the teapot with careful rapture
+      and examined it. Then he turned to the tray. After a moment he spoke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have only one other in my collection as rare,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I paid a
+      hundred dollars for that. I shall be glad to give you the same for this,
+      madam.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Greggory started visibly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A hundred dollars? So much as that?&rdquo; she cried almost joyously. &ldquo;Why,
+      nothing else that we've had has brought&mdash;Of course, if it's worth
+      that to you&mdash;&rdquo; She paused suddenly. A quick step had sounded in the
+      hall outside. The next moment the door flew open and a young woman, who
+      looked to be about twenty-three or twenty-four years old, burst into the
+      room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mother, only think, I've&mdash;&rdquo; She stopped, and drew back a little. Her
+      startled eyes went from one face to another, then dropped to the Lowestoft
+      teapot in the man's hands. Her expression changed at once. She shut the
+      door quickly and hurried forward.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mother, what is it? Who are these people?&rdquo; she asked sharply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy lifted her chin the least bit. She was conscious of a feeling which
+      she could not name: Billy was not used to being called &ldquo;these people&rdquo; in
+      precisely that tone of voice. William Henshaw, too, raised his chin. He,
+      also, was not in the habit of being referred to as &ldquo;these people.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My name is Henshaw, Miss&mdash;Greggory, I presume,&rdquo; he said quietly. &ldquo;I
+      was sent here by Mr. Harlow.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;About the teapot, my dear, you know,&rdquo; stammered Mrs. Greggory, wetting
+      her lips with an air of hurried apology and conciliation. &ldquo;This gentleman
+      says he will be glad to buy it. Er&mdash;my daughter, Alice, Mr. Henshaw,&rdquo;
+       she hastened on, in embarrassed introduction; &ldquo;and Miss&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Neilson,&rdquo; supplied the man, as she looked at Billy, and hesitated.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A swift red stained Alice Greggory's face. With barely an acknowledgment
+      of the introductions she turned to her mother.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, dear, but that won't be necessary now. As I started to tell you when
+      I came in, I have two new pupils; and so&rdquo;&mdash;turning to the man again
+      &ldquo;I thank you for your offer, but we have decided not to sell the teapot at
+      present.&rdquo; As she finished her sentence she stepped one side as if to make
+      room for the strangers to reach the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      William Henshaw frowned angrily&mdash;that was the man; but his eyes&mdash;the
+      collector's eyes&mdash;sought the teapot longingly. Before either the man
+      or the collector could speak, however; Mrs. Greggory interposed quick
+      words of remonstrance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, Alice, my dear,&rdquo; she almost sobbed. &ldquo;You didn't wait to let me tell
+      you. Mr. Henshaw says it is worth a hundred dollars to him. He will give
+      us&mdash;a hundred dollars.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A hundred dollars!&rdquo; echoed the girl, faintly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was plain to be seen that she was wavering. Billy, watching the little
+      scene, with mingled emotions, saw the glance with which the girl swept the
+      bare little room; and she knew that there was not a patch or darn or
+      poverty spot in sight, or out of sight, which that glance did not
+      encompass.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy was wondering which she herself desired more&mdash;that Uncle
+      William should buy the Lowestoft, or that he should not. She knew she
+      wished Mrs. Greggory to have the hundred dollars. There was no doubt on
+      that point. Then Uncle William spoke. His words carried the righteous
+      indignation of the man who thinks he has been unjustly treated, and the
+      final plea of the collector who sees a coveted treasure slipping from his
+      grasp.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am very sorry, of course, if my offer has annoyed you,&rdquo; he said
+      stiffly. &ldquo;I certainly should not have made it had I not had Mrs.
+      Greggory's assurance that she wished to sell the teapot.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Alice Greggory turned as if stung.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;<i>Wished to sell!</i>&rdquo; She repeated the words with superb disdain. She
+      was plainly very angry. Her blue-gray eyes gleamed with scorn, and her
+      whole face was suffused with a red that had swept to the roots of her soft
+      hair. &ldquo;Do you think a woman <i>wishes</i> to sell a thing that she's
+      treasured all her life, a thing that is perhaps the last visible reminder
+      of the days when she was living&mdash;not merely existing?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Alice, Alice, my love!&rdquo; protested the sweet-faced cripple, agitatedly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can't help it,&rdquo; stormed the girl, hotly. &ldquo;I know how much you think of
+      that teapot that was grandmother's. I know what it cost you to make up
+      your mind to sell it at all. And then to hear these people talk about your
+      <i>wishing</i> to sell it! Perhaps they think, too, we <i>wish</i> to live
+      in a place like this; that we <i>wish</i> to have rugs that are darned,
+      and chairs that are broken, and garments that are patches instead of
+      clothes!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Alice!&rdquo; gasped Mrs. Greggory in dismayed horror.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With a little outward fling of her two hands Alice Greggory stepped back.
+      Her face had grown white again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I beg your pardon, of course,&rdquo; she said in a voice that was bitterly
+      quiet. &ldquo;I should not have spoken so. You are very kind, Mr. Henshaw, but I
+      do not think we care to sell the Lowestoft to-day.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Both words and manner were obviously a dismissal; and with a puzzled sigh
+      William Henshaw picked up his hat. His face showed very clearly that he
+      did not know what to do, or what to say; but it showed, too, as clearly,
+      that he longed to do something, or say something. During the brief minute
+      that he hesitated, however, Billy sprang forward.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mrs. Greggory, please, won't you let <i>me</i> buy the teapot? And then&mdash;won't
+      you keep it for me&mdash;here? I haven't the hundred dollars with me, but
+      I'll send it right away. You will let me do it, won't you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was an impulsive speech, and a foolish one, of course, from the
+      standpoint of sense and logic and reasonableness; but it was one that
+      might be expected, perhaps, from Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Greggory must have divined, in a way, the spirit that prompted it,
+      for her eyes grew wet, and with a choking &ldquo;Dear child!&rdquo; she reached out
+      and caught Billy's hand in both her own&mdash;even while she shook her
+      head in denial.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Not so her daughter. Alice Greggory flushed scarlet. She drew herself
+      proudly erect.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you,&rdquo; she said with crisp coldness; &ldquo;but, distasteful as darns and
+      patches are to us, we prefer them, infinitely, to&mdash;charity!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, but, please, I didn't mean&mdash;you didn't understand,&rdquo; faltered
+      Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For answer Alice Greggory walked deliberately to the door and held it
+      open.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Alice, my dear,&rdquo; pleaded Mrs. Greggory again, feebly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come, Billy! We'll bid you good morning, ladies,&rdquo; said William Henshaw
+      then, decisively. And Billy, with a little wistful pat on Mrs. Greggory's
+      clasped hands, went.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Once down the long four flights of stairs and out on the sidewalk, William
+      Henshaw drew a long breath.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, by Jove! Billy, the next time I take you curio hunting, it won't be
+      to this place,&rdquo; he fumed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wasn't it awful!&rdquo; choked Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Awful! The girl was the most stubborn, unreasonable, vixenish little puss
+      I ever saw. I didn't want her old Lowestoft if she didn't want to sell it!
+      But to practically invite me there, and then treat me like that!&rdquo; scolded
+      the collector, his face growing red with anger. &ldquo;Still, I was sorry for
+      the poor little old lady. I wish, somehow, she could have that hundred
+      dollars!&rdquo; It was the man who said this, not the collector.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So do I,&rdquo; rejoined Billy, dolefully. &ldquo;But that girl was so&mdash;so
+      queer!&rdquo; she sighed, with a frown. Billy was puzzled. For the first time,
+      perhaps, in her life, she knew what it was to have her proffered &ldquo;ice
+      cream&rdquo; disdainfully refused.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XVII. ONLY A LOVE SONG, BUT&mdash;
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Kate and little Kate left for the West on the afternoon of the fifteenth,
+      and Bertram arrived from New York that evening. Notwithstanding the
+      confusion of all this, Billy still had time to give some thought to her
+      experience of the morning with Uncle William. The forlorn little room with
+      its poverty-stricken furnishings and its crippled mistress was very vivid
+      in Billy's memory. Equally vivid were the flashing eyes of Alice Greggory
+      as she had opened the door at the last.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;For,&rdquo; as Billy explained to Bertram that evening, after she had told him
+      the story of the morning's adventure, &ldquo;you see, dear, I had never been
+      really <i>turned out</i> of a house before!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I should think not,&rdquo; scowled her lover, indignantly; &ldquo;and it's safe to
+      say you never will again. The impertinence of it! But then, you won't see
+      them any more, sweetheart, so we'll just forget it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Forget it! Why, Bertram, I couldn't! You couldn't, if you'd been there.
+      Besides, of course I shall see them again!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram's jaw dropped.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Billy, you don't mean that Will, or you either, would try again for
+      that trumpery teapot!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course not,&rdquo; flashed Billy, heatedly. &ldquo;It isn't the teapot&mdash;it's
+      that dear little Mrs. Greggory. Why, dearie, you don't know how poor they
+      are! Everything in sight is so old and thin and worn it's enough to break
+      your heart. The rug isn't anything but darns, nor the tablecloth, either&mdash;except
+      patches. It's awful, Bertram!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know, darling; but <i>you</i> don't expect to buy them new rugs and new
+      tablecloths, do you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy gave one of her unexpected laughs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mercy!&rdquo; she chuckled. &ldquo;Only picture Miss Alice's face if I <i>should</i>
+      try to buy them rugs and tablecloths! No, dear,&rdquo; she went on more
+      seriously, &ldquo;I sha'n't do that, of course&mdash;though I'd like to; but I
+      shall try to see Mrs. Greggory again, if it's nothing more than a rose or
+      a book or a new magazine that I can take to her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Or a smile&mdash;which I fancy will be the best gift of the lot,&rdquo; amended
+      Bertram, fondly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy dimpled and shook her head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Smiles&mdash;my smiles&mdash;are not so valuable, I'm afraid&mdash;except
+      to you, perhaps,&rdquo; she laughed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Self-evident facts need no proving,&rdquo; retorted Bertram. &ldquo;Well, and what
+      else has happened in all these ages I've been away?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy brought her hands together with a sudden cry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, and I haven't told you!&rdquo; she exclaimed. &ldquo;I'm writing a new song&mdash;a
+      love song. Mary Jane wrote the words. They're beautiful.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram stiffened.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Indeed! And is&mdash;Mary Jane a poet, with all the rest?&rdquo; he asked, with
+      affected lightness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no, of course not,&rdquo; smiled Billy; &ldquo;but these words <i>are</i> pretty.
+      And they just sang themselves into the dearest little melody right away.
+      So I'm writing the music for them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Lucky Mary Jane!&rdquo; murmured Bertram, still with a lightness that he hoped
+      would pass for indifference. (Bertram was ashamed of himself, but deep
+      within him was a growing consciousness that he knew the meaning of the
+      vague irritation that he always felt at the mere mention of Arkwright's
+      name.) &ldquo;And will the title-page say, 'Words by Mary Jane Arkwright'?&rdquo; he
+      finished.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's what I asked him,&rdquo; laughed Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I even suggested 'Methuselah John' for a change. Oh, but, dearie,&rdquo; she
+      broke off with shy eagerness, &ldquo;I just want you to hear a little of what
+      I've done with it. You see, really, all the time, I suspect, I've been
+      singing it&mdash;to you,&rdquo; she confessed with an endearing blush, as she
+      sprang lightly to her feet and hurried to the piano.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a bad ten minutes that Bertram Henshaw spent then. How he could
+      love a song and hate it at the same time he did not understand; but he
+      knew that he was doing exactly that. To hear Billy carol &ldquo;Sweetheart, my
+      sweetheart!&rdquo; with that joyous tenderness was bliss unspeakable&mdash;until
+      he remembered that Arkwright wrote the &ldquo;Sweetheart, my sweetheart!&rdquo; then
+      it was&mdash;(Even in his thoughts Bertram bit the word off short. He was
+      not a swearing man.) When he looked at Billy now at the piano, and thought
+      of her singing&mdash;as she said she had sung&mdash;that song to him all
+      through the last three days, his heart glowed. But when he looked at her
+      and thought of Arkwright, who had made possible that singing, his heart
+      froze with terror.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      From the very first it had been music that Bertram had feared. He could
+      not forget that Billy herself had once told him that never would she love
+      any man better than she loved her music; that she was not going to marry.
+      All this had been at the first&mdash;the very first. He had boldly scorned
+      the idea then, and had said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So it's music&mdash;a cold, senseless thing of spidery marks on clean
+      white paper&mdash;that is my only rival!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He had said, too, that he was going to win. And he had won&mdash;but not
+      until after long weeks of fearing, hoping, striving, and despairing&mdash;this
+      last when Kate's blundering had nearly made her William's wife. Then, on
+      that memorable day in September, Billy had walked straight into his arms;
+      and he knew that he had, indeed, won. That is, he had supposed that he
+      knew&mdash;until Arkwright came.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Very sharply now, as he listened to Billy's singing, Bertram told himself
+      to be reasonable, to be sensible; that Billy did, indeed, love him. Was
+      she not, according to her own dear assertion, singing that song to him?
+      But it was Arkwright's song. He remembered that, too&mdash;and grew faint
+      at the thought. True, he had won when his rival, music, had been a &ldquo;cold,
+      senseless thing of spidery marks&rdquo; on paper; but would that winning stand
+      when &ldquo;music&rdquo; had become a thing of flesh and blood&mdash;a man of
+      undeniable charm, good looks, and winsomeness; a man whose thoughts, aims,
+      and words were the personification of the thing Billy, in the long ago,
+      had declared she loved best of all&mdash;music?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram shivered as with a sudden chill; then Billy rose from the piano.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There!&rdquo; she breathed, her face shyly radiant with the glory of the song.
+      &ldquo;Did you&mdash;like it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram did his best; but, in his state of mind, the very radiance of her
+      face was only an added torture, and his tongue stumbled over the words of
+      praise and appreciation that he tried to say. He saw, then, the happy
+      light in Billy's eyes change to troubled questioning and grieved
+      disappointment; and he hated himself for a jealous brute. More earnestly
+      than ever, now, he tried to force the ring of sincerity into his voice;
+      but he knew that he had miserably failed when he heard her falter:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course, dear, I&mdash;I haven't got it nearly perfected yet. It'll be
+      much better, later.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But it s{sic} fine, now, sweetheart&mdash;indeed it is,&rdquo; protested
+      Bertram, hurriedly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, of course I'm glad&mdash;if you like it,&rdquo; murmured Billy; but the
+      glow did not come back to her face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XVIII. SUGARPLUMS
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Those short December days after Bertram's return from New York were busy
+      ones for everybody. Miss Winthrop was not in town to give sittings for her
+      portrait, it is true; but her absence only afforded Bertram time and
+      opportunity to attend to other work that had been more or less delayed and
+      neglected. He was often at Hillside, however, and the lovers managed to
+      snatch many an hour of quiet happiness from the rush and confusion of the
+      Christmas preparations.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram was assuring himself now that his jealous fears of Arkwright were
+      groundless. Billy seldom mentioned the man, and, as the days passed, she
+      spoke only once of his being at the house. The song, too, she said little
+      of; and Bertram&mdash;though he was ashamed to own it to himself&mdash;breathed
+      more freely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The real facts of the case were that Billy had told Arkwright that she
+      should have no time to give attention to the song until after Christmas;
+      and her manner had so plainly shown him that she considered himself
+      synonymous with the song, that he had reluctantly taken the hint and kept
+      away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll make her care for me sometime&mdash;for something besides a song,&rdquo;
+       he told himself with fierce consolation&mdash;but Billy did not know this.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aside from Bertram, Christmas filled all of Billy's thoughts these days.
+      There were such a lot of things she wished to do.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, after all, they're only sugarplums, you know, that I'm giving,
+      dear,&rdquo; she declared to Bertram one day, when he had remonstrated with with
+      her for so taxing her time and strength. &ldquo;I can't really do much.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Much!&rdquo; scoffed Bertram.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But it isn't much, honestly&mdash;compared to what there is to do,&rdquo;
+       argued Billy. &ldquo;You see, dear, it's just this,&rdquo; she went on, her bright
+      face sobering a little. &ldquo;There are such a lot of people in the world who
+      aren't really poor. That is, they have bread, and probably meat, to eat,
+      and enough clothes to keep them warm. But when you've said that, you've
+      said it all. Books, music, fun, and frosting on their cake they know
+      nothing about&mdash;except to long for them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But there are the churches and the charities, and all those long-named
+      Societies&mdash;I thought that was what they were for,&rdquo; declared Bertram,
+      still a little aggrievedly, his worried eyes on Billy's tired face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, but the churches and charities don't frost cakes nor give
+      sugarplums,&rdquo; smiled Billy. &ldquo;And it's right that they shouldn't, too,&rdquo; she
+      added quickly. &ldquo;They have more than they can do now with the roast beef
+      and coal and flannel petticoats that are really necessary.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And so it's just frosting and sugarplums, is it&mdash;these books and
+      magazines and concert tickets and lace collars for the crippled boy, the
+      spinster lady, the little widow, and all the rest of those people who were
+      here last summer?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy turned in confused surprise.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Bertram, however in the world did you find out about all&mdash;that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I didn't. I just guessed it&mdash;and it seems 'the boy guessed right the
+      very first time,'&rdquo; laughed Bertram, teasingly, but with a tender light in
+      his eyes. &ldquo;Oh, and I suppose you'll be sending a frosted cake to the
+      Lowestoft lady, too, eh?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy's chin rose to a defiant stubbornness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm going to try to&mdash;if I can find out what kind of frosting she
+      likes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How about the Alice lady&mdash;or perhaps I should say, the Lady Alice?&rdquo;
+       smiled the man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy relaxed visibly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I know,&rdquo; she sighed. &ldquo;There is&mdash;the Lady Alice. But, anyhow,
+      she can't call a Christmas present 'charity'&mdash;not if it's only a
+      little bit of frosting!&rdquo; Billy's chin came up again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And you're going to, really, dare to send her something?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; avowed Billy. &ldquo;I'm going down there one of these days, in the
+      morning&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You're going down there! Billy&mdash;not alone?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. Why not?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, dearie, you mustn't. It was a horrid place, Will says.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So it was horrid&mdash;to live in. It was everything that was cheap and
+      mean and forlorn. But it was quiet and respectable. 'Tisn't as if I didn't
+      know the way, Bertram; and I'm sure that where that poor crippled woman
+      and daughter are safe, I shall be. Mrs. Greggory is a lady, Bertram,
+      well-born and well-bred, I'm sure&mdash;and that's the pity of it, to have
+      to live in a place like that! They have seen better days, I know. Those
+      pitiful little worn crutches of hers were mahogany, I'm sure, Bertram, and
+      they were silver mounted.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram made a restless movement.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know, dear; but if you had some one with you! It wouldn't do for Will,
+      of course, nor me&mdash;under the circumstances. But there's Aunt Hannah&mdash;&rdquo;
+       He paused hopefully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy chuckled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bless your dear heart! Aunt Hannah would call for a dozen shawls in that
+      place&mdash;if she had breath enough to call for any after she got to the
+      top of those four flights!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I suppose so,&rdquo; rejoined Bertram, with an unwilling smile. &ldquo;Still&mdash;well,
+      you <i>can</i> take Rosa,&rdquo; he concluded decisively.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How Miss Alice would like that&mdash;to catch me going 'slumming' with my
+      maid!&rdquo; cried Billy, righteous indignation in her voice. &ldquo;Honestly,
+      Bertram, I think even gentle Mrs. Greggory wouldn't stand for that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then leave Rosa outside in the hall,&rdquo; planned Bertram, promptly; and
+      after a few more arguments, Billy finally agreed to this.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was with Rosa, therefore, that she set out the next morning for the
+      little room up four flights on the narrow West End street.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Leaving the maid on the top stair of the fourth flight, Billy tapped at
+      Mrs. Greggory's door. To her joy Mrs. Greggory herself answered the knock.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! Why&mdash;why, good morning,&rdquo; murmured the lady, in evident
+      embarrassment. &ldquo;Won't you&mdash;come m?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you. May I?&mdash;just a minute?&rdquo; smiled Billy, brightly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As she entered the room, Billy threw a hasty look about her. There was no
+      one but themselves present. With a sigh of satisfaction, therefore, the
+      girl took the chair Mrs. Greggory offered, and began to speak.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I was down this way&mdash;that is, I came this way this morning,&rdquo; she
+      began a little hastily; &ldquo;and I wanted just to come up and tell you how
+      sorry I was about&mdash;about that teapot the other day. We didn't want
+      it, of course&mdash;if you didn't want us to have it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A swift change crossed Mrs. Greggory's perturbed face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, then you didn't come for it again&mdash;to-day,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I'm so
+      glad! I didn't want to refuse&mdash;<i>you</i>.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Indeed I didn't come for it&mdash;and we sha'n't again. Don't worry about
+      that, please.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Greggory sighed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm afraid you thought me very rude and&mdash;and impossible the other
+      day,&rdquo; she stammered. &ldquo;And please let me take this opportunity right now to
+      apologize for my daughter. She was overwrought and excited. She didn't
+      know what she was saying or doing, I'm sure. She was ashamed, I think
+      after you left.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy raised a quick hand of protest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't, please don't, Mrs. Greggory,&rdquo; she begged.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But it was our fault that you came. We <i>asked</i> you to come&mdash;through
+      Mr. Harlow,&rdquo; rejoined the other, hurriedly. &ldquo;And Mr. Henshaw&mdash;was
+      that his name?&mdash;was so kind in every way. I'm glad of this chance to
+      tell you how much we really did appreciate it&mdash;and <i>your</i> offer,
+      too, which we could not, of course, accept,&rdquo; she finished, the bright
+      color flooding her delicate face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Again Billy raised a protesting hand; but the little woman in the opposite
+      chair hurried on. There was still more, evidently, that she wished to say.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I hope Mr. Henshaw did not feel too disappointed&mdash;about the
+      Lowestoft. We didn't want to let it go if we could help it; and we hope
+      now to keep it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course,&rdquo; murmured Billy, sympathetically.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My daughter knew, you see, how much I have always thought of it, and she
+      was determined that I should not give it up. She said I should have that
+      much left, anyway. You see&mdash;my daughter is very unreconciled, still,
+      to things as they are; and no wonder, perhaps. They are so different&mdash;from
+      what they were!&rdquo; Her voice broke a little.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course,&rdquo; said Billy again, and this time the words were tinged with
+      impatient indignation. &ldquo;If only there were something one could do to
+      help!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you, my dear, but there isn't&mdash;indeed there isn't,&rdquo; rejoined
+      the other, quickly; and Billy, looking into the proudly lifted face,
+      realized suddenly that daughter Alice had perhaps inherited some traits
+      from mother. &ldquo;We shall get along very well, I am sure. My daughter has
+      still another pupil. She will be home soon to tell you herself, perhaps.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy rose with a haste so marked it was almost impolite, as she murmured:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Will she? I'm afraid, though, that I sha'n't see her, after all, for I
+      must go. And may I leave these, please?&rdquo; she added, hurriedly unpinning
+      the bunch of white carnations from her coat. &ldquo;It seems a pity to let them
+      wilt, when you can put them in water right here.&rdquo; Her studiously casual
+      voice gave no hint that those particular pinks had been bought less than
+      half an hour before of a Park Street florist so that Mrs. Greggory <i>might</i>
+      put them in water&mdash;right there.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, oh, how lovely!&rdquo; breathed Mrs. Greggory, her face deep in the
+      feathery bed of sweetness. Before she could half say &ldquo;Thank you,&rdquo; however?
+      she found herself alone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XIX. ALICE GREGGORY
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Christmas came and went; and in a flurry of snow and sleet January
+      arrived. The holidays over, matters and things seemed to settle down to
+      the winter routine.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Winthrop had prolonged her visit in Washington until after Christmas,
+      but she had returned to Boston now&mdash;and with her she had brought a
+      brand-new idea for her portrait; an idea that caused her to sweep aside
+      with superb disdain all poses and costumes and sketches to date, and
+      announce herself with disarming winsomeness as &ldquo;all ready now to really
+      begin!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram Henshaw was vexed, but helpless. Decidedly he wished to paint Miss
+      Marguerite Winthrop's portrait; but to attempt to paint it when all
+      matters were not to the lady's liking were worse than useless, unless he
+      wished to hang this portrait in the gallery of failures along with
+      Anderson's and Fullam's&mdash;and that was not the goal he had set for it.
+      As to the sordid money part of the affair&mdash;the great J. G. Winthrop
+      himself had come to the artist, and in one terse sentence had doubled the
+      original price and expressed himself as hopeful that Henshaw would put up
+      with &ldquo;the child's notions.&rdquo; It was the old financier's next sentence,
+      however, that put the zest of real determination into Bertram, for because
+      of it, the artist saw what this portrait was going to mean to the stern
+      old man, and how dear was the original of it to a heart that was commonly
+      reported &ldquo;on the street&rdquo; to be made of stone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Obviously, then, indeed, there was nothing for Bertram Henshaw to do but
+      to begin the new portrait. And he began it&mdash;though still, it must be
+      confessed, with inward questionings. Before a week had passed, however,
+      every trace of irritation had fled, and he was once again the absorbed
+      artist who sees the vision of his desire taking palpable shape at the end
+      of his brush.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's all right,&rdquo; he said to Billy then, one evening. &ldquo;I'm glad she
+      changed. It's going to be the best, the very best thing I've ever done&mdash;I
+      think! by the sketches.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm so glad!&rdquo; exclaimed Billy. &ldquo;I'm so glad!&rdquo; The repetition was so
+      vehement that it sounded almost as if she were trying to convince herself
+      as well as Bertram of something that was not true.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But it was true&mdash;Billy told herself very indignantly that it was;
+      indeed it was! Yet the very fact that she had to tell herself this, caused
+      her to know how perilously near she was to being actually jealous of that
+      portrait of Marguerite Winthrop. And it shamed her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Very sternly these days Billy reminded herself of what Kate had said about
+      Bertram's belonging first to his Art. She thought with mortification, too,
+      that it <i>did</i> look as if she were not the proper wife for an artist
+      if she were going to feel like this&mdash;always. Very resolutely, then,
+      Billy turned to her music. This was all the more easily done, for, not
+      only did she have her usual concerts and the opera to enjoy, but she had
+      become interested in an operetta her club was about to give; also she had
+      taken up the new song again. Christmas being over, Mr. Arkwright had been
+      to the house several times. He had changed some of the words and she had
+      improved the melody. The work on the accompaniment was progressing finely
+      now, and Billy was so glad!&mdash;when she was absorbed in her music she
+      forgot sometimes that she was ever so unfit an artist's sweetheart as to
+      be&mdash;jealous of a portrait.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was quite early in the month that the usually expected &ldquo;January thaw&rdquo;
+       came, and it was on a comparatively mild Friday at this time that a matter
+      of business took Billy into the neighborhood of Symphony Hall at about
+      eleven o'clock in the morning. Dismissing John and the car upon her
+      arrival, she said that she would later walk to the home of a friend near
+      by, where she would remain until it was time for the Symphony Concert.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This friend was a girl whom Billy had known at school. She was studying
+      now at the Conservatory of Music; and she had often urged Billy to come
+      and have luncheon with her in her tiny apartment, which she shared with
+      three other girls and a widowed aunt for housekeeper. On this particular
+      Friday it had occurred to Billy that, owing to her business appointment at
+      eleven and the Symphony Concert at half-past two, the intervening time
+      would give her just the opportunity she had been seeking to enable her to
+      accept her friend's invitation. A question asked, and enthusiastically
+      answered in the affirmative, over the telephone that morning, therefore,
+      had speedily completed arrangements, and she had agreed to be at her
+      friend's door by twelve o'clock, or before.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As it happened, business did not take quite so long as she had expected,
+      and half-past eleven found her well on her way to Miss Henderson's home.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In spite of the warm sunshine and the slushy snow in the streets, there
+      was a cold, raw wind, and Billy was beginning to feel thankful that she
+      had not far to go when she rounded a corner and came upon a long line of
+      humanity that curved itself back and forth on the wide expanse of steps
+      before Symphony Hall and then stretched itself far up the Avenue.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, what&mdash;&rdquo; she began under her breath; then suddenly she
+      understood. It was Friday. A world-famous pianist was to play with the
+      Symphony Orchestra that afternoon. This must be the line of patient
+      waiters for the twenty-five-cent balcony seats that Mr. Arkwright had told
+      about. With sympathetic, interested eyes, then, Billy stepped one side to
+      watch the line, for a moment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Almost at once two girls brushed by her, and one was saying:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What a shame!&mdash;and after all our struggles to get here! If only we
+      hadn't lost that other train!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We're too late&mdash;you no need to hurry!&rdquo; the other wailed shrilly to a
+      third girl who was hastening toward them. &ldquo;The line is 'way beyond the
+      Children's Hospital and around the corner now&mdash;and the ones there <i>never</i>
+      get in!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At the look of tragic disappointment that crossed the third girl's face,
+      Billy's heart ached. Her first impulse, of course, was to pull her own
+      symphony ticket from her muff and hurry forward with a &ldquo;Here, take mine!&rdquo;
+       But that <i>would</i> hardly do, she knew&mdash;though she would like to
+      see Aunt Hannah's aghast face if this girl in the red sweater and white
+      tam-o'-shanter should suddenly emerge from among the sumptuous satins and
+      furs and plumes that afternoon and claim the adjacent orchestra chair. But
+      it was out of the question, of course. There was only one seat, and there
+      were three girls, besides all those others. With a sigh, then, Billy
+      turned her eyes back to those others&mdash;those many others that made up
+      the long line stretching its weary length up the Avenue.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There were more women than men, yet the men were there: jolly young men
+      who were plainly students; older men whose refined faces and threadbare
+      overcoats hinted at cultured minds and starved bodies; other men who
+      showed no hollows in their cheeks nor near-holes in their garments. It
+      seemed to Billy that women of almost all sorts were there, young, old, and
+      middle-aged; students in tailored suits, widows in crape and veil; girls
+      that were members of a merry party, women that were plainly forlorn and
+      alone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Some in the line shuffled restlessly; some stood rigidly quiet. One had
+      brought a camp stool; many were seated on the steps. Beyond, where the
+      line passed an open lot, a wooden fence afforded a convenient prop. One
+      read a book, another a paper. Three were studying what was probably the
+      score of the symphony or of the concerto they expected to hear that
+      afternoon.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A few did not appear to mind the biting wind, but most of them, by
+      turned-up coat-collars or bent heads, testified to the contrary. Not far
+      from Billy a woman nibbled a sandwich furtively, while beyond her a group
+      of girls were hilariously merry over four triangles of pie which they held
+      up where all might see.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Many of the faces were youthful, happy, and alert with anticipation; but
+      others carried a wistfulness and a weariness that made Billy's heart ache.
+      Her eyes, indeed, filled with quick tears. Later she turned to go, and it
+      was then that she saw in the line a face that she knew&mdash;a face that
+      drooped with such a white misery of spent strength that she hurried
+      straight toward it with a low cry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Greggory!&rdquo; she exclaimed, when she reached the girl. &ldquo;You look
+      actually ill. Are you ill?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      For a brief second only dazed questioning stared from the girl's blue-gray
+      eyes. Billy knew when the recognition came, for she saw the painful color
+      stain the white face red.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you, no. I am not ill, Miss Neilson,&rdquo; said the girl, coldly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you look so tired out!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have been standing here some time; that is all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy threw a hurried glance down the far-reaching line that she knew had
+      formed since the girl's two tired feet had taken their first position.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you must have come&mdash;so early! It isn't twelve o'clock yet,&rdquo; she
+      faltered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A slight smile curved Alice Greggory's lips.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, it was early,&rdquo; she rejoined a little bitterly; &ldquo;but it had to be,
+      you know. I wanted to hear the music; and with this soloist, and this
+      weather, I knew that many others&mdash;would want to hear the music, too.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you look so white! How much longer&mdash;when will they let you in?&rdquo;
+       demanded Billy, raising indignant eyes to the huge, gray-pillared building
+      before her, much as if she would pull down the walls if she could, and
+      make way for this tired girl at her side.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Greggory's thin shoulders rose and fell in an expressive shrug.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Half-past one.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy gave a dismayed cry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Half-past one&mdash;almost two hours more! But, Miss Greggory, you can't&mdash;how
+      can you stand it till then? You've shivered three times since I came, and
+      you look as if you were going to faint away.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Greggory shook her head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is nothing, really,&rdquo; she insisted. &ldquo;I am quite well. It is only&mdash;I
+      didn't happen to feel like eating much breakfast this morning; and that,
+      with no luncheon&mdash;&rdquo; She let a gesture finish her sentence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No luncheon! Why&mdash;oh, you couldn't leave your place, of course,&rdquo;
+       frowned Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, and&rdquo;&mdash;Alice Greggory lifted her head a little proudly&mdash;&ldquo;I
+      do not care to eat&mdash;here.&rdquo; Her scornful eyes were on one of the
+      pieces of pie down the line&mdash;no longer a triangle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course not,&rdquo; agreed Billy, promptly. She paused, frowned, and bit her
+      lip. Suddenly her face cleared. &ldquo;There! the very thing,&rdquo; she exulted. &ldquo;You
+      shall have my ticket this afternoon, Miss Greggory, then you won't have to
+      stay here another minute. Meanwhile, there is an excellent restaurant&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you&mdash;no. I couldn't do that,&rdquo; cut in the other, sharply, but
+      in a low voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you'll take my ticket,&rdquo; begged Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Greggory shook her head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Certainly not.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I want you to, please. I shall be very unhappy if you don't,&rdquo; grieved
+      Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The other made a peremptory gesture.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;<i>I</i> should be very unhappy if I did,&rdquo; she said with cold emphasis.
+      &ldquo;Really, Miss Neilson,&rdquo; she went on in a low voice, throwing an
+      apprehensive glance at the man ahead, who was apparently absorbed in his
+      newspaper, &ldquo;I'm afraid I shall have to ask you to let me go on in my own
+      way. You are very kind, but there is nothing you can do; nothing. You were
+      very kind, too, of course, to send the book and the flowers to mother at
+      Christmas; but&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never mind that, please,&rdquo; interrupted Billy, hurriedly. Billy's head was
+      lifted now. Her eyes were no longer pleading. Her round little chin looked
+      square and determined. &ldquo;If you simply will not take my ticket this
+      afternoon, you <i>must</i> do this. Go to some restaurant near here and
+      get a good luncheon&mdash;something that will sustain you. I will take
+      your place here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;<i>Miss Neilson!</i>&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy smiled radiantly. It was the first time she had ever seen Alice
+      Greggory's haughtily cold reserve break into anything like naturalness&mdash;the
+      astonished incredulity of that &ldquo;Miss Neilson!&rdquo; was plainly straight from
+      the heart; so, too, were the amazed words that followed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;<i>You</i>&mdash;will stand <i>here?</i>&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Certainly; I will keep your place. Don't worry. You sha'n't lose it.&rdquo;
+       Billy spoke with a smiling indifference that was meant to convey the
+      impression that standing in line for a twenty-five-cent seat was a daily
+      habit of hers. &ldquo;There's a restaurant only a little way&mdash;right down
+      there,&rdquo; she finished. And before the dazed Alice Greggory knew quite what
+      was happening she found herself outside the line, and the other in her
+      place.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, Miss Neilson, I can't&mdash;you mustn't&mdash;&rdquo; she stammered; then,
+      because of something in the unyieldingness of the square young chin above
+      the sealskin coat, and because she could not (she knew) use actual force
+      to drag the owner of that chin out of the line, she bowed her head in
+      acquiescence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, then&mdash;I will, long enough for some coffee and maybe a
+      sandwich. And&mdash;thank you,&rdquo; she choked, as she turned and hurried
+      away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy drew the deep breath of one who has triumphed after long struggles&mdash;but
+      the breath broke off short in a gasp of dismay: coming straight up the
+      Avenue toward her was the one person in the world Billy wished least to
+      see at that moment&mdash;Bertram Henshaw. Billy remembered then that she
+      had twice lately heard her lover speak of calling at the Boston Opera
+      House concerning a commission to paint an ideal head to represent &ldquo;Music&rdquo;
+       for some decorative purpose. The Opera House was only a short distance up
+      the Avenue. Doubtless he was on his way there now.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was very near by this time, and Billy held her breath suspended. There
+      was a chance, of course, that he might not notice her; and Billy was
+      counting on that chance&mdash;until a gust of wind whirled a loose
+      half-sheet of newspaper from the hands of the man in front of her, and
+      naturally attracted Bertram's eyes to its vicinity&mdash;and to hers. The
+      next moment he was at her side and his dumfounded but softly-breathed &ldquo;<i>Billy!</i>&rdquo;
+       was in her ears.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy bubbled into low laughter&mdash;there were such a lot of funny
+      situations in the world, and of them all this one was about the drollest,
+      she thought.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I know,&rdquo; she gurgled. &ldquo;You don't have to say it-your face is saying
+      even more than your tongue <i>could!</i> This is just for a girl I know.
+      I'm keeping her place.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram frowned. He looked as if he were meditating picking Billy up and
+      walking off with her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, Billy,&rdquo; he protested just above his breath, &ldquo;this isn't sugarplums
+      nor frosting; it's plain suicide&mdash;standing out in this wind like
+      this! Besides&mdash;&rdquo; He stopped with an angrily despairing glance at her
+      surroundings.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I know,&rdquo; she nodded, a little soberly, understanding the look and
+      answering that first; &ldquo;it isn't pleasant nor comfortable, in lots of ways&mdash;but
+      <i>she's</i> had it all the morning. As for the cold&mdash;I'm as warm as
+      toast. It won't be long, anyway; she's just gone to get something to eat.
+      Then I'm going to May Henderson's for luncheon.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram sighed impatiently and opened his lips&mdash;only to close them
+      with the words unsaid. There was nothing he could do, and he had already
+      said too much, he thought, with a savage glance at the man ahead who still
+      had enough of his paper left to serve for a pretence at reading. As
+      Bertram could see, however, the man was not reading a word&mdash;he was
+      too acutely conscious of the handsome young woman in the long sealskin
+      coat behind him. Billy was already the cynosure of dozens of eyes, and
+      Bertram knew that his own arrival on the scene had not lessened the
+      interest of the owners of those eyes. He only hoped devoutly that no one
+      in the line knew him ar Billy, and that no one quite knew what had
+      happened. He did not wish to see himself and his fiancée the subject of
+      inch-high headlines in some evening paper figuring as:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Talented young composer and her famous artist lover take poor girl's
+      place in a twenty-five-cent ticket line.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He shivered at the thought.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you cold?&rdquo; worried Billy. &ldquo;If you are, don't stand here, please!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He shook his head silently. His eyes were searching the street for the
+      only one whose coming could bring him relief.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It must have been but a coffee-and-sandwich luncheon for the girl, for
+      soon she came. The man surmised that it was she, as soon as he saw her,
+      and stepped back at once. He had no wish for introductions. A moment later
+      the girl was in Billy's place, and Billy herself was at his side.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That was Alice Greggory, Bertram,&rdquo; she told him, as they walked on
+      swiftly; &ldquo;and Bertram, she was actually almost <i>crying</i> when she took
+      my place.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph! Well, I should think she'd better be,&rdquo; growled Bertram,
+      perversely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pooh! It didn't hurt me any, dearie,&rdquo; laughed Billy with a conciliatory
+      pat on his arm as they turned down the street upon which her friend lived.
+      &ldquo;And now can you come in and see May a minute?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm afraid not,&rdquo; regretted Bertram. &ldquo;I wish I could, but I'm busier than
+      busy to-day&mdash;and I was <i>supposed</i> to be already late when I saw
+      you. Jove, Billy, I just couldn't believe my eyes!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You looked it,&rdquo; twinkled Billy. &ldquo;It was worth a farm just to see your
+      face!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'd want the farm&mdash;if I was going through that again,&rdquo; retorted the
+      man, grimly&mdash;Bertram was still seeing that newspaper heading.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But Billy only laughed again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XX. ARKWRIGHT TELLS A STORY
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright called Monday afternoon by appointment; and together he and
+      Billy put the finishing touches to the new song.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was when, with Aunt Hannah, they were having tea before the fire a
+      little later, that Billy told of her adventure the preceding Friday
+      afternoon in front of Symphony Hall.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You knew the girl, of course&mdash;I think you said you knew the girl,&rdquo;
+       ventured Arkwright.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes. She was Alice Greggory. I met her with Uncle William first, over
+      a Lowestoft teapot. Maybe you'd like to know <i>how</i> I met her,&rdquo; smiled
+      Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Alice Greggory?&rdquo; Arkwright's eyes showed a sudden interest. &ldquo;I used to
+      know an Alice Greggory, but it isn't the same one, probably. Her mother
+      was a cripple.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy gave a little cry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, it is&mdash;it must be! <i>My</i> Alice Greggory's mother is a
+      cripple. Oh, do you know them, really?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, it does look like it,&rdquo; rejoined Arkwright, showing even deeper
+      interest. &ldquo;I haven't seen them for four or five years. They used to live
+      in our town. The mother was a little sweet-faced woman with young eyes and
+      prematurely white hair.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That describes my Mrs. Greggory exactly,&rdquo; cried Billy's eager voice. &ldquo;And
+      the daughter?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Alice? Why&mdash;as I said, it's been four years since I've seen her.&rdquo; A
+      touch of constraint had come into Arkwright's voice which Billy's keen ear
+      was quick to detect. &ldquo;She was nineteen then and very pretty.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;About my height, and with light-brown hair and big blue-gray eyes that
+      look steely cold when she's angry?&rdquo; questioned Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I reckon that's about it,&rdquo; acknowledged the man, with a faint smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then they <i>are</i> the ones,&rdquo; declared the girl, plainly excited.
+      &ldquo;Isn't that splendid? Now we can know them, and perhaps do something for
+      them. I love that dear little mother already, and I think I should the
+      daughter&mdash;if she didn't put out so many prickers that I couldn't get
+      near her! But tell us about them. How did they come here? Why didn't you
+      know they were here?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you good at answering a dozen questions at once?&rdquo; asked Aunt Hannah,
+      turning smiling eyes from Billy to the man at her side.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I can try,&rdquo; he offered. &ldquo;To begin with, they are Judge Greggory's
+      widow and daughter. They belong to fine families on both sides, and they
+      used to be well off&mdash;really wealthy, for a small town. But the judge
+      was better at money-making than he was at money-keeping, and when he came
+      to die his income stopped, of course, and his estate was found to be in
+      bad shape through reckless loans and worthless investments. That was eight
+      years ago. Things went from bad to worse then, until there was almost
+      nothing left.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I knew there was some such story as that back of them,&rdquo; declared Billy.
+      &ldquo;But how do you suppose they came here?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To get away from&mdash;everybody, I suspect,&rdquo; replied Arkwright. &ldquo;That
+      would be like them. They were very proud; and it isn't easy, you know, to
+      be nobody where you've been somebody. It doesn't hurt quite so hard&mdash;to
+      be nobody where you've never been anything but nobody.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I suppose so,&rdquo; sighed Billy. &ldquo;Still&mdash;they must have had friends.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They did, of course; but when the love of one's friends becomes <i>too</i>
+      highly seasoned with pity, it doesn't make a pleasant morsel to swallow,
+      specially if you don't like the taste of the pity&mdash;and there are
+      people who don't, you know. The Greggorys were that kind. They were
+      morbidly so. From their cheap little cottage, where they did their own
+      work, they stepped out in their shabby garments and old-fashioned hats
+      with heads even more proudly erect than in the old days when their home
+      and their gowns and their doings were the admiration and envy of the town.
+      You see, they didn't want&mdash;that pity.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I <i>do</i> see,&rdquo; cried Billy, her face aglow with sudden understanding;
+      &ldquo;and I don't believe pity would be&mdash;nice!&rdquo; Her own chin was held high
+      as she spoke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It must have been hard, indeed,&rdquo; murmured Aunt Hannah with a sigh, as she
+      set down her teacup.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It was,&rdquo; nodded Arkwright. &ldquo;Of course Mrs. Greggory, with her crippled
+      foot, could do nothing to bring in any money except to sew a little. It
+      all depended on Alice; and when matters got to their worst she began to
+      teach. She was fond of music, and could play the piano well; and of course
+      she had had the best instruction she could get from city teachers only
+      twenty miles away from our home town. Young as she was&mdash;about
+      seventeen when she began to teach, I think&mdash;she got a few beginners
+      right away, and in two years she had worked up quite a class, meanwhile
+      keeping on with her own studies, herself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They might have carried the thing through, maybe,&rdquo; continued Arkwright,
+      &ldquo;and never <i>apparently</i> known that the 'pity' existed, if it hadn't
+      been for some ugly rumors that suddenly arose attacking the Judge's
+      honesty in an old matter that somebody raked up. That was too much. Under
+      this last straw their courage broke utterly. Alice dismissed every pupil,
+      sold almost all their remaining goods&mdash;they had lots of quite
+      valuable heirlooms; I suspect that's where your Lowestoft teapot came in&mdash;and
+      with the money thus gained they left town. Until they could go, they
+      scarcely showed themselves once on the street, they were never at home to
+      callers, and they left without telling one soul where they were going, so
+      far as we could ever learn.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, the poor dears!&rdquo; cried Billy. &ldquo;How they must have suffered! But
+      things will be different now. You'll go to see them, of course, and&mdash;&rdquo;
+       At the look that came into Arkwright's face, she stopped in surprise.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You forget; they wouldn't wish to see me,&rdquo; demurred the man. And again
+      Billy noticed the odd constraint in his voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But they wouldn't mind <i>you&mdash;here</i>,&rdquo; argued Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm afraid they would. In fact, I'm sure they'd refuse entirely to see
+      me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy's eyes grew determined.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But they can't refuse&mdash;if I bring about a meeting just casually, you
+      know,&rdquo; she challenged.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright laughed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I won't pretend to say as to the consequences of that,&rdquo; he
+      rejoined, rising to his feet; &ldquo;but they might be disastrous. Wasn't it you
+      yourself who were telling me a few minutes ago how steely cold Miss
+      Alice's eyes got when she was angry?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy knew by the way the man spoke that, for some reason, he did not wish
+      to prolong the subject of his meeting the Greggorys. She made a quick
+      shift, therefore, to another phase of the matter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But tell me, please, before you go, how did those rumors come out&mdash;about
+      Judge Greggory's honesty, I mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, I never knew, exactly,&rdquo; frowned Arkwright, musingly. &ldquo;Yet it seems,
+      too, that mother did say in one letter, while I was in Paris, that some of
+      the accusations had been found to be false, and that there was a prospect
+      that the Judge's good name might be saved, after all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I wish it might,&rdquo; sighed Billy. &ldquo;Think what it would mean to those
+      women!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Twould mean everything,&rdquo; cried Arkwright, warmly; &ldquo;and I'll write to
+      mother to-night, I will, and find out just what there is to it-if
+      anything. Then you can tell them,&rdquo; he finished a little stiffly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes&mdash;or you,&rdquo; nodded Billy, lightly. And because she began at once
+      to speak of something else, the first part of her sentence passed without
+      comment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The door had scarcely closed behind Arkwright when Billy turned to Aunt
+      Hannah a beaming face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aunt Hannah, did you notice?&rdquo; she cried, &ldquo;how Mary Jane looked and acted
+      whenever Alice Greggory was spoken of? There was something between them&mdash;I'm
+      sure there was; and they quarrelled, probably.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, no, dear; I didn't see anything unusual,&rdquo; murmured the elder lady.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I did. And I'm going to be the fairy godmother that straightens
+      everything all out, too. See if I'm not! They'd make a splendid couple,
+      Aunt Hannah. I'm going right down there to-morrow.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, my dear!&rdquo; exclaimed the more conservative old lady, &ldquo;aren't you
+      taking things a little too much for granted? Maybe they don't wish for&mdash;for
+      a fairy godmother!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, <i>they</i> won't know I'm a fairy godmother&mdash;not one of them;
+      and of course I wouldn't mention even a hint to anybody,&rdquo; laughed Billy.
+      &ldquo;I'm just going down to get acquainted with the Greggorys; that's all.
+      Only think, Aunt Hannah, what they must have suffered! And look at the
+      place they're living in now&mdash;gentlewomen like them!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, yes, poor things, poor things!&rdquo; sighed Aunt Hannah.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I hope I'll find out that she's really good&mdash;at teaching, I mean&mdash;the
+      daughter,&rdquo; resumed Billy, after a moment's pause. &ldquo;If she is, there's one
+      thing I can do to help, anyhow. I can get some of Marie's old pupils for
+      her. I <i>know</i> some of them haven't begun with a new teacher, yet; and
+      Mrs. Carleton told me last Friday that neither she nor her sister was at
+      all satisfied with the one their girls <i>have</i> taken. They'd change, I
+      know, in a minute, at my recommendation&mdash;that is, of course, if I can
+      <i>give</i> the recommendation,&rdquo; continued Billy, with a troubled frown.
+      &ldquo;Anyhow, I'm going down to begin operations to-morrow.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXI. A MATTER OF STRAIGHT BUSINESS
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      True to her assertion, Billy went down to the Greggorys' the next day.
+      This time she did not take Rosa with her. Even Aunt Hannah conceded that
+      it would not be necessary. She had not been gone ten minutes, however,
+      when the telephone bell rang, and Rosa came to say that Mr. Bertram
+      Henshaw wanted to speak with Mrs. Stetson.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Rosa says that Billy's not there,&rdquo; called Bertram's aggrieved voice, when
+      Aunt Hannah had said, &ldquo;Good morning, my boy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dear me, no, Bertram. She's in a fever of excitement this morning. She'll
+      probably tell you all about it when you come out here to-night. You <i>are</i>
+      coming out to-night, aren't you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes; oh, yes! But what is it? Where's she gone?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah laughed softly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, she's gone down to the Greggorys'.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Greggorys'! What&mdash;again?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, you might as well get used to it, Bertram,&rdquo; bantered Aunt Hannah,
+      &ldquo;for there'll be a good many 'agains,' I fancy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Aunt Hannah, what do you mean?&rdquo; Bertram's voice was not quite
+      pleased.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, she'll tell you. It's only that the Greggorys have turned out to be
+      old friends of Mr. Arkwright's.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;<i>Friends</i> of Arkwright's!&rdquo; Bertram's voice was decidedly displeased
+      now.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes; and there's quite a story to it all, as well. Billy is wildly
+      excited, as you'd know she would be. You'll hear all about it to-night, of
+      course.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, of course,&rdquo; echoed Bertram. But there was no ring of enthusiasm in
+      his voice, neither then, nor when he said good-by a moment later.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy, meanwhile, on her way to the Greggory home, was, as Aunt Hannah had
+      said, &ldquo;wildly excited.&rdquo; It seemed so strange and wonderful and delightful&mdash;the
+      whole affair: that she should have found them because of a Lowestoft
+      teapot, that Arkwright should know them, and that there should be the
+      chance now that she might help them&mdash;in some way; though this last,
+      she knew, could be accomplished only through the exercise of the greatest
+      tact and delicacy. She had not forgotten that Arkwright had told her of
+      their hatred of pity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the sober second thought of the morning, Billy was not sure now of a
+      possible romance in connection with Arkwright and the daughter, Alice; but
+      she had by no means abandoned the idea, and she meant to keep her eyes
+      open&mdash;and if there should be a chance to bring such a thing about&mdash;!
+      Meanwhile, of course, she should not mention the matter, even to Bertram.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Just what would be her method of procedure this first morning, Billy had
+      not determined. The pretty potted azalea in her hand would be excuse for
+      her entrance into the room. After that, circumstances must decide for
+      themselves.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Greggory was found to be alone at home as before, and Billy was glad.
+      She would rather begin with one than two, she thought. The little woman
+      greeted her cordially, gave misty-eyed thanks for the beautiful plant, and
+      also for Billy's kind thoughtfulness Friday afternoon. From that she was
+      very skilfully led to talk more of the daughter; and soon Billy was
+      getting just the information she wanted&mdash;information concerning the
+      character, aims, and daily life of Alice Greggory.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You see, we have some money&mdash;a very little,&rdquo; explained Mrs.
+      Greggory, after a time; &ldquo;though to get it we have had to sell all our
+      treasures&mdash;but the Lowestoft,&rdquo; with a quick glance into Billy's eyes.
+      &ldquo;We need not, perhaps, live in quite so poor a place; but we prefer&mdash;just
+      now&mdash;to spend the little money we have for something other than
+      imitation comfort&mdash;lessons, for instance, and an occasional concert.
+      My daughter is studying even while she is teaching. She hopes to train
+      herself for an accompanist, and for a teacher. She does not aspire to
+      concert solo work. She understands her limitations.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But she is probably&mdash;very good&mdash;at teaching.&rdquo; Billy hesitated a
+      little.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She is; very good. She has the best of recommendations.&rdquo; A little proudly
+      Mrs. Greggory gave the names of two Boston pianists&mdash;names that would
+      carry weight anywhere.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Unconsciously Billy relaxed. She did not know until that moment how she
+      had worried for fear she could not, conscientiously, recommend this Alice
+      Greggory.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course,&rdquo; resumed the mother, &ldquo;Alice's pupils are few, and they pay low
+      prices; but she is gaining. She goes to the houses, of course. She herself
+      practises two hours a day at a house up on Pinckney Street. She gives
+      lessons to a little girl in return.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I see,&rdquo; nodded Billy, brightly; &ldquo;and I've been thinking, Mrs. Greggory&mdash;maybe
+      I know of some pupils she could get. I have a friend who has just given
+      hers up, owing to her marriage. Sometime, soon, I'm going to talk to your
+      daughter, if I may, and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And here she is right now,&rdquo; interposed Mrs. Greggory, as the door opened
+      under a hurried hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy flushed and bit her lip. She was disturbed and disappointed. She did
+      not particularly wish to see Alice Greggory just then. She wished even
+      less to see her when she noted the swift change that came to the girl's
+      face at sight of herself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! Why-good morning, Miss Neilson,&rdquo; murmured Miss Greggory with a smile
+      so forced that her mother hurriedly looked to the azalea in search of a
+      possible peacemaker.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My dear, see,&rdquo; she stammered, &ldquo;what Miss Neilson has brought me. And it's
+      so full of blossoms, too! And she says it'll remain so for a long, long
+      time&mdash;if we'll only keep it wet.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Alice Greggory murmured a low something&mdash;a something that she tried,
+      evidently, very hard to make politely appropriate and appreciative. Yet
+      her manner, as she took off her hat and coat and sat down, so plainly
+      said: &ldquo;You are very kind, of course, but I wish you would keep yourself
+      and your plants at home!&rdquo; that Mrs. Greggory began a hurried apology, much
+      as if the words had indeed been spoken.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My daughter is really ill this morning. You mustn't mind&mdash;that is,
+      I'm afraid you'll think&mdash;you see, she took cold last week; a bad cold&mdash;and
+      she isn't over it, yet,&rdquo; finished the little woman in painful
+      embarrassment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course she took cold&mdash;standing all those hours in that horrid
+      wind, Friday!&rdquo; cried Billy, indignantly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A quick red flew to Alice Greggory's face. Billy saw it at once and
+      fervently wished she had spoken of anything but that Friday afternoon. It
+      looked almost as if she were <i>reminding</i> them of what she had done
+      that day. In her confusion, and in her anxiety to say something&mdash;anything
+      that would get their minds off that idea&mdash;she uttered now the first
+      words that came into her head. As it happened, they were the last words
+      that sober second thought would have told her to say.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never mind, Mrs. Greggory. We'll have her all well and strong soon; never
+      fear! Just wait till I send Peggy and Mary Jane to take her out for a
+      drive one of these mild, sunny days. You have no idea how much good it
+      will do her!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Alice Greggory got suddenly to her feet. Her face was very white now. Her
+      eyes had the steely coldness that Billy knew so well. Her voice, when she
+      spoke, was low and sternly controlled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Neilson, you will think me rude, of course, especially after your
+      great kindness to me the other day; but I can't help it. It seems to me
+      best to speak now before it goes any further.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Alice, dear,&rdquo; remonstrated Mrs. Greggory, extending a frightened hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The girl did not turn her head nor hesitate; but she caught the extended
+      hand and held it warmly in both her own, with gentle little pats, while
+      she went on speaking.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm sure mother agrees with me that it is best, for the present, that we
+      keep quite to ourselves. I cannot question your kindness, of course, after
+      your somewhat unusual favor the other day; but I am very sure that your
+      friends, Miss Peggy, and Miss Mary Jane, have no real desire to make my
+      acquaintance, nor&mdash;if you'll pardon me&mdash;have I, under the
+      circumstances, any wish to make theirs.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Alice, Alice,&rdquo; began the little mother, in dismay; but a rippling
+      laugh from their visitor brought an angry flush even to her gentle face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy understood the flush, and struggled for self-control.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Please&mdash;please, forgive me!&rdquo; she choked. &ldquo;But you see&mdash;you
+      couldn't, of course, know that Mary Jane and Peggy aren't <i>girls</i>.
+      They're just a man and an automobile!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      An unwilling smile trembled on Alice Greggory's lips; but she still stood
+      her ground.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;After all, girls, or men and automobiles, Miss Neilson&mdash;it makes
+      little difference. They're&mdash;charity. And it's not so long that we've
+      been objects of charity that we quite really enjoy it&mdash;yet.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a moment's hush. Billy's eyes had filled with tears.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I never even <i>thought</i>&mdash;charity,&rdquo; said Billy, so gently that a
+      faint red stole into the white cheeks opposite.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For a tense minute Alice Greggory held herself erect; then, with a
+      complete change of manner and voice, she released her mother's hand,
+      dropped into her own chair again, and said wearily:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know you didn't, Miss Neilson. It's all my foolish pride, of course.
+      It's only that I was thinking how dearly I would love to meet girls again&mdash;just
+      as <i>girls!</i> But&mdash;I no longer have any business with pride, of
+      course. I shall be pleased, I'm sure,&rdquo; she went on dully, &ldquo;to accept
+      anything you may do for us, from automobile rides to&mdash;to red flannel
+      petticoats.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy almost&mdash;but not quite&mdash;laughed. Still, the laugh would
+      have been near to a sob, had it been given. Surprising as was the quick
+      transition in the girl's manner, and absurd as was the juxtaposition of
+      automobiles and red flannel petticoats, the white misery of Alice
+      Greggory's face and the weary despair of her attitude were tragic&mdash;specially
+      to one who knew her story as did Billy Neilson. And it was because Billy
+      did know her story that she did not make the mistake now of offering pity.
+      Instead, she said with a bright smile, and a casual manner that gave no
+      hint of studied labor:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, as it happens, Miss Greggory, what I want to-day has nothing
+      whatever to do with automobiles or red flannel petticoats. It's a matter
+      of straight business.&rdquo; (How Billy blessed the thought that had so suddenly
+      come to her!) &ldquo;Your mother tells me you play accompaniments. Now a girls'
+      club, of which I am a member, is getting up an operetta for charity, and
+      we need an accompanist. There is no one in the club who is able, and at
+      the same time willing, to spend the amount of time necessary for practice
+      and rehearsals. So we had decided to hire one outside, and I have been
+      given the task of finding one. It has occurred to me that perhaps you
+      would be willing to undertake it for us. Would you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy knew, at once, from the quick change in the other's face and manner,
+      that she had taken exactly the right course to relieve the strain of the
+      situation. Despair and lassitude fell away from Alice Greggory almost like
+      a garment. Her countenance became alert and interested.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Indeed I would! I should be glad to do it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good! Then can you come out to my home sometime to-morrow, and go over
+      the music with me? Rehearsals will not begin until next week; but I can
+      give you the music, and tell you something of what we are planning to do.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. I could come at ten in the morning for an hour, or at three in the
+      afternoon for two hours or more,&rdquo; replied Miss Greggory, after a moment's
+      hesitation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Suppose we call it in the afternoon, then,&rdquo; smiled Billy, as she rose to
+      her feet. &ldquo;And now I must go&mdash;and here's my address,&rdquo; she finished,
+      taking out her card and laying it on the table near her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For reasons of her own Billy went away that morning without saying
+      anything more about the proposed new pupils. New pupils were not
+      automobile rides nor petticoats, to be sure&mdash;but she did not care to
+      risk disturbing the present interested happiness of Alice Greggory's face
+      by mentioning anything that might be construed as too officious an
+      assistance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the whole, Billy felt well pleased with her morning's work. To Aunt
+      Hannah, upon her return, she expressed herself thus:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's splendid&mdash;even better than I hoped. I shall have a chance
+      to-morrow, of course, to see for myself just how well she plays, and all
+      that. I'm pretty sure, though, from what I hear, that that part will be
+      all right. Then the operetta will give us a chance to see a good deal of
+      her, and to bring about a natural meeting between her and Mary Jane. Oh,
+      Aunt Hannah, I couldn't have <i>planned</i> it better&mdash;and there the
+      whole thing just tumbled into my hands! I knew it had the minute I
+      remembered about the operetta. You know I'm chairman, and they left me to
+      get the accompanist; and like a flash it came to me, when I was wondering
+      <i>what</i> to say or do to get her out of that awful state she was in&mdash;'Ask
+      her to be your accompanist.' And I did. And I'm so glad I did! Oh, Aunt
+      Hannah, it's coming out lovely!&mdash;I know it is.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXII. PLANS AND PLOTTINGS
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      To Billy, Alice Greggory's first visit to Hillside was in every way a
+      delight and a satisfaction. To Alice, it was even more than that. For the
+      first time in years she found herself welcomed into a home of wealth,
+      culture, and refinement as an equal; and the frank cordiality and
+      naturalness of her hostess's evident expectation of meeting a congenial
+      companion was like balm to a sensitive soul rendered morbid by long years
+      of superciliousness and snubbing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      No wonder that under the cheery friendliness of it all, Alice Greggory's
+      cold reserve vanished, and that in its place came something very like her
+      old ease and charm of manner. By the time Aunt Hannah&mdash;according to
+      previous agreement&mdash;came into the room, the two girls were laughing
+      and chatting over the operetta as if they had known each other for years.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Much to Billy's delight, Alice Greggory, as a musician, proved to be
+      eminently satisfactory. She was quick at sight reading, and accurate. She
+      played easily, and with good expression. Particularly was she a good
+      accompanist, possessing to a marked degree that happy faculty of <i>accompanying</i>
+      a singer: which means that she neither led the way nor lagged behind,
+      being always exactly in sympathetic step&mdash;than which nothing is more
+      soul-satisfying to the singer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was after the music for the operetta had been well-practised and
+      discussed that Alice Greggory chanced to see one of Billy's own songs
+      lying near her. With a pleased smile she picked it up.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, you know this, too!&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;I played it for a lady only the
+      other day. It's so pretty, I think&mdash;all of hers are, that I have
+      seen. Billy Neilson is a girl, you know, they say, in spite of&mdash;&rdquo; She
+      stopped abruptly. Her eyes grew wide and questioning. &ldquo;Miss Neilson&mdash;it
+      can't be&mdash;you don't mean&mdash;is your name&mdash;it <i>is&mdash;you!</i>&rdquo;
+       she finished joyously, as the telltale color dyed Billy's face. The next
+      moment her own cheeks burned scarlet. &ldquo;And to think of my letting <i>you</i>
+      stand in line for a twenty-five-cent admission!&rdquo; she scorned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense!&rdquo; laughed Billy. &ldquo;It didn't hurt me any more than it did you.
+      Come!&rdquo;&mdash;in looking about for a quick something to take her guest's
+      attention, Billy's eyes fell on the manuscript copy of her new song,
+      bearing Arkwright's name. Yielding to a daring impulse, she drew it
+      hastily forward. &ldquo;Here's a new one&mdash;a brand-new one, not even printed
+      yet. Don't you think the words are pretty?&rdquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As she had hoped, Alice Greggory's eyes, after they had glanced half-way
+      through the first page, sought the name at the left side below the title.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Words by M. J.&mdash;'&rdquo;&mdash;there was a visible start, and a pause
+      before the &ldquo;'Arkwright'&rdquo; was uttered in a slightly different tone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy noted both the start and the pause&mdash;and gloried in them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes; the words are by M. J. Arkwright,&rdquo; she said with smooth unconcern,
+      but with a covert glance at the other's face. &ldquo;Ever hear of him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Alice Greggory gave a short little laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Probably not&mdash;this one. I used to know an M. J. Arkwright, long ago;
+      but he wasn't&mdash;a poet, so far as I know,&rdquo; she finished, with a little
+      catch in her breath that made Billy long to take her into a warm embrace.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Alice Greggory turned then to the music. She had much to say of this&mdash;very
+      much; but she had nothing more whatever to say of Mr. M. J. Arkwright in
+      spite of the tempting conversation bait that Billy dropped so freely.
+      After that, Rosa brought in tea and toast, and the little frosted cakes
+      that were always such a favorite with Billy's guests. Then Alice Greggory
+      said good-by&mdash;her eyes full of tears that Billy pretended not to see.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There!&rdquo; breathed Billy, as soon as she had Aunt Hannah to herself again.
+      &ldquo;What did I tell you? Did you see Miss Greggory's start and blush and hear
+      her sigh just over the <i>name</i> of M. J. Arkwright? Just as if&mdash;!
+      Now I want them to meet; only it must be casual, Aunt Hannah&mdash;casual!
+      And I'd rather wait till Mary Jane hears from his mother, if possible, so
+      if there <i>is</i> anything good to tell the poor girl, he can tell it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, of course. Dear child!&mdash;I hope he can,&rdquo; murmured Aunt Hannah.
+      (Aunt Hannah had ceased now trying to make Billy refrain from the
+      reprehensible &ldquo;Mary Jane.&rdquo; In fact, if the truth were known, Aunt Hannah
+      herself in her thoughts&mdash;and sometimes in her words&mdash;called him
+      &ldquo;Mary Jane.&rdquo;) &ldquo;But, indeed, my dear, I didn't see anything stiff, or&mdash;or
+      repelling about Miss Greggory, as you said there was.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There wasn't&mdash;to-day,&rdquo; smiled Billy. &ldquo;Honestly, Aunt Hannah, I
+      should never have known her for the same girl&mdash;who showed me the door
+      that first morning,&rdquo; she finished merrily, as she turned to go up-stairs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was the next day that Cyril and Marie came home from their honeymoon.
+      They went directly to their pretty little apartment on Beacon Street,
+      Brookline, within easy walking distance of Billy's own cozy home.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Cyril intended to build in a year or two. Meanwhile they had a very
+      pretty, convenient home which was, according to Bertram, &ldquo;electrified to
+      within an inch of its life, and equipped with everything that was
+      fireless, smokeless, dustless, and laborless.&rdquo; In it Marie had a
+      spotlessly white kitchen where she might make puddings to her heart's
+      content.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Marie had&mdash;again according to Bertram&mdash;&ldquo;a visiting acquaintance
+      with a maid.&rdquo; In other words, a stout woman was engaged to come two days
+      in the week to wash, iron, and scrub; also to come in each night to wash
+      the dinner dishes, thus leaving Marie's evenings free&mdash;&ldquo;for the
+      shaded lamp,&rdquo; Billy said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Marie had not arrived at this&mdash;to her, delightful&mdash;arrangement
+      of a &ldquo;visiting acquaintance&rdquo; without some opposition from her friends.
+      Even Billy had stood somewhat aghast.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, my dear, won't it be hard for you, to do so much?&rdquo; she argued one
+      day. &ldquo;You know you aren't very strong.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know; but it won't be hard, as I've planned it,&rdquo; replied Marie,
+      &ldquo;specially when I've been longing for years to do this very thing. Why,
+      Billy, if I had to stand by and watch a maid do all these things I want to
+      do myself, I should feel just like&mdash;like a hungry man who sees
+      another man eating up his dinner! Oh, of course,&rdquo; she added plaintively,
+      after Billy's laughter had subsided, &ldquo;I sha'n't do it always. I don't
+      expect to. Of course, when we have a house&mdash;I'm not sure, then,
+      though, that I sha'n't dress up the maid and order her to receive the
+      calls and go to the pink teas, while I make her puddings,&rdquo; she finished
+      saucily, as Billy began to laugh again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The bride and groom, as was proper, were, soon after their arrival,
+      invited to dine at both William's and Billy's. Then, until Marie's &ldquo;At
+      Homes&rdquo; should begin, the devoted couple settled down to quiet days by
+      themselves, with only occasional visits from the family to interrupt&mdash;&ldquo;interrupt&rdquo;
+       was Bertram's word, not Marie's. Though it is safe to say it was not far
+      different from the one Cyril used&mdash;in his thoughts.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram himself, these days, was more than busy. Besides working on Miss
+      Winthrop's portrait, and on two or three other commissions, he was putting
+      the finishing touches to four pictures which he was to show in the
+      exhibition soon to be held by a prominent Art Club of which he was the
+      acknowledged &ldquo;star&rdquo; member. Naturally, therefore, his time was well
+      occupied. Naturally, too, Billy, knowing this, lashed herself more sternly
+      than ever into a daily reminder of Kate's assertion that he belonged first
+      to his Art.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In pursuance of this idea, Billy was careful to see that no engagement
+      with herself should in any way interfere with the artist's work, and that
+      no word of hers should attempt to keep him at her side when ART called.
+      (Billy always spelled that word now in her mind with tall, black letters&mdash;the
+      way it had sounded when it fell from Kate's lips.) That these tactics on
+      her part were beginning to fill her lover with vague alarm and a very
+      definite unrest, she did not once suspect. Eagerly, therefore,&mdash;even
+      with conscientious delight&mdash;she welcomed the new song-words that
+      Arkwright brought&mdash;they would give her something else to take up her
+      time and attention. She welcomed them, also, for another reason: they
+      would bring Arkwright more often to the house, and this would, of course,
+      lead to that &ldquo;casual meeting&rdquo; between him and Alice Greggory when the
+      rehearsals for the operetta should commence&mdash;which would be very soon
+      now. And Billy did so long to bring about that meeting!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To Billy, all this was but &ldquo;occupying her mind,&rdquo; and playing Cupid's
+      assistant to a worthy young couple torn cruelly apart by an unfeeling
+      fate. To Bertram&mdash;to Bertram it was terror, and woe, and all manner
+      of torture; for in it Bertram saw only a growing fondness on the part of
+      Billy for Arkwright, Arkwright's music, Arkwright's words, and Arkwright's
+      friends.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The first rehearsal for the operetta came on Wednesday evening. There
+      would be another on Thursday afternoon. Billy had told Alice Greggory to
+      arrange her pupils so that she could stay Wednesday night at Hillside, if
+      the crippled mother could get along alone&mdash;and she could, Alice had
+      said. Thursday forenoon, therefore, Alice Greggory would, in all
+      probability, be at Hillside, specially as there would doubtless be an
+      appointment or two for private rehearsal with some nervous soloist whose
+      part was not progressing well. Such being the case, Billy had a plan she
+      meant to carry out. She was highly pleased, therefore, when Thursday
+      morning came, and everything, apparently, was working exactly to her mind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Alice was there. She had an appointment at quarter of eleven with the
+      leading tenor, and another later with the alto. After breakfast,
+      therefore, Billy said decisively:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now, if you please, Miss Greggory, I'm going to put you up-stairs on the
+      couch in the sewing-room for a nap.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I've just got up,&rdquo; remonstrated Miss Greggory.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know you have,&rdquo; smiled Billy; &ldquo;but you were very late to bed last
+      night, and you've got a hard day before you. I insist upon your resting.
+      You will be absolutely undisturbed there, and you must shut the door and
+      not come down-stairs till I send for you. Mr. Johnson isn't due till
+      quarter of eleven, is he?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;N-no.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then come with me,&rdquo; directed Billy, leading the way up-stairs. &ldquo;There,
+      now, don't come down till I call you,&rdquo; she went on, when they had reached
+      the little room at the end of the hall. &ldquo;I'm going to leave Aunt Hannah's
+      door open, so you'll have good air&mdash;she isn't in there. She's writing
+      letters in my room, Now here's a book, and you <i>may</i> read, but I
+      should prefer you to sleep,&rdquo; she nodded brightly as she went out and shut
+      the door quietly. Then, like the guilty conspirator she was, she went
+      down-stairs to wait for Arkwright.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a fine plan. Arkwright was due at ten o'clock&mdash;Billy had
+      specially asked him to come at that hour. He would not know, of course,
+      that Alice Greggory was in the house; but soon after his arrival Billy
+      meant to excuse herself for a moment, slip up-stairs and send Alice
+      Greggory down for a book, a pair of scissors, a shawl for Aunt Hannah&mdash;anything
+      would do for a pretext, anything so that the girl might walk into the
+      living-room and find Arkwright waiting for her alone. And then&mdash;What
+      happened next was, in Billy's mind, very vague, but very attractive as a
+      nucleus for one's thoughts, nevertheless.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All this was, indeed, a fine plan; but&mdash;(If only fine plans would not
+      so often have a &ldquo;but&rdquo;!) In Billy's case the &ldquo;but&rdquo; had to do with things so
+      apparently unrelated as were Aunt Hannah's clock and a negro's coal wagon.
+      The clock struck eleven at half-past ten, and the wagon dumped itself to
+      destruction directly in front of a trolley car in which sat Mr. M. J.
+      Arkwright, hurrying to keep his appointment with Miss Billy Neilson. It
+      was almost half-past ten when Arkwright finally rang the bell at Hillside.
+      Billy greeted him so eagerly, and at the same time with such evident
+      disappointment at his late arrival, that Arkwright's heart sang with joy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But there's a rehearsal at quarter of eleven,&rdquo; exclaimed Billy, in answer
+      to his hurried explanation of the delay; &ldquo;and this gives so little time
+      for&mdash;for&mdash;so little time, you know,&rdquo; she finished in confusion,
+      casting frantically about in her mind for an excuse to hurry up-stairs and
+      send Alice Greggory down before it should be quite too late.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      No wonder that Arkwright, noting the sparkle in her eye, the agitation in
+      her manner, and the embarrassed red in her cheek, took new courage. For so
+      long had this girl held him at the end of a major third or a diminished
+      seventh; for so long had she blithely accepted his every word and act as
+      devotion to music, not herself&mdash;for so long had she done all this
+      that he had come to fear that never would she do anything else. No wonder
+      then, that now, in the soft radiance of the strange, new light on her
+      face, his own face glowed ardently, and that he leaned forward with an
+      impetuous rush of eager words.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But there is time, Miss Billy&mdash;if you'd give me leave&mdash;to say&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm afraid I kept you waiting,&rdquo; interrupted the hurried voice of Alice
+      Greggory from the hall doorway. &ldquo;I was asleep, I think, when a clock
+      somewhere, striking eleven&mdash;Why, Mr.&mdash;Arkwright!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Not until Alice Greggory had nearly crossed the room did she see that the
+      man standing by her hostess was&mdash;not the tenor she had expected to
+      find&mdash;but an old acquaintance. Then it was that the tremulous
+      &ldquo;Mr.-Arkwright!&rdquo; fell from her lips.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy and Arkwright had turned at her first words. At her last, Arkwright,
+      with a half-despairing, half-reproachful glance at Billy, stepped forward.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Greggory!&mdash;you <i>are</i> Miss Alice Greggory, I am sure,&rdquo; he
+      said pleasantly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the first opportunity Billy murmured a hasty excuse and left the room.
+      To Aunt Hannah she flew with a woebegone face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Aunt Hannah, Aunt Hannah,&rdquo; she wailed, half laughing, half crying;
+      &ldquo;that wretched little fib-teller of a clock of yours spoiled it all!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Spoiled it! Spoiled what, child?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My first meeting between Mary Jane and Miss Greggory. I had it all
+      arranged that they were to have it <i>alone</i>; but that miserable little
+      fibber up-stairs struck eleven at half-past ten, and Miss Greggory heard
+      it and thought she was fifteen minutes late. So down she hurried, half
+      awake, and spoiled all my plans. Now she's sitting in there with him, in
+      chairs the length of the room apart, discussing the snowstorm last night
+      or the moonrise this morning&mdash;or some other such silly thing. And I
+      had it so beautifully planned!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, well, dear, I'm sorry, I'm sure,&rdquo; smiled Aunt Hannah; &ldquo;but I can't
+      think any real harm is done. Did Mary Jane have anything to tell her&mdash;about
+      her father, I mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Only the faintest flicker of Billy's eyelid testified that the everyday
+      accustomedness of that &ldquo;Mary Jane&rdquo; on Aunt Hannah's lips had not escaped
+      her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, nothing definite. Yet there was a little. Friends are still trying to
+      clear his name, and I believe are meeting with increasing success. I don't
+      know, of course, whether he'll say anything about it to-day&mdash;<i>now</i>.
+      To think I had to be right round under foot like that when they met!&rdquo; went
+      on Billy, indignantly. &ldquo;I shouldn't have been, in a minute more, though. I
+      was just trying to think up an excuse to come up and send down Miss
+      Greggory, when Mary Jane began to tell me something&mdash;I haven't the
+      faintest idea what&mdash;then <i>she</i> appeared, and it was all over.
+      And there's the doorbell, and the tenor, I suppose; so of course it's all
+      over now,&rdquo; she sighed, rising to go down-stairs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As it chanced, however, it was not the tenor, but a message from him&mdash;a
+      message that brought dire consternation to the Chairman of the Committee
+      of Arrangements. The tenor had thrown up his part. He could not take it;
+      it was too difficult. He felt that this should be told&mdash;at once
+      rather than to worry along for another week or two, and then give up. So
+      he had told it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But what shall we do, Miss Greggory?&rdquo; appealed Billy. &ldquo;It <i>is</i> a
+      hard part, you know; but if Mr. Tobey can't take it, I don't know who can.
+      We don't want to hire a singer for it, if we can help it. The profits are
+      to go to the Home for Crippled Children, you know,&rdquo; she explained, turning
+      to Arkwright, &ldquo;and we decided to hire only the accompanist.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      An odd expression flitted across Miss Greggory's face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Arkwright used to sing&mdash;tenor,&rdquo; she observed quietly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As if he didn't now&mdash;a perfectly glorious tenor,&rdquo; retorted Billy.
+      &ldquo;But as if <i>he</i> would take <i>this!</i>&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      For only a brief moment did Arkwright hesitate; then blandly he suggested:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Suppose you try him, and see.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy sat suddenly erect.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Would you, really? <i>Could</i> you&mdash;take the time, and all?&rdquo; she
+      cried.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I think I would&mdash;under the circumstances,&rdquo; he smiled. &ldquo;I think
+      I could, too, though I might not be able to attend all the rehearsals.
+      Still, if I find I have to ask permission, I'll endeavor to convince the
+      powers-that-be that singing in this operetta will be just the
+      stepping-stone I need to success in Grand Opera.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, if you only would take it,&rdquo; breathed Billy, &ldquo;we'd be so glad!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; said Arkwright, his eyes on Billy's frankly delighted face, &ldquo;as I
+      said before&mdash;under the circumstances I think I would.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you! Then it's all beautifully settled,&rdquo; rejoiced Billy, with a
+      happy sigh; and unconsciously she gave Alice Greggory's hand near her a
+      little pat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In Billy's mind the &ldquo;circumstances&rdquo; of Arkwright's acceptance of the part
+      were Alice Greggory and her position as accompanist, of course. Billy
+      would have been surprised indeed&mdash;and dismayed&mdash;had she known
+      that in Arkwright's mind the &ldquo;circumstances&rdquo; were herself, and the fact
+      that she, too, had a part in the operetta, necessitating her presence at
+      rehearsals, and hinting at a delightful comradeship impossible, perhaps,
+      otherwise.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXIII. THE CAUSE AND BERTRAM
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      February came The operetta, for which Billy was working so hard, was to be
+      given the twentieth. The Art Exhibition, for which Bertram was preparing
+      his four pictures, was to open the sixteenth, with a private view for
+      specially invited friends the evening before.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the eleventh day of February Mrs. Greggory and her daughter arrived at
+      Hillside for a ten-days' visit. Not until after a great deal of pleading
+      and argument, however, had Billy been able to bring this about.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, my dears, both of you,&rdquo; Billy had at last said to them; &ldquo;just
+      listen. We shall have numberless rehearsals during those last ten days
+      before the thing comes off. They will be at all hours, and of all lengths.
+      You, Miss Greggory, will have to be on hand for them all, of course, and
+      will have to stay all night several times, probably. You, Mrs. Greggory,
+      ought not to be alone down here. There is no sensible, valid reason why
+      you should not both come out to the house for those ten days; and I shall
+      feel seriously hurt and offended if you do not consent to do it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But&mdash;my pupils,&rdquo; Alice Greggory had demurred.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You can go in town from my home at any time to give your lessons, and a
+      little shifting about and arranging for those ten days will enable you to
+      set the hours conveniently one after another, I am sure, so you can attend
+      to several on one trip. Meanwhile your mother will be having a lovely time
+      teaching Aunt Hannah how to knit a new shawl; so you won't have to be
+      worrying about her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      After all, it had been the great good and pleasure which the visit would
+      bring to Mrs. Greggory that had been the final straw to tip the scales. On
+      the eleventh of February, therefore, in the company of the once scorned
+      &ldquo;Peggy and Mary Jane,&rdquo; Alice Greggory and her mother had arrived at
+      Hillside.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ever since the first meeting of Alice Greggory and Arkwright, Billy had
+      been sorely troubled by the conduct of the two young people. She had, as
+      she mournfully told herself, been able to make nothing of it. The two were
+      civility itself to each other, but very plainly they were not at ease in
+      each other's company; and Billy, much to her surprise, had to admit that
+      Arkwright did not appear to appreciate the &ldquo;circumstances&rdquo; now that he had
+      them. The pair called each other, ceremoniously, &ldquo;Mr. Arkwright,&rdquo; and
+      &ldquo;Miss Greggory&rdquo;&mdash;but then, that, of course, did not &ldquo;signify,&rdquo; Billy
+      declared to herself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I suppose you don't ever call him 'Mary Jane,'&rdquo; she said to the girl, a
+      little mischievously, one day.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Mary Jane'? Mr. Arkwright? No, I don't,&rdquo; rejoined Miss Greggory, with an
+      odd smile. Then, after a moment, she added: &ldquo;I believe his brothers and
+      sisters used to, however.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I know,&rdquo; laughed Billy. &ldquo;We thought he was a real Mary Jane, once.&rdquo;
+       And she told the story of his arrival. &ldquo;So you see,&rdquo; she finished, when
+      Alice Greggory had done laughing over the tale, &ldquo;he always will be 'Mary
+      Jane' to us. By the way, what is his name?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Greggory looked up in surprise.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, it's&mdash;&rdquo; She stopped short, her eyes questioning. &ldquo;Why, hasn't
+      he ever told you?&rdquo; she queried.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy lifted her chin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. He told us to guess it, and we have guessed everything we can think
+      of, even up to 'Methuselah John'; but he says we haven't hit it yet.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Methuselah John,' indeed!&rdquo; laughed the other, merrily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I'm sure that's a nice, solid name,&rdquo; defended Billy, her chin still
+      at a challenging tilt. &ldquo;If it isn't 'Methuselah John,' what is it, then?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But Alice Greggory shook her head. She, too, it seemed, could be firm, on
+      occasion. And though she smiled brightly, all she would say, was:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If he hasn't told you, I sha'n't. You'll have to go to him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, well, I can still call him 'Mary Jane,'&rdquo; retorted Billy, with airy
+      disdain.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All this, however, so far as Billy could see, was not in the least helping
+      along the cause that had become so dear to her&mdash;the reuniting of a
+      pair of lovers. It occurred to her then, one day, that perhaps, after all,
+      they were not lovers, and did not wish to be reunited. At this disquieting
+      thought Billy decided, suddenly, to go almost to headquarters. She would
+      speak to Mrs. Greggory if ever the opportunity offered. Great was her joy,
+      therefore, when, a day or two after the Greggorys arrived at the house,
+      Mrs. Greggory's chance reference to Arkwright and her daughter gave Billy
+      the opportunity she sought.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They used to know each other long ago, Mr. Arkwright tells me,&rdquo; Billy
+      began warily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The quietly polite monosyllable was not very encouraging, to be sure; but
+      Billy, secure in her conviction that her cause was a righteous one,
+      refused to be daunted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think it was so romantic&mdash;their running across each other like
+      this, Mrs. Greggory,&rdquo; she murmured. &ldquo;And there <i>was</i> a romance,
+      wasn't there? I have just felt in my bones that there was&mdash;a
+      romance!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy held her breath. It was what she had meant to say, but now that she
+      had said it, the words seemed very fearsome indeed&mdash;to say to Mrs.
+      Greggory. Then Billy remembered her Cause, and took heart&mdash;Billy was
+      spelling it now with a capital C.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For a long minute Mrs. Greggory did not answer&mdash;for so long a minute
+      that Billy's breath dropped into a fluttering sigh, and her Cause became
+      suddenly &ldquo;IMPERTINENCE&rdquo; spelled in black capitals. Then Mrs. Greggory
+      spoke slowly, a little sadly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't mind saying to you that I did hope, once, that there would be a
+      romance there. They were the best of friends, and they were well-suited to
+      each other in tastes and temperament. I think, indeed, that the romance
+      was well under way (though there was never an engagement) when&mdash;&rdquo;
+       Mrs. Greggory paused and wet her lips. Her voice, when she resumed,
+      carried the stern note so familiar to Billy in her first acquaintance with
+      this woman and her daughter. &ldquo;As I presume Mr. Arkwright has told you, we
+      have met with many changes in our life&mdash;changes which necessitated a
+      new home and a new mode of living. Naturally, under those circumstances,
+      old friends&mdash;and old romances&mdash;must change, too.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, Mrs. Greggory,&rdquo; stammered Billy, &ldquo;I'm sure Mr. Arkwright would want&mdash;&rdquo;
+       An up-lifted hand silenced her peremptorily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Arkwright was very kind, and a gentleman, always,&rdquo; interposed the
+      lady, coldly; &ldquo;but Judge Greggory's daughter would not allow herself to be
+      placed where apologies for her father would be necessary&mdash;<i>ever!</i>
+      There, please, dear Miss Neilson, let us not talk of it any more,&rdquo; begged
+      Mrs. Greggory, brokenly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, indeed, of course not!&rdquo; cried Billy; but her heart rejoiced.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She understood it all now. Arkwright and Alice Greggory had been almost
+      lovers when the charges against the Judge's honor had plunged the family
+      into despairing humiliation. Then had come the time when, according to
+      Arkwright's own story, the two women had shut themselves indoors, refused
+      to see their friends, and left town as soon as possible. Thus had come the
+      breaking of whatever tie there was between Alice Greggory and Arkwright.
+      Not to have broken it would have meant, for Alice, the placing of herself
+      in a position where, sometime, apologies must be made for her father. This
+      was what Mrs. Greggory had meant&mdash;and again, as Billy thought of it,
+      Billy's heart rejoiced.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Was not her way clear now before her? Did she not have it in her power,
+      possibly&mdash;even probably&mdash;to bring happiness where only sadness
+      was before? As if it would not be a simple thing to rekindle the old flame&mdash;to
+      make these two estranged hearts beat as one again!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Not now was the Cause an IMPERTINENCE in tall black letters. It was,
+      instead, a shining beacon in letters of flame guiding straight to victory.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy went to sleep that night making plans for Alice Greggory and
+      Arkwright to be thrown together naturally&mdash;&ldquo;just as a matter of
+      course, you know,&rdquo; she said drowsily to herself, all in the dark.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Some three or four miles away down Beacon Street at that moment Bertram
+      Henshaw, in the Strata, was, as it happened, not falling asleep. He was
+      lying broadly and unhappily awake Bertram very frequently lay broadly and
+      unhappily awake these days&mdash;or rather nights. He told himself, on
+      these occasions, that it was perfectly natural&mdash;indeed it was!&mdash;that
+      Billy should be with Arkwright and his friends, the Greggorys, so much.
+      There were the new songs, and the operetta with its rehearsals as a cause
+      for it all. At the same time, deep within his fearful soul was the
+      consciousness that Arkwright, the Greggorys, and the operetta were but
+      Music&mdash;Music, the spectre that from the first had dogged his
+      footsteps.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With Billy's behavior toward himself, Bertram could find no fault. She was
+      always her sweet, loyal, lovable self, eager to hear of his work,
+      earnestly solicitous that it should be a success. She even&mdash;as he
+      sometimes half-irritably remembered&mdash;had once told him that she
+      realized he belonged to Art before he did to himself; and when he had
+      indignantly denied this, she had only laughed and thrown a kiss at him,
+      with the remark that he ought to hear his sister Kate's opinion of that
+      matter. As if he wanted Kate's opinion on that or anything else that
+      concerned him and Billy!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Once, torn by jealousy, and exasperated at the frequent interruptions of
+      their quiet hours together, he had complained openly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Actually, Billy, it's worse than Marie's wedding,&rdquo; he declared, &ldquo;<i>Then</i>
+      it was tablecloths and napkins that could be dumped in a chair. <i>Now</i>
+      it's a girl who wants to rehearse, or a woman that wants a different wig,
+      or a telephone message that the sopranos have quarrelled again. I loathe
+      that operetta!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed, but she frowned, too.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know, dear; I don't like that part. I wish they <i>would</i> let me
+      alone when I'm with you! But as for the operetta, it is really a good
+      thing, dear, and you'll say so when you see it. It's going to be a great
+      success&mdash;I can say that because my part is only a small one, you
+      know. We shall make lots of money for the Home, too, I'm sure.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you're wearing yourself all out with it, dear,&rdquo; scowled Bertram.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense! I like it; besides, when I'm doing this I'm not telephoning you
+      to come and amuse me. Just think what a lot of extra time you have for
+      your work!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't want it,&rdquo; avowed Bertram.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But the <i>work</i> may,&rdquo; retorted Billy, showing all her dimples. &ldquo;Never
+      mind, though; it'll all be over after the twentieth. <i>This</i> isn't an
+      understudy like Marie's wedding, you know,&rdquo; she finished demurely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank heaven for that!&rdquo; Bertram had breathed fervently. But even as he
+      said the words he grew sick with fear. What if, after all, this <i>were</i>
+      an understudy to what was to come later when Music, his rival, had really
+      conquered?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram knew that however secure might seem Billy's affection for himself,
+      there was still in his own mind a horrid fear lest underneath that
+      security were an unconscious, growing fondness for something he could not
+      give, for some one that he was not&mdash;a fondness that would one day
+      cause Billy to awake. As Bertram, in his morbid fancy pictured it, he
+      realized only too well what that awakening would mean to himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXIV. THE ARTIST AND HIS ART
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      The private view of the paintings and drawings of the Brush and Pencil
+      Club on the evening of the fifteenth was a great success. Society sent its
+      fairest women in frocks that were pictures in themselves. Art sent its
+      severest critics and its most ardent devotees. The Press sent reporters
+      that the World might know what Art and Society were doing, and how they
+      did it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Before the canvases signed with Bertram Henshaw's name there was always to
+      be found an admiring group representing both Art and Society with the
+      Press on the outskirts to report. William Henshaw, coming unobserved upon
+      one such group, paused a moment to smile at the various more or less
+      disconnected comments.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What a lovely blue!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Marvellous color sense!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now those shadows are&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He gets his high lights so&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I declare, she looks just like Blanche Payton!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Every line there is full of meaning.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I suppose it's very fine, but&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now, I say, Henshaw is&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is this by the man that's painting Margy Winthrop's portrait?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's idealism, man, idealism!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm going to have a dress just that shade of blue.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Isn't that just too sweet!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now for realism, I consider Henshaw&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There aren't many with his sensitive, brilliant touch.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, what a pretty picture!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      William moved on then.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy was rapturously proud of Bertram that evening. He was, of course,
+      the centre of congratulations and hearty praise. At his side, Billy, with
+      sparkling eyes, welcomed each smiling congratulation and gloried in every
+      commendatory word she heard.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Bertram, isn't it splendid! I'm so proud of you,&rdquo; she whispered
+      softly, when a moment's lull gave her opportunity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They're all words, words, idle words,&rdquo; he laughed; but his eyes shone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Just as if they weren't all true!&rdquo; she bridled, turning to greet William,
+      who came up at that moment. &ldquo;Isn't it fine, Uncle William?&rdquo; she beamed.
+      &ldquo;And aren't we proud of him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We are, indeed,&rdquo; smiled the man. &ldquo;But if you and Bertram want to get the
+      real opinion of this crowd, you should go and stand near one of his
+      pictures five minutes. As a sort of crazy&mdash;quilt criticism it can't
+      be beat.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know,&rdquo; laughed Bertram. &ldquo;I've done it, in days long gone.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bertram, not really?&rdquo; cried Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sure! As if every young artist at the first didn't don goggles or a false
+      mustache and study the pictures on either side of his own till he could
+      paint them with his eyes shut!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And what did you hear?&rdquo; demanded the girl.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What didn't I hear?&rdquo; laughed her lover. &ldquo;But I didn't do it but once or
+      twice. I lost my head one day and began to argue the question of
+      perspective with a couple of old codgers who were criticizing a bit of
+      foreshortening that was my special pet. I forgot my goggles and sailed in.
+      The game was up then, of course; and I never put them on again. But it was
+      worth a farm to see their faces when I stood 'discovered' as the
+      stage-folk say.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Serves you right, sir&mdash;listening like that,&rdquo; scolded Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram laughed and shrugged his shoulders.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, it cured me, anyhow. I haven't done it since,&rdquo; he declared.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was some time later, on the way home, that Bertram said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It was gratifying, of course, Billy, and I liked it. It would be absurd
+      to say I didn't like the many pleasant words of apparently sincere
+      appreciation I heard to-night. But I couldn't help thinking of the next
+      time&mdash;always the next time.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The next time?&rdquo; Billy's eyes were slightly puzzled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That I exhibit, I mean. The Bohemian Ten hold their exhibition next
+      month, you know. I shall show just one picture&mdash;the portrait of Miss
+      Winthrop.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Bertram!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It'll be 'Oh, Bertram!' then, dear, if it isn't a success,&rdquo; he sighed. &ldquo;I
+      don't believe you realize yet what that thing is going to mean for me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I should think I might,&rdquo; retorted Billy, a little tremulously,
+      &ldquo;after all I've heard about it. I should think <i>everybody</i> knew you
+      were doing it, Bertram. Actually, I'm not sure Marie's scrub-lady won't
+      ask me some day how Mr. Bertram's picture is coming on!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's the dickens of it, in a way,&rdquo; sighed Bertram, with a faint smile.
+      &ldquo;I am amazed&mdash;and a little frightened, I'll admit&mdash;at the
+      universality of the interest. You see, the Winthrops have been pleased to
+      spread it, for one reason or another, and of course many already know of
+      the failures of Anderson and Fullam. That's why, if I should fail&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you aren't going to fail,&rdquo; interposed the girl, resolutely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I know I'm not. I only said 'if,'&rdquo; fenced the man, his voice not
+      quite steady.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There isn't going to be any 'if,'&rdquo; settled Billy. &ldquo;Now tell me, when is
+      the exhibition?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;March twentieth&mdash;the private view. Mr. Winthrop is not only willing,
+      but anxious, that I show it. I wasn't sure that he'd want me to&mdash;in
+      an exhibition. But it seems he does. His daughter says he has every
+      confidence in the portrait and wants everybody to see it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's where he shows his good sense,&rdquo; declared Billy. Then, with just a
+      touch of constraint, she asked: &ldquo;And how is the new, latest pose coming
+      on?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very well, I think,&rdquo; answered Bertram, a little hesitatingly. &ldquo;We've had
+      so many, many interruptions, though, that it is surprising how slow it is
+      moving. In the first place, Miss Winthrop is gone more than half the time
+      (she goes again to-morrow for a week!), and in this portrait I'm not
+      painting a stroke without my model before me. I mean to take no chances,
+      you see; and Miss Winthrop is perfectly willing to give me all the
+      sittings I wish for. Of course, if she hadn't changed the pose and costume
+      so many times, it would have been done long ago&mdash;and she knows it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course&mdash;she knows it,&rdquo; murmured Billy, a little faintly, but with
+      a peculiar intonation in her voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And so you see,&rdquo; sighed Bertram, &ldquo;what the twentieth of March is going to
+      mean for me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's going to mean a splendid triumph!&rdquo; asserted Billy; and this time her
+      voice was not faint, and it carried only a ring of loyal confidence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You blessed comforter!&rdquo; murmured Bertram, giving with his eyes the caress
+      that his lips would so much have preferred to give&mdash;under more
+      propitious circumstances.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXV. THE OPERETTA
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      The sixteenth, seventeenth, and eighteenth of February were, for Billy,
+      and for all concerned in the success of the operetta, days of hurry,
+      worry, and feverish excitement, as was to be expected, of course. Each
+      afternoon and every evening saw rehearsals in whole, or in parts. A friend
+      of the Club-president's sister-in-law-a woman whose husband was stage
+      manager of a Boston theatre&mdash;had consented to come and &ldquo;coach&rdquo; the
+      performers. At her appearance the performers&mdash;promptly thrown into
+      nervous spasms by this fearsome nearness to the &ldquo;real thing&rdquo;&mdash;forgot
+      half their cues, and conducted themselves generally like frightened school
+      children on &ldquo;piece day,&rdquo; much to their own and every one else's despair.
+      Then, on the evening of the nineteenth, came the final dress rehearsal on
+      the stage of the pretty little hall that had been engaged for the
+      performance of the operetta.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The dress rehearsal, like most of its kind, was, for every one, nothing
+      but a nightmare of discord, discouragement, and disaster. Everybody's
+      nerves were on edge, everybody was sure the thing would be a &ldquo;flat
+      failure.&rdquo; The soprano sang off the key, the alto forgot to shriek &ldquo;Beware,
+      beware!&rdquo; until it was so late there was nothing to beware of; the basso
+      stepped on Billy's trailing frock and tore it; even the tenor, Arkwright
+      himself, seemed to have lost every bit of vim from his acting. The chorus
+      sang &ldquo;Oh, be joyful!&rdquo; with dirge-like solemnity, and danced as if legs and
+      feet were made of wood. The lovers, after the fashion of amateur actors
+      from time immemorial, &ldquo;made love like sticks.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy, when the dismal thing had dragged its way through the final note,
+      sat &ldquo;down front,&rdquo; crying softly in the semi-darkness while she was waiting
+      for Alice Greggory to &ldquo;run it through just once more&rdquo; with a pair of
+      tired-faced, fluffy-skirted fairies who could <i>not</i> learn that a duet
+      meant a <i>duet</i>&mdash;not two solos, independently hurried or retarded
+      as one's fancy for the moment dictated.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To Billy, just then, life did not look to be even half worth the living.
+      Her head ached, her throat was going-to-be-sore, her shoe hurt, and her
+      dress&mdash;the trailing frock that had been under the basso's foot&mdash;could
+      not possibly be decently repaired before to-morrow night, she was sure.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bad as these things were, however, they were only the intimate, immediate
+      woes. Beyond and around them lay others many others. To be sure, Bertram
+      and happiness were supposed to be somewhere in the dim and uncertain
+      future; but between her and them lay all these other woes, chief of which
+      was the unutterable tragedy of to-morrow night.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was to be a failure, of course. Billy had calmly made up her mind to
+      that, now. But then, she was used to failures, she told herself. Was she
+      not plainly failing every day of her life to bring about even friendship
+      between Alice Greggory and Arkwright? Did they not emphatically and
+      systematically refuse to be &ldquo;thrown together,&rdquo; either naturally, or
+      unnaturally? And yet&mdash;whenever again could she expect such
+      opportunities to further her Cause as had been hers the past few weeks,
+      through the operetta and its rehearsals? Certainly, never again! It had
+      been a failure like all the rest; like the operetta, in particular.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy did not mean that any one should know she was crying. She supposed
+      that all the performers except herself and the two earth-bound fairies by
+      the piano with Alice Greggory were gone. She knew that John with Peggy was
+      probably waiting at the door outside, and she hoped that soon the fairies
+      would decide to go home and go to bed, and let other people do the same.
+      For her part, she did not see why they were struggling so hard, anyway.
+      Why needn't they go ahead and sing their duet like two solos if they
+      wanted to? As if a little thing like that could make a feather's weight of
+      difference in the grand total of to-morrow night's wretchedness when the
+      final curtain should have been rung down on their shame!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Neilson, you aren't&mdash;crying!&rdquo; exclaimed a low voice; and Billy
+      turned to find Arkwright standing by her side in the dim light.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no&mdash;yes&mdash;well, maybe I was, a little,&rdquo; stammered Billy,
+      trying to speak very unconcernedly. &ldquo;How warm it is in here! Do you think
+      it's going to rain?&mdash;that is, outdoors, of course, I mean.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright dropped into the seat behind Billy and leaned forward, his eyes
+      striving to read the girl's half-averted face. If Billy had turned, she
+      would have seen that Arkwright's own face showed white and a little
+      drawn-looking in the feeble rays from the light by the piano. But Billy
+      did not turn. She kept her eyes steadily averted; and she went on speaking&mdash;airy,
+      inconsequential words.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dear me, if those girls <i>would</i> only pull together! But then, what's
+      the difference? I supposed you had gone home long ago, Mr. Arkwright.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Neilson, you <i>are</i> crying!&rdquo; Arkwright's voice was low and
+      vibrant. &ldquo;As if anything or anybody in the world <i>could</i> make <i>you</i>
+      cry! Please&mdash;you have only to command me, and I will sally forth at
+      once to slay the offender.&rdquo; His words were light, but his voice still
+      shook with emotion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy gave an hysterical little giggle. Angrily she brushed the persistent
+      tears from her eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right, then; I'll dub you my Sir Knight,&rdquo; she faltered. &ldquo;But I'll
+      warn you&mdash;you'll have your hands full. You'll have to slay my
+      headache, and my throat-ache, and my shoe that hurts, and the man who
+      stepped on my dress, and&mdash;and everybody in the operetta, including
+      myself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Everybody&mdash;in the operetta!&rdquo; Arkwright did look a little startled,
+      at this wholesale slaughter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. Did you ever see such an awful, awful thing as that was to-night?&rdquo;
+       moaned the girl.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright's face relaxed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, so <i>that's</i> what it is!&rdquo; he laughed lightly. &ldquo;Then it's only a
+      bogy of fear that I've got to slay, after all; and I'll despatch that
+      right now with a single blow. Dress rehearsals always go like that
+      to-night. I've been in a dozen, and I never yet saw one go half decent.
+      Don't you worry. The worse the rehearsal, the better the performance,
+      every time!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy blinked off the tears and essayed a smile as she retorted:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, if that's so, then ours to-morrow night ought to be a&mdash;a&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A corker,&rdquo; helped out Arkwright, promptly; &ldquo;and it will be, too. You poor
+      child, you're worn out; and no wonder! But don't worry another bit about
+      the operetta. Now is there anything else I can do for you? Anything else I
+      can slay?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed tremulously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;N-no, thank you; not that you can&mdash;slay, I fancy,&rdquo; she sighed. &ldquo;That
+      is&mdash;not that you <i>will</i>,&rdquo; she amended wistfully, with a sudden
+      remembrance of the Cause, for which he might do so much&mdash;if he only
+      would.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright bent a little nearer. His breath stirred the loose, curling hair
+      behind Billy's ear. His eyes had flashed into sudden fire.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you don't know what I'd do if I could,&rdquo; he murmured unsteadily. &ldquo;If
+      you'd let me tell you&mdash;if you only knew the wish that has lain
+      closest to my heart for&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Neilson, please,&rdquo; called the despairing voice of one of the
+      earth-bound fairies; &ldquo;Miss Neilson, you <i>are</i> there, aren't you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I'm right here,&rdquo; answered Billy, wearily. Arkwright answered, too,
+      but not aloud&mdash;which was wise.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh dear! you're tired, I know,&rdquo; wailed the fairy, &ldquo;but if you would
+      please come and help us just a minute! Could you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, yes, of course.&rdquo; Billy rose to her feet, still wearily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright touched her arm. She turned and saw his face. It was very white&mdash;so
+      white that her eyes widened in surprised questioning.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As if answering the unspoken words, the man shook his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can't, now, of course,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;But there <i>is</i> something I want
+      to say&mdash;a story I want to tell you&mdash;after to-morrow, perhaps.
+      May I?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      To Billy, the tremor of his voice, the suffering in his eyes, and the
+      &ldquo;story&rdquo; he was begging to tell could have but one interpretation: Alice
+      Greggory. Her face, therefore, was a glory of tender sympathy as she
+      reached out her hand in farewell.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course you may,&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;Come any time after to-morrow night,
+      please,&rdquo; she smiled encouragingly, as she turned toward the stage.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Behind her, Arkwright stumbled twice as he walked up the incline toward
+      the outer door&mdash;stumbled, not because of the semi-darkness of the
+      little theatre, but because of the blinding radiance of a girl's illumined
+      face which he had, a moment before, read all unknowingly exactly wrong.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A little more than twenty-four hours later, Billy Neilson, in her own
+      room, drew a long breath of relief. It was twelve o'clock on the night of
+      the twentieth, and the operetta was over.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To Billy, life was eminently worth living to-night. Her head did not ache,
+      her throat was not sore, her shoe did not hurt, her dress had been mended
+      so successfully by Aunt Hannah, and with such comforting celerity, that
+      long before night one would never have suspected the filmy thing had known
+      the devastating tread of any man's foot. Better yet, the soprano had sung
+      exactly to key, the alto had shrieked &ldquo;Beware!&rdquo; to thrilling purpose,
+      Arkwright had shown all his old charm and vim, and the chorus had been
+      prodigies of joyousness and marvels of lightness. Even the lovers had lost
+      their stiffness, while the two earth-bound fairies of the night before had
+      found so amiable a meeting point that their solos sounded, to the
+      uninitiated, very like, indeed, a duet. The operetta was, in short, a
+      glorious and gratifying success, both artistically and financially. Nor
+      was this all that, to Billy, made life worth the living: Arkwright had
+      begged permission that evening to come up the following afternoon to tell
+      her his &ldquo;story&rdquo;; and Billy, who was so joyously confident that this story
+      meant the final crowning of her Cause with victory, had given happy
+      consent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram was to come up in the evening, and Billy was anticipating that,
+      too, particularly: it had been so long since they had known a really free,
+      comfortable evening together, with nothing to interrupt. Doubtless, too,
+      after Arkwright's visit of the afternoon, she would be in a position to
+      tell Bertram the story of the suspended romance between Arkwright and Miss
+      Greggory, and perhaps something, also, of her own efforts to bring the
+      couple together again. On the whole, life did, indeed, look decidedly
+      worth the living as Billy, with a contented sigh, turned over to go to
+      sleep.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXVI. ARKWRIGHT TELLS ANOTHER STORY
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Promptly at the suggested hour on the day after the operetta, Arkwright
+      rang Billy Neilson's doorbell. Promptly, too, Billy herself came into the
+      living-room to greet him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy was in white to-day&mdash;a soft, creamy white wool with a touch of
+      black velvet at her throat and in her hair. The man thought she had never
+      looked so lovely: Arkwright was still under the spell wrought by the soft
+      radiance of Billy's face the two times he had mentioned his &ldquo;story.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Until the night before the operetta Arkwright had been more than doubtful
+      of the way that story would be received, should he ever summon the courage
+      to tell it. Since then his fears had been changed to rapturous hopes. It
+      was very eagerly, therefore, that he turned now to greet Billy as she came
+      into the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Suppose we don't have any music to-day. Suppose we give the whole time up
+      to the story,&rdquo; she smiled brightly, as she held out her hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright's heart leaped; but almost at once it throbbed with a vague
+      uneasiness. He would have preferred to see her blush and be a little shy
+      over that story. Still&mdash;there was a chance, of course, that she did
+      not know what the story was. But if that were the case, what of the
+      radiance in her face? What of&mdash;Finding himself in a tangled labyrinth
+      that led apparently only to disappointment and disaster, Arkwright pulled
+      himself up with a firm hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are very kind,&rdquo; he murmured, as he relinquished her fingers and
+      seated himself near her. &ldquo;You are sure, then, that you wish to hear the
+      story?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very sure,&rdquo; smiled Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright hesitated. Again he longed to see a little embarrassment in the
+      bright face opposite. Suddenly it came to him, however, that if Billy knew
+      what he was about to say, it would manifestly not be her part to act as if
+      she knew! With a lighter heart, then, he began his story.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You want it from the beginning?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By all means! I never dip into books, nor peek at the ending. I don't
+      think it's fair to the author.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then I will, indeed, begin at the beginning,&rdquo; smiled Arkwright, &ldquo;for I'm
+      specially anxious that you shall be&mdash;even more than 'fair' to me.&rdquo;
+       His voice shook a little, but he hurried on. &ldquo;There's a&mdash;girl&mdash;in
+      it; a very dear, lovely girl.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course&mdash;if it's a nice story,&rdquo; twinkled Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And&mdash;there's a man, too. It's a love story, you see.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Again of course&mdash;if it's interesting.&rdquo; Billy laughed mischievously,
+      but she flushed a little.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Still, the man doesn't amount to much, after all, perhaps. I might as
+      well own up at the beginning&mdash;I'm the man.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That will do for you to say, as long as you're telling the story,&rdquo; smiled
+      Billy. &ldquo;We'll let it pass for proper modesty on your part. But I shall say&mdash;the
+      personal touch only adds to the interest.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright drew in his breath.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We'll hope&mdash;it'll really be so,&rdquo; he murmured.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a moment's silence. Arkwright seemed to be hesitating what to
+      say.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well?&rdquo; prompted Billy, with a smile. &ldquo;We have the hero and the heroine;
+      now what happens next? Do you know,&rdquo; she added, &ldquo;I have always thought
+      that part must bother the story-writers&mdash;to get the couple to doing
+      interesting things, after they'd got them introduced.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright sighed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps&mdash;on paper; but, you see, my story has been <i>lived</i>, so
+      far. So it's quite different.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very well, then&mdash;what did happen?&rdquo; smiled Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I was trying to think&mdash;of the first thing. You see it began with a
+      picture, a photograph of the girl. Mother had it. I saw it, and wanted it,
+      and&mdash;&rdquo; Arkwright had started to say &ldquo;and took it.&rdquo; But he stopped
+      with the last two words unsaid. It was not time, yet, he deemed, to tell
+      this girl how much that picture had been to him for so many months past.
+      He hurried on a little precipitately. &ldquo;You see, I had heard about this
+      girl a lot; and I liked&mdash;what I heard.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You mean&mdash;you didn't know her&mdash;at the first?&rdquo; Billy's eyes were
+      surprised. Billy had supposed that Arkwright had always known Alice
+      Greggory.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I didn't know the girl&mdash;till afterwards. Before that I was
+      always dreaming and wondering what she would be like.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; Billy subsided into her chair, still with the puzzled questioning in
+      her eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then I met her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And she was everything and more than I had pictured her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And you fell in love at once?&rdquo; Billy's voice had grown confident again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I was already in love,&rdquo; sighed Arkwright. &ldquo;I simply sank deeper.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh-h!&rdquo; breathed Billy, sympathetically. &ldquo;And the girl?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She didn't care&mdash;or know&mdash;for a long time. I'm not really sure
+      she cares&mdash;or knows&mdash;even now.&rdquo; Arkwright's eyes were wistfully
+      fixed on Billy's face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, but you can't tell, always, about girls,&rdquo; murmured Billy, hurriedly.
+      A faint pink had stolen to her forehead. She was thinking of Alice
+      Greggory, and wondering if, indeed, Alice did care; and if she, Billy,
+      might dare to assure this man&mdash;what she believed to be true&mdash;that
+      his sweetheart was only waiting for him to come to her and tell her that
+      he loved her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright saw the color sweep to Billy's forehead, and took sudden
+      courage. He leaned forward eagerly. A tender light came to his eyes. The
+      expression on his face was unmistakable.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, do you mean, really, that there is&mdash;hope for me?&rdquo; he begged
+      brokenly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy gave a visible start. A quick something like shocked terror came to
+      her eyes. She drew back and would have risen to her feet had the thought
+      not come to her that twice before she had supposed a man was making love
+      to her, when subsequent events proved that she had been mortifyingly
+      mistaken: once when Cyril had told her of his love for Marie; and again
+      when William had asked her to come back as a daughter to the house she had
+      left desolate.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Telling herself sternly now not to be for the third time a &ldquo;foolish little
+      simpleton,&rdquo; she summoned all her wits, forced a cheery smile to her lips,
+      and said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, really, Mr. Arkwright, of course I can't answer for the girl, so
+      I'm not the one to give hope; and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you are the one,&rdquo; interrupted the man, passionately. &ldquo;You're the only
+      one! As if from the very first I hadn't loved you, and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, no, not that&mdash;not that! I'm mistaken! I'm not understanding what
+      you mean,&rdquo; pleaded a horror-stricken voice. Billy was on her feet now,
+      holding up two protesting hands, palms outward.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Neilson, you don't mean&mdash;that you haven't known&mdash;all this
+      time&mdash;that it was you?&rdquo; The man, now, was on his feet, his eyes hurt
+      and unbelieving, looking into hers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy paled. She began slowly to back away. Her eyes, still fixed on his,
+      carried the shrinking terror of one who sees a horrid vision.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you know&mdash;you <i>must</i> know that I am not yours to win!&rdquo; she
+      reproached him sharply. &ldquo;I'm to be Bertram Henshaw's&mdash;<i>wife</i>.&rdquo;
+       From Billy's shocked young lips the word dropped with a ringing force that
+      was at once accusatory and prohibitive. It was as if, by the mere
+      utterance of the word, wife, she had drawn a sacred circle about her and
+      placed herself in sanctuary.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      From the blazing accusation in her eyes Arkwright fell back.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wife! You are to be Bertram Henshaw's wife!&rdquo; he exclaimed. There was no
+      mistaking the amazed incredulity on his face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy caught her breath. The righteous indignation in her eyes fled, and a
+      terrified appeal took its place.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You don't mean that you <i>didn't&mdash;know?</i>&rdquo; she faltered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a moment's silence. A power quite outside herself kept Billy's
+      eyes on Arkwright's face, and forced her to watch the change there from
+      unbelief to belief, and from belief to set misery.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I did not know,&rdquo; said the man then, dully, as he turned, rested his
+      arm on the mantel behind him, and half shielded his face with his hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy sank into a low chair. Her fingers fluttered nervously to her
+      throat. Her piteous, beseeching eyes were on the broad back and bent head
+      of the man before her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I&mdash;I don't see how you could have helped&mdash;knowing,&rdquo; she
+      stammered at last. &ldquo;I don't see how such a thing could have happened that
+      you shouldn't know!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I've been trying to think, myself,&rdquo; returned the man, still in a dull,
+      emotionless voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's been so&mdash;so much a matter of course. I supposed everybody knew
+      it,&rdquo; maintained Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps that's just it&mdash;that it was&mdash;so much a matter of
+      course,&rdquo; rejoined the man. &ldquo;You see, I know very few of your friends,
+      anyway&mdash;who would be apt to mention it to me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But the announcements&mdash;oh, you weren't here then,&rdquo; moaned Billy.
+      &ldquo;But you must have known that&mdash;that he came here a good deal&mdash;that
+      we were together so much!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To a certain extent, yes,&rdquo; sighed Arkwright. &ldquo;But I took your friendship
+      with him and his brothers as&mdash;as a matter of course. <i>That</i> was
+      <i>my</i> 'matter of course,' you see,&rdquo; he went on bitterly. &ldquo;I knew you
+      were Mr. William Henshaw's namesake, and Calderwell had told me the story
+      of your coming to them when you were left alone in the world. Calderwell
+      had said, too, that&mdash;&rdquo; Arkwright paused, then hurried on a little
+      constrainedly&mdash;&ldquo;well, he said something that led me to think Mr.
+      Bertram Henshaw was not a marrying man, anyway.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy winced and changed color. She had noticed the pause, and she knew
+      very well what it was that Calderwell had said to occasion that pause.
+      Must <i>always</i> she be reminded that no one expected Bertram Henshaw to
+      love any girl&mdash;except to paint?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But&mdash;but Mr. Calderwell must know about the engagement&mdash;now,&rdquo;
+       she stammered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very likely, but I have not happened to hear from him since my arrival in
+      Boston. We do not correspond.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a long silence, then Arkwright spoke again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think I understand now&mdash;many things. I wonder I did not see them
+      before; but I never thought of Bertram Henshaw's being&mdash;If Calderwell
+      hadn't said&mdash;&rdquo; Again Arkwright stopped with his sentence half
+      complete, and again Billy winced. &ldquo;I've been a blind fool. I was so intent
+      on my own&mdash;I've been a blind fool; that's all,&rdquo; repeated Arkwright,
+      with a break in his voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy tried to speak, but instead of words, there came only a choking sob.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright turned sharply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Neilson, don't&mdash;please,&rdquo; he begged. &ldquo;There is no need that you
+      should suffer&mdash;too.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I am so ashamed that such a thing <i>could</i> happen,&rdquo; she faltered.
+      &ldquo;I'm sure, some way, I must be to blame. But I never thought. I was blind,
+      too. I was wrapped up in my own affairs. I never suspected. I never even
+      <i>thought</i> to suspect! I thought of course you knew. It was just the
+      music that brought us together, I supposed; and you were just like one of
+      the family, anyway. I always thought of you as Aunt Hannah's&mdash;&rdquo; She
+      stopped with a vivid blush.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As Aunt Hannah's niece, Mary Jane, of course,&rdquo; supplied Arkwright,
+      bitterly, turning back to his old position. &ldquo;And that was my own fault,
+      too. My name, Miss Neilson, is Michael Jeremiah,&rdquo; he went on wearily,
+      after a moment's hesitation, his voice showing his utter abandonment to
+      despair. &ldquo;When a boy at school I got heartily sick of the 'Mike' and the
+      'Jerry' and the even worse 'Tom and Jerry' that my young friends delighted
+      in; so as soon as possible I sought obscurity and peace in 'M. J.' Much to
+      my surprise and annoyance the initials proved to be little better, for
+      they became at once the biggest sort of whet to people's curiosity.
+      Naturally, the more determined persistent inquirers were to know the name,
+      the more determined I became that they shouldn't. All very silly and very
+      foolish, of course. Certainly it seems so now,&rdquo; he finished.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy was silent. She was trying to find something, <i>anything</i>, to
+      say, when Arkwright began speaking again, still in that dull, hopeless
+      voice that Billy thought would break her heart.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As for the 'Mary Jane'&mdash;that was another foolishness, of course. My
+      small brothers and sisters originated it; others followed, on occasion,
+      even Calderwell. Perhaps you did not know, but he was the friend who, by
+      his laughing question, 'Why don't you, Mary Jane?' put into my head the
+      crazy scheme of writing to Aunt Hannah and letting her think I was a real
+      Mary Jane. You see what I stooped to do, Miss Neilson, for the chance of
+      meeting and knowing you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy gave a low cry. She had suddenly remembered the beginning of
+      Arkwright's story. For the first time she realized that he had been
+      talking then about herself, not Alice Greggory.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you don't mean that you&mdash;cared&mdash;that I was the&mdash;&rdquo; She
+      could not finish.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright turned from the mantel with a gesture of utter despair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I cared then. I had heard of you. I had sung your songs. I was
+      determined to meet you. So I came&mdash;and met you. After that I was more
+      determined than ever to win you. Perhaps you see, now, why I was so blind
+      to&mdash;to any other possibility. But it doesn't do any good&mdash;to
+      talk like this. I understand now. Only, please, don't blame yourself,&rdquo; he
+      begged as he saw her eyes fill with tears. The next moment he was gone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy had turned away and was crying softly, so she did not see him go.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXVII. THE THING THAT WAS THE TRUTH
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Bertram called that evening. Billy had no story now to tell&mdash;nothing
+      of the interrupted romance between Alice Greggory and Arkwright. Billy
+      carefully, indeed, avoided mentioning Arkwright's name.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ever since the man's departure that afternoon, Billy had been frantically
+      trying to assure herself that she was not to blame; that she would not be
+      supposed to know he cared for her; that it had all been as he said it was&mdash;his
+      foolish blindness. But even when she had partially comforted herself by
+      these assertions, she could not by any means escape the haunting vision of
+      the man's stern-set, suffering face as she had seen it that afternoon; nor
+      could she keep from weeping at the memory of the words he had said, and at
+      the thought that never again could their pleasant friendship be quite the
+      same&mdash;if, indeed, there could be any friendship at all between them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But if Billy expected that her red eyes, pale cheeks, and generally
+      troubled appearance and unquiet manner were to be passed unnoticed by her
+      lover's keen eyes that evening, she found herself much mistaken.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sweetheart, what <i>is</i> the matter?&rdquo; demanded Bertram resolutely, at
+      last, when his more indirect questions had been evasively turned aside.
+      &ldquo;You can't make me think there isn't something the trouble, because I know
+      there is!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, then, there is, dear,&rdquo; smiled Billy, tearfully; &ldquo;but please just
+      don't let us talk of it. I&mdash;I want to forget it. Truly I do.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I want to know so <i>I</i> can forget it,&rdquo; persisted Bertram. &ldquo;What
+      is it? Maybe I could help.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She shook her head with a little frightened cry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, no&mdash;you can't help&mdash;really.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, sweetheart, you don't know. Perhaps I could. Won't you <i>tell</i>
+      me about it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy looked distressed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can't, dear&mdash;truly. You see, it isn't quite mine&mdash;to tell.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not yours!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not&mdash;entirely.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But it makes you feel bad?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes&mdash;very.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then can't I know that part?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no&mdash;no, indeed, no! You see&mdash;it wouldn't be fair&mdash;to
+      the other.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram stared a little. Then his mouth set into stern lines.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, what are you talking about? Seems to me I have a right to know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy hesitated. To her mind, a girl who would tell of the unrequited love
+      of a man for herself, was unspeakably base. To tell Bertram Arkwright's
+      love story was therefore impossible. Yet, in some way, she must set
+      Bertram's mind at rest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dearest,&rdquo; she began slowly, her eyes wistfully pleading, &ldquo;just what it
+      is, I can't tell you. In a way it's another's secret, and I don't feel
+      that I have the right to tell it. It's just something that I learned this
+      afternoon.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But it has made you cry!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. It made me feel very unhappy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then&mdash;it was something you couldn't help?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      To Bertram's surprise, the face he was watching so intently flushed
+      scarlet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I couldn't help it&mdash;now; though I might have&mdash;once.&rdquo; Billy
+      spoke this last just above her breath. Then she went on, beseechingly:
+      &ldquo;Bertram, please, please don't talk of it any more. It&mdash;it's just
+      spoiling our happy evening together!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram bit his lip, and drew a long sigh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right, dear; you know best, of course&mdash;since I don't know <i>anything</i>
+      about it,&rdquo; he finished a little stiffly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy began to talk then very brightly of Aunt Hannah and her shawls, and
+      of a visit she had made to Cyril and Marie that morning.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And, do you know? Aunt Hannah's clock <i>has</i> done a good turn, at
+      last, and justified its existence. Listen,&rdquo; she cried gayly. &ldquo;Marie had a
+      letter from her mother's Cousin Jane. Cousin Jane couldn't sleep nights,
+      because she was always lying awake to find out just what time it was; so
+      Marie had written her about Aunt Hannah's clock. And now this Cousin Jane
+      has fixed <i>her</i> clock, and she sleeps like a top, just because she
+      knows there'll never be but half an hour that she doesn't know what time
+      it is!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram smiled, and murmured a polite &ldquo;Well, I'm sure that's fine!&rdquo;; but
+      the words were plainly abstracted, and the frown had not left his brow.
+      Nor did it quite leave till some time later, when Billy, in answer to a
+      question of his about another operetta, cried, with a shudder:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mercy, I hope not, dear! I don't want to <i>hear</i> the word 'operetta'
+      again for a year!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram smiled, then, broadly. He, too, would be quite satisfied not to
+      hear the word &ldquo;operetta&rdquo; for a year. Operetta, to Bertram, meant
+      interruptions, interferences, and the constant presence of Arkwright, the
+      Greggorys, and innumerable creatures who wished to rehearse or to change
+      wigs&mdash;all of which Bertram abhorred. No wonder, therefore, that he
+      smiled, and that the frown disappeared from his brow. He thought he saw,
+      ahead, serene, blissful days for Billy and himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As the days, however, began to pass, one by one, Bertram Henshaw found
+      them to be anything but serene and blissful. The operetta, with its
+      rehearsals and its interruptions, was gone, certainly; but he was becoming
+      seriously troubled about Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy did not act natural. Sometimes she seemed like her old self; and he
+      breathed more freely, telling himself that his fears were groundless. Then
+      would come the haunting shadow to her eyes, the droop to her mouth, and
+      the nervousness to her manner that he so dreaded. Worse yet, all this
+      seemed to be connected in some strange way with Arkwright. He found this
+      out by accident one day. She had been talking and laughing brightly about
+      something, when he chanced to introduce Arkwright's name.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By the way, where is Mary Jane these days?&rdquo; he asked then.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know, I'm sure. He hasn't been here lately,&rdquo; murmured Billy,
+      reaching for a book on the table.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At a peculiar something in her voice, he had looked up quickly, only to
+      find, to his great surprise, that her face showed a painful flush as she
+      bent over the book in her hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He had said nothing more at the time, but he had not forgotten. Several
+      times, after that, he had introduced the man's name, and never had it
+      failed to bring a rush of color, a biting of the lip, or a quick change of
+      position followed always by the troubled eyes and nervous manner that he
+      had learned to dread. He noticed then that never, of her own free will,
+      did she herself mention the man; never did she speak of him with the old
+      frank lightness as &ldquo;Mary Jane.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      By casual questions asked from time to time, Bertram had learned that
+      Arkwright never came there now, and that the song-writing together had
+      been given up. Curiously enough, this discovery, which would once have
+      filled Bertram with joy, served now only to deepen his distress. That
+      there was anything inconsistent in the fact that he was more frightened
+      now at the man's absence than he had been before at his presence, did not
+      occur to him. He knew only that he was frightened, and badly frightened.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram had not forgotten the evening after the operetta, and Billy's
+      tear-stained face on that occasion. He dated the whole thing, in fact,
+      from that evening. He fell to wondering one day if that, too, had anything
+      to do with Arkwright. He determined then to find out. Shamelessly&mdash;for
+      the good of the cause&mdash;he set a trap for Billy's unwary feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Very adroitly one day he led the talk straight to Arkwright; then he asked
+      abruptly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where is the chap, I wonder! Why, he hasn't shown up once since the
+      operetta, has he?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy, always truthful,&mdash;and just now always embarrassed when
+      Arkwright's name was mentioned,&mdash;walked straight into the trap.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes; well, he was here once&mdash;the day after the operetta. I
+      haven't seen him since.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram answered a light something, but his face grew a little white. Now
+      that the trap had been sprung and the victim caught, he almost wished that
+      he had not set any trap at all.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He knew now it was true. Arkwright had been with Billy the day after the
+      operetta, and her tears and her distress that evening had been caused by
+      something Arkwright had said. It was Arkwright's secret that she could not
+      tell. It was Arkwright to whom she must be fair. It was Arkwright's sorrow
+      that she &ldquo;could not help&mdash;now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Naturally, with these tools in his hands, and aided by days of brooding
+      and nights of sleeplessness, it did not take Bertram long to fashion The
+      Thing that finally loomed before him as The Truth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He understood it all now. Music had conquered. Billy and Arkwright had
+      found that they loved each other. On the day after the operetta, they had
+      met, and had had some sort of scene together&mdash;doubtless Arkwright had
+      declared his love. That was the &ldquo;secret&rdquo; that Billy could not tell and be
+      &ldquo;fair.&rdquo; Billy, of course,&mdash;loyal little soul that she was,&mdash;had
+      sent him away at once. Was her hand not already pledged? That was why she
+      could not &ldquo;help it-now.&rdquo; (Bertram writhed in agony at the thought.) Since
+      that meeting Arkwright had not been near the house. Billy had found,
+      however, that her heart had gone with Arkwright; hence the shadow in her
+      eyes, the nervousness in her manner, and the embarrassment that she always
+      showed at the mention of his name.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That Billy was still outwardly loyal to himself, and that she still kept
+      to her engagement, did not surprise Bertram in the least. That was like
+      Billy. Bertram had not forgotten how, less than a year before, this same
+      Billy had held herself loyal and true to an engagement with William,
+      because a wretched mistake all around had caused her to give her promise
+      to be William's wife under the impression that she was carrying out
+      William's dearest wish. Bertram remembered her face as it had looked all
+      those long summer days while her heart was being slowly broken; and he
+      thought he could see that same look in her eyes now. All of which only
+      goes to prove with what woeful skill Bertram had fashioned this Thing that
+      was looming before him as The Truth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The exhibition of &ldquo;The Bohemian Ten&rdquo; was to open with a private view on
+      the evening of the twentieth of March. Bertram Henshaw's one contribution
+      was to be his portrait of Miss Marguerite Winthrop&mdash;the piece of work
+      that had come to mean so much to him; the piece of work upon which already
+      he felt the focus of multitudes of eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Winthrop was in Boston now, and it was during these early March days
+      that Bertram was supposed to be putting in his best work on the portrait;
+      but, unfortunately, it was during these same early March days that he was
+      engaged, also, in fashioning The Thing&mdash;and the two did not
+      harmonize.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Thing, indeed, was a jealous creature, and would brook no rival. She
+      filled his eyes with horrid visions, and his brain with sickening
+      thoughts. Between him and his model she flung a veil of fear; and she set
+      his hand to trembling, and his brush to making blunders with the paints on
+      his palette.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram saw The Thing, and saw, too, the grievous result of her presence.
+      Despairingly he fought against her and her work; but The Thing had become
+      full grown now, and was The Truth. Hence she was not to be banished. She
+      even, in a taunting way, seemed sometimes to be justifying her presence,
+      for she reminded him:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;After all, what's the difference? What do you care for this, or anything
+      again if Billy is lost to you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But the artist told himself fiercely that he did care&mdash;that he must
+      care&mdash;for his work; and he struggled&mdash;how he struggled!&mdash;to
+      ignore the horrid visions and the sickening thoughts, and to pierce the
+      veil of fear so that his hand might be steady and his brush regain its
+      skill.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And so he worked. Sometimes he let his work remain. Sometimes one hour saw
+      only the erasing of what the hour before had wrought. Sometimes the
+      elusive something in Marguerite Winthrop's face seemed right at the tip of
+      his brush&mdash;on the canvas, even. He saw success then so plainly that
+      for a moment it almost&mdash;but not quite&mdash;blotted out The Thing. At
+      other times that elusive something on the high-bred face of his model was
+      a veritable will-o'-the-wisp, refusing to be caught and held, even in his
+      eye. The artist knew then that his picture would be hung with Anderson's
+      and Fullam's.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But the portrait was, irrefutably, nearing completion, and it was to be
+      exhibited the twentieth of the month. Bertram knew these for facts.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXVIII. BILLY TAKES HER TURN
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      If for Billy those first twenty days of March did not carry quite the
+      tragedy they contained for Bertram, they were, nevertheless, not really
+      happy ones. She was vaguely troubled by a curious something in Bertram's
+      behavior that she could not name; she was grieved over Arkwright's sorrow,
+      and she was constantly probing her own past conduct to see if anywhere she
+      could find that she was to blame for that sorrow. She missed, too,
+      undeniably, Arkwright's cheery presence, and the charm and inspiration of
+      his music. Nor was she finding it easy to give satisfactory answers to the
+      questions Aunt Hannah, William, and Bertram so often asked her as to where
+      Mary Jane was.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Even her music was little comfort to her these days. She was not writing
+      anything. There was no song in her heart to tempt her to write.
+      Arkwright's new words that he had brought her were out of the question, of
+      course. They had been put away with the manuscript of the completed song,
+      which had not, fortunately, gone to the publishers. Billy had waited,
+      intending to send them together. She was so glad, now, that she had
+      waited. Just once, since Arkwright's last call, she had tried to sing that
+      song. But she had stopped at the end of the first two lines. The full
+      meaning of those words, as coming from Arkwright, had swept over her then,
+      and she had snatched up the manuscript and hidden it under the bottom pile
+      of music in her cabinet ... And she had presumed to sing that love song to
+      Bertram!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright had written Billy once&mdash;a kind, courteous, manly note that
+      had made her cry. He had begged her again not to blame herself, and he had
+      said that he hoped he should be strong enough sometime to wish to call
+      occasionally&mdash;if she were willing&mdash;and renew their pleasant
+      hours with their music; but, for the present, he knew there was nothing
+      for him to do but to stay away. He had signed himself &ldquo;Michael Jeremiah
+      Arkwright&rdquo;; and to Billy that was the most pathetic thing in the letter&mdash;it
+      sounded so hopeless and dreary to one who knew the jaunty &ldquo;M. J.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Alice Greggory, Billy saw frequently. Billy and Aunt Hannah were great
+      friends with the Greggorys now, and had been ever since the Greggorys'
+      ten-days' visit at Hillside. The cheery little cripple, with the gentle
+      tap, tap, tap of her crutches, had won everybody's heart the very first
+      day; and Alice was scarcely less of a favorite, after the sunny
+      friendliness of Hillside had thawed her stiff reserve into naturalness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy had little to say to Alice Greggory of Arkwright. Billy was no
+      longer trying to play Cupid's assistant. The Cause, for which she had so
+      valiantly worked, had been felled by Arkwright's own hand&mdash;but that
+      there were still some faint stirrings of life in it was evidenced by
+      Billy's secret delight when one day Alice Greggory chanced to mention that
+      Arkwright had called the night before upon her and her mother.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He brought us news of our old home,&rdquo; she explained a little hurriedly, to
+      Billy. &ldquo;He had heard from his mother, and he thought some things she said
+      would be interesting to us.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course,&rdquo; murmured Billy, carefully excluding from her voice any hint
+      of the delight she felt, but hoping, all the while, that Alice would
+      continue the subject.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Alice, however, had nothing more to say; and Billy was left in entire
+      ignorance of what the news was that Arkwright had brought. She suspected,
+      though, that it had something to do with Alice's father&mdash;certainly
+      she hoped that it had; for if Arkwright had called to tell it, it must be
+      good.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy had found a new home for the Greggorys; although at first they had
+      drawn sensitively back, and had said that they preferred to remain where
+      they were, they had later gratefully accepted it. A little couple from
+      South Boston, to whom Billy had given a two weeks' outing the summer
+      before, had moved into town and taken a flat in the South End. They had
+      two extra rooms which they had told Billy they would like to let for light
+      house-keeping, if only they knew just the right people to take into such
+      close quarters with themselves. Billy at once thought of the Greggorys,
+      and spoke of them. The little couple were delighted, and the Greggorys
+      were scarcely less so when they at last became convinced that only a very
+      little more money than they were already paying would give themselves a
+      much pleasanter home, and would at the same time be a real boon to two
+      young people who were trying to meet expenses. So the change was made, and
+      general happiness all round had resulted&mdash;so much so, that Bertram
+      had said to Billy, when he heard of it:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It looks as if this was a case where your cake is frosted on both sides.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense! This isn't frosting&mdash;it's business,&rdquo; Billy had laughed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And the new pupils you have found for Miss Alice&mdash;they're business,
+      too, I suppose?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Certainly,&rdquo; retorted Billy, with decision. Then she had given a low laugh
+      and said: &ldquo;Mercy! If Alice Greggory thought it was anything <i>but</i>
+      business, I verily believe she would refuse every one of the new pupils,
+      and begin to-night to carry back the tables and chairs herself to those
+      wretched rooms she left last month!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram had smiled, but the smile had been a fleeting one, and the
+      brooding look of gloom that Billy had noticed so frequently, of late, had
+      come back to his eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy was not a little disturbed over Bertram these days. He did not seem
+      to be his natural, cheery self at all. He talked little, and what he did
+      say seldom showed a trace of his usually whimsical way of putting things.
+      He was kindness itself to her, and seemed particularly anxious to please
+      her in every way; but she frequently found his eyes fixed on her with a
+      sombre questioning that almost frightened her. The more she thought of it,
+      the more she wondered what the question was, that he did not dare to ask;
+      and whether it was of herself or himself that he would ask it&mdash;if he
+      did dare. Then, with benumbing force, one day, a possible solution of the
+      mystery came to her, he had found out that it was true (what all his
+      friends had declared of him)&mdash;he did not really love any girl, except
+      to paint!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The minute this thought came to her, Billy thrust it indignantly away. It
+      was disloyal to Bertram and unworthy of herself, even to think such a
+      thing. She told herself then that it was only the portrait of Miss
+      Winthrop that was troubling him. She knew that he was worried over that.
+      He had confessed to her that actually sometimes he was beginning to fear
+      his hand had lost its cunning. As if that were not enough to bring the
+      gloom to any man's face&mdash;to any artist's!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      No sooner, however, had Billy arrived at this point in her mental
+      argument, than a new element entered&mdash;her old lurking jealousy, of
+      which she was heartily ashamed, but which she had never yet been able
+      quite to subdue; her jealousy of the beautiful girl with the beautiful
+      name (not Billy), whose portrait had needed so much time and so many
+      sittings to finish. What if Bertram had found that he loved <i>her?</i>
+      What if that were why his hand had lost its cunning&mdash;because, though
+      loving her, he realized that he was bound to another, Billy herself?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This thought, too, Billy cast from her at once as again disloyal and
+      unworthy. But both thoughts, having once entered her brain, had made for
+      themselves roads over which the second passing was much easier than the
+      first&mdash;as Billy found to her sorrow. Certainly, as the days went by,
+      and as Bertram's face and manner became more and more a tragedy of
+      suffering, Billy found it increasingly difficult to keep those thoughts
+      from wearing their roads of suspicion into horrid deep ruts of certainty.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Only with William and Marie, now, could Billy escape from it all. With
+      William she sought new curios and catalogued the old. With Marie she beat
+      eggs and whipped cream in the shining kitchen, and tried to think that
+      nothing in the world mattered except that the cake in the oven should not
+      fall.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0029" id="link2HCH0029">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXIX. KATE WRITES A LETTER
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Bertram feared that he knew, before the portrait was hung, that it was a
+      failure. He was sure that he knew it on the evening of the twentieth when
+      he encountered the swiftly averted eyes of some of his artist friends, and
+      saw the perplexed frown on the faces of others. But he knew, afterwards,
+      that he did not really know it&mdash;till he read the newspapers during
+      the next few days.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was praise&mdash;oh, yes; the faint praise that kills. There was
+      some adverse criticism, too; but it was of the light, insincere variety
+      that is given to mediocre work by unimportant artists. Then, here and
+      there, appeared the signed critiques of the men whose opinion counted&mdash;and
+      Bertram knew that he had failed. Neither as a work of art, nor as a
+      likeness, was the portrait the success that Henshaw's former work would
+      seem to indicate that it should have been. Indeed, as one caustic pen put
+      it, if this were to be taken as a sample of what was to follow&mdash;then
+      the famous originator of &ldquo;The Face of a Girl&rdquo; had &ldquo;a most distinguished
+      future behind him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Seldom, if ever before, had an exhibited portrait attracted so much
+      attention. As Bertram had said, uncounted eyes were watching for it before
+      it was hung, because it was a portrait of the noted beauty, Marguerite
+      Winthrop, and because two other well-known artists had failed where he,
+      Bertram Henshaw, was hoping to succeed. After it was hung, and the
+      uncounted eyes had seen it&mdash;either literally, or through the eyes of
+      the critics&mdash;interest seemed rather to grow than to lessen, for other
+      uncounted eyes wanted to see what all the fuss was about, anyway. And when
+      these eyes had seen, their owners talked. Nor did they, by any means, all
+      talk against the portrait. Some were as loud in its praise as were others
+      in its condemnation; all of which, of course, but helped to attract more
+      eyes to the cause of it all.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For Bertram and his friends these days were, naturally, trying ones.
+      William finally dreaded to open his newspaper. (It had become the fashion,
+      when murders and divorces were scarce, occasionally to &ldquo;feature&rdquo;
+       somebody's opinion of the Henshaw portrait, on the first page&mdash;something
+      that had almost never been known to happen before.) Cyril, according to
+      Marie, played &ldquo;perfectly awful things on his piano every day, now.&rdquo; Aunt
+      Hannah had said &ldquo;Oh, my grief and conscience!&rdquo; so many times that it
+      melted now into a wordless groan whenever a new unfriendly criticism of
+      the portrait met her indignant eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Of all Bertram's friends, Billy, perhaps not unnaturally, was the
+      angriest. Not only did she, after a time, refuse to read the papers, but
+      she refused even to allow certain ones to be brought into the house,
+      foolish and unreasonable as she knew this to be.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As to the artist himself, Bertram's face showed drawn lines and his eyes
+      sombre shadows, but his words and manner carried a stolid indifference
+      that to Billy was at once heartbreaking and maddening.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, Bertram, why don't you do something? Why don't you say something?
+      Why don't you act something?&rdquo; she burst out one day.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The artist shrugged his shoulders.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, my dear, what can I say, or do, or act?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know, of course,&rdquo; sighed Billy. &ldquo;But I know what I'd like to do.
+      I should like to go out and&mdash;fight somebody!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So fierce were words and manner, coupled as they were with a pair of
+      gentle eyes ablaze and two soft little hands doubled into menacing fists,
+      that Bertram laughed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What a fiery little champion it is, to be sure,&rdquo; he said tenderly. &ldquo;But
+      as if fighting could do any good&mdash;in this case!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy's tense muscles relaxed. Her eyes filled with tears.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I don't suppose it would,&rdquo; she choked, beginning to cry, so that
+      Bertram had to turn comforter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come, come, dear,&rdquo; he begged; &ldquo;don't take it so to heart. It's not so
+      bad, after all. I've still my good right hand left, and we'll hope there's
+      something in it yet&mdash;that'll be worth while.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But <i>this</i> one isn't bad,&rdquo; stormed Billy. &ldquo;It's splendid! I'm sure,
+      I think it's a b-beautiful portrait, and I don't see <i>what</i> people
+      mean by talking so about it!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram shook his head. His eyes grew sombre again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you, dear. But I know&mdash;and you know, really&mdash;that it
+      isn't a splendid portrait. I've done lots better work than that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then why don't they look at those, and let this alone?&rdquo; wailed Billy,
+      with indignation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because I deliberately put up this for them to see,&rdquo; smiled the artist,
+      wearily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy sighed, and twisted in her chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What does&mdash;Mr. Winthrop say?&rdquo; she asked at last, in a faint voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram lifted his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Winthrop's been a trump all through, dear. He's already insisted on
+      paying for this&mdash;and he's ordered another.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Another!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. The old fellow never minces his words, as you may know. He came to
+      me one day, put his hand on my shoulder, and said tersely: 'Will you give
+      me another, same terms? Go in, boy, and win. Show 'em! I lost the first
+      ten thousand I made. I didn't the next!' That's all he said. Before I
+      could even choke out an answer he was gone. Gorry! talk about his having a
+      'heart of stone'! I don't believe another man in the country would have
+      done that&mdash;and done it in the way he did&mdash;in the face of all
+      this talk,&rdquo; finished Bertram, his eyes luminous with feeling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy hesitated.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps&mdash;his daughter&mdash;influenced him&mdash;some.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps,&rdquo; nodded Bertram. &ldquo;She, too, has been very kind, all the way
+      through.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy hesitated again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I thought&mdash;it was going so splendidly,&rdquo; she faltered, in a
+      half-stifled voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So it was&mdash;at the first.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then what&mdash;ailed it, at the last, do you suppose?&rdquo; Billy was holding
+      her breath till he should answer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The man got to his feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, don't&mdash;don't ask me,&rdquo; he begged. &ldquo;Please don't let's talk of
+      it any more. It can't do any good! I just flunked&mdash;that's all. My
+      hand failed me. Maybe I tried too hard. Maybe I was tired. Maybe something&mdash;troubled
+      me. Never mind, dear, what it was. It can do no good even to think of that&mdash;now.
+      So just let's&mdash;drop it, please, dear,&rdquo; he finished, his face working
+      with emotion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And Billy dropped it&mdash;so far as words were concerned; but she could
+      not drop it from her thoughts&mdash;specially after Kate's letter came.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Kate's letter was addressed to Billy, and it said, after speaking of
+      various other matters:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And now about poor Bertram's failure.&rdquo; (Billy frowned. In Billy's
+      presence no one was allowed to say &ldquo;Bertram's failure&rdquo;; but a letter has a
+      most annoying privilege of saying what it pleases without let or
+      hindrance, unless one tears it up&mdash;and a letter destroyed unread
+      remains always such a tantalizing mystery of possibilities! So Billy let
+      the letter talk.) &ldquo;Of course we have heard of it away out here. I do wish
+      if Bertram <i>must</i> paint such famous people, he would manage to
+      flatter them up&mdash;in the painting, I mean, of course&mdash;enough so
+      that it might pass for a success!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The technical part of all this criticism I don't pretend to understand in
+      the least; but from what I hear and read, he must, indeed, have made a
+      terrible mess of it, and of course I'm very sorry&mdash;and some
+      surprised, too, for usually he paints such pretty pictures!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Still, on the other hand, Billy, I'm not surprised. William says that
+      Bertram has been completely out of fix over something, and as gloomy as an
+      owl, for weeks past; and of course, under those circumstances, the poor
+      boy could not be expected to do good work. Now William, being a man, is
+      not supposed to understand what the trouble is. But I, being a woman, can
+      see through a pane of glass when it's held right up before me; and I can
+      guess, of course, that a woman is at the bottom of it&mdash;she always is!&mdash;and
+      that you, being his special fancy at the moment&rdquo; (Billy almost did tear
+      the letter now&mdash;but not quite), &ldquo;are that woman.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now, Billy, you don't like such frank talk, of course; but, on the other
+      hand, I know you do not want to ruin the dear boy's career. So, for
+      heaven's sake, if you two have been having one of those quarrels that
+      lovers so delight in&mdash;do, please, for the good of the cause, make up
+      quick, or else quarrel harder and break it off entirely&mdash;which,
+      honestly, would be the better way, I think, all around.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There, there, my dear child, don't bristle up! I am very fond of you, and
+      would dearly love to have you for a sister&mdash;if you'd only take
+      William, as you should! But, as you very well know, I never did approve of
+      this last match at all, for either of your sakes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He can't make you happy, my dear, and you can't make him happy. Bertram
+      never was&mdash;and never will be&mdash;a marrying man. He's too
+      temperamental&mdash;too thoroughly wrapped up in his Art. Girls have never
+      meant anything to him but a beautiful picture to paint. And they never
+      will. They can't. He's made that way. Listen! I can prove it to you. Up to
+      this winter he's always been a care-free, happy, jolly fellow, and you <i>know</i>
+      what beautiful work he has done. Never before has he tied himself to any
+      one girl till last fall. Then you two entered into this absurd engagement.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now what has it been since? William wrote me himself not a fortnight ago
+      that he'd been worried to death over Bertram for weeks past, he's been so
+      moody, so irritable, so fretted over his work, so unlike himself. And his
+      picture has <i>failed</i> dismally. Of course William doesn't understand;
+      but I do. I know you've probably quarrelled, or something. You know how
+      flighty and unreliable you can be sometimes, Billy, and I don't say that
+      to mean anything against you, either&mdash;that's <i>your</i> way. You're
+      just as temperamental in your art, music, as Bertram is in his. You're
+      utterly unsuited to him. If Bertram is to marry <i>anybody</i>, it should
+      be some quiet, staid, sensible girl who would be a <i>help</i> to him. But
+      when I think of you two flyaway flutterbudgets marrying&mdash;!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now, for heaven's sake, Billy, <i>do</i> make up or something&mdash;and
+      do it now. Don't, for pity's sake, let Bertram ever put out another such a
+      piece of work to shame us all like this. Do you want to ruin his career?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Faithfully yours,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;KATE HARTWELL.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;P. S. <i>I</i> think William's the one for you. He's devoted to you, and
+      his quiet, sensible affection is just what your temperament needs. I <i>always</i>
+      thought William was the one for you. Think it over.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;P. S. No. 2. You can see by the above that it isn't you I'm objecting to,
+      my dear. It's just <i>you-and-Bertram</i>.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;K.&rdquo; <a name="link2HCH0030" id="link2HCH0030">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXX. &ldquo;I'VE HINDERED HIM&rdquo;
+     </h2>
+    <p>
+      Billy was shaking with anger and terror by the time she had finished
+      reading Kate's letter. Anger was uppermost at the moment, and with one
+      sweeping wrench of her trembling fingers she tore the closely written
+      sheets straight through the middle, and flung them into the little wicker
+      basket by her desk. Then she went down-stairs and played her noisiest,
+      merriest Tarantella, and tried to see how fast she could make her fingers
+      fly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But Billy could not, of course, play tarantellas all day; and even while
+      she did play them she could not forget that waste-basket up-stairs, and
+      the horror it contained. The anger was still uppermost, but the terror was
+      prodding her at every turn, and demanding to know just what it was that
+      Kate had written in that letter, anyway. It is not strange then, perhaps,
+      that before two hours passed, Billy went up-stairs, took the letter from
+      the basket, matched together the torn half-sheets and forced her shrinking
+      eyes to read every word again-just to satisfy that terror which would not
+      be silenced.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the end of the second reading, Billy reminded herself with stern
+      calmness that it was only Kate, after all; that nobody ought to mind what
+      Kate said; that certainly <i>she</i>, Billy, ought not&mdash;after the
+      experience she had already had with her unpleasant interference! Kate did
+      not know what she was talking about, anyway. This was only another case of
+      her trying &ldquo;to manage.&rdquo; She did so love to manage&mdash;everything!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At this point Billy got out her pen and paper and wrote to Kate.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a formal, cold little letter, not at all the sort that Billy's
+      friends usually received. It thanked Kate for her advice, and for her
+      &ldquo;kind willingness&rdquo; to have Billy for a sister; but it hinted that perhaps
+      Kate did not realize that as long as Billy was the one who would have to
+      <i>live</i> with the chosen man, it would be pleasanter to take the one
+      Billy loved, which happened in this case to be Bertram&mdash;not William.
+      As for any &ldquo;quarrel&rdquo; being the cause of whatever fancied trouble there was
+      with the new picture&mdash;the letter scouted that idea in no uncertain
+      terms. There had been no suggestion of a quarrel even once since the
+      engagement.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then Billy signed her name and took the letter out to post immediately.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For the first few minutes after the letter had been dropped into the green
+      box at the corner, Billy held her head high, and told herself that the
+      matter was now closed. She had sent Kate a courteous, dignified,
+      conclusive, effectual answer, and she thought with much satisfaction of
+      the things she had said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Very soon, however, she began to think&mdash;not so much of what <i>she</i>
+      had said&mdash;but of what Kate had said. Many of Kate's sentences were
+      unpleasantly vivid in her mind. They seemed, indeed, to stand out in
+      letters of flame, and they began to burn, and burn, and burn. These were
+      some of them:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;William says that Bertram has been completely out of fix over something,
+      and as gloomy as an owl for weeks past.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A woman is at the bottom of it&mdash;... you are that woman.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You can't make him happy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bertram never was&mdash;and never will be&mdash;a marrying man.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Girls have never meant anything to him but a beautiful picture to paint.
+      And they never will.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Up to this winter he's always been a carefree, happy, jolly fellow, and
+      you <i>know</i> what beautiful work he has done. Never before has he tied
+      himself to any one girl until last fall.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now what has it been since?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He's been so moody, so irritable, so fretted over his work, so unlike
+      himself; and his picture has failed, dismally.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you want to ruin his career?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy began to see now that she had not really answered Kate's letter at
+      all. The matter was not closed. Her reply had been, perhaps, courteous and
+      dignified&mdash;but it had not been conclusive nor effectual.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy had reached home now, and she was crying. Bertram <i>had</i> acted
+      strangely, of late. Bertram <i>had</i> seemed troubled over something. His
+      picture <i>had</i>&mdash;With a little shudder Billy tossed aside these
+      thoughts, and dug at her teary eyes with a determined hand. Fiercely she
+      told herself that the matter <i>was</i> settled. Very scornfully she
+      declared that it was &ldquo;only Kate,&rdquo; after all, and that she <i>would not</i>
+      let Kate make her unhappy again! Forthwith she picked up a current
+      magazine and began to read.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As it chanced, however, even here Billy found no peace; for the first
+      article she opened to was headed in huge black type:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;MARRIAGE AND THE ARTISTIC TEMPERAMENT.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      With a little cry Billy flung the magazine far from her, and picked up
+      another. But even &ldquo;The Elusiveness of Chopin,&rdquo; which she found here, could
+      not keep her thoughts nor her eyes from wandering to the discarded thing
+      in the corner, lying ignominiously face down with crumpled, out-flung
+      leaves.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy knew that in the end she should go over and pick that magazine up,
+      and read that article from beginning to end. She was not surprised,
+      therefore, when she did it&mdash;but she was not any the happier for
+      having done it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The writer of the article did not approve of marriage and the artistic
+      temperament. He said the artist belonged to his Art, and to posterity
+      through his Art. The essay fairly bristled with many-lettered words and
+      high-sounding phrases, few of which Billy really understood. She did
+      understand enough, however, to feel, guiltily, when the thing was
+      finished, that already she had married Bertram, and by so doing had
+      committed a Crime. She had slain Art, stifled Ambition, destroyed
+      Inspiration, and been a nuisance generally. In consequence of which
+      Bertram would henceforth and forevermore be doomed to Littleness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Naturally, in this state of mind, and with this vision before her, Billy
+      was anything but her bright, easy self when she met Bertram an hour or two
+      later. Naturally, too, Bertram, still the tormented victim of the bugaboo
+      his jealous fears had fashioned, was just in the mood to place the worst
+      possible construction on his sweetheart's very evident unhappiness. With
+      sighs, unspoken questions, and frequently averted eyes, therefore, the
+      wretched evening passed, a pitiful misery to them both.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      During the days that followed, Billy thought that the world itself must be
+      in league with Kate, so often did she encounter Kate's letter masquerading
+      under some thin disguise. She did not stop to realize that because she was
+      so afraid she <i>would</i> find it, she <i>did</i> find it. In the books
+      she read, in the plays she saw, in the chance words she heard spoken by
+      friend or stranger&mdash;always there was something to feed her fears in
+      one way or another. Even in a yellowed newspaper that had covered the top
+      shelf in her closet she found one day a symposium on whether or not an
+      artist's wife should be an artist; and she shuddered&mdash;but she read
+      every opinion given.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Some writers said no, and some, yes; and some said it all depended&mdash;on
+      the artist and his wife. Billy found much food for thought, some for
+      amusement, and a little that made for peace of mind. On the whole it
+      opened up a new phase of the matter, perhaps. At all events, upon
+      finishing it she almost sobbed:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;One would think that just because I write a song now and then, I was
+      going to let Bertram starve, and go with holes in his socks and no buttons
+      on his clothes!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was that afternoon that Billy went to see Marie; but even there she did
+      not escape, for the gentle Marie all unknowingly added her mite to the
+      woeful whole.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy found Marie in tears.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Marie!&rdquo; she cried in dismay.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sh-h!&rdquo; warned Marie, turning agonized eyes toward the closed door of
+      Cyril's den.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, dear, what is it?&rdquo; begged Billy, with no less dismay, but with
+      greater caution.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sh-h!&rdquo; admonished Marie again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On tiptoe, then, she led the way to a room at the other end of the tiny
+      apartment. Once there; she explained in a more natural tone of voice:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Cyril's at work on a new piece for the piano.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, what if he is?&rdquo; demanded Billy. &ldquo;That needn't make you cry, need
+      it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no&mdash;no, indeed,&rdquo; demurred Marie, in a shocked voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, then, what is it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Marie hesitated; then, with the abandon of a hurt child that longs for
+      sympathy, she sobbed:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It&mdash;it's just that I'm afraid, after all, that I'm not good enough
+      for Cyril.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy stared frankly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not <i>good</i> enough, Marie Henshaw! Whatever in the world do you
+      mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, not good <i>for</i> him, then. Listen! To-day, I know, in lots of
+      ways I must have disappointed him. First, he put on some socks that I'd
+      darned. They were the first since our marriage that I'd found to darn, and
+      I'd been so proud and&mdash;and happy while I <i>was</i> darning them. But&mdash;but
+      he took 'em off right after breakfast and threw 'em in a corner. Then he
+      put on a new pair, and said that I&mdash;I needn't darn any more; that it
+      made&mdash;bunches. Billy, <i>my darns&mdash;bunches!</i>&rdquo; Marie's face
+      and voice were tragic.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense, dear! Don't let that fret you,&rdquo; comforted Billy, promptly,
+      trying not to laugh too hard. &ldquo;It wasn't <i>your</i> darns; it was just
+      darns&mdash;anybody's darns. Cyril won't wear darned socks. Aunt Hannah
+      told me so long ago, and I said then there'd be a tragedy when <i>you</i>
+      found it out. So don't worry over that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, but that isn't all,&rdquo; moaned Marie. &ldquo;Listen! You know how quiet he
+      must have everything when he's composing&mdash;and he ought to have it,
+      too! But I forgot, this morning, and put on some old shoes that didn't
+      have any rubber heels, and I ran the carpet sweeper, and I rattled tins in
+      the kitchen. But I never thought a thing until he opened his door and
+      asked me <i>please</i> to change my shoes and let the&mdash;the confounded
+      dirt go, and didn't I have any dishes in the house but what were made of
+      that abominable tin s-stuff,&rdquo; she finished in a wail of misery.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy burst into a ringing laugh, but Marie's aghast face and upraised
+      hand speedily reduced it to a convulsive giggle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You dear child! Cyril's always like that when he's composing,&rdquo; soothed
+      Billy. &ldquo;I supposed you knew it, dear. Don't you fret! Run along and make
+      him his favorite pudding, and by night both of you will have forgotten
+      there ever were such things in the world as tins and shoes and carpet
+      sweepers that clatter.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Marie shook her head. Her dismal face did not relax.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You don't understand,&rdquo; she moaned. &ldquo;It's myself. I've <i>hindered</i>
+      him!&rdquo; She brought out the word with an agony of slow horror. &ldquo;And only
+      to-day I read-here, look!&rdquo; she faltered, going to the table and picking up
+      with shaking hands a magazine.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy recognized it by the cover at once&mdash;another like it had been
+      flung not so long ago by her own hand into the corner. She was not
+      surprised, therefore, to see very soon at the end of Marie's trembling
+      finger:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Marriage and the Artistic Temperament.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy did not give a ringing laugh this time. She gave an involuntary
+      little shudder, though she tried valiantly to turn it all off with a light
+      word of scorn, and a cheery pat on Marie's heaving shoulders. But she went
+      home very soon; and it was plain to be seen that her visit to Marie had
+      not brought her peace.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy knew Kate's letter, by heart, now, both in the original, and in its
+      different versions, and she knew that, despite her struggles, she was
+      being forced straight toward Kate's own verdict: that she, Billy, <i>was</i>
+      the cause, in some way, of the deplorable change in Bertram's appearance,
+      manner, and work. Before she would quite surrender to this heart-sickening
+      belief, however, she determined to ask Bertram himself. Falteringly, but
+      resolutely, therefore, one day, she questioned him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bertram, once you hinted that the picture did not go right because you
+      were troubled over something; and I've been wondering&mdash;was it about&mdash;me,
+      in any way, that you were troubled?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy had her answer before the man spoke. She had it in the quick terror
+      that sprang to his eyes, and the dull red that swept from his neck to his
+      forehead. His reply, so far as words went did not count, for it evaded
+      everything and told nothing. But Billy knew without words. She knew, too,
+      what she must do. For the time being she took Bertram's evasive answer as
+      he so evidently wished it to be taken; but that evening, after he had
+      gone, she wrote him a little note and broke the engagement. So heartbroken
+      was she&mdash;and so fearful was she that he should suspect this&mdash;that
+      her note, when completed, was a cold little thing of few words, which
+      carried no hint that its very coldness was but the heart-break in the
+      disguise of pride.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This was like Billy in all ways. Billy, had she lived in the days of the
+      Christian martyrs, would have been the first to walk with head erect into
+      the Arena of Sacrifice. The arena now was just everyday living, the lions
+      were her own devouring misery, and the cause was Bertram's best good.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      From Bertram's own self she had it now&mdash;that she had been the cause
+      of his being troubled; so she could doubt no longer. The only part that
+      was uncertain was the reason why he had been troubled. Whether his bond to
+      her had become irksome because of his love for another, or because of his
+      love for no girl&mdash;except to paint, Billy did not know. But that it
+      was irksome she did not doubt now. Besides, as if she were going to slay
+      his Art, stifle his Ambition, destroy his Inspiration, and be a nuisance
+      generally just so that <i>she</i> might be happy! Indeed, no! Hence she
+      broke the engagement.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This was the letter:
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     &ldquo;DEAR BERTRAM:&mdash;You won't make the
+     move, so I must. I knew, from the way you spoke
+     to-day, that it <i>was</i> about me that you were
+     troubled, even though you generously tried to
+     make me think it was not. And so the picture did
+     not go well.
+
+     &ldquo;Now, dear, we have not been happy together
+     lately. You have seen it; so have I. I fear our
+     engagement was a mistake, so I'm going to send
+     back your ring to-morrow, and I'm writing this
+     letter to-night. Please don't try to see me just
+     yet. You <i>know</i> what I am doing is best&mdash;all
+     round.
+               &ldquo;Always your friend,
+                       &ldquo;BILLY.&rdquo;
+ </pre>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0031" id="link2HCH0031">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXXI. FLIGHT
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Billy feared if she did not mail the letter at once she would not have the
+      courage to mail it at all. So she slipped down-stairs very quietly and
+      went herself to the post box a little way down the street; then she came
+      back and sobbed herself to sleep&mdash;though not until after she had
+      sobbed awake for long hours of wretchedness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When she awoke in the morning, heavy-eyed and unrested, there came to her
+      first the vague horror of some shadow hanging over her, then the sickening
+      consciousness of what that shadow was. For one wild minute Billy felt that
+      she must run to the telephone, summon Bertram, and beseech him to return
+      unread the letter he would receive from her that day. Then there came to
+      her the memory of Bertram's face as it had looked the night before when
+      she had asked him if she were the cause of his being troubled. There came,
+      too, the memory of Kate's scathing &ldquo;Do you want to ruin his career?&rdquo; Even
+      the hated magazine article and Marie's tragic &ldquo;I've <i>hindered</i> him!&rdquo;
+       added their mite; and Billy knew that she should not go to the telephone,
+      nor summon Bertram.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The one fatal mistake now would be to let Bertram see her own distress. If
+      once he should suspect how she suffered in doing this thing, there would
+      be a scene that Billy felt she had not the courage to face. She must,
+      therefore, manage in some way not to see Bertram&mdash;not to let him see
+      her until she felt more sure of her self-control no matter what he said.
+      The easiest way to do this was, of course, to go away. But where? How? She
+      must think. Meanwhile, for these first few hours, she would not tell any
+      one, even Aunt Hannah, what had happened. There must <i>no one</i> speak
+      to her of it, yet. That she could not endure. Aunt Hannah would, of
+      course, shiver, groan &ldquo;Oh, my grief and conscience!&rdquo; and call for another
+      shawl; and Billy just now felt as if she should scream if she heard Aunt
+      Hannah say &ldquo;Oh, my grief and conscience!&rdquo;&mdash;over that. Billy went down
+      to breakfast, therefore, with a determination to act exactly as usual, so
+      that Aunt Hannah should not know&mdash;yet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When people try to &ldquo;act exactly as usual,&rdquo; they generally end in acting
+      quite the opposite; and Billy was no exception to the rule. Hence her
+      attempted cheerfulness became flippantness, and her laughter giggles that
+      rang too frequently to be quite sincere&mdash;though from Aunt Hannah it
+      all elicited only an affectionate smile at &ldquo;the dear child's high
+      spirits.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A little later, when Aunt Hannah was glancing over the morning paper&mdash;now
+      no longer barred from the door&mdash;she gave a sudden cry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, just listen to this!&rdquo; she exclaimed, reading from the paper in her
+      hand. &ldquo;'A new tenor in &ldquo;The Girl of the Golden West.&rdquo; Appearance of Mr. M.
+      J. Arkwright at the Boston Opera House to-night. Owing to the sudden
+      illness of Dubassi, who was to have taken the part of Johnson tonight, an
+      exceptional opportunity has come to a young tenor singer, one of the most
+      promising pupils at the Conservatory school. Arkwright is said to have a
+      fine voice, a particularly good stage presence, and a purity of tone and
+      smoothness of execution that few of his age and experience can show. Only
+      a short time ago he appeared as the duke at one of the popular-priced
+      Saturday night performances of &ldquo;Rigoletto&rdquo;; and his extraordinary success
+      on that occasion, coupled with his familiarity with, and fitness for the
+      part of Johnson in &ldquo;The Girl of the Golden West,&rdquo; led to his being chosen
+      to take Dubassi's place to-night. His performance is awaited with the
+      greatest of interest.' Now isn't that splendid for Mary Jane? I'm so
+      glad!&rdquo; beamed Aunt Hannah.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course we're glad!&rdquo; cried Billy. &ldquo;And didn't it come just in time?
+      This is the last week of opera, anyway, you know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But it says he sang before&mdash;on a Saturday night,&rdquo; declared Aunt
+      Hannah, going back to the paper in her hand. &ldquo;Now wouldn't you have
+      thought we'd have heard of it, or read of it? And wouldn't you have
+      thought he'd have told us?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, well, maybe he didn't happen to see us so he could tell us,&rdquo; returned
+      Billy with elaborate carelessness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know it; but it's so funny he <i>hasn't</i> seen us,&rdquo; contended Aunt
+      Hannah, frowning. &ldquo;You know how much he used to be here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy colored, and hurried into the fray.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, but he must have been so busy, with all this, you know. And of course
+      we didn't see it in the paper&mdash;because we didn't have any paper at
+      that time, probably. Oh, yes, that's my fault, I know,&rdquo; she laughed; &ldquo;and
+      I was silly, I'll own. But we'll make up for it now. We'll go, of course,
+      I wish it had been on our regular season-ticket night, but I fancy we can
+      get seats somewhere; and I'm going to ask Alice Greggory and her mother,
+      too. I'll go down there this morning to tell them, and to get the tickets.
+      I've got it all planned.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy had, indeed, &ldquo;got it all planned.&rdquo; She had been longing for
+      something that would take her away from the house&mdash;and if possible
+      away from herself. This would do the one easily, and might help on the
+      other. She rose at once.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll go right away,&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, my dear,&rdquo; frowned Aunt Hannah, anxiously, &ldquo;I don't believe I can go
+      to-night&mdash;though I'd love to, dearly.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But why not?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm tired and half sick with a headache this morning. I didn't sleep, and
+      I've taken cold somewhere,&rdquo; sighed the lady, pulling the top shawl a
+      little higher about her throat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, you poor dear, what a shame!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Won't Bertram go?&rdquo; asked Aunt Hannah.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy shook her head&mdash;but she did not meet Aunt Hannah's eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no. I sha'n't even ask him. He said last night he had a banquet on
+      for to-night&mdash;one of his art clubs, I believe.&rdquo; Billy's voice was
+      casualness itself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you'll have the Greggorys&mdash;that is, Mrs. Greggory <i>can</i> go,
+      can't she?&rdquo; inquired Aunt Hannah.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes; I'm sure she can,&rdquo; nodded Billy. &ldquo;You know she went to the
+      operetta, and this is just the same&mdash;only bigger.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, yes, I know,&rdquo; murmured Aunt Hannah.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dear me! How can she get about so on those two wretched little sticks?
+      She's a perfect marvel to me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She is to me, too,&rdquo; sighed Billy, as she hurried from the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy was, indeed, in a hurry. To herself she said she wanted to get away&mdash;away!
+      And she got away as soon as she could.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She had her plans all made. She would go first to the Greggorys' and
+      invite them to attend the opera with her that evening. Then she would get
+      the tickets. Just what she would do with the rest of the day she did not
+      know. She knew only that she would not go home until time to dress for
+      dinner and the opera. She did not tell Aunt Hannah this, however, when she
+      left the house. She planned to telephone it from somewhere down town,
+      later. She told herself that she <i>could not</i> stay all day under the
+      sharp eyes of Aunt Hannah&mdash;but she managed, nevertheless, to bid that
+      lady a particularly blithe and bright-faced good-by.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy had not been long gone when the telephone bell rang. Aunt Hannah
+      answered it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Bertram, is that you?&rdquo; she called, in answer to the words that came
+      to her across the wire. &ldquo;Why, I hardly knew your voice!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Didn't you? Well, is&mdash;is Billy there?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, she isn't. She's gone down to see Alice Greggory.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; So evident was the disappointment in the voice that Aunt Hannah
+      added hastily:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm so sorry! She hasn't been gone ten minutes. But&mdash;is there any
+      message?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, thank you. There's no&mdash;message.&rdquo; The voice hesitated, then went
+      on a little constrainedly. &ldquo;How&mdash;how is Billy this morning? She&mdash;she's
+      all right, isn't she?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah laughed in obvious amusement.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bless your dear heart, yes, my boy! Has it been such a <i>long</i> time
+      since last evening&mdash;when you saw her yourself? Yes, she's all right.
+      In fact, I was thinking at the breakfast table how pretty she looked with
+      her pink cheeks and her bright eyes. She seemed to be in such high
+      spirits.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      An inarticulate something that Aunt Hannah could not quite catch came
+      across the line; then a somewhat hurried &ldquo;All right. Thank you. Good-by.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The next time Aunt Hannah was called to the telephone, Billy spoke to her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aunt Hannah, don't wait luncheon for me, please. I shall get it in town.
+      And don't expect me till five o'clock. I have some shopping to do.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right, dear,&rdquo; replied Aunt Hannah. &ldquo;Did you get the tickets?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, and the Greggorys will go. Oh, and Aunt Hannah!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, dear.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Please tell John to bring Peggy around early enough to-night so we can go
+      down and get the Greggorys. I told them we'd call for them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very well, dear. I'll tell him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you. How's the poor head?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Better, a little, I think.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's good. Won't you repent and go, too?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No&mdash;oh, no, indeed!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right, then; good-by. I'm sorry!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So'm I. Good-by,&rdquo; sighed Aunt Hannah, as she hung up the receiver and
+      turned away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was after five o'clock when Billy got home, and so hurried were the
+      dressing and the dinner that Aunt Hannah forgot to mention Bertram's
+      telephone call till just as Billy was ready to start for the Greggorys'.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There! and I forgot,&rdquo; she confessed. &ldquo;Bertram called you up just after
+      you left this morning, my dear.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did he?&rdquo; Billy's face was turned away, but Aunt Hannah did not notice
+      that.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. Oh, he didn't want anything special,&rdquo; smiled the lady, &ldquo;only&mdash;well,
+      he did ask if you were all right this morning,&rdquo; she finished with quiet
+      mischief.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did he?&rdquo; murmured Billy again. This time there was a little sound after
+      the words, which Aunt Hannah would have taken for a sob if she had not
+      known that it must have been a laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then Billy was gone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At eight o'clock the doorbell rang, and a minute later Rosa came up to say
+      that Mr. Bertram Henshaw was down-stairs and wished to see Mrs. Stetson.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Stetson went down at once.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, my dear boy,&rdquo; she exclaimed, as she entered the room; &ldquo;Billy said
+      you had a banquet on for to-night!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I know; but&mdash;I didn't go.&rdquo; Bertram's face was pale and drawn.
+      His voice did not sound natural.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Bertram, you look ill! <i>Are</i> you ill?&rdquo; The man made an
+      impatient gesture.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, no, I'm not ill&mdash;I'm not ill at all. Rosa says&mdash;Billy's not
+      here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No; she's gone to the opera with the Greggorys.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The <i>opera!</i>&rdquo; There was a grieved hurt in Bertram's voice that Aunt
+      Hannah quite misunderstood. She hastened to give an apologetic
+      explanation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. She would have told you&mdash;she would have asked you to join them,
+      I'm sure, but she said you were going to a banquet. I'm <i>sure</i> she
+      said so.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I did tell her so&mdash;last night,&rdquo; nodded Bertram, dully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah frowned a little. Still more anxiously she endeavored to
+      explain to this disappointed lover why his sweetheart was not at home to
+      greet him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, then, of course, my boy, she'd never think of your coming here
+      to-night; and when she found Mr. Arkwright was going to sing&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Arkwright!&rdquo; There was no listlessness in Bertram's voice or manner now.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. Didn't you see it in the paper? Such a splendid chance for him! His
+      picture was there, too.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. I didn't see it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then you don't know about it, of course,&rdquo; smiled Aunt Hannah. &ldquo;But he's
+      to take the part of Johnson in 'The Girl of the Golden West.' Isn't that
+      splendid? I'm so glad! And Billy was, too. She hurried right off this
+      morning to get the tickets and to ask the Greggorys.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; Bertram got to his feet a little abruptly, and held out his hand.
+      &ldquo;Well, then, I might as well say good-by then, I suppose,&rdquo; he suggested
+      with a laugh that Aunt Hannah thought was a bit forced. Before she could
+      remind him again, though, that Billy was really not to blame for not being
+      there to welcome him, he was gone. And Aunt Hannah could only go up-stairs
+      and meditate on the unreasonableness of lovers in general, and of Bertram
+      in particular.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah had gone to bed, but she was still awake, when Billy came
+      home, so she heard the automobile come to a stop before the door, and she
+      called to Billy when the girl came upstairs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, dear, come in here. I'm awake! I want to hear about it. Was it
+      good?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy stopped in the doorway. The light from the hall struck her face.
+      There was no brightness in her eyes now, no pink in her cheeks.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes, it was good&mdash;very good,&rdquo; she replied listlessly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Billy, how queer you answer! What was the matter? Wasn't Mary Jane&mdash;all
+      right?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mary Jane? Oh!&mdash;oh, yes; he was very good, Aunt Hannah.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Very good,' indeed!&rdquo; echoed the lady, indignantly. &ldquo;He must have been!&mdash;when
+      you speak as if you'd actually forgotten that he sang at all, anyway!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy had forgotten&mdash;almost. Billy had found that, in spite of her
+      getting away from the house, she had not got away from herself once, all
+      day. She tried now, however, to summon her acting powers of the morning.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But it was splendid, really, Aunt Hannah,&rdquo; she cried, with some show of
+      animation. &ldquo;And they clapped and cheered and gave him any number of
+      curtain calls. We were so proud of him! But you see, I <i>am</i> tired,&rdquo;
+       she broke off wearily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You poor child, of course you are, and you look like a ghost! I won't
+      keep you another minute. Run along to bed. Oh&mdash;Bertram didn't go to
+      that banquet, after all. He came here,&rdquo; she added, as Billy turned to go.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bertram!&rdquo; The girl wheeled sharply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. He wanted you, of course. I found I didn't do, at all,&rdquo; chuckled
+      Aunt Hannah. &ldquo;Did you suppose I would?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was no answer. Billy had gone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the long night watches Billy fought it out with herself. (Billy had
+      always fought things out with herself.) She must go away. She knew that.
+      Already Bertram had telephoned, and called. He evidently meant to see her&mdash;and
+      she could not see him. She dared not. If she did&mdash;Billy knew now how
+      pitifully little it would take to make her actually <i>willing</i> to slay
+      Bertram's Art, stifle his Ambition, destroy his Inspiration, and be a
+      nuisance generally&mdash;if only she could have Bertram while she was
+      doing it all. Sternly then she asked herself if she had no pride; if she
+      had forgotten that it was because of her that the Winthrop portrait had
+      not been a success&mdash;because of her, either for the reason that he
+      loved now Miss Winthrop, or else that he loved no girl&mdash;except to
+      paint.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Very early in the morning a white-faced, red-eyed Billy appeared at Aunt
+      Hannah's bedside.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy!&rdquo; exclaimed Aunt Hannah, plainly appalled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy sat down on the edge of the bed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aunt Hannah,&rdquo; she began in a monotonous voice as if she were reciting a
+      lesson she had learned by heart, &ldquo;please listen, and please try not to be
+      too surprised. You were saying the other day that you would like to visit
+      your old home town. Well, I think that's a very nice idea. If you don't
+      mind we'll go to-day.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah pulled herself half erect in bed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;<i>To-day</i>&mdash;child?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; nodded Billy, unsmilingly. &ldquo;We shall have to go somewhere to-day,
+      and I thought you would like that place best.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But&mdash;Billy!&mdash;what does this mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy sighed heavily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I understand. You'll have to know the rest, of course. I've broken
+      my engagement. I don't want to see Bertram. That's why I'm going away.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah fell nervelessly back on the pillow. Her teeth fairly
+      chattered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, my grief and conscience&mdash;<i>Billy!</i> Won't you please pull up
+      that blanket,&rdquo; she moaned. &ldquo;Billy, what do you mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy shook her head and got to her feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can't tell any more now, really, Aunt Hannah. Please don't ask me; and
+      don't&mdash;talk. You <i>will</i>&mdash;go with me, won't you?&rdquo; And Aunt
+      Hannah, with her terrified eyes on Billy's piteously agitated face, nodded
+      her head and choked:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, of course I'll go&mdash;anywhere&mdash;with you, Billy; but&mdash;why
+      did you do it, why did you do it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A little later, Billy, in her own room, wrote this note to Bertram:
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     &ldquo;DEAR BERTRAM:&mdash;I'm going away to-day.
+     That'll be best all around. You'll agree to that,
+     I'm sure. Please don't try to see me, and please
+     don't write. It wouldn't make either one of us
+     any happier. You must know that.
+
+             &ldquo;As ever your friend,
+
+                    &ldquo;BILLY.&rdquo;
+ </pre>
+    <p>
+      Bertram, when he read it, grew only a shade more white, a degree more sick
+      at heart. Then he kissed the letter gently and put it away with the other.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To Bertram, the thing was very clear. Billy had come now to the conclusion
+      that it would be wrong to give herself where she could not give her heart.
+      And in this he agreed with her&mdash;bitter as it was for him. Certainly
+      he did not want Billy, if Billy did not want him, he told himself. He
+      would now, of course, accede to her request. He would not write to her&mdash;and
+      make her suffer more. But to Bertram, at that moment, it seemed that the
+      very sun in the heavens had gone out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0032" id="link2HCH0032">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXXII. PETE TO THE RESCUE
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      One by one the weeks passed and became a month. Then other weeks became
+      other months. It was July when Billy, homesick and weary, came back to
+      Hillside with Aunt Hannah.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Home looked wonderfully good to Billy, in spite of the fact that she had
+      so dreaded to see it. Billy had made up her mind, however, that, come
+      sometime she must. She could not, of course, stay always away. Perhaps,
+      too, it would be just as easy at home as it was away. Certainly it could
+      not be any harder. She was convinced of that. Besides, she did not want
+      Bertram to think&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy had received only meagre news from Boston since she went away.
+      Bertram had not written at all. William had written twice&mdash;hurt,
+      grieved, puzzled, questioning letters that were very hard to answer. From
+      Marie, too, had come letters of much the same sort. By far the cheeriest
+      epistles had come from Alice Greggory. They contained, indeed, about the
+      only comfort Billy had known for weeks, for they showed very plainly to
+      Billy that Arkwright's heart had been caught on the rebound; and that in
+      Alice Greggory he was finding the sweetest sort of balm for his wounded
+      feelings. From these letters Billy learned, too, that Judge Greggory's
+      honor had been wholly vindicated; and, as Billy told Aunt Hannah, &ldquo;anybody
+      could put two and two together and make four, now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was eight o'clock on a rainy July evening that Billy and Aunt Hannah
+      arrived at Hillside; and it was only a little past eight that Aunt Hannah
+      was summoned to the telephone. When she came back to Billy she was crying
+      and wringing her hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy sprang to her feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Aunt Hannah, what is it? What's the matter?&rdquo; she demanded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah sank into a chair, still wringing her hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Billy, Billy, how can I tell you, how can I tell you?&rdquo; she moaned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You must tell me! Aunt Hannah, what is it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh&mdash;oh&mdash;oh! Billy, I can't&mdash;I can't!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you'll have to! What is it, Aunt Hannah?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's&mdash;B-Bertram!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bertram!&rdquo; Billy's face grew ashen. &ldquo;Quick, quick&mdash;what do you mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      For answer, Aunt Hannah covered her face with her hands and began to sob
+      aloud. Billy, almost beside herself now with terror and anxiety, dropped
+      on her knees and tried to pull away the shaking hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aunt Hannah, you must tell me! You must&mdash;you must!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can't, Billy. It's Bertram. He's&mdash;<i>hurt!</i>&rdquo; choked Aunt
+      Hannah, hysterically.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hurt! How?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know. Pete told me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pete!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. Rosa had told him we were coming, and he called me up. He said maybe
+      I could do something. So he told me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, yes! But told you what?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That he was hurt.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I couldn't hear all, but I think 'twas an accident&mdash;automobile. And,
+      Billy, Billy&mdash;Pete says it's his arm&mdash;his right arm&mdash;and
+      that maybe he can't ever p-paint again!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh-h!&rdquo; Billy fell back as if the words had been a blow. &ldquo;Not that, Aunt
+      Hannah&mdash;not that!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's what Pete said. I couldn't get all of it, but I got that. And,
+      Billy, he's been out of his head&mdash;though he isn't now, Pete says&mdash;and&mdash;and&mdash;and
+      he's been calling for you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;For&mdash;<i>me?</i>&rdquo; A swift change came to Billy's face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. Over and over again he called for you&mdash;while he was crazy, you
+      know. That's why Pete told me. He said he didn't rightly understand what
+      the trouble was, but he didn't believe there was any trouble, <i>really</i>,
+      between you two; anyway, that you wouldn't think there was, if you could
+      hear him, and know how he wanted you, and&mdash;why, Billy!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy was on her feet now. Her fingers were on the electric push-button
+      that would summon Rosa. Her face was illumined. The next moment Rosa
+      appeared.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tell John to bring Peggy to the door at once, please,&rdquo; directed her
+      mistress.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy!&rdquo; gasped Aunt Hannah again, as the maid disappeared. Billy was
+      tremblingly putting on the hat she had but just taken off. &ldquo;Billy, what
+      are you going to do?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy turned in obvious surprise.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, I'm going to Bertram, of course.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To Bertram! But it's nearly half-past eight, child, and it rains, and
+      everything!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But Bertram <i>wants</i> me!&rdquo; exclaimed Billy. &ldquo;As if I'd mind rain, or
+      time, or anything else, <i>now!</i>&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But&mdash;but&mdash;oh, my grief and conscience!&rdquo; groaned Aunt Hannah,
+      beginning to wring her hands again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy reached for her coat. Aunt Hannah stirred into sudden action.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, Billy, if you'd only wait till to-morrow,&rdquo; she quavered, putting out
+      a feebly restraining hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To-morrow!&rdquo; The young voice rang with supreme scorn. &ldquo;Do you think I'd
+      wait till to-morrow&mdash;after all this? I say Bertram <i>wants</i> me.&rdquo;
+       Billy picked up her gloves.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you broke it off, dear&mdash;you said you did; and to go down there
+      to-night&mdash;like this&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy lifted her head. Her eyes shone. Her whole face was a glory of love
+      and pride.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That was before. I didn't know. He <i>wants</i> me, Aunt Hannah. Did you
+      hear? He <i>wants</i> me! And now I won't even&mdash;hinder him, if he
+      can't&mdash;p-paint again!&rdquo; Billy's voice broke. The glory left her face.
+      Her eyes brimmed with tears, but her head was still bravely uplifted. &ldquo;I'm
+      going to Bertram!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Blindly Aunt Hannah got to her feet. Still more blindly she reached for
+      her bonnet and cloak on the chair near her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, will you go, too?&rdquo; asked Billy, abstractedly, hurrying to the window
+      to look for the motor car.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Will I go, too!&rdquo; burst out Aunt Hannah's indignant voice. &ldquo;Do you think
+      I'd let you go alone, and at this time of night, on such a wild-goose
+      chase as this?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know, I'm sure,&rdquo; murmured Billy, still abstractedly, peering out
+      into the rain.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't know, indeed! Oh, my grief and conscience!&rdquo; groaned Aunt Hannah,
+      setting her bonnet hopelessly askew on top of her agitated head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But Billy did not even answer now. Her face was pressed hard against the
+      window-pane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0033" id="link2HCH0033">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXXIII. BERTRAM TAKES THE REINS
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      With stiffly pompous dignity Pete opened the door. The next moment he fell
+      back in amazement before the impetuous rush of a starry-eyed,
+      flushed-cheeked young woman who demanded:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where is he, Pete?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Billy!&rdquo; gasped the old man. Then he saw Aunt Hannah&mdash;Aunt
+      Hannah with her bonnet askew, her neck-bow awry, one hand bare, and the
+      other half covered with a glove wrong side out. Aunt Hannah's cheeks, too,
+      were flushed, and her eyes starry, but with dismay and anger&mdash;the
+      last because she did not like the way Pete had said Miss Billy's name. It
+      was one matter for her to object to this thing Billy was doing&mdash;but
+      quite another for Pete to do it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course it's she!&rdquo; retorted Aunt Hannah, testily. &ldquo;As if you yourself
+      didn't bring her here with your crazy messages at this time of night!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pete, where is he?&rdquo; interposed Billy. &ldquo;Tell Mr. Bertram I am here&mdash;or,
+      wait! I'll go right in and surprise him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;<i>Billy!</i>&rdquo; This time it was Aunt Hannah who gasped her name.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Pete had recovered himself by now, but he did not even glance toward Aunt
+      Hannah. His face was beaming, and his old eyes were shining.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Billy, Miss Billy, you're an angel straight from heaven, you are&mdash;you
+      are! Oh, I'm so glad you came! It'll be all right now&mdash;all right!
+      He's in the den, Miss Billy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy turned eagerly, but before she could take so much as one step toward
+      the door at the end of the hall, Aunt Hannah's indignant voice arrested
+      her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy-stop! You're not an angel; you're a young woman&mdash;and a crazy
+      one, at that! Whatever angels do, young women don't go unannounced and
+      unchaperoned into young men's rooms! Pete, go tell your master that <i>we</i>
+      are here, and ask if he will receive <i>us</i>.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Pete's lips twitched. The emphatic &ldquo;we&rdquo; and &ldquo;us&rdquo; were not lost on him. But
+      his face was preternaturally grave when he spoke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Bertram is up and dressed, ma'am. He's in the den. I'll speak to
+      him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Pete, once again the punctilious butler, stalked to the door of Bertram's
+      den and threw it wide open.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Opposite the door, on a low couch, lay Bertram, his head bandaged, and his
+      right arm in a sling. His face was turned toward the door, but his eyes
+      were closed. He looked very white, and his features were pitifully drawn
+      with suffering.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Bertram,&rdquo; began Pete&mdash;but he got no further. A flying figure
+      brushed by him and fell on its knees by the couch, with a low cry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram's eyes flew open. Across his face swept such a radiant look of
+      unearthly joy that Pete sobbed audibly and fled to the kitchen. Dong Ling
+      found him there a minute later polishing a silver teaspoon with a fringed
+      napkin that had been spread over Bertram's tray. In the hall above Aunt
+      Hannah was crying into William's gray linen duster that hung on the
+      hall-rack&mdash;Aunt Hannah's handkerchief was on the floor back at
+      Hillside.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the den neither Billy nor Bertram knew or cared what had become of Aunt
+      Hannah and Pete. There were just two people in their world&mdash;two
+      people, and unutterable, incredible, overwhelming rapture and peace. Then,
+      very gradually it dawned over them that there was, after all, something
+      strange and unexplained in it all.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, dearest, what does it mean&mdash;you here like this?&rdquo; asked Bertram
+      then. As if to make sure that she was &ldquo;here, like this,&rdquo; he drew her even
+      closer&mdash;Bertram was so thankful that he did have one arm that was
+      usable.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy, on her knees by the couch, snuggled into the curve of the one arm
+      with a contented little sigh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, you see, just as soon as I found out to-night that you wanted me, I
+      came,&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You darling! That was&mdash;&rdquo; Bertram stopped suddenly. A puzzled frown
+      showed below the fantastic bandage about his head. &ldquo;'As soon as,'&rdquo; he
+      quoted then scornfully. &ldquo;Were you ever by any possible chance thinking I
+      <i>didn't</i> want you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy's eyes widened a little.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Bertram, dear, don't you see? When you were so troubled that the
+      picture didn't go well, and I found out it was about me you were troubled&mdash;I&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well?&rdquo; Bertram's voice was a little strained.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, of&mdash;of course,&rdquo; stammered Billy, &ldquo;I couldn't help thinking that
+      maybe you had found out you <i>didn't</i> want me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;<i>Didn't want you!</i>&rdquo; groaned Bertram, his tense muscles relaxing.
+      &ldquo;May I ask why?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy blushed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wasn't quite sure why,&rdquo; she faltered; &ldquo;only, of course, I thought of&mdash;of
+      Miss Winthrop, you know, or that maybe it was because you didn't care for
+      <i>any</i> girl, only to paint&mdash;oh, oh, Bertram! Pete told us,&rdquo; she
+      broke off wildly, beginning to sob.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pete told you that I didn't care for any girl, only to paint?&rdquo; demanded
+      Bertram, angry and mystified.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, no,&rdquo; sobbed Billy, &ldquo;not that. It was all the others that told me
+      that! Pete told Aunt Hannah about the accident, you know, and he said&mdash;he
+      said&mdash;Oh, Bertram, I <i>can't</i> say it! But that's one of the
+      things that made me know I <i>could</i> come now, you see, because I&mdash;I
+      wouldn't hinder you, nor slay your Art, nor any other of those dreadful
+      things if&mdash;if you couldn't ever&mdash;p-paint again,&rdquo; finished Billy
+      in an uncontrollable burst of grief.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There, there, dear,&rdquo; comforted Bertram, patting the bronze-gold head on
+      his breast. &ldquo;I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about&mdash;except
+      the last; but I know there <i>can't</i> be anything that ought to make you
+      cry like that. As for my not painting again&mdash;you didn't understand
+      Pete, dearie. That was what they were afraid of at first&mdash;that I'd
+      lose my arm; but that danger is all past now. I'm loads better. Of course
+      I'm going to paint again&mdash;and better than ever before&mdash;<i>now!</i>&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy lifted her head. A look that was almost terror came to her eyes. She
+      pulled herself half away from Bertram's encircling arm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Billy,&rdquo; cried the man, in pained surprise. &ldquo;You don't mean to say
+      you're <i>sorry</i> I'm going to paint again!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, no! Oh, no, Bertram&mdash;never that!&rdquo; she faltered, still regarding
+      him with fearful eyes. &ldquo;It's only&mdash;for <i>me</i>, you know. I <i>can't</i>
+      go back now, and not have you&mdash;after this!&mdash;even if I do hinder
+      you, and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;<i>Hinder me!</i> What are you talking about, Billy?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy drew a quivering sigh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, to begin with, Kate said&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good heavens! Is Kate in <i>this</i>, too?&rdquo; Bertram's voice was savage
+      now.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, she wrote a letter.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll warrant she did! Great Scott, Billy! Don't you know Kate by this
+      time?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Y-yes, I said so, too. But, Bertram, what she wrote was true. I found it
+      everywhere, afterwards&mdash;in magazines and papers, and even in Marie.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph! Well, dearie, I don't know yet what you found, but I do know you
+      wouldn't have found it at all if it hadn't been for Kate&mdash;and I wish
+      I had her here this minute!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy giggled hysterically.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't&mdash;not <i>right</i> here,&rdquo; she cooed, nestling comfortably
+      against her lover's arm. &ldquo;But you see, dear, she never <i>has</i> approved
+      of the marriage.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, who's doing the marrying&mdash;she, or I?&rdquo; &ldquo;That's what I said, too&mdash;only
+      in another way,&rdquo; sighed Billy. &ldquo;But she called us flyaway flutterbudgets,
+      and she said I'd ruin your career, if I did marry you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I can tell you right now, Billy, you will ruin it if you don't!&rdquo;
+       declared Bertram. &ldquo;That's what ailed me all the time I was painting that
+      miserable portrait. I was so worried&mdash;for fear I'd lose you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Lose me! Why, Bertram Henshaw, what do you mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A shamed red crept to the man's forehead.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I suppose I might as well own up now as any time. I was scared
+      blue, Billy, with jealousy of&mdash;Arkwright.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed gayly&mdash;but she shifted her position and did not meet
+      her lover's eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Arkwright? Nonsense!&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;Why, he's going to marry Alice
+      Greggory. I know he is! I can see it as plain as day in her letters. He's
+      there a lot.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And you never did think for a minute, Billy, that you cared for him?&rdquo;
+       Bertram's gaze searched Billy's face a little fearfully. He had not been
+      slow to mark that swift lowering of her eyelids. But Billy looked him now
+      straight in the face&mdash;it was a level, frank gaze of absolute truth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never, dear,&rdquo; she said firmly. (Billy was so glad Bertram had turned the
+      question on <i>her</i> love instead of Arkwright's!) &ldquo;There has never
+      really been any one but you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank God for that,&rdquo; breathed Bertram, as he drew the bright head nearer
+      and held it close.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After a minute Billy stirred and sighed happily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aren't lovers the beat'em for imagining things?&rdquo; she murmured.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They certainly are.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You see&mdash;I wasn't in love with Mr. Arkwright.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I see&mdash;I hope.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And&mdash;and you didn't care <i>specially</i> for&mdash;for Miss
+      Winthrop?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh? Well, no!&rdquo; exploded Bertram. &ldquo;Do you mean to say you really&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy put a soft finger on his lips.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Er&mdash;'people who live in <i>glass houses</i>,' you know,&rdquo; she
+      reminded him, with roguish eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram kissed the finger and subsided.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph!&rdquo; he commented.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a long silence; then, a little breathlessly, Billy asked:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And you don't&mdash;after all, love me&mdash;just to paint?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, what is that? Is that Kate, too?&rdquo; demanded Bertram, grimly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No&mdash;oh, she said it, all right, but, you see, <i>everybody</i> said
+      that to me, Bertram; and that's what made me so&mdash;so worried sometimes
+      when you talked about the tilt of my chin, and all that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, by Jove!&rdquo; breathed Bertram.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was another silence. Then, suddenly, Bertram stirred.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, I'm going to marry you to-morrow,&rdquo; he announced decisively.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy lifted her head and sat back in palpitating dismay.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bertram! What an absurd idea!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I am. I don't <i>know</i> as I can trust you out of my sight till
+      <i>then!</i> You'll read something, or hear something, or get a letter
+      from Kate after breakfast to-morrow morning, that will set you 'saving me'
+      again; and I don't want to be saved&mdash;that way. I'm going to marry you
+      to-morrow. I'll get&mdash;&rdquo; He stopped short, with a sudden frown.
+      &ldquo;Confound that law! I forgot. Great Scott, Billy, I'll have to trust you
+      five days, after all! There's a new law about the license. We've <i>got</i>
+      to wait five days&mdash;and maybe more, counting in the notice, and all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed softly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Five days, indeed, sir! I wonder if you think I can get ready to be
+      married in five days.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't want you to get ready,&rdquo; retorted Bertram, promptly. &ldquo;I saw Marie
+      get ready, and I had all I wanted of it. If you really must have all those
+      miles of tablecloths and napkins and doilies and lace rufflings we'll do
+      it afterwards,&mdash;not before.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Besides, I <i>need</i> you to take care of me,&rdquo; cut in Bertram, craftily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bertram, do you&mdash;really?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The tender glow on Billy's face told its own story, and Bertram's eager
+      eyes were not slow to read it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sweetheart, see here, dear,&rdquo; he cried softly, tightening his good left
+      arm. And forthwith he began to tell her how much he did, indeed, need her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, my dear!&rdquo; It was Aunt Hannah's plaintive voice at the doorway, a
+      little later. &ldquo;We must go home; and William is here, too, and wants to see
+      you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy rose at once as Aunt Hannah entered the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, Aunt Hannah, I'll come; besides&rdquo;&mdash;she glanced at Bertram
+      mischievously&mdash;&ldquo;I shall need all the time I've got to prepare for&mdash;my
+      wedding.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your wedding! You mean it'll be before&mdash;October?&rdquo; Aunt Hannah
+      glanced from one to the other uncertainly. Something in their smiling
+      faces sent a quick suspicion to her eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; nodded Billy, demurely. &ldquo;It's next Tuesday, you see.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Next Tuesday! But that's only a week away,&rdquo; gasped Aunt Hannah.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, a week.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, child, your trousseau&mdash;the wedding&mdash;the&mdash;the&mdash;a
+      week!&rdquo; Aunt Hannah could not articulate further.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I know; that is a good while,&rdquo; cut in Bertram, airily. &ldquo;We wanted it
+      to-morrow, but we had to wait, on account of the new license law.
+      Otherwise it wouldn't have been so long, and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But Aunt Hannah was gone. With a low-breathed &ldquo;Long! Oh, my grief and
+      conscience&mdash;<i>William!</i>&rdquo; she had fled through the hall door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, it <i>is</i> long,&rdquo; maintained Bertram, with tender eyes, as he
+      reached out his hand to say good-night.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+
+
+
+
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+</pre>
+  </body>
+</html>
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Miss Billy's Decision, by Eleanor H. Porter
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Miss Billy's Decision
+
+Author: Eleanor H. Porter
+
+Release Date: July 8, 2008 [EBook #362]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MISS BILLY'S DECISION ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Charles Keller
+
+
+
+
+
+MISS BILLY'S DECISION
+
+By Eleanor H. Porter
+
+Author of "Miss Billy," etc.
+
+
+TO My Cousin Helen
+
+
+                                        CONTENTS
+          CHAPTER
+          I.      CALDERWELL DOES SOME TALKING
+          II.     AUNT HANNAH GETS A LETTER
+          III.    BILLY AND BERTRAM
+          IV.     FOR MARY JANE
+          V.      MARIE SPEAKS HER MIND
+          VI.     AT THE SIGN OF THE PINK
+          VII.    OLD FRIENDS AND NEW
+          VIII.   M. J. OPENS THE GAME
+          IX.     A RUG, A PICTURE, AND A GIRL AFRAID
+          X.      A JOB FOR PETE--AND FOR BERTRAM
+          XI.     A CLOCK AND AUNT HANNAH
+          XII.    SISTER KATE
+          XIII.   CYRIL AND A WEDDING
+          XIV.    M. J. MAKES ANOTHER MOVE
+          XV.     "MR. BILLY" AND "MISS MARY JANE"
+          XVI.    A GIRL AND A BIT OF LOWESTOFT
+          XVII.   ONLY A LOVE SONG, BUT--
+          XVIII.  SUGARPLUMS
+          XIX.    ALICE GREGGORY
+          XX.     ARKWRIGHT TELLS A STORY
+          XXI.    A MATTER OF STRAIGHT BUSINESS
+          XXII.   PLANS AND PLOTTINGS
+          XXIII.  THE CAUSE AND BERTRAM
+          XXIV.   THE ARTIST AND HIS ART
+          XXV.    THE OPERETTA
+          XXVI.   ARKWRIGHT TELLS ANOTHER STORY
+          XXVII.  THE THING THAT WAS THE TRUTH
+          XXVIII. BILLY TAKES HER TURN
+          XXIX.   KATE WRITES A LETTER
+          XXX.    "I'VE HINDERED HIM"
+          XXXI.   FLIGHT
+          XXXII.  PETE TO THE RESCUE
+          XXXIII. BERTRAM TAKES THE REINS
+
+
+
+
+
+MISS BILLY'S DECISION
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I. CALDERWELL DOES SOME TALKING
+
+
+Calderwell had met Mr. M. J. Arkwright in London through a common
+friend; since then they had tramped half over Europe together in a
+comradeship that was as delightful as it was unusual. As Calderwell put
+it in a letter to his sister, Belle:
+
+"We smoke the same cigar and drink the same tea (he's just as much of
+an old woman on that subject as I am!), and we agree beautifully on
+all necessary points of living, from tipping to late sleeping in the
+morning; while as for politics and religion--we disagree in those just
+enough to lend spice to an otherwise tame existence."
+
+Farther along in this same letter Calderwell touched upon his new friend
+again.
+
+"I admit, however, I would like to know his name. To find out what that
+mysterious 'M. J.' stands for has got to be pretty nearly an obsession
+with me. I am about ready to pick his pocket or rifle his trunk in
+search of some lurking 'Martin' or 'John' that will set me at peace. As
+it is, I confess that I have ogled his incoming mail and his outgoing
+baggage shamelessly, only to be slapped in the face always and
+everlastingly by that bland 'M. J.' I've got my revenge, now, though. To
+myself I call him 'Mary Jane'--and his broad-shouldered, brown-bearded
+six feet of muscular manhood would so like to be called 'Mary Jane'!
+By the way, Belle, if you ever hear of murder and sudden death in my
+direction, better set the sleuths on the trail of Arkwright. Six to one
+you'll find I called him 'Mary Jane' to his face!"
+
+Calderwell was thinking of that letter now, as he sat at a small table
+in a Paris cafe. Opposite him was the six feet of muscular manhood,
+broad shoulders, pointed brown beard, and all--and he had just addressed
+it, inadvertently, as "Mary Jane."
+
+During the brief, sickening moment of silence after the name had left
+his lips, Calderwell was conscious of a whimsical realization of the
+lights, music, and laughter all about him.
+
+"Well, I chose as safe a place as I could!" he was thinking. Then
+Arkwright spoke.
+
+"How long since you've been in correspondence with members of my
+family?"
+
+"Eh?"
+
+Arkwright laughed grimly.
+
+"Perhaps you thought of it yourself, then--I'll admit you're capable of
+it," he nodded, reaching for a cigar. "But it so happens you hit upon my
+family's favorite name for me."
+
+"_Mary Jane!_ You mean they actually _call_ you that?"
+
+"Yes," bowed the big fellow, calmly, as he struck a light.
+"Appropriate!--don't you think?"
+
+Calderwell did not answer. He thought he could not.
+
+"Well, silence gives consent, they say," laughed the other. "Anyhow, you
+must have had _some_ reason for calling me that."
+
+"Arkwright, what _does_ 'M. J.' stand for?" demanded Calderwell.
+
+"Oh, is that it?" smiled the man opposite. "Well, I'll own those
+initials have been something of a puzzle to people. One man declares
+they're 'Merely Jokes'; but another, not so friendly, says they stand
+for 'Mostly Jealousy' of more fortunate chaps who have real names for
+a handle. My small brothers and sisters, discovering, with the usual
+perspicacity of one's family on such matters, that I never signed, or
+called myself anything but 'M. J.,' dubbed me 'Mary Jane.' And there you
+have it."
+
+"Mary Jane! You!"
+
+Arkwright smiled oddly.
+
+"Oh, well, what's the difference? Would you deprive them of their
+innocent amusement? And they do so love that 'Mary Jane'! Besides,
+what's in a name, anyway?" he went on, eyeing the glowing tip of the
+cigar between his fingers. "'A rose by any other name--'--you've
+heard that, probably. Names don't always signify, my dear fellow. For
+instance, I know a 'Billy'--but he's a girl."
+
+Calderwell gave a sudden start.
+
+"You don't mean Billy--Neilson?"
+
+The other turned sharply.
+
+"Do _you_ know Billy Neilson?"
+
+Calderwell gave his friend a glance from scornful eyes.
+
+"Do I know Billy Neilson?" he cried. "Does a fellow usually know the
+girl he's proposed to regularly once in three months? Oh, I know I'm
+telling tales out of school, of course," he went on, in response to the
+look that had come into the brown eyes opposite. "But what's the use?
+Everybody knows it--that knows us. Billy herself got so she took it as
+a matter of course--and refused as a matter of course, too; just as she
+would refuse a serving of apple pie at dinner, if she hadn't wanted it."
+
+"Apple pie!" scouted Arkwright.
+
+Calderwell shrugged his shoulders.
+
+"My dear fellow, you don't seem to realize it, but for the last six
+months you have been assisting at the obsequies of a dead romance."
+
+"Indeed! And is it--buried, yet?"
+
+"Oh, no," sighed Calderwell, cheerfully. "I shall go back one of these
+days, I'll warrant, and begin the same old game again; though I will
+acknowledge that the last refusal was so very decided that it's been a
+year, almost, since I received it. I think I was really convinced, for
+a while, that--that she didn't want that apple pie," he finished with
+a whimsical lightness that did not quite coincide with the stern lines
+that had come to his mouth.
+
+For a moment there was silence, then Calderwell spoke again.
+
+"Where did you know--Miss Billy?"
+
+"Oh, I don't know her at all. I know of her--through Aunt Hannah."
+
+Calderwell sat suddenly erect.
+
+"Aunt Hannah! Is she your aunt, too? Jove! This _is_ a little old world,
+after all; isn't it?"
+
+"She isn't my aunt. She's my mother's third cousin. None of us have seen
+her for years, but she writes to mother occasionally; and, of course,
+for some time now, her letters have been running over full of Billy. She
+lives with her, I believe; doesn't she?"
+
+"She does," rejoined Calderwell, with an unexpected chuckle. "I wonder
+if you know how she happened to live with her, at first."
+
+"Why, no, I reckon not. What do you mean?"
+
+Calderwell chuckled again.
+
+"Well, I'll tell you. You, being a 'Mary Jane,' ought to appreciate it.
+You see, Billy was named for one William Henshaw, her father's chum,
+who promptly forgot all about her. At eighteen, Billy, being left quite
+alone in the world, wrote to 'Uncle William' and asked to come and live
+with him."
+
+"Well?"
+
+"But it wasn't well. William was a forty-year-old widower who lived with
+two younger brothers, an old butler, and a Chinese cook in one of those
+funny old Beacon Street houses in Boston. 'The Strata,' Bertram called
+it. Bright boy--Bertram!"
+
+"The Strata!"
+
+"Yes. I wish you could see that house, Arkwright. It's a regular layer
+cake. Cyril--he's the second brother; must be thirty-four or five
+now--lives on the top floor in a rugless, curtainless, music-mad
+existence--just a plain crank. Below him comes William. William collects
+things--everything from tenpenny nails to teapots, I should say, and
+they're all there in his rooms. Farther down somewhere comes Bertram.
+He's _the_ Bertram Henshaw, you understand; the artist."
+
+"Not the 'Face-of-a-Girl' Henshaw?"
+
+"The same; only of course four years ago he wasn't quite so well known
+as he is now. Well, to resume and go on. It was into this house, this
+masculine paradise ruled over by Pete and Dong Ling in the kitchen, that
+Billy's naive request for a home came."
+
+"Great Scott!" breathed Arkwright, appreciatively.
+
+"Yes. Well, the letter was signed 'Billy.' They took her for a boy,
+naturally, and after something of a struggle they agreed to let 'him'
+come. For his particular delectation they fixed up a room next to
+Bertram with guns and fishing rods, and such ladylike specialties; and
+William went to the station to meet the boy."
+
+"With never a suspicion?"
+
+"With never a suspicion."
+
+"Gorry!"
+
+"Well, 'he' came, and 'she' conquered. I guess things were lively for
+a while, though. Oh, there was a kitten, too, I believe, 'Spunk,' who
+added to the gayety of nations."
+
+"But what did the Henshaws do?"
+
+"Well, I wasn't there, of course; but Bertram says they spun around like
+tops gone mad for a time, but finally quieted down enough to summon a
+married sister for immediate propriety, and to establish Aunt Hannah for
+permanency the next day."
+
+"So that's how it happened! Well, by George!" cried Arkwright.
+
+"Yes," nodded the other. "So you see there are untold possibilities just
+in a name. Remember that. Just suppose _you_, as Mary Jane, should beg a
+home in a feminine household--say in Miss Billy's, for instance!"
+
+"I'd like to," retorted Arkwright, with sudden warmth.
+
+Calderwell stared a little.
+
+The other laughed shamefacedly.
+
+"Oh, it's only that I happen to have a devouring curiosity to meet
+that special young lady. I sing her songs (you know she's written some
+dandies!), I've heard a lot about her, and I've seen her picture."
+(He did not add that he had also purloined that same picture from his
+mother's bureau--the picture being a gift from Aunt Hannah.) "So you
+see I would, indeed, like to occupy a corner in the fair Miss Billy's
+household. I could write to Aunt Hannah and beg a home with her, you
+know; eh?"
+
+"Of course! Why don't you--'Mary Jane'?" laughed Calderwell. "Billy'd
+take you all right. She's had a little Miss Hawthorn, a music teacher,
+there for months. She's always doing stunts of that sort. Belle writes
+me that she's had a dozen forlornites there all this last summer, two
+or three at a time-tired widows, lonesome old maids, and crippled
+kids--just to give them a royal good time. So you see she'd take you,
+without a doubt. Jove! what a pair you'd make: Miss Billy and Mr. Mary
+Jane! You'd drive the suffragettes into conniption fits--just by the
+sound of you!"
+
+Arkwright laughed quietly; then he frowned.
+
+"But how about it?" he asked. "I thought she was keeping house with Aunt
+Hannah. Didn't she stay at all with the Henshaws?"
+
+"Oh, yes, a few months. I never knew just why she did leave, but I
+fancied, from something Billy herself said once, that she discovered she
+was creating rather too much of an upheaval in the Strata. So she took
+herself off. She went to school, and travelled considerably. She was
+over here when I met her first. After that she was with us all one
+summer on the yacht. A couple of years ago, or so, she went back to
+Boston, bought a house and settled down with Aunt Hannah."
+
+"And she's not married--or even engaged?"
+
+"Wasn't the last I heard. I haven't seen her since December, and I've
+heard from her only indirectly. She corresponds with my sister, and so
+do I--intermittently. I heard a month ago from Belle, and _she_ had a
+letter from Billy in August. But I heard nothing of any engagement."
+
+"How about the Henshaws? I should think there might be a chance there
+for a romance--a charming girl, and three unattached men."
+
+Calderwell gave a slow shake of the head.
+
+"I don't think so. William is--let me see--nearly forty-five, I guess,
+by this time; and he isn't a marrying man. He buried his heart with his
+wife and baby years ago. Cyril, according to Bertram, 'hates women
+and all other confusion,' so that ought to let him out. As for Bertram
+himself--Bertram is 'only Bertram.' He's always been that. Bertram loves
+girls--to paint; but I can't imagine him making serious love to any one.
+It would always be the tilt of a chin or the turn of a cheek that he was
+admiring--to paint. No, there's no chance for a romance there, I'll
+warrant."
+
+"But there's--yourself."
+
+Calderwell's eyebrows rose the fraction of an inch.
+
+"Oh, of course. I presume January or February will find me back there,"
+he admitted with a sigh and a shrug. Then, a little bitterly, he added:
+"No, Arkwright. I shall keep away if I can. I _know_ there's no chance
+for me--now."
+
+"Then you'll leave me a clear field?" bantered the other.
+
+"Of course--'Mary Jane,'" retorted Calderwell, with equal lightness.
+
+"Thank you."
+
+"Oh, you needn't," laughed Calderwell. "My giving you the right of way
+doesn't insure you a thoroughfare for yourself--there are others, you
+know. Billy Neilson has had sighing swains about I her, I imagine, since
+she could walk and talk. She is a wonderfully fascinating little bit of
+femininity, and she has a heart of pure gold. All is, I envy the man who
+wins it--for the man who wins that, wins her."
+
+There was no answer. Arkwright sat with his eyes on the moving throng
+outside the window near them. Perhaps he had not heard. At all events,
+when he spoke some time later, it was of a matter far removed from Miss
+Billy Neilson, or the way to her heart. Nor was the young lady mentioned
+between them again that day.
+
+Long hours later, just before parting for the night, Arkwright said:
+
+"Calderwell, I'm sorry, but I believe, after all, I can't take that trip
+to the lakes with you. I--I'm going home next week."
+
+"Home! Hang it, Arkwright! I'd counted on you. Isn't this rather
+sudden?"
+
+"Yes, and no. I'll own I've been drifting about with you contentedly
+enough for the last six months to make you think mountain-climbing and
+boat-paddling were the end and aim of my existence. But they aren't, you
+know, really."
+
+"Nonsense! At heart you're as much of a vagabond as I am; and you know
+it."
+
+"Perhaps. But unfortunately I don't happen to carry your pocketbook."
+
+"You may, if you like. I'll hand it over any time," grinned Calderwell.
+
+"Thanks. You know well enough what I mean," shrugged the other.
+
+There was a moment's silence; then Calderwell queried:
+
+"Arkwright, how old are you?"
+
+"Twenty-four."
+
+"Good! Then you're merely travelling to supplement your education, see?"
+
+"Oh, yes, I see. But something besides my education has got to be
+supplemented now, I reckon."
+
+"What are you going to do?"
+
+There was an almost imperceptible hesitation; then, a little shortly,
+came the answer:
+
+"Hit the trail for Grand Opera, and bring up, probably--in vaudeville."
+
+Calderwell smiled appreciatively.
+
+"You _can_ sing like the devil," he admitted.
+
+"Thanks," returned his friend, with uplifted eyebrows. "Do you mind
+calling it 'an angel'--just for this occasion?"
+
+"Oh, the matinee-girls will do that fast enough. But, I say,
+Arkwright, what are you going to do with those initials then?"
+
+"Let 'em alone."
+
+"Oh, no, you won't. And you won't be 'Mary Jane,' either. Imagine a Mary
+Jane in Grand Opera! I know what you'll be. You'll be 'Senor Martini
+Johnini Arkwrightino'! By the way, you didn't say what that 'M. J.'
+really did stand for," hinted Calderwell, shamelessly.
+
+"'Merely Jokes'--in your estimation, evidently," shrugged the other.
+"But my going isn't a joke, Calderwell. I'm really going. And I'm going
+to work."
+
+"But--how shall you manage?"
+
+"Time will tell."
+
+Calderwell frowned and stirred restlessly in his chair.
+
+"But, honestly, now, to--to follow that trail of yours will take
+money. And--er--" a faint red stole to his forehead--"don't they
+have--er--patrons for these young and budding geniuses? Why can't I have
+a hand in this trail, too--or maybe you'd call it a foot, eh? I'd be no
+end glad to, Arkwright."
+
+"Thanks, old man." The red was duplicated this time above the brown
+silky beard. "That was mighty kind of you, and I appreciate it; but it
+won't be necessary. A generous, but perhaps misguided bachelor uncle
+left me a few thousands a year or so ago; and I'm going to put them all
+down my throat--or rather, _into_ it--before I give up."
+
+"Where you going to study? New York?"
+
+Again there was an almost imperceptible hesitation before the answer
+came.
+
+"I'm not quite prepared to say."
+
+"Why not try it here?"
+
+Arkwright shook his head.
+
+"I did plan to, when I came over but I've changed my mind. I believe I'd
+rather work while longer in America."
+
+"Hm-m," murmured Calderwell.
+
+There was a brief silence, followed by other questions and other
+answers; after which the friends said good night.
+
+In his own room, as he was dropping off to sleep, Calderwell muttered
+drowsily:
+
+"By George! I haven't found out yet what that blamed 'M. J.' stands
+for!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II. AUNT HANNAH GETS A LETTER
+
+
+In the cozy living-room at Hillside, Billy Neilson's pretty home on
+Corey Hill, Billy herself sat writing at the desk. Her pen had just
+traced the date, "October twenty-fifth," when Mrs. Stetson entered with
+a letter in her hand.
+
+"Writing, my dear? Then don't let me disturb you." She turned as if to
+go.
+
+Billy dropped her pen, sprang to her feet, flew to the little woman's
+side and whirled her half across the room.
+
+"There!" she exclaimed, as she plumped the breathless and scandalized
+Aunt Hannah into the biggest easy chair. "I feel better. I just had to
+let off steam some way. It's so lovely you came in just when you did!"
+
+"Indeed! I--I'm not so sure of that," stammered the lady, dropping the
+letter into her lap, and patting with agitated fingers her cap, her
+curls, the two shawls about her shoulders, and the lace at her throat.
+"My grief and conscience, Billy! Wors't you _ever_ grow up?"
+
+"Hope not," purred Billy cheerfully, dropping herself on to a low
+hassock at Aunt Hannah's feet.
+
+"But, my dear, you--you're engaged!"
+
+Billy bubbled into a chuckling laugh.
+
+"As if I didn't know that, when I've just written a dozen notes to
+announce it! And, oh, Aunt Hannah, such a time as I've had, telling what
+a dear Bertram is, and how I love, love, _love_ him, and what beautiful
+eyes he has, and _such_ a nose, and--"
+
+"Billy!" Aunt Hannah was sitting erect in pale horror.
+
+"Eh?" Billy's eyes were roguish.
+
+"You didn't write that in those notes!"
+
+"Write it? Oh, no! That's only what I _wanted_ to write," chuckled
+Billy. "What I really did write was as staid and proper as--here, let me
+show you," she broke off, springing to her feet and running over to her
+desk. "There! this is about what I wrote to them all," she finished,
+whipping a note out of one of the unsealed envelopes on the desk and
+spreading it open before Aunt Hannah's suspicious eyes.
+
+"Hm-m; that is very good--for you," admitted the lady.
+
+"Well, I like that!--after all my stern self-control and self-sacrifice
+to keep out all those things I _wanted_ to write," bridled Billy.
+"Besides, they'd have been ever so much more interesting reading than
+these will be," she pouted, as she took the note from her companion's
+hand.
+
+"I don't doubt it," observed Aunt Hannah, dryly.
+
+Billy laughed, and tossed the note back on the desk.
+
+"I'm writing to Belle Calderwell, now," she announced musingly, dropping
+herself again on the hassock. "I suppose she'll tell Hugh."
+
+"Poor boy! He'll be disappointed."
+
+Billy sighed, but she uptilted her chin a little.
+
+"He ought not to be. I told him long, long ago, the very first time,
+that--that I couldn't."
+
+"I know, dear; but--they don't always understand." Aunt Hannah sighed
+in sympathy with the far-away Hugh Calderwell, as she looked down at the
+bright young face near her.
+
+There was a moment's silence; then Billy gave a little laugh.
+
+"He _will_ be surprised," she said. "He told me once that Bertram
+wouldn't ever care for any girl except to paint. To paint, indeed! As
+if Bertram didn't love me--just _me!_--if he never saw another tube of
+paint!"
+
+"I think he does, my dear."
+
+Again there was silence; then, from Billy's lips there came softly:
+
+"Just think; we've been engaged almost four weeks--and to-morrow it'll
+be announced. I'm so glad I didn't ever announce the other two!"
+
+"The other _two!_" cried Aunt Hannah.
+
+Billy laughed.
+
+"Oh, I forgot. You didn't know about Cyril."
+
+"Cyril!"
+
+"Oh, there didn't anybody know it, either not even Cyril himself,"
+dimpled Billy, mischievously. "I just engaged myself to him in
+imagination, you know, to see how I'd like it. I didn't like it. But
+it didn't last, anyhow, very long--just three weeks, I believe. Then I
+broke it off," she finished, with unsmiling mouth, but dancing eyes.
+
+"Billy!" protested Aunt Hannah, feebly.
+
+"But I _am_ glad only the family knew about my engagement to Uncle
+William--oh, Aunt Hannah, you don't know how good it does seem to call
+him 'Uncle' again. It was always slipping out, anyhow, all the time we
+were engaged; and of course it was awful then."
+
+"That only goes to prove, my dear, how entirely unsuitable it was, from
+the start."
+
+A bright color flooded Billy's face.
+
+"I know; but if a girl _will_ think a man is asking for a wife when all
+he wants is a daughter, and if she blandly says 'Yes, thank you, I'll
+marry you,' I don't know what you can expect!"
+
+"You can expect just what you got--misery, and almost a tragedy,"
+retorted Aunt Hannah, severely.
+
+A tender light came into Billy's eyes.
+
+"Dear Uncle William! What a jewel he was, all the way through! And he'd
+have marched straight to the altar, too, with never a flicker of an
+eyelid, I know--self-sacrificing martyr that he was!"
+
+"Martyr!" bristled Aunt Hannah, with extraordinary violence for her.
+"I'm thinking that term belonged somewhere else. A month ago, Billy
+Neilson, you did not look as if you'd live out half your days. But I
+suppose _you'd_ have gone to the altar, too, with never a flicker of an
+eyelid!"
+
+"But I thought I had to," protested Billy. "I couldn't grieve Uncle
+William so, after Mrs. Hartwell had said how he--he wanted me."
+
+Aunt Hannah's lips grew stern at the corners.
+
+"There are times when--when I think it would be wiser if Mrs. Kate
+Hartwell would attend to her own affairs!" Aunt Hannah's voice fairly
+shook with wrath.
+
+"Why-Aunt Hannah!" reproved Billy in mischievous horror. "I'm shocked at
+you!"
+
+Aunt Hannah flushed miserably.
+
+"There, there, child, forget I said it. I ought not to have said it, of
+course," she murmured agitatedly.
+
+Billy laughed.
+
+"You should have heard what Uncle William said! But never mind. We all
+found out the mistake before it was too late, and everything is lovely
+now, even to Cyril and Marie. Did you ever see anything so beatifically
+happy as that couple are? Bertram says he hasn't heard a dirge from
+Cyril's rooms for three weeks; and that if anybody else played the kind
+of music he's been playing, it would be just common garden ragtime!"
+
+"Music! Oh, my grief and conscience! That makes me think, Billy. If I'm
+not actually forgetting what I came in here for," cried Aunt Hannah,
+fumbling in the folds of her dress for the letter that had slipped from
+her lap. "I've had word from a young niece. She's going to study music
+in Boston."
+
+"A niece?"
+
+"Well, not really, you know. She calls me 'Aunt,' just as you and the
+Henshaw boys do. But I really am related to _her_, for her mother and I
+are third cousins, while it was my husband who was distantly related to
+the Henshaw family."
+
+"What's her name?"
+
+"'Mary Jane Arkwright.' Where is that letter?"
+
+"Here it is, on the floor," reported Billy. "Were you going to read it
+to me?" she asked, as she picked it up.
+
+"Yes--if you don't mind."
+
+"I'd love to hear it."
+
+"Then I'll read it. It--it rather annoys me in some ways. I thought the
+whole family understood that I wasn't living by myself any longer--that
+I was living with you. I'm sure I thought I wrote them that, long ago.
+But this sounds almost as if they didn't understand it--at least, as if
+this girl didn't."
+
+"How old is she?"
+
+"I don't know; but she must be some old, to be coming here to Boston to
+study music, alone--singing, I think she said."
+
+"You don't remember her, then?"
+
+Aunt Hannah frowned and paused, the letter half withdrawn from its
+envelope.
+
+"No--but that isn't strange. They live West. I haven't seen any of them
+for years. I know there are several children--and I suppose I've been
+told their names. I know there's a boy--the eldest, I think--who is
+quite a singer, and there's a girl who paints, I believe; but I don't
+seem to remember a 'Mary Jane.'"
+
+"Never mind! Suppose we let Mary Jane speak for herself," suggested
+Billy, dropping her chin into the small pink cup of her hand, and
+settling herself to listen.
+
+"Very well," sighed Aunt Hannah; and she opened the letter and began to
+read.
+
+
+     "DEAR AUNT HANNAH:--This is to tell you
+     that I'm coming to Boston to study singing in
+     the school for Grand Opera, and I'm planning to
+     look you up. Do you object? I said to a friend
+     the other day that I'd half a mind to write to Aunt
+     Hannah and beg a home with her; and my friend
+     retorted: 'Why don't you, Mary Jane?' But
+     that, of course, I should not think of doing.
+
+     "But I know I shall be lonesome, Aunt Hannah,
+     and I hope you'll let me see you once in a
+     while, anyway. I plan now to come next week
+     --I've already got as far as New York, as you see
+     by the address--and I shall hope to see you
+     soon.
+
+     "All the family would send love, I know.
+                  "M. J. ARKWRIGHT."
+
+
+"Grand Opera! Oh, how perfectly lovely," cried Billy.
+
+"Yes, but Billy, do you think she is expecting me to invite her to make
+her home with me? I shall have to write and explain that I can't--if she
+does, of course."
+
+Billy frowned and hesitated.
+
+"Why, it sounded--a little--that way; but--" Suddenly her face cleared.
+"Aunt Hannah, I've thought of the very thing. We _will_ take her!"
+
+"Oh, Billy, I couldn't think of letting you do that," demurred Aunt
+Hannah. "You're very kind--but, oh, no; not that!"
+
+"Why not? I think it would be lovely; and we can just as well as not.
+After Marie is married in December, she can have that room. Until then
+she can have the little blue room next to me."
+
+"But--but--we don't know anything about her."
+
+"We know she's your niece, and she's lonesome; and we know she's
+musical. I shall love her for every one of those things. Of course we'll
+take her!"
+
+"But--I don't know anything about her age."
+
+"All the more reason why she should be looked out for, then," retorted
+Billy, promptly. "Why, Aunt Hannah, just as if you didn't want to give
+this lonesome, unprotected young girl a home!"
+
+"Oh, I do, of course; but--"
+
+"Then it's all settled," interposed Billy, springing to her feet.
+
+"But what if we--we shouldn't like her?"
+
+"Nonsense! What if she shouldn't like us?" laughed Billy. "However, if
+you'd feel better, just ask her to come and stay with us a month. We
+shall keep her all right, afterwards. See if we don't!"
+
+Slowly Aunt Hannah got to her feet.
+
+"Very well, dear. I'll write, of course, as you tell me to; and it's
+lovely of you to do it. Now I'll leave you to your letters. I've
+hindered you far too long, as it is."
+
+"You've rested me," declared Billy, flinging wide her arms.
+
+Aunt Hannah, fearing a second dizzying whirl impelled by those same
+young arms, drew her shawls about her shoulders and backed hastily
+toward the hall door.
+
+Billy laughed.
+
+"Oh, I won't again--to-day," she promised merrily. Then, as the lady
+reached the arched doorway: "Tell Mary Jane to let us know the day
+and train and we'll meet her. Oh, and Aunt Hannah, tell her to wear a
+pink--a white pink; and tell her we will, too," she finished gayly.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III. BILLY AND BERTRAM
+
+
+Bertram called that evening. Before the open fire in the living-room he
+found a pensive Billy awaiting him--a Billy who let herself be kissed,
+it is true, and who even kissed back, shyly, adorably; but a Billy who
+looked at him with wide, almost frightened eyes.
+
+"Why, darling, what's the matter?" he demanded, his own eyes growing
+wide and frightened.
+
+"Bertram, it's--done!"
+
+"What's done? What do you mean?"
+
+"Our engagement. It's--announced. I wrote stacks of notes to-day,
+and even now there are some left for to-morrow. And then there's--the
+newspapers. Bertram, right away, now, _everybody_ will know it." Her
+voice was tragic.
+
+Bertram relaxed visibly. A tender light came to his eyes.
+
+"Well, didn't you expect everybody would know it, my dear?"
+
+"Y-yes; but--"
+
+At her hesitation, the tender light changed to a quick fear.
+
+"Billy, you aren't--sorry?"
+
+The pink glory that suffused her face answered him before her words did.
+
+"Sorry! Oh, never, Bertram! It's only that it won't be ours any
+longer--that is, it won't belong to just our two selves. Everybody will
+know it. And they'll bow and smile and say 'How lovely!' to our faces,
+and 'Did you ever?' to our backs. Oh, no, I'm not sorry, Bertram; but I
+am--afraid."
+
+"_Afraid_--Billy!"
+
+"Yes."
+
+Billy sighed, and gazed with pensive eyes into the fire.
+
+Across Bertram's face swept surprise, consternation, and dismay. Bertram
+had thought he knew Billy in all her moods and fancies; but he did not
+know her in this one.
+
+"Why, Billy!" he breathed.
+
+Billy drew another sigh. It seemed to come from the very bottoms of her
+small, satin-slippered feet.
+
+"Well, I am. You're _the_ Bertram Henshaw. You know lots and lots of
+people that I never even saw. And they'll come and stand around and
+stare and lift their lorgnettes and say: 'Is that the one? Dear me!'"
+
+Bertram gave a relieved laugh.
+
+"Nonsense, sweetheart! I should think you were a picture I'd painted and
+hung on a wall."
+
+"I shall feel as if I were--with all those friends of yours. Bertram,
+what if they don't like it?" Her voice had grown tragic again.
+
+"_Like_ it!"
+
+"Yes. The picture--me, I mean."
+
+"They can't help liking it," he retorted, with the prompt certainty of
+an adoring lover.
+
+Billy shook her head. Her eyes had gone back to the fire.
+
+"Oh, yes, they can. I can hear them. 'What, _she_--Bertram Henshaw's
+wife?--a frivolous, inconsequential "Billy" like that?' Bertram!"--Billy
+turned fiercely despairing eyes on her lover--"Bertram, sometimes I
+wish my name were 'Clarissa Cordelia,' or 'Arabella Maud,' or 'Hannah
+Jane'--anything that's feminine and proper!"
+
+Bertram's ringing laugh brought a faint smile to Billy's lips. But the
+words that followed the laugh, and the caressing touch of the man's
+hands sent a flood of shy color to her face.
+
+"'Hannah Jane,' indeed! As if I'd exchange my Billy for her or any
+Clarissa or Arabella that ever grew! I adore Billy--flame, nature,
+and--"
+
+"And naughtiness?" put in Billy herself.
+
+"Yes--if there be any," laughed Bertram, fondly. "But, see," he added,
+taking a tiny box from his pocket, "see what I've brought for this same
+Billy to wear. She'd have had it long ago if she hadn't insisted on
+waiting for this announcement business."
+
+"Oh, Bertram, what a beauty!" dimpled Billy, as the flawless diamond in
+Bertram's fingers caught the light and sent it back in a flash of flame
+and crimson.
+
+"Now you are mine--really mine, sweetheart!" The man's voice and hand
+shook as he slipped the ring on Billy's outstretched finger.
+
+Billy caught her breath with almost a sob.
+
+"And I'm so glad to be--yours, dear," she murmured brokenly. "And--and
+I'll make you proud that I am yours, even if I am just 'Billy,'" she
+choked. "Oh, I know I'll write such beautiful, beautiful songs now."
+
+The man drew her into a close embrace.
+
+"As if I cared for that," he scoffed lovingly.
+
+Billy looked up in quick horror.
+
+"Why, Bertram, you don't mean you don't--care?"
+
+He laughed lightly, and took the dismayed little face between his two
+hands.
+
+"Care, darling? of course I care! You know how I love your music. I
+care about everything that concerns you. I meant that I'm proud of you
+_now_--just you. I love _you_, you know."
+
+There was a moment's pause. Billy's eyes, as they looked at him, carried
+a curious intentness in their dark depths.
+
+"You mean, you like--the turn of my head and the tilt of my chin?" she
+asked a little breathlessly.
+
+"I adore them!" came the prompt answer.
+
+To Bertram's utter amazement, Billy drew back with a sharp cry.
+
+"No, no--not that!"
+
+"Why, _Billy!_"
+
+Billy laughed unexpectedly; then she sighed.
+
+"Oh, it's all right, of course," she assured him hastily. "It's only--"
+Billy stopped and blushed. Billy was thinking of what Hugh Calderwell
+had once said to her: that Bertram Henshaw would never love any girl
+seriously; that it would always be the turn of her head or the tilt of
+her chin that he loved--to paint.
+
+"Well; only what?" demanded Bertram.
+
+Billy blushed the more deeply, but she gave a light laugh.
+
+"Nothing, only something Hugh Calderwell said to me once. You see,
+Bertram, I don't think Hugh ever thought you would--marry."
+
+"Oh, didn't he?" bridled Bertram. "Well, that only goes to show how much
+he knows about it. Er--did you announce it--to him?" Bertram's voice was
+almost savage now.
+
+Billy smiled.
+
+"No; but I did to his sister, and she'll tell him. Oh, Bertram, such a
+time as I had over those notes," went on Billy, with a chuckle. Her
+eyes were dancing, and she was seeming more like her usual self, Bertram
+thought. "You see there were such a lot of things I wanted to say, about
+what a dear you were, and how much I--I liked you, and that you had such
+lovely eyes, and a nose--"
+
+"Billy!" This time it was Bertram who was sitting erect in pale horror.
+
+Billy threw him a roguish glance.
+
+"Goosey! You are as bad as Aunt Hannah! I said that was what I _wanted_
+to say. What I really said was--quite another matter," she finished with
+a saucy uptilting of her chin.
+
+Bertram relaxed with a laugh.
+
+"You witch!" His admiring eyes still lingered on her face. "Billy, I'm
+going to paint you sometime in just that pose. You're adorable!"
+
+"Pooh! Just another face of a girl," teased the adorable one.
+
+Bertram gave a sudden exclamation.
+
+"There! And I haven't told you, yet. Guess what my next commission is."
+
+"To paint a portrait?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Can't. Who is it?"
+
+"J. G. Winthrop's daughter."
+
+"Not _the_ J. G. Winthrop?"
+
+"The same."
+
+"Oh, Bertram, how splendid!"
+
+"Isn't it? And then the girl herself! Have you seen her? But you
+haven't, I know, unless you met her abroad. She hasn't been in Boston
+for years until now."
+
+"No, I haven't seen her. Is she so _very_ beautiful?" Billy spoke a
+little soberly.
+
+"Yes--and no." The artist lifted his head alertly. What Billy called
+his "painting look" came to his face. "It isn't that her features are so
+regular--though her mouth and chin are perfect. But her face has so much
+character, and there's an elusive something about her eyes--Jove! If
+I can only catch it, it'll be the best thing yet that I've ever done,
+Billy."
+
+"Will it? I'm so glad--and you'll get it, I know you will," claimed
+Billy, clearing her throat a little nervously.
+
+"I wish I felt so sure," sighed Bertram. "But it'll be a great thing if
+I do get it--J. G. Winthrop's daughter, you know, besides the merit of
+the likeness itself."
+
+"Yes; yes, indeed!" Billy cleared her throat again. "You've seen her, of
+course, lately?"
+
+"Oh, yes. I was there half the morning discussing the details--sittings
+and costume, and deciding on the pose."
+
+"Did you find one--to suit?"
+
+"Find one!" The artist made a despairing gesture. "I found a dozen that
+I wanted. The trouble was to tell which I wanted the most."
+
+Billy gave a nervous little laugh.
+
+"Isn't that--unusual?" she asked.
+
+Bertram lifted his eyebrows with a quizzical smile.
+
+"Well, they aren't all Marguerite Winthrops," he reminded her.
+
+"Marguerite!" cried Billy. "Oh, is her name Marguerite? I do think
+Marguerite is the dearest name!" Billy's eyes and voice were wistful.
+
+"I don't--not the _dearest_. Oh, it's all well enough, of course, but it
+can't be compared for a moment to--well, say, 'Billy'!"
+
+Billy smiled, but she shook her head.
+
+"I'm afraid you're not a good judge of names," she objected.
+
+"Yes, I am; though, for that matter, I should love your name, no matter
+what it was."
+
+"Even if 'twas 'Mary Jane,' eh?" bantered Billy. "Well, you'll have a
+chance to find out how you like that name pretty quick, sir. We're going
+to have one here."
+
+"You're going to have a Mary Jane here? Do you mean that Rosa's going
+away?"
+
+"Mercy! I hope not," shuddered Billy. "You don't find a Rosa in every
+kitchen--and never in employment agencies! My Mary Jane is a niece of
+Aunt Hannah's,--or rather, a cousin. She's coming to Boston to study
+music, and I've invited her here. We've asked her for a month, though I
+presume we shall keep her right along."
+
+Bertram frowned.
+
+"Well, of course, that's very nice for--_Mary Jane_," he sighed with
+meaning emphasis.
+
+Billy laughed.
+
+"Don't worry, dear. She won't bother us any."
+
+"Oh, yes, she will," sighed Bertram. "She'll be 'round--lots; you see
+if she isn't. Billy, I think sometimes you're almost too kind--to other
+folks."
+
+"Never!" laughed Billy. "Besides, what would you have me do when a
+lonesome young girl was coming to Boston? Anyhow, _you're_ not the one
+to talk, young man. I've known _you_ to take in a lonesome girl and give
+her a home," she flashed merrily.
+
+Bertram chuckled.
+
+"Jove! What a time that was!" he exclaimed, regarding his companion with
+fond eyes. "And Spunk, too! Is she going to bring a Spunk?"
+
+"Not that I've heard," smiled Billy; "but she _is_ going to wear a
+pink."
+
+"Not really, Billy?"
+
+"Of course she is! I told her to. How do you suppose we could know her
+when we saw her, if she didn't?" demanded the girl, indignantly. "And
+what is more, sir, there will be _two_ pinks worn this time. _I_ sha'n't
+do as Uncle William did, and leave off my pink. Only think what long
+minutes--that seemed hours of misery--I spent waiting there in that
+train-shed, just because I didn't know which man was my Uncle William!"
+
+Bertram laughed and shrugged his shoulders.
+
+"Well, your Mary Jane won't probably turn out to be quite such a
+bombshell as our Billy did--unless she should prove to be a boy," he
+added whimsically. "Oh, but Billy, she _can't_ turn out to be such a
+dear treasure," finished the man. And at the adoring look in his eyes
+Billy blushed deeply--and promptly forgot all about Mary Jane and her
+pink.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV. FOR MARY JANE
+
+
+"I have a letter here from Mary Jane, my dear," announced Aunt Hannah at
+the luncheon table one day.
+
+"Have you?" Billy raised interested eyes from her own letters. "What
+does she say?"
+
+"She will be here Thursday. Her train is due at the South Station at
+four-thirty. She seems to be very grateful to you for your offer to let
+her come right here for a month; but she says she's afraid you don't
+realize, perhaps, just what you are doing--to take her in like that,
+with her singing, and all."
+
+"Nonsense! She doesn't refuse, does she?"
+
+"Oh, no; she doesn't refuse--but she doesn't accept either, exactly, as
+I can see. I've read the letter over twice, too. I'll let you judge for
+yourself by and by, when you have time to read it."
+
+Billy laughed.
+
+"Never mind. I don't want to read it. She's just a little shy about
+coming, that's all. She'll stay all right, when we come to meet her.
+What time did you say it was, Thursday?"
+
+"Half past four, South Station."
+
+"Thursday, at half past four. Let me see--that's the day of the
+Carletons' 'At Home,' isn't it?"
+
+"Oh, my grief and conscience, yes! But I had forgotten it. What shall we
+do?"
+
+"Oh, that will be easy. We'll just go to the Carletons' early and have
+John wait, then take us from there to the South Station. Meanwhile we'll
+make sure that the little blue room is all ready for her. I put in my
+white enamel work-basket yesterday, and that pretty little blue case for
+hairpins and curling tongs that I bought at the fair. I want the room to
+look homey to her, you know."
+
+"As if it could look any other way, if _you_ had anything to do with
+it," sighed Aunt Hannah, admiringly.
+
+Billy laughed.
+
+"If we get stranded we might ask the Henshaw boys to help us out, Aunt
+Hannah. They'd probably suggest guns and swords. That's the way they
+fixed up _my_ room."
+
+Aunt Hannah raised shocked hands of protest.
+
+"As if we would! Mercy, what a time that was!"
+
+Billy laughed again.
+
+"I never shall forget, _never_, my first glimpse of that room when Mrs.
+Hartwell switched on the lights. Oh, Aunt Hannah, I wish you could have
+seen it before they took out those guns and spiders!"
+
+"As if I didn't see quite enough when I saw William's face that morning
+he came for me!" retorted Aunt Hannah, spiritedly.
+
+"Dear Uncle William! What an old saint he has been all the way through,"
+mused Billy aloud. "And Cyril--who would ever have believed that the
+day would come when Cyril would say to me, as he did last night, that he
+felt as if Marie had been gone a month. It's been just seven days, you
+know."
+
+"I know. She comes to-morrow, doesn't she?"
+
+"Yes, and I'm glad. I shall tell Marie she needn't leave Cyril on _my_
+hands again. Bertram says that at home Cyril hasn't played a dirge since
+his engagement; but I notice that up here--where Marie might be, but
+isn't--his tunes would never be mistaken for ragtime. By the way," she
+added, as she rose from the table, "that's another surprise in store for
+Hugh Calderwell. He always declared that Cyril wasn't a marrying man,
+either, any more than Bertram. You know he said Bertram only cared for
+girls to paint; but--" She stopped and looked inquiringly at Rosa, who
+had appeared at that moment in the hall doorway.
+
+"It's the telephone, Miss Neilson. Mr. Bertram Henshaw wants you."
+
+A few minutes later Aunt Hannah heard Billy at the piano. For fifteen,
+twenty, thirty minutes the brilliant scales and arpeggios rippled
+through the rooms and up the stairs to Aunt Hannah, who knew, by the
+very sound of them, that some unusual nervousness was being worked off
+at the finger tips that played them. At the end of forty-five minutes
+Aunt Hannah went down-stairs.
+
+"Billy, my dear, excuse me, but have you forgotten what time it is?
+Weren't you going out with Bertram?"
+
+Billy stopped playing at once, but she did not turn her head. Her
+fingers busied themselves with some music on the piano.
+
+"We aren't going, Aunt Hannah," she said.
+
+"Bertram can't."
+
+"_Can't!_"
+
+"Well, he didn't want to--so of course I said not to. He's been painting
+this morning on a new portrait, and she said he might stay to luncheon
+and keep right on for a while this afternoon, if he liked. And--he did
+like, so he stayed."
+
+"Why, how--how--" Aunt Hannah stopped helplessly.
+
+"Oh, no, not at all," interposed Billy, lightly. "He told me all about
+it the other night. It's going to be a very wonderful portrait; and,
+of course, I wouldn't want to interfere with--his work!" And again a
+brilliant scale rippled from Billy's fingers after a crashing chord in
+the bass.
+
+Slowly Aunt Hannah turned and went up-stairs. Her eyes were troubled.
+Not since Billy's engagement had she heard Billy play like that.
+
+Bertram did not find a pensive Billy awaiting him that evening. He
+found a bright-eyed, flushed-cheeked Billy, who let herself be
+kissed--once--but who did not kiss back; a blithe, elusive Billy, who
+played tripping little melodies, and sang jolly little songs, instead
+of sitting before the fire and talking; a Billy who at last turned, and
+asked tranquilly:
+
+"Well, how did the picture go?"
+
+Bertram rose then, crossed the room, and took Billy very gently into his
+arms.
+
+"Sweetheart, you were a dear this noon to let me off like that," he
+began in a voice shaken with emotion. "You don't know, perhaps, exactly
+what you did. You see, I was nearly wild between wanting to be with you,
+and wanting to go on with my work. And I was just at that point
+where one little word from you, one hint that you wanted me to come
+anyway--and I should have come. But you didn't say it, nor hint it. Like
+the brave little bit of inspiration that you are, you bade me stay and
+go on with my work."
+
+The "inspiration's" head drooped a little lower, but this only brought
+a wealth of soft bronze hair to just where Bertram could lay his cheek
+against it--and Bertram promptly took advantage of his opportunity. "And
+so I stayed, Billy, and I did good work; I know I did good work. Why,
+Billy,"--Bertram stepped back now, and held Billy by the shoulders at
+arms' length--"Billy, that's going to be the best work I've ever done. I
+can see it coming even now, under my fingers."
+
+Billy lifted her head and looked into her lover's face. His eyes were
+glowing. His cheeks were flushed. His whole countenance was aflame with
+the soul of the artist who sees his vision taking shape before him. And
+Billy, looking at him, felt suddenly--ashamed.
+
+"Oh, Bertram, I'm proud, proud, _proud_ of you!" she breathed. "Come,
+let's go over to the fire-and talk!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V. MARIE SPEAKS HER MIND
+
+
+Billy with John and Peggy met Marie Hawthorn at the station. "Peggy"
+was short for "Pegasus," and was what Billy always called her luxurious,
+seven-seated touring car.
+
+"I simply won't call it 'automobile,'" she had declared when she bought
+it. "In the first place, it takes too long to say it, and in the second
+place, I don't want to add one more to the nineteen different ways to
+pronounce it that I hear all around me every day now. As for calling it
+my 'car,' or my 'motor car'--I should expect to see a Pullman or one
+of those huge black trucks before my door, if I ordered it by either of
+those names. Neither will I insult the beautiful thing by calling it a
+'machine.' Its name is Pegasus. I shall call it 'Peggy.'"
+
+And "Peggy" she called it. John sniffed his disdain, and Billy's friends
+made no secret of their amused tolerance; but, in an astonishingly short
+time, half the automobile owners of her acquaintance were calling their
+own cars "Peggy"; and even the dignified John himself was heard to order
+"some gasoline for Peggy," quite as a matter of course.
+
+When Marie Hawthorn stepped from the train at the North Station she
+greeted Billy with affectionate warmth, though at once her blue eyes
+swept the space beyond expectantly and eagerly.
+
+Billy's lips curved in a mischievous smile.
+
+"No, he didn't come," she said. "He didn't want to--a little bit."
+
+Marie grew actually pale.
+
+"Didn't _want_ to!" she stammered.
+
+Billy gave her a spasmodic hug.
+
+"Goosey! No, he didn't--a _little_ bit; but he did a great _big_ bit.
+As if you didn't know he was dying to come, Marie! But he simply
+couldn't--something about his concert Monday night. He told me over the
+telephone; but between his joy that you were coming, and his rage that
+he couldn't see you the first minute you did come, I couldn't quite make
+out what was the trouble. But he's coming to dinner to-night, so he'll
+doubtless tell you all about it."
+
+Marie sighed her relief.
+
+"Oh, that's all right then. I was afraid he was sick--when I didn't see
+him."
+
+Billy laughed softly.
+
+"No, he isn't sick, Marie; but you needn't go away again before the
+wedding--not to leave him on my hands. I wouldn't have believed Cyril
+Henshaw, confirmed old bachelor and avowed woman-hater, could have acted
+the part of a love-sick boy as he has the last week or two."
+
+The rose-flush on Marie's cheek spread to the roots of her fine yellow
+hair.
+
+"Billy, dear, he--he didn't!"
+
+"Marie, dear--he--he did!"
+
+Marie laughed. She did not say anything, but the rose-flush deepened
+as she occupied herself very busily in getting her trunk-check from the
+little hand bag she carried.
+
+Cyril was not mentioned again until the two girls, veils tied and coats
+buttoned, were snugly ensconced in the tonneau, and Peggy's nose was
+turned toward home. Then Billy asked:
+
+"Have you settled on where you're going to live?"
+
+"Not quite. We're going to talk of that to-night; but we _do_ know that
+we aren't going to live at the Strata."
+
+"Marie!"
+
+Marie stirred uneasily at the obvious disappointment and reproach in her
+friend's voice.
+
+"But, dear, it wouldn't be wise, I'm sure," she argued hastily. "There
+will be you and Bertram--"
+
+"We sha'n't be there for a year, nearly," cut in Billy, with swift
+promptness. "Besides, I think it would be lovely--all together."
+
+Marie smiled, but she shook her head.
+
+"Lovely--but not practical, dear."
+
+Billy laughed ruefully.
+
+"I know; you're worrying about those puddings of yours. You're afraid
+somebody is going to interfere with your making quite so many as you
+want to; and Cyril is worrying for fear there'll be somebody else in the
+circle of his shaded lamp besides his little Marie with the light on her
+hair, and the mending basket by her side."
+
+"Billy, what are you talking about?"
+
+Billy threw a roguish glance into her friend's amazed blue eyes.
+
+"Oh, just a little picture Cyril drew once for me of what home meant for
+him: a room with a table and a shaded lamp, and a little woman beside it
+with the light on her hair and a great basket of sewing by her side."
+
+Marie's eyes softened.
+
+"Did he say--that?"
+
+"Yes. Oh, he declared he shouldn't want her to sit under that lamp all
+the time, of course; but he hoped she'd like that sort of thing."
+
+Marie threw a quick glance at the stolid back of John beyond the two
+empty seats in front of them. Although she knew he could not hear her
+words, instinctively she lowered her voice.
+
+"Did you know--then--about--me?" she asked, with heightened color.
+
+"No, only that there was a girl somewhere who, he hoped, would sit under
+the lamp some day. And when I asked him if the girl did like that sort
+of thing, he said yes, he thought so; for she had told him once that
+the things she liked best of all to do were to mend stockings and make
+puddings. Then I knew, of course, 'twas you, for I'd heard you say the
+same thing. So I sent him right along out to you in the summer-house."
+
+The pink flush on Marie's face grew to a red one. Her blue eyes turned
+again to John's broad back, then drifted to the long, imposing line of
+windowed walls and doorways on the right. The automobile was passing
+smoothly along Beacon Street now with the Public Garden just behind them
+on the left. After a moment Marie turned to Billy again.
+
+"I'm so glad he wants--just puddings and stockings," she began a little
+breathlessly. "You see, for so long I supposed he _wouldn't_ want
+anything but a very brilliant, talented wife who could play and sing
+beautifully; a wife he'd be proud of--like you."
+
+"Me? Nonsense!" laughed Billy. "Cyril never wanted me, and I never
+wanted him--only once for a few minutes, so to speak, when I thought,
+I did. In spite of our music, we aren't a mite congenial. I like people
+around; he doesn't. I like to go to plays; he doesn't. He likes rainy
+days, and I abhor them. Mercy! Life with me for him would be one long
+jangling discord, my love, while with you it'll be one long sweet song!"
+
+Marie drew a deep breath. Her eyes were fixed on a point far ahead up
+the curveless street.
+
+"I hope it will, indeed!" she breathed.
+
+Not until they were almost home did Billy say suddenly:
+
+"Oh, did Cyril write you? A young relative of Aunt Hannah's is coming
+to-morrow to stay a while at the house."
+
+"Er--yes, Cyril told me," admitted Marie.
+
+Billy smiled.
+
+"Didn't like it, I suppose; eh?" she queried shrewdly.
+
+"N-no, I'm afraid he didn't--very well. He said she'd be--one more to be
+around."
+
+"There, what did I tell you?" dimpled Billy. "You can see what you're
+coming to when you do get that shaded lamp and the mending basket!"
+
+A moment later, coming in sight of the house, Billy saw a tall,
+smooth-shaven man standing on the porch. The man lifted his hat and
+waved it gayly, baring a slightly bald head to the sun.
+
+"It's Uncle William--bless his heart!" cried Billy. "They're all coming
+to dinner, then he and Aunt Hannah and Bertram and I are going down to
+the Hollis Street Theatre and let you and Cyril have a taste of what
+that shaded lamp is going to be. I hope you won't be lonesome," she
+finished mischievously, as the car drew up before the door.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI. AT THE SIGN OF THE PINK
+
+
+After a week of beautiful autumn weather, Thursday dawned raw and cold.
+By noon an east wind had made the temperature still more uncomfortable.
+
+At two o'clock Aunt Hannah tapped at Billy's chamber door. She showed a
+troubled face to the girl who answered her knock.
+
+"Billy, _would_ you mind very much if I asked you to go alone to the
+Carletons' and to meet Mary Jane?" she inquired anxiously.
+
+"Why, no--that is, of course I should _mind_, dear, because I always
+like to have you go to places with me. But it isn't necessary. You
+aren't sick; are you?"
+
+"N-no, not exactly; but I have been sneezing all the morning, and taking
+camphor and sugar to break it up--if it is a cold. But it is so raw and
+Novemberish out, that--"
+
+"Why, of course you sha'n't go, you poor dear! Mercy! don't get one
+of those dreadful colds on to you before the wedding! Have you felt
+a draft? Where's another shawl?" Billy turned and cast searching eyes
+about the room--Billy always kept shawls everywhere for Aunt Hannah's
+shoulders and feet. Bertram had been known to say, indeed, that a room,
+according to Aunt Hannah, was not fully furnished unless it contained
+from one to four shawls, assorted as to size and warmth. Shawls,
+certainly, did seem to be a necessity with Aunt Hannah, as she usually
+wore from one to three at the same time--which again caused Bertram to
+declare that he always counted Aunt Hannah's shawls when he wished to
+know what the thermometer was.
+
+"No, I'm not cold, and I haven't felt a draft," said Aunt Hannah now. "I
+put on my thickest gray shawl this morning with the little pink one for
+down-stairs, and the blue one for breakfast; so you see I've been very
+careful. But I _have_ sneezed six times, so I think 'twould be safer not
+to go out in this east wind. You were going to stop for Mrs. Granger,
+anyway, weren't you? So you'll have her with you for the tea."
+
+"Yes, dear, don't worry. I'll take your cards and explain to Mrs.
+Carleton and her daughters."
+
+"And, of course, as far as Mary Jane is concerned, I don't know her any
+more than you do; so I couldn't be any help there," sighed Aunt Hannah.
+
+"Not a bit," smiled Billy, cheerily. "Don't give it another thought, my
+dear. I sha'n't have a bit of trouble. All I'll have to do is to look
+for a girl alone with a pink. Of course I'll have mine on, too, and
+she'll be watching for me. So just run along and take your nap, dear,
+and be all rested and ready to welcome her when she comes," finished
+Billy, stooping to give the soft, faintly pink cheek a warm kiss.
+
+"Well, thank you, my dear; perhaps I will," sighed Aunt Hannah, drawing
+the gray shawl about her as she turned away contentedly.
+
+Mrs. Carleton's tea that afternoon was, for Billy, not an occasion of
+unalloyed joy. It was the first time she had appeared at a gathering of
+any size since the announcement of her engagement; and, as she dolefully
+told Bertram afterwards, she had very much the feeling of the picture
+hung on the wall.
+
+"And they _did_ put up their lorgnettes and say, 'Is _that_ the one?'"
+she declared; "and I know some of them finished with 'Did you ever?'
+too," she sighed.
+
+But Billy did not stay long in Mrs. Carleton's softly-lighted,
+flower-perfumed rooms. At ten minutes past four she was saying good-by
+to a group of friends who were vainly urging her to remain longer.
+
+"I can't--I really can't," she declared. "I'm due at the South Station
+at half past four to meet a Miss Arkwright, a young cousin of Aunt
+Hannah's, whom I've never seen before. We're to meet at the sign of
+the pink," she explained smilingly, just touching the single flower she
+wore.
+
+Her hostess gave a sudden laugh.
+
+"Let me see, my dear; if I remember rightly, you've had experience
+before, meeting at this sign of the pink. At least, I have a very vivid
+recollection of Mr. William Henshaw's going once to meet a _boy_ with
+a pink, who turned out to be a girl. Now, to even things up, your girl
+should turn out to be a boy!"
+
+Billy smiled and reddened.
+
+"Perhaps--but I don't think to-day will strike the balance," she
+retorted, backing toward the door. "This young lady's name is 'Mary
+Jane'; and I'll leave it to you to find anything very masculine in
+that!"
+
+It was a short drive from Mrs. Carleton's Commonwealth Avenue home to
+the South Station, and Peggy made as quick work of it as the narrow,
+congested cross streets would allow. In ample time Billy found herself
+in the great waiting-room, with John saying respectfully in her ear:
+
+"The man says the train comes in on Track Fourteen, Miss, an' it's on
+time."
+
+At twenty-nine minutes past four Billy left her seat and walked down the
+train-shed platform to Track Number Fourteen. She had pinned the pink
+now to the outside of her long coat, and it made an attractive dash
+of white against the dark-blue velvet. Billy was looking particularly
+lovely to-day. Framing her face was the big dark-blue velvet picture hat
+with its becoming white plumes.
+
+During the brief minutes' wait before the clanging locomotive puffed
+into view far down the long track, Billy's thoughts involuntarily went
+back to that other watcher beside a train gate not quite five years
+before.
+
+"Dear Uncle William!" she murmured tenderly. Then suddenly she
+laughed--so nearly aloud that a man behind her gave her a covert glance
+from curious eyes. "My! but what a jolt I must have been to Uncle
+William!" Billy was thinking.
+
+The next minute she drew nearer the gate and regarded with absorbed
+attention the long line of passengers already sweeping up the narrow
+aisle between the cars.
+
+Hurrying men came first, with long strides, and eyes that looked
+straight ahead. These Billy let pass with a mere glance. The next group
+showed a sprinkling of women--women whose trig hats and linen collars
+spelled promptness as well as certainty of aim and accomplishment. To
+these, also, Billy paid scant attention. Couples came next--the men
+anxious-eyed, and usually walking two steps ahead of their companions;
+the women plainly flustered and hurried, and invariably buttoning gloves
+or gathering up trailing ends of scarfs or boas.
+
+The crowd was thickening fast, now, and Billy's eyes were alert.
+Children were appearing, and young women walking alone. One of these
+wore a bunch of violets. Billy gave her a second glance. Then she saw a
+pink--but it was on the coat lapel of a tall young fellow with a brown
+beard; so with a slight frown she looked beyond down the line.
+
+Old men came now, and old women; fleshy women, and women with small
+children and babies. Couples came, too--dawdling couples, plainly newly
+married: the men were not two steps ahead, and the women's gloves were
+buttoned and their furs in place.
+
+Gradually the line thinned, and soon there were left only an old man
+with a cane, and a young woman with three children. Yet nowhere had
+Billy seen a girl wearing a white carnation, and walking alone.
+
+With a deeper frown on her face Billy turned and looked about her. She
+thought that somewhere in the crowd she had missed Mary Jane, and that
+she would find her now, standing near. But there was no one standing
+near except the good-looking young fellow with the little pointed
+brown beard, who, as Billy noticed a second time, was wearing a white
+carnation.
+
+As she glanced toward him, their eyes met. Then, to Billy's unbounded
+amazement, the man advanced with uplifted hat.
+
+"I beg your pardon, but is not this--Miss Neilson?"
+
+Billy drew back with just a touch of hauteur.
+
+"Y-yes," she murmured.
+
+"I thought so--yet I was expecting to see you with Aunt Hannah. I am M.
+J. Arkwright, Miss Neilson."
+
+For a brief instant Billy stared dazedly.
+
+"You don't mean--Mary Jane?" she gasped.
+
+"I'm afraid I do." His lips twitched.
+
+"But I thought--we were expecting--" She stopped helplessly. For one
+more brief instant she stared; then, suddenly, a swift change came to
+her face. Her eyes danced.
+
+"Oh--oh!" she chuckled. "How perfectly funny! You _have_ evened things
+up, after all. To think that Mary Jane should be a--" She paused and
+flashed almost angrily suspicious eyes into his face. "But mine _was_
+'Billy,'" she cried. "Your name isn't really--Mary Jane'?"
+
+"I am often called that." His brown eyes twinkled, but they did not
+swerve from their direct gaze into her own.
+
+"But--" Billy hesitated, and turned her eyes away. She saw then that
+many curious glances were already being flung in her direction. The
+color in her cheeks deepened. With an odd little gesture she seemed to
+toss something aside. "Never mind," she laughed a little hysterically.
+"If you'll pick up your bag, please, Mr. Mary Jane, and come with me.
+John and Peggy are waiting. Or--I forgot--you have a trunk, of course?"
+
+The man raised a protesting hand.
+
+"Thank you; but, Miss Neilson, really--I couldn't think of trespassing
+on your hospitality--now, you know."
+
+"But we--we invited you," stammered Billy.
+
+He shook his head.
+
+"You invited _Miss_ Mary Jane."
+
+Billy bubbled into low laughter.
+
+"I beg your pardon, but it _is_ funny," she sighed. "You see _I_ came
+once just the same way, and now to have the tables turned like this!
+What will Aunt Hannah say--what will everybody say? Come, I want them to
+begin--to say it," she chuckled irrepressibly.
+
+"Thank you, but I shall go to a hotel, of course. Later, if you'll be so
+good as to let me call, and explain--!"
+
+"But I'm afraid Aunt Hannah will think--" Billy stopped abruptly. Some
+distance away she saw John coming toward them. She turned hurriedly to
+the man at her side. Her eyes still danced, but her voice was mockingly
+serious. "Really, Mr. Mary Jane, I'm afraid you'll have to come to
+dinner; then you can settle the rest with Aunt Hannah. John is almost
+upon us--and _I_ don't want to make explanations. Do you?"
+
+"John," she said airily to the somewhat dazed chauffeur (who had been
+told he was to meet a young woman), "take Mr. Arkwright's bag, please,
+and show him where Peggy is waiting. It will be five minutes, perhaps,
+before I can come--if you'll kindly excuse me," she added to Arkwright,
+with a flashing glance from merry eyes. "I have some--telephoning to
+do."
+
+All the way to the telephone booth Billy was trying to bring order out
+of the chaos of her mind; but all the way, too, she was chuckling.
+
+"To think that this thing should have happened to _me!_" she
+said, almost aloud. "And here I am telephoning just like Uncle
+William--Bertram said Uncle William _did_ telephone about _me!_"
+
+In due course Billy had Aunt Hannah at the other end of the wire.
+
+"Aunt Hannah, listen. I'd never have believed it, but it's happened.
+Mary Jane is--a man."
+
+Billy heard a dismayed gasp and a muttered "Oh, my grief and
+conscience!" then a shaking "Wha-at?"
+
+"I say, Mary Jane is a man." Billy was enjoying herself hugely.
+
+"A _ma-an!_"
+
+"Yes; a great big man with a brown beard. He's waiting now with John and
+I must go."
+
+"But, Billy, I don't understand," chattered an agitated voice over the
+line. "He--he called himself 'Mary Jane.' He hasn't any business to be
+a big man with a brown beard! What shall we do? We don't want a big man
+with a brown beard--here!"
+
+Billy laughed roguishly.
+
+"I don't know. _You_ asked him! How he will like that little blue
+room--Aunt Hannah!" Billy's voice turned suddenly tragic. "For pity's
+sake take out those curling tongs and hairpins, and the work-basket.
+I'd _never_ hear the last of it if he saw those, I know. He's just that
+kind!"
+
+A half stifled groan came over the wire.
+
+"Billy, he can't stay here."
+
+Billy laughed again.
+
+"No, no, dear; he won't, I know. He says he's going to a hotel. But
+I had to bring him home to dinner; there was no other way, under the
+circumstances. He won't stay. Don't you worry. But good-by. I must
+go. _Remember those curling tongs!_" And the receiver clicked sharply
+against the hook.
+
+In the automobile some minutes later, Billy and Mr. M. J. Arkwright
+were speeding toward Corey Hill. It was during a slight pause in the
+conversation that Billy turned to her companion with a demure:
+
+"I telephoned Aunt Hannah, Mr. Arkwright. I thought she ought to
+be--warned."
+
+"You are very kind. What did she say?--if I may ask."
+
+There was a brief moment of hesitation before Billy answered.
+
+"She said you called yourself 'Mary Jane,' and that you hadn't any
+business to be a big man with a brown beard."
+
+Arkwright laughed.
+
+"I'm afraid I owe Aunt Hannah an apology," he said. He hesitated,
+glanced admiringly at the glowing, half-averted face near him, then went
+on decisively. He wore the air of a man who has set the match to his
+bridges. "I signed both letters 'M. J. Arkwright,' but in the first one
+I quoted a remark of a friend, and in that remark I was addressed as
+'Mary Jane.' I did not know but Aunt Hannah knew of the nickname."
+(Arkwright was speaking a little slowly now, as if weighing his words.)
+"But when she answered, I saw that she did not; for, from something she
+said, I realized that she thought I was a real Mary Jane. For the joke
+of the thing I let it pass. But--if she noticed my letter carefully, she
+saw that I did not accept your kind invitation to give 'Mary Jane' a
+home."
+
+"Yes, we noticed that," nodded Billy, merrily. "But we didn't think you
+meant it. You see we pictured you as a shy young thing. But, really,"
+she went on with a low laugh, "you see your coming as a masculine 'Mary
+Jane' was particularly funny--for me; for, though perhaps you didn't
+know it, I came once to this very same city, wearing a pink, and was
+expected to be Billy, a boy. And only to-day a lady warned me that
+your coming might even things up. But I didn't believe it would--a Mary
+Jane!"
+
+Arkwright laughed. Again he hesitated, and seemed to be weighing his
+words.
+
+"Yes, I heard about that coming of yours. I might almost say--that's why
+I--let the mistake pass in Aunt Hannah's letter," he said.
+
+Billy turned with reproachful eyes.
+
+"Oh, how could--you? But then--it was a temptation!" She laughed
+suddenly. "What sinful joy you must have had watching me hunt for 'Mary
+Jane.'"
+
+"I didn't," acknowledged the other, with unexpected candor. "I
+felt--ashamed. And when I saw you were there alone without Aunt Hannah,
+I came very near not speaking at all--until I realized that that would
+be even worse, under the circumstances."
+
+"Of course it would," smiled Billy, brightly; "so I don't see but I
+shall have to forgive you, after all. And here we are at home, Mr. Mary
+Jane. By the way, what did you say that 'M. J.' did stand for?" she
+asked, as the car came to a stop.
+
+The man did not seem to hear; at least he did not answer. He was
+helping his hostess to alight. A moment later a plainly agitated Aunt
+Hannah--her gray shawl topped with a huge black one--opened the door of
+the house.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII. OLD FRIENDS AND NEW
+
+
+At ten minutes before six on the afternoon of Arkwright's arrival, Billy
+came into the living-room to welcome the three Henshaw brothers, who, as
+was frequently the case, were dining at Hillside.
+
+Bertram thought Billy had never looked prettier than she did this
+afternoon with the bronze sheen of her pretty house gown bringing
+out the bronze lights in her dark eyes and in the soft waves of her
+beautiful hair. Her countenance, too, carried a peculiar something that
+the artist's eye was quick to detect, and that the artist's fingers
+tingled to put on canvas.
+
+"Jove! Billy," he said low in her ear, as he greeted her, "I wish I had
+a brush in my hand this minute. I'd have a 'Face of a Girl' that would
+be worth while!"
+
+Billy laughed and dimpled her appreciation; but down in her heart she
+was conscious of a vague unrest. Billy wished, sometimes, that she did
+not so often seem to Bertram--a picture.
+
+She turned to Cyril with outstretched hand.
+
+"Oh, yes, Marie's coming," she smiled in answer to the quick shifting
+of Cyril's eyes to the hall doorway. "And Aunt Hannah, too. They're
+up-stairs."
+
+"And Mary Jane?" demanded William, a little anxiously
+
+"Will's getting nervous," volunteered Bertram, airily. "He wants to see
+Mary Jane. You see we've told him that we shall expect him to see that
+she doesn't bother us four too much, you know. He's expected always to
+remove her quietly but effectually, whenever he sees that she is likely
+to interrupt a tete-a-tete. Naturally, then, Will wants to see
+Mary Jane."
+
+Billy began to laugh hysterically. She dropped into a chair and raised
+both her hands, palms outward.
+
+"Don't, don't--please don't!" she choked, "or I shall die. I've had all
+I can stand, already."
+
+"All you can stand?"
+
+"What do you mean?"
+
+"Is she so--impossible?" This last was from Bertram, spoken softly, and
+with a hurried glance toward the hall.
+
+Billy dropped her hands and lifted her head. By heroic effort she pulled
+her face into sobriety--all but her eyes--and announced:
+
+"Mary Jane is--a man."
+
+"Wha-at?"
+
+"A _man!_"
+
+"Billy!"
+
+Three masculine forms sat suddenly erect.
+
+"Yes. Oh, Uncle William, I know now just how you felt--I know, I know,"
+gurgled Billy, incoherently. "There he stood with his pink just as I
+did--only he had a brown beard, and he didn't have Spunk--and I had to
+telephone to prepare folks, just as you did. And the room--the room!
+I fixed the room, too," she babbled breathlessly, "only I had curling
+tongs and hair pins in it instead of guns and spiders!"
+
+"Child, child! what _are_ you talking about?" William's face was red.
+
+"A _man!_--_Mary Jane!_" Cyril was merely cross.
+
+"Billy, what does this mean?" Bertram had grown a little white.
+
+Billy began to laugh again, yet she was plainly trying to control
+herself.
+
+"I'll tell you. I must tell you. Aunt Hannah is keeping him up-stairs
+so I can tell you," she panted. "But it was so funny, when I expected a
+girl, you know, to see him with his brown beard, and he was so tall and
+big! And, of course, it made me think how _I_ came, and was a girl when
+you expected a boy; and Mrs. Carleton had just said to-day that maybe
+this girl would even things up. Oh, it was so funny!"
+
+"Billy, my-my dear," remonstrated Uncle William, mildly.
+
+"But what _is_ his name?" demanded Cyril.
+
+"Did the creature sign himself 'Mary Jane'?" exploded Bertram.
+
+"I don't know his name, except that it's 'M. J.'--and that's how he
+signed the letters. But he _is_ called 'Mary Jane' sometimes, and in the
+letter he quoted somebody's speech--I've forgotten just how--but in it
+he was called 'Mary Jane,' and, of course, Aunt Hannah took him for a
+girl," explained Billy, grown a little more coherent now.
+
+"Didn't he write again?" asked William.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Well, why didn't he correct the mistake, then?" demanded Bertram.
+
+Billy chuckled.
+
+"He didn't want to, I guess. He thought it was too good a joke."
+
+"Joke!" scoffed Cyril.
+
+"But, see here, Billy, he isn't going to live here--now?" Bertram's
+voice was almost savage.
+
+"Oh, no, he isn't going to live here--now," interposed smooth tones from
+the doorway.
+
+"Mr.--Arkwright!" breathed Billy, confusedly.
+
+Three crimson-faced men sprang to their feet. The situation, for a
+moment, threatened embarrassed misery for all concerned; but Arkwright,
+with a cheery smile, advanced straight toward Bertram, and held out a
+friendly hand.
+
+"The proverbial fate of listeners," he said easily; "but I don't blame
+you at all. No, 'he' isn't going to live here," he went on, grasping
+each brother's hand in turn, as Billy murmured faint introductions; "and
+what is more, he hereby asks everybody's pardon for the annoyance his
+little joke has caused. He might add that he's heartily-ashamed of
+himself, as well; but if any of you--" Arkwright turned to the three
+tall men still standing by their chairs--"if any of you had suffered
+what he has at the hands of a swarm of youngsters for that name's sake,
+you wouldn't blame him for being tempted to get what fun he could out of
+Mary Jane--if there ever came a chance!"
+
+Naturally, after this, there could be nothing stiff or embarrassing.
+Billy laughed in relief, and motioned Mr. Arkwright to a seat near her.
+William said "Of course, of course!" and shook hands again. Bertram and
+Cyril laughed shamefacedly and sat down. Somebody said: "But what does
+the 'M. J.' stand for, anyhow?" Nobody answered this, however; perhaps
+because Aunt Hannah and Marie appeared just then in the doorway.
+
+Dinner proved to be a lively meal. In the newcomer, Bertram met his
+match for wit and satire; and "Mr. Mary Jane," as he was promptly called
+by every one but Aunt Hannah, was found to be a most entertaining guest.
+
+After dinner somebody suggested music.
+
+Cyril frowned, and got up abruptly. Still frowning, he turned to a
+bookcase near him and began to take down and examine some of the books.
+
+Bertram twinkled and glanced at Billy.
+
+"Which is it, Cyril?" he called with cheerful impertinence; "stool,
+piano, or audience that is the matter to-night?"
+
+Only a shrug from Cyril answered.
+
+"You see," explained Bertram, jauntily, to Arkwright, whose eyes were
+slightly puzzled, "Cyril never plays unless the piano and the pedals and
+the weather and your ears and my watch and his fingers are just right!"
+
+"Nonsense!" scorned Cyril, dropping his book and walking back to his
+chair. "I don't feel like playing to-night; that's all."
+
+"You see," nodded Bertram again.
+
+"I see," bowed Arkwright with quiet amusement.
+
+"I believe--Mr. Mary Jane--sings," observed Billy, at this point,
+demurely.
+
+"Why, yes, of course," chimed in Aunt Hannah with some nervousness.
+"That's what she--I mean he--was coming to Boston for--to study music."
+
+Everybody laughed.
+
+"Won't you sing, please?" asked Billy. "Can you--without your notes? I
+have lots of songs if you want them."
+
+For a moment--but only a moment--Arkwright hesitated; then he rose and
+went to the piano.
+
+With the easy sureness of the trained musician his fingers dropped to
+the keys and slid into preliminary chords and arpeggios to test the
+touch of the piano; then, with a sweetness and purity that made every
+listener turn in amazed delight, a well-trained tenor began the "Thro'
+the leaves the night winds moving," of Schubert's Serenade.
+
+Cyril's chin had lifted at the first tone. He was listening now with
+very obvious pleasure. Bertram, too, was showing by his attitude the
+keenest appreciation. William and Aunt Hannah, resting back in their
+chairs, were contentedly nodding their approval to each other. Marie in
+her corner was motionless with rapture. As to Billy--Billy was plainly
+oblivious of everything but the song and the singer. She seemed scarcely
+to move or to breathe till the song's completion; then there came a low
+"Oh, how beautiful!" through her parted lips.
+
+Bertram, looking at her, was conscious of a vague irritation.
+
+"Arkwright, you're a lucky dog," he declared almost crossly. "I wish I
+could sing like that!"
+
+"I wish I could paint a 'Face of a Girl,'" smiled the tenor as he turned
+from the piano.
+
+"Oh, but, Mr. Arkwright, don't stop," objected Billy, springing to her
+feet and going to her music cabinet by the piano. "There's a little song
+of Nevin's I want you to sing. There, here it is. Just let me play it
+for you." And she slipped into the place the singer had just left.
+
+It was the beginning of the end. After Nevin came De Koven, and after
+De Koven, Gounod. Then came Nevin again, Billy still playing the
+accompaniment. Next followed a duet. Billy did not consider herself much
+of a singer, but her voice was sweet and true, and not without training.
+It blended very prettily with the clear, pure tenor.
+
+William and Aunt Hannah still smiled contentedly in their chairs, though
+Aunt Hannah had reached for the pink shawl near her--the music had sent
+little shivers down her spine. Cyril, with Marie, had slipped into the
+little reception-room across the hall, ostensibly to look at some plans
+for a house, although--as everybody knew--they were not intending to
+build for a year.
+
+Bertram, still sitting stiffly erect in his chair, was not conscious
+of a vague irritation now. He was conscious of a very real, and a very
+decided one--an irritation that was directed against himself, against
+Billy, and against this man, Arkwright; but chiefly against music,
+_per se_. He hated music. He wished he could sing. He wondered how long
+it took to teach a man to sing, anyhow; and he wondered if a man could
+sing--who never had sung.
+
+At this point the duet came to an end, and Billy and her guest left
+the piano. Almost at once, after this, Arkwright made his very graceful
+adieus, and went off with his suit-case to the hotel where, as he had
+informed Aunt Hannah, his room was already engaged.
+
+William went home then, and Aunt Hannah went up-stairs. Cyril and Marie
+withdrew into a still more secluded corner to look at their plans, and
+Bertram found himself at last alone with Billy. He forgot, then, in
+the blissful hour he spent with her before the open fire, how he hated
+music; though he did say, just before he went home that night:
+
+"Billy, how long does it take--to learn to sing?"
+
+"Why, I don't know, I'm sure," replied Billy, abstractedly; then, with
+sudden fervor: "Oh, Bertram, hasn't Mr. Mary Jane a beautiful voice?"
+
+Bertram wished then he had not asked the question; but all he said was:
+
+"'Mr. Mary Jane,' indeed! What an absurd name!"
+
+"But doesn't he sing beautifully?"
+
+"Eh? Oh, yes, he sings all right," said Bertram's tongue. Bertram's
+manner said: "Oh, yes, anybody can sing."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII. M. J. OPENS THE GAME
+
+
+On the morning after Cyril's first concert of the season, Billy sat
+sewing with Aunt Hannah in the little sitting-room at the end of the
+hall upstairs. Aunt Hannah wore only one shawl this morning,--which
+meant that she was feeling unusually well.
+
+"Marie ought to be here to mend these stockings," remarked Billy, as she
+critically examined a tiny break in the black silk mesh stretched across
+the darning-egg in her hand; "only she'd want a bigger hole. She does so
+love to make a beautiful black latticework bridge across a yawning white
+china sea--and you'd think the safety of an army depended on the way
+each plank was laid, too," she concluded.
+
+Aunt Hannah smiled tranquilly, but she did not speak.
+
+"I suppose you don't happen to know if Cyril does wear big holes in his
+socks," resumed Billy, after a moment's silence. "If you'll believe it,
+that thought popped into my head last night when Cyril was playing
+that concerto so superbly. It did, actually--right in the middle of the
+adagio movement, too. And in spite of my joy and pride in the music I
+had all I could do to keep from nudging Marie right there and then and
+asking her whether or not the dear man was hard on his hose."
+
+"Billy!" gasped the shocked Aunt Hannah; but the gasp broke at once into
+what--in Aunt Hannah--passed for a chuckle. "If I remember rightly, when
+I was there at the house with you at first, my dear, William told me
+that Cyril wouldn't wear any sock after it came to mending."
+
+"Horrors!" Billy waved her stocking in mock despair. "That will never
+do in the world. It would break Marie's heart. You know how she dotes on
+darning."
+
+"Yes, I know," smiled Aunt Hannah. "By the way, where is she this
+morning?"
+
+Billy raised her eyebrows quizzically.
+
+"Gone to look at an apartment in Cambridge, I believe. Really,
+Aunt Hannah, between her home-hunting in the morning, and her
+furniture-and-rug hunting in the afternoon, and her poring over
+house-plans in the evening, I can't get her to attend to her clothes at
+all. Never did I see a bride so utterly indifferent to her trousseau as
+Marie Hawthorn--and her wedding less than a month away!"
+
+"But she's been shopping with you once or twice, since she came back,
+hasn't she? And she said it was for her trousseau."
+
+Billy laughed.
+
+"Her trousseau! Oh, yes, it was. I'll tell you what she got for her
+trousseau that first day. We started out to buy two hats, some lace for
+her wedding gown, some crepe de Chine and net for a little dinner
+frock, and some silk for a couple of waists to go with her tailored
+suit; and what did we get? We purchased a new-style egg-beater and a
+set of cake tins. Marie got into the kitchen department and I simply
+couldn't get her out of it. But the next day I was not to be inveigled
+below stairs by any plaintive prayer for a nutmeg-grater or a soda
+spoon. She _shopped_ that day, and to some purpose. We accomplished
+lots."
+
+Aunt Hannah looked a little concerned.
+
+"But she must have _some_ things started!"
+
+"Oh, she has--'most everything now. _I've_ seen to that. Of course her
+outfit is very simple, anyway. Marie hasn't much money, you know, and
+she simply won't let me do half what I want to. Still, she had saved
+up some money, and I've finally convinced her that a trousseau doesn't
+consist of egg-beaters and cake tins, and that Cyril would want her to
+look pretty. That name will fetch her every time, and I've learned to
+use it beautifully. I think if I told her Cyril approved of short hair
+and near-sightedness she'd I cut off her golden locks and don spectacles
+on the spot."
+
+Aunt Hannah laughed softly.
+
+"What a child you are, Billy! Besides, just as if Marie were the only
+one in the house who is ruled by a magic name!"
+
+The color deepened in Billy's cheeks.
+
+"Well, of course, any girl--cares something--for the man she loves. Just
+as if I wouldn't do anything in the world I could for Bertram!"
+
+"Oh, that makes me think; who was that young woman Bertram was talking
+with last evening--just after he left us, I mean?"
+
+"Miss Winthrop--Miss Marguerite Winthrop. Bertram is--is painting her
+portrait, you know."
+
+"Oh, is that the one?" murmured Aunt Hannah. "Hm-m; well, she has a
+beautiful face."
+
+"Yes, she has." Billy spoke very cheerfully. She even hummed a little
+tune as she carefully selected a needle from the cushion in her basket.
+
+"There's a peculiar something in her face," mused Aunt Hannah, aloud.
+
+The little tune stopped abruptly, ending in a nervous laugh.
+
+"Dear me! I wonder how it feels to have a peculiar something in your
+face. Bertram, too, says she has it. He's trying to 'catch it,' he says.
+I wonder now--if he does catch it, does she lose it?" Flippant as were
+the words, the voice that uttered them shook a little.
+
+Aunt Hannah smiled indulgently--Aunt Hannah had heard only the
+flippancy, not the shake.
+
+"I don't know, my dear. You might ask him this afternoon."
+
+Billy made a sudden movement. The china egg in her lap rolled to the
+floor.
+
+"Oh, but I don't see him this afternoon," she said lightly, as she
+stooped to pick up the egg.
+
+"Why, I'm sure he told me--" Aunt Hannah's sentence ended in a
+questioning pause.
+
+"Yes, I know," nodded Billy, brightly; "but he's told me something
+since. He isn't going. He telephoned me this morning. Miss Winthrop
+wanted the sitting changed from to-morrow to this afternoon. He said he
+knew I'd understand."
+
+"Why, yes; but--" Aunt Hannah did not finish her sentence. The whir of
+an electric bell had sounded through the house. A few moments later Rosa
+appeared in the open doorway.
+
+"It,'s Mr. Arkwright, Miss. He said as how he had brought the music,"
+she announced.
+
+"Tell him I'll be down at once," directed the mistress of Hillside.
+
+As the maid disappeared, Billy put aside her work and sprang lightly to
+her feet.
+
+"Now wasn't that nice of him? We were talking last night about some
+duets he had, and he said he'd bring them over. I didn't know he'd come
+so soon, though."
+
+Billy had almost reached the bottom of the stairway, when a low,
+familiar strain of music drifted out from the living-room. Billy caught
+her breath, and held her foot suspended. The next moment the familiar
+strain of music had become a lullaby--one of Billy's own--and sung now
+by a melting tenor voice that lingered caressingly and understandingly
+on every tender cadence.
+
+Motionless and almost breathless, Billy waited until the last
+low "lul-la-by" vibrated into silence; then with shining eyes and
+outstretched hands she entered the living-room.
+
+"Oh, that was--beautiful," she breathed.
+
+Arkwright was on his feet instantly. His eyes, too, were alight.
+
+"I could not resist singing it just once--here," he said a little
+unsteadily, as their hands met.
+
+"But to hear my little song sung like that! I couldn't believe it was
+mine," choked Billy, still plainly very much moved. "You sang it as I've
+never heard it sung before."
+
+Arkwright shook his head slowly.
+
+"The inspiration of the room--that is all,", he said. "It is a beautiful
+song. All of your songs are beautiful."
+
+Billy blushed rosily.
+
+"Thank you. You know--more of them, then?"
+
+"I think I know them all--unless you have some new ones out. Have you
+some new ones, lately?"
+
+Billy shook her head.
+
+"No; I haven't written anything since last spring."
+
+"But you're going to?"
+
+She drew a long sigh.
+
+"Yes, oh, yes. I know that _now_--" With a swift biting of her lower
+lip Billy caught herself up in time. As if she could tell this man, this
+stranger, what she had told Bertram that night by the fire--that she
+knew that now, _now_ she would write beautiful songs, with his love, and
+his pride in her, as incentives. "Oh, yes, I think I shall write more
+one of these days," she finished lightly. "But come, this isn't singing
+duets! I want to see the music you brought."
+
+They sang then, one after another of the duets. To Billy, the music was
+new and interesting. To Billy, too, it was new (and interesting) to hear
+her own voice blending with another's so perfectly--to feel herself a
+part of such exquisite harmony.
+
+"Oh, oh!" she breathed ecstatically, after the last note of a
+particularly beautiful phrase. "I never knew before how lovely it was to
+sing duets."
+
+"Nor I," replied Arkwright in a voice that was not quite steady.
+
+Arkwright's eyes were on the enraptured face of the girl so near him.
+It was well, perhaps, that Billy did not happen to turn and catch their
+expression. Still, it might have been better if she had turned, after
+all. But Billy's eyes were on the music before her. Her fingers were
+busy with the fluttering pages, searching for another duet.
+
+"Didn't you?" she murmured abstractedly. "I supposed _you'd_ sung them
+before; but you see I never did--until the other night. There, let's try
+this one!"
+
+"This one" was followed by another and another. Then Billy drew a long
+breath.
+
+"There! that must positively be the last," she declared reluctantly.
+"I'm so hoarse now I can scarcely croak. You see, I don't pretend to
+sing, really."
+
+"Don't you? You sing far better than some who do, anyhow," retorted the
+man, warmly.
+
+"Thank you," smiled Billy; "that was nice of you to say so--for my
+sake--and the others aren't here to care. But tell me of yourself. I
+haven't had a chance to ask you yet; and--I think you said Mary Jane was
+going to study for Grand Opera."
+
+Arkwright laughed and shrugged his shoulders.
+
+"She is; but, as I told Calderwell, she's quite likely to bring up in
+vaudeville."
+
+"Calderwell! Do you mean--Hugh Calderwell?" Billy's cheeks showed a
+deeper color.
+
+The man gave an embarrassed little laugh. He had not meant to let that
+name slip out just yet.
+
+"Yes." He hesitated, then plunged on recklessly. "We tramped half over
+Europe together last summer."
+
+"Did you?" Billy left her seat at the piano for one nearer the fire.
+"But this isn't telling me about your own plans," she hurried on a
+little precipitately. "You've studied before, of course. Your voice
+shows that."
+
+"Oh, yes; I've studied singing several years, and I've had a year or two
+of church work, besides a little concert practice of a mild sort."
+
+"Have you begun here, yet?"
+
+"Y-yes, I've had my voice tried."
+
+Billy sat erect with eager interest.
+
+"They liked it, of course?"
+
+Arkwright laughed.
+
+"I'm not saying that."
+
+"No, but I am," declared Billy, with conviction. "They couldn't help
+liking it."
+
+Arkwright laughed again. Just how well they had "liked it" he did not
+intend to say. Their remarks had been quite too flattering to repeat
+even to this very plainly interested young woman--delightful and
+heart-warming as was this same show of interest, to himself.
+
+"Thank you," was all he said.
+
+Billy gave an excited little bounce in her chair.
+
+"And you'll begin to learn roles right away?"
+
+"I already have, some--after a fashion--before I came here."
+
+"Really? How splendid! Why, then you'll be acting them next right on the
+Boston Opera House stage, and we'll all go to hear you. How perfectly
+lovely! I can hardly wait."
+
+Arkwright laughed--but his eyes glowed with pleasure.
+
+"Aren't you hurrying things a little?" he ventured.
+
+"But they do let the students appear," argued Billy. "I knew a girl last
+year who went on in 'Aida,' and she was a pupil at the School. She sang
+first in a Sunday concert, then they put her in the bill for a Saturday
+night. She did splendidly--so well that they gave her a chance later at
+a subscription performance. Oh, you'll be there--and soon, too!"
+
+"Thank you! I only wish the powers that could put me there had your
+flattering enthusiasm on the matter," he smiled.
+
+"I don't worry any," nodded Billy, "only please don't 'arrive' too
+soon--not before the wedding, you know," she added jokingly. "We shall
+be too busy to give you proper attention until after that."
+
+A peculiar look crossed Arkwright's face.
+
+"The--_wedding?_" he asked, a little faintly.
+
+"Yes. Didn't you know? My friend, Miss Hawthorn, is to marry Mr. Cyril
+Henshaw next month."
+
+The man opposite relaxed visibly.
+
+"Oh, _Miss Hawthorn!_ No, I didn't know," he murmured; then, with sudden
+astonishment he added: "And to Mr. Cyril, the musician, did you say?"
+
+"Yes. You seem surprised."
+
+"I am." Arkwright paused, then went on almost defiantly. "You see,
+Calderwell was telling me only last September how very unmarriageable
+all the Henshaw brothers were. So I am surprised--naturally," finished
+Arkwright, as he rose to take his leave.
+
+A swift crimson stained Billy's face.
+
+"But surely you must know that--that--"
+
+"That he has a right to change his mind, of course," supplemented
+Arkwright smilingly, coming to her rescue in the evident confusion
+that would not let her finish her sentence. "But Calderwell made it so
+emphatic, you see, about all the brothers. He said that William had lost
+his heart long ago; that Cyril hadn't any to lose; and that Bertram--"
+
+"But, Mr. Arkwright, Bertram is--is--" Billy had moistened her lips, and
+plunged hurriedly in to prevent Arkwright's next words. But again was
+she unable to finish her sentence, and again was she forced to listen
+to a very different completion from the smiling lips of the man at her
+side.
+
+"Is an artist, of course," said Arkwright. "That's what Calderwell
+declared--that it would always be the tilt of a chin or the curve of a
+cheek that the artist loved--to paint."
+
+Billy drew back suddenly. Her face paled. As if _now_ she could tell
+this man that Bertram Henshaw was engaged to her! He would find it out
+soon, of course, for himself; and perhaps he, like Hugh Calderwell,
+would think it was the curve of _her_ cheek, or the tilt of _her_ chin--
+
+Billy lifted her chin very defiantly now as she held out her hand in
+good-by.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX. A RUG, A PICTURE, AND A GIRL AFRAID
+
+
+Thanksgiving came. Once again the Henshaw brothers invited Billy and
+Aunt Hannah to spend the day with them. This time, however, there was to
+be an additional guest present in the person of Marie Hawthorn.
+
+And what a day it was, for everything and everybody concerned! First
+the Strata itself: from Dong Ling's kitchen in the basement to Cyril's
+domain on the top floor, the house was as spick-and-span as Pete's eager
+old hands could make it. In the drawing-room and in Bertram's den and
+studio, great clusters of pink roses perfumed the air, and brightened
+the sombre richness of the old-time furnishings. Before the open fire in
+the den a sleek gray cat--adorned with a huge ribbon bow the exact shade
+of the roses (Bertram had seen to that!)--winked and blinked sleepy
+yellow eyes. In Bertram's studio the latest "Face of a Girl" had made
+way for a group of canvases and plaques, every one of which showed Billy
+Neilson in one pose or another. Up-stairs, where William's chaos of
+treasures filled shelves and cabinets, the place of honor was given to
+a small black velvet square on which rested a pair of quaint Battersea
+enamel mirror knobs. In Cyril's rooms--usually so austerely bare--a
+handsome Oriental rug and several curtain-draped chairs hinted at
+purchases made at the instigation of a taste other than his own.
+
+When the doorbell rang Pete admitted the ladies with a promptness that
+was suggestive of surreptitious watching at some window. On Pete's
+face the dignity of his high office and the delight of the moment were
+fighting for mastery. The dignity held firmly through Mrs. Stetson's
+friendly greeting; but it fled in defeat when Billy Neilson stepped over
+the threshold with a cheery "Good morning, Pete."
+
+"Laws! But it's good to be seein' you here again," stammered the
+man,--delight now in sole possession.
+
+"She'll be coming to stay, one of these days, Pete," smiled the eldest
+Henshaw, hurrying forward.
+
+"I wish she had now," whispered Bertram, who, in spite of William's
+quick stride, had reached Billy's side first.
+
+From the stairway came the patter of a man's slippered feet.
+
+"The rug has come, and the curtains, too," called a "householder" sort
+of voice that few would have recognized as belonging to Cyril Henshaw.
+"You must all come up-stairs and see them after dinner." The voice,
+apparently, spoke to everybody; but the eyes of the owner of the voice
+plainly saw only the fair-haired young woman who stood a little in the
+shadow behind Billy, and who was looking about her now as at something a
+little fearsome, but very dear.
+
+"You know--I've never been--where you live--before," explained Marie
+Hawthorn in a low, vibrant tone, when Cyril bent over her to take the
+furs from her shoulders.
+
+In Bertram's den a little later, as hosts and guests advanced toward
+the fire, the sleek gray cat rose, stretched lazily, and turned her head
+with majestic condescension.
+
+"Well, Spunkie, come here," commanded Billy, snapping her fingers at
+the slow-moving creature on the hearthrug. "Spunkie, when I am your
+mistress, you'll have to change either your name or your nature. As if
+I were going to have such a bunch of independent moderation as you
+masquerading as an understudy to my frisky little Spunk!"
+
+Everybody laughed. William regarded his namesake with fond eyes as he
+said:
+
+"Spunkie doesn't seem to be worrying." The cat had jumped into Billy's
+lap with a matter-of-course air that was unmistakable--and to Bertram,
+adorable. Bertram's eyes, as they rested on Billy, were even fonder than
+were his brother's.
+
+"I don't think any one is--_worrying_," he said with quiet emphasis.
+
+Billy smiled.
+
+"I should think they might be," she answered. "Only think how dreadfully
+upsetting I was in the first place!"
+
+William's beaming face grew a little stern.
+
+"Nobody knew it but Kate--and she didn't _know_ it; she only imagined
+it," he said tersely.
+
+Billy shook her head.
+
+"I'm not so sure," she demurred. "As I look back at it now, I think I
+can discern a few evidences myself--that I was upsetting. I was a bother
+to Bertram in his painting, I am sure."
+
+"You were an inspiration," corrected Bertram. "Think of the posing you
+did for me."
+
+A swift something like a shadow crossed Billy's face; but before her
+lover could question its meaning, it was gone.
+
+"And I know I was a torment to Cyril." Billy had turned to the musician
+now.
+
+"Well, I admit you were a little--upsetting, at times," retorted that
+individual, with something of his old imperturbable rudeness.
+
+"Nonsense!" cut in William, sharply. "You were never anything but a
+comfort in the house, Billy, my dear--and you never will be."
+
+"Thank you," murmured Billy, demurely. "I'll remember that--when Pete
+and I disagree about the table decorations, and Dong Ling doesn't like
+the way I want my soup seasoned."
+
+An anxious frown showed on Bertram's face.
+
+"Billy," he said in a low voice, as the others laughed at her sally,
+"you needn't have Pete nor Dong Ling here if you don't want them."
+
+"Don't want them!" echoed Billy, indignantly. "Of course I want them!"
+
+"But--Pete _is_ old, and--"
+
+"Yes; and where's he grown old? For whom has he worked the last fifty
+years, while he's been growing old? I wonder if you think I'd let Pete
+leave this house as long as he _wants_ to stay! As for Dong Ling--"
+
+A sudden movement of Bertram's hand arrested her words. She looked up to
+find Pete in the doorway.
+
+"Dinner is served, sir," announced the old butler, his eyes on his
+master's face.
+
+William rose with alacrity, and gave his arm to Aunt Hannah.
+
+"Well, I'm sure we're ready for dinner," he declared.
+
+It was a good dinner, and it was well served. It could scarcely have
+been otherwise with Dong Ling in the kitchen and Pete in the dining-room
+doing their utmost to please. But even had the turkey been tough instead
+of tender, and even had the pies been filled with sawdust instead of
+with delicious mincemeat, it is doubtful if four at the table would have
+known the difference: Cyril and Marie at one end were discussing where
+to put their new sideboard in their dining-room, and Bertram and Billy
+at the other were talking of the next Thanksgiving, when, according to
+Bertram, the Strata would have the "dearest little mistress that ever
+was born." As if, under these circumstances, the tenderness of the
+turkey or the toothsomeness of the mince pie mattered! To Aunt Hannah
+and William, in the centre of the table, however, it did matter; so it
+was well, of course, that the dinner was a good one.
+
+"And now," said Cyril, when dinner was over, "suppose you come up and
+see the rug."
+
+In compliance with this suggestion, the six trailed up the long flights
+of stairs then, Billy carrying an extra shawl for Aunt Hannah--Cyril's
+rooms were always cool.
+
+"Oh, yes, I knew we should need it," she nodded to Bertram, as she
+picked up the shawl from the hall stand where she had left it when she
+came in. "That's why I brought it."
+
+"Oh, my grief and conscience, Cyril, how _can_ you stand it?--to climb
+stairs like this," panted Aunt Hannah, as she reached the top of the
+last flight and dropped breathlessly into the nearest chair--from which
+Marie had rescued a curtain just in time.
+
+"Well, I'm not sure I could--if I were always to eat a Thanksgiving
+dinner just before," laughed Cyril. "Maybe I ought to have waited and
+let you rest an hour or two."
+
+"But 'twould have been too dark, then, to see the rug," objected Marie.
+"It's a genuine Persian--a Kirman, you know; and I'm so proud of it,"
+she added, turning to the others. "I wanted you to see the colors by
+daylight. Cyril likes it better, anyhow, in the daytime."
+
+"Fancy Cyril _liking_ any sort of a rug at any time," chuckled Bertram,
+his eyes on the rich, softly blended colors of the rug before him.
+"Honestly, Miss Marie," he added, turning to the little bride elect,
+"how did you ever manage to get him to buy _any_ rug? He won't have so
+much as a ravelling on the floor up here to walk on."
+
+A startled dismay came into Marie's blue eyes.
+
+"Why, I thought he wanted rugs," she faltered. "I'm sure he said--"
+
+"Of course I want rugs," interrupted Cyril, irritably. "I want them
+everywhere except in my own especial den. You don't suppose I want to
+hear other people clattering over bare floors all day, do you?"
+
+"Of course not!" Bertram's face was preternaturally grave as he turned
+to the little music teacher. "I hope, Miss Marie, that you wear rubber
+heels on your shoes," he observed solicitously.
+
+Even Cyril laughed at this, though all he said was:
+
+"Come, come, I got you up here to look at the rug."
+
+Bertram, however, was not to be silenced.
+
+"And another thing, Miss Marie," he resumed, with the air of a true and
+tried adviser. "Just let me give you a pointer. I've lived with your
+future husband a good many years, and I know what I'm talking about."
+
+"Bertram, be still," growled Cyril.
+
+Bertram refused to be still.
+
+"Whenever you want to know anything about Cyril, listen to his playing.
+For instance: if, after dinner, you hear a dreamy waltz or a sleepy
+nocturne, you may know that all is well. But if on your ears there falls
+anything like a dirge, or the wail of a lost spirit gone mad, better
+look to your soup and see if it hasn't been scorched, or taste of your
+pudding and see if you didn't put in salt instead of sugar."
+
+"Bertram, will you be still?" cut in Cyril, testily, again.
+
+"After all, judging from what Billy tells me," resumed Bertram,
+cheerfully, "what I've said won't be so important to you, for you aren't
+the kind that scorches soups or uses salt for sugar. So maybe I'd better
+put it to you this way: if you want a new sealskin coat or an extra
+diamond tiara, tackle him when he plays like this!" And with a swift
+turn Bertram dropped himself to the piano stool and dashed into a
+rollicking melody that half the newsboys of Boston were whistling.
+
+What happened next was a surprise to every one. Bertram, very much as
+if he were a naughty little boy, was jerked by a wrathful brother's hand
+off the piano stool. The next moment the wrathful brother himself sat at
+the piano, and there burst on five pairs of astonished ears a crashing
+dissonance which was but the prelude to music such as few of the party
+often heard.
+
+Spellbound they listened while rippling runs and sonorous harmonies
+filled the room to overflowing, as if under the fingers of the player
+there were--not the keyboard of a piano--but the violins, flutes,
+cornets, trombones, bass viols and kettledrums of a full orchestra.
+
+Billy, perhaps, of them all, best understood. She knew that in those
+tripping melodies and crashing chords were Cyril's joy at the presence
+of Marie, his wrath at the flippancy of Bertram, his ecstasy at that for
+which the rug and curtains stood--the little woman sewing in the radiant
+circle of a shaded lamp. Billy knew that all this and more were finding
+voice at Cyril's finger tips. The others, too, understood in a way; but
+they, unlike Billy, were not in the habit of finding on a few score bits
+of wood and ivory a vent for their moods and fancies.
+
+The music was softer now. The resounding chords and purling runs had
+become a bell-like melody that wound itself in and out of a maze of
+exquisite harmonies, now hiding, now coming out clear and unafraid, like
+a mountain stream emerging into a sunlit meadow from the leafy shadows
+of its forest home.
+
+In a breathless hush the melody quivered into silence. It was Bertram
+who broke the pause with a long-drawn:
+
+"By George!" Then, a little unsteadily: "If it's I that set you going
+like that, old chap, I'll come up and play ragtime every day!"
+
+Cyril shrugged his shoulders and got to his feet.
+
+"If you've seen all you want of the rug we'll go down-stairs," he said
+nonchalantly.
+
+"But we haven't!" chorussed several indignant voices. And for the next
+few minutes not even the owner of the beautiful Kirman could find any
+fault with the quantity or the quality of the attention bestowed on
+his new possession. But Billy, under cover of the chatter, said
+reproachfully in his ear:
+
+"Oh, Cyril, to think you can play like that--and won't--on demand!"
+
+"I can't--on demand," shrugged Cyril again.
+
+On the way down-stairs they stopped at William's rooms.
+
+"I want you to see a couple of Batterseas I got last week," cried
+the collector eagerly, as he led the way to the black velvet square.
+"They're fine--and I think she looks like you," he finished, turning
+to Billy, and holding out one of the knobs, on which was a beautifully
+executed miniature of a young girl with dark, dreamy eyes.
+
+"Oh, how pretty!" exclaimed Marie, over Billy's shoulder. "But what are
+they?"
+
+The collector turned, his face alight.
+
+"Mirror knobs. I've got lots of them. Would you like to see
+them--really? They're right here."
+
+The next minute Marie found herself looking into a cabinet where lay a
+score or more of round and oval discs of glass, porcelain, and metal,
+framed in silver, gilt, and brass, and mounted on long spikes.
+
+"Oh, how pretty," cried Marie again; "but how--how queer! Tell me about
+them, please."
+
+William drew a long breath. His eyes glistened. William loved to
+talk--when he had a curio and a listener.
+
+"I will. Our great-grandmothers used them, you know, to support their
+mirrors, or to fasten back their curtains," he explained ardently.
+"Now here's another Battersea enamel, but it isn't so good as my new
+ones--that face is almost a caricature."
+
+"But what a beautiful ship--on that round one!" exclaimed Marie. "And
+what's this one?--glass?"
+
+"Yes; but that's not so rare as the others. Still, it's pretty enough.
+Did you notice this one, with the bright red and blue and green on the
+white background?--regular Chinese mode of decoration, that is."
+
+"Er--any time, William," began Bertram, mischievously; but William did
+not seem to hear.
+
+"Now in this corner," he went on, warming to his subject, "are
+the enamelled porcelains. They were probably made at the Worcester
+works--England, you know; and I think many of them are quite as pretty
+as the Batterseas. You see it was at Worcester that they invented
+that variation of the transfer printing process that they called bat
+printing, where they used oil instead of ink, and gelatine instead of
+paper. Now engravings for that kind of printing were usually in stipple
+work--dots, you know--so the prints on these knobs can easily be
+distinguished from those of the transfer printing. See? Now, this one
+is--"
+
+"Er, of course, William, any time--" interposed Bertram again, his eyes
+twinkling.
+
+William stopped with a laugh.
+
+"Yes, I know. 'Tis time I talked of something else, Bertram," he
+conceded.
+
+"But 'twas lovely, and I _was_ interested, really," claimed Marie.
+"Besides, there are such a lot of things here that I'd like to see," she
+finished, turning slowly about.
+
+"These are what he was collecting last year," murmured Billy, hovering
+over a small cabinet where were some beautiful specimens of antique
+jewelry brooches, necklaces, armlets, Rajah rings, and anklets, gorgeous
+in color and exquisite in workmanship.
+
+"Well, here is something you _will_ enjoy," declared Bertram, with an
+airy flourish. "Do you see those teapots? Well, we can have tea every
+day in the year, and not use one of them but five times. I've counted.
+There are exactly seventy-three," he concluded, as he laughingly led the
+way from the room.
+
+"How about leap year?" quizzed Billy.
+
+"Ho! Trust Will to find another 'Old Blue' or a 'perfect treasure of a
+black basalt' by that time," shrugged Bertram.
+
+Below William's rooms was the floor once Bertram's, but afterwards given
+over to the use of Billy and Aunt Hannah. The rooms were open to-day,
+and were bright with sunshine and roses; but they were very plainly
+unoccupied.
+
+"And you don't use them yet?" remonstrated Billy, as she paused at an
+open door.
+
+"No. These are Mrs. Bertram Henshaw's rooms," said the youngest Henshaw
+brother in a voice that made Billy hurry away with a dimpling blush.
+
+"They were Billy's--and they can never seem any one's but Billy's, now,"
+declared William to Marie, as they went down the stairs.
+
+"And now for the den and some good stories before the fire," proposed
+Bertram, as the six reached the first floor again.
+
+"But we haven't seen your pictures, yet," objected Billy.
+
+Bertram made a deprecatory gesture.
+
+"There's nothing much--" he began; but he stopped at once, with an odd
+laugh. "Well, I sha'n't say _that_," he finished, flinging open the door
+of his studio, and pressing a button that flooded the room with light.
+The next moment, as they stood before those plaques and panels and
+canvases--on each of which was a pictured "Billy"--they understood the
+change in his sentence, and they laughed appreciatively.
+
+"'Much,' indeed!" exclaimed William.
+
+"Oh, how lovely!" breathed Marie.
+
+"My grief and conscience, Bertram! All these--and of Billy? I knew you
+had a good many, but--" Aunt Hannah paused impotently, her eyes going
+from Bertram's face to the pictures again.
+
+"But how--when did you do them?" queried Marie.
+
+"Some of them from memory. More of them from life. A lot of them were
+just sketches that I did when she was here in the house four or five
+years ago," answered Bertram; "like this, for instance." And he pulled
+into a better light a picture of a laughing, dark-eyed girl holding
+against her cheek a small gray kitten, with alert, bright eyes. "The
+original and only Spunk," he announced.
+
+"What a dear little cat!" cried Marie.
+
+"You should have seen it--in the flesh," remarked Cyril, dryly. "No
+paint nor painter could imprison that untamed bit of Satanic mischief on
+any canvas that ever grew!"
+
+Everybody laughed--everybody but Billy. Billy, indeed, of them all, had
+been strangely silent ever since they entered the studio. She stood now
+a little apart. Her eyes were wide, and a bit frightened. Her fingers
+were twisting the corners of her handkerchief nervously. She was looking
+to the right and to the left, and everywhere she saw--herself.
+
+Sometimes it was her full face, sometimes her profile; sometimes there
+were only her eyes peeping from above a fan, or peering from out brown
+shadows of nothingness. Once it was merely the back of her head showing
+the mass of waving hair with its high lights of burnished bronze. Again
+it was still the back of her head with below it the bare, slender
+neck and the scarf-draped shoulders. In this picture the curve of a
+half-turned cheek showed plainly, and in the background was visible
+a hand holding four playing cards, at which the pictured girl was
+evidently looking. Sometimes it was a merry Billy with dancing eyes;
+sometimes a demure Billy with long lashes caressing a flushed cheek.
+Sometimes it was a wistful Billy with eyes that looked straight into
+yours with peculiar appeal. But always it was--Billy.
+
+"There, I think the tilt of this chin is perfect." It was Bertram
+speaking.
+
+Billy gave a sudden cry. Her face whitened. She stumbled forward.
+
+"No, no, Bertram, you--you didn't mean the--the tilt of the chin," she
+faltered wildly.
+
+The man turned in amazement.
+
+"Why--Billy!" he stammered. "Billy, what is it?"
+
+The girl fell back at once. She tried to laugh lightly. She had seen the
+dismayed questioning in her lover's eyes, and in the eyes of William and
+the others.
+
+"N-nothing," she gesticulated hurriedly. "It was nothing at all, truly."
+
+"But, Billy, it _was_ something." Bertram's eyes were still troubled.
+"Was it the picture? I thought you liked this picture."
+
+Billy laughed again--this time more naturally.
+
+"Bertram, I'm ashamed of you--expecting me to say I 'like' any of this,"
+she scolded, with a wave of her hands toward the omnipresent Billy.
+"Why, I feel as if I were in a room with a thousand mirrors, and that
+I'd been discovered putting rouge on my cheeks and lampblack on my
+eyebrows!"
+
+William laughed fondly. Aunt Hannah and Marie gave an indulgent smile.
+Cyril actually chuckled. Bertram only still wore a puzzled expression as
+he laid aside the canvas in his hands.
+
+Billy examined intently a sketch she had found with its back to the
+wall. It was not a pretty sketch; it was not even a finished one,
+and Billy did not in the least care what it was. But her lips cried
+interestedly:
+
+"Oh, Bertram, what is this?"
+
+There was no answer. Bertram was still engaged, apparently, in putting
+away some sketches. Over by the doorway leading to the den Marie and
+Aunt Hannah, followed by William and Cyril, were just disappearing
+behind a huge easel. In another minute the merry chatter of their voices
+came from the room beyond. Bertram hurried then straight across the
+studio to the girl still bending over the sketch in the corner.
+
+"Bertram!" gasped Billy, as a kiss brushed her cheek.
+
+"Pooh! They're gone. Besides, what if they did see? Billy, what was the
+matter with the tilt of that chin?"
+
+Billy gave an hysterical little laugh--at least, Bertram tried to assure
+himself that it was a laugh, though it had sounded almost like a sob.
+
+"Bertram, if you say another word about--about the tilt of that chin, I
+shall _scream!_" she panted.
+
+"Why, Billy!"
+
+With a nervous little movement Billy turned and began to reverse the
+canvases nearest her.
+
+"Come, sir," she commanded gayly. "Billy has been on exhibition
+quite long enough. It is high time she was turned face to the wall to
+meditate, and grow more modest."
+
+Bertram did not answer. Neither did he make a move to assist her. His
+ardent gray eyes were following her slim, graceful figure admiringly.
+
+"Billy, it doesn't seem true, yet, that you're really mine," he said at
+last, in a low voice shaken with emotion.
+
+Billy turned abruptly. A peculiar radiance shone in her eyes and
+glorified her face. As she stood, she was close to a picture on an easel
+and full in the soft glow of the shaded lights above it.
+
+"Then you _do_ want me," she began, "--just _me!_--not to--" she stopped
+short. The man opposite had taken an eager step toward her. On his
+face was the look she knew so well, the look she had come almost to
+dread--the "painting look."
+
+"Billy, stand just as you are," he was saying. "Don't move. Jove! But
+that effect is perfect with those dark shadows beyond, and just your
+hair and face and throat showing. I declare, I've half a mind to
+sketch--" But Billy, with a little cry, was gone.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+A JOB FOR PETE--AND FOR BERTRAM
+
+
+The early days in December were busy ones, certainly, in the little
+house on Corey Hill. Marie was to be married the twelfth. It was to be
+a home wedding, and a very simple one--according to Billy, and according
+to what Marie had said it was to be. Billy still serenely spoke of it
+as a "simple affair," but Marie was beginning to be fearful. As the
+days passed, bringing with them more and more frequent evidences either
+tangible or intangible of orders to stationers, caterers, and florists,
+her fears found voice in a protest.
+
+"But Billy, it was to be a _simple_ wedding," she cried.
+
+"And so it is."
+
+"But what is this I hear about a breakfast?"
+
+Billy's chin assumed its most stubborn squareness.
+
+"I don't know, I'm sure, what you did hear," she retorted calmly.
+
+"Billy!"
+
+Billy laughed. The chin was just as stubborn, but the smiling lips above
+it graced it with an air of charming concession.
+
+"There, there, dear," coaxed the mistress of Hillside, "don't fret.
+Besides, I'm sure I should think you, of all people, would want your
+guests _fed!_"
+
+"But this is so elaborate, from what I hear."
+
+"Nonsense! Not a bit of it."
+
+"Rosa says there'll be salads and cakes and ices--and I don't know what
+all."
+
+Billy looked concerned.
+
+"Well, of course, Marie, if you'd _rather_ have oatmeal and doughnuts,"
+she began with kind solicitude; but she got no farther.
+
+"Billy!" besought the bride elect. "Won't you be serious? And there's
+the cake in wedding boxes, too."
+
+"I know, but boxes are so much easier and cleaner than--just fingers,"
+apologized an anxiously serious voice.
+
+Marie answered with an indignant, grieved glance and hurried on.
+
+"And the flowers--roses, dozens of them, in December! Billy, I can't let
+you do all this for me."
+
+"Nonsense, dear!" laughed Billy. "Why, I love to do it. Besides, when
+you're gone, just think how lonesome I'll be! I shall have to adopt
+somebody else then--now that Mary Jane has proved to be nothing but a
+disappointing man instead of a nice little girl like you," she finished
+whimsically.
+
+Marie did not smile. The frown still lay between her delicate brows.
+
+"And for my trousseau--there were so many things that you simply would
+buy!"
+
+"I didn't get one of the egg-beaters," Billy reminded her anxiously.
+
+Marie smiled now, but she shook her head, too.
+
+"Billy, I cannot have you do all this for me."
+
+"Why not?"
+
+At the unexpectedly direct question, Marie fell back a little.
+
+"Why, because I--I can't," she stammered. "I can't get them for myself,
+and--and--"
+
+"Don't you love me?"
+
+A pink flush stole to Marie's face.
+
+"Indeed I do, dearly."
+
+"Don't I love you?"
+
+The flush deepened.
+
+"I--I hope so."
+
+"Then why won't you let me do what I want to, and be happy in it? Money,
+just money, isn't any good unless you can exchange it for something you
+want. And just now I want pink roses and ice cream and lace flounces
+for you. Marie,"--Billy's voice trembled a little--"I never had a sister
+till I had you, and I have had such a good time buying things that I
+thought you wanted! But, of course, if you don't want them--" The words
+ended in a choking sob, and down went Billy's head into her folded arms
+on the desk before her.
+
+Marie sprang to her feet and cuddled the bowed head in a loving embrace.
+
+"But I do want them, dear; I want them all--every single one," she
+urged. "Now promise me--promise me that you'll do them all, just as
+you'd planned! You will, won't you?"
+
+There was the briefest of hesitations, then came the muffled reply:
+
+"Yes--if you really want them."
+
+"I do, dear--indeed I do. I love pretty weddings, and I--I always hoped
+that I could have one--if I ever married. So you must know, dear, how I
+really do want all those things," declared Marie, fervently. "And now I
+must go. I promised to meet Cyril at Park Street at three o'clock."
+And she hurried from the room--and not until she was half-way to her
+destination did it suddenly occur to her that she had been urging,
+actually urging Miss Billy Neilson to buy for her pink roses, ice cream,
+and lace flounces.
+
+Her cheeks burned with shame then. But almost at once she smiled.
+
+"Now wasn't that just like Billy?" she was saying to herself, with a
+tender glow in her eyes.
+
+
+It was early in December that Pete came one day with a package for Marie
+from Cyril. Marie was not at home, and Billy herself went downstairs to
+take the package from the old man's hands.
+
+"Mr. Cyril said to give it to Miss Hawthorn," stammered the old servant,
+his face lighting up as Billy entered the room; "but I'm sure he
+wouldn't mind _your_ taking it."
+
+"I'm afraid I'll have to take it, Pete, unless you want to carry it
+back with you," she smiled. "I'll see that Miss Hawthorn has it the very
+first moment she comes in."
+
+"Thank you, Miss. It does my old eyes good to see your bright face." He
+hesitated, then turned slowly. "Good day, Miss Billy."
+
+Billy laid the package on the table. Her eyes were thoughtful as she
+looked after the old man, who was now almost to the door. Something in
+his bowed form appealed to her strangely. She took a quick step toward
+him.
+
+"You'll miss Mr. Cyril, Pete," she said pleasantly.
+
+The old man stopped at once and turned. He lifted his head a little
+proudly.
+
+"Yes, Miss. I--I was there when he was born. Mr. Cyril's a fine man."
+
+"Indeed he is. Perhaps it's your good care that's helped, some--to make
+him so," smiled the girl, vaguely wishing that she could say something
+that would drive the wistful look from the dim old eyes before her.
+
+For a moment Billy thought she had succeeded. The old servant drew
+himself stiffly erect. In his eyes shone the loyal pride of more than
+fifty years' honest service. Almost at once, however, the pride died
+away, and the wistfulness returned.
+
+"Thank ye, Miss; but I don't lay no claim to that, of course," he said.
+"Mr. Cyril's a fine man, and we shall miss him; but--I cal'late changes
+must come--to all of us."
+
+Billy's brown eyes grew a little misty.
+
+"I suppose they must," she admitted.
+
+The old man hesitated; then, as if impelled by some hidden force, he
+plunged on:
+
+"Yes; and they'll be comin' to you one of these days, Miss, and that's
+what I was wantin' to speak to ye about. I understand, of course, that
+when you get there you'll be wantin' younger blood to serve ye. My feet
+ain't so spry as they once was, and my old hands blunder sometimes,
+in spite of what my head bids 'em do. So I wanted to tell ye--that of
+course I shouldn't expect to stay. I'd go."
+
+As he said the words, Pete stood with head and shoulders erect, his eyes
+looking straight forward but not at Billy.
+
+"Don't you _want_ to stay?" The girlish voice was a little reproachful.
+
+Pete's head drooped.
+
+"Not if--I'm not wanted," came the husky reply.
+
+With an impulsive movement Billy came straight to the old man's side and
+held out her hand.
+
+"Pete!"
+
+Amazement, incredulity, and a look that was almost terror crossed the
+old man's face; then a flood of dull red blotted them all out and left
+only worshipful rapture. With a choking cry he took the slim little hand
+in both his rough and twisted ones much as if he were possessing himself
+of a treasured bit of eggshell china.
+
+"Miss Billy!"
+
+"Pete, there aren't a pair of feet in Boston, nor a pair of hands,
+either, that I'd rather have serve me than yours, no matter if they
+stumble and blunder all day! I shall love stumbles and blunders--if you
+make them. Now run home, and don't ever let me hear another syllable
+about your leaving!"
+
+They were not the words Billy had intended to say. She had meant to
+speak of his long, faithful service, and of how much they appreciated
+it; but, to her surprise, Billy found her own eyes wet and her own voice
+trembling, and the words that she would have said she found fast shut
+in her throat. So there was nothing to do but to stammer out
+something--anything, that would help to keep her from yielding to that
+absurd and awful desire to fall on the old servant's neck and cry.
+
+"Not another syllable!" she repeated sternly.
+
+"Miss Billy!" choked Pete again. Then he turned and fled with anything
+but his usual dignity.
+
+Bertram called that evening. When Billy came to him in the living-room,
+her slender self was almost hidden behind the swirls of damask linen in
+her arms.
+
+Bertram's eyes grew mutinous.
+
+"Do you expect me to hug all that?" he demanded.
+
+Billy flashed him a mischievous glance.
+
+"Of course not! You don't _have_ to hug anything, you know."
+
+For answer he impetuously swept the offending linen into the nearest
+chair and drew the girl into his arms.
+
+"Oh! And see how you've crushed poor Marie's table-cloth!" she cried,
+with reproachful eyes.
+
+Bertram sniffed imperturbably.
+
+"I'm not sure but I'd like to crush Marie," he alleged.
+
+"Bertram!"
+
+"I can't help it. See here, Billy." He loosened his clasp and held the
+girl off at arm's length, regarding her with stormy eyes. "It's Marie,
+Marie, Marie--always. If I telephone in the morning, you've gone
+shopping with Marie. If I want you in the afternoon for something,
+you're at the dressmaker's with Marie. If I call in the evening--"
+
+"I'm here," interrupted Billy, with decision.
+
+"Oh, yes, you're here," admitted Bertram, aggrievedly, "and so are
+dozens of napkins, miles of table-cloths, and yards upon yards of lace
+and flummydiddles you call 'doilies.' They all belong to Marie, and they
+fill your arms and your thoughts full, until there isn't an inch of room
+for me. Billy, when is this thing going to end?"
+
+Billy laughed softly. Her eyes danced.
+
+"The twelfth;--that is, there'll be a--pause, then."
+
+"Well, I'm thankful if--eh?" broke off the man, with a sudden change of
+manner. "What do you mean by 'a pause'?"
+
+Billy cast down her eyes demurely.
+
+"Well, of course _this_ ends the twelfth with Marie's wedding; but
+I've sort of regarded it as an--understudy for one that's coming next
+October, you see."
+
+"Billy, you darling!" breathed a supremely happy voice in a shell-like
+ear--Billy was not at arm's length now.
+
+Billy smiled, but she drew away with gentle firmness.
+
+"And now I must go back to my sewing," she said.
+
+Bertram's arms did not loosen. His eyes had grown mutinous again.
+
+"That is," she amended, "I must be practising my part of--the
+understudy, you know."
+
+"You darling!" breathed Bertram again; this time, however, he let her
+go.
+
+"But, honestly, is it all necessary?" he sighed despairingly, as she
+seated herself and gathered the table-cloth into her lap. "Do you have
+to do so much of it all?"
+
+"I do," smiled Billy, "unless you want your brother to run the risk of
+leading his bride to the altar and finding her robed in a kitchen apron
+with an egg-beater in her hand for a bouquet."
+
+Bertram laughed.
+
+"Is it so bad as that?"
+
+"No, of course not--quite. But never have I seen a bride so utterly
+oblivious to clothes as Marie was till one day in despair I told her
+that Cyril never could bear a dowdy woman."
+
+"As if Cyril, in the old days, ever could bear any sort of woman!"
+scoffed Bertram, merrily.
+
+"I know; but I didn't mention that part," smiled Billy. "I just singled
+out the dowdy one."
+
+"Did it work?"
+
+Billy made a gesture of despair.
+
+"Did it work! It worked too well. Marie gave me one horrified look,
+then at once and immediately she became possessed with the idea that
+she _was_ a dowdy woman. And from that day to this she has pursued every
+lurking wrinkle and every fold awry, until her dressmaker's life isn't
+worth the living; and I'm beginning to think mine isn't, either, for I
+have to assure her at least four times every day now that she is _not_ a
+dowdy woman."
+
+"You poor dear," laughed Bertram. "No wonder you don't have time to give
+to me!"
+
+A peculiar expression crossed Billy's face.
+
+"Oh, but I'm not the _only_ one who, at times, is otherwise engaged,
+sir," she reminded him.
+
+"What do you mean?"
+
+"There was yesterday, and last Monday, and last week Wednesday, and--"
+
+"Oh, but you _let_ me off, then," argued Bertram, anxiously. "And you
+said--"
+
+"That I didn't wish to interfere with your work--which was quite true,"
+interrupted Billy in her turn, smoothly. "By the way,"--Billy was
+examining her stitches very closely now--"how is Miss Winthrop's
+portrait coming on?"
+
+"Splendidly!--that is, it _was_, until she began to put off the sittings
+for her pink teas and folderols. She's going to Washington next week,
+too, to be gone nearly a fortnight," finished Bertram, gloomily.
+
+"Aren't you putting more work than usual into this one--and more
+sittings?"
+
+"Well, yes," laughed Bertram, a little shortly. "You see, she's changed
+the pose twice already."
+
+"Changed it!"
+
+"Yes. Wasn't satisfied. Fancied she wanted it different."
+
+"But can't you--don't you have something to say about it?"
+
+"Oh, yes, of course; and she claims she'll yield to my judgment, anyhow.
+But what's the use? She's been a spoiled darling all her life, and in
+the habit of having her own way about everything. Naturally, under those
+circumstances, I can't expect to get a satisfactory portrait, if she's
+out of tune with the pose. Besides, I will own, so far her suggestions
+have made for improvement--probably because she's been happy in making
+them, so her expression has been good."
+
+Billy wet her lips.
+
+"I saw her the other night," she said lightly. (If the lightness was
+a little artificial Bertram did not seem to notice it.) "She is
+certainly--very beautiful."
+
+"Yes." Bertram got to his feet and began to walk up and down the little
+room. His eyes were alight. On his face the "painting look" was king.
+"It's going to mean a lot to me--this picture, Billy. In the first place
+I'm just at the point in my career where a big success would mean a
+lot--and where a big failure would mean more. And this portrait is bound
+to be one or the other from the very nature of the thing."
+
+"I-is it?" Billy's voice was a little faint.
+
+"Yes. First, because of who the sitter is, and secondly because of what
+she is. She is, of course, the most famous subject I've had, and half
+the artistic world knows by this time that Marguerite Winthrop is being
+done by Henshaw. You can see what it'll be--if I fail."
+
+"But you won't fail, Bertram!"
+
+The artist lifted his chin and threw back his shoulders.
+
+"No, of course not; but--" He hesitated, frowned, and dropped himself
+into a chair. His eyes studied the fire moodily. "You see," he resumed,
+after a moment, "there's a peculiar, elusive something about her
+expression--" (Billy stirred restlessly and gave her thread so savage a
+jerk that it broke)"--a something that isn't easily caught by the brush.
+Anderson and Fullam--big fellows, both of them--didn't catch it. At
+least, I've understood that neither her family nor her friends are
+satisfied with _their_ portraits. And to succeed where Anderson and
+Fullam failed--Jove! Billy, a chance like that doesn't come to a fellow
+twice in a lifetime!" Bertram was out of his chair, again, tramping up
+and down the little room.
+
+Billy tossed her work aside and sprang to her feet. Her eyes, too, were
+alight, now.
+
+"But you aren't going to fail, dear," she cried, holding out both her
+hands. "You're going to succeed!"
+
+Bertram caught the hands and kissed first one then the other of their
+soft little palms.
+
+"Of course I am," he agreed passionately, leading her to the sofa, and
+seating himself at her side.
+
+"Yes, but you must really _feel_ it," she urged; "feel the '_sure_' in
+yourself. You have to!--to doing things. That's what I told Mary Jane
+yesterday, when he was running on about what _he_ wanted to do--in his
+singing, you know."
+
+Bertram stiffened a little. A quick frown came to his face.
+
+"Mary Jane, indeed! Of all the absurd names to give a full-grown,
+six-foot man! Billy, do, for pity's sake, call him by his name--if he's
+got one."
+
+Billy broke into a rippling laugh.
+
+"I wish I could, dear," she sighed ingenuously.
+
+"Honestly, it bothers me because I _can't_ think of him as anything but
+'Mary Jane.' It seems so silly!"
+
+"It certainly does--when one remembers his beard."
+
+"Oh, he's shaved that off now. He looks rather better, too."
+
+Bertram turned a little sharply.
+
+"Do you see the fellow--often?"
+
+Billy laughed merrily.
+
+"No. He's about as disgruntled as you are over the way the wedding
+monopolizes everything. He's been up once or twice to see Aunt Hannah
+and to get acquainted, as he expresses it, and once he brought up some
+music and we sang; but he declares the wedding hasn't given him half a
+show."
+
+"Indeed! Well, that's a pity, I'm sure," rejoined Bertram, icily.
+
+Billy turned in slight surprise.
+
+"Why, Bertram, don't you like Mary Jane?"
+
+"Billy, for heaven's sake! _Hasn't_ he got any name but that?"
+
+Billy clapped her hands together suddenly.
+
+"There, that makes me think. He told Aunt Hannah and me to guess what
+his name was, and we never hit it once. What do you think it is? The
+initials are M. J."
+
+"I couldn't say, I'm sure. What is it?"
+
+"Oh, he didn't tell us. You see he left us to guess it."
+
+"Did he?"
+
+"Yes," mused Billy, abstractedly, her eyes on the dancing fire. The next
+minute she stirred and settled herself more comfortably in the curve
+of her lover's arm. "But there! who cares what his name is? I'm sure I
+don't."
+
+"Nor I," echoed Bertram in a voice that he tried to make not too
+fervent. He had not forgotten Billy's surprised: "Why, Bertram, don't
+you like Mary Jane?" and he did not like to call forth a repetition of
+it. Abruptly, therefore, he changed the subject. "By the way, what did
+you do to Pete to-day?" he asked laughingly. "He came home in a seventh
+heaven of happiness babbling of what an angel straight from the sky Miss
+Billy was. Naturally I agreed with him on that point. But what did you
+do to him?"
+
+Billy smiled.
+
+"Nothing--only engaged him for our butler--for life."
+
+"Oh, I see. That was dear of you, Billy."
+
+"As if I'd do anything else! And now for Dong Ling, I suppose, some
+day."
+
+Bertram chuckled.
+
+"Well, maybe I can help you there," he hinted. "You see, his Celestial
+Majesty came to me himself the other day, and said, after sundry and
+various preliminaries, that he should be 'velly much glad' when the
+'Little Missee' came to live with me, for then he could go back to China
+with a heart at rest, as he had money 'velly much plenty' and didn't
+wish to be 'Melican man' any longer."
+
+"Dear me," smiled Billy, "what a happy state of affairs--for him. But
+for you--do you realize, young man, what that means for you? A new wife
+and a new cook all at once? And you know I'm not Marie!"
+
+"Ho! I'm not worrying," retorted Bertram with a contented smile;
+"besides, as perhaps you noticed, it wasn't Marie that I asked--to marry
+me!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI. A CLOCK AND AUNT HANNAH
+
+
+Mrs. Kate Hartwell, the Henshaw brothers' sister from the West, was
+expected on the tenth. Her husband could not come, she had written, but
+she would bring with her, little Kate, the youngest child. The boys,
+Paul and Egbert, would stay with their father.
+
+Billy received the news of little Kate's coming with outspoken delight.
+
+"The very thing!" she cried. "We'll have her for a flower girl. She was
+a dear little creature, as I remember her."
+
+Aunt Hannah gave a sudden low laugh.
+
+"Yes, I remember," she observed. "Kate told me, after you spent the
+first day with her, that you graciously informed her that little
+Kate was almost as nice as Spunk. Kate did not fully appreciate the
+compliment, I fear."
+
+Billy made a wry face.
+
+"Did I say that? Dear me! I _was_ a terror in those days, wasn't I?
+But then," and she laughed softly, "really, Aunt Hannah, that was the
+prettiest thing I knew how to say, for I considered Spunk the top-notch
+of desirability."
+
+"I think I should have liked to know Spunk," smiled Marie from the other
+side of the sewing table.
+
+"He was a dear," declared Billy. "I had another 'most as good when I
+first came to Hillside, but he got lost. For a time it seemed as if I
+never wanted another, but I've about come to the conclusion now that I
+do, and I've told Bertram to find one for me if he can. You see I
+shall be lonesome after you're gone, Marie, and I'll have to have
+_something_," she finished mischievously.
+
+"Oh, I don't mind the inference--as long as I know your admiration of
+cats," laughed Marie.
+
+"Let me see; Kate writes she is coming the tenth," murmured Aunt Hannah,
+going back to the letter in her hand.
+
+"Good!" nodded Billy. "That will give time to put little Kate through
+her paces as flower girl."
+
+"Yes, and it will give Big Kate time to _try_ to make your breakfast a
+supper, and your roses pinks--or sunflowers," cut in a new voice, dryly.
+
+"Cyril!" chorussed the three ladies in horror, adoration, and
+amusement--according to whether the voice belonged to Aunt Hannah,
+Marie, or Billy.
+
+Cyril shrugged his shoulders and smiled.
+
+"I beg your pardon," he apologized; "but Rosa said you were in here
+sewing, and I told her not to bother. I'd announce myself. Just as I
+got to the door I chanced to hear Billy's speech, and I couldn't
+resist making the amendment. Maybe you've forgotten Kate's love of
+managing--but I haven't," he finished, as he sauntered over to the chair
+nearest Marie.
+
+"No, I haven't--forgotten," observed Billy, meaningly.
+
+"Nor I--nor anybody else," declared a severe voice--both the words and
+the severity being most extraordinary as coming from the usually gentle
+Aunt Hannah.
+
+"Oh, well, never mind," spoke up Billy, quickly. "Everything's all right
+now, so let's forget it. She always meant it for kindness, I'm sure."
+
+"Even when she told you in the first place what a--er--torment you were
+to us?" quizzed Cyril.
+
+"Yes," flashed Billy. "She was being kind to _you_, then."
+
+"Humph!" vouchsafed Cyril.
+
+For a moment no one spoke. Cyril's eyes were on Marie, who was nervously
+trying to smooth back a few fluffy wisps of hair that had escaped from
+restraining combs and pins.
+
+"What's the matter with the hair, little girl?" asked Cyril in a
+voice that was caressingly irritable. "You've been fussing with that
+long-suffering curl for the last five minutes!"
+
+Marie's delicate face flushed painfully.
+
+"It's got loose--my hair," she stammered, "and it looks so dowdy that
+way!"
+
+Billy dropped her thread suddenly. She sprang for it at once, before
+Cyril could make a move to get it. She had to dive far under a chair
+to capture it--which may explain why her face was so very red when she
+finally reached her seat again.
+
+
+On the morning of the tenth, Billy, Marie, and Aunt Hannah were once
+more sewing together, this time in the little sitting-room at the end of
+the hall up-stairs.
+
+Billy's fingers, in particular, were flying very fast.
+
+"I told John to have Peggy at the door at eleven," she said, after a
+time; "but I think I can finish running in this ribbon before then. I
+haven't much to do to get ready to go."
+
+"I hope Kate's train won't be late," worried Aunt Hannah.
+
+"I hope not," replied Billy; "but I told Rosa to delay luncheon, anyway,
+till we get here. I--" She stopped abruptly and turned a listening
+ear toward the door of Aunt Hannah's room, which was open. A clock was
+striking. "Mercy! that can't be eleven now," she cried. "But it must
+be--it was ten before I came up-stairs." She got to her feet hurriedly.
+
+Aunt Hannah put out a restraining hand.
+
+"No, no, dear, that's half-past ten."
+
+"But it struck eleven."
+
+"Yes, I know. It does--at half-past ten."
+
+"Why, the little wretch," laughed Billy, dropping back into her chair
+and picking up her work again. "The idea of its telling fibs like that
+and frightening people half out of their lives! I'll have it fixed right
+away. Maybe John can do it--he's always so handy about such things."
+
+"But I don't want it fixed," demurred Aunt Hannah.
+
+Billy stared a little.
+
+"You don't want it fixed! Maybe you like to have it strike eleven when
+it's half-past ten!" Billy's voice was merrily sarcastic.
+
+"Y-yes, I do," stammered the lady, apologetically. "You see, I--I worked
+very hard to fix it so it would strike that way."
+
+"_Aunt Hannah!_"
+
+"Well, I did," retorted the lady, with unexpected spirit. "I wanted to
+know what time it was in the night--I'm awake such a lot."
+
+"But I don't see." Billy's eyes were perplexed. "Why must you make it
+tell fibs in order to--to find out the truth?" she laughed.
+
+Aunt Hannah elevated her chin a little.
+
+"Because that clock was always striking one."
+
+"One!"
+
+"Yes--half-past, you know; and I never knew which half-past it was."
+
+"But it must strike half-past now, just the same!"
+
+"It does." There was the triumphant ring of the conqueror in Aunt
+Hannah's voice. "But now it strikes half-past _on the hour_, and the
+clock in the hall tells me _then_ what time it is, so I don't care."
+
+For one more brief minute Billy stared, before a sudden light of
+understanding illumined her face. Then her laugh rang out gleefully.
+
+"Oh, Aunt Hannah, Aunt Hannah," she gurgled. "If Bertram wouldn't
+call you the limit--making a clock strike eleven so you'll know it's
+half-past ten!"
+
+Aunt Hannah colored a little, but she stood her ground.
+
+"Well, there's only half an hour, anyway, now, that I don't know what
+time it is," she maintained, "for one or the other of those clocks
+strikes the hour every thirty minutes. Even during those never-ending
+three ones that strike one after the other in the middle of the night,
+I can tell now, for the hall clock has a different sound for the
+half-hours, you know, so I can tell whether it's one or a half-past."
+
+"Of course," chuckled Billy.
+
+"I'm sure I think it's a splendid idea," chimed in Marie, valiantly;
+"and I'm going to write it to mother's Cousin Jane right away. She's an
+invalid, and she's always lying awake nights wondering what time it is.
+The doctor says actually he believes she'd get well if he could find
+some way of letting her know the time at night, so she'd get some sleep;
+for she simply can't go to sleep till she knows. She can't bear a light
+in the room, and it wakes her all up to turn an electric switch, or
+anything of that kind."
+
+"Why doesn't she have one of those phosphorous things?" questioned
+Billy.
+
+Marie laughed quietly.
+
+"She did. I sent her one,--and she stood it just one night."
+
+"Stood it!"
+
+"Yes. She declared it gave her the creeps, and that she wouldn't have
+the spooky thing staring at her all night like that. So it's got to be
+something she can hear, and I'm going to tell her Mrs. Stetson's plan
+right away."
+
+"Well, I'm sure I wish you would," cried that lady, with prompt
+interest; "and she'll like it, I'm sure. And tell her if she can hear
+a _town_ clock strike, it's just the same, and even better; for there
+aren't any half-hours at all to think of there."
+
+"I will--and I think it's lovely," declared Marie.
+
+"Of course it's lovely," smiled Billy, rising; "but I fancy I'd better
+go and get ready to meet Mrs. Hartwell, or the 'lovely' thing will be
+telling me that it's half-past eleven!" And she tripped laughingly from
+the room.
+
+Promptly at the appointed time John with Peggy drew up before the
+door, and Billy, muffled in furs, stepped into the car, which, with its
+protecting top and sides and glass wind-shield, was in its winter dress.
+
+"Yes'm, 'tis a little chilly, Miss," said John, in answer to her
+greeting, as he tucked the heavy robes about her.
+
+"Oh, well, I shall be very comfortable, I'm sure," smiled Billy. "Just
+don't drive too rapidly, specially coming home. I shall have to get a
+limousine, I think, when my ship comes in, John."
+
+John's grizzled old face twitched. So evident were the words that were
+not spoken that Billy asked laughingly:
+
+"Well, John, what is it?"
+
+John reddened furiously.
+
+"Nothing, Miss. I was only thinkin' that if you didn't 'tend ter haulin'
+in so many other folks's ships, yours might get in sooner."
+
+"Why, John! Nonsense! I--I love to haul in other folks's ships," laughed
+the girl, embarrassedly.
+
+"Yes, Miss; I know you do," grunted John.
+
+Billy colored.
+
+"No, no--that is, I mean--I don't do it--very much," she stammered.
+
+John did not answer apparently; but Billy was sure she caught a
+low-muttered, indignant "much!" as he snapped the door shut and took his
+place at the wheel.
+
+To herself she laughed softly. She thought she possessed the secret now
+of some of John's disapproving glances toward her humble guests of the
+summer before.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII. SISTER KATE
+
+
+At the station Mrs. Hartwell's train was found to be gratifyingly on
+time; and in due course Billy was extending a cordial welcome to a tall,
+handsome woman who carried herself with an unmistakable air of assured
+competence. Accompanying her was a little girl with big blue eyes and
+yellow curls.
+
+"I am very glad to see you both," smiled Billy, holding out a friendly
+hand to Mrs. Hartwell, and stooping to kiss the round cheek of the
+little girl.
+
+"Thank you, you are very kind," murmured the lady; "but--are you alone,
+Billy? Where are the boys?"
+
+"Uncle William is out of town, and Cyril is rushed to death and sent his
+excuses. Bertram did mean to come, but he telephoned this morning that
+he couldn't, after all. I'm sorry, but I'm afraid you'll have to make
+the best of just me," condoled Billy. "They'll be out to the house
+this evening, of course--all but Uncle William. He doesn't return until
+to-morrow."
+
+"Oh, doesn't he?" murmured the lady, reaching for her daughter's hand.
+
+Billy looked down with a smile.
+
+"And this is little Kate, I suppose," she said, "whom I haven't seen for
+such a long, long time. Let me see, you are how old now?"
+
+"I'm eight. I've been eight six weeks."
+
+Billy's eyes twinkled.
+
+"And you don't remember me, I suppose."
+
+The little girl shook her head.
+
+"No; but I know who you are," she added, with shy eagerness. "You're
+going to be my Aunt Billy, and you're going to marry my Uncle William--I
+mean, my Uncle Bertram."
+
+Billy's face changed color. Mrs. Hartwell gave a despairing gesture.
+
+"Kate, my dear, I told you to be sure and remember that it was your
+Uncle Bertram now. You see," she added in a discouraged aside to Billy,
+"she can't seem to forget the first one. But then, what can you expect?"
+laughed Mrs. Hartwell, a little disagreeably. "Such abrupt changes from
+one brother to another are somewhat disconcerting, you know."
+
+Billy bit her lip. For a moment she said nothing, then, a little
+constrainedly, she rejoined:
+
+"Perhaps. Still--let us hope we have the right one, now."
+
+Mrs. Hartwell raised her eyebrows.
+
+"Well, my dear, I'm not so confident of that. _My_ choice has been and
+always will be--William."
+
+Billy bit her lip again. This time her brown eyes flashed a little.
+
+"Is that so? But you see, after all, _you_ aren't making the--the
+choice." Billy spoke lightly, gayly; and she ended with a bright little
+laugh, as if to hide any intended impertinence.
+
+It was Mrs. Hartwell's turn to bite her lip--and she did it.
+
+"So it seems," she rejoined frigidly, after the briefest of pauses.
+
+It was not until they were on their way to Corey Hill some time later
+that Mrs. Hartwell turned with the question:
+
+"Cyril is to be married in church, I suppose?"
+
+"No. They both preferred a home wedding."
+
+"Oh, what a pity! Church weddings are so attractive!"
+
+"To those who like them," amended Billy in spite of herself.
+
+"To every one, I think," corrected Mrs. Hartwell, positively.
+
+Billy laughed. She was beginning to discern that it did not do much
+harm--nor much good--to disagree with her guest.
+
+"It's in the evening, then, of course?" pursued Mrs. Hartwell.
+
+"No; at noon."
+
+"Oh, how could you let them?"
+
+"But they preferred it, Mrs. Hartwell."
+
+"What if they did?" retorted the lady, sharply. "Can't you do as you
+please in your own home? Evening weddings are so much prettier! We can't
+change now, of course, with the guests all invited. That is, I suppose
+you do have guests!"
+
+Mrs. Hartwell's voice was aggrievedly despairing.
+
+"Oh, yes," smiled Billy, demurely. "We have guests invited--and I'm
+afraid we can't change the time."
+
+"No, of course not; but it's too bad. I conclude there are announcements
+only, as I got no cards.
+
+"Announcements only," bowed Billy.
+
+"I wish Cyril had consulted _me_, a little, about this affair."
+
+Billy did not answer. She could not trust herself to speak just then.
+Cyril's words of two days before were in her ears: "Yes, and it will
+give Big Kate time to try to make your breakfast supper, and your roses
+pinks--or sunflowers."
+
+In a moment Mrs. Hartwell spoke again.
+
+"Of course a noon wedding is quite pretty if you darken the rooms and
+have lights--you're going to do that, I suppose?"
+
+Billy shook her head slowly.
+
+"I'm afraid not, Mrs. Hartwell. That isn't the plan, now."
+
+"Not darken the rooms!" exclaimed Mrs. Hartwell. "Why, it won't--"
+She stopped suddenly, and fell back in her seat. The look of annoyed
+disappointment gave way to one of confident relief. "But then, _that
+can_ be changed," she finished serenely.
+
+Billy opened her lips, but she shut them without speaking. After a
+minute she opened them again.
+
+"You might consult--Cyril--about that," she said in a quiet voice.
+
+"Yes, I will," nodded Mrs. Hartwell, brightly. She was looking pleased
+and happy again. "I love weddings. Don't you? You can _do_ so much with
+them!"
+
+"Can you?" laughed Billy, irrepressibly.
+
+"Yes. Cyril is happy, of course. Still, I can't imagine _him_ in love
+with any woman."
+
+"I think Marie can."
+
+"I suppose so. I don't seem to remember her much; still, I think I saw
+her once or twice when I was on last June. Music teacher, wasn't she?"
+
+"Yes. She is a very sweet girl."
+
+"Hm-m; I suppose so. Still, I think 'twould have been better if Cyril
+could have selected some one that _wasn't_ musical--say a more domestic
+wife. He's so terribly unpractical himself about household matters."
+
+Billy gave a ringing laugh and stood up. The car had come to a stop
+before her own door.
+
+"Do you? Just you wait till you see Marie's trousseau of--egg-beaters
+and cake tins," she chuckled.
+
+Mrs. Hartwell looked blank.
+
+"Whatever in the world do you mean, Billy?" she demanded fretfully, as
+she followed her hostess from the car. "I declare! aren't you ever going
+to grow beyond making those absurd remarks of yours?"
+
+"Maybe--sometime," laughed Billy, as she took little Kate's hand and led
+the way up the steps.
+
+Luncheon in the cozy dining-room at Hillside that day was not entirely
+a success. At least there were not present exactly the harmony and
+tranquillity that are conceded to be the best sauce for one's food. The
+wedding, of course, was the all-absorbing topic of conversation; and
+Billy, between Aunt Hannah's attempts to be polite, Marie's to be
+sweet-tempered, Mrs. Hartwell's to be dictatorial, and her own to be
+pacifying as well as firm, had a hard time of it. If it had not been
+for two or three diversions created by little Kate, the meal would have
+been, indeed, a dismal failure.
+
+But little Kate--most of the time the personification of proper
+little-girlhood--had a disconcerting faculty of occasionally dropping a
+word here, or a question there, with startling effect. As, for instance,
+when she asked Billy "Who's going to boss your wedding?" and again when
+she calmly informed her mother that when _she_ was married she was not
+going to have any wedding at all to bother with, anyhow. She was going
+to elope, and she should choose somebody's chauffeur, because he'd know
+how to go the farthest and fastest so her mother couldn't catch up with
+her and tell her how she ought to have done it.
+
+After luncheon Aunt Hannah went up-stairs for rest and recuperation.
+Marie took little Kate and went for a brisk walk--for the same purpose.
+This left Billy alone with her guest.
+
+"Perhaps you would like a nap, too, Mrs. Hartwell," suggested Billy,
+as they passed into the living-room. There was a curious note of almost
+hopefulness in her voice.
+
+Mrs. Hartwell scorned naps, and she said so very emphatically. She said
+something else, too.
+
+"Billy, why do you always call me 'Mrs. Hartwell' in that stiff, formal
+fashion? You used to call me 'Aunt Kate.'"
+
+"But I was very young then." Billy's voice was troubled. Billy had
+been trying so hard for the last two hours to be the graciously cordial
+hostess to this woman--Bertram's sister.
+
+"Very true. Then why not 'Kate' now?"
+
+Billy hesitated. She was wondering why it seemed so hard to call Mrs.
+Hartwell "Kate."
+
+"Of course," resumed the lady, "when you're Bertram's wife and my
+sister--"
+
+"Why, of course," cried Billy, in a sudden flood of understanding.
+Curiously enough, she had never before thought of Mrs. Hartwell as _her_
+sister. "I shall be glad to call you 'Kate'--if you like."
+
+"Thank you. I shall like it very much, Billy," nodded the other
+cordially. "Indeed, my dear, I'm very fond of you, and I was delighted
+to hear you were to be my sister. If only--it could have stayed William
+instead of Bertram."
+
+"But it couldn't," smiled Billy. "It wasn't William--that I loved."
+
+"But _Bertram!_--it's so absurd."
+
+"Absurd!" The smile was gone now.
+
+"Yes. Forgive me, Billy, but I was about as much surprised to hear of
+Bertram's engagement as I was of Cyril's."
+
+Billy grew a little white.
+
+"But Bertram was never an avowed--woman-hater, like Cyril, was he?"
+
+"'Woman-hater'--dear me, no! He was a woman-lover, always. As if his
+eternal 'Face of a Girl' didn't prove that! Bertram has always loved
+women--to paint. But as for his ever taking them seriously--why, Billy,
+what's the matter?"
+
+Billy had risen suddenly.
+
+"If you'll excuse me, please, just a few minutes," Billy said very
+quietly. "I want to speak to Rosa in the kitchen. I'll be back--soon."
+
+In the kitchen Billy spoke to Rosa--she wondered afterwards what she
+said. Certainly she did not stay in the kitchen long enough to say much.
+In her own room a minute later, with the door fast closed, she took
+from her table the photograph of Bertram and held it in her two hands,
+talking to it softly, but a little wildly.
+
+"I didn't listen! I didn't stay! Do you hear? I came to you. She
+shall not say anything that will make trouble between you and me. I've
+suffered enough through her already! And she doesn't _know_--she didn't
+know before, and she doesn't now. She's only imagining. I will not
+not--_not_ believe that you love me--just to paint. No matter what they
+say--all of them! I _will not!_"
+
+Billy put the photograph back on the table then, and went down-stairs to
+her guest. She smiled brightly, though her face was a little pale.
+
+"I wondered if perhaps you wouldn't like some music," she said
+pleasantly, going straight to the piano.
+
+"Indeed I would!" agreed Mrs. Hartwell.
+
+Billy sat down then and played--played as Mrs. Hartwell had never heard
+her play before.
+
+"Why, Billy, you amaze me," she cried, when the pianist stopped and
+whirled about. "I had no idea you could play like that!"
+
+Billy smiled enigmatically. Billy was thinking that Mrs. Hartwell would,
+indeed, have been surprised if she had known that in that playing
+were herself, the ride home, the luncheon, Bertram, and the girl--whom
+Bertram _did not love only to paint!_
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII. CYRIL AND A WEDDING
+
+
+The twelfth was a beautiful day. Clear, frosty air set the blood to
+tingling and the eyes to sparkling, even if it were not your wedding
+day; while if it were--
+
+It _was_ Marie Hawthorn's wedding day, and certainly her eyes sparkled
+and her blood tingled as she threw open the window of her room and
+breathed long and deep of the fresh morning air before going down to
+breakfast.
+
+"They say 'Happy is the bride that the sun shines on,'" she whispered
+softly to an English sparrow that cocked his eye at her from a
+neighboring tree branch. "As if a bride wouldn't be happy, sun or no
+sun," she scoffed tenderly, as she turned to go down-stairs.
+
+As it happens, however, tingling blood and sparkling eyes are a matter
+of more than weather, or even weddings, as was proved a little later
+when the telephone bell rang.
+
+Kate answered the ring.
+
+"Hullo, is that you, Kate?" called a despairing voice.
+
+"Yes. Good morning, Bertram. Isn't this a fine day for the wedding?"
+
+"Fine! Oh, yes, I suppose so, though I must confess I haven't noticed
+it--and you wouldn't, if you had a lunatic on your hands."
+
+"A lunatic!"
+
+"Yes. Maybe you have, though. Is Marie rampaging around the house like a
+wild creature, and asking ten questions and making twenty threats to the
+minute?"
+
+"Certainly not! Don't be absurd, Bertram. What do you mean?"
+
+"See here, Kate, that show comes off at twelve sharp, doesn't it?"
+
+"Show, indeed!" retorted Kate, indignantly. "The _wedding_ is at noon
+sharp--as the best man should know very well."
+
+"All right; then tell Billy, please, to see that it is sharp, or I won't
+answer for the consequences."
+
+"What do you mean? What is the matter?"
+
+"Cyril. He's broken loose at last. I've been expecting it all along.
+I've simply marvelled at the meekness with which he has submitted
+himself to be tied up with white ribbons and topped with roses."
+
+"Nonsense, Bertram!"
+
+"Well, it amounts to that. Anyhow, he thinks it does, and he's wild. I
+wish you could have heard the thunderous performance on his piano with
+which he woke me up this morning. Billy says he plays everything--his
+past, present, and future. All is, if he was playing his future this
+morning, I pity the girl who's got to live it with him."
+
+"Bertram!"
+
+Bertram chuckled remorselessly.
+
+"Well, I do. But I'll warrant he wasn't playing his future this morning.
+He was playing his present--the wedding. You see, he's just waked up to
+the fact that it'll be a perfect orgy of women and other confusion,
+and he doesn't like it. All the samee,{sic} I've had to assure him just
+fourteen times this morning that the ring, the license, the carriage,
+the minister's fee, and my sanity are all O. K. When he isn't asking
+questions he's making threats to snake the parson up there an hour ahead
+of time and be off with Marie before a soul comes."
+
+"What an absurd idea!"
+
+"Cyril doesn't think so. Indeed, Kate, I've had a hard struggle to
+convince him that the guests wouldn't think it the most delightful
+experience of their lives if they should come and find the ceremony over
+with and the bride gone."
+
+"Well, you remind Cyril, please, that there are other people besides
+himself concerned in this wedding," observed Kate, icily.
+
+"I have," purred Bertram, "and he says all right, let them have it,
+then. He's gone now to look up proxy marriages, I believe."
+
+"Proxy marriages, indeed! Come, come, Bertram, I've got something to do
+this morning besides to stand here listening to your nonsense. See
+that you and Cyril get here on time--that's all!" And she hung up the
+receiver with an impatient jerk.
+
+She turned to confront the startled eyes of the bride elect.
+
+"What is it? Is anything wrong--with Cyril?" faltered Marie.
+
+Kate laughed and raised her eyebrows slightly.
+
+"Nothing but a little stage fright, my dear."
+
+"Stage fright!"
+
+"Yes. Bertram says he's trying to find some one to play his role, I
+believe, in the ceremony."
+
+"_Mrs. Hartwell!_"
+
+At the look of dismayed terror that came into Marie's face, Mrs.
+Hartwell laughed reassuringly.
+
+"There, there, dear child, don't look so horror-stricken. There probably
+never was a man yet who wouldn't have fled from the wedding part of his
+marriage if he could; and you know how Cyril hates fuss and feathers.
+The wonder to me is that he's stood it as long as he has. I thought I
+saw it coming, last night at the rehearsal--and now I know I did."
+
+Marie still looked distressed.
+
+"But he never said--I thought--" She stopped helplessly.
+
+"Of course he didn't, child. He never said anything but that he loved
+you, and he never thought anything but that you were going to be his.
+Men never do--till the wedding day. Then they never think of anything
+but a place to run," she finished laughingly, as she began to arrange on
+a stand the quantity of little white boxes waiting for her.
+
+"But if he'd told me--in time, I wouldn't have had a thing--but the
+minister," faltered Marie.
+
+"And when you think so much of a pretty wedding, too? Nonsense! It isn't
+good for a man, to give up to his whims like that!"
+
+Marie's cheeks grew a deeper pink. Her nostrils dilated a little.
+
+"It wouldn't be a 'whim,' Mrs. Hartwell, and I should be _glad_ to give
+up," she said with decision.
+
+Mrs. Hartwell laughed again, her amused eyes on Marie's face.
+
+"Dear me, child! don't you know that if men had their way, they'd--well,
+if men married men there'd never be such a thing in the world as a
+shower bouquet or a piece of wedding cake!"
+
+There was no reply. A little precipitately Marie turned and hurried
+away. A moment later she was laying a restraining hand on Billy, who was
+filling tall vases with superb long-stemmed roses in the kitchen.
+
+"Billy, please," she panted, "couldn't we do without those? Couldn't we
+send them to some--some hospital?--and the wedding cake, too, and--"
+
+"The wedding cake--to some _hospital!_"
+
+"No, of course not--to the hospital. It would make them sick to eat it,
+wouldn't it?" That there was no shadow of a smile on Marie's face showed
+how desperate, indeed, was her state of mind. "I only meant that I
+didn't want them myself, nor the shower bouquet, nor the rooms darkened,
+nor little Kate as the flower girl--and would you mind very much if I
+asked you not to be my maid of honor?"
+
+"_Marie!_"
+
+Marie covered her face with her hands then and began to sob brokenly;
+so there was nothing for Billy to do but to take her into her arms with
+soothing little murmurs and pettings. By degrees, then, the whole story
+came out.
+
+Billy almost laughed--but she almost cried, too. Then she said:
+
+"Dearie, I don't believe Cyril feels or acts half so bad as Bertram and
+Kate make out, and, anyhow, if he did, it's too late now to--to send the
+wedding cake to the hospital, or make any other of the little changes
+you suggest." Billy's lips puckered into a half-smile, but her eyes were
+grave. "Besides, there are your music pupils trimming the living-room
+this minute with evergreen, there's little Kate making her flower-girl
+wreath, and Mrs. Hartwell stacking cake boxes in the hall, to say
+nothing of Rosa gloating over the best china in the dining-room, and
+Aunt Hannah putting purple bows into the new lace cap she's counting
+on wearing. Only think how disappointed they'd all be if I should say:
+'Never mind--stop that. Marie's just going to have a minister. No fuss,
+no feathers!' Why, dearie, even the roses are hanging their heads for
+grief," she went on mistily, lifting with gentle fingers one of the
+full-petalled pink beauties near her. "Besides, there's your--guests."
+
+"Oh, of course, I knew I couldn't--really," sighed Marie, as she turned
+to go up-stairs, all the light and joy gone from her face.
+
+Billy, once assured that Marie was out of hearing, ran to the telephone.
+
+Bertram answered.
+
+"Bertram, tell Cyril I want to speak to him, please."
+
+"All right, dear, but go easy. Better strike up your tuning fork to find
+his pitch to-day. You'll discover it's a high one, all right."
+
+A moment later Cyril's tersely nervous "Good morning, Billy," came
+across the line.
+
+Billy drew in her breath and cast a hurriedly apprehensive glance over
+her shoulder to make sure Marie was not near.
+
+"Cyril," she called in a low voice, "if you care a shred for Marie, for
+heaven's sake call her up and tell her that you dote on pink roses, and
+pink ribbons, and pink breakfasts--and pink wedding cake!"
+
+"But I don't."
+
+"Oh, yes, you do--to-day! You would--if you could see Marie now."
+
+"What do you mean?"
+
+"Nothing, only she overheard part of Bertram's nonsensical talk with
+Kate a little while ago, and she's ready to cast the last ravelling
+of white satin and conventionality behind her, and go with you to the
+justice of the peace."
+
+"Sensible girl!"
+
+"Yes, but she can't, you know, with fifty guests coming to the wedding,
+and twice as many more to the reception. Honestly, Cyril, she's
+broken-hearted. You must do something. She's--coming!" And the receiver
+clicked sharply into place.
+
+Five minutes later Marie was called to the telephone. Dejectedly,
+wistful-eyed, she went. Just what were the words that hummed across the
+wire into the pink little ear of the bride-to-be, Billy never knew;
+but a Marie that was anything but wistful-eyed and dejected left the
+telephone a little later, and was heard very soon in the room above
+trilling merry snatches of a little song. Contentedly, then, Billy went
+back to her roses.
+
+It was a pretty wedding, a very pretty wedding. Every one said that. The
+pink and green of the decorations, the soft lights (Kate had had her way
+about darkening the rooms), the pretty frocks and smiling faces of the
+guests all helped. Then there were the dainty flower girl, little Kate,
+the charming maid of honor, Billy, the stalwart, handsome best man,
+Bertram, to say nothing of the delicately beautiful bride, who looked
+like some fairy visitor from another world in the floating shimmer of
+her gossamer silk and tulle. There was, too, not quite unnoticed, the
+bridegroom; tall, of distinguished bearing, and with features that were
+clear cut and-to-day-rather pale.
+
+Then came the reception--the "women and confusion" of Cyril's
+fears--followed by the going away of the bride and groom with its merry
+warfare of confetti and old shoes.
+
+At four o'clock, however, with only William and Bertram remaining for
+guests, something like quiet descended at last on the little house.
+
+"Well, it's over," sighed Billy, dropping exhaustedly into a big chair
+in the living-room.
+
+"And _well_ over," supplemented Aunt Hannah, covering her white shawl
+with a warmer blue one.
+
+"Yes, I think it was," nodded Kate. "It was really a very pretty
+wedding."
+
+"With your help, Kate--eh?" teased William.
+
+"Well, I flatter myself I did do some good," bridled Kate, as she turned
+to help little Kate take the flower wreath from her head.
+
+"Even if you did hurry into my room and scare me into conniption fits
+telling me I'd be late," laughed Billy.
+
+Kate tossed her head.
+
+"Well, how was I to know that Aunt Hannah's clock only meant half-past
+eleven when it struck twelve?" she retorted.
+
+Everybody laughed.
+
+"Oh, well, it was a pretty wedding," declared William, with a long sigh.
+
+"It'll do--for an understudy," said Bertram softly, for Billy's ears
+alone.
+
+Only the added color and the swift glance showed that Billy heard, for
+when she spoke she said:
+
+"And didn't Cyril behave beautifully? 'Most every time I looked at him
+he was talking to some woman."
+
+"Oh, no, he wasn't--begging your pardon, my dear," objected Bertram. "I
+watched him, too, even more closely than you did, and it was always the
+_woman_ who was talking to _Cyril!_"
+
+Billy laughed.
+
+"Well, anyhow," she maintained, "he listened. He didn't run away."
+
+"As if a bridegroom could!" cried Kate.
+
+"I'm going to," avowed Bertram, his nose in the air.
+
+"Pooh!" scoffed Kate. Then she added eagerly: "You must be married in
+church, Billy, and in the evening."
+
+Bertram's nose came suddenly out of the air. His eyes met Kate's
+squarely.
+
+"Billy hasn't decided yet how _she_ does want to be married," he said
+with unnecessary emphasis.
+
+Billy laughed and interposed a quick change of subject.
+
+"I think people had a pretty good time, too, for a wedding, don't you?"
+she asked. "I was sorry Mary Jane couldn't be here--'twould have been
+such a good chance for him to meet our friends."
+
+"As--_Mary Jane?_" asked Bertram, a little stiffly.
+
+"Really, my dear," murmured Aunt Hannah, "I think it _would_ be more
+respectful to call him by his name."
+
+"By the way, what is his name?" questioned William.
+
+"That's what we don't know," laughed Billy.
+
+"Well, you know the 'Arkwright,' don't you?" put in Bertram. Bertram,
+too, laughed, but it was a little forcedly. "I suppose if you knew his
+name was 'Methuselah,' you wouldn't call him that--yet, would you?"
+
+Billy clapped her hands, and threw a merry glance at Aunt Hannah.
+
+"There! we never thought of 'Methuselah,'" she gurgled gleefully. "Maybe
+it _is_ 'Methuselah,' now--'Methuselah John'! You see, he's told us to
+try to guess it," she explained, turning to William; "but, honestly, I
+don't believe, whatever it is, I'll ever think of him as anything but
+'Mary Jane.'"
+
+"Well, as far as I can judge, he has nobody but himself to thank for
+that, so he can't do any complaining," smiled William, as he rose to go.
+"Well, how about it, Bertram? I suppose you're going to stay a while to
+comfort the lonely--eh, boy?"
+
+"Of course he is--and so are you, too, Uncle William," spoke up Billy,
+with affectionate cordiality. "As if I'd let you go back to a forlorn
+dinner in that great house to-night! Indeed, no!"
+
+William smiled, hesitated, and sat down.
+
+"Well, of course--" he began.
+
+"Yes, of course," finished Billy, quickly. "I'll telephone Pete that
+you'll stay here--both of you."
+
+It was at this point that little Kate, who had been turning interested
+eyes from one brother to the other, interposed a clear, high-pitched
+question.
+
+"Uncle William, didn't you _want_ to marry my going-to-be-Aunt Billy?"
+
+"Kate!" gasped her mother, "didn't I tell you--" Her voice trailed into
+an incoherent murmur of remonstrance.
+
+Billy blushed. Bertram said a low word under his breath. Aunt Hannah's
+"Oh, my grief and conscience!" was almost a groan.
+
+William laughed lightly.
+
+"Well, my little lady," he suggested, "let us put it the other way and
+say that quite probably she didn't want to marry me."
+
+"Does she want to marry Uncle Bertram?" "Kate!" gasped Billy and Mrs.
+Hartwell together this time, fearful of what might be coming next.
+
+"We'll hope so," nodded Uncle William, speaking in a cheerfully
+matter-of-fact voice, intended to discourage curiosity.
+
+The little girl frowned and pondered. Her elders cast about in their
+minds for a speedy change of subject; but their somewhat scattered wits
+were not quick enough. It was little Kate who spoke next.
+
+"Uncle William, would she have got Uncle Cyril if Aunt Marie hadn't
+nabbed him first?"
+
+"Kate!" The word was a chorus of dismay this time.
+
+Mrs. Hartwell struggled to her feet.
+
+"Come, come, Kate, we must go up-stairs--to bed," she stammered.
+
+The little girl drew back indignantly.
+
+"To bed? Why, mama, I haven't had my supper yet!"
+
+"What? Oh, sure enough--the lights! I forgot. Well, then, come up--to
+change your dress," finished Mrs. Hartwell, as with a despairing look
+and gesture she led her young daughter from the room.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV. M. J. MAKES ANOTHER MOVE
+
+
+Billy came down-stairs on the thirteenth of December to find everywhere
+the peculiar flatness that always follows a day which for weeks has been
+the focus of one's aims and thoughts and labor.
+
+"It's just as if everything had stopped at Marie's wedding, and there
+wasn't anything more to do," she complained to Aunt Hannah at the
+breakfast table. "Everything seems so--queer!"
+
+"It won't--long, dear," smiled Aunt Hannah, tranquilly, as she buttered
+her roll, "specially after Bertram comes back. How long does he stay in
+New York?"
+
+"Only three days; but I'm just sure it's going to seem three weeks,
+now," sighed Billy. "But he simply had to go--else he wouldn't have
+gone."
+
+"I've no doubt of it," observed Aunt Hannah. And at the meaning
+emphasis of her words, Billy laughed a little. After a minute she said
+aggrievedly:
+
+"I had supposed that I could at least have a sort of 'after the ball'
+celebration this morning picking up and straightening things around.
+But John and Rosa have done it all. There isn't so much as a rose
+leaf anywhere on the floor. Of course most of the flowers went to
+the hospital last night, anyway. As for Marie's room--it looks as
+spick-and-span as if it had never seen a scrap of ribbon or an inch of
+tulle."
+
+"But--the wedding presents?"
+
+"All carried down to the kitchen and half packed now, ready to go over
+to the new home. John says he'll take them over in Peggy this afternoon,
+after he takes Mrs. Hartwell's trunk to Uncle William's."
+
+"Well, you can at least go over to the apartment and work," suggested
+Aunt Hannah, hopefully.
+
+"Humph! Can I?" scoffed Billy. "As if I could--when Marie left strict
+orders that not one thing was to be touched till she got here. They
+arranged everything but the presents before the wedding, anyway; and
+Marie wants to fix those herself after she gets back. Mercy! Aunt
+Hannah, if I should so much as move a plate one inch in the china
+closet, Marie would know it--and change it when she got home," laughed
+Billy, as she rose from the table. "No, I can't go to work over there."
+
+"But there's your music, my dear. You said you were going to write some
+new songs after the wedding."
+
+"I was," sighed Billy, walking to the window, and looking listlessly
+at the bare, brown world outside; "but I can't write songs--when there
+aren't any songs in my head to write."
+
+"No, of course not; but they'll come, dear, in time. You're tired, now,"
+soothed Aunt Hannah, as she turned to leave the room.
+
+"It's the reaction, of course," murmured Aunt Hannah to herself, on the
+way up-stairs. "She's had the whole thing on her hands--dear child!"
+
+A few minutes later, from the living-room, came a plaintive little minor
+melody. Billy was at the piano.
+
+Kate and little Kate had, the night before, gone home with William.
+It had been a sudden decision, brought about by the realization that
+Bertram's trip to New York would leave William alone. Her trunk was to
+be carried there to-day, and she would leave for home from there, at the
+end of a two or three days' visit.
+
+It began to snow at twelve o'clock. All the morning the sky had been
+gray and threatening; and the threats took visible shape at noon in
+myriads of white snow feathers that filled the air to the blinding
+point, and turned the brown, bare world into a thing of fairylike
+beauty. Billy, however, with a rare frown upon her face, looked out upon
+it with disapproving eyes.
+
+"I _was_ going in town--and I believe I'll go now," she cried.
+
+"Don't, dear, please don't," begged Aunt Hannah. "See, the flakes are
+smaller now, and the wind is coming up. We're in for a blizzard--I'm
+sure we are. And you know you have some cold, already."
+
+"All right," sighed Billy. "Then it's me for the knitting work and the
+fire, I suppose," she finished, with a whimsicality that did not hide
+the wistful disappointment of her voice.
+
+She was not knitting, however, she was sewing with Aunt Hannah when at
+four o'clock Rosa brought in the card.
+
+Billy glanced at the name, then sprang to her feet with a glad little
+cry.
+
+"It's Mary Jane!" she exclaimed, as Rosa disappeared. "Now wasn't he a
+dear to think to come to-day? You'll be down, won't you?"
+
+Aunt Hannah smiled even while she frowned.
+
+"Oh, Billy!" she remonstrated. "Yes, I'll come down, of course, a little
+later, and I'm glad _Mr. Arkwright_ came," she said with reproving
+emphasis.
+
+Billy laughed and threw a mischievous glance over her shoulder.
+
+"All right," she nodded. "I'll go and tell _Mr. Arkwright_ you'll be
+down directly."
+
+In the living-room Billy greeted her visitor with a frankly cordial
+hand.
+
+"How did you know, Mr. Arkwright, that I was feeling specially restless
+and lonesome to-day?" she demanded.
+
+A glad light sprang to the man's dark eyes.
+
+"I didn't know it," he rejoined. "I only knew that I was specially
+restless and lonesome myself."
+
+Arkwright's voice was not quite steady. The unmistakable friendliness in
+the girl's words and manner had sent a quick throb of joy to his heart.
+Her evident delight in his coming had filled him with rapture. He could
+not know that it was only the chill of the snowstorm that had given
+warmth to her handclasp, the dreariness of the day that had made her
+greeting so cordial, the loneliness of a maiden whose lover is away that
+had made his presence so welcome.
+
+"Well, I'm glad you came, anyway," sighed Billy, contentedly; "though I
+suppose I ought to be sorry that you were lonesome--but I'm afraid I'm
+not, for now you'll know just how I felt, so you won't mind if I'm a
+little wild and erratic. You see, the tension has snapped," she added
+laughingly, as she seated herself.
+
+"Tension?"
+
+"The wedding, you know. For so many weeks we've been seeing just
+December twelfth, that we'd apparently forgotten all about the
+thirteenth that came after it; so when I got up this morning I felt
+just as you do when the clock has stopped ticking. But it was a lovely
+wedding, Mr. Arkwright. I'm sorry you could not be here."
+
+"Thank you; so am I--though usually, I will confess, I'm not much
+good at attending 'functions' and meeting strangers. As perhaps you've
+guessed, Miss Neilson, I'm not particularly a society chap."
+
+"Of course you aren't! People who are doing things--real things--seldom
+are. But we aren't the society kind ourselves, you know--not the capital
+S kind. We like sociability, which is vastly different from liking
+Society. Oh, we have friends, to be sure, who dote on 'pink teas
+and purple pageants,' as Cyril calls them; and we even go ourselves
+sometimes. But if you had been here yesterday, Mr. Arkwright, you'd have
+met lots like yourself, men and women who are doing things: singing,
+playing, painting, illustrating, writing. Why, we even had a poet,
+sir--only he didn't have long hair, so he didn't look the part a bit,"
+she finished laughingly.
+
+"Is long hair--necessary--for poets?" Arkwright's smile was quizzical.
+
+"Dear me, no; not now. But it used to be, didn't it? And for painters,
+too. But now they look just like--folks."
+
+Arkwright laughed.
+
+"It isn't possible that you are sighing for the velvet coats and flowing
+ties of the past, is it, Miss Neilson?"
+
+"I'm afraid it is," dimpled Billy. "I _love_ velvet coats and flowing
+ties!"
+
+"May singers wear them? I shall don them at once, anyhow, at a venture,"
+declared the man, promptly.
+
+Billy smiled and shook her head.
+
+"I don't think you will. You all like your horrid fuzzy tweeds and
+worsteds too well!"
+
+"You speak with feeling. One would almost suspect that you already had
+tried to bring about a reform--and failed. Perhaps Mr. Cyril, now, or
+Mr. Bertram--" Arkwright stopped with a whimsical smile.
+
+Billy flushed a little. As it happened, she had, indeed, had a merry
+tilt with Bertram on that very subject, and he had laughingly promised
+that his wedding present to her would be a velvet house coat for
+himself. It was on the point of Billy's tongue now to say this to
+Arkwright; but another glance at the provoking smile on his lips drove
+the words back in angry confusion. For the second time, in the presence
+of this man, Billy found herself unable to refer to her engagement to
+Bertram Henshaw--though this time she did not in the least doubt that
+Arkwright already knew of it.
+
+With a little gesture of playful scorn she rose and went to the piano.
+
+"Come, let us try some duets," she suggested. "That's lots nicer than
+quarrelling over velvet coats; and Aunt Hannah will be down presently to
+hear us sing."
+
+Before she had ceased speaking, Arkwright was at her side with an
+exclamation of eager acquiescence.
+
+It was after the second duet that Arkwright asked, a little diffidently.
+
+"Have you written any new songs lately?"
+
+"No."
+
+"You're going to?"
+
+"Perhaps--if I find one to write."
+
+"You mean--you have no words?"
+
+"Yes--and no. I have some words, both of my own and other people's; but
+I haven't found in any one of them, yet--a melody."
+
+Arkwright hesitated. His right hand went almost to his inner coat
+pocket--then fell back at his side. The next moment he picked up a sheet
+of music.
+
+"Are you too tired to try this?" he asked.
+
+A puzzled frown appeared on Billy's face.
+
+"Why, no, but--"
+
+"Well, children, I've come down to hear the music," announced Aunt
+Hannah, smilingly, from the doorway; "only--Billy, _will_ you run up
+and get my pink shawl, too? This room _is_ colder than I thought, and
+there's only the white one down here."
+
+"Of course," cried Billy, rising at once. "You shall have a dozen
+shawls, if you like," she laughed, as she left the room.
+
+What a cozy time it was--the hour that followed, after Billy returned
+with the pink shawl! Outside, the wind howled at the windows and flung
+the snow against the glass in sleety crashes. Inside, the man and the
+girl sang duets until they were tired; then, with Aunt Hannah, they
+feasted royally on the buttered toast, tea, and frosted cakes that
+Rosa served on a little table before the roaring fire. It was then that
+Arkwright talked of himself, telling them something of his studies, and
+of the life he was living.
+
+"After all, you see there's just this difference between my friends
+and yours," he said, at last. "Your friends _are_ doing things. They've
+succeeded. Mine haven't, yet--they're only _trying_."
+
+"But they will succeed," cried Billy.
+
+"Some of them," amended the man.
+
+"Not--all of them?" Billy looked a little troubled.
+
+Arkwright shook his head slowly.
+
+"No. They couldn't--all of them, you know. Some haven't the talent, some
+haven't the perseverance, and some haven't the money."
+
+"But all that seems such a pity-when they've tried," grieved Billy.
+
+"It is a pity, Miss Neilson. Disappointed hopes are always a pity,
+aren't they?"
+
+"Y-yes," sighed the girl. "But--if there were only something one could
+do to--help!"
+
+Arkwright's eyes grew deep with feeling, but his voice, when he spoke,
+was purposely light.
+
+"I'm afraid that would be quite too big a contract for even your
+generosity, Miss Neilson--to mend all the broken hopes in the world," he
+prophesied.
+
+"I have known great good to come from great disappointments," remarked
+Aunt Hannah, a bit didactically.
+
+"So have I," laughed Arkwright, still determined to drive the troubled
+shadow from the face he was watching so intently. "For instance: a
+fellow I know was feeling all cut up last Friday because he was just too
+late to get into Symphony Hall on the twenty-five-cent admission. Half
+an hour afterwards his disappointment was turned to joy--a friend who
+had an orchestra chair couldn't use his ticket that day, and so handed
+it over to him."
+
+Billy turned interestedly.
+
+"What are those twenty-five-cent tickets to the Symphony?"
+
+"Then--you don't know?"
+
+"Not exactly. I've heard of them, in a vague fashion."
+
+"Then you've missed one of the sights of Boston if you haven't ever
+seen that long line of patient waiters at the door of Symphony Hall of a
+Friday morning."
+
+"Morning! But the concert isn't till afternoon!"
+
+"No, but the waiting is," retorted Arkwright. "You see, those admissions
+are limited--five hundred and five, I believe--and they're rush seats,
+at that. First come, first served; and if you're too late you aren't
+served at all. So the first arrival comes bright and early. I've heard
+that he has been known to come at peep of day when there's a Paderewski
+or a Melba for a drawing card. But I've got my doubts of that. Anyhow,
+I never saw them there much before half-past eight. But many's the cold,
+stormy day I've seen those steps in front of the Hall packed for hours,
+and a long line reaching away up the avenue."
+
+Billy's eyes widened.
+
+"And they'll stand all that time and wait?"
+
+"To be sure they will. You see, each pays twenty-five cents at the door,
+until the limit is reached, then the rest are turned away. Naturally
+they don't want to be turned away, so they try to get there early enough
+to be among the fortunate five hundred and five. Besides, the earlier
+you are, the better seat you are likely to get."
+
+"But only think of _standing_ all that time!"
+
+"Oh, they bring camp chairs, sometimes, I've heard, and then there are
+the steps. You don't know what a really fine seat a stone step is--if
+you have a _big_ enough bundle of newspapers to cushion it with! They
+bring their luncheons, too, with books, papers, and knitting work for
+fine days, I've been told--some of them. All the comforts of home, you
+see," smiled Arkwright.
+
+"Why, how--how dreadful!" stammered Billy.
+
+"Oh, but they don't think it's dreadful at all," corrected Arkwright,
+quickly. "For twenty-five cents they can hear all that you hear down in
+your orchestra chair, for which you've paid so high a premium."
+
+"But who--who are they? Where do they come from? Who _would_ go and
+stand hours like that to get a twenty-five-cent seat?" questioned Billy.
+
+"Who are they? Anybody, everybody, from anywhere? everywhere; people
+who have the music hunger but not the money to satisfy it," he rejoined.
+"Students, teachers, a little milliner from South Boston, a little
+dressmaker from Chelsea, a housewife from Cambridge, a stranger from the
+uttermost parts of the earth; maybe a widow who used to sit down-stairs,
+or a professor who has seen better days. Really to know that line,
+you should see it for yourself, Miss Neilson," smiled Arkwright, as
+he reluctantly rose to go. "Some Friday, however, before you take your
+seat, just glance up at that packed top balcony and judge by the
+faces you see there whether their owners think they're getting their
+twenty-five-cents' worth, or not."
+
+"I will," nodded Billy, with a smile; but the smile came from her lips
+only, not her eyes: Billy was wishing, at that moment, that she owned
+the whole of Symphony Hall--to give away. But that was like Billy. When
+she was seven years old she had proposed to her Aunt Ella that they take
+all the thirty-five orphans from the Hampden Falls Orphan Asylum to live
+with them, so that little Sallie Cook and the other orphans might have
+ice cream every day, if they wanted it. Since then Billy had always been
+trying--in a way--to give ice cream to some one who wanted it.
+
+Arkwright was almost at the door when he turned abruptly. His face was
+an abashed red. From his pocket he had taken a small folded paper.
+
+"Do you suppose--in this--you might find--that melody?" he stammered in
+a low voice. The next moment he was gone, having left in Billy's fingers
+a paper upon which was written in a clear-cut, masculine hand six
+four-line stanzas.
+
+Billy read them at once, hurriedly, then more carefully.
+
+"Why, they're beautiful," she breathed, "just beautiful! Where did he
+get them, I wonder? It's a love song--and such a pretty one! I believe
+there _is_ a melody in it," she exulted, pausing to hum a line or
+two. "There is--I know there is; and I'll write it--for Bertram," she
+finished, crossing joyously to the piano.
+
+Half-way down Corey Hill at that moment, Arkwright was buffeting
+the wind and snow. He, too, was thinking joyously of those
+stanzas--joyously, yet at the same time fearfully. Arkwright himself had
+written those lines--though not for Bertram.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV. "MR. BILLY" AND "MISS MARY JANE"
+
+
+On the fourteenth of December Billy came down-stairs alert, interested,
+and happy. She had received a dear letter from Bertram (mailed on the
+way to New York), the sun was shining, and her fingers were fairly
+tingling to put on paper the little melody that was now surging
+riotously through her brain. Emphatically, the restlessness of the day
+before was gone now. Once more Billy's "clock" had "begun to tick."
+
+After breakfast Billy went straight to the telephone and called up
+Arkwright. Even one side of the conversation Aunt Hannah did not hear
+very clearly; but in five minutes a radiant-faced Billy danced into the
+room.
+
+"Aunt Hannah, just listen! Only think--Mary Jane wrote the words
+himself, so of course I can use them!"
+
+"Billy, dear, _can't_ you say 'Mr. Arkwright'?" pleaded Aunt Hannah.
+
+Billy laughed and gave the anxious-eyed little old lady an impulsive
+hug.
+
+"Of course! I'll say 'His Majesty' if you like, dear," she chuckled.
+"But did you hear--did you realize? They're his own words, so there's no
+question of rights or permission, or anything. And he's coming up this
+afternoon to hear my melody, and to make a few little changes in the
+words, maybe. Oh, Aunt Hannah, you don't know how good it seems to get
+into my music again!"
+
+"Yes, yes, dear, of course; but--" Aunt Hannah's sentence ended in a
+vaguely troubled pause.
+
+Billy turned in surprise.
+
+"Why, Aunt Hannah, aren't you glad? You _said_ you'd be glad!"
+
+"Yes, dear; and I am--very glad. It's only--if it doesn't take too much
+time--and if Bertram doesn't mind."
+
+Billy flushed. She laughed a little bitterly.
+
+"No, it won't take too much time, I fancy, and--so far as Bertram is
+concerned--if what Sister Kate says is true, Aunt Hannah, he'll be glad
+to have me occupy a little of my time with something besides himself."
+
+"Fiddlededee!" bristled Aunt Hannah.
+
+"What did she mean by that?"
+
+Billy smiled ruefully.
+
+"Well, probably I did need it. She said it night before last just before
+she went home with Uncle William. She declared that I seemed to forget
+entirely that Bertram belonged to his Art first, before he belonged to
+me; and that it was exactly as she had supposed it would be--a perfect
+absurdity for Bertram to think of marrying anybody."
+
+"Fiddlededee!" ejaculated the irate Aunt Hannah, even more sharply. "I
+hope you have too much good sense to mind what Kate says, Billy."
+
+"Yes, I know," sighed the girl; "but of course I can see some things for
+myself, and I suppose I did make--a little fuss about his going to New
+York the other night. And I will own that I've had a real struggle with
+myself sometimes, lately, not to mind--his giving so much time to
+his portrait painting. And of course both of those are very
+reprehensible--in an artist's wife," she finished, a little tremulously.
+
+"Humph! Well, I don't think I should worry about that," observed Aunt
+Hannah with grim positiveness.
+
+"No, I don't mean to," smiled Billy, wistfully. "I only told you so
+you'd understand that it was just as well if I did have something to
+take up my mind--besides Bertram. And of course music would be the most
+natural thing."
+
+"Yes, of course," agreed Aunt Hannah.
+
+"And it seems actually almost providential that Mary--I mean Mr.
+Arkwright is here to help me, now that Cyril is gone," went on Billy,
+still a little wistfully.
+
+"Yes, of course. He isn't like--a stranger," murmured Aunt Hannah. Aunt
+Hannah's voice sounded as if she were trying to convince herself--of
+something.
+
+"No, indeed! He seems just like one of the family to me, almost as if he
+were really--your niece, Mary Jane," laughed Billy.
+
+Aunt Hannah moved restlessly.
+
+"Billy," she hazarded, "he knows, of course, of your engagement?"
+
+"Why, of course he does, Aunt Hannah everybody does!" Billy's eyes were
+plainly surprised.
+
+"Yes, yes, of course--he must," subsided Aunt Hannah, confusedly, hoping
+that Billy would not divine the hidden reason behind her question. She
+was relieved when Billy's next words showed that she had not divined it.
+
+"I told you, didn't I? He's coming up this afternoon. He can't get here
+till five, though; but he's so interested! He's about as crazy over the
+thing as I am. And it's going to be fine, Aunt Hannah, when it's done.
+You just wait and see!" she finished gayly, as she tripped from the
+room.
+
+Left to herself, Aunt Hannah drew a long breath.
+
+"I'm glad she didn't suspect," she was thinking. "I believe she'd
+consider even the _question_ disloyal to Bertram--dear child! And of
+course Mary"--Aunt Hannah corrected herself with cheeks aflame--"I mean
+Mr. Arkwright does--know."
+
+It was just here, however, that Aunt Hannah was mistaken. Mr. Arkwright
+did not--know. He had not reached Boston when the engagement was
+announced. He knew none of Billy's friends in town save the Henshaw
+brothers. He had not heard from Calderwell since he came to Boston. The
+very evident intimacy of Billy with the Henshaw brothers he accepted as
+a matter of course, knowing the history of their acquaintance, and the
+fact that Billy was Mr. William Henshaw's namesake. As to Bertram
+being Billy's lover--that idea had long ago been killed at birth by
+Calderwell's emphatic assertion that the artist would never care for any
+girl--except to paint. Since coming to Boston, Arkwright had seen little
+of the two together. His work, his friends, and his general mode of life
+precluded that. Because of all this, therefore, Arkwright did not--know;
+which was a pity--for Arkwright, and for some others.
+
+Promptly at five o'clock that afternoon, Arkwright rang Billy's
+doorbell, and was admitted by Rosa to the living-room, where Billy was
+at the piano.
+
+Billy sprang to her feet with a joyous word of greeting.
+
+"I'm so glad you've come," she sighed happily. "I want you to hear the
+melody your pretty words have sung to me. Though, maybe, after all, you
+won't like it, you know," she finished with arch wistfulness.
+
+"As if I could help liking it," smiled the man, trying to keep from his
+voice the ecstatic delight that the touch of her hand had brought him.
+
+Billy shook her head and seated herself again at the piano.
+
+"The words are lovely," she declared, sorting out two or three sheets of
+manuscript music from the quantity on the rack before her. "But there's
+one place--the rhythm, you know--if you could change it. There!--but
+listen. First I'm going to play it straight through to you." And she
+dropped her fingers to the keyboard. The next moment a tenderly sweet
+melody--with only a chord now and then for accompaniment--filled
+Arkwright's soul with rapture. Then Billy began to sing, very softly,
+the words!
+
+No wonder Arkwright's soul was filled with rapture. They were his words,
+wrung straight from his heart; and they were being sung by the girl
+for whom they were written. They were being sung with feeling, too--so
+evident a feeling that the man's pulse quickened, and his eyes flashed a
+sudden fire. Arkwright could not know, of course, that Billy, in her own
+mind, was singing that song--to Bertram Henshaw.
+
+The fire was still in Arkwright's eyes when the song was ended; but
+Billy very plainly did not see it. With a frowning sigh and a murmured
+"There!" she began to talk of "rhythm" and "accent" and "cadence"; and
+to point out with anxious care why three syllables instead of two were
+needed at the end of a certain line. From this she passed eagerly to
+the accompaniment, and Arkwright at once found himself lost in a maze
+of "minor thirds" and "diminished sevenths," until he was forced to
+turn from the singer to the song. Still, watching her a little later, he
+noticed her absorbed face and eager enthusiasm, her earnest pursuance of
+an elusive harmony, and he wondered: did she, or did she not sing that
+song with feeling a little while before?
+
+Arkwright had not settled this question to his own satisfaction when
+Aunt Hannah came in at half-past five, and he was conscious of a vague
+disappointment as he rose to greet her. Billy, however, turned an
+untroubled face to the newcomer.
+
+"We're doing finely, Aunt Hannah," she cried. Then, suddenly, she flung
+a laughing question to the man. "How about it, sir? Are we going to put
+on the title-page: 'Words by Mary Jane Arkwright'--or will you unveil
+the mystery for us now?"
+
+"Have you guessed it?" he bantered.
+
+"No--unless it's 'Methuselah John.' We did think of that the other day."
+
+"Wrong again!" he laughed.
+
+"Then it'll have to be 'Mary Jane,'" retorted Billy, with calm
+naughtiness, refusing to meet Aunt Hannah's beseechingly reproving eyes.
+Then suddenly she chuckled. "It would be a combination, wouldn't it?
+'Words by Mary Jane Arkwright. Music by Billy Neilson'! We'd have
+sighing swains writing to 'Dear Miss Arkwright,' telling how touching
+were _her_ words; and lovelorn damsels thanking _Mr_. Neilson for _his_
+soul-inspiring music!"
+
+"Billy, my dear!" remonstrated Aunt Hannah, faintly.
+
+"Yes, yes, I know; that was bad--and I won't again, truly," promised
+Billy. But her eyes danced, and the next moment she had whirled about on
+the piano stool and dashed into a Chopin waltz. The room itself, then,
+seemed to be full of the twinkling feet of elves.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI. A GIRL AND A BIT OF LOWESTOFT
+
+
+Immediately after breakfast the next morning, Billy was summoned to the
+telephone.
+
+"Oh, good morning, Uncle William," she called, in answer to the
+masculine voice that replied to her "Hullo."
+
+"Billy, are you very busy this morning?"
+
+"No, indeed--not if you want me."
+
+"Well, I do, my dear." Uncle William's voice was troubled. "I want you
+to go with me, if you can, to see a Mrs. Greggory. She's got a teapot I
+want. It's a genuine Lowestoft, Harlow says. Will you go?"
+
+"Of course I will! What time?"
+
+"Eleven if you can, at Park Street. She's at the West End. I don't dare
+to put it off for fear I'll lose it. Harlow says others will have to
+know of it, of course. You see, she's just made up her mind to sell it,
+and asked him to find a customer. I wouldn't trouble you, but he says
+they're peculiar--the daughter, especially--and may need some careful
+handling. That's why I wanted you--though I wanted you to see the
+tea-pot, too,--it'll be yours some day, you know."
+
+Billy, all alone at her end of the line, blushed. That she was one day
+to be mistress of the Strata and all it contained was still anything but
+"common" to her.
+
+"I'd love to see it, and I'll come gladly; but I'm afraid I won't be
+much help, Uncle William," she worried.
+
+"I'll take the risk of that. You see, Harlow says that about half the
+time she isn't sure she wants to sell it, after all."
+
+"Why, how funny! Well, I'll come. At eleven, you say, at Park Street?"
+
+"Yes; and thank you, my dear. I tried to get Kate to go, too; but she
+wouldn't. By the way, I'm going to bring you home to luncheon. Kate
+leaves this afternoon, you know, and it's been so snowy she hasn't
+thought best to try to get over to the house. Maybe Aunt Hannah would
+come, too, for luncheon. Would she?"
+
+"I'm afraid not," returned Billy, with a rueful laugh. "She's got
+_three_ shawls on this morning, and you know that always means that
+she's felt a draft somewhere--poor dear. I'll tell her, though, and I'll
+see you at eleven," finished Billy, as she hung up the receiver.
+
+Promptly at the appointed time Billy met Uncle William at Park Street,
+and together they set out for the West End street named on the paper in
+his pocket. But when the shabby house on the narrow little street was
+reached, the man looked about him with a troubled frown.
+
+"I declare, Billy, I'm not sure but we'd better turn back," he fretted.
+"I didn't mean to take you to such a place as this."
+
+Billy shivered a little; but after one glance at the man's disappointed
+face she lifted a determined chin.
+
+"Nonsense, Uncle William! Of course you won't turn back. I don't
+mind--for myself; but only think of the people whose _homes_ are here,"
+she finished, just above her breath.
+
+Mrs. Greggory was found to be living in two back rooms at the top of
+four flights of stairs, up which William Henshaw toiled with increasing
+weariness and dismay, punctuating each flight with a despairing: "Billy,
+really, I think we should turn back!"
+
+But Billy would not turn back, and at last they found themselves in the
+presence of a white-haired, sweet-faced woman who said yes, she was
+Mrs. Greggory; yes, she was. Even as she uttered the words, however,
+she looked fearfully over her shoulders as if expecting to hear from the
+hall behind them a voice denying her assertion.
+
+Mrs. Greggory was a cripple. Her slender little body was poised on two
+once-costly crutches. Both the worn places on the crutches, and the
+skill with which the little woman swung herself about the room testified
+that the crippled condition was not a new one.
+
+Billy's eyes were brimming with pity and dismay. Mechanically she had
+taken the chair toward which Mrs. Greggory had motioned her. She had
+tried not to seem to look about her; but there was not one detail of
+the bare little room, from its faded rug to the patched but spotless
+tablecloth, that was not stamped on her brain.
+
+Mrs. Greggory had seated herself now, and William Henshaw had cleared
+his throat nervously. Billy did not know whether she herself were the
+more distressed or the more relieved to hear him stammer:
+
+"We--er--I came from Harlow, Mrs. Greggory. He gave me to understand
+you had an--er--teapot that--er--" With his eyes on the cracked white
+crockery pitcher on the table, William Henshaw came to a helpless pause.
+
+A curious expression, or rather, series of expressions crossed Mrs.
+Greggory's face. Terror, joy, dismay, and relief seemed, one after the
+other to fight for supremacy. Relief in the end conquered, though even
+yet there was a second hurriedly apprehensive glance toward the door
+before she spoke.
+
+"The Lowestoft! Yes, I'm so glad!--that is, of course I must be glad.
+I'll get it." Her voice broke as she pulled herself from her chair.
+There was only despairing sorrow on her face now.
+
+The man rose at once.
+
+"But, madam, perhaps--don't let me--" I he began stammeringly. "Of
+course--Billy!" he broke off in an entirely different voice. "Jove! What
+a beauty!"
+
+Mrs. Greggory had thrown open the door of a small cupboard near the
+collector's chair, disclosing on one of the shelves a beautifully shaped
+teapot, creamy in tint, and exquisitely decorated in a rose design. Near
+it set a tray-like plate of the same ware and decoration.
+
+"If you'll lift it down, please, yourself," motioned Mrs. Greggory. "I
+don't like to--with these," she explained, tapping the crutches at her
+side.
+
+With fingers that were almost reverent in their appreciation, the
+collector reached for the teapot. His eyes sparkled.
+
+"Billy, look, what a beauty! And it's a Lowestoft, too, the real
+thing--the genuine, true soft paste! And there's the tray--did you
+notice?" he exulted, turning back to the shelf. "You _don't_ see that
+every day! They get separated, most generally, you know."
+
+"These pieces have been in our family for generations," said Mrs.
+Greggory with an accent of pride. "You'll find them quite perfect, I
+think."
+
+"Perfect! I should say they were," cried the man.
+
+"They are, then--valuable?" Mrs. Greggory's voice shook.
+
+"Indeed they are! But you must know that."
+
+"I have been told so. Yet to me their chief value, of course, lies in
+their association. My mother and my grandmother owned that teapot, sir."
+Again her voice broke.
+
+William Henshaw cleared his throat.
+
+"But, madam, if you do not wish to sell--" He stopped abruptly. His
+longing eyes had gone back to the enticing bit of china.
+
+Mrs. Greggory gave a low cry.
+
+"But I do--that is, I must. Mr. Harlow says that it is valuable, and
+that it will bring in money; and we need--money." She threw a quick
+glance toward the hall door, though she did not pause in her remarks. "I
+can't do much at work that pays. I sew"--she nodded toward the machine
+by the window--"but with only one foot to make it go--You see, the
+other is--is inclined to shirk a little," she finished with a wistful
+whimsicality.
+
+Billy turned away sharply. There was a lump in her throat and a smart in
+her eyes. She was conscious suddenly of a fierce anger against--she did
+not know what, exactly; but she fancied it was against the teapot,
+or against Uncle William for wanting the teapot, or for _not_ wanting
+it--if he did not buy it.
+
+"And so you see, I do very much wish to sell."
+
+Mrs. Greggory said then. "Perhaps you will tell me what it would be
+worth to you," she concluded tremulously.
+
+The collector's eyes glowed. He picked up the teapot with careful
+rapture and examined it. Then he turned to the tray. After a moment he
+spoke.
+
+"I have only one other in my collection as rare," he said. "I paid a
+hundred dollars for that. I shall be glad to give you the same for this,
+madam."
+
+Mrs. Greggory started visibly.
+
+"A hundred dollars? So much as that?" she cried almost joyously. "Why,
+nothing else that we've had has brought--Of course, if it's worth that
+to you--" She paused suddenly. A quick step had sounded in the hall
+outside. The next moment the door flew open and a young woman, who
+looked to be about twenty-three or twenty-four years old, burst into the
+room.
+
+"Mother, only think, I've--" She stopped, and drew back a little.
+Her startled eyes went from one face to another, then dropped to the
+Lowestoft teapot in the man's hands. Her expression changed at once. She
+shut the door quickly and hurried forward.
+
+"Mother, what is it? Who are these people?" she asked sharply.
+
+Billy lifted her chin the least bit. She was conscious of a feeling
+which she could not name: Billy was not used to being called "these
+people" in precisely that tone of voice. William Henshaw, too, raised
+his chin. He, also, was not in the habit of being referred to as "these
+people."
+
+"My name is Henshaw, Miss--Greggory, I presume," he said quietly. "I was
+sent here by Mr. Harlow."
+
+"About the teapot, my dear, you know," stammered Mrs. Greggory,
+wetting her lips with an air of hurried apology and conciliation. "This
+gentleman says he will be glad to buy it. Er--my daughter, Alice, Mr.
+Henshaw," she hastened on, in embarrassed introduction; "and Miss--"
+
+"Neilson," supplied the man, as she looked at Billy, and hesitated.
+
+A swift red stained Alice Greggory's face. With barely an acknowledgment
+of the introductions she turned to her mother.
+
+"Yes, dear, but that won't be necessary now. As I started to tell you
+when I came in, I have two new pupils; and so"--turning to the man again
+"I thank you for your offer, but we have decided not to sell the teapot
+at present." As she finished her sentence she stepped one side as if to
+make room for the strangers to reach the door.
+
+William Henshaw frowned angrily--that was the man; but his eyes--the
+collector's eyes--sought the teapot longingly. Before either the man or
+the collector could speak, however; Mrs. Greggory interposed quick words
+of remonstrance.
+
+"But, Alice, my dear," she almost sobbed. "You didn't wait to let me
+tell you. Mr. Henshaw says it is worth a hundred dollars to him. He will
+give us--a hundred dollars."
+
+"A hundred dollars!" echoed the girl, faintly.
+
+It was plain to be seen that she was wavering. Billy, watching the
+little scene, with mingled emotions, saw the glance with which the girl
+swept the bare little room; and she knew that there was not a patch or
+darn or poverty spot in sight, or out of sight, which that glance did
+not encompass.
+
+Billy was wondering which she herself desired more--that Uncle William
+should buy the Lowestoft, or that he should not. She knew she wished
+Mrs. Greggory to have the hundred dollars. There was no doubt on
+that point. Then Uncle William spoke. His words carried the righteous
+indignation of the man who thinks he has been unjustly treated, and the
+final plea of the collector who sees a coveted treasure slipping from
+his grasp.
+
+"I am very sorry, of course, if my offer has annoyed you," he said
+stiffly. "I certainly should not have made it had I not had Mrs.
+Greggory's assurance that she wished to sell the teapot."
+
+Alice Greggory turned as if stung.
+
+"_Wished to sell!_" She repeated the words with superb disdain. She was
+plainly very angry. Her blue-gray eyes gleamed with scorn, and her whole
+face was suffused with a red that had swept to the roots of her
+soft hair. "Do you think a woman _wishes_ to sell a thing that she's
+treasured all her life, a thing that is perhaps the last visible
+reminder of the days when she was living--not merely existing?"
+
+"Alice, Alice, my love!" protested the sweet-faced cripple, agitatedly.
+
+"I can't help it," stormed the girl, hotly. "I know how much you think
+of that teapot that was grandmother's. I know what it cost you to make
+up your mind to sell it at all. And then to hear these people talk about
+your _wishing_ to sell it! Perhaps they think, too, we _wish_ to live
+in a place like this; that we _wish_ to have rugs that are darned,
+and chairs that are broken, and garments that are patches instead of
+clothes!"
+
+"Alice!" gasped Mrs. Greggory in dismayed horror.
+
+With a little outward fling of her two hands Alice Greggory stepped
+back. Her face had grown white again.
+
+"I beg your pardon, of course," she said in a voice that was bitterly
+quiet. "I should not have spoken so. You are very kind, Mr. Henshaw, but
+I do not think we care to sell the Lowestoft to-day."
+
+Both words and manner were obviously a dismissal; and with a puzzled
+sigh William Henshaw picked up his hat. His face showed very clearly
+that he did not know what to do, or what to say; but it showed, too, as
+clearly, that he longed to do something, or say something. During the
+brief minute that he hesitated, however, Billy sprang forward.
+
+"Mrs. Greggory, please, won't you let _me_ buy the teapot? And
+then--won't you keep it for me--here? I haven't the hundred dollars with
+me, but I'll send it right away. You will let me do it, won't you?"
+
+It was an impulsive speech, and a foolish one, of course, from the
+standpoint of sense and logic and reasonableness; but it was one that
+might be expected, perhaps, from Billy.
+
+Mrs. Greggory must have divined, in a way, the spirit that prompted it,
+for her eyes grew wet, and with a choking "Dear child!" she reached out
+and caught Billy's hand in both her own--even while she shook her head
+in denial.
+
+Not so her daughter. Alice Greggory flushed scarlet. She drew herself
+proudly erect.
+
+"Thank you," she said with crisp coldness; "but, distasteful as darns
+and patches are to us, we prefer them, infinitely, to--charity!"
+
+"Oh, but, please, I didn't mean--you didn't understand," faltered Billy.
+
+For answer Alice Greggory walked deliberately to the door and held it
+open.
+
+"Oh, Alice, my dear," pleaded Mrs. Greggory again, feebly.
+
+"Come, Billy! We'll bid you good morning, ladies," said William
+Henshaw then, decisively. And Billy, with a little wistful pat on Mrs.
+Greggory's clasped hands, went.
+
+Once down the long four flights of stairs and out on the sidewalk,
+William Henshaw drew a long breath.
+
+"Well, by Jove! Billy, the next time I take you curio hunting, it won't
+be to this place," he fumed.
+
+"Wasn't it awful!" choked Billy.
+
+"Awful! The girl was the most stubborn, unreasonable, vixenish little
+puss I ever saw. I didn't want her old Lowestoft if she didn't want
+to sell it! But to practically invite me there, and then treat me like
+that!" scolded the collector, his face growing red with anger. "Still, I
+was sorry for the poor little old lady. I wish, somehow, she could have
+that hundred dollars!" It was the man who said this, not the collector.
+
+"So do I," rejoined Billy, dolefully. "But that girl was so--so queer!"
+she sighed, with a frown. Billy was puzzled. For the first time,
+perhaps, in her life, she knew what it was to have her proffered "ice
+cream" disdainfully refused.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII. ONLY A LOVE SONG, BUT--
+
+
+Kate and little Kate left for the West on the afternoon of
+the fifteenth, and Bertram arrived from New York that evening.
+Notwithstanding the confusion of all this, Billy still had time to give
+some thought to her experience of the morning with Uncle William.
+The forlorn little room with its poverty-stricken furnishings and its
+crippled mistress was very vivid in Billy's memory. Equally vivid were
+the flashing eyes of Alice Greggory as she had opened the door at the
+last.
+
+"For," as Billy explained to Bertram that evening, after she had told
+him the story of the morning's adventure, "you see, dear, I had never
+been really _turned out_ of a house before!"
+
+"I should think not," scowled her lover, indignantly; "and it's safe to
+say you never will again. The impertinence of it! But then, you won't
+see them any more, sweetheart, so we'll just forget it."
+
+"Forget it! Why, Bertram, I couldn't! You couldn't, if you'd been there.
+Besides, of course I shall see them again!"
+
+Bertram's jaw dropped.
+
+"Why, Billy, you don't mean that Will, or you either, would try again
+for that trumpery teapot!"
+
+"Of course not," flashed Billy, heatedly. "It isn't the teapot--it's
+that dear little Mrs. Greggory. Why, dearie, you don't know how poor
+they are! Everything in sight is so old and thin and worn it's enough to
+break your heart. The rug isn't anything but darns, nor the tablecloth,
+either--except patches. It's awful, Bertram!"
+
+"I know, darling; but _you_ don't expect to buy them new rugs and new
+tablecloths, do you?"
+
+Billy gave one of her unexpected laughs.
+
+"Mercy!" she chuckled. "Only picture Miss Alice's face if I _should_ try
+to buy them rugs and tablecloths! No, dear," she went on more seriously,
+"I sha'n't do that, of course--though I'd like to; but I shall try to
+see Mrs. Greggory again, if it's nothing more than a rose or a book or a
+new magazine that I can take to her."
+
+"Or a smile--which I fancy will be the best gift of the lot," amended
+Bertram, fondly.
+
+Billy dimpled and shook her head.
+
+"Smiles--my smiles--are not so valuable, I'm afraid--except to you,
+perhaps," she laughed.
+
+"Self-evident facts need no proving," retorted Bertram. "Well, and what
+else has happened in all these ages I've been away?"
+
+Billy brought her hands together with a sudden cry.
+
+"Oh, and I haven't told you!" she exclaimed. "I'm writing a new song--a
+love song. Mary Jane wrote the words. They're beautiful."
+
+Bertram stiffened.
+
+"Indeed! And is--Mary Jane a poet, with all the rest?" he asked, with
+affected lightness.
+
+"Oh, no, of course not," smiled Billy; "but these words _are_ pretty.
+And they just sang themselves into the dearest little melody right away.
+So I'm writing the music for them."
+
+"Lucky Mary Jane!" murmured Bertram, still with a lightness that he
+hoped would pass for indifference. (Bertram was ashamed of himself, but
+deep within him was a growing consciousness that he knew the meaning
+of the vague irritation that he always felt at the mere mention of
+Arkwright's name.) "And will the title-page say, 'Words by Mary Jane
+Arkwright'?" he finished.
+
+"That's what I asked him," laughed Billy.
+
+
+"I even suggested 'Methuselah John' for a change. Oh, but, dearie," she
+broke off with shy eagerness, "I just want you to hear a little of what
+I've done with it. You see, really, all the time, I suspect, I've been
+singing it--to you," she confessed with an endearing blush, as she
+sprang lightly to her feet and hurried to the piano.
+
+It was a bad ten minutes that Bertram Henshaw spent then. How he could
+love a song and hate it at the same time he did not understand; but he
+knew that he was doing exactly that. To hear Billy carol "Sweetheart, my
+sweetheart!" with that joyous tenderness was bliss unspeakable--until he
+remembered that Arkwright wrote the "Sweetheart, my sweetheart!" then it
+was--(Even in his thoughts Bertram bit the word off short. He was not a
+swearing man.) When he looked at Billy now at the piano, and thought of
+her singing--as she said she had sung--that song to him all through the
+last three days, his heart glowed. But when he looked at her and thought
+of Arkwright, who had made possible that singing, his heart froze with
+terror.
+
+From the very first it had been music that Bertram had feared. He could
+not forget that Billy herself had once told him that never would she
+love any man better than she loved her music; that she was not going
+to marry. All this had been at the first--the very first. He had boldly
+scorned the idea then, and had said:
+
+"So it's music--a cold, senseless thing of spidery marks on clean white
+paper--that is my only rival!"
+
+He had said, too, that he was going to win. And he had won--but
+not until after long weeks of fearing, hoping, striving, and
+despairing--this last when Kate's blundering had nearly made her
+William's wife. Then, on that memorable day in September, Billy had
+walked straight into his arms; and he knew that he had, indeed, won.
+That is, he had supposed that he knew--until Arkwright came.
+
+Very sharply now, as he listened to Billy's singing, Bertram told
+himself to be reasonable, to be sensible; that Billy did, indeed, love
+him. Was she not, according to her own dear assertion, singing that song
+to him? But it was Arkwright's song. He remembered that, too--and grew
+faint at the thought. True, he had won when his rival, music, had been
+a "cold, senseless thing of spidery marks" on paper; but would that
+winning stand when "music" had become a thing of flesh and blood--a man
+of undeniable charm, good looks, and winsomeness; a man whose thoughts,
+aims, and words were the personification of the thing Billy, in the long
+ago, had declared she loved best of all--music?
+
+Bertram shivered as with a sudden chill; then Billy rose from the piano.
+
+"There!" she breathed, her face shyly radiant with the glory of the
+song. "Did you--like it?"
+
+Bertram did his best; but, in his state of mind, the very radiance of
+her face was only an added torture, and his tongue stumbled over the
+words of praise and appreciation that he tried to say. He saw, then, the
+happy light in Billy's eyes change to troubled questioning and grieved
+disappointment; and he hated himself for a jealous brute. More earnestly
+than ever, now, he tried to force the ring of sincerity into his voice;
+but he knew that he had miserably failed when he heard her falter:
+
+"Of course, dear, I--I haven't got it nearly perfected yet. It'll be
+much better, later."
+
+"But it s{sic} fine, now, sweetheart--indeed it is," protested Bertram,
+hurriedly.
+
+"Well, of course I'm glad--if you like it," murmured Billy; but the glow
+did not come back to her face.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII. SUGARPLUMS
+
+
+Those short December days after Bertram's return from New York were busy
+ones for everybody. Miss Winthrop was not in town to give sittings for
+her portrait, it is true; but her absence only afforded Bertram time and
+opportunity to attend to other work that had been more or less delayed
+and neglected. He was often at Hillside, however, and the lovers managed
+to snatch many an hour of quiet happiness from the rush and confusion of
+the Christmas preparations.
+
+Bertram was assuring himself now that his jealous fears of Arkwright
+were groundless. Billy seldom mentioned the man, and, as the days
+passed, she spoke only once of his being at the house. The song, too,
+she said little of; and Bertram--though he was ashamed to own it to
+himself--breathed more freely.
+
+The real facts of the case were that Billy had told Arkwright that she
+should have no time to give attention to the song until after Christmas;
+and her manner had so plainly shown him that she considered himself
+synonymous with the song, that he had reluctantly taken the hint and
+kept away.
+
+"I'll make her care for me sometime--for something besides a song," he
+told himself with fierce consolation--but Billy did not know this.
+
+Aside from Bertram, Christmas filled all of Billy's thoughts these days.
+There were such a lot of things she wished to do.
+
+"But, after all, they're only sugarplums, you know, that I'm giving,
+dear," she declared to Bertram one day, when he had remonstrated with
+with her for so taxing her time and strength. "I can't really do much."
+
+"Much!" scoffed Bertram.
+
+"But it isn't much, honestly--compared to what there is to do," argued
+Billy. "You see, dear, it's just this," she went on, her bright face
+sobering a little. "There are such a lot of people in the world who
+aren't really poor. That is, they have bread, and probably meat, to eat,
+and enough clothes to keep them warm. But when you've said that, you've
+said it all. Books, music, fun, and frosting on their cake they know
+nothing about--except to long for them."
+
+"But there are the churches and the charities, and all those long-named
+Societies--I thought that was what they were for," declared Bertram,
+still a little aggrievedly, his worried eyes on Billy's tired face.
+
+"Oh, but the churches and charities don't frost cakes nor give
+sugarplums," smiled Billy. "And it's right that they shouldn't, too,"
+she added quickly. "They have more than they can do now with the roast
+beef and coal and flannel petticoats that are really necessary."
+
+"And so it's just frosting and sugarplums, is it--these books and
+magazines and concert tickets and lace collars for the crippled boy, the
+spinster lady, the little widow, and all the rest of those people who
+were here last summer?"
+
+Billy turned in confused surprise.
+
+"Why, Bertram, however in the world did you find out about all--that?"
+
+"I didn't. I just guessed it--and it seems 'the boy guessed right the
+very first time,'" laughed Bertram, teasingly, but with a tender light
+in his eyes. "Oh, and I suppose you'll be sending a frosted cake to the
+Lowestoft lady, too, eh?"
+
+Billy's chin rose to a defiant stubbornness.
+
+"I'm going to try to--if I can find out what kind of frosting she
+likes."
+
+"How about the Alice lady--or perhaps I should say, the Lady Alice?"
+smiled the man.
+
+Billy relaxed visibly.
+
+"Yes, I know," she sighed. "There is--the Lady Alice. But, anyhow, she
+can't call a Christmas present 'charity'--not if it's only a little bit
+of frosting!" Billy's chin came up again.
+
+"And you're going to, really, dare to send her something?"
+
+"Yes," avowed Billy. "I'm going down there one of these days, in the
+morning--"
+
+"You're going down there! Billy--not alone?"
+
+"Yes. Why not?"
+
+"But, dearie, you mustn't. It was a horrid place, Will says."
+
+"So it was horrid--to live in. It was everything that was cheap and mean
+and forlorn. But it was quiet and respectable. 'Tisn't as if I didn't
+know the way, Bertram; and I'm sure that where that poor crippled woman
+and daughter are safe, I shall be. Mrs. Greggory is a lady, Bertram,
+well-born and well-bred, I'm sure--and that's the pity of it, to have
+to live in a place like that! They have seen better days, I know. Those
+pitiful little worn crutches of hers were mahogany, I'm sure, Bertram,
+and they were silver mounted."
+
+Bertram made a restless movement.
+
+"I know, dear; but if you had some one with you! It wouldn't do for
+Will, of course, nor me--under the circumstances. But there's Aunt
+Hannah--" He paused hopefully.
+
+Billy chuckled.
+
+"Bless your dear heart! Aunt Hannah would call for a dozen shawls in
+that place--if she had breath enough to call for any after she got to
+the top of those four flights!"
+
+"Yes, I suppose so," rejoined Bertram, with an unwilling smile.
+"Still--well, you _can_ take Rosa," he concluded decisively.
+
+"How Miss Alice would like that--to catch me going 'slumming' with
+my maid!" cried Billy, righteous indignation in her voice. "Honestly,
+Bertram, I think even gentle Mrs. Greggory wouldn't stand for that."
+
+"Then leave Rosa outside in the hall," planned Bertram, promptly; and
+after a few more arguments, Billy finally agreed to this.
+
+It was with Rosa, therefore, that she set out the next morning for the
+little room up four flights on the narrow West End street.
+
+Leaving the maid on the top stair of the fourth flight, Billy tapped
+at Mrs. Greggory's door. To her joy Mrs. Greggory herself answered the
+knock.
+
+"Oh! Why--why, good morning," murmured the lady, in evident
+embarrassment. "Won't you--come m?"
+
+"Thank you. May I?--just a minute?" smiled Billy, brightly.
+
+As she entered the room, Billy threw a hasty look about her. There was
+no one but themselves present. With a sigh of satisfaction, therefore,
+the girl took the chair Mrs. Greggory offered, and began to speak.
+
+"I was down this way--that is, I came this way this morning," she began
+a little hastily; "and I wanted just to come up and tell you how sorry
+I was about--about that teapot the other day. We didn't want it, of
+course--if you didn't want us to have it."
+
+A swift change crossed Mrs. Greggory's perturbed face.
+
+"Oh, then you didn't come for it again--to-day," she said. "I'm so glad!
+I didn't want to refuse--_you_."
+
+"Indeed I didn't come for it--and we sha'n't again. Don't worry about
+that, please."
+
+Mrs. Greggory sighed.
+
+"I'm afraid you thought me very rude and--and impossible the other day,"
+she stammered. "And please let me take this opportunity right now to
+apologize for my daughter. She was overwrought and excited. She didn't
+know what she was saying or doing, I'm sure. She was ashamed, I think
+after you left."
+
+Billy raised a quick hand of protest.
+
+"Don't, please don't, Mrs. Greggory," she begged.
+
+"But it was our fault that you came. We _asked_ you to come--through Mr.
+Harlow," rejoined the other, hurriedly. "And Mr. Henshaw--was that his
+name?--was so kind in every way. I'm glad of this chance to tell you how
+much we really did appreciate it--and _your_ offer, too, which we could
+not, of course, accept," she finished, the bright color flooding her
+delicate face.
+
+Again Billy raised a protesting hand; but the little woman in the
+opposite chair hurried on. There was still more, evidently, that she
+wished to say.
+
+"I hope Mr. Henshaw did not feel too disappointed--about the Lowestoft.
+We didn't want to let it go if we could help it; and we hope now to keep
+it."
+
+"Of course," murmured Billy, sympathetically.
+
+"My daughter knew, you see, how much I have always thought of it, and
+she was determined that I should not give it up. She said I should
+have that much left, anyway. You see--my daughter is very unreconciled,
+still, to things as they are; and no wonder, perhaps. They are so
+different--from what they were!" Her voice broke a little.
+
+"Of course," said Billy again, and this time the words were tinged with
+impatient indignation. "If only there were something one could do to
+help!"
+
+"Thank you, my dear, but there isn't--indeed there isn't," rejoined
+the other, quickly; and Billy, looking into the proudly lifted face,
+realized suddenly that daughter Alice had perhaps inherited some traits
+from mother. "We shall get along very well, I am sure. My daughter
+has still another pupil. She will be home soon to tell you herself,
+perhaps."
+
+Billy rose with a haste so marked it was almost impolite, as she
+murmured:
+
+"Will she? I'm afraid, though, that I sha'n't see her, after all, for I
+must go. And may I leave these, please?" she added, hurriedly unpinning
+the bunch of white carnations from her coat. "It seems a pity to let
+them wilt, when you can put them in water right here." Her studiously
+casual voice gave no hint that those particular pinks had been bought
+less than half an hour before of a Park Street florist so that Mrs.
+Greggory _might_ put them in water--right there.
+
+"Oh, oh, how lovely!" breathed Mrs. Greggory, her face deep in the
+feathery bed of sweetness. Before she could half say "Thank you,"
+however? she found herself alone.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX. ALICE GREGGORY
+
+
+Christmas came and went; and in a flurry of snow and sleet January
+arrived. The holidays over, matters and things seemed to settle down to
+the winter routine.
+
+Miss Winthrop had prolonged her visit in Washington until after
+Christmas, but she had returned to Boston now--and with her she had
+brought a brand-new idea for her portrait; an idea that caused her to
+sweep aside with superb disdain all poses and costumes and sketches to
+date, and announce herself with disarming winsomeness as "all ready now
+to really begin!"
+
+Bertram Henshaw was vexed, but helpless. Decidedly he wished to paint
+Miss Marguerite Winthrop's portrait; but to attempt to paint it when all
+matters were not to the lady's liking were worse than useless, unless
+he wished to hang this portrait in the gallery of failures along with
+Anderson's and Fullam's--and that was not the goal he had set for it. As
+to the sordid money part of the affair--the great J. G. Winthrop himself
+had come to the artist, and in one terse sentence had doubled the
+original price and expressed himself as hopeful that Henshaw would put
+up with "the child's notions." It was the old financier's next sentence,
+however, that put the zest of real determination into Bertram, for
+because of it, the artist saw what this portrait was going to mean to
+the stern old man, and how dear was the original of it to a heart that
+was commonly reported "on the street" to be made of stone.
+
+Obviously, then, indeed, there was nothing for Bertram Henshaw to do
+but to begin the new portrait. And he began it--though still, it must be
+confessed, with inward questionings. Before a week had passed, however,
+every trace of irritation had fled, and he was once again the absorbed
+artist who sees the vision of his desire taking palpable shape at the
+end of his brush.
+
+"It's all right," he said to Billy then, one evening. "I'm glad she
+changed. It's going to be the best, the very best thing I've ever
+done--I think! by the sketches."
+
+"I'm so glad!" exclaimed Billy. "I'm so glad!" The repetition was
+so vehement that it sounded almost as if she were trying to convince
+herself as well as Bertram of something that was not true.
+
+But it was true--Billy told herself very indignantly that it was; indeed
+it was! Yet the very fact that she had to tell herself this, caused her
+to know how perilously near she was to being actually jealous of that
+portrait of Marguerite Winthrop. And it shamed her.
+
+Very sternly these days Billy reminded herself of what Kate had
+said about Bertram's belonging first to his Art. She thought with
+mortification, too, that it _did_ look as if she were not the proper
+wife for an artist if she were going to feel like this--always. Very
+resolutely, then, Billy turned to her music. This was all the more
+easily done, for, not only did she have her usual concerts and the opera
+to enjoy, but she had become interested in an operetta her club was
+about to give; also she had taken up the new song again. Christmas being
+over, Mr. Arkwright had been to the house several times. He had changed
+some of the words and she had improved the melody. The work on the
+accompaniment was progressing finely now, and Billy was so glad!--when
+she was absorbed in her music she forgot sometimes that she was ever so
+unfit an artist's sweetheart as to be--jealous of a portrait.
+
+It was quite early in the month that the usually expected "January thaw"
+came, and it was on a comparatively mild Friday at this time that a
+matter of business took Billy into the neighborhood of Symphony Hall at
+about eleven o'clock in the morning. Dismissing John and the car upon
+her arrival, she said that she would later walk to the home of a friend
+near by, where she would remain until it was time for the Symphony
+Concert.
+
+This friend was a girl whom Billy had known at school. She was studying
+now at the Conservatory of Music; and she had often urged Billy to come
+and have luncheon with her in her tiny apartment, which she shared with
+three other girls and a widowed aunt for housekeeper. On this particular
+Friday it had occurred to Billy that, owing to her business appointment
+at eleven and the Symphony Concert at half-past two, the intervening
+time would give her just the opportunity she had been seeking to
+enable her to accept her friend's invitation. A question asked, and
+enthusiastically answered in the affirmative, over the telephone that
+morning, therefore, had speedily completed arrangements, and she had
+agreed to be at her friend's door by twelve o'clock, or before.
+
+As it happened, business did not take quite so long as she had expected,
+and half-past eleven found her well on her way to Miss Henderson's home.
+
+In spite of the warm sunshine and the slushy snow in the streets, there
+was a cold, raw wind, and Billy was beginning to feel thankful that she
+had not far to go when she rounded a corner and came upon a long line of
+humanity that curved itself back and forth on the wide expanse of steps
+before Symphony Hall and then stretched itself far up the Avenue.
+
+"Why, what--" she began under her breath; then suddenly she understood.
+It was Friday. A world-famous pianist was to play with the Symphony
+Orchestra that afternoon. This must be the line of patient waiters for
+the twenty-five-cent balcony seats that Mr. Arkwright had told about.
+With sympathetic, interested eyes, then, Billy stepped one side to watch
+the line, for a moment.
+
+Almost at once two girls brushed by her, and one was saying:
+
+"What a shame!--and after all our struggles to get here! If only we
+hadn't lost that other train!"
+
+"We're too late--you no need to hurry!" the other wailed shrilly to a
+third girl who was hastening toward them. "The line is 'way beyond
+the Children's Hospital and around the corner now--and the ones there
+_never_ get in!"
+
+At the look of tragic disappointment that crossed the third girl's face,
+Billy's heart ached. Her first impulse, of course, was to pull her
+own symphony ticket from her muff and hurry forward with a "Here, take
+mine!" But that _would_ hardly do, she knew--though she would like to
+see Aunt Hannah's aghast face if this girl in the red sweater and white
+tam-o'-shanter should suddenly emerge from among the sumptuous satins
+and furs and plumes that afternoon and claim the adjacent orchestra
+chair. But it was out of the question, of course. There was only one
+seat, and there were three girls, besides all those others. With a sigh,
+then, Billy turned her eyes back to those others--those many others that
+made up the long line stretching its weary length up the Avenue.
+
+There were more women than men, yet the men were there: jolly young men
+who were plainly students; older men whose refined faces and threadbare
+overcoats hinted at cultured minds and starved bodies; other men who
+showed no hollows in their cheeks nor near-holes in their garments. It
+seemed to Billy that women of almost all sorts were there, young, old,
+and middle-aged; students in tailored suits, widows in crape and veil;
+girls that were members of a merry party, women that were plainly
+forlorn and alone.
+
+Some in the line shuffled restlessly; some stood rigidly quiet. One had
+brought a camp stool; many were seated on the steps. Beyond, where the
+line passed an open lot, a wooden fence afforded a convenient prop. One
+read a book, another a paper. Three were studying what was probably
+the score of the symphony or of the concerto they expected to hear that
+afternoon.
+
+A few did not appear to mind the biting wind, but most of them, by
+turned-up coat-collars or bent heads, testified to the contrary. Not
+far from Billy a woman nibbled a sandwich furtively, while beyond her a
+group of girls were hilariously merry over four triangles of pie which
+they held up where all might see.
+
+Many of the faces were youthful, happy, and alert with anticipation;
+but others carried a wistfulness and a weariness that made Billy's heart
+ache. Her eyes, indeed, filled with quick tears. Later she turned to go,
+and it was then that she saw in the line a face that she knew--a face
+that drooped with such a white misery of spent strength that she hurried
+straight toward it with a low cry.
+
+"Miss Greggory!" she exclaimed, when she reached the girl. "You look
+actually ill. Are you ill?"
+
+For a brief second only dazed questioning stared from the girl's
+blue-gray eyes. Billy knew when the recognition came, for she saw the
+painful color stain the white face red.
+
+"Thank you, no. I am not ill, Miss Neilson," said the girl, coldly.
+
+"But you look so tired out!"
+
+"I have been standing here some time; that is all."
+
+Billy threw a hurried glance down the far-reaching line that she
+knew had formed since the girl's two tired feet had taken their first
+position.
+
+"But you must have come--so early! It isn't twelve o'clock yet," she
+faltered.
+
+A slight smile curved Alice Greggory's lips.
+
+"Yes, it was early," she rejoined a little bitterly; "but it had to be,
+you know. I wanted to hear the music; and with this soloist, and this
+weather, I knew that many others--would want to hear the music, too."
+
+"But you look so white! How much longer--when will they let you in?"
+demanded Billy, raising indignant eyes to the huge, gray-pillared
+building before her, much as if she would pull down the walls if she
+could, and make way for this tired girl at her side.
+
+Miss Greggory's thin shoulders rose and fell in an expressive shrug.
+
+"Half-past one."
+
+Billy gave a dismayed cry.
+
+"Half-past one--almost two hours more! But, Miss Greggory, you
+can't--how can you stand it till then? You've shivered three times since
+I came, and you look as if you were going to faint away."
+
+Miss Greggory shook her head.
+
+"It is nothing, really," she insisted. "I am quite well. It is only--I
+didn't happen to feel like eating much breakfast this morning; and that,
+with no luncheon--" She let a gesture finish her sentence.
+
+"No luncheon! Why--oh, you couldn't leave your place, of course,"
+frowned Billy.
+
+"No, and"--Alice Greggory lifted her head a little proudly--"I do not
+care to eat--here." Her scornful eyes were on one of the pieces of pie
+down the line--no longer a triangle.
+
+"Of course not," agreed Billy, promptly. She paused, frowned, and
+bit her lip. Suddenly her face cleared. "There! the very thing," she
+exulted. "You shall have my ticket this afternoon, Miss Greggory, then
+you won't have to stay here another minute. Meanwhile, there is an
+excellent restaurant--"
+
+"Thank you--no. I couldn't do that," cut in the other, sharply, but in a
+low voice.
+
+"But you'll take my ticket," begged Billy.
+
+Miss Greggory shook her head.
+
+"Certainly not."
+
+"But I want you to, please. I shall be very unhappy if you don't,"
+grieved Billy.
+
+The other made a peremptory gesture.
+
+"_I_ should be very unhappy if I did," she said with cold emphasis.
+"Really, Miss Neilson," she went on in a low voice, throwing an
+apprehensive glance at the man ahead, who was apparently absorbed in his
+newspaper, "I'm afraid I shall have to ask you to let me go on in my own
+way. You are very kind, but there is nothing you can do; nothing. You
+were very kind, too, of course, to send the book and the flowers to
+mother at Christmas; but--"
+
+"Never mind that, please," interrupted Billy, hurriedly. Billy's head
+was lifted now. Her eyes were no longer pleading. Her round little chin
+looked square and determined. "If you simply will not take my ticket
+this afternoon, you _must_ do this. Go to some restaurant near here and
+get a good luncheon--something that will sustain you. I will take your
+place here."
+
+"_Miss Neilson!_"
+
+Billy smiled radiantly. It was the first time she had ever seen
+Alice Greggory's haughtily cold reserve break into anything like
+naturalness--the astonished incredulity of that "Miss Neilson!" was
+plainly straight from the heart; so, too, were the amazed words that
+followed.
+
+"_You_--will stand _here?_"
+
+"Certainly; I will keep your place. Don't worry. You sha'n't lose it."
+Billy spoke with a smiling indifference that was meant to convey the
+impression that standing in line for a twenty-five-cent seat was a
+daily habit of hers. "There's a restaurant only a little way--right down
+there," she finished. And before the dazed Alice Greggory knew quite
+what was happening she found herself outside the line, and the other in
+her place.
+
+"But, Miss Neilson, I can't--you mustn't--" she stammered; then, because
+of something in the unyieldingness of the square young chin above the
+sealskin coat, and because she could not (she knew) use actual force
+to drag the owner of that chin out of the line, she bowed her head in
+acquiescence.
+
+"Well, then--I will, long enough for some coffee and maybe a sandwich.
+And--thank you," she choked, as she turned and hurried away.
+
+Billy drew the deep breath of one who has triumphed after long
+struggles--but the breath broke off short in a gasp of dismay: coming
+straight up the Avenue toward her was the one person in the world Billy
+wished least to see at that moment--Bertram Henshaw. Billy remembered
+then that she had twice lately heard her lover speak of calling at the
+Boston Opera House concerning a commission to paint an ideal head to
+represent "Music" for some decorative purpose. The Opera House was only
+a short distance up the Avenue. Doubtless he was on his way there now.
+
+He was very near by this time, and Billy held her breath suspended.
+There was a chance, of course, that he might not notice her; and Billy
+was counting on that chance--until a gust of wind whirled a loose
+half-sheet of newspaper from the hands of the man in front of her, and
+naturally attracted Bertram's eyes to its vicinity--and to hers. The
+next moment he was at her side and his dumfounded but softly-breathed
+"_Billy!_" was in her ears.
+
+Billy bubbled into low laughter--there were such a lot of funny
+situations in the world, and of them all this one was about the
+drollest, she thought.
+
+"Yes, I know," she gurgled. "You don't have to say it-your face is
+saying even more than your tongue _could!_ This is just for a girl I
+know. I'm keeping her place."
+
+Bertram frowned. He looked as if he were meditating picking Billy up and
+walking off with her.
+
+"But, Billy," he protested just above his breath, "this isn't sugarplums
+nor frosting; it's plain suicide--standing out in this wind like
+this! Besides--" He stopped with an angrily despairing glance at her
+surroundings.
+
+"Yes, I know," she nodded, a little soberly, understanding the look and
+answering that first; "it isn't pleasant nor comfortable, in lots of
+ways--but _she's_ had it all the morning. As for the cold--I'm as warm
+as toast. It won't be long, anyway; she's just gone to get something to
+eat. Then I'm going to May Henderson's for luncheon."
+
+Bertram sighed impatiently and opened his lips--only to close them with
+the words unsaid. There was nothing he could do, and he had already said
+too much, he thought, with a savage glance at the man ahead who still
+had enough of his paper left to serve for a pretence at reading. As
+Bertram could see, however, the man was not reading a word--he was too
+acutely conscious of the handsome young woman in the long sealskin
+coat behind him. Billy was already the cynosure of dozens of eyes, and
+Bertram knew that his own arrival on the scene had not lessened the
+interest of the owners of those eyes. He only hoped devoutly that no
+one in the line knew him ar Billy, and that no one quite knew what had
+happened. He did not wish to see himself and his fiancee the subject
+of inch-high headlines in some evening paper figuring as:
+
+"Talented young composer and her famous artist lover take poor girl's
+place in a twenty-five-cent ticket line."
+
+He shivered at the thought.
+
+"Are you cold?" worried Billy. "If you are, don't stand here, please!"
+
+He shook his head silently. His eyes were searching the street for the
+only one whose coming could bring him relief.
+
+It must have been but a coffee-and-sandwich luncheon for the girl, for
+soon she came. The man surmised that it was she, as soon as he saw her,
+and stepped back at once. He had no wish for introductions. A moment
+later the girl was in Billy's place, and Billy herself was at his side.
+
+"That was Alice Greggory, Bertram," she told him, as they walked on
+swiftly; "and Bertram, she was actually almost _crying_ when she took my
+place."
+
+"Humph! Well, I should think she'd better be," growled Bertram,
+perversely.
+
+"Pooh! It didn't hurt me any, dearie," laughed Billy with a conciliatory
+pat on his arm as they turned down the street upon which her friend
+lived. "And now can you come in and see May a minute?"
+
+"I'm afraid not," regretted Bertram. "I wish I could, but I'm busier
+than busy to-day--and I was _supposed_ to be already late when I saw
+you. Jove, Billy, I just couldn't believe my eyes!"
+
+"You looked it," twinkled Billy. "It was worth a farm just to see your
+face!"
+
+"I'd want the farm--if I was going through that again," retorted the
+man, grimly--Bertram was still seeing that newspaper heading.
+
+But Billy only laughed again.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX. ARKWRIGHT TELLS A STORY
+
+
+Arkwright called Monday afternoon by appointment; and together he and
+Billy put the finishing touches to the new song.
+
+It was when, with Aunt Hannah, they were having tea before the fire
+a little later, that Billy told of her adventure the preceding Friday
+afternoon in front of Symphony Hall.
+
+"You knew the girl, of course--I think you said you knew the girl,"
+ventured Arkwright.
+
+"Oh, yes. She was Alice Greggory. I met her with Uncle William first,
+over a Lowestoft teapot. Maybe you'd like to know _how_ I met her,"
+smiled Billy.
+
+"Alice Greggory?" Arkwright's eyes showed a sudden interest. "I used to
+know an Alice Greggory, but it isn't the same one, probably. Her mother
+was a cripple."
+
+Billy gave a little cry.
+
+"Why, it is--it must be! _My_ Alice Greggory's mother is a cripple. Oh,
+do you know them, really?"
+
+"Well, it does look like it," rejoined Arkwright, showing even deeper
+interest. "I haven't seen them for four or five years. They used to live
+in our town. The mother was a little sweet-faced woman with young eyes
+and prematurely white hair."
+
+"That describes my Mrs. Greggory exactly," cried Billy's eager voice.
+"And the daughter?"
+
+"Alice? Why--as I said, it's been four years since I've seen her." A
+touch of constraint had come into Arkwright's voice which Billy's keen
+ear was quick to detect. "She was nineteen then and very pretty."
+
+"About my height, and with light-brown hair and big blue-gray eyes that
+look steely cold when she's angry?" questioned Billy.
+
+"I reckon that's about it," acknowledged the man, with a faint smile.
+
+"Then they _are_ the ones," declared the girl, plainly excited. "Isn't
+that splendid? Now we can know them, and perhaps do something for
+them. I love that dear little mother already, and I think I should the
+daughter--if she didn't put out so many prickers that I couldn't get
+near her! But tell us about them. How did they come here? Why didn't you
+know they were here?"
+
+"Are you good at answering a dozen questions at once?" asked Aunt
+Hannah, turning smiling eyes from Billy to the man at her side.
+
+"Well, I can try," he offered. "To begin with, they are Judge Greggory's
+widow and daughter. They belong to fine families on both sides, and they
+used to be well off--really wealthy, for a small town. But the judge was
+better at money-making than he was at money-keeping, and when he came to
+die his income stopped, of course, and his estate was found to be in bad
+shape through reckless loans and worthless investments. That was eight
+years ago. Things went from bad to worse then, until there was almost
+nothing left."
+
+"I knew there was some such story as that back of them," declared Billy.
+"But how do you suppose they came here?"
+
+"To get away from--everybody, I suspect," replied Arkwright. "That would
+be like them. They were very proud; and it isn't easy, you know, to be
+nobody where you've been somebody. It doesn't hurt quite so hard--to be
+nobody where you've never been anything but nobody."
+
+"I suppose so," sighed Billy. "Still--they must have had friends."
+
+"They did, of course; but when the love of one's friends becomes _too_
+highly seasoned with pity, it doesn't make a pleasant morsel to swallow,
+specially if you don't like the taste of the pity--and there are people
+who don't, you know. The Greggorys were that kind. They were morbidly
+so. From their cheap little cottage, where they did their own work, they
+stepped out in their shabby garments and old-fashioned hats with heads
+even more proudly erect than in the old days when their home and their
+gowns and their doings were the admiration and envy of the town. You
+see, they didn't want--that pity."
+
+"I _do_ see," cried Billy, her face aglow with sudden understanding;
+"and I don't believe pity would be--nice!" Her own chin was held high as
+she spoke.
+
+"It must have been hard, indeed," murmured Aunt Hannah with a sigh, as
+she set down her teacup.
+
+"It was," nodded Arkwright. "Of course Mrs. Greggory, with her crippled
+foot, could do nothing to bring in any money except to sew a little. It
+all depended on Alice; and when matters got to their worst she began
+to teach. She was fond of music, and could play the piano well; and of
+course she had had the best instruction she could get from city teachers
+only twenty miles away from our home town. Young as she was--about
+seventeen when she began to teach, I think--she got a few beginners
+right away, and in two years she had worked up quite a class, meanwhile
+keeping on with her own studies, herself.
+
+"They might have carried the thing through, maybe," continued Arkwright,
+"and never _apparently_ known that the 'pity' existed, if it hadn't been
+for some ugly rumors that suddenly arose attacking the Judge's honesty
+in an old matter that somebody raked up. That was too much. Under this
+last straw their courage broke utterly. Alice dismissed every pupil,
+sold almost all their remaining goods--they had lots of quite valuable
+heirlooms; I suspect that's where your Lowestoft teapot came in--and
+with the money thus gained they left town. Until they could go, they
+scarcely showed themselves once on the street, they were never at home
+to callers, and they left without telling one soul where they were
+going, so far as we could ever learn."
+
+"Why, the poor dears!" cried Billy. "How they must have suffered! But
+things will be different now. You'll go to see them, of course, and--"
+At the look that came into Arkwright's face, she stopped in surprise.
+
+"You forget; they wouldn't wish to see me," demurred the man. And again
+Billy noticed the odd constraint in his voice.
+
+"But they wouldn't mind _you--here_," argued Billy.
+
+"I'm afraid they would. In fact, I'm sure they'd refuse entirely to see
+me."
+
+Billy's eyes grew determined.
+
+"But they can't refuse--if I bring about a meeting just casually, you
+know," she challenged.
+
+Arkwright laughed.
+
+"Well, I won't pretend to say as to the consequences of that," he
+rejoined, rising to his feet; "but they might be disastrous. Wasn't it
+you yourself who were telling me a few minutes ago how steely cold Miss
+Alice's eyes got when she was angry?"
+
+Billy knew by the way the man spoke that, for some reason, he did not
+wish to prolong the subject of his meeting the Greggorys. She made a
+quick shift, therefore, to another phase of the matter.
+
+"But tell me, please, before you go, how did those rumors come
+out--about Judge Greggory's honesty, I mean?"
+
+"Why, I never knew, exactly," frowned Arkwright, musingly. "Yet it
+seems, too, that mother did say in one letter, while I was in Paris,
+that some of the accusations had been found to be false, and that there
+was a prospect that the Judge's good name might be saved, after all."
+
+"Oh, I wish it might," sighed Billy. "Think what it would mean to those
+women!"
+
+"'Twould mean everything," cried Arkwright, warmly; "and I'll write
+to mother to-night, I will, and find out just what there is to it-if
+anything. Then you can tell them," he finished a little stiffly.
+
+"Yes--or you," nodded Billy, lightly. And because she began at once to
+speak of something else, the first part of her sentence passed without
+comment.
+
+The door had scarcely closed behind Arkwright when Billy turned to Aunt
+Hannah a beaming face.
+
+"Aunt Hannah, did you notice?" she cried, "how Mary Jane looked and
+acted whenever Alice Greggory was spoken of? There was something between
+them--I'm sure there was; and they quarrelled, probably."
+
+"Why, no, dear; I didn't see anything unusual," murmured the elder lady.
+
+"Well, I did. And I'm going to be the fairy godmother that straightens
+everything all out, too. See if I'm not! They'd make a splendid couple,
+Aunt Hannah. I'm going right down there to-morrow."
+
+"Billy, my dear!" exclaimed the more conservative old lady, "aren't
+you taking things a little too much for granted? Maybe they don't wish
+for--for a fairy godmother!"
+
+"Oh, _they_ won't know I'm a fairy godmother--not one of them; and of
+course I wouldn't mention even a hint to anybody," laughed Billy. "I'm
+just going down to get acquainted with the Greggorys; that's all. Only
+think, Aunt Hannah, what they must have suffered! And look at the place
+they're living in now--gentlewomen like them!"
+
+"Yes, yes, poor things, poor things!" sighed Aunt Hannah.
+
+"I hope I'll find out that she's really good--at teaching, I mean--the
+daughter," resumed Billy, after a moment's pause. "If she is, there's
+one thing I can do to help, anyhow. I can get some of Marie's old pupils
+for her. I _know_ some of them haven't begun with a new teacher, yet;
+and Mrs. Carleton told me last Friday that neither she nor her sister
+was at all satisfied with the one their girls _have_ taken. They'd
+change, I know, in a minute, at my recommendation--that is, of course,
+if I can _give_ the recommendation," continued Billy, with a troubled
+frown. "Anyhow, I'm going down to begin operations to-morrow."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI. A MATTER OF STRAIGHT BUSINESS
+
+
+True to her assertion, Billy went down to the Greggorys' the next day.
+This time she did not take Rosa with her. Even Aunt Hannah conceded that
+it would not be necessary. She had not been gone ten minutes, however,
+when the telephone bell rang, and Rosa came to say that Mr. Bertram
+Henshaw wanted to speak with Mrs. Stetson.
+
+"Rosa says that Billy's not there," called Bertram's aggrieved voice,
+when Aunt Hannah had said, "Good morning, my boy."
+
+"Dear me, no, Bertram. She's in a fever of excitement this morning.
+She'll probably tell you all about it when you come out here to-night.
+You _are_ coming out to-night, aren't you?"
+
+"Yes; oh, yes! But what is it? Where's she gone?"
+
+Aunt Hannah laughed softly.
+
+"Well, she's gone down to the Greggorys'."
+
+"The Greggorys'! What--again?"
+
+"Oh, you might as well get used to it, Bertram," bantered Aunt Hannah,
+"for there'll be a good many 'agains,' I fancy."
+
+"Why, Aunt Hannah, what do you mean?" Bertram's voice was not quite
+pleased.
+
+"Oh, she'll tell you. It's only that the Greggorys have turned out to be
+old friends of Mr. Arkwright's."
+
+"_Friends_ of Arkwright's!" Bertram's voice was decidedly displeased
+now.
+
+"Yes; and there's quite a story to it all, as well. Billy is wildly
+excited, as you'd know she would be. You'll hear all about it to-night,
+of course."
+
+"Yes, of course," echoed Bertram. But there was no ring of enthusiasm in
+his voice, neither then, nor when he said good-by a moment later.
+
+Billy, meanwhile, on her way to the Greggory home, was, as Aunt Hannah
+had said, "wildly excited." It seemed so strange and wonderful and
+delightful--the whole affair: that she should have found them because
+of a Lowestoft teapot, that Arkwright should know them, and that there
+should be the chance now that she might help them--in some way; though
+this last, she knew, could be accomplished only through the exercise of
+the greatest tact and delicacy. She had not forgotten that Arkwright had
+told her of their hatred of pity.
+
+In the sober second thought of the morning, Billy was not sure now of a
+possible romance in connection with Arkwright and the daughter, Alice;
+but she had by no means abandoned the idea, and she meant to keep
+her eyes open--and if there should be a chance to bring such a thing
+about--! Meanwhile, of course, she should not mention the matter, even
+to Bertram.
+
+Just what would be her method of procedure this first morning, Billy had
+not determined. The pretty potted azalea in her hand would be excuse for
+her entrance into the room. After that, circumstances must decide for
+themselves.
+
+Mrs. Greggory was found to be alone at home as before, and Billy was
+glad. She would rather begin with one than two, she thought. The little
+woman greeted her cordially, gave misty-eyed thanks for the beautiful
+plant, and also for Billy's kind thoughtfulness Friday afternoon. From
+that she was very skilfully led to talk more of the daughter; and
+soon Billy was getting just the information she wanted--information
+concerning the character, aims, and daily life of Alice Greggory.
+
+"You see, we have some money--a very little," explained Mrs.
+Greggory, after a time; "though to get it we have had to sell all our
+treasures--but the Lowestoft," with a quick glance into Billy's
+eyes. "We need not, perhaps, live in quite so poor a place; but we
+prefer--just now--to spend the little money we have for something
+other than imitation comfort--lessons, for instance, and an occasional
+concert. My daughter is studying even while she is teaching. She hopes
+to train herself for an accompanist, and for a teacher. She does not
+aspire to concert solo work. She understands her limitations."
+
+"But she is probably--very good--at teaching." Billy hesitated a little.
+
+"She is; very good. She has the best of recommendations." A little
+proudly Mrs. Greggory gave the names of two Boston pianists--names that
+would carry weight anywhere.
+
+Unconsciously Billy relaxed. She did not know until that moment how
+she had worried for fear she could not, conscientiously, recommend this
+Alice Greggory.
+
+"Of course," resumed the mother, "Alice's pupils are few, and they pay
+low prices; but she is gaining. She goes to the houses, of course. She
+herself practises two hours a day at a house up on Pinckney Street. She
+gives lessons to a little girl in return."
+
+"I see," nodded Billy, brightly; "and I've been thinking, Mrs.
+Greggory--maybe I know of some pupils she could get. I have a friend who
+has just given hers up, owing to her marriage. Sometime, soon, I'm going
+to talk to your daughter, if I may, and--"
+
+"And here she is right now," interposed Mrs. Greggory, as the door
+opened under a hurried hand.
+
+Billy flushed and bit her lip. She was disturbed and disappointed. She
+did not particularly wish to see Alice Greggory just then. She wished
+even less to see her when she noted the swift change that came to the
+girl's face at sight of herself.
+
+"Oh! Why-good morning, Miss Neilson," murmured Miss Greggory with a
+smile so forced that her mother hurriedly looked to the azalea in search
+of a possible peacemaker.
+
+"My dear, see," she stammered, "what Miss Neilson has brought me. And
+it's so full of blossoms, too! And she says it'll remain so for a long,
+long time--if we'll only keep it wet."
+
+Alice Greggory murmured a low something--a something that she tried,
+evidently, very hard to make politely appropriate and appreciative. Yet
+her manner, as she took off her hat and coat and sat down, so plainly
+said: "You are very kind, of course, but I wish you would keep yourself
+and your plants at home!" that Mrs. Greggory began a hurried apology,
+much as if the words had indeed been spoken.
+
+"My daughter is really ill this morning. You mustn't mind--that is, I'm
+afraid you'll think--you see, she took cold last week; a bad cold--and
+she isn't over it, yet," finished the little woman in painful
+embarrassment.
+
+"Of course she took cold--standing all those hours in that horrid wind,
+Friday!" cried Billy, indignantly.
+
+A quick red flew to Alice Greggory's face. Billy saw it at once and
+fervently wished she had spoken of anything but that Friday afternoon.
+It looked almost as if she were _reminding_ them of what she had
+done that day. In her confusion, and in her anxiety to say
+something--anything that would get their minds off that idea--she
+uttered now the first words that came into her head. As it happened,
+they were the last words that sober second thought would have told her
+to say.
+
+"Never mind, Mrs. Greggory. We'll have her all well and strong soon;
+never fear! Just wait till I send Peggy and Mary Jane to take her out
+for a drive one of these mild, sunny days. You have no idea how much
+good it will do her!"
+
+Alice Greggory got suddenly to her feet. Her face was very white now.
+Her eyes had the steely coldness that Billy knew so well. Her voice,
+when she spoke, was low and sternly controlled.
+
+"Miss Neilson, you will think me rude, of course, especially after your
+great kindness to me the other day; but I can't help it. It seems to me
+best to speak now before it goes any further."
+
+"Alice, dear," remonstrated Mrs. Greggory, extending a frightened hand.
+
+The girl did not turn her head nor hesitate; but she caught the extended
+hand and held it warmly in both her own, with gentle little pats, while
+she went on speaking.
+
+"I'm sure mother agrees with me that it is best, for the present, that
+we keep quite to ourselves. I cannot question your kindness, of course,
+after your somewhat unusual favor the other day; but I am very sure that
+your friends, Miss Peggy, and Miss Mary Jane, have no real desire
+to make my acquaintance, nor--if you'll pardon me--have I, under the
+circumstances, any wish to make theirs."
+
+"Oh, Alice, Alice," began the little mother, in dismay; but a rippling
+laugh from their visitor brought an angry flush even to her gentle face.
+
+Billy understood the flush, and struggled for self-control.
+
+"Please--please, forgive me!" she choked. "But you see--you couldn't, of
+course, know that Mary Jane and Peggy aren't _girls_. They're just a man
+and an automobile!"
+
+An unwilling smile trembled on Alice Greggory's lips; but she still
+stood her ground.
+
+"After all, girls, or men and automobiles, Miss Neilson--it makes little
+difference. They're--charity. And it's not so long that we've been
+objects of charity that we quite really enjoy it--yet."
+
+There was a moment's hush. Billy's eyes had filled with tears.
+
+"I never even _thought_--charity," said Billy, so gently that a faint
+red stole into the white cheeks opposite.
+
+For a tense minute Alice Greggory held herself erect; then, with a
+complete change of manner and voice, she released her mother's hand,
+dropped into her own chair again, and said wearily:
+
+"I know you didn't, Miss Neilson. It's all my foolish pride, of course.
+It's only that I was thinking how dearly I would love to meet girls
+again--just as _girls!_ But--I no longer have any business with pride,
+of course. I shall be pleased, I'm sure," she went on dully, "to accept
+anything you may do for us, from automobile rides to--to red flannel
+petticoats."
+
+Billy almost--but not quite--laughed. Still, the laugh would have been
+near to a sob, had it been given. Surprising as was the quick transition
+in the girl's manner, and absurd as was the juxtaposition of automobiles
+and red flannel petticoats, the white misery of Alice Greggory's face
+and the weary despair of her attitude were tragic--specially to one who
+knew her story as did Billy Neilson. And it was because Billy did
+know her story that she did not make the mistake now of offering pity.
+Instead, she said with a bright smile, and a casual manner that gave no
+hint of studied labor:
+
+"Well, as it happens, Miss Greggory, what I want to-day has nothing
+whatever to do with automobiles or red flannel petticoats. It's a
+matter of straight business." (How Billy blessed the thought that had
+so suddenly come to her!) "Your mother tells me you play accompaniments.
+Now a girls' club, of which I am a member, is getting up an operetta for
+charity, and we need an accompanist. There is no one in the club who
+is able, and at the same time willing, to spend the amount of time
+necessary for practice and rehearsals. So we had decided to hire one
+outside, and I have been given the task of finding one. It has occurred
+to me that perhaps you would be willing to undertake it for us. Would
+you?"
+
+Billy knew, at once, from the quick change in the other's face and
+manner, that she had taken exactly the right course to relieve the
+strain of the situation. Despair and lassitude fell away from Alice
+Greggory almost like a garment. Her countenance became alert and
+interested.
+
+"Indeed I would! I should be glad to do it."
+
+"Good! Then can you come out to my home sometime to-morrow, and go over
+the music with me? Rehearsals will not begin until next week; but I can
+give you the music, and tell you something of what we are planning to
+do."
+
+"Yes. I could come at ten in the morning for an hour, or at three in
+the afternoon for two hours or more," replied Miss Greggory, after a
+moment's hesitation.
+
+"Suppose we call it in the afternoon, then," smiled Billy, as she rose
+to her feet. "And now I must go--and here's my address," she finished,
+taking out her card and laying it on the table near her.
+
+For reasons of her own Billy went away that morning without saying
+anything more about the proposed new pupils. New pupils were not
+automobile rides nor petticoats, to be sure--but she did not care to
+risk disturbing the present interested happiness of Alice Greggory's
+face by mentioning anything that might be construed as too officious an
+assistance.
+
+On the whole, Billy felt well pleased with her morning's work. To Aunt
+Hannah, upon her return, she expressed herself thus:
+
+"It's splendid--even better than I hoped. I shall have a chance
+to-morrow, of course, to see for myself just how well she plays, and all
+that. I'm pretty sure, though, from what I hear, that that part will be
+all right. Then the operetta will give us a chance to see a good deal of
+her, and to bring about a natural meeting between her and Mary Jane. Oh,
+Aunt Hannah, I couldn't have _planned_ it better--and there the whole
+thing just tumbled into my hands! I knew it had the minute I remembered
+about the operetta. You know I'm chairman, and they left me to get the
+accompanist; and like a flash it came to me, when I was wondering _what_
+to say or do to get her out of that awful state she was in--'Ask her to
+be your accompanist.' And I did. And I'm so glad I did! Oh, Aunt Hannah,
+it's coming out lovely!--I know it is."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII. PLANS AND PLOTTINGS
+
+
+To Billy, Alice Greggory's first visit to Hillside was in every way a
+delight and a satisfaction. To Alice, it was even more than that.
+For the first time in years she found herself welcomed into a home of
+wealth, culture, and refinement as an equal; and the frank cordiality
+and naturalness of her hostess's evident expectation of meeting a
+congenial companion was like balm to a sensitive soul rendered morbid by
+long years of superciliousness and snubbing.
+
+No wonder that under the cheery friendliness of it all, Alice Greggory's
+cold reserve vanished, and that in its place came something very like
+her old ease and charm of manner. By the time Aunt Hannah--according to
+previous agreement--came into the room, the two girls were laughing and
+chatting over the operetta as if they had known each other for years.
+
+Much to Billy's delight, Alice Greggory, as a musician, proved to be
+eminently satisfactory. She was quick at sight reading, and accurate.
+She played easily, and with good expression. Particularly was she a
+good accompanist, possessing to a marked degree that happy faculty of
+_accompanying_ a singer: which means that she neither led the way nor
+lagged behind, being always exactly in sympathetic step--than which
+nothing is more soul-satisfying to the singer.
+
+It was after the music for the operetta had been well-practised and
+discussed that Alice Greggory chanced to see one of Billy's own songs
+lying near her. With a pleased smile she picked it up.
+
+"Oh, you know this, too!" she cried. "I played it for a lady only the
+other day. It's so pretty, I think--all of hers are, that I have seen.
+Billy Neilson is a girl, you know, they say, in spite of--" She stopped
+abruptly. Her eyes grew wide and questioning. "Miss Neilson--it can't
+be--you don't mean--is your name--it _is--you!_" she finished joyously,
+as the telltale color dyed Billy's face. The next moment her own cheeks
+burned scarlet. "And to think of my letting _you_ stand in line for a
+twenty-five-cent admission!" she scorned.
+
+"Nonsense!" laughed Billy. "It didn't hurt me any more than it did
+you. Come!"--in looking about for a quick something to take her guest's
+attention, Billy's eyes fell on the manuscript copy of her new song,
+bearing Arkwright's name. Yielding to a daring impulse, she drew it
+hastily forward. "Here's a new one--a brand-new one, not even printed
+yet. Don't you think the words are pretty?" she asked.
+
+As she had hoped, Alice Greggory's eyes, after they had glanced half-way
+through the first page, sought the name at the left side below the
+title.
+
+"'Words by M. J.--'"--there was a visible start, and a pause before the
+"'Arkwright'" was uttered in a slightly different tone.
+
+Billy noted both the start and the pause--and gloried in them.
+
+"Yes; the words are by M. J. Arkwright," she said with smooth unconcern,
+but with a covert glance at the other's face. "Ever hear of him?"
+
+Alice Greggory gave a short little laugh.
+
+"Probably not--this one. I used to know an M. J. Arkwright, long ago;
+but he wasn't--a poet, so far as I know," she finished, with a little
+catch in her breath that made Billy long to take her into a warm
+embrace.
+
+Alice Greggory turned then to the music. She had much to say of
+this--very much; but she had nothing more whatever to say of Mr. M. J.
+Arkwright in spite of the tempting conversation bait that Billy dropped
+so freely. After that, Rosa brought in tea and toast, and the little
+frosted cakes that were always such a favorite with Billy's guests. Then
+Alice Greggory said good-by--her eyes full of tears that Billy pretended
+not to see.
+
+"There!" breathed Billy, as soon as she had Aunt Hannah to herself
+again. "What did I tell you? Did you see Miss Greggory's start and blush
+and hear her sigh just over the _name_ of M. J. Arkwright? Just as if--!
+Now I want them to meet; only it must be casual, Aunt Hannah--casual!
+And I'd rather wait till Mary Jane hears from his mother, if possible,
+so if there _is_ anything good to tell the poor girl, he can tell it."
+
+"Yes, of course. Dear child!--I hope he can," murmured Aunt Hannah.
+(Aunt Hannah had ceased now trying to make Billy refrain from the
+reprehensible "Mary Jane." In fact, if the truth were known, Aunt Hannah
+herself in her thoughts--and sometimes in her words--called him "Mary
+Jane.") "But, indeed, my dear, I didn't see anything stiff, or--or
+repelling about Miss Greggory, as you said there was."
+
+"There wasn't--to-day," smiled Billy. "Honestly, Aunt Hannah, I should
+never have known her for the same girl--who showed me the door that
+first morning," she finished merrily, as she turned to go up-stairs.
+
+It was the next day that Cyril and Marie came home from their honeymoon.
+They went directly to their pretty little apartment on Beacon Street,
+Brookline, within easy walking distance of Billy's own cozy home.
+
+Cyril intended to build in a year or two. Meanwhile they had a very
+pretty, convenient home which was, according to Bertram, "electrified
+to within an inch of its life, and equipped with everything that
+was fireless, smokeless, dustless, and laborless." In it Marie had a
+spotlessly white kitchen where she might make puddings to her heart's
+content.
+
+Marie had--again according to Bertram--"a visiting acquaintance with a
+maid." In other words, a stout woman was engaged to come two days in the
+week to wash, iron, and scrub; also to come in each night to wash the
+dinner dishes, thus leaving Marie's evenings free--"for the shaded
+lamp," Billy said.
+
+Marie had not arrived at this--to her, delightful--arrangement of a
+"visiting acquaintance" without some opposition from her friends. Even
+Billy had stood somewhat aghast.
+
+"But, my dear, won't it be hard for you, to do so much?" she argued one
+day. "You know you aren't very strong."
+
+"I know; but it won't be hard, as I've planned it," replied Marie,
+"specially when I've been longing for years to do this very thing. Why,
+Billy, if I had to stand by and watch a maid do all these things I
+want to do myself, I should feel just like--like a hungry man who sees
+another man eating up his dinner! Oh, of course," she added plaintively,
+after Billy's laughter had subsided, "I sha'n't do it always. I don't
+expect to. Of course, when we have a house--I'm not sure, then, though,
+that I sha'n't dress up the maid and order her to receive the calls and
+go to the pink teas, while I make her puddings," she finished saucily,
+as Billy began to laugh again.
+
+The bride and groom, as was proper, were, soon after their arrival,
+invited to dine at both William's and Billy's. Then, until Marie's "At
+Homes" should begin, the devoted couple settled down to quiet days
+by themselves, with only occasional visits from the family to
+interrupt--"interrupt" was Bertram's word, not Marie's. Though it is
+safe to say it was not far different from the one Cyril used--in his
+thoughts.
+
+Bertram himself, these days, was more than busy. Besides working on
+Miss Winthrop's portrait, and on two or three other commissions, he was
+putting the finishing touches to four pictures which he was to show in
+the exhibition soon to be held by a prominent Art Club of which he was
+the acknowledged "star" member. Naturally, therefore, his time was
+well occupied. Naturally, too, Billy, knowing this, lashed herself more
+sternly than ever into a daily reminder of Kate's assertion that he
+belonged first to his Art.
+
+In pursuance of this idea, Billy was careful to see that no engagement
+with herself should in any way interfere with the artist's work, and
+that no word of hers should attempt to keep him at her side when ART
+called. (Billy always spelled that word now in her mind with tall, black
+letters--the way it had sounded when it fell from Kate's lips.) That
+these tactics on her part were beginning to fill her lover with vague
+alarm and a very definite unrest, she did not once suspect. Eagerly,
+therefore,--even with conscientious delight--she welcomed the new
+song-words that Arkwright brought--they would give her something else
+to take up her time and attention. She welcomed them, also, for another
+reason: they would bring Arkwright more often to the house, and this
+would, of course, lead to that "casual meeting" between him and Alice
+Greggory when the rehearsals for the operetta should commence--which
+would be very soon now. And Billy did so long to bring about that
+meeting!
+
+To Billy, all this was but "occupying her mind," and playing Cupid's
+assistant to a worthy young couple torn cruelly apart by an unfeeling
+fate. To Bertram--to Bertram it was terror, and woe, and all manner of
+torture; for in it Bertram saw only a growing fondness on the part
+of Billy for Arkwright, Arkwright's music, Arkwright's words, and
+Arkwright's friends.
+
+The first rehearsal for the operetta came on Wednesday evening. There
+would be another on Thursday afternoon. Billy had told Alice Greggory to
+arrange her pupils so that she could stay Wednesday night at Hillside,
+if the crippled mother could get along alone--and she could, Alice
+had said. Thursday forenoon, therefore, Alice Greggory would, in all
+probability, be at Hillside, specially as there would doubtless be an
+appointment or two for private rehearsal with some nervous soloist whose
+part was not progressing well. Such being the case, Billy had a plan
+she meant to carry out. She was highly pleased, therefore, when Thursday
+morning came, and everything, apparently, was working exactly to her
+mind.
+
+Alice was there. She had an appointment at quarter of eleven with
+the leading tenor, and another later with the alto. After breakfast,
+therefore, Billy said decisively:
+
+"Now, if you please, Miss Greggory, I'm going to put you up-stairs on
+the couch in the sewing-room for a nap."
+
+"But I've just got up," remonstrated Miss Greggory.
+
+"I know you have," smiled Billy; "but you were very late to bed last
+night, and you've got a hard day before you. I insist upon your resting.
+You will be absolutely undisturbed there, and you must shut the door
+and not come down-stairs till I send for you. Mr. Johnson isn't due till
+quarter of eleven, is he?"
+
+"N-no."
+
+"Then come with me," directed Billy, leading the way up-stairs. "There,
+now, don't come down till I call you," she went on, when they had
+reached the little room at the end of the hall. "I'm going to leave Aunt
+Hannah's door open, so you'll have good air--she isn't in there. She's
+writing letters in my room, Now here's a book, and you _may_ read, but
+I should prefer you to sleep," she nodded brightly as she went out and
+shut the door quietly. Then, like the guilty conspirator she was, she
+went down-stairs to wait for Arkwright.
+
+It was a fine plan. Arkwright was due at ten o'clock--Billy had
+specially asked him to come at that hour. He would not know, of course,
+that Alice Greggory was in the house; but soon after his arrival Billy
+meant to excuse herself for a moment, slip up-stairs and send Alice
+Greggory down for a book, a pair of scissors, a shawl for Aunt
+Hannah--anything would do for a pretext, anything so that the girl might
+walk into the living-room and find Arkwright waiting for her alone.
+And then--What happened next was, in Billy's mind, very vague, but very
+attractive as a nucleus for one's thoughts, nevertheless.
+
+All this was, indeed, a fine plan; but--(If only fine plans would not so
+often have a "but"!) In Billy's case the "but" had to do with things
+so apparently unrelated as were Aunt Hannah's clock and a negro's coal
+wagon. The clock struck eleven at half-past ten, and the wagon dumped
+itself to destruction directly in front of a trolley car in which sat
+Mr. M. J. Arkwright, hurrying to keep his appointment with Miss Billy
+Neilson. It was almost half-past ten when Arkwright finally rang the
+bell at Hillside. Billy greeted him so eagerly, and at the same time
+with such evident disappointment at his late arrival, that Arkwright's
+heart sang with joy.
+
+"But there's a rehearsal at quarter of eleven," exclaimed Billy, in
+answer to his hurried explanation of the delay; "and this gives so
+little time for--for--so little time, you know," she finished in
+confusion, casting frantically about in her mind for an excuse to hurry
+up-stairs and send Alice Greggory down before it should be quite too
+late.
+
+No wonder that Arkwright, noting the sparkle in her eye, the agitation
+in her manner, and the embarrassed red in her cheek, took new courage.
+For so long had this girl held him at the end of a major third or a
+diminished seventh; for so long had she blithely accepted his every word
+and act as devotion to music, not herself--for so long had she done all
+this that he had come to fear that never would she do anything else. No
+wonder then, that now, in the soft radiance of the strange, new light on
+her face, his own face glowed ardently, and that he leaned forward with
+an impetuous rush of eager words.
+
+"But there is time, Miss Billy--if you'd give me leave--to say--"
+
+"I'm afraid I kept you waiting," interrupted the hurried voice of Alice
+Greggory from the hall doorway. "I was asleep, I think, when a clock
+somewhere, striking eleven--Why, Mr.--Arkwright!"
+
+Not until Alice Greggory had nearly crossed the room did she see that
+the man standing by her hostess was--not the tenor she had expected
+to find--but an old acquaintance. Then it was that the tremulous
+"Mr.-Arkwright!" fell from her lips.
+
+Billy and Arkwright had turned at her first words. At her last,
+Arkwright, with a half-despairing, half-reproachful glance at Billy,
+stepped forward.
+
+"Miss Greggory!--you _are_ Miss Alice Greggory, I am sure," he said
+pleasantly.
+
+At the first opportunity Billy murmured a hasty excuse and left the
+room. To Aunt Hannah she flew with a woebegone face.
+
+"Oh, Aunt Hannah, Aunt Hannah," she wailed, half laughing, half crying;
+"that wretched little fib-teller of a clock of yours spoiled it all!"
+
+"Spoiled it! Spoiled what, child?"
+
+"My first meeting between Mary Jane and Miss Greggory. I had it all
+arranged that they were to have it _alone_; but that miserable little
+fibber up-stairs struck eleven at half-past ten, and Miss Greggory heard
+it and thought she was fifteen minutes late. So down she hurried, half
+awake, and spoiled all my plans. Now she's sitting in there with him, in
+chairs the length of the room apart, discussing the snowstorm last night
+or the moonrise this morning--or some other such silly thing. And I had
+it so beautifully planned!"
+
+"Well, well, dear, I'm sorry, I'm sure," smiled Aunt Hannah; "but I
+can't think any real harm is done. Did Mary Jane have anything to tell
+her--about her father, I mean?"
+
+Only the faintest flicker of Billy's eyelid testified that the everyday
+accustomedness of that "Mary Jane" on Aunt Hannah's lips had not escaped
+her.
+
+"No, nothing definite. Yet there was a little. Friends are still trying
+to clear his name, and I believe are meeting with increasing success.
+I don't know, of course, whether he'll say anything about it
+to-day--_now_. To think I had to be right round under foot like that
+when they met!" went on Billy, indignantly. "I shouldn't have been, in a
+minute more, though. I was just trying to think up an excuse to come
+up and send down Miss Greggory, when Mary Jane began to tell me
+something--I haven't the faintest idea what--then _she_ appeared, and it
+was all over. And there's the doorbell, and the tenor, I suppose; so of
+course it's all over now," she sighed, rising to go down-stairs.
+
+As it chanced, however, it was not the tenor, but a message from him--a
+message that brought dire consternation to the Chairman of the Committee
+of Arrangements. The tenor had thrown up his part. He could not take it;
+it was too difficult. He felt that this should be told--at once rather
+than to worry along for another week or two, and then give up. So he had
+told it.
+
+"But what shall we do, Miss Greggory?" appealed Billy. "It _is_ a hard
+part, you know; but if Mr. Tobey can't take it, I don't know who can. We
+don't want to hire a singer for it, if we can help it. The profits
+are to go to the Home for Crippled Children, you know," she explained,
+turning to Arkwright, "and we decided to hire only the accompanist."
+
+An odd expression flitted across Miss Greggory's face.
+
+"Mr. Arkwright used to sing--tenor," she observed quietly.
+
+"As if he didn't now--a perfectly glorious tenor," retorted Billy. "But
+as if _he_ would take _this!_"
+
+For only a brief moment did Arkwright hesitate; then blandly he
+suggested:
+
+"Suppose you try him, and see."
+
+Billy sat suddenly erect.
+
+"Would you, really? _Could_ you--take the time, and all?" she cried.
+
+"Yes, I think I would--under the circumstances," he smiled. "I think
+I could, too, though I might not be able to attend all the rehearsals.
+Still, if I find I have to ask permission, I'll endeavor to convince
+the powers-that-be that singing in this operetta will be just the
+stepping-stone I need to success in Grand Opera."
+
+"Oh, if you only would take it," breathed Billy, "we'd be so glad!"
+
+"Well," said Arkwright, his eyes on Billy's frankly delighted face, "as
+I said before--under the circumstances I think I would."
+
+"Thank you! Then it's all beautifully settled," rejoiced Billy, with a
+happy sigh; and unconsciously she gave Alice Greggory's hand near her a
+little pat.
+
+In Billy's mind the "circumstances" of Arkwright's acceptance of the
+part were Alice Greggory and her position as accompanist, of course.
+Billy would have been surprised indeed--and dismayed--had she known that
+in Arkwright's mind the "circumstances" were herself, and the fact that
+she, too, had a part in the operetta, necessitating her presence at
+rehearsals, and hinting at a delightful comradeship impossible, perhaps,
+otherwise.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII. THE CAUSE AND BERTRAM
+
+
+February came The operetta, for which Billy was working so hard, was
+to be given the twentieth. The Art Exhibition, for which Bertram was
+preparing his four pictures, was to open the sixteenth, with a private
+view for specially invited friends the evening before.
+
+On the eleventh day of February Mrs. Greggory and her daughter arrived
+at Hillside for a ten-days' visit. Not until after a great deal of
+pleading and argument, however, had Billy been able to bring this about.
+
+"But, my dears, both of you," Billy had at last said to them; "just
+listen. We shall have numberless rehearsals during those last ten
+days before the thing comes off. They will be at all hours, and of all
+lengths. You, Miss Greggory, will have to be on hand for them all, of
+course, and will have to stay all night several times, probably. You,
+Mrs. Greggory, ought not to be alone down here. There is no sensible,
+valid reason why you should not both come out to the house for those ten
+days; and I shall feel seriously hurt and offended if you do not consent
+to do it."
+
+"But--my pupils," Alice Greggory had demurred.
+
+"You can go in town from my home at any time to give your lessons, and
+a little shifting about and arranging for those ten days will enable you
+to set the hours conveniently one after another, I am sure, so you can
+attend to several on one trip. Meanwhile your mother will be having a
+lovely time teaching Aunt Hannah how to knit a new shawl; so you won't
+have to be worrying about her."
+
+After all, it had been the great good and pleasure which the visit would
+bring to Mrs. Greggory that had been the final straw to tip the scales.
+On the eleventh of February, therefore, in the company of the once
+scorned "Peggy and Mary Jane," Alice Greggory and her mother had arrived
+at Hillside.
+
+Ever since the first meeting of Alice Greggory and Arkwright, Billy had
+been sorely troubled by the conduct of the two young people. She had,
+as she mournfully told herself, been able to make nothing of it. The two
+were civility itself to each other, but very plainly they were not at
+ease in each other's company; and Billy, much to her surprise, had to
+admit that Arkwright did not appear to appreciate the "circumstances"
+now that he had them. The pair called each other, ceremoniously, "Mr.
+Arkwright," and "Miss Greggory"--but then, that, of course, did not
+"signify," Billy declared to herself.
+
+"I suppose you don't ever call him 'Mary Jane,'" she said to the girl, a
+little mischievously, one day.
+
+"'Mary Jane'? Mr. Arkwright? No, I don't," rejoined Miss Greggory, with
+an odd smile. Then, after a moment, she added: "I believe his brothers
+and sisters used to, however."
+
+"Yes, I know," laughed Billy. "We thought he was a real Mary Jane,
+once." And she told the story of his arrival. "So you see," she
+finished, when Alice Greggory had done laughing over the tale, "he
+always will be 'Mary Jane' to us. By the way, what is his name?"
+
+Miss Greggory looked up in surprise.
+
+"Why, it's--" She stopped short, her eyes questioning. "Why, hasn't he
+ever told you?" she queried.
+
+Billy lifted her chin.
+
+"No. He told us to guess it, and we have guessed everything we can think
+of, even up to 'Methuselah John'; but he says we haven't hit it yet."
+
+"'Methuselah John,' indeed!" laughed the other, merrily.
+
+"Well, I'm sure that's a nice, solid name," defended Billy, her chin
+still at a challenging tilt. "If it isn't 'Methuselah John,' what is it,
+then?"
+
+But Alice Greggory shook her head. She, too, it seemed, could be firm,
+on occasion. And though she smiled brightly, all she would say, was:
+
+"If he hasn't told you, I sha'n't. You'll have to go to him."
+
+"Oh, well, I can still call him 'Mary Jane,'" retorted Billy, with airy
+disdain.
+
+All this, however, so far as Billy could see, was not in the least
+helping along the cause that had become so dear to her--the reuniting of
+a pair of lovers. It occurred to her then, one day, that perhaps, after
+all, they were not lovers, and did not wish to be reunited. At
+this disquieting thought Billy decided, suddenly, to go almost to
+headquarters. She would speak to Mrs. Greggory if ever the opportunity
+offered. Great was her joy, therefore, when, a day or two after the
+Greggorys arrived at the house, Mrs. Greggory's chance reference to
+Arkwright and her daughter gave Billy the opportunity she sought.
+
+"They used to know each other long ago, Mr. Arkwright tells me," Billy
+began warily.
+
+"Yes."
+
+The quietly polite monosyllable was not very encouraging, to be sure;
+but Billy, secure in her conviction that her cause was a righteous one,
+refused to be daunted.
+
+"I think it was so romantic--their running across each other like this,
+Mrs. Greggory," she murmured. "And there _was_ a romance, wasn't there?
+I have just felt in my bones that there was--a romance!"
+
+Billy held her breath. It was what she had meant to say, but now that
+she had said it, the words seemed very fearsome indeed--to say to Mrs.
+Greggory. Then Billy remembered her Cause, and took heart--Billy was
+spelling it now with a capital C.
+
+For a long minute Mrs. Greggory did not answer--for so long a minute
+that Billy's breath dropped into a fluttering sigh, and her Cause became
+suddenly "IMPERTINENCE" spelled in black capitals. Then Mrs. Greggory
+spoke slowly, a little sadly.
+
+"I don't mind saying to you that I did hope, once, that there would be a
+romance there. They were the best of friends, and they were well-suited
+to each other in tastes and temperament. I think, indeed, that the
+romance was well under way (though there was never an engagement)
+when--" Mrs. Greggory paused and wet her lips. Her voice, when she
+resumed, carried the stern note so familiar to Billy in her first
+acquaintance with this woman and her daughter. "As I presume
+Mr. Arkwright has told you, we have met with many changes in our
+life--changes which necessitated a new home and a new mode of
+living. Naturally, under those circumstances, old friends--and old
+romances--must change, too."
+
+"But, Mrs. Greggory," stammered Billy, "I'm sure Mr. Arkwright would
+want--" An up-lifted hand silenced her peremptorily.
+
+"Mr. Arkwright was very kind, and a gentleman, always," interposed the
+lady, coldly; "but Judge Greggory's daughter would not allow herself
+to be placed where apologies for her father would be necessary--_ever!_
+There, please, dear Miss Neilson, let us not talk of it any more,"
+begged Mrs. Greggory, brokenly.
+
+"No, indeed, of course not!" cried Billy; but her heart rejoiced.
+
+She understood it all now. Arkwright and Alice Greggory had been almost
+lovers when the charges against the Judge's honor had plunged the family
+into despairing humiliation. Then had come the time when, according
+to Arkwright's own story, the two women had shut themselves indoors,
+refused to see their friends, and left town as soon as possible. Thus
+had come the breaking of whatever tie there was between Alice Greggory
+and Arkwright. Not to have broken it would have meant, for Alice, the
+placing of herself in a position where, sometime, apologies must be made
+for her father. This was what Mrs. Greggory had meant--and again, as
+Billy thought of it, Billy's heart rejoiced.
+
+Was not her way clear now before her? Did she not have it in her power,
+possibly--even probably--to bring happiness where only sadness was
+before? As if it would not be a simple thing to rekindle the old
+flame--to make these two estranged hearts beat as one again!
+
+Not now was the Cause an IMPERTINENCE in tall black letters. It was,
+instead, a shining beacon in letters of flame guiding straight to
+victory.
+
+Billy went to sleep that night making plans for Alice Greggory and
+Arkwright to be thrown together naturally--"just as a matter of course,
+you know," she said drowsily to herself, all in the dark.
+
+Some three or four miles away down Beacon Street at that moment Bertram
+Henshaw, in the Strata, was, as it happened, not falling asleep. He was
+lying broadly and unhappily awake Bertram very frequently lay broadly
+and unhappily awake these days--or rather nights. He told himself, on
+these occasions, that it was perfectly natural--indeed it was!--that
+Billy should be with Arkwright and his friends, the Greggorys, so much.
+There were the new songs, and the operetta with its rehearsals as a
+cause for it all. At the same time, deep within his fearful soul was the
+consciousness that Arkwright, the Greggorys, and the operetta were but
+Music--Music, the spectre that from the first had dogged his footsteps.
+
+With Billy's behavior toward himself, Bertram could find no fault. She
+was always her sweet, loyal, lovable self, eager to hear of his work,
+earnestly solicitous that it should be a success. She even--as he
+sometimes half-irritably remembered--had once told him that she realized
+he belonged to Art before he did to himself; and when he had indignantly
+denied this, she had only laughed and thrown a kiss at him, with the
+remark that he ought to hear his sister Kate's opinion of that matter.
+As if he wanted Kate's opinion on that or anything else that concerned
+him and Billy!
+
+Once, torn by jealousy, and exasperated at the frequent interruptions of
+their quiet hours together, he had complained openly.
+
+"Actually, Billy, it's worse than Marie's wedding," he declared, "_Then_
+it was tablecloths and napkins that could be dumped in a chair. _Now_
+it's a girl who wants to rehearse, or a woman that wants a different
+wig, or a telephone message that the sopranos have quarrelled again. I
+loathe that operetta!"
+
+Billy laughed, but she frowned, too.
+
+"I know, dear; I don't like that part. I wish they _would_ let me alone
+when I'm with you! But as for the operetta, it is really a good thing,
+dear, and you'll say so when you see it. It's going to be a great
+success--I can say that because my part is only a small one, you know.
+We shall make lots of money for the Home, too, I'm sure."
+
+"But you're wearing yourself all out with it, dear," scowled Bertram.
+
+"Nonsense! I like it; besides, when I'm doing this I'm not telephoning
+you to come and amuse me. Just think what a lot of extra time you have
+for your work!"
+
+"Don't want it," avowed Bertram.
+
+"But the _work_ may," retorted Billy, showing all her dimples. "Never
+mind, though; it'll all be over after the twentieth. _This_ isn't an
+understudy like Marie's wedding, you know," she finished demurely.
+
+"Thank heaven for that!" Bertram had breathed fervently. But even as he
+said the words he grew sick with fear. What if, after all, this _were_
+an understudy to what was to come later when Music, his rival, had
+really conquered?
+
+Bertram knew that however secure might seem Billy's affection for
+himself, there was still in his own mind a horrid fear lest underneath
+that security were an unconscious, growing fondness for something he
+could not give, for some one that he was not--a fondness that would one
+day cause Billy to awake. As Bertram, in his morbid fancy pictured it,
+he realized only too well what that awakening would mean to himself.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV. THE ARTIST AND HIS ART
+
+
+The private view of the paintings and drawings of the Brush and Pencil
+Club on the evening of the fifteenth was a great success. Society sent
+its fairest women in frocks that were pictures in themselves. Art
+sent its severest critics and its most ardent devotees. The Press sent
+reporters that the World might know what Art and Society were doing, and
+how they did it.
+
+Before the canvases signed with Bertram Henshaw's name there was always
+to be found an admiring group representing both Art and Society with
+the Press on the outskirts to report. William Henshaw, coming unobserved
+upon one such group, paused a moment to smile at the various more or
+less disconnected comments.
+
+"What a lovely blue!"
+
+"Marvellous color sense!"
+
+"Now those shadows are--"
+
+"He gets his high lights so--"
+
+"I declare, she looks just like Blanche Payton!"
+
+"Every line there is full of meaning."
+
+"I suppose it's very fine, but--"
+
+"Now, I say, Henshaw is--"
+
+"Is this by the man that's painting Margy Winthrop's portrait?"
+
+"It's idealism, man, idealism!"
+
+"I'm going to have a dress just that shade of blue."
+
+"Isn't that just too sweet!"
+
+"Now for realism, I consider Henshaw--"
+
+"There aren't many with his sensitive, brilliant touch."
+
+"Oh, what a pretty picture!"
+
+William moved on then.
+
+Billy was rapturously proud of Bertram that evening. He was, of course,
+the centre of congratulations and hearty praise. At his side, Billy,
+with sparkling eyes, welcomed each smiling congratulation and gloried in
+every commendatory word she heard.
+
+"Oh, Bertram, isn't it splendid! I'm so proud of you," she whispered
+softly, when a moment's lull gave her opportunity.
+
+"They're all words, words, idle words," he laughed; but his eyes shone.
+
+"Just as if they weren't all true!" she bridled, turning to greet
+William, who came up at that moment. "Isn't it fine, Uncle William?" she
+beamed. "And aren't we proud of him?"
+
+"We are, indeed," smiled the man. "But if you and Bertram want to get
+the real opinion of this crowd, you should go and stand near one of his
+pictures five minutes. As a sort of crazy--quilt criticism it can't be
+beat."
+
+"I know," laughed Bertram. "I've done it, in days long gone."
+
+"Bertram, not really?" cried Billy.
+
+"Sure! As if every young artist at the first didn't don goggles or a
+false mustache and study the pictures on either side of his own till he
+could paint them with his eyes shut!"
+
+"And what did you hear?" demanded the girl.
+
+"What didn't I hear?" laughed her lover. "But I didn't do it but once
+or twice. I lost my head one day and began to argue the question of
+perspective with a couple of old codgers who were criticizing a bit of
+foreshortening that was my special pet. I forgot my goggles and sailed
+in. The game was up then, of course; and I never put them on again. But
+it was worth a farm to see their faces when I stood 'discovered' as the
+stage-folk say."
+
+"Serves you right, sir--listening like that," scolded Billy.
+
+Bertram laughed and shrugged his shoulders.
+
+"Well, it cured me, anyhow. I haven't done it since," he declared.
+
+It was some time later, on the way home, that Bertram said:
+
+"It was gratifying, of course, Billy, and I liked it. It would be absurd
+to say I didn't like the many pleasant words of apparently sincere
+appreciation I heard to-night. But I couldn't help thinking of the next
+time--always the next time."
+
+"The next time?" Billy's eyes were slightly puzzled.
+
+"That I exhibit, I mean. The Bohemian Ten hold their exhibition next
+month, you know. I shall show just one picture--the portrait of Miss
+Winthrop."
+
+"Oh, Bertram!"
+
+"It'll be 'Oh, Bertram!' then, dear, if it isn't a success," he sighed.
+"I don't believe you realize yet what that thing is going to mean for
+me."
+
+"Well, I should think I might," retorted Billy, a little tremulously,
+"after all I've heard about it. I should think _everybody_ knew you were
+doing it, Bertram. Actually, I'm not sure Marie's scrub-lady won't ask
+me some day how Mr. Bertram's picture is coming on!"
+
+"That's the dickens of it, in a way," sighed Bertram, with a faint
+smile. "I am amazed--and a little frightened, I'll admit--at the
+universality of the interest. You see, the Winthrops have been pleased
+to spread it, for one reason or another, and of course many already know
+of the failures of Anderson and Fullam. That's why, if I should fail--"
+
+"But you aren't going to fail," interposed the girl, resolutely.
+
+"No, I know I'm not. I only said 'if,'" fenced the man, his voice not
+quite steady.
+
+"There isn't going to be any 'if,'" settled Billy. "Now tell me, when is
+the exhibition?"
+
+"March twentieth--the private view. Mr. Winthrop is not only willing,
+but anxious, that I show it. I wasn't sure that he'd want me to--in
+an exhibition. But it seems he does. His daughter says he has every
+confidence in the portrait and wants everybody to see it."
+
+"That's where he shows his good sense," declared Billy. Then, with
+just a touch of constraint, she asked: "And how is the new, latest pose
+coming on?"
+
+"Very well, I think," answered Bertram, a little hesitatingly. "We've
+had so many, many interruptions, though, that it is surprising how slow
+it is moving. In the first place, Miss Winthrop is gone more than half
+the time (she goes again to-morrow for a week!), and in this portrait
+I'm not painting a stroke without my model before me. I mean to take no
+chances, you see; and Miss Winthrop is perfectly willing to give me all
+the sittings I wish for. Of course, if she hadn't changed the pose and
+costume so many times, it would have been done long ago--and she knows
+it."
+
+"Of course--she knows it," murmured Billy, a little faintly, but with a
+peculiar intonation in her voice.
+
+"And so you see," sighed Bertram, "what the twentieth of March is going
+to mean for me."
+
+"It's going to mean a splendid triumph!" asserted Billy; and this time
+her voice was not faint, and it carried only a ring of loyal confidence.
+
+"You blessed comforter!" murmured Bertram, giving with his eyes the
+caress that his lips would so much have preferred to give--under more
+propitious circumstances.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV. THE OPERETTA
+
+
+The sixteenth, seventeenth, and eighteenth of February were, for Billy,
+and for all concerned in the success of the operetta, days of hurry,
+worry, and feverish excitement, as was to be expected, of course. Each
+afternoon and every evening saw rehearsals in whole, or in parts. A
+friend of the Club-president's sister-in-law-a woman whose husband was
+stage manager of a Boston theatre--had consented to come and "coach"
+the performers. At her appearance the performers--promptly thrown into
+nervous spasms by this fearsome nearness to the "real thing"--forgot
+half their cues, and conducted themselves generally like frightened
+school children on "piece day," much to their own and every one else's
+despair. Then, on the evening of the nineteenth, came the final dress
+rehearsal on the stage of the pretty little hall that had been engaged
+for the performance of the operetta.
+
+The dress rehearsal, like most of its kind, was, for every one, nothing
+but a nightmare of discord, discouragement, and disaster. Everybody's
+nerves were on edge, everybody was sure the thing would be a "flat
+failure." The soprano sang off the key, the alto forgot to shriek
+"Beware, beware!" until it was so late there was nothing to beware of;
+the basso stepped on Billy's trailing frock and tore it; even the tenor,
+Arkwright himself, seemed to have lost every bit of vim from his acting.
+The chorus sang "Oh, be joyful!" with dirge-like solemnity, and danced
+as if legs and feet were made of wood. The lovers, after the fashion of
+amateur actors from time immemorial, "made love like sticks."
+
+Billy, when the dismal thing had dragged its way through the final
+note, sat "down front," crying softly in the semi-darkness while she
+was waiting for Alice Greggory to "run it through just once more" with a
+pair of tired-faced, fluffy-skirted fairies who could _not_ learn that a
+duet meant a _duet_--not two solos, independently hurried or retarded as
+one's fancy for the moment dictated.
+
+To Billy, just then, life did not look to be even half worth the living.
+Her head ached, her throat was going-to-be-sore, her shoe hurt, and her
+dress--the trailing frock that had been under the basso's foot--could
+not possibly be decently repaired before to-morrow night, she was sure.
+
+Bad as these things were, however, they were only the intimate,
+immediate woes. Beyond and around them lay others many others. To be
+sure, Bertram and happiness were supposed to be somewhere in the dim
+and uncertain future; but between her and them lay all these other woes,
+chief of which was the unutterable tragedy of to-morrow night.
+
+It was to be a failure, of course. Billy had calmly made up her mind to
+that, now. But then, she was used to failures, she told herself. Was she
+not plainly failing every day of her life to bring about even friendship
+between Alice Greggory and Arkwright? Did they not emphatically and
+systematically refuse to be "thrown together," either naturally, or
+unnaturally? And yet--whenever again could she expect such opportunities
+to further her Cause as had been hers the past few weeks, through the
+operetta and its rehearsals? Certainly, never again! It had been a
+failure like all the rest; like the operetta, in particular.
+
+Billy did not mean that any one should know she was crying. She supposed
+that all the performers except herself and the two earth-bound fairies
+by the piano with Alice Greggory were gone. She knew that John with
+Peggy was probably waiting at the door outside, and she hoped that soon
+the fairies would decide to go home and go to bed, and let other people
+do the same. For her part, she did not see why they were struggling so
+hard, anyway. Why needn't they go ahead and sing their duet like two
+solos if they wanted to? As if a little thing like that could make a
+feather's weight of difference in the grand total of to-morrow night's
+wretchedness when the final curtain should have been rung down on their
+shame!
+
+"Miss Neilson, you aren't--crying!" exclaimed a low voice; and Billy
+turned to find Arkwright standing by her side in the dim light.
+
+"Oh, no--yes--well, maybe I was, a little," stammered Billy, trying to
+speak very unconcernedly. "How warm it is in here! Do you think it's
+going to rain?--that is, outdoors, of course, I mean."
+
+Arkwright dropped into the seat behind Billy and leaned forward, his
+eyes striving to read the girl's half-averted face. If Billy had turned,
+she would have seen that Arkwright's own face showed white and a little
+drawn-looking in the feeble rays from the light by the piano. But
+Billy did not turn. She kept her eyes steadily averted; and she went on
+speaking--airy, inconsequential words.
+
+"Dear me, if those girls _would_ only pull together! But then, what's
+the difference? I supposed you had gone home long ago, Mr. Arkwright."
+
+"Miss Neilson, you _are_ crying!" Arkwright's voice was low and
+vibrant. "As if anything or anybody in the world _could_ make _you_ cry!
+Please--you have only to command me, and I will sally forth at once to
+slay the offender." His words were light, but his voice still shook with
+emotion.
+
+Billy gave an hysterical little giggle. Angrily she brushed the
+persistent tears from her eyes.
+
+"All right, then; I'll dub you my Sir Knight," she faltered. "But I'll
+warn you--you'll have your hands full. You'll have to slay my headache,
+and my throat-ache, and my shoe that hurts, and the man who stepped on
+my dress, and--and everybody in the operetta, including myself."
+
+"Everybody--in the operetta!" Arkwright did look a little startled, at
+this wholesale slaughter.
+
+"Yes. Did you ever see such an awful, awful thing as that was to-night?"
+moaned the girl.
+
+Arkwright's face relaxed.
+
+"Oh, so _that's_ what it is!" he laughed lightly. "Then it's only a bogy
+of fear that I've got to slay, after all; and I'll despatch that right
+now with a single blow. Dress rehearsals always go like that to-night.
+I've been in a dozen, and I never yet saw one go half decent. Don't you
+worry. The worse the rehearsal, the better the performance, every time!"
+
+Billy blinked off the tears and essayed a smile as she retorted:
+
+"Well, if that's so, then ours to-morrow night ought to be a--a--"
+
+"A corker," helped out Arkwright, promptly; "and it will be, too. You
+poor child, you're worn out; and no wonder! But don't worry another
+bit about the operetta. Now is there anything else I can do for you?
+Anything else I can slay?"
+
+Billy laughed tremulously.
+
+"N-no, thank you; not that you can--slay, I fancy," she sighed.
+"That is--not that you _will_," she amended wistfully, with a sudden
+remembrance of the Cause, for which he might do so much--if he only
+would.
+
+Arkwright bent a little nearer. His breath stirred the loose, curling
+hair behind Billy's ear. His eyes had flashed into sudden fire.
+
+"But you don't know what I'd do if I could," he murmured unsteadily. "If
+you'd let me tell you--if you only knew the wish that has lain closest
+to my heart for--"
+
+"Miss Neilson, please," called the despairing voice of one of the
+earth-bound fairies; "Miss Neilson, you _are_ there, aren't you?"
+
+"Yes, I'm right here," answered Billy, wearily. Arkwright answered, too,
+but not aloud--which was wise.
+
+"Oh dear! you're tired, I know," wailed the fairy, "but if you would
+please come and help us just a minute! Could you?"
+
+"Why, yes, of course." Billy rose to her feet, still wearily.
+
+Arkwright touched her arm. She turned and saw his face. It was very
+white--so white that her eyes widened in surprised questioning.
+
+As if answering the unspoken words, the man shook his head.
+
+"I can't, now, of course," he said. "But there _is_ something I want to
+say--a story I want to tell you--after to-morrow, perhaps. May I?"
+
+To Billy, the tremor of his voice, the suffering in his eyes, and the
+"story" he was begging to tell could have but one interpretation: Alice
+Greggory. Her face, therefore, was a glory of tender sympathy as she
+reached out her hand in farewell.
+
+"Of course you may," she cried. "Come any time after to-morrow night,
+please," she smiled encouragingly, as she turned toward the stage.
+
+Behind her, Arkwright stumbled twice as he walked up the incline toward
+the outer door--stumbled, not because of the semi-darkness of the little
+theatre, but because of the blinding radiance of a girl's illumined face
+which he had, a moment before, read all unknowingly exactly wrong.
+
+
+A little more than twenty-four hours later, Billy Neilson, in her own
+room, drew a long breath of relief. It was twelve o'clock on the night
+of the twentieth, and the operetta was over.
+
+To Billy, life was eminently worth living to-night. Her head did not
+ache, her throat was not sore, her shoe did not hurt, her dress had
+been mended so successfully by Aunt Hannah, and with such comforting
+celerity, that long before night one would never have suspected the
+filmy thing had known the devastating tread of any man's foot. Better
+yet, the soprano had sung exactly to key, the alto had shrieked
+"Beware!" to thrilling purpose, Arkwright had shown all his old charm
+and vim, and the chorus had been prodigies of joyousness and marvels
+of lightness. Even the lovers had lost their stiffness, while the two
+earth-bound fairies of the night before had found so amiable a meeting
+point that their solos sounded, to the uninitiated, very like, indeed,
+a duet. The operetta was, in short, a glorious and gratifying success,
+both artistically and financially. Nor was this all that, to Billy, made
+life worth the living: Arkwright had begged permission that evening to
+come up the following afternoon to tell her his "story"; and Billy, who
+was so joyously confident that this story meant the final crowning of
+her Cause with victory, had given happy consent.
+
+Bertram was to come up in the evening, and Billy was anticipating that,
+too, particularly: it had been so long since they had known a really
+free, comfortable evening together, with nothing to interrupt.
+Doubtless, too, after Arkwright's visit of the afternoon, she would be
+in a position to tell Bertram the story of the suspended romance between
+Arkwright and Miss Greggory, and perhaps something, also, of her own
+efforts to bring the couple together again. On the whole, life did,
+indeed, look decidedly worth the living as Billy, with a contented sigh,
+turned over to go to sleep.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI. ARKWRIGHT TELLS ANOTHER STORY
+
+
+Promptly at the suggested hour on the day after the operetta, Arkwright
+rang Billy Neilson's doorbell. Promptly, too, Billy herself came into
+the living-room to greet him.
+
+Billy was in white to-day--a soft, creamy white wool with a touch of
+black velvet at her throat and in her hair. The man thought she had
+never looked so lovely: Arkwright was still under the spell wrought by
+the soft radiance of Billy's face the two times he had mentioned his
+"story."
+
+Until the night before the operetta Arkwright had been more than
+doubtful of the way that story would be received, should he ever
+summon the courage to tell it. Since then his fears had been changed to
+rapturous hopes. It was very eagerly, therefore, that he turned now to
+greet Billy as she came into the room.
+
+"Suppose we don't have any music to-day. Suppose we give the whole time
+up to the story," she smiled brightly, as she held out her hand.
+
+Arkwright's heart leaped; but almost at once it throbbed with a vague
+uneasiness. He would have preferred to see her blush and be a little shy
+over that story. Still--there was a chance, of course, that she did not
+know what the story was. But if that were the case, what of the radiance
+in her face? What of--Finding himself in a tangled labyrinth that led
+apparently only to disappointment and disaster, Arkwright pulled himself
+up with a firm hand.
+
+"You are very kind," he murmured, as he relinquished her fingers and
+seated himself near her. "You are sure, then, that you wish to hear the
+story?"
+
+"Very sure," smiled Billy.
+
+Arkwright hesitated. Again he longed to see a little embarrassment in
+the bright face opposite. Suddenly it came to him, however, that if
+Billy knew what he was about to say, it would manifestly not be her part
+to act as if she knew! With a lighter heart, then, he began his story.
+
+"You want it from the beginning?"
+
+"By all means! I never dip into books, nor peek at the ending. I don't
+think it's fair to the author."
+
+"Then I will, indeed, begin at the beginning," smiled Arkwright, "for
+I'm specially anxious that you shall be--even more than 'fair' to me."
+His voice shook a little, but he hurried on. "There's a--girl--in it; a
+very dear, lovely girl."
+
+"Of course--if it's a nice story," twinkled Billy.
+
+"And--there's a man, too. It's a love story, you see."
+
+"Again of course--if it's interesting." Billy laughed mischievously, but
+she flushed a little.
+
+"Still, the man doesn't amount to much, after all, perhaps. I might as
+well own up at the beginning--I'm the man."
+
+"That will do for you to say, as long as you're telling the story,"
+smiled Billy. "We'll let it pass for proper modesty on your part. But I
+shall say--the personal touch only adds to the interest."
+
+Arkwright drew in his breath.
+
+"We'll hope--it'll really be so," he murmured.
+
+There was a moment's silence. Arkwright seemed to be hesitating what to
+say.
+
+"Well?" prompted Billy, with a smile. "We have the hero and the heroine;
+now what happens next? Do you know," she added, "I have always thought
+that part must bother the story-writers--to get the couple to doing
+interesting things, after they'd got them introduced."
+
+Arkwright sighed.
+
+"Perhaps--on paper; but, you see, my story has been _lived_, so far. So
+it's quite different."
+
+"Very well, then--what did happen?" smiled Billy.
+
+"I was trying to think--of the first thing. You see it began with a
+picture, a photograph of the girl. Mother had it. I saw it, and wanted
+it, and--" Arkwright had started to say "and took it." But he stopped
+with the last two words unsaid. It was not time, yet, he deemed, to tell
+this girl how much that picture had been to him for so many months past.
+He hurried on a little precipitately. "You see, I had heard about this
+girl a lot; and I liked--what I heard."
+
+"You mean--you didn't know her--at the first?" Billy's eyes were
+surprised. Billy had supposed that Arkwright had always known Alice
+Greggory.
+
+"No, I didn't know the girl--till afterwards. Before that I was always
+dreaming and wondering what she would be like."
+
+"Oh!" Billy subsided into her chair, still with the puzzled questioning
+in her eyes.
+
+"Then I met her."
+
+"Yes?"
+
+"And she was everything and more than I had pictured her."
+
+"And you fell in love at once?" Billy's voice had grown confident again.
+
+"Oh, I was already in love," sighed Arkwright. "I simply sank deeper."
+
+"Oh-h!" breathed Billy, sympathetically. "And the girl?"
+
+"She didn't care--or know--for a long time. I'm not really sure she
+cares--or knows--even now." Arkwright's eyes were wistfully fixed on
+Billy's face.
+
+"Oh, but you can't tell, always, about girls," murmured Billy,
+hurriedly. A faint pink had stolen to her forehead. She was thinking of
+Alice Greggory, and wondering if, indeed, Alice did care; and if she,
+Billy, might dare to assure this man--what she believed to be true--that
+his sweetheart was only waiting for him to come to her and tell her that
+he loved her.
+
+Arkwright saw the color sweep to Billy's forehead, and took sudden
+courage. He leaned forward eagerly. A tender light came to his eyes. The
+expression on his face was unmistakable.
+
+"Billy, do you mean, really, that there is--hope for me?" he begged
+brokenly.
+
+Billy gave a visible start. A quick something like shocked terror came
+to her eyes. She drew back and would have risen to her feet had the
+thought not come to her that twice before she had supposed a man was
+making love to her, when subsequent events proved that she had been
+mortifyingly mistaken: once when Cyril had told her of his love for
+Marie; and again when William had asked her to come back as a daughter
+to the house she had left desolate.
+
+Telling herself sternly now not to be for the third time a "foolish
+little simpleton," she summoned all her wits, forced a cheery smile to
+her lips, and said:
+
+"Well, really, Mr. Arkwright, of course I can't answer for the girl, so
+I'm not the one to give hope; and--"
+
+"But you are the one," interrupted the man, passionately. "You're the
+only one! As if from the very first I hadn't loved you, and--"
+
+"No, no, not that--not that! I'm mistaken! I'm not understanding what
+you mean," pleaded a horror-stricken voice. Billy was on her feet now,
+holding up two protesting hands, palms outward.
+
+"Miss Neilson, you don't mean--that you haven't known--all this
+time--that it was you?" The man, now, was on his feet, his eyes hurt and
+unbelieving, looking into hers.
+
+Billy paled. She began slowly to back away. Her eyes, still fixed on
+his, carried the shrinking terror of one who sees a horrid vision.
+
+"But you know--you _must_ know that I am not yours to win!" she
+reproached him sharply. "I'm to be Bertram Henshaw's--_wife_." From
+Billy's shocked young lips the word dropped with a ringing force that
+was at once accusatory and prohibitive. It was as if, by the mere
+utterance of the word, wife, she had drawn a sacred circle about her and
+placed herself in sanctuary.
+
+From the blazing accusation in her eyes Arkwright fell back.
+
+"Wife! You are to be Bertram Henshaw's wife!" he exclaimed. There was no
+mistaking the amazed incredulity on his face.
+
+Billy caught her breath. The righteous indignation in her eyes fled, and
+a terrified appeal took its place.
+
+"You don't mean that you _didn't--know?_" she faltered.
+
+There was a moment's silence. A power quite outside herself kept Billy's
+eyes on Arkwright's face, and forced her to watch the change there from
+unbelief to belief, and from belief to set misery.
+
+"No, I did not know," said the man then, dully, as he turned, rested his
+arm on the mantel behind him, and half shielded his face with his hand.
+
+Billy sank into a low chair. Her fingers fluttered nervously to her
+throat. Her piteous, beseeching eyes were on the broad back and bent
+head of the man before her.
+
+"But I--I don't see how you could have helped--knowing," she stammered
+at last. "I don't see how such a thing could have happened that you
+shouldn't know!"
+
+"I've been trying to think, myself," returned the man, still in a dull,
+emotionless voice.
+
+"It's been so--so much a matter of course. I supposed everybody knew
+it," maintained Billy.
+
+"Perhaps that's just it--that it was--so much a matter of course,"
+rejoined the man. "You see, I know very few of your friends, anyway--who
+would be apt to mention it to me."
+
+"But the announcements--oh, you weren't here then," moaned Billy. "But
+you must have known that--that he came here a good deal--that we were
+together so much!"
+
+"To a certain extent, yes," sighed Arkwright. "But I took your
+friendship with him and his brothers as--as a matter of course. _That_
+was _my_ 'matter of course,' you see," he went on bitterly. "I knew
+you were Mr. William Henshaw's namesake, and Calderwell had told me
+the story of your coming to them when you were left alone in the world.
+Calderwell had said, too, that--" Arkwright paused, then hurried on a
+little constrainedly--"well, he said something that led me to think Mr.
+Bertram Henshaw was not a marrying man, anyway."
+
+Billy winced and changed color. She had noticed the pause, and she knew
+very well what it was that Calderwell had said to occasion that pause.
+Must _always_ she be reminded that no one expected Bertram Henshaw to
+love any girl--except to paint?
+
+"But--but Mr. Calderwell must know about the engagement--now," she
+stammered.
+
+"Very likely, but I have not happened to hear from him since my arrival
+in Boston. We do not correspond."
+
+There was a long silence, then Arkwright spoke again.
+
+"I think I understand now--many things. I wonder I did not see them
+before; but I never thought of Bertram Henshaw's being--If Calderwell
+hadn't said--" Again Arkwright stopped with his sentence half complete,
+and again Billy winced. "I've been a blind fool. I was so intent on my
+own--I've been a blind fool; that's all," repeated Arkwright, with a
+break in his voice.
+
+Billy tried to speak, but instead of words, there came only a choking
+sob.
+
+Arkwright turned sharply.
+
+"Miss Neilson, don't--please," he begged. "There is no need that you
+should suffer--too."
+
+"But I am so ashamed that such a thing _could_ happen," she faltered.
+"I'm sure, some way, I must be to blame. But I never thought. I was
+blind, too. I was wrapped up in my own affairs. I never suspected. I
+never even _thought_ to suspect! I thought of course you knew. It was
+just the music that brought us together, I supposed; and you were
+just like one of the family, anyway. I always thought of you as Aunt
+Hannah's--" She stopped with a vivid blush.
+
+"As Aunt Hannah's niece, Mary Jane, of course," supplied Arkwright,
+bitterly, turning back to his old position. "And that was my own fault,
+too. My name, Miss Neilson, is Michael Jeremiah," he went on wearily,
+after a moment's hesitation, his voice showing his utter abandonment to
+despair. "When a boy at school I got heartily sick of the 'Mike' and
+the 'Jerry' and the even worse 'Tom and Jerry' that my young friends
+delighted in; so as soon as possible I sought obscurity and peace in 'M.
+J.' Much to my surprise and annoyance the initials proved to be little
+better, for they became at once the biggest sort of whet to people's
+curiosity. Naturally, the more determined persistent inquirers were to
+know the name, the more determined I became that they shouldn't. All
+very silly and very foolish, of course. Certainly it seems so now," he
+finished.
+
+Billy was silent. She was trying to find something, _anything_, to say,
+when Arkwright began speaking again, still in that dull, hopeless voice
+that Billy thought would break her heart.
+
+"As for the 'Mary Jane'--that was another foolishness, of course. My
+small brothers and sisters originated it; others followed, on occasion,
+even Calderwell. Perhaps you did not know, but he was the friend who, by
+his laughing question, 'Why don't you, Mary Jane?' put into my head the
+crazy scheme of writing to Aunt Hannah and letting her think I was a
+real Mary Jane. You see what I stooped to do, Miss Neilson, for the
+chance of meeting and knowing you."
+
+Billy gave a low cry. She had suddenly remembered the beginning of
+Arkwright's story. For the first time she realized that he had been
+talking then about herself, not Alice Greggory.
+
+"But you don't mean that you--cared--that I was the--" She could not
+finish.
+
+Arkwright turned from the mantel with a gesture of utter despair.
+
+"Yes, I cared then. I had heard of you. I had sung your songs. I was
+determined to meet you. So I came--and met you. After that I was more
+determined than ever to win you. Perhaps you see, now, why I was so
+blind to--to any other possibility. But it doesn't do any good--to talk
+like this. I understand now. Only, please, don't blame yourself," he
+begged as he saw her eyes fill with tears. The next moment he was gone.
+
+Billy had turned away and was crying softly, so she did not see him go.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII. THE THING THAT WAS THE TRUTH
+
+
+Bertram called that evening. Billy had no story now to tell--nothing
+of the interrupted romance between Alice Greggory and Arkwright. Billy
+carefully, indeed, avoided mentioning Arkwright's name.
+
+Ever since the man's departure that afternoon, Billy had been
+frantically trying to assure herself that she was not to blame; that she
+would not be supposed to know he cared for her; that it had all been as
+he said it was--his foolish blindness. But even when she had partially
+comforted herself by these assertions, she could not by any means escape
+the haunting vision of the man's stern-set, suffering face as she had
+seen it that afternoon; nor could she keep from weeping at the memory of
+the words he had said, and at the thought that never again could their
+pleasant friendship be quite the same--if, indeed, there could be any
+friendship at all between them.
+
+But if Billy expected that her red eyes, pale cheeks, and generally
+troubled appearance and unquiet manner were to be passed unnoticed by
+her lover's keen eyes that evening, she found herself much mistaken.
+
+"Sweetheart, what _is_ the matter?" demanded Bertram resolutely, at
+last, when his more indirect questions had been evasively turned aside.
+"You can't make me think there isn't something the trouble, because I
+know there is!"
+
+"Well, then, there is, dear," smiled Billy, tearfully; "but please just
+don't let us talk of it. I--I want to forget it. Truly I do."
+
+"But I want to know so _I_ can forget it," persisted Bertram. "What is
+it? Maybe I could help."
+
+She shook her head with a little frightened cry.
+
+"No, no--you can't help--really."
+
+"But, sweetheart, you don't know. Perhaps I could. Won't you _tell_ me
+about it?"
+
+Billy looked distressed.
+
+"I can't, dear--truly. You see, it isn't quite mine--to tell."
+
+"Not yours!"
+
+"Not--entirely."
+
+"But it makes you feel bad?"
+
+"Yes--very."
+
+"Then can't I know that part?"
+
+"Oh, no--no, indeed, no! You see--it wouldn't be fair--to the other."
+
+Bertram stared a little. Then his mouth set into stern lines.
+
+"Billy, what are you talking about? Seems to me I have a right to know."
+
+Billy hesitated. To her mind, a girl who would tell of the unrequited
+love of a man for herself, was unspeakably base. To tell Bertram
+Arkwright's love story was therefore impossible. Yet, in some way, she
+must set Bertram's mind at rest.
+
+"Dearest," she began slowly, her eyes wistfully pleading, "just what it
+is, I can't tell you. In a way it's another's secret, and I don't feel
+that I have the right to tell it. It's just something that I learned
+this afternoon."
+
+"But it has made you cry!"
+
+"Yes. It made me feel very unhappy."
+
+"Then--it was something you couldn't help?"
+
+To Bertram's surprise, the face he was watching so intently flushed
+scarlet.
+
+"No, I couldn't help it--now; though I might have--once." Billy spoke
+this last just above her breath. Then she went on, beseechingly:
+"Bertram, please, please don't talk of it any more. It--it's just
+spoiling our happy evening together!"
+
+Bertram bit his lip, and drew a long sigh.
+
+"All right, dear; you know best, of course--since I don't know
+_anything_ about it," he finished a little stiffly.
+
+Billy began to talk then very brightly of Aunt Hannah and her shawls,
+and of a visit she had made to Cyril and Marie that morning.
+
+"And, do you know? Aunt Hannah's clock _has_ done a good turn, at last,
+and justified its existence. Listen," she cried gayly. "Marie had a
+letter from her mother's Cousin Jane. Cousin Jane couldn't sleep nights,
+because she was always lying awake to find out just what time it was;
+so Marie had written her about Aunt Hannah's clock. And now this Cousin
+Jane has fixed _her_ clock, and she sleeps like a top, just because she
+knows there'll never be but half an hour that she doesn't know what time
+it is!"
+
+Bertram smiled, and murmured a polite "Well, I'm sure that's fine!"; but
+the words were plainly abstracted, and the frown had not left his brow.
+Nor did it quite leave till some time later, when Billy, in answer to a
+question of his about another operetta, cried, with a shudder:
+
+"Mercy, I hope not, dear! I don't want to _hear_ the word 'operetta'
+again for a year!"
+
+Bertram smiled, then, broadly. He, too, would be quite satisfied not
+to hear the word "operetta" for a year. Operetta, to Bertram, meant
+interruptions, interferences, and the constant presence of Arkwright,
+the Greggorys, and innumerable creatures who wished to rehearse or to
+change wigs--all of which Bertram abhorred. No wonder, therefore, that
+he smiled, and that the frown disappeared from his brow. He thought he
+saw, ahead, serene, blissful days for Billy and himself.
+
+As the days, however, began to pass, one by one, Bertram Henshaw found
+them to be anything but serene and blissful. The operetta, with its
+rehearsals and its interruptions, was gone, certainly; but he was
+becoming seriously troubled about Billy.
+
+Billy did not act natural. Sometimes she seemed like her old self; and
+he breathed more freely, telling himself that his fears were groundless.
+Then would come the haunting shadow to her eyes, the droop to her mouth,
+and the nervousness to her manner that he so dreaded. Worse yet, all
+this seemed to be connected in some strange way with Arkwright. He found
+this out by accident one day. She had been talking and laughing brightly
+about something, when he chanced to introduce Arkwright's name.
+
+"By the way, where is Mary Jane these days?" he asked then.
+
+"I don't know, I'm sure. He hasn't been here lately," murmured Billy,
+reaching for a book on the table.
+
+At a peculiar something in her voice, he had looked up quickly, only to
+find, to his great surprise, that her face showed a painful flush as she
+bent over the book in her hand.
+
+He had said nothing more at the time, but he had not forgotten. Several
+times, after that, he had introduced the man's name, and never had it
+failed to bring a rush of color, a biting of the lip, or a quick change
+of position followed always by the troubled eyes and nervous manner that
+he had learned to dread. He noticed then that never, of her own free
+will, did she herself mention the man; never did she speak of him with
+the old frank lightness as "Mary Jane."
+
+By casual questions asked from time to time, Bertram had learned that
+Arkwright never came there now, and that the song-writing together had
+been given up. Curiously enough, this discovery, which would once have
+filled Bertram with joy, served now only to deepen his distress. That
+there was anything inconsistent in the fact that he was more frightened
+now at the man's absence than he had been before at his presence,
+did not occur to him. He knew only that he was frightened, and badly
+frightened.
+
+Bertram had not forgotten the evening after the operetta, and Billy's
+tear-stained face on that occasion. He dated the whole thing, in fact,
+from that evening. He fell to wondering one day if that, too, had
+anything to do with Arkwright. He determined then to find out.
+Shamelessly--for the good of the cause--he set a trap for Billy's unwary
+feet.
+
+Very adroitly one day he led the talk straight to Arkwright; then he
+asked abruptly:
+
+"Where is the chap, I wonder! Why, he hasn't shown up once since the
+operetta, has he?"
+
+Billy, always truthful,--and just now always embarrassed when
+Arkwright's name was mentioned,--walked straight into the trap.
+
+"Oh, yes; well, he was here once--the day after the operetta. I haven't
+seen him since."
+
+Bertram answered a light something, but his face grew a little white.
+Now that the trap had been sprung and the victim caught, he almost
+wished that he had not set any trap at all.
+
+He knew now it was true. Arkwright had been with Billy the day after the
+operetta, and her tears and her distress that evening had been caused by
+something Arkwright had said. It was Arkwright's secret that she could
+not tell. It was Arkwright to whom she must be fair. It was Arkwright's
+sorrow that she "could not help--now."
+
+Naturally, with these tools in his hands, and aided by days of brooding
+and nights of sleeplessness, it did not take Bertram long to fashion The
+Thing that finally loomed before him as The Truth.
+
+He understood it all now. Music had conquered. Billy and Arkwright had
+found that they loved each other. On the day after the operetta, they
+had met, and had had some sort of scene together--doubtless Arkwright
+had declared his love. That was the "secret" that Billy could not tell
+and be "fair." Billy, of course,--loyal little soul that she was,--had
+sent him away at once. Was her hand not already pledged? That was why
+she could not "help it-now." (Bertram writhed in agony at the thought.)
+Since that meeting Arkwright had not been near the house. Billy had
+found, however, that her heart had gone with Arkwright; hence the shadow
+in her eyes, the nervousness in her manner, and the embarrassment that
+she always showed at the mention of his name.
+
+That Billy was still outwardly loyal to himself, and that she still kept
+to her engagement, did not surprise Bertram in the least. That was like
+Billy. Bertram had not forgotten how, less than a year before, this same
+Billy had held herself loyal and true to an engagement with William,
+because a wretched mistake all around had caused her to give her promise
+to be William's wife under the impression that she was carrying out
+William's dearest wish. Bertram remembered her face as it had looked all
+those long summer days while her heart was being slowly broken; and he
+thought he could see that same look in her eyes now. All of which only
+goes to prove with what woeful skill Bertram had fashioned this Thing
+that was looming before him as The Truth.
+
+The exhibition of "The Bohemian Ten" was to open with a private view
+on the evening of the twentieth of March. Bertram Henshaw's one
+contribution was to be his portrait of Miss Marguerite Winthrop--the
+piece of work that had come to mean so much to him; the piece of work
+upon which already he felt the focus of multitudes of eyes.
+
+Miss Winthrop was in Boston now, and it was during these early March
+days that Bertram was supposed to be putting in his best work on the
+portrait; but, unfortunately, it was during these same early March days
+that he was engaged, also, in fashioning The Thing--and the two did not
+harmonize.
+
+The Thing, indeed, was a jealous creature, and would brook no rival.
+She filled his eyes with horrid visions, and his brain with sickening
+thoughts. Between him and his model she flung a veil of fear; and she
+set his hand to trembling, and his brush to making blunders with the
+paints on his palette.
+
+Bertram saw The Thing, and saw, too, the grievous result of her
+presence. Despairingly he fought against her and her work; but The Thing
+had become full grown now, and was The Truth. Hence she was not to be
+banished. She even, in a taunting way, seemed sometimes to be justifying
+her presence, for she reminded him:
+
+"After all, what's the difference? What do you care for this, or
+anything again if Billy is lost to you?"
+
+But the artist told himself fiercely that he did care--that he must
+care--for his work; and he struggled--how he struggled!--to ignore the
+horrid visions and the sickening thoughts, and to pierce the veil of
+fear so that his hand might be steady and his brush regain its skill.
+
+And so he worked. Sometimes he let his work remain. Sometimes one hour
+saw only the erasing of what the hour before had wrought. Sometimes the
+elusive something in Marguerite Winthrop's face seemed right at the tip
+of his brush--on the canvas, even. He saw success then so plainly that
+for a moment it almost--but not quite--blotted out The Thing. At other
+times that elusive something on the high-bred face of his model was a
+veritable will-o'-the-wisp, refusing to be caught and held, even in his
+eye. The artist knew then that his picture would be hung with Anderson's
+and Fullam's.
+
+But the portrait was, irrefutably, nearing completion, and it was to be
+exhibited the twentieth of the month. Bertram knew these for facts.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVIII. BILLY TAKES HER TURN
+
+
+If for Billy those first twenty days of March did not carry quite the
+tragedy they contained for Bertram, they were, nevertheless, not really
+happy ones. She was vaguely troubled by a curious something in Bertram's
+behavior that she could not name; she was grieved over Arkwright's
+sorrow, and she was constantly probing her own past conduct to see
+if anywhere she could find that she was to blame for that sorrow. She
+missed, too, undeniably, Arkwright's cheery presence, and the charm
+and inspiration of his music. Nor was she finding it easy to give
+satisfactory answers to the questions Aunt Hannah, William, and Bertram
+so often asked her as to where Mary Jane was.
+
+Even her music was little comfort to her these days. She was not
+writing anything. There was no song in her heart to tempt her to write.
+Arkwright's new words that he had brought her were out of the question,
+of course. They had been put away with the manuscript of the completed
+song, which had not, fortunately, gone to the publishers. Billy had
+waited, intending to send them together. She was so glad, now, that she
+had waited. Just once, since Arkwright's last call, she had tried to
+sing that song. But she had stopped at the end of the first two lines.
+The full meaning of those words, as coming from Arkwright, had swept
+over her then, and she had snatched up the manuscript and hidden it
+under the bottom pile of music in her cabinet ... And she had presumed
+to sing that love song to Bertram!
+
+Arkwright had written Billy once--a kind, courteous, manly note that had
+made her cry. He had begged her again not to blame herself, and he had
+said that he hoped he should be strong enough sometime to wish to call
+occasionally--if she were willing--and renew their pleasant hours with
+their music; but, for the present, he knew there was nothing for him to
+do but to stay away. He had signed himself "Michael Jeremiah Arkwright";
+and to Billy that was the most pathetic thing in the letter--it sounded
+so hopeless and dreary to one who knew the jaunty "M. J."
+
+Alice Greggory, Billy saw frequently. Billy and Aunt Hannah were great
+friends with the Greggorys now, and had been ever since the Greggorys'
+ten-days' visit at Hillside. The cheery little cripple, with the gentle
+tap, tap, tap of her crutches, had won everybody's heart the very
+first day; and Alice was scarcely less of a favorite, after the sunny
+friendliness of Hillside had thawed her stiff reserve into naturalness.
+
+Billy had little to say to Alice Greggory of Arkwright. Billy was no
+longer trying to play Cupid's assistant. The Cause, for which she had
+so valiantly worked, had been felled by Arkwright's own hand--but that
+there were still some faint stirrings of life in it was evidenced by
+Billy's secret delight when one day Alice Greggory chanced to mention
+that Arkwright had called the night before upon her and her mother.
+
+"He brought us news of our old home," she explained a little hurriedly,
+to Billy. "He had heard from his mother, and he thought some things she
+said would be interesting to us."
+
+"Of course," murmured Billy, carefully excluding from her voice any hint
+of the delight she felt, but hoping, all the while, that Alice would
+continue the subject.
+
+Alice, however, had nothing more to say; and Billy was left in
+entire ignorance of what the news was that Arkwright had brought.
+She suspected, though, that it had something to do with Alice's
+father--certainly she hoped that it had; for if Arkwright had called to
+tell it, it must be good.
+
+Billy had found a new home for the Greggorys; although at first they had
+drawn sensitively back, and had said that they preferred to remain where
+they were, they had later gratefully accepted it. A little couple from
+South Boston, to whom Billy had given a two weeks' outing the summer
+before, had moved into town and taken a flat in the South End. They had
+two extra rooms which they had told Billy they would like to let for
+light house-keeping, if only they knew just the right people to take
+into such close quarters with themselves. Billy at once thought of the
+Greggorys, and spoke of them. The little couple were delighted, and the
+Greggorys were scarcely less so when they at last became convinced that
+only a very little more money than they were already paying would give
+themselves a much pleasanter home, and would at the same time be a real
+boon to two young people who were trying to meet expenses. So the change
+was made, and general happiness all round had resulted--so much so, that
+Bertram had said to Billy, when he heard of it:
+
+"It looks as if this was a case where your cake is frosted on both
+sides."
+
+"Nonsense! This isn't frosting--it's business," Billy had laughed.
+
+"And the new pupils you have found for Miss Alice--they're business,
+too, I suppose?"
+
+"Certainly," retorted Billy, with decision. Then she had given a low
+laugh and said: "Mercy! If Alice Greggory thought it was anything _but_
+business, I verily believe she would refuse every one of the new pupils,
+and begin to-night to carry back the tables and chairs herself to those
+wretched rooms she left last month!"
+
+Bertram had smiled, but the smile had been a fleeting one, and the
+brooding look of gloom that Billy had noticed so frequently, of late,
+had come back to his eyes.
+
+Billy was not a little disturbed over Bertram these days. He did not
+seem to be his natural, cheery self at all. He talked little, and what
+he did say seldom showed a trace of his usually whimsical way of putting
+things. He was kindness itself to her, and seemed particularly anxious
+to please her in every way; but she frequently found his eyes fixed on
+her with a sombre questioning that almost frightened her. The more she
+thought of it, the more she wondered what the question was, that he did
+not dare to ask; and whether it was of herself or himself that he would
+ask it--if he did dare. Then, with benumbing force, one day, a possible
+solution of the mystery came to her, he had found out that it was true
+(what all his friends had declared of him)--he did not really love any
+girl, except to paint!
+
+The minute this thought came to her, Billy thrust it indignantly away.
+It was disloyal to Bertram and unworthy of herself, even to think such
+a thing. She told herself then that it was only the portrait of Miss
+Winthrop that was troubling him. She knew that he was worried over that.
+He had confessed to her that actually sometimes he was beginning to fear
+his hand had lost its cunning. As if that were not enough to bring the
+gloom to any man's face--to any artist's!
+
+No sooner, however, had Billy arrived at this point in her mental
+argument, than a new element entered--her old lurking jealousy, of which
+she was heartily ashamed, but which she had never yet been able quite to
+subdue; her jealousy of the beautiful girl with the beautiful name (not
+Billy), whose portrait had needed so much time and so many sittings to
+finish. What if Bertram had found that he loved _her?_ What if that
+were why his hand had lost its cunning--because, though loving her, he
+realized that he was bound to another, Billy herself?
+
+This thought, too, Billy cast from her at once as again disloyal and
+unworthy. But both thoughts, having once entered her brain, had made for
+themselves roads over which the second passing was much easier than the
+first--as Billy found to her sorrow. Certainly, as the days went by,
+and as Bertram's face and manner became more and more a tragedy of
+suffering, Billy found it increasingly difficult to keep those
+thoughts from wearing their roads of suspicion into horrid deep ruts of
+certainty.
+
+Only with William and Marie, now, could Billy escape from it all. With
+William she sought new curios and catalogued the old. With Marie she
+beat eggs and whipped cream in the shining kitchen, and tried to think
+that nothing in the world mattered except that the cake in the oven
+should not fall.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIX. KATE WRITES A LETTER
+
+
+Bertram feared that he knew, before the portrait was hung, that it was
+a failure. He was sure that he knew it on the evening of the twentieth
+when he encountered the swiftly averted eyes of some of his artist
+friends, and saw the perplexed frown on the faces of others. But he
+knew, afterwards, that he did not really know it--till he read the
+newspapers during the next few days.
+
+There was praise--oh, yes; the faint praise that kills. There was some
+adverse criticism, too; but it was of the light, insincere variety that
+is given to mediocre work by unimportant artists. Then, here and there,
+appeared the signed critiques of the men whose opinion counted--and
+Bertram knew that he had failed. Neither as a work of art, nor as a
+likeness, was the portrait the success that Henshaw's former work would
+seem to indicate that it should have been. Indeed, as one caustic pen
+put it, if this were to be taken as a sample of what was to follow--then
+the famous originator of "The Face of a Girl" had "a most distinguished
+future behind him."
+
+Seldom, if ever before, had an exhibited portrait attracted so much
+attention. As Bertram had said, uncounted eyes were watching for it
+before it was hung, because it was a portrait of the noted beauty,
+Marguerite Winthrop, and because two other well-known artists had failed
+where he, Bertram Henshaw, was hoping to succeed. After it was hung, and
+the uncounted eyes had seen it--either literally, or through the eyes
+of the critics--interest seemed rather to grow than to lessen, for other
+uncounted eyes wanted to see what all the fuss was about, anyway. And
+when these eyes had seen, their owners talked. Nor did they, by any
+means, all talk against the portrait. Some were as loud in its praise as
+were others in its condemnation; all of which, of course, but helped to
+attract more eyes to the cause of it all.
+
+For Bertram and his friends these days were, naturally, trying ones.
+William finally dreaded to open his newspaper. (It had become the
+fashion, when murders and divorces were scarce, occasionally to
+"feature" somebody's opinion of the Henshaw portrait, on the first
+page--something that had almost never been known to happen before.)
+Cyril, according to Marie, played "perfectly awful things on his piano
+every day, now." Aunt Hannah had said "Oh, my grief and conscience!"
+so many times that it melted now into a wordless groan whenever a new
+unfriendly criticism of the portrait met her indignant eyes.
+
+Of all Bertram's friends, Billy, perhaps not unnaturally, was the
+angriest. Not only did she, after a time, refuse to read the papers,
+but she refused even to allow certain ones to be brought into the house,
+foolish and unreasonable as she knew this to be.
+
+As to the artist himself, Bertram's face showed drawn lines and his eyes
+sombre shadows, but his words and manner carried a stolid indifference
+that to Billy was at once heartbreaking and maddening.
+
+"But, Bertram, why don't you do something? Why don't you say something?
+Why don't you act something?" she burst out one day.
+
+The artist shrugged his shoulders.
+
+"But, my dear, what can I say, or do, or act?" he asked.
+
+"I don't know, of course," sighed Billy. "But I know what I'd like to
+do. I should like to go out and--fight somebody!"
+
+So fierce were words and manner, coupled as they were with a pair of
+gentle eyes ablaze and two soft little hands doubled into menacing
+fists, that Bertram laughed.
+
+"What a fiery little champion it is, to be sure," he said tenderly. "But
+as if fighting could do any good--in this case!"
+
+Billy's tense muscles relaxed. Her eyes filled with tears.
+
+"No, I don't suppose it would," she choked, beginning to cry, so that
+Bertram had to turn comforter.
+
+"Come, come, dear," he begged; "don't take it so to heart. It's not
+so bad, after all. I've still my good right hand left, and we'll hope
+there's something in it yet--that'll be worth while."
+
+"But _this_ one isn't bad," stormed Billy. "It's splendid! I'm sure, I
+think it's a b-beautiful portrait, and I don't see _what_ people mean by
+talking so about it!"
+
+Bertram shook his head. His eyes grew sombre again.
+
+"Thank you, dear. But I know--and you know, really--that it isn't a
+splendid portrait. I've done lots better work than that."
+
+"Then why don't they look at those, and let this alone?" wailed Billy,
+with indignation.
+
+"Because I deliberately put up this for them to see," smiled the artist,
+wearily.
+
+Billy sighed, and twisted in her chair.
+
+"What does--Mr. Winthrop say?" she asked at last, in a faint voice.
+
+Bertram lifted his head.
+
+"Mr. Winthrop's been a trump all through, dear. He's already insisted on
+paying for this--and he's ordered another."
+
+"Another!"
+
+"Yes. The old fellow never minces his words, as you may know. He came
+to me one day, put his hand on my shoulder, and said tersely: 'Will you
+give me another, same terms? Go in, boy, and win. Show 'em! I lost
+the first ten thousand I made. I didn't the next!' That's all he said.
+Before I could even choke out an answer he was gone. Gorry! talk about
+his having a 'heart of stone'! I don't believe another man in the
+country would have done that--and done it in the way he did--in the face
+of all this talk," finished Bertram, his eyes luminous with feeling.
+
+Billy hesitated.
+
+"Perhaps--his daughter--influenced him--some."
+
+"Perhaps," nodded Bertram. "She, too, has been very kind, all the way
+through."
+
+Billy hesitated again.
+
+"But I thought--it was going so splendidly," she faltered, in a
+half-stifled voice.
+
+"So it was--at the first."
+
+"Then what--ailed it, at the last, do you suppose?" Billy was holding
+her breath till he should answer.
+
+The man got to his feet.
+
+"Billy, don't--don't ask me," he begged. "Please don't let's talk of
+it any more. It can't do any good! I just flunked--that's all. My
+hand failed me. Maybe I tried too hard. Maybe I was tired. Maybe
+something--troubled me. Never mind, dear, what it was. It can do no good
+even to think of that--now. So just let's--drop it, please, dear," he
+finished, his face working with emotion.
+
+And Billy dropped it--so far as words were concerned; but she could not
+drop it from her thoughts--specially after Kate's letter came.
+
+Kate's letter was addressed to Billy, and it said, after speaking of
+various other matters:
+
+"And now about poor Bertram's failure." (Billy frowned. In Billy's
+presence no one was allowed to say "Bertram's failure"; but a letter
+has a most annoying privilege of saying what it pleases without let or
+hindrance, unless one tears it up--and a letter destroyed unread remains
+always such a tantalizing mystery of possibilities! So Billy let the
+letter talk.) "Of course we have heard of it away out here. I do wish if
+Bertram _must_ paint such famous people, he would manage to flatter them
+up--in the painting, I mean, of course--enough so that it might pass for
+a success!
+
+"The technical part of all this criticism I don't pretend to understand
+in the least; but from what I hear and read, he must, indeed, have made
+a terrible mess of it, and of course I'm very sorry--and some surprised,
+too, for usually he paints such pretty pictures!
+
+"Still, on the other hand, Billy, I'm not surprised. William says that
+Bertram has been completely out of fix over something, and as gloomy as
+an owl, for weeks past; and of course, under those circumstances, the
+poor boy could not be expected to do good work. Now William, being a
+man, is not supposed to understand what the trouble is. But I, being a
+woman, can see through a pane of glass when it's held right up before
+me; and I can guess, of course, that a woman is at the bottom of it--she
+always is!--and that you, being his special fancy at the moment" (Billy
+almost did tear the letter now--but not quite), "are that woman.
+
+"Now, Billy, you don't like such frank talk, of course; but, on the
+other hand, I know you do not want to ruin the dear boy's career. So,
+for heaven's sake, if you two have been having one of those quarrels
+that lovers so delight in--do, please, for the good of the cause, make
+up quick, or else quarrel harder and break it off entirely--which,
+honestly, would be the better way, I think, all around.
+
+"There, there, my dear child, don't bristle up! I am very fond of you,
+and would dearly love to have you for a sister--if you'd only take
+William, as you should! But, as you very well know, I never did approve
+of this last match at all, for either of your sakes.
+
+"He can't make you happy, my dear, and you can't make him happy.
+Bertram never was--and never will be--a marrying man. He's too
+temperamental--too thoroughly wrapped up in his Art. Girls have never
+meant anything to him but a beautiful picture to paint. And they never
+will. They can't. He's made that way. Listen! I can prove it to you. Up
+to this winter he's always been a care-free, happy, jolly fellow, and
+you _know_ what beautiful work he has done. Never before has he tied
+himself to any one girl till last fall. Then you two entered into this
+absurd engagement.
+
+"Now what has it been since? William wrote me himself not a fortnight
+ago that he'd been worried to death over Bertram for weeks past,
+he's been so moody, so irritable, so fretted over his work, so unlike
+himself. And his picture has _failed_ dismally. Of course William
+doesn't understand; but I do. I know you've probably quarrelled, or
+something. You know how flighty and unreliable you can be sometimes,
+Billy, and I don't say that to mean anything against you, either--that's
+_your_ way. You're just as temperamental in your art, music, as Bertram
+is in his. You're utterly unsuited to him. If Bertram is to marry
+_anybody_, it should be some quiet, staid, sensible girl who would be
+a _help_ to him. But when I think of you two flyaway flutterbudgets
+marrying--!
+
+"Now, for heaven's sake, Billy, _do_ make up or something--and do it
+now. Don't, for pity's sake, let Bertram ever put out another such a
+piece of work to shame us all like this. Do you want to ruin his career?
+
+"Faithfully yours,
+
+"KATE HARTWELL.
+
+"P. S. _I_ think William's the one for you. He's devoted to you, and
+his quiet, sensible affection is just what your temperament needs. I
+_always_ thought William was the one for you. Think it over.
+
+"P. S. No. 2. You can see by the above that it isn't you I'm objecting
+to, my dear. It's just _you-and-Bertram_.
+
+"K."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXX. "I'VE HINDERED HIM"
+
+
+Billy was shaking with anger and terror by the time she had finished
+reading Kate's letter. Anger was uppermost at the moment, and with one
+sweeping wrench of her trembling fingers she tore the closely written
+sheets straight through the middle, and flung them into the little
+wicker basket by her desk. Then she went down-stairs and played her
+noisiest, merriest Tarantella, and tried to see how fast she could make
+her fingers fly.
+
+But Billy could not, of course, play tarantellas all day; and even while
+she did play them she could not forget that waste-basket up-stairs, and
+the horror it contained. The anger was still uppermost, but the terror
+was prodding her at every turn, and demanding to know just what it was
+that Kate had written in that letter, anyway. It is not strange then,
+perhaps, that before two hours passed, Billy went up-stairs, took the
+letter from the basket, matched together the torn half-sheets and forced
+her shrinking eyes to read every word again-just to satisfy that terror
+which would not be silenced.
+
+At the end of the second reading, Billy reminded herself with stern
+calmness that it was only Kate, after all; that nobody ought to mind
+what Kate said; that certainly _she_, Billy, ought not--after the
+experience she had already had with her unpleasant interference! Kate
+did not know what she was talking about, anyway. This was only another
+case of her trying "to manage." She did so love to manage--everything!
+
+At this point Billy got out her pen and paper and wrote to Kate.
+
+It was a formal, cold little letter, not at all the sort that Billy's
+friends usually received. It thanked Kate for her advice, and for
+her "kind willingness" to have Billy for a sister; but it hinted that
+perhaps Kate did not realize that as long as Billy was the one who would
+have to _live_ with the chosen man, it would be pleasanter to take the
+one Billy loved, which happened in this case to be Bertram--not William.
+As for any "quarrel" being the cause of whatever fancied trouble there
+was with the new picture--the letter scouted that idea in no uncertain
+terms. There had been no suggestion of a quarrel even once since the
+engagement.
+
+Then Billy signed her name and took the letter out to post immediately.
+
+For the first few minutes after the letter had been dropped into the
+green box at the corner, Billy held her head high, and told herself that
+the matter was now closed. She had sent Kate a courteous, dignified,
+conclusive, effectual answer, and she thought with much satisfaction of
+the things she had said.
+
+Very soon, however, she began to think--not so much of what _she_
+had said--but of what Kate had said. Many of Kate's sentences were
+unpleasantly vivid in her mind. They seemed, indeed, to stand out in
+letters of flame, and they began to burn, and burn, and burn. These were
+some of them:
+
+"William says that Bertram has been completely out of fix over
+something, and as gloomy as an owl for weeks past."
+
+"A woman is at the bottom of it--... you are that woman."
+
+"You can't make him happy."
+
+"Bertram never was--and never will be--a marrying man."
+
+"Girls have never meant anything to him but a beautiful picture to
+paint. And they never will."
+
+"Up to this winter he's always been a carefree, happy, jolly fellow,
+and you _know_ what beautiful work he has done. Never before has he tied
+himself to any one girl until last fall."
+
+"Now what has it been since?"
+
+"He's been so moody, so irritable, so fretted over his work, so unlike
+himself; and his picture has failed, dismally."
+
+"Do you want to ruin his career?"
+
+Billy began to see now that she had not really answered Kate's letter at
+all. The matter was not closed. Her reply had been, perhaps, courteous
+and dignified--but it had not been conclusive nor effectual.
+
+Billy had reached home now, and she was crying. Bertram _had_ acted
+strangely, of late. Bertram _had_ seemed troubled over something. His
+picture _had_--With a little shudder Billy tossed aside these thoughts,
+and dug at her teary eyes with a determined hand. Fiercely she told
+herself that the matter _was_ settled. Very scornfully she declared that
+it was "only Kate," after all, and that she _would not_ let Kate make
+her unhappy again! Forthwith she picked up a current magazine and began
+to read.
+
+As it chanced, however, even here Billy found no peace; for the first
+article she opened to was headed in huge black type:
+
+
+"MARRIAGE AND THE ARTISTIC TEMPERAMENT."
+
+
+With a little cry Billy flung the magazine far from her, and picked up
+another. But even "The Elusiveness of Chopin," which she found here,
+could not keep her thoughts nor her eyes from wandering to the discarded
+thing in the corner, lying ignominiously face down with crumpled,
+out-flung leaves.
+
+Billy knew that in the end she should go over and pick that magazine
+up, and read that article from beginning to end. She was not surprised,
+therefore, when she did it--but she was not any the happier for having
+done it.
+
+The writer of the article did not approve of marriage and the artistic
+temperament. He said the artist belonged to his Art, and to posterity
+through his Art. The essay fairly bristled with many-lettered words and
+high-sounding phrases, few of which Billy really understood. She did
+understand enough, however, to feel, guiltily, when the thing was
+finished, that already she had married Bertram, and by so doing had
+committed a Crime. She had slain Art, stifled Ambition, destroyed
+Inspiration, and been a nuisance generally. In consequence of which
+Bertram would henceforth and forevermore be doomed to Littleness.
+
+Naturally, in this state of mind, and with this vision before her, Billy
+was anything but her bright, easy self when she met Bertram an hour or
+two later. Naturally, too, Bertram, still the tormented victim of the
+bugaboo his jealous fears had fashioned, was just in the mood to
+place the worst possible construction on his sweetheart's very evident
+unhappiness. With sighs, unspoken questions, and frequently averted
+eyes, therefore, the wretched evening passed, a pitiful misery to them
+both.
+
+During the days that followed, Billy thought that the world itself
+must be in league with Kate, so often did she encounter Kate's letter
+masquerading under some thin disguise. She did not stop to realize that
+because she was so afraid she _would_ find it, she _did_ find it. In
+the books she read, in the plays she saw, in the chance words she heard
+spoken by friend or stranger--always there was something to feed her
+fears in one way or another. Even in a yellowed newspaper that had
+covered the top shelf in her closet she found one day a symposium
+on whether or not an artist's wife should be an artist; and she
+shuddered--but she read every opinion given.
+
+Some writers said no, and some, yes; and some said it all depended--on
+the artist and his wife. Billy found much food for thought, some for
+amusement, and a little that made for peace of mind. On the whole
+it opened up a new phase of the matter, perhaps. At all events, upon
+finishing it she almost sobbed:
+
+"One would think that just because I write a song now and then, I was
+going to let Bertram starve, and go with holes in his socks and no
+buttons on his clothes!"
+
+It was that afternoon that Billy went to see Marie; but even there she
+did not escape, for the gentle Marie all unknowingly added her mite to
+the woeful whole.
+
+Billy found Marie in tears.
+
+"Why, Marie!" she cried in dismay.
+
+"Sh-h!" warned Marie, turning agonized eyes toward the closed door of
+Cyril's den.
+
+"But, dear, what is it?" begged Billy, with no less dismay, but with
+greater caution.
+
+"Sh-h!" admonished Marie again.
+
+On tiptoe, then, she led the way to a room at the other end of the tiny
+apartment. Once there; she explained in a more natural tone of voice:
+
+"Cyril's at work on a new piece for the piano."
+
+"Well, what if he is?" demanded Billy. "That needn't make you cry, need
+it?"
+
+"Oh, no--no, indeed," demurred Marie, in a shocked voice.
+
+"Well, then, what is it?"
+
+Marie hesitated; then, with the abandon of a hurt child that longs for
+sympathy, she sobbed:
+
+"It--it's just that I'm afraid, after all, that I'm not good enough for
+Cyril."
+
+Billy stared frankly.
+
+"Not _good_ enough, Marie Henshaw! Whatever in the world do you mean?"
+
+"Well, not good _for_ him, then. Listen! To-day, I know, in lots of
+ways I must have disappointed him. First, he put on some socks that I'd
+darned. They were the first since our marriage that I'd found to
+darn, and I'd been so proud and--and happy while I _was_ darning them.
+But--but he took 'em off right after breakfast and threw 'em in a
+corner. Then he put on a new pair, and said that I--I needn't darn any
+more; that it made--bunches. Billy, _my darns--bunches!_" Marie's face
+and voice were tragic.
+
+"Nonsense, dear! Don't let that fret you," comforted Billy, promptly,
+trying not to laugh too hard. "It wasn't _your_ darns; it was just
+darns--anybody's darns. Cyril won't wear darned socks. Aunt Hannah told
+me so long ago, and I said then there'd be a tragedy when _you_ found it
+out. So don't worry over that."
+
+"Oh, but that isn't all," moaned Marie. "Listen! You know how quiet he
+must have everything when he's composing--and he ought to have it, too!
+But I forgot, this morning, and put on some old shoes that didn't have
+any rubber heels, and I ran the carpet sweeper, and I rattled tins in
+the kitchen. But I never thought a thing until he opened his door and
+asked me _please_ to change my shoes and let the--the confounded dirt
+go, and didn't I have any dishes in the house but what were made of that
+abominable tin s-stuff," she finished in a wail of misery.
+
+Billy burst into a ringing laugh, but Marie's aghast face and upraised
+hand speedily reduced it to a convulsive giggle.
+
+"You dear child! Cyril's always like that when he's composing," soothed
+Billy. "I supposed you knew it, dear. Don't you fret! Run along and make
+him his favorite pudding, and by night both of you will have forgotten
+there ever were such things in the world as tins and shoes and carpet
+sweepers that clatter."
+
+Marie shook her head. Her dismal face did not relax.
+
+"You don't understand," she moaned. "It's myself. I've _hindered_ him!"
+She brought out the word with an agony of slow horror. "And only to-day
+I read-here, look!" she faltered, going to the table and picking up with
+shaking hands a magazine.
+
+Billy recognized it by the cover at once--another like it had been flung
+not so long ago by her own hand into the corner. She was not surprised,
+therefore, to see very soon at the end of Marie's trembling finger:
+
+"Marriage and the Artistic Temperament."
+
+Billy did not give a ringing laugh this time. She gave an involuntary
+little shudder, though she tried valiantly to turn it all off with a
+light word of scorn, and a cheery pat on Marie's heaving shoulders. But
+she went home very soon; and it was plain to be seen that her visit to
+Marie had not brought her peace.
+
+Billy knew Kate's letter, by heart, now, both in the original, and in
+its different versions, and she knew that, despite her struggles, she
+was being forced straight toward Kate's own verdict: that she, Billy,
+_was_ the cause, in some way, of the deplorable change in Bertram's
+appearance, manner, and work. Before she would quite surrender to this
+heart-sickening belief, however, she determined to ask Bertram himself.
+Falteringly, but resolutely, therefore, one day, she questioned him.
+
+"Bertram, once you hinted that the picture did not go right because you
+were troubled over something; and I've been wondering--was it about--me,
+in any way, that you were troubled?"
+
+Billy had her answer before the man spoke. She had it in the quick
+terror that sprang to his eyes, and the dull red that swept from his
+neck to his forehead. His reply, so far as words went did not count, for
+it evaded everything and told nothing. But Billy knew without words.
+She knew, too, what she must do. For the time being she took Bertram's
+evasive answer as he so evidently wished it to be taken; but that
+evening, after he had gone, she wrote him a little note and broke the
+engagement. So heartbroken was she--and so fearful was she that he
+should suspect this--that her note, when completed, was a cold little
+thing of few words, which carried no hint that its very coldness was but
+the heart-break in the disguise of pride.
+
+This was like Billy in all ways. Billy, had she lived in the days of
+the Christian martyrs, would have been the first to walk with head erect
+into the Arena of Sacrifice. The arena now was just everyday living, the
+lions were her own devouring misery, and the cause was Bertram's best
+good.
+
+From Bertram's own self she had it now--that she had been the cause of
+his being troubled; so she could doubt no longer. The only part that was
+uncertain was the reason why he had been troubled. Whether his bond to
+her had become irksome because of his love for another, or because of
+his love for no girl--except to paint, Billy did not know. But that it
+was irksome she did not doubt now. Besides, as if she were going to slay
+his Art, stifle his Ambition, destroy his Inspiration, and be a nuisance
+generally just so that _she_ might be happy! Indeed, no! Hence she broke
+the engagement.
+
+This was the letter:
+
+
+     "DEAR BERTRAM:--You won't make the
+     move, so I must. I knew, from the way you spoke
+     to-day, that it _was_ about me that you were
+     troubled, even though you generously tried to
+     make me think it was not. And so the picture did
+     not go well.
+
+     "Now, dear, we have not been happy together
+     lately. You have seen it; so have I. I fear our
+     engagement was a mistake, so I'm going to send
+     back your ring to-morrow, and I'm writing this
+     letter to-night. Please don't try to see me just
+     yet. You _know_ what I am doing is best--all
+     round.
+               "Always your friend,
+                       "BILLY."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXI. FLIGHT
+
+
+Billy feared if she did not mail the letter at once she would not have
+the courage to mail it at all. So she slipped down-stairs very quietly
+and went herself to the post box a little way down the street; then she
+came back and sobbed herself to sleep--though not until after she had
+sobbed awake for long hours of wretchedness.
+
+When she awoke in the morning, heavy-eyed and unrested, there came to
+her first the vague horror of some shadow hanging over her, then the
+sickening consciousness of what that shadow was. For one wild minute
+Billy felt that she must run to the telephone, summon Bertram, and
+beseech him to return unread the letter he would receive from her that
+day. Then there came to her the memory of Bertram's face as it had
+looked the night before when she had asked him if she were the cause of
+his being troubled. There came, too, the memory of Kate's scathing
+"Do you want to ruin his career?" Even the hated magazine article and
+Marie's tragic "I've _hindered_ him!" added their mite; and Billy knew
+that she should not go to the telephone, nor summon Bertram.
+
+The one fatal mistake now would be to let Bertram see her own distress.
+If once he should suspect how she suffered in doing this thing, there
+would be a scene that Billy felt she had not the courage to face. She
+must, therefore, manage in some way not to see Bertram--not to let him
+see her until she felt more sure of her self-control no matter what he
+said. The easiest way to do this was, of course, to go away. But where?
+How? She must think. Meanwhile, for these first few hours, she would not
+tell any one, even Aunt Hannah, what had happened. There must _no one_
+speak to her of it, yet. That she could not endure. Aunt Hannah would,
+of course, shiver, groan "Oh, my grief and conscience!" and call for
+another shawl; and Billy just now felt as if she should scream if she
+heard Aunt Hannah say "Oh, my grief and conscience!"--over that. Billy
+went down to breakfast, therefore, with a determination to act exactly
+as usual, so that Aunt Hannah should not know--yet.
+
+When people try to "act exactly as usual," they generally end in acting
+quite the opposite; and Billy was no exception to the rule. Hence her
+attempted cheerfulness became flippantness, and her laughter giggles
+that rang too frequently to be quite sincere--though from Aunt Hannah
+it all elicited only an affectionate smile at "the dear child's high
+spirits."
+
+A little later, when Aunt Hannah was glancing over the morning
+paper--now no longer barred from the door--she gave a sudden cry.
+
+"Billy, just listen to this!" she exclaimed, reading from the paper in
+her hand. "'A new tenor in "The Girl of the Golden West." Appearance
+of Mr. M. J. Arkwright at the Boston Opera House to-night. Owing to the
+sudden illness of Dubassi, who was to have taken the part of Johnson
+tonight, an exceptional opportunity has come to a young tenor singer,
+one of the most promising pupils at the Conservatory school. Arkwright
+is said to have a fine voice, a particularly good stage presence, and
+a purity of tone and smoothness of execution that few of his age and
+experience can show. Only a short time ago he appeared as the duke at
+one of the popular-priced Saturday night performances of "Rigoletto";
+and his extraordinary success on that occasion, coupled with his
+familiarity with, and fitness for the part of Johnson in "The Girl
+of the Golden West," led to his being chosen to take Dubassi's place
+to-night. His performance is awaited with the greatest of interest.' Now
+isn't that splendid for Mary Jane? I'm so glad!" beamed Aunt Hannah.
+
+"Of course we're glad!" cried Billy. "And didn't it come just in time?
+This is the last week of opera, anyway, you know."
+
+"But it says he sang before--on a Saturday night," declared Aunt Hannah,
+going back to the paper in her hand. "Now wouldn't you have thought we'd
+have heard of it, or read of it? And wouldn't you have thought he'd have
+told us?"
+
+"Oh, well, maybe he didn't happen to see us so he could tell us,"
+returned Billy with elaborate carelessness.
+
+"I know it; but it's so funny he _hasn't_ seen us," contended Aunt
+Hannah, frowning. "You know how much he used to be here."
+
+Billy colored, and hurried into the fray.
+
+"Oh, but he must have been so busy, with all this, you know. And of
+course we didn't see it in the paper--because we didn't have any paper
+at that time, probably. Oh, yes, that's my fault, I know," she laughed;
+"and I was silly, I'll own. But we'll make up for it now. We'll go, of
+course, I wish it had been on our regular season-ticket night, but I
+fancy we can get seats somewhere; and I'm going to ask Alice Greggory
+and her mother, too. I'll go down there this morning to tell them, and
+to get the tickets. I've got it all planned."
+
+Billy had, indeed, "got it all planned." She had been longing for
+something that would take her away from the house--and if possible away
+from herself. This would do the one easily, and might help on the other.
+She rose at once.
+
+"I'll go right away," she said.
+
+"But, my dear," frowned Aunt Hannah, anxiously, "I don't believe I can
+go to-night--though I'd love to, dearly."
+
+"But why not?"
+
+"I'm tired and half sick with a headache this morning. I didn't sleep,
+and I've taken cold somewhere," sighed the lady, pulling the top shawl a
+little higher about her throat.
+
+"Why, you poor dear, what a shame!"
+
+"Won't Bertram go?" asked Aunt Hannah.
+
+Billy shook her head--but she did not meet Aunt Hannah's eyes.
+
+"Oh, no. I sha'n't even ask him. He said last night he had a banquet
+on for to-night--one of his art clubs, I believe." Billy's voice was
+casualness itself.
+
+"But you'll have the Greggorys--that is, Mrs. Greggory _can_ go, can't
+she?" inquired Aunt Hannah.
+
+"Oh, yes; I'm sure she can," nodded Billy. "You know she went to the
+operetta, and this is just the same--only bigger."
+
+"Yes, yes, I know," murmured Aunt Hannah.
+
+"Dear me! How can she get about so on those two wretched little sticks?
+She's a perfect marvel to me."
+
+"She is to me, too," sighed Billy, as she hurried from the room.
+
+Billy was, indeed, in a hurry. To herself she said she wanted to get
+away--away! And she got away as soon as she could.
+
+She had her plans all made. She would go first to the Greggorys' and
+invite them to attend the opera with her that evening. Then she would
+get the tickets. Just what she would do with the rest of the day she did
+not know. She knew only that she would not go home until time to dress
+for dinner and the opera. She did not tell Aunt Hannah this, however,
+when she left the house. She planned to telephone it from somewhere down
+town, later. She told herself that she _could not_ stay all day under
+the sharp eyes of Aunt Hannah--but she managed, nevertheless, to bid
+that lady a particularly blithe and bright-faced good-by.
+
+
+Billy had not been long gone when the telephone bell rang. Aunt Hannah
+answered it.
+
+"Why, Bertram, is that you?" she called, in answer to the words that
+came to her across the wire. "Why, I hardly knew your voice!"
+
+"Didn't you? Well, is--is Billy there?"
+
+"No, she isn't. She's gone down to see Alice Greggory."
+
+"Oh!" So evident was the disappointment in the voice that Aunt Hannah
+added hastily:
+
+"I'm so sorry! She hasn't been gone ten minutes. But--is there any
+message?"
+
+"No, thank you. There's no--message." The voice hesitated, then went on
+a little constrainedly. "How--how is Billy this morning? She--she's all
+right, isn't she?"
+
+Aunt Hannah laughed in obvious amusement.
+
+"Bless your dear heart, yes, my boy! Has it been such a _long_ time
+since last evening--when you saw her yourself? Yes, she's all right. In
+fact, I was thinking at the breakfast table how pretty she looked with
+her pink cheeks and her bright eyes. She seemed to be in such high
+spirits."
+
+An inarticulate something that Aunt Hannah could not quite catch
+came across the line; then a somewhat hurried "All right. Thank you.
+Good-by."
+
+The next time Aunt Hannah was called to the telephone, Billy spoke to
+her.
+
+"Aunt Hannah, don't wait luncheon for me, please. I shall get it in
+town. And don't expect me till five o'clock. I have some shopping to
+do."
+
+"All right, dear," replied Aunt Hannah. "Did you get the tickets?"
+
+"Yes, and the Greggorys will go. Oh, and Aunt Hannah!"
+
+"Yes, dear."
+
+"Please tell John to bring Peggy around early enough to-night so we can
+go down and get the Greggorys. I told them we'd call for them."
+
+"Very well, dear. I'll tell him."
+
+"Thank you. How's the poor head?"
+
+"Better, a little, I think."
+
+"That's good. Won't you repent and go, too?"
+
+"No--oh, no, indeed!"
+
+"All right, then; good-by. I'm sorry!"
+
+"So'm I. Good-by," sighed Aunt Hannah, as she hung up the receiver and
+turned away.
+
+It was after five o'clock when Billy got home, and so hurried were the
+dressing and the dinner that Aunt Hannah forgot to mention Bertram's
+telephone call till just as Billy was ready to start for the Greggorys'.
+
+"There! and I forgot," she confessed. "Bertram called you up just after
+you left this morning, my dear."
+
+"Did he?" Billy's face was turned away, but Aunt Hannah did not notice
+that.
+
+"Yes. Oh, he didn't want anything special," smiled the lady,
+"only--well, he did ask if you were all right this morning," she
+finished with quiet mischief.
+
+"Did he?" murmured Billy again. This time there was a little sound after
+the words, which Aunt Hannah would have taken for a sob if she had not
+known that it must have been a laugh.
+
+Then Billy was gone.
+
+At eight o'clock the doorbell rang, and a minute later Rosa came up
+to say that Mr. Bertram Henshaw was down-stairs and wished to see Mrs.
+Stetson.
+
+Mrs. Stetson went down at once.
+
+"Why, my dear boy," she exclaimed, as she entered the room; "Billy said
+you had a banquet on for to-night!"
+
+"Yes, I know; but--I didn't go." Bertram's face was pale and drawn. His
+voice did not sound natural.
+
+"Why, Bertram, you look ill! _Are_ you ill?" The man made an impatient
+gesture.
+
+"No, no, I'm not ill--I'm not ill at all. Rosa says--Billy's not here."
+
+"No; she's gone to the opera with the Greggorys."
+
+"The _opera!_" There was a grieved hurt in Bertram's voice that
+Aunt Hannah quite misunderstood. She hastened to give an apologetic
+explanation.
+
+"Yes. She would have told you--she would have asked you to join them,
+I'm sure, but she said you were going to a banquet. I'm _sure_ she said
+so."
+
+"Yes, I did tell her so--last night," nodded Bertram, dully.
+
+Aunt Hannah frowned a little. Still more anxiously she endeavored to
+explain to this disappointed lover why his sweetheart was not at home to
+greet him.
+
+"Well, then, of course, my boy, she'd never think of your coming here
+to-night; and when she found Mr. Arkwright was going to sing--"
+
+"Arkwright!" There was no listlessness in Bertram's voice or manner now.
+
+"Yes. Didn't you see it in the paper? Such a splendid chance for him!
+His picture was there, too."
+
+"No. I didn't see it."
+
+"Then you don't know about it, of course," smiled Aunt Hannah. "But he's
+to take the part of Johnson in 'The Girl of the Golden West.' Isn't that
+splendid? I'm so glad! And Billy was, too. She hurried right off this
+morning to get the tickets and to ask the Greggorys."
+
+"Oh!" Bertram got to his feet a little abruptly, and held out his hand.
+"Well, then, I might as well say good-by then, I suppose," he suggested
+with a laugh that Aunt Hannah thought was a bit forced. Before she could
+remind him again, though, that Billy was really not to blame for not
+being there to welcome him, he was gone. And Aunt Hannah could only go
+up-stairs and meditate on the unreasonableness of lovers in general, and
+of Bertram in particular.
+
+Aunt Hannah had gone to bed, but she was still awake, when Billy came
+home, so she heard the automobile come to a stop before the door, and
+she called to Billy when the girl came upstairs.
+
+"Billy, dear, come in here. I'm awake! I want to hear about it. Was it
+good?"
+
+Billy stopped in the doorway. The light from the hall struck her face.
+There was no brightness in her eyes now, no pink in her cheeks.
+
+"Oh, yes, it was good--very good," she replied listlessly.
+
+"Why, Billy, how queer you answer! What was the matter? Wasn't Mary
+Jane--all right?"
+
+"Mary Jane? Oh!--oh, yes; he was very good, Aunt Hannah."
+
+"'Very good,' indeed!" echoed the lady, indignantly. "He must have
+been!--when you speak as if you'd actually forgotten that he sang at
+all, anyway!"
+
+Billy had forgotten--almost. Billy had found that, in spite of her
+getting away from the house, she had not got away from herself once, all
+day. She tried now, however, to summon her acting powers of the morning.
+
+"But it was splendid, really, Aunt Hannah," she cried, with some show
+of animation. "And they clapped and cheered and gave him any number of
+curtain calls. We were so proud of him! But you see, I _am_ tired," she
+broke off wearily.
+
+"You poor child, of course you are, and you look like a ghost! I won't
+keep you another minute. Run along to bed. Oh--Bertram didn't go to that
+banquet, after all. He came here," she added, as Billy turned to go.
+
+"Bertram!" The girl wheeled sharply.
+
+"Yes. He wanted you, of course. I found I didn't do, at all," chuckled
+Aunt Hannah. "Did you suppose I would?"
+
+There was no answer. Billy had gone.
+
+
+In the long night watches Billy fought it out with herself. (Billy had
+always fought things out with herself.) She must go away. She knew that.
+Already Bertram had telephoned, and called. He evidently meant to see
+her--and she could not see him. She dared not. If she did--Billy knew
+now how pitifully little it would take to make her actually _willing_ to
+slay Bertram's Art, stifle his Ambition, destroy his Inspiration, and be
+a nuisance generally--if only she could have Bertram while she was doing
+it all. Sternly then she asked herself if she had no pride; if she had
+forgotten that it was because of her that the Winthrop portrait had not
+been a success--because of her, either for the reason that he loved now
+Miss Winthrop, or else that he loved no girl--except to paint.
+
+Very early in the morning a white-faced, red-eyed Billy appeared at Aunt
+Hannah's bedside.
+
+"Billy!" exclaimed Aunt Hannah, plainly appalled.
+
+Billy sat down on the edge of the bed.
+
+"Aunt Hannah," she began in a monotonous voice as if she were reciting
+a lesson she had learned by heart, "please listen, and please try not to
+be too surprised. You were saying the other day that you would like to
+visit your old home town. Well, I think that's a very nice idea. If you
+don't mind we'll go to-day."
+
+Aunt Hannah pulled herself half erect in bed.
+
+"_To-day_--child?"
+
+"Yes," nodded Billy, unsmilingly. "We shall have to go somewhere to-day,
+and I thought you would like that place best."
+
+"But--Billy!--what does this mean?"
+
+Billy sighed heavily.
+
+"Yes, I understand. You'll have to know the rest, of course. I've broken
+my engagement. I don't want to see Bertram. That's why I'm going away."
+
+Aunt Hannah fell nervelessly back on the pillow. Her teeth fairly
+chattered.
+
+"Oh, my grief and conscience--_Billy!_ Won't you please pull up that
+blanket," she moaned. "Billy, what do you mean?"
+
+Billy shook her head and got to her feet.
+
+"I can't tell any more now, really, Aunt Hannah. Please don't ask me;
+and don't--talk. You _will_--go with me, won't you?" And Aunt Hannah,
+with her terrified eyes on Billy's piteously agitated face, nodded her
+head and choked:
+
+"Why, of course I'll go--anywhere--with you, Billy; but--why did you do
+it, why did you do it?"
+
+A little later, Billy, in her own room, wrote this note to Bertram:
+
+
+     "DEAR BERTRAM:--I'm going away to-day.
+     That'll be best all around. You'll agree to that,
+     I'm sure. Please don't try to see me, and please
+     don't write. It wouldn't make either one of us
+     any happier. You must know that.
+
+             "As ever your friend,
+
+                    "BILLY."
+
+
+Bertram, when he read it, grew only a shade more white, a degree more
+sick at heart. Then he kissed the letter gently and put it away with the
+other.
+
+To Bertram, the thing was very clear. Billy had come now to the
+conclusion that it would be wrong to give herself where she could not
+give her heart. And in this he agreed with her--bitter as it was for
+him. Certainly he did not want Billy, if Billy did not want him, he told
+himself. He would now, of course, accede to her request. He would not
+write to her--and make her suffer more. But to Bertram, at that moment,
+it seemed that the very sun in the heavens had gone out.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXII. PETE TO THE RESCUE
+
+
+One by one the weeks passed and became a month. Then other weeks became
+other months. It was July when Billy, homesick and weary, came back to
+Hillside with Aunt Hannah.
+
+Home looked wonderfully good to Billy, in spite of the fact that she had
+so dreaded to see it. Billy had made up her mind, however, that, come
+sometime she must. She could not, of course, stay always away. Perhaps,
+too, it would be just as easy at home as it was away. Certainly it could
+not be any harder. She was convinced of that. Besides, she did not want
+Bertram to think--
+
+Billy had received only meagre news from Boston since she went away.
+Bertram had not written at all. William had written twice--hurt,
+grieved, puzzled, questioning letters that were very hard to answer.
+From Marie, too, had come letters of much the same sort. By far the
+cheeriest epistles had come from Alice Greggory. They contained, indeed,
+about the only comfort Billy had known for weeks, for they showed very
+plainly to Billy that Arkwright's heart had been caught on the rebound;
+and that in Alice Greggory he was finding the sweetest sort of balm for
+his wounded feelings. From these letters Billy learned, too, that Judge
+Greggory's honor had been wholly vindicated; and, as Billy told Aunt
+Hannah, "anybody could put two and two together and make four, now."
+
+It was eight o'clock on a rainy July evening that Billy and Aunt Hannah
+arrived at Hillside; and it was only a little past eight that Aunt
+Hannah was summoned to the telephone. When she came back to Billy she
+was crying and wringing her hands.
+
+Billy sprang to her feet.
+
+"Why, Aunt Hannah, what is it? What's the matter?" she demanded.
+
+Aunt Hannah sank into a chair, still wringing her hands.
+
+"Oh, Billy, Billy, how can I tell you, how can I tell you?" she moaned.
+
+"You must tell me! Aunt Hannah, what is it?"
+
+"Oh--oh--oh! Billy, I can't--I can't!"
+
+"But you'll have to! What is it, Aunt Hannah?"
+
+"It's--B-Bertram!"
+
+"Bertram!" Billy's face grew ashen. "Quick, quick--what do you mean?"
+
+For answer, Aunt Hannah covered her face with her hands and began to sob
+aloud. Billy, almost beside herself now with terror and anxiety, dropped
+on her knees and tried to pull away the shaking hands.
+
+"Aunt Hannah, you must tell me! You must--you must!"
+
+"I can't, Billy. It's Bertram. He's--_hurt!_" choked Aunt Hannah,
+hysterically.
+
+"Hurt! How?"
+
+"I don't know. Pete told me."
+
+"Pete!"
+
+"Yes. Rosa had told him we were coming, and he called me up. He said
+maybe I could do something. So he told me."
+
+"Yes, yes! But told you what?"
+
+"That he was hurt."
+
+"How?"
+
+"I couldn't hear all, but I think 'twas an accident--automobile. And,
+Billy, Billy--Pete says it's his arm--his right arm--and that maybe he
+can't ever p-paint again!"
+
+"Oh-h!" Billy fell back as if the words had been a blow. "Not that, Aunt
+Hannah--not that!"
+
+"That's what Pete said. I couldn't get all of it, but I got that.
+And, Billy, he's been out of his head--though he isn't now, Pete
+says--and--and--and he's been calling for you."
+
+"For--_me?_" A swift change came to Billy's face.
+
+"Yes. Over and over again he called for you--while he was crazy, you
+know. That's why Pete told me. He said he didn't rightly understand what
+the trouble was, but he didn't believe there was any trouble, _really_,
+between you two; anyway, that you wouldn't think there was, if you could
+hear him, and know how he wanted you, and--why, Billy!"
+
+Billy was on her feet now. Her fingers were on the electric push-button
+that would summon Rosa. Her face was illumined. The next moment Rosa
+appeared.
+
+"Tell John to bring Peggy to the door at once, please," directed her
+mistress.
+
+"Billy!" gasped Aunt Hannah again, as the maid disappeared. Billy was
+tremblingly putting on the hat she had but just taken off. "Billy, what
+are you going to do?"
+
+Billy turned in obvious surprise.
+
+"Why, I'm going to Bertram, of course."
+
+"To Bertram! But it's nearly half-past eight, child, and it rains, and
+everything!"
+
+"But Bertram _wants_ me!" exclaimed Billy. "As if I'd mind rain, or
+time, or anything else, _now!_"
+
+"But--but--oh, my grief and conscience!" groaned Aunt Hannah, beginning
+to wring her hands again.
+
+Billy reached for her coat. Aunt Hannah stirred into sudden action.
+
+"But, Billy, if you'd only wait till to-morrow," she quavered, putting
+out a feebly restraining hand.
+
+"To-morrow!" The young voice rang with supreme scorn. "Do you think I'd
+wait till to-morrow--after all this? I say Bertram _wants_ me." Billy
+picked up her gloves.
+
+"But you broke it off, dear--you said you did; and to go down there
+to-night--like this--"
+
+Billy lifted her head. Her eyes shone. Her whole face was a glory of
+love and pride.
+
+"That was before. I didn't know. He _wants_ me, Aunt Hannah. Did
+you hear? He _wants_ me! And now I won't even--hinder him, if he
+can't--p-paint again!" Billy's voice broke. The glory left her face. Her
+eyes brimmed with tears, but her head was still bravely uplifted. "I'm
+going to Bertram!"
+
+Blindly Aunt Hannah got to her feet. Still more blindly she reached for
+her bonnet and cloak on the chair near her.
+
+"Oh, will you go, too?" asked Billy, abstractedly, hurrying to the
+window to look for the motor car.
+
+"Will I go, too!" burst out Aunt Hannah's indignant voice. "Do you think
+I'd let you go alone, and at this time of night, on such a wild-goose
+chase as this?"
+
+"I don't know, I'm sure," murmured Billy, still abstractedly, peering
+out into the rain.
+
+"Don't know, indeed! Oh, my grief and conscience!" groaned Aunt Hannah,
+setting her bonnet hopelessly askew on top of her agitated head.
+
+But Billy did not even answer now. Her face was pressed hard against the
+window-pane.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIII. BERTRAM TAKES THE REINS
+
+
+With stiffly pompous dignity Pete opened the door. The next moment
+he fell back in amazement before the impetuous rush of a starry-eyed,
+flushed-cheeked young woman who demanded:
+
+"Where is he, Pete?"
+
+"Miss Billy!" gasped the old man. Then he saw Aunt Hannah--Aunt Hannah
+with her bonnet askew, her neck-bow awry, one hand bare, and the other
+half covered with a glove wrong side out. Aunt Hannah's cheeks, too,
+were flushed, and her eyes starry, but with dismay and anger--the last
+because she did not like the way Pete had said Miss Billy's name. It was
+one matter for her to object to this thing Billy was doing--but quite
+another for Pete to do it.
+
+"Of course it's she!" retorted Aunt Hannah, testily. "As if you yourself
+didn't bring her here with your crazy messages at this time of night!"
+
+"Pete, where is he?" interposed Billy. "Tell Mr. Bertram I am here--or,
+wait! I'll go right in and surprise him."
+
+"_Billy!_" This time it was Aunt Hannah who gasped her name.
+
+Pete had recovered himself by now, but he did not even glance toward
+Aunt Hannah. His face was beaming, and his old eyes were shining.
+
+"Miss Billy, Miss Billy, you're an angel straight from heaven, you
+are--you are! Oh, I'm so glad you came! It'll be all right now--all
+right! He's in the den, Miss Billy."
+
+Billy turned eagerly, but before she could take so much as one step
+toward the door at the end of the hall, Aunt Hannah's indignant voice
+arrested her.
+
+"Billy-stop! You're not an angel; you're a young woman--and a crazy
+one, at that! Whatever angels do, young women don't go unannounced and
+unchaperoned into young men's rooms! Pete, go tell your master that _we_
+are here, and ask if he will receive _us_."
+
+Pete's lips twitched. The emphatic "we" and "us" were not lost on him.
+But his face was preternaturally grave when he spoke.
+
+"Mr. Bertram is up and dressed, ma'am. He's in the den. I'll speak to
+him."
+
+Pete, once again the punctilious butler, stalked to the door of
+Bertram's den and threw it wide open.
+
+Opposite the door, on a low couch, lay Bertram, his head bandaged, and
+his right arm in a sling. His face was turned toward the door, but his
+eyes were closed. He looked very white, and his features were pitifully
+drawn with suffering.
+
+"Mr. Bertram," began Pete--but he got no further. A flying figure
+brushed by him and fell on its knees by the couch, with a low cry.
+
+Bertram's eyes flew open. Across his face swept such a radiant look of
+unearthly joy that Pete sobbed audibly and fled to the kitchen. Dong
+Ling found him there a minute later polishing a silver teaspoon with
+a fringed napkin that had been spread over Bertram's tray. In the hall
+above Aunt Hannah was crying into William's gray linen duster that hung
+on the hall-rack--Aunt Hannah's handkerchief was on the floor back at
+Hillside.
+
+In the den neither Billy nor Bertram knew or cared what had become of
+Aunt Hannah and Pete. There were just two people in their world--two
+people, and unutterable, incredible, overwhelming rapture and peace.
+Then, very gradually it dawned over them that there was, after all,
+something strange and unexplained in it all.
+
+"But, dearest, what does it mean--you here like this?" asked Bertram
+then. As if to make sure that she was "here, like this," he drew her
+even closer--Bertram was so thankful that he did have one arm that was
+usable.
+
+Billy, on her knees by the couch, snuggled into the curve of the one arm
+with a contented little sigh.
+
+"Well, you see, just as soon as I found out to-night that you wanted me,
+I came," she said.
+
+"You darling! That was--" Bertram stopped suddenly. A puzzled frown
+showed below the fantastic bandage about his head. "'As soon as,'" he
+quoted then scornfully. "Were you ever by any possible chance thinking I
+_didn't_ want you?"
+
+Billy's eyes widened a little.
+
+"Why, Bertram, dear, don't you see? When you were so troubled that
+the picture didn't go well, and I found out it was about me you were
+troubled--I--"
+
+"Well?" Bertram's voice was a little strained.
+
+"Why, of--of course," stammered Billy, "I couldn't help thinking that
+maybe you had found out you _didn't_ want me."
+
+"_Didn't want you!_" groaned Bertram, his tense muscles relaxing. "May I
+ask why?"
+
+Billy blushed.
+
+"I wasn't quite sure why," she faltered; "only, of course, I thought
+of--of Miss Winthrop, you know, or that maybe it was because you didn't
+care for _any_ girl, only to paint--oh, oh, Bertram! Pete told us," she
+broke off wildly, beginning to sob.
+
+"Pete told you that I didn't care for any girl, only to paint?" demanded
+Bertram, angry and mystified.
+
+"No, no," sobbed Billy, "not that. It was all the others that told
+me that! Pete told Aunt Hannah about the accident, you know, and he
+said--he said--Oh, Bertram, I _can't_ say it! But that's one of the
+things that made me know I _could_ come now, you see, because I--I
+wouldn't hinder you, nor slay your Art, nor any other of those dreadful
+things if--if you couldn't ever--p-paint again," finished Billy in an
+uncontrollable burst of grief.
+
+"There, there, dear," comforted Bertram, patting the bronze-gold head
+on his breast. "I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking
+about--except the last; but I know there _can't_ be anything that ought
+to make you cry like that. As for my not painting again--you didn't
+understand Pete, dearie. That was what they were afraid of at
+first--that I'd lose my arm; but that danger is all past now. I'm
+loads better. Of course I'm going to paint again--and better than ever
+before--_now!_"
+
+Billy lifted her head. A look that was almost terror came to her eyes.
+She pulled herself half away from Bertram's encircling arm.
+
+"Why, Billy," cried the man, in pained surprise. "You don't mean to say
+you're _sorry_ I'm going to paint again!"
+
+"No, no! Oh, no, Bertram--never that!" she faltered, still regarding
+him with fearful eyes. "It's only--for _me_, you know. I _can't_ go back
+now, and not have you--after this!--even if I do hinder you, and--"
+
+"_Hinder me!_ What are you talking about, Billy?"
+
+Billy drew a quivering sigh.
+
+"Well, to begin with, Kate said--"
+
+"Good heavens! Is Kate in _this_, too?" Bertram's voice was savage now.
+
+"Well, she wrote a letter."
+
+"I'll warrant she did! Great Scott, Billy! Don't you know Kate by this
+time?"
+
+"Y-yes, I said so, too. But, Bertram, what she wrote was true. I found
+it everywhere, afterwards--in magazines and papers, and even in Marie."
+
+"Humph! Well, dearie, I don't know yet what you found, but I do know you
+wouldn't have found it at all if it hadn't been for Kate--and I wish I
+had her here this minute!"
+
+Billy giggled hysterically.
+
+"I don't--not _right_ here," she cooed, nestling comfortably against
+her lover's arm. "But you see, dear, she never _has_ approved of the
+marriage."
+
+"Well, who's doing the marrying--she, or I?" "That's what I said,
+too--only in another way," sighed Billy. "But she called us flyaway
+flutterbudgets, and she said I'd ruin your career, if I did marry you."
+
+"Well, I can tell you right now, Billy, you will ruin it if you don't!"
+declared Bertram. "That's what ailed me all the time I was painting that
+miserable portrait. I was so worried--for fear I'd lose you."
+
+"Lose me! Why, Bertram Henshaw, what do you mean?"
+
+A shamed red crept to the man's forehead.
+
+"Well, I suppose I might as well own up now as any time. I was scared
+blue, Billy, with jealousy of--Arkwright."
+
+Billy laughed gayly--but she shifted her position and did not meet her
+lover's eyes.
+
+"Arkwright? Nonsense!" she cried. "Why, he's going to marry Alice
+Greggory. I know he is! I can see it as plain as day in her letters.
+He's there a lot."
+
+"And you never did think for a minute, Billy, that you cared for him?"
+Bertram's gaze searched Billy's face a little fearfully. He had not been
+slow to mark that swift lowering of her eyelids. But Billy looked him
+now straight in the face--it was a level, frank gaze of absolute truth.
+
+"Never, dear," she said firmly. (Billy was so glad Bertram had turned
+the question on _her_ love instead of Arkwright's!) "There has never
+really been any one but you."
+
+"Thank God for that," breathed Bertram, as he drew the bright head
+nearer and held it close.
+
+After a minute Billy stirred and sighed happily.
+
+"Aren't lovers the beat'em for imagining things?" she murmured.
+
+"They certainly are."
+
+"You see--I wasn't in love with Mr. Arkwright."
+
+"I see--I hope."
+
+"And--and you didn't care _specially_ for--for Miss Winthrop?"
+
+"Eh? Well, no!" exploded Bertram. "Do you mean to say you really--"
+
+Billy put a soft finger on his lips.
+
+"Er--'people who live in _glass houses_,' you know," she reminded him,
+with roguish eyes.
+
+Bertram kissed the finger and subsided.
+
+"Humph!" he commented.
+
+There was a long silence; then, a little breathlessly, Billy asked:
+
+"And you don't--after all, love me--just to paint?"
+
+"Well, what is that? Is that Kate, too?" demanded Bertram, grimly.
+
+Billy laughed.
+
+"No--oh, she said it, all right, but, you see, _everybody_ said that to
+me, Bertram; and that's what made me so--so worried sometimes when you
+talked about the tilt of my chin, and all that."
+
+"Well, by Jove!" breathed Bertram.
+
+There was another silence. Then, suddenly, Bertram stirred.
+
+"Billy, I'm going to marry you to-morrow," he announced decisively.
+
+Billy lifted her head and sat back in palpitating dismay.
+
+"Bertram! What an absurd idea!"
+
+"Well, I am. I don't _know_ as I can trust you out of my sight till
+_then!_ You'll read something, or hear something, or get a letter from
+Kate after breakfast to-morrow morning, that will set you 'saving me'
+again; and I don't want to be saved--that way. I'm going to marry you
+to-morrow. I'll get--" He stopped short, with a sudden frown. "Confound
+that law! I forgot. Great Scott, Billy, I'll have to trust you five
+days, after all! There's a new law about the license. We've _got_ to
+wait five days--and maybe more, counting in the notice, and all."
+
+Billy laughed softly.
+
+"Five days, indeed, sir! I wonder if you think I can get ready to be
+married in five days."
+
+
+"Don't want you to get ready," retorted Bertram, promptly. "I saw Marie
+get ready, and I had all I wanted of it. If you really must have all
+those miles of tablecloths and napkins and doilies and lace rufflings
+we'll do it afterwards,--not before."
+
+"But--"
+
+"Besides, I _need_ you to take care of me," cut in Bertram, craftily.
+
+"Bertram, do you--really?"
+
+The tender glow on Billy's face told its own story, and Bertram's eager
+eyes were not slow to read it.
+
+"Sweetheart, see here, dear," he cried softly, tightening his good left
+arm. And forthwith he began to tell her how much he did, indeed, need
+her.
+
+
+"Billy, my dear!" It was Aunt Hannah's plaintive voice at the doorway,
+a little later. "We must go home; and William is here, too, and wants to
+see you."
+
+Billy rose at once as Aunt Hannah entered the room.
+
+"Yes, Aunt Hannah, I'll come; besides"--she glanced at Bertram
+mischievously--"I shall need all the time I've got to prepare for--my
+wedding."
+
+"Your wedding! You mean it'll be before--October?" Aunt Hannah glanced
+from one to the other uncertainly. Something in their smiling faces sent
+a quick suspicion to her eyes.
+
+"Yes," nodded Billy, demurely. "It's next Tuesday, you see."
+
+"Next Tuesday! But that's only a week away," gasped Aunt Hannah.
+
+"Yes, a week."
+
+"But, child, your trousseau--the wedding--the--the--a week!" Aunt Hannah
+could not articulate further.
+
+"Yes, I know; that is a good while," cut in Bertram, airily. "We wanted
+it to-morrow, but we had to wait, on account of the new license law.
+Otherwise it wouldn't have been so long, and--"
+
+But Aunt Hannah was gone. With a low-breathed "Long! Oh, my grief and
+conscience--_William!_" she had fled through the hall door.
+
+"Well, it _is_ long," maintained Bertram, with tender eyes, as he
+reached out his hand to say good-night.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's Miss Billy's Decision, by Eleanor H. Porter
+
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diff --git a/362.zip b/362.zip
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+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for
+eBook #362 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/362)
diff --git a/old/362-h.htm.2021-01-27 b/old/362-h.htm.2021-01-27
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+<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en">
+  <head>
+    <title>
+      Miss Billy's Decision, by Eleanor H. Porter
+    </title>
+    <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve">
+
+    body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify}
+    P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; }
+    H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; }
+    hr  { width: 50%; text-align: center;}
+    .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; }
+    blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;}
+    .mynote    {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;}
+    .toc       { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;}
+    .toc2      { margin-left: 20%;}
+    div.fig    { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; }
+    div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; }
+    .figleft   {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;}
+    .figright  {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;}
+    .pagenum   {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal;
+               margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%;
+               text-align: right;}
+    pre        { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;}
+
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+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Miss Billy's Decision, by Eleanor H. Porter
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Miss Billy's Decision
+
+Author: Eleanor H. Porter
+
+Release Date: July 8, 2008 [EBook #362]
+Last Updated: March 9, 2018
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MISS BILLY'S DECISION ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Charles Keller, and David Widger
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <h1>
+      MISS BILLY'S DECISION
+    </h1>
+    <p>
+      <br />
+    </p>
+    <h2>
+      By Eleanor H. Porter
+    </h2>
+    <h4>
+      Author of &ldquo;Miss Billy,&rdquo; etc.
+    </h4>
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <h4>
+      TO <br /> My Cousin Helen
+    </h4>
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <blockquote>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big>
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        <br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <big><b>MISS BILLY'S DECISION</b></big>
+        </a><br /> <br /> <br /> <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;CALDERWELL
+        DOES SOME TALKING <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;AUNT
+        HANNAH GETS A LETTER <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III.
+        </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;BILLY AND BERTRAM <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0004">
+        CHAPTER IV. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;FOR MARY JANE <br /><br /> <a
+        href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;MARIE SPEAKS HER MIND
+        <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;AT THE
+        SIGN OF THE PINK <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;OLD
+        FRIENDS AND NEW <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;M.
+        J. OPENS THE GAME <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;A
+        RUG, A PICTURE, AND A GIRL AFRAID <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0010">
+        CHAPTER X. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;A JOB FOR PETE&mdash;AND FOR BERTRAM <br /><br />
+        <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;A CLOCK AND AUNT
+        HANNAH <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;SISTER
+        KATE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;CYRIL
+        AND A WEDDING <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;M.
+        J. MAKES ANOTHER MOVE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV.
+        </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;"MR. BILLY&rdquo; AND &ldquo;MISS MARY JANE&rdquo; <br /><br /> <a
+        href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;A GIRL AND A BIT OF
+        LOWESTOFT <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;ONLY
+        A LOVE SONG, BUT&mdash; <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER
+        XVIII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;SUGARPLUMS <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0019">
+        CHAPTER XIX. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;ALICE GREGGORY <br /><br /> <a
+        href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;ARKWRIGHT TELLS A
+        STORY <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XXI. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;A
+        MATTER OF STRAIGHT BUSINESS <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER
+        XXII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;PLANS AND PLOTTINGS <br /><br /> <a
+        href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XXIII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE CAUSE AND
+        BERTRAM <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER XXIV. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE
+        ARTIST AND HIS ART <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER XXV. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE
+        OPERETTA <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER XXVI. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;ARKWRIGHT
+        TELLS ANOTHER STORY <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER XXVII.
+        </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE THING THAT WAS THE TRUTH <br /><br /> <a
+        href="#link2HCH0028"> CHAPTER XXVIII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;BILLY TAKES HER
+        TURN <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0029"> CHAPTER XXIX. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;KATE
+        WRITES A LETTER <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0030"> CHAPTER XXX. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;"I'VE
+        HINDERED HIM&rdquo; <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0031"> CHAPTER XXXI. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;FLIGHT
+        <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0032"> CHAPTER XXXII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;PETE
+        TO THE RESCUE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0033"> CHAPTER XXXIII. &nbsp;&nbsp;</a>&nbsp;&nbsp;BERTRAM
+        TAKES THE REINS <br /><br />
+      </p>
+    </blockquote>
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <h1>
+      MISS BILLY'S DECISION
+    </h1>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER I. CALDERWELL DOES SOME TALKING
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Calderwell had met Mr. M. J. Arkwright in London through a common friend;
+      since then they had tramped half over Europe together in a comradeship
+      that was as delightful as it was unusual. As Calderwell put it in a letter
+      to his sister, Belle:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We smoke the same cigar and drink the same tea (he's just as much of an
+      old woman on that subject as I am!), and we agree beautifully on all
+      necessary points of living, from tipping to late sleeping in the morning;
+      while as for politics and religion&mdash;we disagree in those just enough
+      to lend spice to an otherwise tame existence.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Farther along in this same letter Calderwell touched upon his new friend
+      again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I admit, however, I would like to know his name. To find out what that
+      mysterious 'M. J.' stands for has got to be pretty nearly an obsession
+      with me. I am about ready to pick his pocket or rifle his trunk in search
+      of some lurking 'Martin' or 'John' that will set me at peace. As it is, I
+      confess that I have ogled his incoming mail and his outgoing baggage
+      shamelessly, only to be slapped in the face always and everlastingly by
+      that bland 'M. J.' I've got my revenge, now, though. To myself I call him
+      'Mary Jane'&mdash;and his broad-shouldered, brown-bearded six feet of
+      muscular manhood would so like to be called 'Mary Jane'! By the way,
+      Belle, if you ever hear of murder and sudden death in my direction, better
+      set the sleuths on the trail of Arkwright. Six to one you'll find I called
+      him 'Mary Jane' to his face!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Calderwell was thinking of that letter now, as he sat at a small table in
+      a Paris café. Opposite him was the six feet of muscular manhood, broad
+      shoulders, pointed brown beard, and all&mdash;and he had just addressed
+      it, inadvertently, as &ldquo;Mary Jane.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      During the brief, sickening moment of silence after the name had left his
+      lips, Calderwell was conscious of a whimsical realization of the lights,
+      music, and laughter all about him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I chose as safe a place as I could!&rdquo; he was thinking. Then
+      Arkwright spoke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How long since you've been in correspondence with members of my family?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright laughed grimly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps you thought of it yourself, then&mdash;I'll admit you're capable
+      of it,&rdquo; he nodded, reaching for a cigar. &ldquo;But it so happens you hit upon
+      my family's favorite name for me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;<i>Mary Jane!</i> You mean they actually <i>call</i> you that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; bowed the big fellow, calmly, as he struck a light. &ldquo;Appropriate!&mdash;don't
+      you think?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Calderwell did not answer. He thought he could not.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, silence gives consent, they say,&rdquo; laughed the other. &ldquo;Anyhow, you
+      must have had <i>some</i> reason for calling me that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Arkwright, what <i>does</i> 'M. J.' stand for?&rdquo; demanded Calderwell.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, is that it?&rdquo; smiled the man opposite. &ldquo;Well, I'll own those initials
+      have been something of a puzzle to people. One man declares they're
+      'Merely Jokes'; but another, not so friendly, says they stand for 'Mostly
+      Jealousy' of more fortunate chaps who have real names for a handle. My
+      small brothers and sisters, discovering, with the usual perspicacity of
+      one's family on such matters, that I never signed, or called myself
+      anything but 'M. J.,' dubbed me 'Mary Jane.' And there you have it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mary Jane! You!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright smiled oddly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, well, what's the difference? Would you deprive them of their innocent
+      amusement? And they do so love that 'Mary Jane'! Besides, what's in a
+      name, anyway?&rdquo; he went on, eyeing the glowing tip of the cigar between his
+      fingers. &ldquo;'A rose by any other name&mdash;'&mdash;you've heard that,
+      probably. Names don't always signify, my dear fellow. For instance, I know
+      a 'Billy'&mdash;but he's a girl.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Calderwell gave a sudden start.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You don't mean Billy&mdash;Neilson?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The other turned sharply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do <i>you</i> know Billy Neilson?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Calderwell gave his friend a glance from scornful eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do I know Billy Neilson?&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;Does a fellow usually know the girl
+      he's proposed to regularly once in three months? Oh, I know I'm telling
+      tales out of school, of course,&rdquo; he went on, in response to the look that
+      had come into the brown eyes opposite. &ldquo;But what's the use? Everybody
+      knows it&mdash;that knows us. Billy herself got so she took it as a matter
+      of course&mdash;and refused as a matter of course, too; just as she would
+      refuse a serving of apple pie at dinner, if she hadn't wanted it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Apple pie!&rdquo; scouted Arkwright.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Calderwell shrugged his shoulders.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My dear fellow, you don't seem to realize it, but for the last six months
+      you have been assisting at the obsequies of a dead romance.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Indeed! And is it&mdash;buried, yet?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no,&rdquo; sighed Calderwell, cheerfully. &ldquo;I shall go back one of these
+      days, I'll warrant, and begin the same old game again; though I will
+      acknowledge that the last refusal was so very decided that it's been a
+      year, almost, since I received it. I think I was really convinced, for a
+      while, that&mdash;that she didn't want that apple pie,&rdquo; he finished with a
+      whimsical lightness that did not quite coincide with the stern lines that
+      had come to his mouth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For a moment there was silence, then Calderwell spoke again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where did you know&mdash;Miss Billy?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I don't know her at all. I know of her&mdash;through Aunt Hannah.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Calderwell sat suddenly erect.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aunt Hannah! Is she your aunt, too? Jove! This <i>is</i> a little old
+      world, after all; isn't it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She isn't my aunt. She's my mother's third cousin. None of us have seen
+      her for years, but she writes to mother occasionally; and, of course, for
+      some time now, her letters have been running over full of Billy. She lives
+      with her, I believe; doesn't she?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She does,&rdquo; rejoined Calderwell, with an unexpected chuckle. &ldquo;I wonder if
+      you know how she happened to live with her, at first.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, no, I reckon not. What do you mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Calderwell chuckled again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I'll tell you. You, being a 'Mary Jane,' ought to appreciate it.
+      You see, Billy was named for one William Henshaw, her father's chum, who
+      promptly forgot all about her. At eighteen, Billy, being left quite alone
+      in the world, wrote to 'Uncle William' and asked to come and live with
+      him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But it wasn't well. William was a forty-year-old widower who lived with
+      two younger brothers, an old butler, and a Chinese cook in one of those
+      funny old Beacon Street houses in Boston. 'The Strata,' Bertram called it.
+      Bright boy&mdash;Bertram!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Strata!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. I wish you could see that house, Arkwright. It's a regular layer
+      cake. Cyril&mdash;he's the second brother; must be thirty-four or five now&mdash;lives
+      on the top floor in a rugless, curtainless, music-mad existence&mdash;just
+      a plain crank. Below him comes William. William collects things&mdash;everything
+      from tenpenny nails to teapots, I should say, and they're all there in his
+      rooms. Farther down somewhere comes Bertram. He's <i>the</i> Bertram
+      Henshaw, you understand; the artist.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not the 'Face-of-a-Girl' Henshaw?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The same; only of course four years ago he wasn't quite so well known as
+      he is now. Well, to resume and go on. It was into this house, this
+      masculine paradise ruled over by Pete and Dong Ling in the kitchen, that
+      Billy's naïve request for a home came.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Great Scott!&rdquo; breathed Arkwright, appreciatively.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. Well, the letter was signed 'Billy.' They took her for a boy,
+      naturally, and after something of a struggle they agreed to let 'him'
+      come. For his particular delectation they fixed up a room next to Bertram
+      with guns and fishing rods, and such ladylike specialties; and William
+      went to the station to meet the boy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;With never a suspicion?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;With never a suspicion.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Gorry!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, 'he' came, and 'she' conquered. I guess things were lively for a
+      while, though. Oh, there was a kitten, too, I believe, 'Spunk,' who added
+      to the gayety of nations.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But what did the Henshaws do?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I wasn't there, of course; but Bertram says they spun around like
+      tops gone mad for a time, but finally quieted down enough to summon a
+      married sister for immediate propriety, and to establish Aunt Hannah for
+      permanency the next day.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So that's how it happened! Well, by George!&rdquo; cried Arkwright.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; nodded the other. &ldquo;So you see there are untold possibilities just
+      in a name. Remember that. Just suppose <i>you</i>, as Mary Jane, should
+      beg a home in a feminine household&mdash;say in Miss Billy's, for
+      instance!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'd like to,&rdquo; retorted Arkwright, with sudden warmth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Calderwell stared a little.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The other laughed shamefacedly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, it's only that I happen to have a devouring curiosity to meet that
+      special young lady. I sing her songs (you know she's written some
+      dandies!), I've heard a lot about her, and I've seen her picture.&rdquo; (He did
+      not add that he had also purloined that same picture from his mother's
+      bureau&mdash;the picture being a gift from Aunt Hannah.) &ldquo;So you see I
+      would, indeed, like to occupy a corner in the fair Miss Billy's household.
+      I could write to Aunt Hannah and beg a home with her, you know; eh?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course! Why don't you&mdash;'Mary Jane'?&rdquo; laughed Calderwell. &ldquo;Billy'd
+      take you all right. She's had a little Miss Hawthorn, a music teacher,
+      there for months. She's always doing stunts of that sort. Belle writes me
+      that she's had a dozen forlornites there all this last summer, two or
+      three at a time-tired widows, lonesome old maids, and crippled kids&mdash;just
+      to give them a royal good time. So you see she'd take you, without a
+      doubt. Jove! what a pair you'd make: Miss Billy and Mr. Mary Jane! You'd
+      drive the suffragettes into conniption fits&mdash;just by the sound of
+      you!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright laughed quietly; then he frowned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But how about it?&rdquo; he asked. &ldquo;I thought she was keeping house with Aunt
+      Hannah. Didn't she stay at all with the Henshaws?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes, a few months. I never knew just why she did leave, but I
+      fancied, from something Billy herself said once, that she discovered she
+      was creating rather too much of an upheaval in the Strata. So she took
+      herself off. She went to school, and travelled considerably. She was over
+      here when I met her first. After that she was with us all one summer on
+      the yacht. A couple of years ago, or so, she went back to Boston, bought a
+      house and settled down with Aunt Hannah.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And she's not married&mdash;or even engaged?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wasn't the last I heard. I haven't seen her since December, and I've
+      heard from her only indirectly. She corresponds with my sister, and so do
+      I&mdash;intermittently. I heard a month ago from Belle, and <i>she</i> had
+      a letter from Billy in August. But I heard nothing of any engagement.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How about the Henshaws? I should think there might be a chance there for
+      a romance&mdash;a charming girl, and three unattached men.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Calderwell gave a slow shake of the head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't think so. William is&mdash;let me see&mdash;nearly forty-five, I
+      guess, by this time; and he isn't a marrying man. He buried his heart with
+      his wife and baby years ago. Cyril, according to Bertram, 'hates women and
+      all other confusion,' so that ought to let him out. As for Bertram himself&mdash;Bertram
+      is 'only Bertram.' He's always been that. Bertram loves girls&mdash;to
+      paint; but I can't imagine him making serious love to any one. It would
+      always be the tilt of a chin or the turn of a cheek that he was admiring&mdash;to
+      paint. No, there's no chance for a romance there, I'll warrant.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But there's&mdash;yourself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Calderwell's eyebrows rose the fraction of an inch.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, of course. I presume January or February will find me back there,&rdquo; he
+      admitted with a sigh and a shrug. Then, a little bitterly, he added: &ldquo;No,
+      Arkwright. I shall keep away if I can. I <i>know</i> there's no chance for
+      me&mdash;now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then you'll leave me a clear field?&rdquo; bantered the other.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course&mdash;'Mary Jane,'&rdquo; retorted Calderwell, with equal lightness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, you needn't,&rdquo; laughed Calderwell. &ldquo;My giving you the right of way
+      doesn't insure you a thoroughfare for yourself&mdash;there are others, you
+      know. Billy Neilson has had sighing swains about I her, I imagine, since
+      she could walk and talk. She is a wonderfully fascinating little bit of
+      femininity, and she has a heart of pure gold. All is, I envy the man who
+      wins it&mdash;for the man who wins that, wins her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was no answer. Arkwright sat with his eyes on the moving throng
+      outside the window near them. Perhaps he had not heard. At all events,
+      when he spoke some time later, it was of a matter far removed from Miss
+      Billy Neilson, or the way to her heart. Nor was the young lady mentioned
+      between them again that day.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Long hours later, just before parting for the night, Arkwright said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Calderwell, I'm sorry, but I believe, after all, I can't take that trip
+      to the lakes with you. I&mdash;I'm going home next week.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Home! Hang it, Arkwright! I'd counted on you. Isn't this rather sudden?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, and no. I'll own I've been drifting about with you contentedly
+      enough for the last six months to make you think mountain-climbing and
+      boat-paddling were the end and aim of my existence. But they aren't, you
+      know, really.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense! At heart you're as much of a vagabond as I am; and you know
+      it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps. But unfortunately I don't happen to carry your pocketbook.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You may, if you like. I'll hand it over any time,&rdquo; grinned Calderwell.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thanks. You know well enough what I mean,&rdquo; shrugged the other.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a moment's silence; then Calderwell queried:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Arkwright, how old are you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Twenty-four.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good! Then you're merely travelling to supplement your education, see?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes, I see. But something besides my education has got to be
+      supplemented now, I reckon.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What are you going to do?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was an almost imperceptible hesitation; then, a little shortly, came
+      the answer:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hit the trail for Grand Opera, and bring up, probably&mdash;in
+      vaudeville.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Calderwell smiled appreciatively.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You <i>can</i> sing like the devil,&rdquo; he admitted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thanks,&rdquo; returned his friend, with uplifted eyebrows. &ldquo;Do you mind
+      calling it 'an angel'&mdash;just for this occasion?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, the matinée-girls will do that fast enough. But, I say, Arkwright,
+      what are you going to do with those initials then?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let 'em alone.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no, you won't. And you won't be 'Mary Jane,' either. Imagine a Mary
+      Jane in Grand Opera! I know what you'll be. You'll be 'Señor Martini
+      Johnini Arkwrightino'! By the way, you didn't say what that 'M. J.' really
+      did stand for,&rdquo; hinted Calderwell, shamelessly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Merely Jokes'&mdash;in your estimation, evidently,&rdquo; shrugged the other.
+      &ldquo;But my going isn't a joke, Calderwell. I'm really going. And I'm going to
+      work.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But&mdash;how shall you manage?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Time will tell.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Calderwell frowned and stirred restlessly in his chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, honestly, now, to&mdash;to follow that trail of yours will take
+      money. And&mdash;er&mdash;&rdquo; a faint red stole to his forehead&mdash;&ldquo;don't
+      they have&mdash;er&mdash;patrons for these young and budding geniuses? Why
+      can't I have a hand in this trail, too&mdash;or maybe you'd call it a
+      foot, eh? I'd be no end glad to, Arkwright.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thanks, old man.&rdquo; The red was duplicated this time above the brown silky
+      beard. &ldquo;That was mighty kind of you, and I appreciate it; but it won't be
+      necessary. A generous, but perhaps misguided bachelor uncle left me a few
+      thousands a year or so ago; and I'm going to put them all down my throat&mdash;or
+      rather, <i>into</i> it&mdash;before I give up.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where you going to study? New York?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Again there was an almost imperceptible hesitation before the answer came.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm not quite prepared to say.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why not try it here?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright shook his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I did plan to, when I came over but I've changed my mind. I believe I'd
+      rather work while longer in America.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hm-m,&rdquo; murmured Calderwell.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a brief silence, followed by other questions and other answers;
+      after which the friends said good night.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In his own room, as he was dropping off to sleep, Calderwell muttered
+      drowsily:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By George! I haven't found out yet what that blamed 'M. J.' stands for!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER II. AUNT HANNAH GETS A LETTER
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      In the cozy living-room at Hillside, Billy Neilson's pretty home on Corey
+      Hill, Billy herself sat writing at the desk. Her pen had just traced the
+      date, &ldquo;October twenty-fifth,&rdquo; when Mrs. Stetson entered with a letter in
+      her hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Writing, my dear? Then don't let me disturb you.&rdquo; She turned as if to go.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy dropped her pen, sprang to her feet, flew to the little woman's side
+      and whirled her half across the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There!&rdquo; she exclaimed, as she plumped the breathless and scandalized Aunt
+      Hannah into the biggest easy chair. &ldquo;I feel better. I just had to let off
+      steam some way. It's so lovely you came in just when you did!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Indeed! I&mdash;I'm not so sure of that,&rdquo; stammered the lady, dropping
+      the letter into her lap, and patting with agitated fingers her cap, her
+      curls, the two shawls about her shoulders, and the lace at her throat. &ldquo;My
+      grief and conscience, Billy! Wors't you <i>ever</i> grow up?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hope not,&rdquo; purred Billy cheerfully, dropping herself on to a low hassock
+      at Aunt Hannah's feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, my dear, you&mdash;you're engaged!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy bubbled into a chuckling laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As if I didn't know that, when I've just written a dozen notes to
+      announce it! And, oh, Aunt Hannah, such a time as I've had, telling what a
+      dear Bertram is, and how I love, love, <i>love</i> him, and what beautiful
+      eyes he has, and <i>such</i> a nose, and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy!&rdquo; Aunt Hannah was sitting erect in pale horror.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh?&rdquo; Billy's eyes were roguish.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You didn't write that in those notes!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Write it? Oh, no! That's only what I <i>wanted</i> to write,&rdquo; chuckled
+      Billy. &ldquo;What I really did write was as staid and proper as&mdash;here, let
+      me show you,&rdquo; she broke off, springing to her feet and running over to her
+      desk. &ldquo;There! this is about what I wrote to them all,&rdquo; she finished,
+      whipping a note out of one of the unsealed envelopes on the desk and
+      spreading it open before Aunt Hannah's suspicious eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hm-m; that is very good&mdash;for you,&rdquo; admitted the lady.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I like that!&mdash;after all my stern self-control and
+      self-sacrifice to keep out all those things I <i>wanted</i> to write,&rdquo;
+       bridled Billy. &ldquo;Besides, they'd have been ever so much more interesting
+      reading than these will be,&rdquo; she pouted, as she took the note from her
+      companion's hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't doubt it,&rdquo; observed Aunt Hannah, dryly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed, and tossed the note back on the desk.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm writing to Belle Calderwell, now,&rdquo; she announced musingly, dropping
+      herself again on the hassock. &ldquo;I suppose she'll tell Hugh.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Poor boy! He'll be disappointed.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy sighed, but she uptilted her chin a little.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He ought not to be. I told him long, long ago, the very first time, that&mdash;that
+      I couldn't.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know, dear; but&mdash;they don't always understand.&rdquo; Aunt Hannah sighed
+      in sympathy with the far-away Hugh Calderwell, as she looked down at the
+      bright young face near her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a moment's silence; then Billy gave a little laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He <i>will</i> be surprised,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;He told me once that Bertram
+      wouldn't ever care for any girl except to paint. To paint, indeed! As if
+      Bertram didn't love me&mdash;just <i>me!</i>&mdash;if he never saw another
+      tube of paint!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think he does, my dear.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Again there was silence; then, from Billy's lips there came softly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Just think; we've been engaged almost four weeks&mdash;and to-morrow
+      it'll be announced. I'm so glad I didn't ever announce the other two!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The other <i>two!</i>&rdquo; cried Aunt Hannah.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I forgot. You didn't know about Cyril.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Cyril!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, there didn't anybody know it, either not even Cyril himself,&rdquo; dimpled
+      Billy, mischievously. &ldquo;I just engaged myself to him in imagination, you
+      know, to see how I'd like it. I didn't like it. But it didn't last,
+      anyhow, very long&mdash;just three weeks, I believe. Then I broke it off,&rdquo;
+       she finished, with unsmiling mouth, but dancing eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy!&rdquo; protested Aunt Hannah, feebly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I <i>am</i> glad only the family knew about my engagement to Uncle
+      William&mdash;oh, Aunt Hannah, you don't know how good it does seem to
+      call him 'Uncle' again. It was always slipping out, anyhow, all the time
+      we were engaged; and of course it was awful then.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That only goes to prove, my dear, how entirely unsuitable it was, from
+      the start.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A bright color flooded Billy's face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know; but if a girl <i>will</i> think a man is asking for a wife when
+      all he wants is a daughter, and if she blandly says 'Yes, thank you, I'll
+      marry you,' I don't know what you can expect!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You can expect just what you got&mdash;misery, and almost a tragedy,&rdquo;
+       retorted Aunt Hannah, severely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A tender light came into Billy's eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dear Uncle William! What a jewel he was, all the way through! And he'd
+      have marched straight to the altar, too, with never a flicker of an
+      eyelid, I know&mdash;self-sacrificing martyr that he was!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Martyr!&rdquo; bristled Aunt Hannah, with extraordinary violence for her. &ldquo;I'm
+      thinking that term belonged somewhere else. A month ago, Billy Neilson,
+      you did not look as if you'd live out half your days. But I suppose <i>you'd</i>
+      have gone to the altar, too, with never a flicker of an eyelid!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I thought I had to,&rdquo; protested Billy. &ldquo;I couldn't grieve Uncle
+      William so, after Mrs. Hartwell had said how he&mdash;he wanted me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah's lips grew stern at the corners.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There are times when&mdash;when I think it would be wiser if Mrs. Kate
+      Hartwell would attend to her own affairs!&rdquo; Aunt Hannah's voice fairly
+      shook with wrath.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why-Aunt Hannah!&rdquo; reproved Billy in mischievous horror. &ldquo;I'm shocked at
+      you!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah flushed miserably.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There, there, child, forget I said it. I ought not to have said it, of
+      course,&rdquo; she murmured agitatedly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You should have heard what Uncle William said! But never mind. We all
+      found out the mistake before it was too late, and everything is lovely
+      now, even to Cyril and Marie. Did you ever see anything so beatifically
+      happy as that couple are? Bertram says he hasn't heard a dirge from
+      Cyril's rooms for three weeks; and that if anybody else played the kind of
+      music he's been playing, it would be just common garden ragtime!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Music! Oh, my grief and conscience! That makes me think, Billy. If I'm
+      not actually forgetting what I came in here for,&rdquo; cried Aunt Hannah,
+      fumbling in the folds of her dress for the letter that had slipped from
+      her lap. &ldquo;I've had word from a young niece. She's going to study music in
+      Boston.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A niece?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, not really, you know. She calls me 'Aunt,' just as you and the
+      Henshaw boys do. But I really am related to <i>her</i>, for her mother and
+      I are third cousins, while it was my husband who was distantly related to
+      the Henshaw family.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What's her name?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Mary Jane Arkwright.' Where is that letter?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here it is, on the floor,&rdquo; reported Billy. &ldquo;Were you going to read it to
+      me?&rdquo; she asked, as she picked it up.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes&mdash;if you don't mind.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'd love to hear it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then I'll read it. It&mdash;it rather annoys me in some ways. I thought
+      the whole family understood that I wasn't living by myself any longer&mdash;that
+      I was living with you. I'm sure I thought I wrote them that, long ago. But
+      this sounds almost as if they didn't understand it&mdash;at least, as if
+      this girl didn't.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How old is she?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know; but she must be some old, to be coming here to Boston to
+      study music, alone&mdash;singing, I think she said.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You don't remember her, then?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah frowned and paused, the letter half withdrawn from its
+      envelope.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No&mdash;but that isn't strange. They live West. I haven't seen any of
+      them for years. I know there are several children&mdash;and I suppose I've
+      been told their names. I know there's a boy&mdash;the eldest, I think&mdash;who
+      is quite a singer, and there's a girl who paints, I believe; but I don't
+      seem to remember a 'Mary Jane.'&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never mind! Suppose we let Mary Jane speak for herself,&rdquo; suggested Billy,
+      dropping her chin into the small pink cup of her hand, and settling
+      herself to listen.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very well,&rdquo; sighed Aunt Hannah; and she opened the letter and began to
+      read.
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     &ldquo;DEAR AUNT HANNAH:&mdash;This is to tell you
+     that I'm coming to Boston to study singing in
+     the school for Grand Opera, and I'm planning to
+     look you up. Do you object? I said to a friend
+     the other day that I'd half a mind to write to Aunt
+     Hannah and beg a home with her; and my friend
+     retorted: 'Why don't you, Mary Jane?' But
+     that, of course, I should not think of doing.
+
+     &ldquo;But I know I shall be lonesome, Aunt Hannah,
+     and I hope you'll let me see you once in a
+     while, anyway. I plan now to come next week
+     &mdash;I've already got as far as New York, as you see
+     by the address&mdash;and I shall hope to see you
+     soon.
+
+     &ldquo;All the family would send love, I know.
+                  &ldquo;M. J. ARKWRIGHT.&rdquo;
+ </pre>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Grand Opera! Oh, how perfectly lovely,&rdquo; cried Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, but Billy, do you think she is expecting me to invite her to make
+      her home with me? I shall have to write and explain that I can't&mdash;if
+      she does, of course.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy frowned and hesitated.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, it sounded&mdash;a little&mdash;that way; but&mdash;&rdquo; Suddenly her
+      face cleared. &ldquo;Aunt Hannah, I've thought of the very thing. We <i>will</i>
+      take her!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Billy, I couldn't think of letting you do that,&rdquo; demurred Aunt
+      Hannah. &ldquo;You're very kind&mdash;but, oh, no; not that!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why not? I think it would be lovely; and we can just as well as not.
+      After Marie is married in December, she can have that room. Until then she
+      can have the little blue room next to me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But&mdash;but&mdash;we don't know anything about her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We know she's your niece, and she's lonesome; and we know she's musical.
+      I shall love her for every one of those things. Of course we'll take her!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But&mdash;I don't know anything about her age.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All the more reason why she should be looked out for, then,&rdquo; retorted
+      Billy, promptly. &ldquo;Why, Aunt Hannah, just as if you didn't want to give
+      this lonesome, unprotected young girl a home!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I do, of course; but&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then it's all settled,&rdquo; interposed Billy, springing to her feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But what if we&mdash;we shouldn't like her?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense! What if she shouldn't like us?&rdquo; laughed Billy. &ldquo;However, if
+      you'd feel better, just ask her to come and stay with us a month. We shall
+      keep her all right, afterwards. See if we don't!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Slowly Aunt Hannah got to her feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very well, dear. I'll write, of course, as you tell me to; and it's
+      lovely of you to do it. Now I'll leave you to your letters. I've hindered
+      you far too long, as it is.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You've rested me,&rdquo; declared Billy, flinging wide her arms.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah, fearing a second dizzying whirl impelled by those same young
+      arms, drew her shawls about her shoulders and backed hastily toward the
+      hall door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I won't again&mdash;to-day,&rdquo; she promised merrily. Then, as the lady
+      reached the arched doorway: &ldquo;Tell Mary Jane to let us know the day and
+      train and we'll meet her. Oh, and Aunt Hannah, tell her to wear a pink&mdash;a
+      white pink; and tell her we will, too,&rdquo; she finished gayly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER III. BILLY AND BERTRAM
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Bertram called that evening. Before the open fire in the living-room he
+      found a pensive Billy awaiting him&mdash;a Billy who let herself be
+      kissed, it is true, and who even kissed back, shyly, adorably; but a Billy
+      who looked at him with wide, almost frightened eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, darling, what's the matter?&rdquo; he demanded, his own eyes growing wide
+      and frightened.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bertram, it's&mdash;done!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What's done? What do you mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Our engagement. It's&mdash;announced. I wrote stacks of notes to-day, and
+      even now there are some left for to-morrow. And then there's&mdash;the
+      newspapers. Bertram, right away, now, <i>everybody</i> will know it.&rdquo; Her
+      voice was tragic.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram relaxed visibly. A tender light came to his eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, didn't you expect everybody would know it, my dear?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Y-yes; but&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At her hesitation, the tender light changed to a quick fear.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, you aren't&mdash;sorry?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The pink glory that suffused her face answered him before her words did.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sorry! Oh, never, Bertram! It's only that it won't be ours any longer&mdash;that
+      is, it won't belong to just our two selves. Everybody will know it. And
+      they'll bow and smile and say 'How lovely!' to our faces, and 'Did you
+      ever?' to our backs. Oh, no, I'm not sorry, Bertram; but I am&mdash;afraid.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;<i>Afraid</i>&mdash;Billy!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy sighed, and gazed with pensive eyes into the fire.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Across Bertram's face swept surprise, consternation, and dismay. Bertram
+      had thought he knew Billy in all her moods and fancies; but he did not
+      know her in this one.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Billy!&rdquo; he breathed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy drew another sigh. It seemed to come from the very bottoms of her
+      small, satin-slippered feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I am. You're <i>the</i> Bertram Henshaw. You know lots and lots of
+      people that I never even saw. And they'll come and stand around and stare
+      and lift their lorgnettes and say: 'Is that the one? Dear me!'&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram gave a relieved laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense, sweetheart! I should think you were a picture I'd painted and
+      hung on a wall.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I shall feel as if I were&mdash;with all those friends of yours. Bertram,
+      what if they don't like it?&rdquo; Her voice had grown tragic again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;<i>Like</i> it!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. The picture&mdash;me, I mean.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They can't help liking it,&rdquo; he retorted, with the prompt certainty of an
+      adoring lover.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy shook her head. Her eyes had gone back to the fire.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes, they can. I can hear them. 'What, <i>she</i>&mdash;Bertram
+      Henshaw's wife?&mdash;a frivolous, inconsequential &ldquo;Billy&rdquo; like that?'
+      Bertram!&rdquo;&mdash;Billy turned fiercely despairing eyes on her lover&mdash;&ldquo;Bertram,
+      sometimes I wish my name were 'Clarissa Cordelia,' or 'Arabella Maud,' or
+      'Hannah Jane'&mdash;anything that's feminine and proper!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram's ringing laugh brought a faint smile to Billy's lips. But the
+      words that followed the laugh, and the caressing touch of the man's hands
+      sent a flood of shy color to her face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Hannah Jane,' indeed! As if I'd exchange my Billy for her or any
+      Clarissa or Arabella that ever grew! I adore Billy&mdash;flame, nature,
+      and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And naughtiness?&rdquo; put in Billy herself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes&mdash;if there be any,&rdquo; laughed Bertram, fondly. &ldquo;But, see,&rdquo; he
+      added, taking a tiny box from his pocket, &ldquo;see what I've brought for this
+      same Billy to wear. She'd have had it long ago if she hadn't insisted on
+      waiting for this announcement business.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Bertram, what a beauty!&rdquo; dimpled Billy, as the flawless diamond in
+      Bertram's fingers caught the light and sent it back in a flash of flame
+      and crimson.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now you are mine&mdash;really mine, sweetheart!&rdquo; The man's voice and hand
+      shook as he slipped the ring on Billy's outstretched finger.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy caught her breath with almost a sob.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And I'm so glad to be&mdash;yours, dear,&rdquo; she murmured brokenly. &ldquo;And&mdash;and
+      I'll make you proud that I am yours, even if I am just 'Billy,'&rdquo; she
+      choked. &ldquo;Oh, I know I'll write such beautiful, beautiful songs now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The man drew her into a close embrace.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As if I cared for that,&rdquo; he scoffed lovingly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy looked up in quick horror.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Bertram, you don't mean you don't&mdash;care?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He laughed lightly, and took the dismayed little face between his two
+      hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Care, darling? of course I care! You know how I love your music. I care
+      about everything that concerns you. I meant that I'm proud of you <i>now</i>&mdash;just
+      you. I love <i>you</i>, you know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a moment's pause. Billy's eyes, as they looked at him, carried a
+      curious intentness in their dark depths.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You mean, you like&mdash;the turn of my head and the tilt of my chin?&rdquo;
+       she asked a little breathlessly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I adore them!&rdquo; came the prompt answer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To Bertram's utter amazement, Billy drew back with a sharp cry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, no&mdash;not that!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, <i>Billy!</i>&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed unexpectedly; then she sighed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, it's all right, of course,&rdquo; she assured him hastily. &ldquo;It's only&mdash;&rdquo;
+       Billy stopped and blushed. Billy was thinking of what Hugh Calderwell had
+      once said to her: that Bertram Henshaw would never love any girl
+      seriously; that it would always be the turn of her head or the tilt of her
+      chin that he loved&mdash;to paint.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well; only what?&rdquo; demanded Bertram.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy blushed the more deeply, but she gave a light laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nothing, only something Hugh Calderwell said to me once. You see,
+      Bertram, I don't think Hugh ever thought you would&mdash;marry.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, didn't he?&rdquo; bridled Bertram. &ldquo;Well, that only goes to show how much
+      he knows about it. Er&mdash;did you announce it&mdash;to him?&rdquo; Bertram's
+      voice was almost savage now.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy smiled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No; but I did to his sister, and she'll tell him. Oh, Bertram, such a
+      time as I had over those notes,&rdquo; went on Billy, with a chuckle. Her eyes
+      were dancing, and she was seeming more like her usual self, Bertram
+      thought. &ldquo;You see there were such a lot of things I wanted to say, about
+      what a dear you were, and how much I&mdash;I liked you, and that you had
+      such lovely eyes, and a nose&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy!&rdquo; This time it was Bertram who was sitting erect in pale horror.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy threw him a roguish glance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Goosey! You are as bad as Aunt Hannah! I said that was what I <i>wanted</i>
+      to say. What I really said was&mdash;quite another matter,&rdquo; she finished
+      with a saucy uptilting of her chin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram relaxed with a laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You witch!&rdquo; His admiring eyes still lingered on her face. &ldquo;Billy, I'm
+      going to paint you sometime in just that pose. You're adorable!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pooh! Just another face of a girl,&rdquo; teased the adorable one.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram gave a sudden exclamation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There! And I haven't told you, yet. Guess what my next commission is.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To paint a portrait?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Can't. Who is it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;J. G. Winthrop's daughter.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not <i>the</i> J. G. Winthrop?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The same.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Bertram, how splendid!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Isn't it? And then the girl herself! Have you seen her? But you haven't,
+      I know, unless you met her abroad. She hasn't been in Boston for years
+      until now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I haven't seen her. Is she so <i>very</i> beautiful?&rdquo; Billy spoke a
+      little soberly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes&mdash;and no.&rdquo; The artist lifted his head alertly. What Billy called
+      his &ldquo;painting look&rdquo; came to his face. &ldquo;It isn't that her features are so
+      regular&mdash;though her mouth and chin are perfect. But her face has so
+      much character, and there's an elusive something about her eyes&mdash;Jove!
+      If I can only catch it, it'll be the best thing yet that I've ever done,
+      Billy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Will it? I'm so glad&mdash;and you'll get it, I know you will,&rdquo; claimed
+      Billy, clearing her throat a little nervously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wish I felt so sure,&rdquo; sighed Bertram. &ldquo;But it'll be a great thing if I
+      do get it&mdash;J. G. Winthrop's daughter, you know, besides the merit of
+      the likeness itself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes; yes, indeed!&rdquo; Billy cleared her throat again. &ldquo;You've seen her, of
+      course, lately?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes. I was there half the morning discussing the details&mdash;sittings
+      and costume, and deciding on the pose.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did you find one&mdash;to suit?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Find one!&rdquo; The artist made a despairing gesture. &ldquo;I found a dozen that I
+      wanted. The trouble was to tell which I wanted the most.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy gave a nervous little laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Isn't that&mdash;unusual?&rdquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram lifted his eyebrows with a quizzical smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, they aren't all Marguerite Winthrops,&rdquo; he reminded her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Marguerite!&rdquo; cried Billy. &ldquo;Oh, is her name Marguerite? I do think
+      Marguerite is the dearest name!&rdquo; Billy's eyes and voice were wistful.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't&mdash;not the <i>dearest</i>. Oh, it's all well enough, of
+      course, but it can't be compared for a moment to&mdash;well, say,
+      'Billy'!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy smiled, but she shook her head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm afraid you're not a good judge of names,&rdquo; she objected.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I am; though, for that matter, I should love your name, no matter
+      what it was.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Even if 'twas 'Mary Jane,' eh?&rdquo; bantered Billy. &ldquo;Well, you'll have a
+      chance to find out how you like that name pretty quick, sir. We're going
+      to have one here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You're going to have a Mary Jane here? Do you mean that Rosa's going
+      away?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mercy! I hope not,&rdquo; shuddered Billy. &ldquo;You don't find a Rosa in every
+      kitchen&mdash;and never in employment agencies! My Mary Jane is a niece of
+      Aunt Hannah's,&mdash;or rather, a cousin. She's coming to Boston to study
+      music, and I've invited her here. We've asked her for a month, though I
+      presume we shall keep her right along.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram frowned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, of course, that's very nice for&mdash;<i>Mary Jane</i>,&rdquo; he sighed
+      with meaning emphasis.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't worry, dear. She won't bother us any.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes, she will,&rdquo; sighed Bertram. &ldquo;She'll be 'round&mdash;lots; you see
+      if she isn't. Billy, I think sometimes you're almost too kind&mdash;to
+      other folks.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never!&rdquo; laughed Billy. &ldquo;Besides, what would you have me do when a
+      lonesome young girl was coming to Boston? Anyhow, <i>you're</i> not the
+      one to talk, young man. I've known <i>you</i> to take in a lonesome girl
+      and give her a home,&rdquo; she flashed merrily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram chuckled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jove! What a time that was!&rdquo; he exclaimed, regarding his companion with
+      fond eyes. &ldquo;And Spunk, too! Is she going to bring a Spunk?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not that I've heard,&rdquo; smiled Billy; &ldquo;but she <i>is</i> going to wear a
+      pink.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not really, Billy?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course she is! I told her to. How do you suppose we could know her
+      when we saw her, if she didn't?&rdquo; demanded the girl, indignantly. &ldquo;And what
+      is more, sir, there will be <i>two</i> pinks worn this time. <i>I</i>
+      sha'n't do as Uncle William did, and leave off my pink. Only think what
+      long minutes&mdash;that seemed hours of misery&mdash;I spent waiting there
+      in that train-shed, just because I didn't know which man was my Uncle
+      William!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram laughed and shrugged his shoulders.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, your Mary Jane won't probably turn out to be quite such a bombshell
+      as our Billy did&mdash;unless she should prove to be a boy,&rdquo; he added
+      whimsically. &ldquo;Oh, but Billy, she <i>can't</i> turn out to be such a dear
+      treasure,&rdquo; finished the man. And at the adoring look in his eyes Billy
+      blushed deeply&mdash;and promptly forgot all about Mary Jane and her pink.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER IV. FOR MARY JANE
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have a letter here from Mary Jane, my dear,&rdquo; announced Aunt Hannah at
+      the luncheon table one day.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you?&rdquo; Billy raised interested eyes from her own letters. &ldquo;What does
+      she say?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She will be here Thursday. Her train is due at the South Station at
+      four-thirty. She seems to be very grateful to you for your offer to let
+      her come right here for a month; but she says she's afraid you don't
+      realize, perhaps, just what you are doing&mdash;to take her in like that,
+      with her singing, and all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense! She doesn't refuse, does she?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no; she doesn't refuse&mdash;but she doesn't accept either, exactly,
+      as I can see. I've read the letter over twice, too. I'll let you judge for
+      yourself by and by, when you have time to read it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never mind. I don't want to read it. She's just a little shy about
+      coming, that's all. She'll stay all right, when we come to meet her. What
+      time did you say it was, Thursday?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Half past four, South Station.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thursday, at half past four. Let me see&mdash;that's the day of the
+      Carletons' 'At Home,' isn't it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, my grief and conscience, yes! But I had forgotten it. What shall we
+      do?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, that will be easy. We'll just go to the Carletons' early and have
+      John wait, then take us from there to the South Station. Meanwhile we'll
+      make sure that the little blue room is all ready for her. I put in my
+      white enamel work-basket yesterday, and that pretty little blue case for
+      hairpins and curling tongs that I bought at the fair. I want the room to
+      look homey to her, you know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As if it could look any other way, if <i>you</i> had anything to do with
+      it,&rdquo; sighed Aunt Hannah, admiringly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If we get stranded we might ask the Henshaw boys to help us out, Aunt
+      Hannah. They'd probably suggest guns and swords. That's the way they fixed
+      up <i>my</i> room.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah raised shocked hands of protest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As if we would! Mercy, what a time that was!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I never shall forget, <i>never</i>, my first glimpse of that room when
+      Mrs. Hartwell switched on the lights. Oh, Aunt Hannah, I wish you could
+      have seen it before they took out those guns and spiders!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As if I didn't see quite enough when I saw William's face that morning he
+      came for me!&rdquo; retorted Aunt Hannah, spiritedly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dear Uncle William! What an old saint he has been all the way through,&rdquo;
+       mused Billy aloud. &ldquo;And Cyril&mdash;who would ever have believed that the
+      day would come when Cyril would say to me, as he did last night, that he
+      felt as if Marie had been gone a month. It's been just seven days, you
+      know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know. She comes to-morrow, doesn't she?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, and I'm glad. I shall tell Marie she needn't leave Cyril on <i>my</i>
+      hands again. Bertram says that at home Cyril hasn't played a dirge since
+      his engagement; but I notice that up here&mdash;where Marie might be, but
+      isn't&mdash;his tunes would never be mistaken for ragtime. By the way,&rdquo;
+       she added, as she rose from the table, &ldquo;that's another surprise in store
+      for Hugh Calderwell. He always declared that Cyril wasn't a marrying man,
+      either, any more than Bertram. You know he said Bertram only cared for
+      girls to paint; but&mdash;&rdquo; She stopped and looked inquiringly at Rosa,
+      who had appeared at that moment in the hall doorway.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's the telephone, Miss Neilson. Mr. Bertram Henshaw wants you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A few minutes later Aunt Hannah heard Billy at the piano. For fifteen,
+      twenty, thirty minutes the brilliant scales and arpeggios rippled through
+      the rooms and up the stairs to Aunt Hannah, who knew, by the very sound of
+      them, that some unusual nervousness was being worked off at the finger
+      tips that played them. At the end of forty-five minutes Aunt Hannah went
+      down-stairs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, my dear, excuse me, but have you forgotten what time it is?
+      Weren't you going out with Bertram?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy stopped playing at once, but she did not turn her head. Her fingers
+      busied themselves with some music on the piano.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We aren't going, Aunt Hannah,&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bertram can't.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;<i>Can't!</i>&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, he didn't want to&mdash;so of course I said not to. He's been
+      painting this morning on a new portrait, and she said he might stay to
+      luncheon and keep right on for a while this afternoon, if he liked. And&mdash;he
+      did like, so he stayed.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, how&mdash;how&mdash;&rdquo; Aunt Hannah stopped helplessly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no, not at all,&rdquo; interposed Billy, lightly. &ldquo;He told me all about it
+      the other night. It's going to be a very wonderful portrait; and, of
+      course, I wouldn't want to interfere with&mdash;his work!&rdquo; And again a
+      brilliant scale rippled from Billy's fingers after a crashing chord in the
+      bass.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Slowly Aunt Hannah turned and went up-stairs. Her eyes were troubled. Not
+      since Billy's engagement had she heard Billy play like that.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram did not find a pensive Billy awaiting him that evening. He found a
+      bright-eyed, flushed-cheeked Billy, who let herself be kissed&mdash;once&mdash;but
+      who did not kiss back; a blithe, elusive Billy, who played tripping little
+      melodies, and sang jolly little songs, instead of sitting before the fire
+      and talking; a Billy who at last turned, and asked tranquilly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, how did the picture go?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram rose then, crossed the room, and took Billy very gently into his
+      arms.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sweetheart, you were a dear this noon to let me off like that,&rdquo; he began
+      in a voice shaken with emotion. &ldquo;You don't know, perhaps, exactly what you
+      did. You see, I was nearly wild between wanting to be with you, and
+      wanting to go on with my work. And I was just at that point where one
+      little word from you, one hint that you wanted me to come anyway&mdash;and
+      I should have come. But you didn't say it, nor hint it. Like the brave
+      little bit of inspiration that you are, you bade me stay and go on with my
+      work.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The &ldquo;inspiration's&rdquo; head drooped a little lower, but this only brought a
+      wealth of soft bronze hair to just where Bertram could lay his cheek
+      against it&mdash;and Bertram promptly took advantage of his opportunity.
+      &ldquo;And so I stayed, Billy, and I did good work; I know I did good work. Why,
+      Billy,&rdquo;&mdash;Bertram stepped back now, and held Billy by the shoulders at
+      arms' length&mdash;&ldquo;Billy, that's going to be the best work I've ever
+      done. I can see it coming even now, under my fingers.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy lifted her head and looked into her lover's face. His eyes were
+      glowing. His cheeks were flushed. His whole countenance was aflame with
+      the soul of the artist who sees his vision taking shape before him. And
+      Billy, looking at him, felt suddenly&mdash;ashamed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Bertram, I'm proud, proud, <i>proud</i> of you!&rdquo; she breathed. &ldquo;Come,
+      let's go over to the fire-and talk!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER V. MARIE SPEAKS HER MIND
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Billy with John and Peggy met Marie Hawthorn at the station. &ldquo;Peggy&rdquo; was
+      short for &ldquo;Pegasus,&rdquo; and was what Billy always called her luxurious,
+      seven-seated touring car.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I simply won't call it 'automobile,'&rdquo; she had declared when she bought
+      it. &ldquo;In the first place, it takes too long to say it, and in the second
+      place, I don't want to add one more to the nineteen different ways to
+      pronounce it that I hear all around me every day now. As for calling it my
+      'car,' or my 'motor car'&mdash;I should expect to see a Pullman or one of
+      those huge black trucks before my door, if I ordered it by either of those
+      names. Neither will I insult the beautiful thing by calling it a
+      'machine.' Its name is Pegasus. I shall call it 'Peggy.'&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And &ldquo;Peggy&rdquo; she called it. John sniffed his disdain, and Billy's friends
+      made no secret of their amused tolerance; but, in an astonishingly short
+      time, half the automobile owners of her acquaintance were calling their
+      own cars &ldquo;Peggy&rdquo;; and even the dignified John himself was heard to order
+      &ldquo;some gasoline for Peggy,&rdquo; quite as a matter of course.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When Marie Hawthorn stepped from the train at the North Station she
+      greeted Billy with affectionate warmth, though at once her blue eyes swept
+      the space beyond expectantly and eagerly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy's lips curved in a mischievous smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, he didn't come,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;He didn't want to&mdash;a little bit.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Marie grew actually pale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Didn't <i>want</i> to!&rdquo; she stammered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy gave her a spasmodic hug.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Goosey! No, he didn't&mdash;a <i>little</i> bit; but he did a great <i>big</i>
+      bit. As if you didn't know he was dying to come, Marie! But he simply
+      couldn't&mdash;something about his concert Monday night. He told me over
+      the telephone; but between his joy that you were coming, and his rage that
+      he couldn't see you the first minute you did come, I couldn't quite make
+      out what was the trouble. But he's coming to dinner to-night, so he'll
+      doubtless tell you all about it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Marie sighed her relief.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, that's all right then. I was afraid he was sick&mdash;when I didn't
+      see him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed softly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, he isn't sick, Marie; but you needn't go away again before the
+      wedding&mdash;not to leave him on my hands. I wouldn't have believed Cyril
+      Henshaw, confirmed old bachelor and avowed woman-hater, could have acted
+      the part of a love-sick boy as he has the last week or two.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The rose-flush on Marie's cheek spread to the roots of her fine yellow
+      hair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, dear, he&mdash;he didn't!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Marie, dear&mdash;he&mdash;he did!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Marie laughed. She did not say anything, but the rose-flush deepened as
+      she occupied herself very busily in getting her trunk-check from the
+      little hand bag she carried.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Cyril was not mentioned again until the two girls, veils tied and coats
+      buttoned, were snugly ensconced in the tonneau, and Peggy's nose was
+      turned toward home. Then Billy asked:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you settled on where you're going to live?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not quite. We're going to talk of that to-night; but we <i>do</i> know
+      that we aren't going to live at the Strata.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Marie!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Marie stirred uneasily at the obvious disappointment and reproach in her
+      friend's voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, dear, it wouldn't be wise, I'm sure,&rdquo; she argued hastily. &ldquo;There
+      will be you and Bertram&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We sha'n't be there for a year, nearly,&rdquo; cut in Billy, with swift
+      promptness. &ldquo;Besides, I think it would be lovely&mdash;all together.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Marie smiled, but she shook her head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Lovely&mdash;but not practical, dear.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed ruefully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know; you're worrying about those puddings of yours. You're afraid
+      somebody is going to interfere with your making quite so many as you want
+      to; and Cyril is worrying for fear there'll be somebody else in the circle
+      of his shaded lamp besides his little Marie with the light on her hair,
+      and the mending basket by her side.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, what are you talking about?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy threw a roguish glance into her friend's amazed blue eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, just a little picture Cyril drew once for me of what home meant for
+      him: a room with a table and a shaded lamp, and a little woman beside it
+      with the light on her hair and a great basket of sewing by her side.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Marie's eyes softened.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did he say&mdash;that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. Oh, he declared he shouldn't want her to sit under that lamp all the
+      time, of course; but he hoped she'd like that sort of thing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Marie threw a quick glance at the stolid back of John beyond the two empty
+      seats in front of them. Although she knew he could not hear her words,
+      instinctively she lowered her voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did you know&mdash;then&mdash;about&mdash;me?&rdquo; she asked, with heightened
+      color.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, only that there was a girl somewhere who, he hoped, would sit under
+      the lamp some day. And when I asked him if the girl did like that sort of
+      thing, he said yes, he thought so; for she had told him once that the
+      things she liked best of all to do were to mend stockings and make
+      puddings. Then I knew, of course, 'twas you, for I'd heard you say the
+      same thing. So I sent him right along out to you in the summer-house.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The pink flush on Marie's face grew to a red one. Her blue eyes turned
+      again to John's broad back, then drifted to the long, imposing line of
+      windowed walls and doorways on the right. The automobile was passing
+      smoothly along Beacon Street now with the Public Garden just behind them
+      on the left. After a moment Marie turned to Billy again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm so glad he wants&mdash;just puddings and stockings,&rdquo; she began a
+      little breathlessly. &ldquo;You see, for so long I supposed he <i>wouldn't</i>
+      want anything but a very brilliant, talented wife who could play and sing
+      beautifully; a wife he'd be proud of&mdash;like you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Me? Nonsense!&rdquo; laughed Billy. &ldquo;Cyril never wanted me, and I never wanted
+      him&mdash;only once for a few minutes, so to speak, when I thought, I did.
+      In spite of our music, we aren't a mite congenial. I like people around;
+      he doesn't. I like to go to plays; he doesn't. He likes rainy days, and I
+      abhor them. Mercy! Life with me for him would be one long jangling
+      discord, my love, while with you it'll be one long sweet song!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Marie drew a deep breath. Her eyes were fixed on a point far ahead up the
+      curveless street.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I hope it will, indeed!&rdquo; she breathed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Not until they were almost home did Billy say suddenly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, did Cyril write you? A young relative of Aunt Hannah's is coming
+      to-morrow to stay a while at the house.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Er&mdash;yes, Cyril told me,&rdquo; admitted Marie.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy smiled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Didn't like it, I suppose; eh?&rdquo; she queried shrewdly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;N-no, I'm afraid he didn't&mdash;very well. He said she'd be&mdash;one
+      more to be around.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There, what did I tell you?&rdquo; dimpled Billy. &ldquo;You can see what you're
+      coming to when you do get that shaded lamp and the mending basket!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A moment later, coming in sight of the house, Billy saw a tall,
+      smooth-shaven man standing on the porch. The man lifted his hat and waved
+      it gayly, baring a slightly bald head to the sun.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's Uncle William&mdash;bless his heart!&rdquo; cried Billy. &ldquo;They're all
+      coming to dinner, then he and Aunt Hannah and Bertram and I are going down
+      to the Hollis Street Theatre and let you and Cyril have a taste of what
+      that shaded lamp is going to be. I hope you won't be lonesome,&rdquo; she
+      finished mischievously, as the car drew up before the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER VI. AT THE SIGN OF THE PINK
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      After a week of beautiful autumn weather, Thursday dawned raw and cold. By
+      noon an east wind had made the temperature still more uncomfortable.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At two o'clock Aunt Hannah tapped at Billy's chamber door. She showed a
+      troubled face to the girl who answered her knock.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, <i>would</i> you mind very much if I asked you to go alone to the
+      Carletons' and to meet Mary Jane?&rdquo; she inquired anxiously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, no&mdash;that is, of course I should <i>mind</i>, dear, because I
+      always like to have you go to places with me. But it isn't necessary. You
+      aren't sick; are you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;N-no, not exactly; but I have been sneezing all the morning, and taking
+      camphor and sugar to break it up&mdash;if it is a cold. But it is so raw
+      and Novemberish out, that&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, of course you sha'n't go, you poor dear! Mercy! don't get one of
+      those dreadful colds on to you before the wedding! Have you felt a draft?
+      Where's another shawl?&rdquo; Billy turned and cast searching eyes about the
+      room&mdash;Billy always kept shawls everywhere for Aunt Hannah's shoulders
+      and feet. Bertram had been known to say, indeed, that a room, according to
+      Aunt Hannah, was not fully furnished unless it contained from one to four
+      shawls, assorted as to size and warmth. Shawls, certainly, did seem to be
+      a necessity with Aunt Hannah, as she usually wore from one to three at the
+      same time&mdash;which again caused Bertram to declare that he always
+      counted Aunt Hannah's shawls when he wished to know what the thermometer
+      was.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I'm not cold, and I haven't felt a draft,&rdquo; said Aunt Hannah now. &ldquo;I
+      put on my thickest gray shawl this morning with the little pink one for
+      down-stairs, and the blue one for breakfast; so you see I've been very
+      careful. But I <i>have</i> sneezed six times, so I think 'twould be safer
+      not to go out in this east wind. You were going to stop for Mrs. Granger,
+      anyway, weren't you? So you'll have her with you for the tea.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, dear, don't worry. I'll take your cards and explain to Mrs. Carleton
+      and her daughters.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And, of course, as far as Mary Jane is concerned, I don't know her any
+      more than you do; so I couldn't be any help there,&rdquo; sighed Aunt Hannah.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not a bit,&rdquo; smiled Billy, cheerily. &ldquo;Don't give it another thought, my
+      dear. I sha'n't have a bit of trouble. All I'll have to do is to look for
+      a girl alone with a pink. Of course I'll have mine on, too, and she'll be
+      watching for me. So just run along and take your nap, dear, and be all
+      rested and ready to welcome her when she comes,&rdquo; finished Billy, stooping
+      to give the soft, faintly pink cheek a warm kiss.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, thank you, my dear; perhaps I will,&rdquo; sighed Aunt Hannah, drawing
+      the gray shawl about her as she turned away contentedly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Carleton's tea that afternoon was, for Billy, not an occasion of
+      unalloyed joy. It was the first time she had appeared at a gathering of
+      any size since the announcement of her engagement; and, as she dolefully
+      told Bertram afterwards, she had very much the feeling of the picture hung
+      on the wall.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And they <i>did</i> put up their lorgnettes and say, 'Is <i>that</i> the
+      one?'&rdquo; she declared; &ldquo;and I know some of them finished with 'Did you
+      ever?' too,&rdquo; she sighed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But Billy did not stay long in Mrs. Carleton's softly-lighted,
+      flower-perfumed rooms. At ten minutes past four she was saying good-by to
+      a group of friends who were vainly urging her to remain longer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can't&mdash;I really can't,&rdquo; she declared. &ldquo;I'm due at the South
+      Station at half past four to meet a Miss Arkwright, a young cousin of Aunt
+      Hannah's, whom I've never seen before. We're to meet at the sign of the
+      pink,&rdquo; she explained smilingly, just touching the single flower she wore.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Her hostess gave a sudden laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let me see, my dear; if I remember rightly, you've had experience before,
+      meeting at this sign of the pink. At least, I have a very vivid
+      recollection of Mr. William Henshaw's going once to meet a <i>boy</i> with
+      a pink, who turned out to be a girl. Now, to even things up, your girl
+      should turn out to be a boy!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy smiled and reddened.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps&mdash;but I don't think to-day will strike the balance,&rdquo; she
+      retorted, backing toward the door. &ldquo;This young lady's name is 'Mary Jane';
+      and I'll leave it to you to find anything very masculine in that!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a short drive from Mrs. Carleton's Commonwealth Avenue home to the
+      South Station, and Peggy made as quick work of it as the narrow, congested
+      cross streets would allow. In ample time Billy found herself in the great
+      waiting-room, with John saying respectfully in her ear:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The man says the train comes in on Track Fourteen, Miss, an' it's on
+      time.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At twenty-nine minutes past four Billy left her seat and walked down the
+      train-shed platform to Track Number Fourteen. She had pinned the pink now
+      to the outside of her long coat, and it made an attractive dash of white
+      against the dark-blue velvet. Billy was looking particularly lovely
+      to-day. Framing her face was the big dark-blue velvet picture hat with its
+      becoming white plumes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      During the brief minutes' wait before the clanging locomotive puffed into
+      view far down the long track, Billy's thoughts involuntarily went back to
+      that other watcher beside a train gate not quite five years before.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dear Uncle William!&rdquo; she murmured tenderly. Then suddenly she laughed&mdash;so
+      nearly aloud that a man behind her gave her a covert glance from curious
+      eyes. &ldquo;My! but what a jolt I must have been to Uncle William!&rdquo; Billy was
+      thinking.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The next minute she drew nearer the gate and regarded with absorbed
+      attention the long line of passengers already sweeping up the narrow aisle
+      between the cars.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Hurrying men came first, with long strides, and eyes that looked straight
+      ahead. These Billy let pass with a mere glance. The next group showed a
+      sprinkling of women&mdash;women whose trig hats and linen collars spelled
+      promptness as well as certainty of aim and accomplishment. To these, also,
+      Billy paid scant attention. Couples came next&mdash;the men anxious-eyed,
+      and usually walking two steps ahead of their companions; the women plainly
+      flustered and hurried, and invariably buttoning gloves or gathering up
+      trailing ends of scarfs or boas.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The crowd was thickening fast, now, and Billy's eyes were alert. Children
+      were appearing, and young women walking alone. One of these wore a bunch
+      of violets. Billy gave her a second glance. Then she saw a pink&mdash;but
+      it was on the coat lapel of a tall young fellow with a brown beard; so
+      with a slight frown she looked beyond down the line.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Old men came now, and old women; fleshy women, and women with small
+      children and babies. Couples came, too&mdash;dawdling couples, plainly
+      newly married: the men were not two steps ahead, and the women's gloves
+      were buttoned and their furs in place.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Gradually the line thinned, and soon there were left only an old man with
+      a cane, and a young woman with three children. Yet nowhere had Billy seen
+      a girl wearing a white carnation, and walking alone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With a deeper frown on her face Billy turned and looked about her. She
+      thought that somewhere in the crowd she had missed Mary Jane, and that she
+      would find her now, standing near. But there was no one standing near
+      except the good-looking young fellow with the little pointed brown beard,
+      who, as Billy noticed a second time, was wearing a white carnation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As she glanced toward him, their eyes met. Then, to Billy's unbounded
+      amazement, the man advanced with uplifted hat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I beg your pardon, but is not this&mdash;Miss Neilson?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy drew back with just a touch of hauteur.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Y-yes,&rdquo; she murmured.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I thought so&mdash;yet I was expecting to see you with Aunt Hannah. I am
+      M. J. Arkwright, Miss Neilson.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      For a brief instant Billy stared dazedly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You don't mean&mdash;Mary Jane?&rdquo; she gasped.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm afraid I do.&rdquo; His lips twitched.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I thought&mdash;we were expecting&mdash;&rdquo; She stopped helplessly. For
+      one more brief instant she stared; then, suddenly, a swift change came to
+      her face. Her eyes danced.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh&mdash;oh!&rdquo; she chuckled. &ldquo;How perfectly funny! You <i>have</i> evened
+      things up, after all. To think that Mary Jane should be a&mdash;&rdquo; She
+      paused and flashed almost angrily suspicious eyes into his face. &ldquo;But mine
+      <i>was</i> 'Billy,'&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;Your name isn't really&mdash;Mary Jane'?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am often called that.&rdquo; His brown eyes twinkled, but they did not swerve
+      from their direct gaze into her own.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But&mdash;&rdquo; Billy hesitated, and turned her eyes away. She saw then that
+      many curious glances were already being flung in her direction. The color
+      in her cheeks deepened. With an odd little gesture she seemed to toss
+      something aside. &ldquo;Never mind,&rdquo; she laughed a little hysterically. &ldquo;If
+      you'll pick up your bag, please, Mr. Mary Jane, and come with me. John and
+      Peggy are waiting. Or&mdash;I forgot&mdash;you have a trunk, of course?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The man raised a protesting hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you; but, Miss Neilson, really&mdash;I couldn't think of
+      trespassing on your hospitality&mdash;now, you know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But we&mdash;we invited you,&rdquo; stammered Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He shook his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You invited <i>Miss</i> Mary Jane.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy bubbled into low laughter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I beg your pardon, but it <i>is</i> funny,&rdquo; she sighed. &ldquo;You see <i>I</i>
+      came once just the same way, and now to have the tables turned like this!
+      What will Aunt Hannah say&mdash;what will everybody say? Come, I want them
+      to begin&mdash;to say it,&rdquo; she chuckled irrepressibly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you, but I shall go to a hotel, of course. Later, if you'll be so
+      good as to let me call, and explain&mdash;!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I'm afraid Aunt Hannah will think&mdash;&rdquo; Billy stopped abruptly.
+      Some distance away she saw John coming toward them. She turned hurriedly
+      to the man at her side. Her eyes still danced, but her voice was mockingly
+      serious. &ldquo;Really, Mr. Mary Jane, I'm afraid you'll have to come to dinner;
+      then you can settle the rest with Aunt Hannah. John is almost upon us&mdash;and
+      <i>I</i> don't want to make explanations. Do you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;John,&rdquo; she said airily to the somewhat dazed chauffeur (who had been told
+      he was to meet a young woman), &ldquo;take Mr. Arkwright's bag, please, and show
+      him where Peggy is waiting. It will be five minutes, perhaps, before I can
+      come&mdash;if you'll kindly excuse me,&rdquo; she added to Arkwright, with a
+      flashing glance from merry eyes. &ldquo;I have some&mdash;telephoning to do.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      All the way to the telephone booth Billy was trying to bring order out of
+      the chaos of her mind; but all the way, too, she was chuckling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To think that this thing should have happened to <i>me!</i>&rdquo; she said,
+      almost aloud. &ldquo;And here I am telephoning just like Uncle William&mdash;Bertram
+      said Uncle William <i>did</i> telephone about <i>me!</i>&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In due course Billy had Aunt Hannah at the other end of the wire.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aunt Hannah, listen. I'd never have believed it, but it's happened. Mary
+      Jane is&mdash;a man.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy heard a dismayed gasp and a muttered &ldquo;Oh, my grief and conscience!&rdquo;
+       then a shaking &ldquo;Wha-at?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I say, Mary Jane is a man.&rdquo; Billy was enjoying herself hugely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A <i>ma-an!</i>&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes; a great big man with a brown beard. He's waiting now with John and I
+      must go.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, Billy, I don't understand,&rdquo; chattered an agitated voice over the
+      line. &ldquo;He&mdash;he called himself 'Mary Jane.' He hasn't any business to
+      be a big man with a brown beard! What shall we do? We don't want a big man
+      with a brown beard&mdash;here!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed roguishly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know. <i>You</i> asked him! How he will like that little blue
+      room&mdash;Aunt Hannah!&rdquo; Billy's voice turned suddenly tragic. &ldquo;For pity's
+      sake take out those curling tongs and hairpins, and the work-basket. I'd
+      <i>never</i> hear the last of it if he saw those, I know. He's just that
+      kind!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A half stifled groan came over the wire.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, he can't stay here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, no, dear; he won't, I know. He says he's going to a hotel. But I had
+      to bring him home to dinner; there was no other way, under the
+      circumstances. He won't stay. Don't you worry. But good-by. I must go. <i>Remember
+      those curling tongs!</i>&rdquo; And the receiver clicked sharply against the
+      hook.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the automobile some minutes later, Billy and Mr. M. J. Arkwright were
+      speeding toward Corey Hill. It was during a slight pause in the
+      conversation that Billy turned to her companion with a demure:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I telephoned Aunt Hannah, Mr. Arkwright. I thought she ought to be&mdash;warned.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are very kind. What did she say?&mdash;if I may ask.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a brief moment of hesitation before Billy answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She said you called yourself 'Mary Jane,' and that you hadn't any
+      business to be a big man with a brown beard.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright laughed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm afraid I owe Aunt Hannah an apology,&rdquo; he said. He hesitated, glanced
+      admiringly at the glowing, half-averted face near him, then went on
+      decisively. He wore the air of a man who has set the match to his bridges.
+      &ldquo;I signed both letters 'M. J. Arkwright,' but in the first one I quoted a
+      remark of a friend, and in that remark I was addressed as 'Mary Jane.' I
+      did not know but Aunt Hannah knew of the nickname.&rdquo; (Arkwright was
+      speaking a little slowly now, as if weighing his words.) &ldquo;But when she
+      answered, I saw that she did not; for, from something she said, I realized
+      that she thought I was a real Mary Jane. For the joke of the thing I let
+      it pass. But&mdash;if she noticed my letter carefully, she saw that I did
+      not accept your kind invitation to give 'Mary Jane' a home.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, we noticed that,&rdquo; nodded Billy, merrily. &ldquo;But we didn't think you
+      meant it. You see we pictured you as a shy young thing. But, really,&rdquo; she
+      went on with a low laugh, &ldquo;you see your coming as a masculine 'Mary Jane'
+      was particularly funny&mdash;for me; for, though perhaps you didn't know
+      it, I came once to this very same city, wearing a pink, and was expected
+      to be Billy, a boy. And only to-day a lady warned me that your coming
+      might even things up. But I didn't believe it would&mdash;a Mary Jane!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright laughed. Again he hesitated, and seemed to be weighing his
+      words.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I heard about that coming of yours. I might almost say&mdash;that's
+      why I&mdash;let the mistake pass in Aunt Hannah's letter,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy turned with reproachful eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, how could&mdash;you? But then&mdash;it was a temptation!&rdquo; She laughed
+      suddenly. &ldquo;What sinful joy you must have had watching me hunt for 'Mary
+      Jane.'&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I didn't,&rdquo; acknowledged the other, with unexpected candor. &ldquo;I felt&mdash;ashamed.
+      And when I saw you were there alone without Aunt Hannah, I came very near
+      not speaking at all&mdash;until I realized that that would be even worse,
+      under the circumstances.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course it would,&rdquo; smiled Billy, brightly; &ldquo;so I don't see but I shall
+      have to forgive you, after all. And here we are at home, Mr. Mary Jane. By
+      the way, what did you say that 'M. J.' did stand for?&rdquo; she asked, as the
+      car came to a stop.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The man did not seem to hear; at least he did not answer. He was helping
+      his hostess to alight. A moment later a plainly agitated Aunt Hannah&mdash;her
+      gray shawl topped with a huge black one&mdash;opened the door of the
+      house.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER VII. OLD FRIENDS AND NEW
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      At ten minutes before six on the afternoon of Arkwright's arrival, Billy
+      came into the living-room to welcome the three Henshaw brothers, who, as
+      was frequently the case, were dining at Hillside.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram thought Billy had never looked prettier than she did this
+      afternoon with the bronze sheen of her pretty house gown bringing out the
+      bronze lights in her dark eyes and in the soft waves of her beautiful
+      hair. Her countenance, too, carried a peculiar something that the artist's
+      eye was quick to detect, and that the artist's fingers tingled to put on
+      canvas.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jove! Billy,&rdquo; he said low in her ear, as he greeted her, &ldquo;I wish I had a
+      brush in my hand this minute. I'd have a 'Face of a Girl' that would be
+      worth while!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed and dimpled her appreciation; but down in her heart she was
+      conscious of a vague unrest. Billy wished, sometimes, that she did not so
+      often seem to Bertram&mdash;a picture.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She turned to Cyril with outstretched hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes, Marie's coming,&rdquo; she smiled in answer to the quick shifting of
+      Cyril's eyes to the hall doorway. &ldquo;And Aunt Hannah, too. They're
+      up-stairs.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And Mary Jane?&rdquo; demanded William, a little anxiously
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Will's getting nervous,&rdquo; volunteered Bertram, airily. &ldquo;He wants to see
+      Mary Jane. You see we've told him that we shall expect him to see that she
+      doesn't bother us four too much, you know. He's expected always to remove
+      her quietly but effectually, whenever he sees that she is likely to
+      interrupt a tête-á-tête. Naturally, then, Will wants to see Mary Jane.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy began to laugh hysterically. She dropped into a chair and raised
+      both her hands, palms outward.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't, don't&mdash;please don't!&rdquo; she choked, &ldquo;or I shall die. I've had
+      all I can stand, already.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All you can stand?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is she so&mdash;impossible?&rdquo; This last was from Bertram, spoken softly,
+      and with a hurried glance toward the hall.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy dropped her hands and lifted her head. By heroic effort she pulled
+      her face into sobriety&mdash;all but her eyes&mdash;and announced:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mary Jane is&mdash;a man.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wha-at?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A <i>man!</i>&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Three masculine forms sat suddenly erect.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. Oh, Uncle William, I know now just how you felt&mdash;I know, I
+      know,&rdquo; gurgled Billy, incoherently. &ldquo;There he stood with his pink just as
+      I did&mdash;only he had a brown beard, and he didn't have Spunk&mdash;and
+      I had to telephone to prepare folks, just as you did. And the room&mdash;the
+      room! I fixed the room, too,&rdquo; she babbled breathlessly, &ldquo;only I had
+      curling tongs and hair pins in it instead of guns and spiders!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Child, child! what <i>are</i> you talking about?&rdquo; William's face was red.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A <i>man!</i>&mdash;<i>Mary Jane!</i>&rdquo; Cyril was merely cross.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, what does this mean?&rdquo; Bertram had grown a little white.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy began to laugh again, yet she was plainly trying to control herself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll tell you. I must tell you. Aunt Hannah is keeping him up-stairs so I
+      can tell you,&rdquo; she panted. &ldquo;But it was so funny, when I expected a girl,
+      you know, to see him with his brown beard, and he was so tall and big!
+      And, of course, it made me think how <i>I</i> came, and was a girl when
+      you expected a boy; and Mrs. Carleton had just said to-day that maybe this
+      girl would even things up. Oh, it was so funny!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, my-my dear,&rdquo; remonstrated Uncle William, mildly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But what <i>is</i> his name?&rdquo; demanded Cyril.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did the creature sign himself 'Mary Jane'?&rdquo; exploded Bertram.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know his name, except that it's 'M. J.'&mdash;and that's how he
+      signed the letters. But he <i>is</i> called 'Mary Jane' sometimes, and in
+      the letter he quoted somebody's speech&mdash;I've forgotten just how&mdash;but
+      in it he was called 'Mary Jane,' and, of course, Aunt Hannah took him for
+      a girl,&rdquo; explained Billy, grown a little more coherent now.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Didn't he write again?&rdquo; asked William.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, why didn't he correct the mistake, then?&rdquo; demanded Bertram.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy chuckled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He didn't want to, I guess. He thought it was too good a joke.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Joke!&rdquo; scoffed Cyril.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, see here, Billy, he isn't going to live here&mdash;now?&rdquo; Bertram's
+      voice was almost savage.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no, he isn't going to live here&mdash;now,&rdquo; interposed smooth tones
+      from the doorway.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr.&mdash;Arkwright!&rdquo; breathed Billy, confusedly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Three crimson-faced men sprang to their feet. The situation, for a moment,
+      threatened embarrassed misery for all concerned; but Arkwright, with a
+      cheery smile, advanced straight toward Bertram, and held out a friendly
+      hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The proverbial fate of listeners,&rdquo; he said easily; &ldquo;but I don't blame you
+      at all. No, 'he' isn't going to live here,&rdquo; he went on, grasping each
+      brother's hand in turn, as Billy murmured faint introductions; &ldquo;and what
+      is more, he hereby asks everybody's pardon for the annoyance his little
+      joke has caused. He might add that he's heartily-ashamed of himself, as
+      well; but if any of you&mdash;&rdquo; Arkwright turned to the three tall men
+      still standing by their chairs&mdash;&ldquo;if any of you had suffered what he
+      has at the hands of a swarm of youngsters for that name's sake, you
+      wouldn't blame him for being tempted to get what fun he could out of Mary
+      Jane&mdash;if there ever came a chance!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Naturally, after this, there could be nothing stiff or embarrassing. Billy
+      laughed in relief, and motioned Mr. Arkwright to a seat near her. William
+      said &ldquo;Of course, of course!&rdquo; and shook hands again. Bertram and Cyril
+      laughed shamefacedly and sat down. Somebody said: &ldquo;But what does the 'M.
+      J.' stand for, anyhow?&rdquo; Nobody answered this, however; perhaps because
+      Aunt Hannah and Marie appeared just then in the doorway.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Dinner proved to be a lively meal. In the newcomer, Bertram met his match
+      for wit and satire; and &ldquo;Mr. Mary Jane,&rdquo; as he was promptly called by
+      every one but Aunt Hannah, was found to be a most entertaining guest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After dinner somebody suggested music.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Cyril frowned, and got up abruptly. Still frowning, he turned to a
+      bookcase near him and began to take down and examine some of the books.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram twinkled and glanced at Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Which is it, Cyril?&rdquo; he called with cheerful impertinence; &ldquo;stool, piano,
+      or audience that is the matter to-night?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Only a shrug from Cyril answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You see,&rdquo; explained Bertram, jauntily, to Arkwright, whose eyes were
+      slightly puzzled, &ldquo;Cyril never plays unless the piano and the pedals and
+      the weather and your ears and my watch and his fingers are just right!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense!&rdquo; scorned Cyril, dropping his book and walking back to his
+      chair. &ldquo;I don't feel like playing to-night; that's all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You see,&rdquo; nodded Bertram again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I see,&rdquo; bowed Arkwright with quiet amusement.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I believe&mdash;Mr. Mary Jane&mdash;sings,&rdquo; observed Billy, at this
+      point, demurely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, yes, of course,&rdquo; chimed in Aunt Hannah with some nervousness.
+      &ldquo;That's what she&mdash;I mean he&mdash;was coming to Boston for&mdash;to
+      study music.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Everybody laughed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Won't you sing, please?&rdquo; asked Billy. &ldquo;Can you&mdash;without your notes?
+      I have lots of songs if you want them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      For a moment&mdash;but only a moment&mdash;Arkwright hesitated; then he
+      rose and went to the piano.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With the easy sureness of the trained musician his fingers dropped to the
+      keys and slid into preliminary chords and arpeggios to test the touch of
+      the piano; then, with a sweetness and purity that made every listener turn
+      in amazed delight, a well-trained tenor began the &ldquo;Thro' the leaves the
+      night winds moving,&rdquo; of Schubert's Serenade.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Cyril's chin had lifted at the first tone. He was listening now with very
+      obvious pleasure. Bertram, too, was showing by his attitude the keenest
+      appreciation. William and Aunt Hannah, resting back in their chairs, were
+      contentedly nodding their approval to each other. Marie in her corner was
+      motionless with rapture. As to Billy&mdash;Billy was plainly oblivious of
+      everything but the song and the singer. She seemed scarcely to move or to
+      breathe till the song's completion; then there came a low &ldquo;Oh, how
+      beautiful!&rdquo; through her parted lips.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram, looking at her, was conscious of a vague irritation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Arkwright, you're a lucky dog,&rdquo; he declared almost crossly. &ldquo;I wish I
+      could sing like that!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wish I could paint a 'Face of a Girl,'&rdquo; smiled the tenor as he turned
+      from the piano.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, but, Mr. Arkwright, don't stop,&rdquo; objected Billy, springing to her
+      feet and going to her music cabinet by the piano. &ldquo;There's a little song
+      of Nevin's I want you to sing. There, here it is. Just let me play it for
+      you.&rdquo; And she slipped into the place the singer had just left.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was the beginning of the end. After Nevin came De Koven, and after De
+      Koven, Gounod. Then came Nevin again, Billy still playing the
+      accompaniment. Next followed a duet. Billy did not consider herself much
+      of a singer, but her voice was sweet and true, and not without training.
+      It blended very prettily with the clear, pure tenor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      William and Aunt Hannah still smiled contentedly in their chairs, though
+      Aunt Hannah had reached for the pink shawl near her&mdash;the music had
+      sent little shivers down her spine. Cyril, with Marie, had slipped into
+      the little reception-room across the hall, ostensibly to look at some
+      plans for a house, although&mdash;as everybody knew&mdash;they were not
+      intending to build for a year.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram, still sitting stiffly erect in his chair, was not conscious of a
+      vague irritation now. He was conscious of a very real, and a very decided
+      one&mdash;an irritation that was directed against himself, against Billy,
+      and against this man, Arkwright; but chiefly against music, <i>per se</i>.
+      He hated music. He wished he could sing. He wondered how long it took to
+      teach a man to sing, anyhow; and he wondered if a man could sing&mdash;who
+      never had sung.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At this point the duet came to an end, and Billy and her guest left the
+      piano. Almost at once, after this, Arkwright made his very graceful
+      adieus, and went off with his suit-case to the hotel where, as he had
+      informed Aunt Hannah, his room was already engaged.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      William went home then, and Aunt Hannah went up-stairs. Cyril and Marie
+      withdrew into a still more secluded corner to look at their plans, and
+      Bertram found himself at last alone with Billy. He forgot, then, in the
+      blissful hour he spent with her before the open fire, how he hated music;
+      though he did say, just before he went home that night:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, how long does it take&mdash;to learn to sing?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, I don't know, I'm sure,&rdquo; replied Billy, abstractedly; then, with
+      sudden fervor: &ldquo;Oh, Bertram, hasn't Mr. Mary Jane a beautiful voice?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram wished then he had not asked the question; but all he said was:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Mr. Mary Jane,' indeed! What an absurd name!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But doesn't he sing beautifully?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh? Oh, yes, he sings all right,&rdquo; said Bertram's tongue. Bertram's manner
+      said: &ldquo;Oh, yes, anybody can sing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER VIII. M. J. OPENS THE GAME
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      On the morning after Cyril's first concert of the season, Billy sat sewing
+      with Aunt Hannah in the little sitting-room at the end of the hall
+      upstairs. Aunt Hannah wore only one shawl this morning,&mdash;which meant
+      that she was feeling unusually well.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Marie ought to be here to mend these stockings,&rdquo; remarked Billy, as she
+      critically examined a tiny break in the black silk mesh stretched across
+      the darning-egg in her hand; &ldquo;only she'd want a bigger hole. She does so
+      love to make a beautiful black latticework bridge across a yawning white
+      china sea&mdash;and you'd think the safety of an army depended on the way
+      each plank was laid, too,&rdquo; she concluded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah smiled tranquilly, but she did not speak.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I suppose you don't happen to know if Cyril does wear big holes in his
+      socks,&rdquo; resumed Billy, after a moment's silence. &ldquo;If you'll believe it,
+      that thought popped into my head last night when Cyril was playing that
+      concerto so superbly. It did, actually&mdash;right in the middle of the
+      adagio movement, too. And in spite of my joy and pride in the music I had
+      all I could do to keep from nudging Marie right there and then and asking
+      her whether or not the dear man was hard on his hose.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy!&rdquo; gasped the shocked Aunt Hannah; but the gasp broke at once into
+      what&mdash;in Aunt Hannah&mdash;passed for a chuckle. &ldquo;If I remember
+      rightly, when I was there at the house with you at first, my dear, William
+      told me that Cyril wouldn't wear any sock after it came to mending.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Horrors!&rdquo; Billy waved her stocking in mock despair. &ldquo;That will never do
+      in the world. It would break Marie's heart. You know how she dotes on
+      darning.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I know,&rdquo; smiled Aunt Hannah. &ldquo;By the way, where is she this
+      morning?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy raised her eyebrows quizzically.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Gone to look at an apartment in Cambridge, I believe. Really, Aunt
+      Hannah, between her home-hunting in the morning, and her furniture-and-rug
+      hunting in the afternoon, and her poring over house-plans in the evening,
+      I can't get her to attend to her clothes at all. Never did I see a bride
+      so utterly indifferent to her trousseau as Marie Hawthorn&mdash;and her
+      wedding less than a month away!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But she's been shopping with you once or twice, since she came back,
+      hasn't she? And she said it was for her trousseau.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Her trousseau! Oh, yes, it was. I'll tell you what she got for her
+      trousseau that first day. We started out to buy two hats, some lace for
+      her wedding gown, some crêpe de Chine and net for a little dinner frock,
+      and some silk for a couple of waists to go with her tailored suit; and
+      what did we get? We purchased a new-style egg-beater and a set of cake
+      tins. Marie got into the kitchen department and I simply couldn't get her
+      out of it. But the next day I was not to be inveigled below stairs by any
+      plaintive prayer for a nutmeg-grater or a soda spoon. She <i>shopped</i>
+      that day, and to some purpose. We accomplished lots.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah looked a little concerned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But she must have <i>some</i> things started!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, she has&mdash;'most everything now. <i>I've</i> seen to that. Of
+      course her outfit is very simple, anyway. Marie hasn't much money, you
+      know, and she simply won't let me do half what I want to. Still, she had
+      saved up some money, and I've finally convinced her that a trousseau
+      doesn't consist of egg-beaters and cake tins, and that Cyril would want
+      her to look pretty. That name will fetch her every time, and I've learned
+      to use it beautifully. I think if I told her Cyril approved of short hair
+      and near-sightedness she'd I cut off her golden locks and don spectacles
+      on the spot.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah laughed softly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What a child you are, Billy! Besides, just as if Marie were the only one
+      in the house who is ruled by a magic name!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The color deepened in Billy's cheeks.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, of course, any girl&mdash;cares something&mdash;for the man she
+      loves. Just as if I wouldn't do anything in the world I could for
+      Bertram!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, that makes me think; who was that young woman Bertram was talking
+      with last evening&mdash;just after he left us, I mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Winthrop&mdash;Miss Marguerite Winthrop. Bertram is&mdash;is
+      painting her portrait, you know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, is that the one?&rdquo; murmured Aunt Hannah. &ldquo;Hm-m; well, she has a
+      beautiful face.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, she has.&rdquo; Billy spoke very cheerfully. She even hummed a little tune
+      as she carefully selected a needle from the cushion in her basket.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There's a peculiar something in her face,&rdquo; mused Aunt Hannah, aloud.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little tune stopped abruptly, ending in a nervous laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dear me! I wonder how it feels to have a peculiar something in your face.
+      Bertram, too, says she has it. He's trying to 'catch it,' he says. I
+      wonder now&mdash;if he does catch it, does she lose it?&rdquo; Flippant as were
+      the words, the voice that uttered them shook a little.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah smiled indulgently&mdash;Aunt Hannah had heard only the
+      flippancy, not the shake.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know, my dear. You might ask him this afternoon.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy made a sudden movement. The china egg in her lap rolled to the
+      floor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, but I don't see him this afternoon,&rdquo; she said lightly, as she stooped
+      to pick up the egg.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, I'm sure he told me&mdash;&rdquo; Aunt Hannah's sentence ended in a
+      questioning pause.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I know,&rdquo; nodded Billy, brightly; &ldquo;but he's told me something since.
+      He isn't going. He telephoned me this morning. Miss Winthrop wanted the
+      sitting changed from to-morrow to this afternoon. He said he knew I'd
+      understand.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, yes; but&mdash;&rdquo; Aunt Hannah did not finish her sentence. The whir
+      of an electric bell had sounded through the house. A few moments later
+      Rosa appeared in the open doorway.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's Mr. Arkwright, Miss. He said as how he had brought the music,&rdquo; she
+      announced.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tell him I'll be down at once,&rdquo; directed the mistress of Hillside.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As the maid disappeared, Billy put aside her work and sprang lightly to
+      her feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now wasn't that nice of him? We were talking last night about some duets
+      he had, and he said he'd bring them over. I didn't know he'd come so soon,
+      though.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy had almost reached the bottom of the stairway, when a low, familiar
+      strain of music drifted out from the living-room. Billy caught her breath,
+      and held her foot suspended. The next moment the familiar strain of music
+      had become a lullaby&mdash;one of Billy's own&mdash;and sung now by a
+      melting tenor voice that lingered caressingly and understandingly on every
+      tender cadence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Motionless and almost breathless, Billy waited until the last low
+      &ldquo;lul-la-by&rdquo; vibrated into silence; then with shining eyes and outstretched
+      hands she entered the living-room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, that was&mdash;beautiful,&rdquo; she breathed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright was on his feet instantly. His eyes, too, were alight.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I could not resist singing it just once&mdash;here,&rdquo; he said a little
+      unsteadily, as their hands met.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But to hear my little song sung like that! I couldn't believe it was
+      mine,&rdquo; choked Billy, still plainly very much moved. &ldquo;You sang it as I've
+      never heard it sung before.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright shook his head slowly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The inspiration of the room&mdash;that is all,&rdquo;, he said. &ldquo;It is a
+      beautiful song. All of your songs are beautiful.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy blushed rosily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you. You know&mdash;more of them, then?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think I know them all&mdash;unless you have some new ones out. Have you
+      some new ones, lately?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy shook her head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No; I haven't written anything since last spring.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you're going to?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She drew a long sigh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, oh, yes. I know that <i>now</i>&mdash;&rdquo; With a swift biting of her
+      lower lip Billy caught herself up in time. As if she could tell this man,
+      this stranger, what she had told Bertram that night by the fire&mdash;that
+      she knew that now, <i>now</i> she would write beautiful songs, with his
+      love, and his pride in her, as incentives. &ldquo;Oh, yes, I think I shall write
+      more one of these days,&rdquo; she finished lightly. &ldquo;But come, this isn't
+      singing duets! I want to see the music you brought.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They sang then, one after another of the duets. To Billy, the music was
+      new and interesting. To Billy, too, it was new (and interesting) to hear
+      her own voice blending with another's so perfectly&mdash;to feel herself a
+      part of such exquisite harmony.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, oh!&rdquo; she breathed ecstatically, after the last note of a particularly
+      beautiful phrase. &ldquo;I never knew before how lovely it was to sing duets.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nor I,&rdquo; replied Arkwright in a voice that was not quite steady.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright's eyes were on the enraptured face of the girl so near him. It
+      was well, perhaps, that Billy did not happen to turn and catch their
+      expression. Still, it might have been better if she had turned, after all.
+      But Billy's eyes were on the music before her. Her fingers were busy with
+      the fluttering pages, searching for another duet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Didn't you?&rdquo; she murmured abstractedly. &ldquo;I supposed <i>you'd</i> sung
+      them before; but you see I never did&mdash;until the other night. There,
+      let's try this one!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This one&rdquo; was followed by another and another. Then Billy drew a long
+      breath.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There! that must positively be the last,&rdquo; she declared reluctantly. &ldquo;I'm
+      so hoarse now I can scarcely croak. You see, I don't pretend to sing,
+      really.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't you? You sing far better than some who do, anyhow,&rdquo; retorted the
+      man, warmly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you,&rdquo; smiled Billy; &ldquo;that was nice of you to say so&mdash;for my
+      sake&mdash;and the others aren't here to care. But tell me of yourself. I
+      haven't had a chance to ask you yet; and&mdash;I think you said Mary Jane
+      was going to study for Grand Opera.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright laughed and shrugged his shoulders.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She is; but, as I told Calderwell, she's quite likely to bring up in
+      vaudeville.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Calderwell! Do you mean&mdash;Hugh Calderwell?&rdquo; Billy's cheeks showed a
+      deeper color.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The man gave an embarrassed little laugh. He had not meant to let that
+      name slip out just yet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo; He hesitated, then plunged on recklessly. &ldquo;We tramped half over
+      Europe together last summer.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did you?&rdquo; Billy left her seat at the piano for one nearer the fire. &ldquo;But
+      this isn't telling me about your own plans,&rdquo; she hurried on a little
+      precipitately. &ldquo;You've studied before, of course. Your voice shows that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes; I've studied singing several years, and I've had a year or two
+      of church work, besides a little concert practice of a mild sort.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you begun here, yet?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Y-yes, I've had my voice tried.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy sat erect with eager interest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They liked it, of course?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright laughed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm not saying that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, but I am,&rdquo; declared Billy, with conviction. &ldquo;They couldn't help
+      liking it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright laughed again. Just how well they had &ldquo;liked it&rdquo; he did not
+      intend to say. Their remarks had been quite too flattering to repeat even
+      to this very plainly interested young woman&mdash;delightful and
+      heart-warming as was this same show of interest, to himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you,&rdquo; was all he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy gave an excited little bounce in her chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And you'll begin to learn rôles right away?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I already have, some&mdash;after a fashion&mdash;before I came here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Really? How splendid! Why, then you'll be acting them next right on the
+      Boston Opera House stage, and we'll all go to hear you. How perfectly
+      lovely! I can hardly wait.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright laughed&mdash;but his eyes glowed with pleasure.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aren't you hurrying things a little?&rdquo; he ventured.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But they do let the students appear,&rdquo; argued Billy. &ldquo;I knew a girl last
+      year who went on in 'Aida,' and she was a pupil at the School. She sang
+      first in a Sunday concert, then they put her in the bill for a Saturday
+      night. She did splendidly&mdash;so well that they gave her a chance later
+      at a subscription performance. Oh, you'll be there&mdash;and soon, too!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you! I only wish the powers that could put me there had your
+      flattering enthusiasm on the matter,&rdquo; he smiled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't worry any,&rdquo; nodded Billy, &ldquo;only please don't 'arrive' too soon&mdash;not
+      before the wedding, you know,&rdquo; she added jokingly. &ldquo;We shall be too busy
+      to give you proper attention until after that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A peculiar look crossed Arkwright's face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The&mdash;<i>wedding?</i>&rdquo; he asked, a little faintly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. Didn't you know? My friend, Miss Hawthorn, is to marry Mr. Cyril
+      Henshaw next month.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The man opposite relaxed visibly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, <i>Miss Hawthorn!</i> No, I didn't know,&rdquo; he murmured; then, with
+      sudden astonishment he added: &ldquo;And to Mr. Cyril, the musician, did you
+      say?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. You seem surprised.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am.&rdquo; Arkwright paused, then went on almost defiantly. &ldquo;You see,
+      Calderwell was telling me only last September how very unmarriageable all
+      the Henshaw brothers were. So I am surprised&mdash;naturally,&rdquo; finished
+      Arkwright, as he rose to take his leave.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A swift crimson stained Billy's face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But surely you must know that&mdash;that&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That he has a right to change his mind, of course,&rdquo; supplemented
+      Arkwright smilingly, coming to her rescue in the evident confusion that
+      would not let her finish her sentence. &ldquo;But Calderwell made it so
+      emphatic, you see, about all the brothers. He said that William had lost
+      his heart long ago; that Cyril hadn't any to lose; and that Bertram&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, Mr. Arkwright, Bertram is&mdash;is&mdash;&rdquo; Billy had moistened her
+      lips, and plunged hurriedly in to prevent Arkwright's next words. But
+      again was she unable to finish her sentence, and again was she forced to
+      listen to a very different completion from the smiling lips of the man at
+      her side.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is an artist, of course,&rdquo; said Arkwright. &ldquo;That's what Calderwell
+      declared&mdash;that it would always be the tilt of a chin or the curve of
+      a cheek that the artist loved&mdash;to paint.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy drew back suddenly. Her face paled. As if <i>now</i> she could tell
+      this man that Bertram Henshaw was engaged to her! He would find it out
+      soon, of course, for himself; and perhaps he, like Hugh Calderwell, would
+      think it was the curve of <i>her</i> cheek, or the tilt of <i>her</i> chin&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy lifted her chin very defiantly now as she held out her hand in
+      good-by.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER IX. A RUG, A PICTURE, AND A GIRL AFRAID
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Thanksgiving came. Once again the Henshaw brothers invited Billy and Aunt
+      Hannah to spend the day with them. This time, however, there was to be an
+      additional guest present in the person of Marie Hawthorn.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And what a day it was, for everything and everybody concerned! First the
+      Strata itself: from Dong Ling's kitchen in the basement to Cyril's domain
+      on the top floor, the house was as spick-and-span as Pete's eager old
+      hands could make it. In the drawing-room and in Bertram's den and studio,
+      great clusters of pink roses perfumed the air, and brightened the sombre
+      richness of the old-time furnishings. Before the open fire in the den a
+      sleek gray cat&mdash;adorned with a huge ribbon bow the exact shade of the
+      roses (Bertram had seen to that!)&mdash;winked and blinked sleepy yellow
+      eyes. In Bertram's studio the latest &ldquo;Face of a Girl&rdquo; had made way for a
+      group of canvases and plaques, every one of which showed Billy Neilson in
+      one pose or another. Up-stairs, where William's chaos of treasures filled
+      shelves and cabinets, the place of honor was given to a small black velvet
+      square on which rested a pair of quaint Battersea enamel mirror knobs. In
+      Cyril's rooms&mdash;usually so austerely bare&mdash;a handsome Oriental
+      rug and several curtain-draped chairs hinted at purchases made at the
+      instigation of a taste other than his own.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When the doorbell rang Pete admitted the ladies with a promptness that was
+      suggestive of surreptitious watching at some window. On Pete's face the
+      dignity of his high office and the delight of the moment were fighting for
+      mastery. The dignity held firmly through Mrs. Stetson's friendly greeting;
+      but it fled in defeat when Billy Neilson stepped over the threshold with a
+      cheery &ldquo;Good morning, Pete.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Laws! But it's good to be seein' you here again,&rdquo; stammered the man,&mdash;delight
+      now in sole possession.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She'll be coming to stay, one of these days, Pete,&rdquo; smiled the eldest
+      Henshaw, hurrying forward.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wish she had now,&rdquo; whispered Bertram, who, in spite of William's quick
+      stride, had reached Billy's side first.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      From the stairway came the patter of a man's slippered feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The rug has come, and the curtains, too,&rdquo; called a &ldquo;householder&rdquo; sort of
+      voice that few would have recognized as belonging to Cyril Henshaw. &ldquo;You
+      must all come up-stairs and see them after dinner.&rdquo; The voice, apparently,
+      spoke to everybody; but the eyes of the owner of the voice plainly saw
+      only the fair-haired young woman who stood a little in the shadow behind
+      Billy, and who was looking about her now as at something a little
+      fearsome, but very dear.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You know&mdash;I've never been&mdash;where you live&mdash;before,&rdquo;
+       explained Marie Hawthorn in a low, vibrant tone, when Cyril bent over her
+      to take the furs from her shoulders.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In Bertram's den a little later, as hosts and guests advanced toward the
+      fire, the sleek gray cat rose, stretched lazily, and turned her head with
+      majestic condescension.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, Spunkie, come here,&rdquo; commanded Billy, snapping her fingers at the
+      slow-moving creature on the hearthrug. &ldquo;Spunkie, when I am your mistress,
+      you'll have to change either your name or your nature. As if I were going
+      to have such a bunch of independent moderation as you masquerading as an
+      understudy to my frisky little Spunk!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Everybody laughed. William regarded his namesake with fond eyes as he
+      said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Spunkie doesn't seem to be worrying.&rdquo; The cat had jumped into Billy's lap
+      with a matter-of-course air that was unmistakable&mdash;and to Bertram,
+      adorable. Bertram's eyes, as they rested on Billy, were even fonder than
+      were his brother's.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't think any one is&mdash;<i>worrying</i>,&rdquo; he said with quiet
+      emphasis.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy smiled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I should think they might be,&rdquo; she answered. &ldquo;Only think how dreadfully
+      upsetting I was in the first place!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      William's beaming face grew a little stern.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nobody knew it but Kate&mdash;and she didn't <i>know</i> it; she only
+      imagined it,&rdquo; he said tersely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy shook her head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm not so sure,&rdquo; she demurred. &ldquo;As I look back at it now, I think I can
+      discern a few evidences myself&mdash;that I was upsetting. I was a bother
+      to Bertram in his painting, I am sure.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You were an inspiration,&rdquo; corrected Bertram. &ldquo;Think of the posing you did
+      for me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A swift something like a shadow crossed Billy's face; but before her lover
+      could question its meaning, it was gone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And I know I was a torment to Cyril.&rdquo; Billy had turned to the musician
+      now.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I admit you were a little&mdash;upsetting, at times,&rdquo; retorted that
+      individual, with something of his old imperturbable rudeness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense!&rdquo; cut in William, sharply. &ldquo;You were never anything but a
+      comfort in the house, Billy, my dear&mdash;and you never will be.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you,&rdquo; murmured Billy, demurely. &ldquo;I'll remember that&mdash;when Pete
+      and I disagree about the table decorations, and Dong Ling doesn't like the
+      way I want my soup seasoned.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      An anxious frown showed on Bertram's face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy,&rdquo; he said in a low voice, as the others laughed at her sally, &ldquo;you
+      needn't have Pete nor Dong Ling here if you don't want them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't want them!&rdquo; echoed Billy, indignantly. &ldquo;Of course I want them!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But&mdash;Pete <i>is</i> old, and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes; and where's he grown old? For whom has he worked the last fifty
+      years, while he's been growing old? I wonder if you think I'd let Pete
+      leave this house as long as he <i>wants</i> to stay! As for Dong Ling&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A sudden movement of Bertram's hand arrested her words. She looked up to
+      find Pete in the doorway.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dinner is served, sir,&rdquo; announced the old butler, his eyes on his
+      master's face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      William rose with alacrity, and gave his arm to Aunt Hannah.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I'm sure we're ready for dinner,&rdquo; he declared.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a good dinner, and it was well served. It could scarcely have been
+      otherwise with Dong Ling in the kitchen and Pete in the dining-room doing
+      their utmost to please. But even had the turkey been tough instead of
+      tender, and even had the pies been filled with sawdust instead of with
+      delicious mincemeat, it is doubtful if four at the table would have known
+      the difference: Cyril and Marie at one end were discussing where to put
+      their new sideboard in their dining-room, and Bertram and Billy at the
+      other were talking of the next Thanksgiving, when, according to Bertram,
+      the Strata would have the &ldquo;dearest little mistress that ever was born.&rdquo; As
+      if, under these circumstances, the tenderness of the turkey or the
+      toothsomeness of the mince pie mattered! To Aunt Hannah and William, in
+      the centre of the table, however, it did matter; so it was well, of
+      course, that the dinner was a good one.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And now,&rdquo; said Cyril, when dinner was over, &ldquo;suppose you come up and see
+      the rug.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In compliance with this suggestion, the six trailed up the long flights of
+      stairs then, Billy carrying an extra shawl for Aunt Hannah&mdash;Cyril's
+      rooms were always cool.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes, I knew we should need it,&rdquo; she nodded to Bertram, as she picked
+      up the shawl from the hall stand where she had left it when she came in.
+      &ldquo;That's why I brought it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, my grief and conscience, Cyril, how <i>can</i> you stand it?&mdash;to
+      climb stairs like this,&rdquo; panted Aunt Hannah, as she reached the top of the
+      last flight and dropped breathlessly into the nearest chair&mdash;from
+      which Marie had rescued a curtain just in time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I'm not sure I could&mdash;if I were always to eat a Thanksgiving
+      dinner just before,&rdquo; laughed Cyril. &ldquo;Maybe I ought to have waited and let
+      you rest an hour or two.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But 'twould have been too dark, then, to see the rug,&rdquo; objected Marie.
+      &ldquo;It's a genuine Persian&mdash;a Kirman, you know; and I'm so proud of it,&rdquo;
+       she added, turning to the others. &ldquo;I wanted you to see the colors by
+      daylight. Cyril likes it better, anyhow, in the daytime.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fancy Cyril <i>liking</i> any sort of a rug at any time,&rdquo; chuckled
+      Bertram, his eyes on the rich, softly blended colors of the rug before
+      him. &ldquo;Honestly, Miss Marie,&rdquo; he added, turning to the little bride elect,
+      &ldquo;how did you ever manage to get him to buy <i>any</i> rug? He won't have
+      so much as a ravelling on the floor up here to walk on.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A startled dismay came into Marie's blue eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, I thought he wanted rugs,&rdquo; she faltered. &ldquo;I'm sure he said&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course I want rugs,&rdquo; interrupted Cyril, irritably. &ldquo;I want them
+      everywhere except in my own especial den. You don't suppose I want to hear
+      other people clattering over bare floors all day, do you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course not!&rdquo; Bertram's face was preternaturally grave as he turned to
+      the little music teacher. &ldquo;I hope, Miss Marie, that you wear rubber heels
+      on your shoes,&rdquo; he observed solicitously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Even Cyril laughed at this, though all he said was:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come, come, I got you up here to look at the rug.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram, however, was not to be silenced.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And another thing, Miss Marie,&rdquo; he resumed, with the air of a true and
+      tried adviser. &ldquo;Just let me give you a pointer. I've lived with your
+      future husband a good many years, and I know what I'm talking about.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bertram, be still,&rdquo; growled Cyril.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram refused to be still.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Whenever you want to know anything about Cyril, listen to his playing.
+      For instance: if, after dinner, you hear a dreamy waltz or a sleepy
+      nocturne, you may know that all is well. But if on your ears there falls
+      anything like a dirge, or the wail of a lost spirit gone mad, better look
+      to your soup and see if it hasn't been scorched, or taste of your pudding
+      and see if you didn't put in salt instead of sugar.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bertram, will you be still?&rdquo; cut in Cyril, testily, again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;After all, judging from what Billy tells me,&rdquo; resumed Bertram,
+      cheerfully, &ldquo;what I've said won't be so important to you, for you aren't
+      the kind that scorches soups or uses salt for sugar. So maybe I'd better
+      put it to you this way: if you want a new sealskin coat or an extra
+      diamond tiara, tackle him when he plays like this!&rdquo; And with a swift turn
+      Bertram dropped himself to the piano stool and dashed into a rollicking
+      melody that half the newsboys of Boston were whistling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What happened next was a surprise to every one. Bertram, very much as if
+      he were a naughty little boy, was jerked by a wrathful brother's hand off
+      the piano stool. The next moment the wrathful brother himself sat at the
+      piano, and there burst on five pairs of astonished ears a crashing
+      dissonance which was but the prelude to music such as few of the party
+      often heard.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Spellbound they listened while rippling runs and sonorous harmonies filled
+      the room to overflowing, as if under the fingers of the player there were&mdash;not
+      the keyboard of a piano&mdash;but the violins, flutes, cornets, trombones,
+      bass viols and kettledrums of a full orchestra.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy, perhaps, of them all, best understood. She knew that in those
+      tripping melodies and crashing chords were Cyril's joy at the presence of
+      Marie, his wrath at the flippancy of Bertram, his ecstasy at that for
+      which the rug and curtains stood&mdash;the little woman sewing in the
+      radiant circle of a shaded lamp. Billy knew that all this and more were
+      finding voice at Cyril's finger tips. The others, too, understood in a
+      way; but they, unlike Billy, were not in the habit of finding on a few
+      score bits of wood and ivory a vent for their moods and fancies.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The music was softer now. The resounding chords and purling runs had
+      become a bell-like melody that wound itself in and out of a maze of
+      exquisite harmonies, now hiding, now coming out clear and unafraid, like a
+      mountain stream emerging into a sunlit meadow from the leafy shadows of
+      its forest home.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In a breathless hush the melody quivered into silence. It was Bertram who
+      broke the pause with a long-drawn:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By George!&rdquo; Then, a little unsteadily: &ldquo;If it's I that set you going like
+      that, old chap, I'll come up and play ragtime every day!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Cyril shrugged his shoulders and got to his feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you've seen all you want of the rug we'll go down-stairs,&rdquo; he said
+      nonchalantly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But we haven't!&rdquo; chorussed several indignant voices. And for the next few
+      minutes not even the owner of the beautiful Kirman could find any fault
+      with the quantity or the quality of the attention bestowed on his new
+      possession. But Billy, under cover of the chatter, said reproachfully in
+      his ear:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Cyril, to think you can play like that&mdash;and won't&mdash;on
+      demand!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can't&mdash;on demand,&rdquo; shrugged Cyril again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the way down-stairs they stopped at William's rooms.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I want you to see a couple of Batterseas I got last week,&rdquo; cried the
+      collector eagerly, as he led the way to the black velvet square. &ldquo;They're
+      fine&mdash;and I think she looks like you,&rdquo; he finished, turning to Billy,
+      and holding out one of the knobs, on which was a beautifully executed
+      miniature of a young girl with dark, dreamy eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, how pretty!&rdquo; exclaimed Marie, over Billy's shoulder. &ldquo;But what are
+      they?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The collector turned, his face alight.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mirror knobs. I've got lots of them. Would you like to see them&mdash;really?
+      They're right here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The next minute Marie found herself looking into a cabinet where lay a
+      score or more of round and oval discs of glass, porcelain, and metal,
+      framed in silver, gilt, and brass, and mounted on long spikes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, how pretty,&rdquo; cried Marie again; &ldquo;but how&mdash;how queer! Tell me
+      about them, please.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      William drew a long breath. His eyes glistened. William loved to talk&mdash;when
+      he had a curio and a listener.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I will. Our great-grandmothers used them, you know, to support their
+      mirrors, or to fasten back their curtains,&rdquo; he explained ardently. &ldquo;Now
+      here's another Battersea enamel, but it isn't so good as my new ones&mdash;that
+      face is almost a caricature.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But what a beautiful ship&mdash;on that round one!&rdquo; exclaimed Marie. &ldquo;And
+      what's this one?&mdash;glass?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes; but that's not so rare as the others. Still, it's pretty enough. Did
+      you notice this one, with the bright red and blue and green on the white
+      background?&mdash;regular Chinese mode of decoration, that is.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Er&mdash;any time, William,&rdquo; began Bertram, mischievously; but William
+      did not seem to hear.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now in this corner,&rdquo; he went on, warming to his subject, &ldquo;are the
+      enamelled porcelains. They were probably made at the Worcester works&mdash;England,
+      you know; and I think many of them are quite as pretty as the Batterseas.
+      You see it was at Worcester that they invented that variation of the
+      transfer printing process that they called bat printing, where they used
+      oil instead of ink, and gelatine instead of paper. Now engravings for that
+      kind of printing were usually in stipple work&mdash;dots, you know&mdash;so
+      the prints on these knobs can easily be distinguished from those of the
+      transfer printing. See? Now, this one is&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Er, of course, William, any time&mdash;&rdquo; interposed Bertram again, his
+      eyes twinkling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      William stopped with a laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I know. 'Tis time I talked of something else, Bertram,&rdquo; he conceded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But 'twas lovely, and I <i>was</i> interested, really,&rdquo; claimed Marie.
+      &ldquo;Besides, there are such a lot of things here that I'd like to see,&rdquo; she
+      finished, turning slowly about.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;These are what he was collecting last year,&rdquo; murmured Billy, hovering
+      over a small cabinet where were some beautiful specimens of antique
+      jewelry brooches, necklaces, armlets, Rajah rings, and anklets, gorgeous
+      in color and exquisite in workmanship.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, here is something you <i>will</i> enjoy,&rdquo; declared Bertram, with an
+      airy flourish. &ldquo;Do you see those teapots? Well, we can have tea every day
+      in the year, and not use one of them but five times. I've counted. There
+      are exactly seventy-three,&rdquo; he concluded, as he laughingly led the way
+      from the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How about leap year?&rdquo; quizzed Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ho! Trust Will to find another 'Old Blue' or a 'perfect treasure of a
+      black basalt' by that time,&rdquo; shrugged Bertram.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Below William's rooms was the floor once Bertram's, but afterwards given
+      over to the use of Billy and Aunt Hannah. The rooms were open to-day, and
+      were bright with sunshine and roses; but they were very plainly
+      unoccupied.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And you don't use them yet?&rdquo; remonstrated Billy, as she paused at an open
+      door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. These are Mrs. Bertram Henshaw's rooms,&rdquo; said the youngest Henshaw
+      brother in a voice that made Billy hurry away with a dimpling blush.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They were Billy's&mdash;and they can never seem any one's but Billy's,
+      now,&rdquo; declared William to Marie, as they went down the stairs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And now for the den and some good stories before the fire,&rdquo; proposed
+      Bertram, as the six reached the first floor again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But we haven't seen your pictures, yet,&rdquo; objected Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram made a deprecatory gesture.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There's nothing much&mdash;&rdquo; he began; but he stopped at once, with an
+      odd laugh. &ldquo;Well, I sha'n't say <i>that</i>,&rdquo; he finished, flinging open
+      the door of his studio, and pressing a button that flooded the room with
+      light. The next moment, as they stood before those plaques and panels and
+      canvases&mdash;on each of which was a pictured &ldquo;Billy&rdquo;&mdash;they
+      understood the change in his sentence, and they laughed appreciatively.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Much,' indeed!&rdquo; exclaimed William.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, how lovely!&rdquo; breathed Marie.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My grief and conscience, Bertram! All these&mdash;and of Billy? I knew
+      you had a good many, but&mdash;&rdquo; Aunt Hannah paused impotently, her eyes
+      going from Bertram's face to the pictures again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But how&mdash;when did you do them?&rdquo; queried Marie.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Some of them from memory. More of them from life. A lot of them were just
+      sketches that I did when she was here in the house four or five years
+      ago,&rdquo; answered Bertram; &ldquo;like this, for instance.&rdquo; And he pulled into a
+      better light a picture of a laughing, dark-eyed girl holding against her
+      cheek a small gray kitten, with alert, bright eyes. &ldquo;The original and only
+      Spunk,&rdquo; he announced.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What a dear little cat!&rdquo; cried Marie.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You should have seen it&mdash;in the flesh,&rdquo; remarked Cyril, dryly. &ldquo;No
+      paint nor painter could imprison that untamed bit of Satanic mischief on
+      any canvas that ever grew!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Everybody laughed&mdash;everybody but Billy. Billy, indeed, of them all,
+      had been strangely silent ever since they entered the studio. She stood
+      now a little apart. Her eyes were wide, and a bit frightened. Her fingers
+      were twisting the corners of her handkerchief nervously. She was looking
+      to the right and to the left, and everywhere she saw&mdash;herself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Sometimes it was her full face, sometimes her profile; sometimes there
+      were only her eyes peeping from above a fan, or peering from out brown
+      shadows of nothingness. Once it was merely the back of her head showing
+      the mass of waving hair with its high lights of burnished bronze. Again it
+      was still the back of her head with below it the bare, slender neck and
+      the scarf-draped shoulders. In this picture the curve of a half-turned
+      cheek showed plainly, and in the background was visible a hand holding
+      four playing cards, at which the pictured girl was evidently looking.
+      Sometimes it was a merry Billy with dancing eyes; sometimes a demure Billy
+      with long lashes caressing a flushed cheek. Sometimes it was a wistful
+      Billy with eyes that looked straight into yours with peculiar appeal. But
+      always it was&mdash;Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There, I think the tilt of this chin is perfect.&rdquo; It was Bertram
+      speaking.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy gave a sudden cry. Her face whitened. She stumbled forward.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, no, Bertram, you&mdash;you didn't mean the&mdash;the tilt of the
+      chin,&rdquo; she faltered wildly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The man turned in amazement.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why&mdash;Billy!&rdquo; he stammered. &ldquo;Billy, what is it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The girl fell back at once. She tried to laugh lightly. She had seen the
+      dismayed questioning in her lover's eyes, and in the eyes of William and
+      the others.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;N-nothing,&rdquo; she gesticulated hurriedly. &ldquo;It was nothing at all, truly.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, Billy, it <i>was</i> something.&rdquo; Bertram's eyes were still troubled.
+      &ldquo;Was it the picture? I thought you liked this picture.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed again&mdash;this time more naturally.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bertram, I'm ashamed of you&mdash;expecting me to say I 'like' any of
+      this,&rdquo; she scolded, with a wave of her hands toward the omnipresent Billy.
+      &ldquo;Why, I feel as if I were in a room with a thousand mirrors, and that I'd
+      been discovered putting rouge on my cheeks and lampblack on my eyebrows!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      William laughed fondly. Aunt Hannah and Marie gave an indulgent smile.
+      Cyril actually chuckled. Bertram only still wore a puzzled expression as
+      he laid aside the canvas in his hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy examined intently a sketch she had found with its back to the wall.
+      It was not a pretty sketch; it was not even a finished one, and Billy did
+      not in the least care what it was. But her lips cried interestedly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Bertram, what is this?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was no answer. Bertram was still engaged, apparently, in putting
+      away some sketches. Over by the doorway leading to the den Marie and Aunt
+      Hannah, followed by William and Cyril, were just disappearing behind a
+      huge easel. In another minute the merry chatter of their voices came from
+      the room beyond. Bertram hurried then straight across the studio to the
+      girl still bending over the sketch in the corner.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bertram!&rdquo; gasped Billy, as a kiss brushed her cheek.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pooh! They're gone. Besides, what if they did see? Billy, what was the
+      matter with the tilt of that chin?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy gave an hysterical little laugh&mdash;at least, Bertram tried to
+      assure himself that it was a laugh, though it had sounded almost like a
+      sob.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bertram, if you say another word about&mdash;about the tilt of that chin,
+      I shall <i>scream!</i>&rdquo; she panted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Billy!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      With a nervous little movement Billy turned and began to reverse the
+      canvases nearest her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come, sir,&rdquo; she commanded gayly. &ldquo;Billy has been on exhibition quite long
+      enough. It is high time she was turned face to the wall to meditate, and
+      grow more modest.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram did not answer. Neither did he make a move to assist her. His
+      ardent gray eyes were following her slim, graceful figure admiringly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, it doesn't seem true, yet, that you're really mine,&rdquo; he said at
+      last, in a low voice shaken with emotion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy turned abruptly. A peculiar radiance shone in her eyes and glorified
+      her face. As she stood, she was close to a picture on an easel and full in
+      the soft glow of the shaded lights above it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then you <i>do</i> want me,&rdquo; she began, &ldquo;&mdash;just <i>me!</i>&mdash;not
+      to&mdash;&rdquo; she stopped short. The man opposite had taken an eager step
+      toward her. On his face was the look she knew so well, the look she had
+      come almost to dread&mdash;the &ldquo;painting look.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, stand just as you are,&rdquo; he was saying. &ldquo;Don't move. Jove! But that
+      effect is perfect with those dark shadows beyond, and just your hair and
+      face and throat showing. I declare, I've half a mind to sketch&mdash;&rdquo; But
+      Billy, with a little cry, was gone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER X. A JOB FOR PETE&mdash;AND FOR BERTRAM
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      The early days in December were busy ones, certainly, in the little house
+      on Corey Hill. Marie was to be married the twelfth. It was to be a home
+      wedding, and a very simple one&mdash;according to Billy, and according to
+      what Marie had said it was to be. Billy still serenely spoke of it as a
+      &ldquo;simple affair,&rdquo; but Marie was beginning to be fearful. As the days
+      passed, bringing with them more and more frequent evidences either
+      tangible or intangible of orders to stationers, caterers, and florists,
+      her fears found voice in a protest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But Billy, it was to be a <i>simple</i> wedding,&rdquo; she cried.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And so it is.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But what is this I hear about a breakfast?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy's chin assumed its most stubborn squareness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know, I'm sure, what you did hear,&rdquo; she retorted calmly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed. The chin was just as stubborn, but the smiling lips above
+      it graced it with an air of charming concession.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There, there, dear,&rdquo; coaxed the mistress of Hillside, &ldquo;don't fret.
+      Besides, I'm sure I should think you, of all people, would want your
+      guests <i>fed!</i>&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But this is so elaborate, from what I hear.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense! Not a bit of it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Rosa says there'll be salads and cakes and ices&mdash;and I don't know
+      what all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy looked concerned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, of course, Marie, if you'd <i>rather</i> have oatmeal and
+      doughnuts,&rdquo; she began with kind solicitude; but she got no farther.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy!&rdquo; besought the bride elect. &ldquo;Won't you be serious? And there's the
+      cake in wedding boxes, too.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know, but boxes are so much easier and cleaner than&mdash;just
+      fingers,&rdquo; apologized an anxiously serious voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Marie answered with an indignant, grieved glance and hurried on.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And the flowers&mdash;roses, dozens of them, in December! Billy, I can't
+      let you do all this for me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense, dear!&rdquo; laughed Billy. &ldquo;Why, I love to do it. Besides, when
+      you're gone, just think how lonesome I'll be! I shall have to adopt
+      somebody else then&mdash;now that Mary Jane has proved to be nothing but a
+      disappointing man instead of a nice little girl like you,&rdquo; she finished
+      whimsically.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Marie did not smile. The frown still lay between her delicate brows.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And for my trousseau&mdash;there were so many things that you simply
+      would buy!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I didn't get one of the egg-beaters,&rdquo; Billy reminded her anxiously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Marie smiled now, but she shook her head, too.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, I cannot have you do all this for me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why not?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At the unexpectedly direct question, Marie fell back a little.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, because I&mdash;I can't,&rdquo; she stammered. &ldquo;I can't get them for
+      myself, and&mdash;and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't you love me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A pink flush stole to Marie's face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Indeed I do, dearly.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't I love you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The flush deepened.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&mdash;I hope so.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then why won't you let me do what I want to, and be happy in it? Money,
+      just money, isn't any good unless you can exchange it for something you
+      want. And just now I want pink roses and ice cream and lace flounces for
+      you. Marie,&rdquo;&mdash;Billy's voice trembled a little&mdash;&ldquo;I never had a
+      sister till I had you, and I have had such a good time buying things that
+      I thought you wanted! But, of course, if you don't want them&mdash;&rdquo; The
+      words ended in a choking sob, and down went Billy's head into her folded
+      arms on the desk before her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Marie sprang to her feet and cuddled the bowed head in a loving embrace.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I do want them, dear; I want them all&mdash;every single one,&rdquo; she
+      urged. &ldquo;Now promise me&mdash;promise me that you'll do them all, just as
+      you'd planned! You will, won't you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was the briefest of hesitations, then came the muffled reply:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes&mdash;if you really want them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I do, dear&mdash;indeed I do. I love pretty weddings, and I&mdash;I
+      always hoped that I could have one&mdash;if I ever married. So you must
+      know, dear, how I really do want all those things,&rdquo; declared Marie,
+      fervently. &ldquo;And now I must go. I promised to meet Cyril at Park Street at
+      three o'clock.&rdquo; And she hurried from the room&mdash;and not until she was
+      half-way to her destination did it suddenly occur to her that she had been
+      urging, actually urging Miss Billy Neilson to buy for her pink roses, ice
+      cream, and lace flounces.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Her cheeks burned with shame then. But almost at once she smiled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now wasn't that just like Billy?&rdquo; she was saying to herself, with a
+      tender glow in her eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was early in December that Pete came one day with a package for Marie
+      from Cyril. Marie was not at home, and Billy herself went downstairs to
+      take the package from the old man's hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Cyril said to give it to Miss Hawthorn,&rdquo; stammered the old servant,
+      his face lighting up as Billy entered the room; &ldquo;but I'm sure he wouldn't
+      mind <i>your</i> taking it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm afraid I'll have to take it, Pete, unless you want to carry it back
+      with you,&rdquo; she smiled. &ldquo;I'll see that Miss Hawthorn has it the very first
+      moment she comes in.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you, Miss. It does my old eyes good to see your bright face.&rdquo; He
+      hesitated, then turned slowly. &ldquo;Good day, Miss Billy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laid the package on the table. Her eyes were thoughtful as she
+      looked after the old man, who was now almost to the door. Something in his
+      bowed form appealed to her strangely. She took a quick step toward him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You'll miss Mr. Cyril, Pete,&rdquo; she said pleasantly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The old man stopped at once and turned. He lifted his head a little
+      proudly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, Miss. I&mdash;I was there when he was born. Mr. Cyril's a fine man.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Indeed he is. Perhaps it's your good care that's helped, some&mdash;to
+      make him so,&rdquo; smiled the girl, vaguely wishing that she could say
+      something that would drive the wistful look from the dim old eyes before
+      her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For a moment Billy thought she had succeeded. The old servant drew himself
+      stiffly erect. In his eyes shone the loyal pride of more than fifty years'
+      honest service. Almost at once, however, the pride died away, and the
+      wistfulness returned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank ye, Miss; but I don't lay no claim to that, of course,&rdquo; he said.
+      &ldquo;Mr. Cyril's a fine man, and we shall miss him; but&mdash;I cal'late
+      changes must come&mdash;to all of us.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy's brown eyes grew a little misty.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I suppose they must,&rdquo; she admitted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The old man hesitated; then, as if impelled by some hidden force, he
+      plunged on:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes; and they'll be comin' to you one of these days, Miss, and that's
+      what I was wantin' to speak to ye about. I understand, of course, that
+      when you get there you'll be wantin' younger blood to serve ye. My feet
+      ain't so spry as they once was, and my old hands blunder sometimes, in
+      spite of what my head bids 'em do. So I wanted to tell ye&mdash;that of
+      course I shouldn't expect to stay. I'd go.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      As he said the words, Pete stood with head and shoulders erect, his eyes
+      looking straight forward but not at Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't you <i>want</i> to stay?&rdquo; The girlish voice was a little
+      reproachful.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Pete's head drooped.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not if&mdash;I'm not wanted,&rdquo; came the husky reply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With an impulsive movement Billy came straight to the old man's side and
+      held out her hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pete!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Amazement, incredulity, and a look that was almost terror crossed the old
+      man's face; then a flood of dull red blotted them all out and left only
+      worshipful rapture. With a choking cry he took the slim little hand in
+      both his rough and twisted ones much as if he were possessing himself of a
+      treasured bit of eggshell china.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Billy!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pete, there aren't a pair of feet in Boston, nor a pair of hands, either,
+      that I'd rather have serve me than yours, no matter if they stumble and
+      blunder all day! I shall love stumbles and blunders&mdash;if you make
+      them. Now run home, and don't ever let me hear another syllable about your
+      leaving!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They were not the words Billy had intended to say. She had meant to speak
+      of his long, faithful service, and of how much they appreciated it; but,
+      to her surprise, Billy found her own eyes wet and her own voice trembling,
+      and the words that she would have said she found fast shut in her throat.
+      So there was nothing to do but to stammer out something&mdash;anything,
+      that would help to keep her from yielding to that absurd and awful desire
+      to fall on the old servant's neck and cry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not another syllable!&rdquo; she repeated sternly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Billy!&rdquo; choked Pete again. Then he turned and fled with anything but
+      his usual dignity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram called that evening. When Billy came to him in the living-room,
+      her slender self was almost hidden behind the swirls of damask linen in
+      her arms.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram's eyes grew mutinous.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you expect me to hug all that?&rdquo; he demanded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy flashed him a mischievous glance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course not! You don't <i>have</i> to hug anything, you know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      For answer he impetuously swept the offending linen into the nearest chair
+      and drew the girl into his arms.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! And see how you've crushed poor Marie's table-cloth!&rdquo; she cried, with
+      reproachful eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram sniffed imperturbably.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm not sure but I'd like to crush Marie,&rdquo; he alleged.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bertram!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can't help it. See here, Billy.&rdquo; He loosened his clasp and held the
+      girl off at arm's length, regarding her with stormy eyes. &ldquo;It's Marie,
+      Marie, Marie&mdash;always. If I telephone in the morning, you've gone
+      shopping with Marie. If I want you in the afternoon for something, you're
+      at the dressmaker's with Marie. If I call in the evening&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm here,&rdquo; interrupted Billy, with decision.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes, you're here,&rdquo; admitted Bertram, aggrievedly, &ldquo;and so are dozens
+      of napkins, miles of table-cloths, and yards upon yards of lace and
+      flummydiddles you call 'doilies.' They all belong to Marie, and they fill
+      your arms and your thoughts full, until there isn't an inch of room for
+      me. Billy, when is this thing going to end?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed softly. Her eyes danced.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The twelfth;&mdash;that is, there'll be a&mdash;pause, then.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I'm thankful if&mdash;eh?&rdquo; broke off the man, with a sudden change
+      of manner. &ldquo;What do you mean by 'a pause'?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy cast down her eyes demurely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, of course <i>this</i> ends the twelfth with Marie's wedding; but
+      I've sort of regarded it as an&mdash;understudy for one that's coming next
+      October, you see.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, you darling!&rdquo; breathed a supremely happy voice in a shell-like ear&mdash;Billy
+      was not at arm's length now.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy smiled, but she drew away with gentle firmness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And now I must go back to my sewing,&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram's arms did not loosen. His eyes had grown mutinous again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is,&rdquo; she amended, &ldquo;I must be practising my part of&mdash;the
+      understudy, you know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You darling!&rdquo; breathed Bertram again; this time, however, he let her go.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, honestly, is it all necessary?&rdquo; he sighed despairingly, as she
+      seated herself and gathered the table-cloth into her lap. &ldquo;Do you have to
+      do so much of it all?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I do,&rdquo; smiled Billy, &ldquo;unless you want your brother to run the risk of
+      leading his bride to the altar and finding her robed in a kitchen apron
+      with an egg-beater in her hand for a bouquet.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram laughed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is it so bad as that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, of course not&mdash;quite. But never have I seen a bride so utterly
+      oblivious to clothes as Marie was till one day in despair I told her that
+      Cyril never could bear a dowdy woman.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As if Cyril, in the old days, ever could bear any sort of woman!&rdquo; scoffed
+      Bertram, merrily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know; but I didn't mention that part,&rdquo; smiled Billy. &ldquo;I just singled
+      out the dowdy one.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did it work?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy made a gesture of despair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did it work! It worked too well. Marie gave me one horrified look, then
+      at once and immediately she became possessed with the idea that she <i>was</i>
+      a dowdy woman. And from that day to this she has pursued every lurking
+      wrinkle and every fold awry, until her dressmaker's life isn't worth the
+      living; and I'm beginning to think mine isn't, either, for I have to
+      assure her at least four times every day now that she is <i>not</i> a
+      dowdy woman.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You poor dear,&rdquo; laughed Bertram. &ldquo;No wonder you don't have time to give
+      to me!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A peculiar expression crossed Billy's face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, but I'm not the <i>only</i> one who, at times, is otherwise engaged,
+      sir,&rdquo; she reminded him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There was yesterday, and last Monday, and last week Wednesday, and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, but you <i>let</i> me off, then,&rdquo; argued Bertram, anxiously. &ldquo;And you
+      said&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That I didn't wish to interfere with your work&mdash;which was quite
+      true,&rdquo; interrupted Billy in her turn, smoothly. &ldquo;By the way,&rdquo;&mdash;Billy
+      was examining her stitches very closely now&mdash;&ldquo;how is Miss Winthrop's
+      portrait coming on?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Splendidly!&mdash;that is, it <i>was</i>, until she began to put off the
+      sittings for her pink teas and folderols. She's going to Washington next
+      week, too, to be gone nearly a fortnight,&rdquo; finished Bertram, gloomily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aren't you putting more work than usual into this one&mdash;and more
+      sittings?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, yes,&rdquo; laughed Bertram, a little shortly. &ldquo;You see, she's changed
+      the pose twice already.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Changed it!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. Wasn't satisfied. Fancied she wanted it different.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But can't you&mdash;don't you have something to say about it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes, of course; and she claims she'll yield to my judgment, anyhow.
+      But what's the use? She's been a spoiled darling all her life, and in the
+      habit of having her own way about everything. Naturally, under those
+      circumstances, I can't expect to get a satisfactory portrait, if she's out
+      of tune with the pose. Besides, I will own, so far her suggestions have
+      made for improvement&mdash;probably because she's been happy in making
+      them, so her expression has been good.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy wet her lips.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I saw her the other night,&rdquo; she said lightly. (If the lightness was a
+      little artificial Bertram did not seem to notice it.) &ldquo;She is certainly&mdash;very
+      beautiful.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo; Bertram got to his feet and began to walk up and down the little
+      room. His eyes were alight. On his face the &ldquo;painting look&rdquo; was king.
+      &ldquo;It's going to mean a lot to me&mdash;this picture, Billy. In the first
+      place I'm just at the point in my career where a big success would mean a
+      lot&mdash;and where a big failure would mean more. And this portrait is
+      bound to be one or the other from the very nature of the thing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I-is it?&rdquo; Billy's voice was a little faint.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. First, because of who the sitter is, and secondly because of what
+      she is. She is, of course, the most famous subject I've had, and half the
+      artistic world knows by this time that Marguerite Winthrop is being done
+      by Henshaw. You can see what it'll be&mdash;if I fail.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you won't fail, Bertram!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The artist lifted his chin and threw back his shoulders.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, of course not; but&mdash;&rdquo; He hesitated, frowned, and dropped himself
+      into a chair. His eyes studied the fire moodily. &ldquo;You see,&rdquo; he resumed,
+      after a moment, &ldquo;there's a peculiar, elusive something about her
+      expression&mdash;&rdquo; (Billy stirred restlessly and gave her thread so savage
+      a jerk that it broke)&rdquo;&mdash;a something that isn't easily caught by the
+      brush. Anderson and Fullam&mdash;big fellows, both of them&mdash;didn't
+      catch it. At least, I've understood that neither her family nor her
+      friends are satisfied with <i>their</i> portraits. And to succeed where
+      Anderson and Fullam failed&mdash;Jove! Billy, a chance like that doesn't
+      come to a fellow twice in a lifetime!&rdquo; Bertram was out of his chair,
+      again, tramping up and down the little room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy tossed her work aside and sprang to her feet. Her eyes, too, were
+      alight, now.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you aren't going to fail, dear,&rdquo; she cried, holding out both her
+      hands. &ldquo;You're going to succeed!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram caught the hands and kissed first one then the other of their soft
+      little palms.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course I am,&rdquo; he agreed passionately, leading her to the sofa, and
+      seating himself at her side.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, but you must really <i>feel</i> it,&rdquo; she urged; &ldquo;feel the '<i>sure</i>'
+      in yourself. You have to!&mdash;to doing things. That's what I told Mary
+      Jane yesterday, when he was running on about what <i>he</i> wanted to do&mdash;in
+      his singing, you know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram stiffened a little. A quick frown came to his face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mary Jane, indeed! Of all the absurd names to give a full-grown, six-foot
+      man! Billy, do, for pity's sake, call him by his name&mdash;if he's got
+      one.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy broke into a rippling laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wish I could, dear,&rdquo; she sighed ingenuously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Honestly, it bothers me because I <i>can't</i> think of him as anything
+      but 'Mary Jane.' It seems so silly!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It certainly does&mdash;when one remembers his beard.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, he's shaved that off now. He looks rather better, too.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram turned a little sharply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you see the fellow&mdash;often?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed merrily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. He's about as disgruntled as you are over the way the wedding
+      monopolizes everything. He's been up once or twice to see Aunt Hannah and
+      to get acquainted, as he expresses it, and once he brought up some music
+      and we sang; but he declares the wedding hasn't given him half a show.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Indeed! Well, that's a pity, I'm sure,&rdquo; rejoined Bertram, icily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy turned in slight surprise.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Bertram, don't you like Mary Jane?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, for heaven's sake! <i>Hasn't</i> he got any name but that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy clapped her hands together suddenly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There, that makes me think. He told Aunt Hannah and me to guess what his
+      name was, and we never hit it once. What do you think it is? The initials
+      are M. J.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I couldn't say, I'm sure. What is it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, he didn't tell us. You see he left us to guess it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did he?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; mused Billy, abstractedly, her eyes on the dancing fire. The next
+      minute she stirred and settled herself more comfortably in the curve of
+      her lover's arm. &ldquo;But there! who cares what his name is? I'm sure I
+      don't.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nor I,&rdquo; echoed Bertram in a voice that he tried to make not too fervent.
+      He had not forgotten Billy's surprised: &ldquo;Why, Bertram, don't you like Mary
+      Jane?&rdquo; and he did not like to call forth a repetition of it. Abruptly,
+      therefore, he changed the subject. &ldquo;By the way, what did you do to Pete
+      to-day?&rdquo; he asked laughingly. &ldquo;He came home in a seventh heaven of
+      happiness babbling of what an angel straight from the sky Miss Billy was.
+      Naturally I agreed with him on that point. But what did you do to him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy smiled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nothing&mdash;only engaged him for our butler&mdash;for life.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I see. That was dear of you, Billy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As if I'd do anything else! And now for Dong Ling, I suppose, some day.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram chuckled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, maybe I can help you there,&rdquo; he hinted. &ldquo;You see, his Celestial
+      Majesty came to me himself the other day, and said, after sundry and
+      various preliminaries, that he should be 'velly much glad' when the
+      'Little Missee' came to live with me, for then he could go back to China
+      with a heart at rest, as he had money 'velly much plenty' and didn't wish
+      to be 'Melican man' any longer.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dear me,&rdquo; smiled Billy, &ldquo;what a happy state of affairs&mdash;for him. But
+      for you&mdash;do you realize, young man, what that means for you? A new
+      wife and a new cook all at once? And you know I'm not Marie!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ho! I'm not worrying,&rdquo; retorted Bertram with a contented smile; &ldquo;besides,
+      as perhaps you noticed, it wasn't Marie that I asked&mdash;to marry me!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XI. A CLOCK AND AUNT HANNAH
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Kate Hartwell, the Henshaw brothers' sister from the West, was
+      expected on the tenth. Her husband could not come, she had written, but
+      she would bring with her, little Kate, the youngest child. The boys, Paul
+      and Egbert, would stay with their father.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy received the news of little Kate's coming with outspoken delight.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The very thing!&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;We'll have her for a flower girl. She was a
+      dear little creature, as I remember her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah gave a sudden low laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I remember,&rdquo; she observed. &ldquo;Kate told me, after you spent the first
+      day with her, that you graciously informed her that little Kate was almost
+      as nice as Spunk. Kate did not fully appreciate the compliment, I fear.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy made a wry face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did I say that? Dear me! I <i>was</i> a terror in those days, wasn't I?
+      But then,&rdquo; and she laughed softly, &ldquo;really, Aunt Hannah, that was the
+      prettiest thing I knew how to say, for I considered Spunk the top-notch of
+      desirability.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think I should have liked to know Spunk,&rdquo; smiled Marie from the other
+      side of the sewing table.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He was a dear,&rdquo; declared Billy. &ldquo;I had another 'most as good when I first
+      came to Hillside, but he got lost. For a time it seemed as if I never
+      wanted another, but I've about come to the conclusion now that I do, and
+      I've told Bertram to find one for me if he can. You see I shall be
+      lonesome after you're gone, Marie, and I'll have to have <i>something</i>,&rdquo;
+       she finished mischievously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I don't mind the inference&mdash;as long as I know your admiration of
+      cats,&rdquo; laughed Marie.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let me see; Kate writes she is coming the tenth,&rdquo; murmured Aunt Hannah,
+      going back to the letter in her hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good!&rdquo; nodded Billy. &ldquo;That will give time to put little Kate through her
+      paces as flower girl.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, and it will give Big Kate time to <i>try</i> to make your breakfast
+      a supper, and your roses pinks&mdash;or sunflowers,&rdquo; cut in a new voice,
+      dryly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Cyril!&rdquo; chorussed the three ladies in horror, adoration, and amusement&mdash;according
+      to whether the voice belonged to Aunt Hannah, Marie, or Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Cyril shrugged his shoulders and smiled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I beg your pardon,&rdquo; he apologized; &ldquo;but Rosa said you were in here
+      sewing, and I told her not to bother. I'd announce myself. Just as I got
+      to the door I chanced to hear Billy's speech, and I couldn't resist making
+      the amendment. Maybe you've forgotten Kate's love of managing&mdash;but I
+      haven't,&rdquo; he finished, as he sauntered over to the chair nearest Marie.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I haven't&mdash;forgotten,&rdquo; observed Billy, meaningly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nor I&mdash;nor anybody else,&rdquo; declared a severe voice&mdash;both the
+      words and the severity being most extraordinary as coming from the usually
+      gentle Aunt Hannah.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, well, never mind,&rdquo; spoke up Billy, quickly. &ldquo;Everything's all right
+      now, so let's forget it. She always meant it for kindness, I'm sure.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Even when she told you in the first place what a&mdash;er&mdash;torment
+      you were to us?&rdquo; quizzed Cyril.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; flashed Billy. &ldquo;She was being kind to <i>you</i>, then.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph!&rdquo; vouchsafed Cyril.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For a moment no one spoke. Cyril's eyes were on Marie, who was nervously
+      trying to smooth back a few fluffy wisps of hair that had escaped from
+      restraining combs and pins.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What's the matter with the hair, little girl?&rdquo; asked Cyril in a voice
+      that was caressingly irritable. &ldquo;You've been fussing with that
+      long-suffering curl for the last five minutes!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Marie's delicate face flushed painfully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's got loose&mdash;my hair,&rdquo; she stammered, &ldquo;and it looks so dowdy that
+      way!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy dropped her thread suddenly. She sprang for it at once, before Cyril
+      could make a move to get it. She had to dive far under a chair to capture
+      it&mdash;which may explain why her face was so very red when she finally
+      reached her seat again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the morning of the tenth, Billy, Marie, and Aunt Hannah were once more
+      sewing together, this time in the little sitting-room at the end of the
+      hall up-stairs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy's fingers, in particular, were flying very fast.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I told John to have Peggy at the door at eleven,&rdquo; she said, after a time;
+      &ldquo;but I think I can finish running in this ribbon before then. I haven't
+      much to do to get ready to go.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I hope Kate's train won't be late,&rdquo; worried Aunt Hannah.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I hope not,&rdquo; replied Billy; &ldquo;but I told Rosa to delay luncheon, anyway,
+      till we get here. I&mdash;&rdquo; She stopped abruptly and turned a listening
+      ear toward the door of Aunt Hannah's room, which was open. A clock was
+      striking. &ldquo;Mercy! that can't be eleven now,&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;But it must be&mdash;it
+      was ten before I came up-stairs.&rdquo; She got to her feet hurriedly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah put out a restraining hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, no, dear, that's half-past ten.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But it struck eleven.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I know. It does&mdash;at half-past ten.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, the little wretch,&rdquo; laughed Billy, dropping back into her chair and
+      picking up her work again. &ldquo;The idea of its telling fibs like that and
+      frightening people half out of their lives! I'll have it fixed right away.
+      Maybe John can do it&mdash;he's always so handy about such things.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I don't want it fixed,&rdquo; demurred Aunt Hannah.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy stared a little.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You don't want it fixed! Maybe you like to have it strike eleven when
+      it's half-past ten!&rdquo; Billy's voice was merrily sarcastic.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Y-yes, I do,&rdquo; stammered the lady, apologetically. &ldquo;You see, I&mdash;I
+      worked very hard to fix it so it would strike that way.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;<i>Aunt Hannah!</i>&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I did,&rdquo; retorted the lady, with unexpected spirit. &ldquo;I wanted to
+      know what time it was in the night&mdash;I'm awake such a lot.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I don't see.&rdquo; Billy's eyes were perplexed. &ldquo;Why must you make it tell
+      fibs in order to&mdash;to find out the truth?&rdquo; she laughed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah elevated her chin a little.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because that clock was always striking one.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;One!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes&mdash;half-past, you know; and I never knew which half-past it was.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But it must strike half-past now, just the same!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It does.&rdquo; There was the triumphant ring of the conqueror in Aunt Hannah's
+      voice. &ldquo;But now it strikes half-past <i>on the hour</i>, and the clock in
+      the hall tells me <i>then</i> what time it is, so I don't care.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      For one more brief minute Billy stared, before a sudden light of
+      understanding illumined her face. Then her laugh rang out gleefully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Aunt Hannah, Aunt Hannah,&rdquo; she gurgled. &ldquo;If Bertram wouldn't call you
+      the limit&mdash;making a clock strike eleven so you'll know it's half-past
+      ten!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah colored a little, but she stood her ground.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, there's only half an hour, anyway, now, that I don't know what time
+      it is,&rdquo; she maintained, &ldquo;for one or the other of those clocks strikes the
+      hour every thirty minutes. Even during those never-ending three ones that
+      strike one after the other in the middle of the night, I can tell now, for
+      the hall clock has a different sound for the half-hours, you know, so I
+      can tell whether it's one or a half-past.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course,&rdquo; chuckled Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm sure I think it's a splendid idea,&rdquo; chimed in Marie, valiantly; &ldquo;and
+      I'm going to write it to mother's Cousin Jane right away. She's an
+      invalid, and she's always lying awake nights wondering what time it is.
+      The doctor says actually he believes she'd get well if he could find some
+      way of letting her know the time at night, so she'd get some sleep; for
+      she simply can't go to sleep till she knows. She can't bear a light in the
+      room, and it wakes her all up to turn an electric switch, or anything of
+      that kind.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why doesn't she have one of those phosphorous things?&rdquo; questioned Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Marie laughed quietly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She did. I sent her one,&mdash;and she stood it just one night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Stood it!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. She declared it gave her the creeps, and that she wouldn't have the
+      spooky thing staring at her all night like that. So it's got to be
+      something she can hear, and I'm going to tell her Mrs. Stetson's plan
+      right away.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I'm sure I wish you would,&rdquo; cried that lady, with prompt interest;
+      &ldquo;and she'll like it, I'm sure. And tell her if she can hear a <i>town</i>
+      clock strike, it's just the same, and even better; for there aren't any
+      half-hours at all to think of there.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I will&mdash;and I think it's lovely,&rdquo; declared Marie.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course it's lovely,&rdquo; smiled Billy, rising; &ldquo;but I fancy I'd better go
+      and get ready to meet Mrs. Hartwell, or the 'lovely' thing will be telling
+      me that it's half-past eleven!&rdquo; And she tripped laughingly from the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Promptly at the appointed time John with Peggy drew up before the door,
+      and Billy, muffled in furs, stepped into the car, which, with its
+      protecting top and sides and glass wind-shield, was in its winter dress.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes'm, 'tis a little chilly, Miss,&rdquo; said John, in answer to her greeting,
+      as he tucked the heavy robes about her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, well, I shall be very comfortable, I'm sure,&rdquo; smiled Billy. &ldquo;Just
+      don't drive too rapidly, specially coming home. I shall have to get a
+      limousine, I think, when my ship comes in, John.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      John's grizzled old face twitched. So evident were the words that were not
+      spoken that Billy asked laughingly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, John, what is it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      John reddened furiously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nothing, Miss. I was only thinkin' that if you didn't 'tend ter haulin'
+      in so many other folks's ships, yours might get in sooner.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, John! Nonsense! I&mdash;I love to haul in other folks's ships,&rdquo;
+       laughed the girl, embarrassedly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, Miss; I know you do,&rdquo; grunted John.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy colored.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, no&mdash;that is, I mean&mdash;I don't do it&mdash;very much,&rdquo; she
+      stammered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      John did not answer apparently; but Billy was sure she caught a
+      low-muttered, indignant &ldquo;much!&rdquo; as he snapped the door shut and took his
+      place at the wheel.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To herself she laughed softly. She thought she possessed the secret now of
+      some of John's disapproving glances toward her humble guests of the summer
+      before.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XII. SISTER KATE
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      At the station Mrs. Hartwell's train was found to be gratifyingly on time;
+      and in due course Billy was extending a cordial welcome to a tall,
+      handsome woman who carried herself with an unmistakable air of assured
+      competence. Accompanying her was a little girl with big blue eyes and
+      yellow curls.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am very glad to see you both,&rdquo; smiled Billy, holding out a friendly
+      hand to Mrs. Hartwell, and stooping to kiss the round cheek of the little
+      girl.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you, you are very kind,&rdquo; murmured the lady; &ldquo;but&mdash;are you
+      alone, Billy? Where are the boys?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Uncle William is out of town, and Cyril is rushed to death and sent his
+      excuses. Bertram did mean to come, but he telephoned this morning that he
+      couldn't, after all. I'm sorry, but I'm afraid you'll have to make the
+      best of just me,&rdquo; condoled Billy. &ldquo;They'll be out to the house this
+      evening, of course&mdash;all but Uncle William. He doesn't return until
+      to-morrow.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, doesn't he?&rdquo; murmured the lady, reaching for her daughter's hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy looked down with a smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And this is little Kate, I suppose,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;whom I haven't seen for
+      such a long, long time. Let me see, you are how old now?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm eight. I've been eight six weeks.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy's eyes twinkled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And you don't remember me, I suppose.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The little girl shook her head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No; but I know who you are,&rdquo; she added, with shy eagerness. &ldquo;You're going
+      to be my Aunt Billy, and you're going to marry my Uncle William&mdash;I
+      mean, my Uncle Bertram.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy's face changed color. Mrs. Hartwell gave a despairing gesture.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Kate, my dear, I told you to be sure and remember that it was your Uncle
+      Bertram now. You see,&rdquo; she added in a discouraged aside to Billy, &ldquo;she
+      can't seem to forget the first one. But then, what can you expect?&rdquo;
+       laughed Mrs. Hartwell, a little disagreeably. &ldquo;Such abrupt changes from
+      one brother to another are somewhat disconcerting, you know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy bit her lip. For a moment she said nothing, then, a little
+      constrainedly, she rejoined:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps. Still&mdash;let us hope we have the right one, now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Hartwell raised her eyebrows.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, my dear, I'm not so confident of that. <i>My</i> choice has been
+      and always will be&mdash;William.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy bit her lip again. This time her brown eyes flashed a little.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is that so? But you see, after all, <i>you</i> aren't making the&mdash;the
+      choice.&rdquo; Billy spoke lightly, gayly; and she ended with a bright little
+      laugh, as if to hide any intended impertinence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was Mrs. Hartwell's turn to bite her lip&mdash;and she did it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So it seems,&rdquo; she rejoined frigidly, after the briefest of pauses.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was not until they were on their way to Corey Hill some time later that
+      Mrs. Hartwell turned with the question:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Cyril is to be married in church, I suppose?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. They both preferred a home wedding.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, what a pity! Church weddings are so attractive!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To those who like them,&rdquo; amended Billy in spite of herself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To every one, I think,&rdquo; corrected Mrs. Hartwell, positively.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed. She was beginning to discern that it did not do much harm&mdash;nor
+      much good&mdash;to disagree with her guest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's in the evening, then, of course?&rdquo; pursued Mrs. Hartwell.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No; at noon.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, how could you let them?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But they preferred it, Mrs. Hartwell.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What if they did?&rdquo; retorted the lady, sharply. &ldquo;Can't you do as you
+      please in your own home? Evening weddings are so much prettier! We can't
+      change now, of course, with the guests all invited. That is, I suppose you
+      do have guests!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Hartwell's voice was aggrievedly despairing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes,&rdquo; smiled Billy, demurely. &ldquo;We have guests invited&mdash;and I'm
+      afraid we can't change the time.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, of course not; but it's too bad. I conclude there are announcements
+      only, as I got no cards.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Announcements only,&rdquo; bowed Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wish Cyril had consulted <i>me</i>, a little, about this affair.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy did not answer. She could not trust herself to speak just then.
+      Cyril's words of two days before were in her ears: &ldquo;Yes, and it will give
+      Big Kate time to try to make your breakfast supper, and your roses pinks&mdash;or
+      sunflowers.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In a moment Mrs. Hartwell spoke again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course a noon wedding is quite pretty if you darken the rooms and have
+      lights&mdash;you're going to do that, I suppose?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy shook her head slowly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm afraid not, Mrs. Hartwell. That isn't the plan, now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not darken the rooms!&rdquo; exclaimed Mrs. Hartwell. &ldquo;Why, it won't&mdash;&rdquo;
+       She stopped suddenly, and fell back in her seat. The look of annoyed
+      disappointment gave way to one of confident relief. &ldquo;But then, <i>that can</i>
+      be changed,&rdquo; she finished serenely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy opened her lips, but she shut them without speaking. After a minute
+      she opened them again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You might consult&mdash;Cyril&mdash;about that,&rdquo; she said in a quiet
+      voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I will,&rdquo; nodded Mrs. Hartwell, brightly. She was looking pleased and
+      happy again. &ldquo;I love weddings. Don't you? You can <i>do</i> so much with
+      them!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Can you?&rdquo; laughed Billy, irrepressibly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. Cyril is happy, of course. Still, I can't imagine <i>him</i> in love
+      with any woman.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think Marie can.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I suppose so. I don't seem to remember her much; still, I think I saw her
+      once or twice when I was on last June. Music teacher, wasn't she?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. She is a very sweet girl.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hm-m; I suppose so. Still, I think 'twould have been better if Cyril
+      could have selected some one that <i>wasn't</i> musical&mdash;say a more
+      domestic wife. He's so terribly unpractical himself about household
+      matters.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy gave a ringing laugh and stood up. The car had come to a stop before
+      her own door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you? Just you wait till you see Marie's trousseau of&mdash;egg-beaters
+      and cake tins,&rdquo; she chuckled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Hartwell looked blank.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Whatever in the world do you mean, Billy?&rdquo; she demanded fretfully, as she
+      followed her hostess from the car. &ldquo;I declare! aren't you ever going to
+      grow beyond making those absurd remarks of yours?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Maybe&mdash;sometime,&rdquo; laughed Billy, as she took little Kate's hand and
+      led the way up the steps.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Luncheon in the cozy dining-room at Hillside that day was not entirely a
+      success. At least there were not present exactly the harmony and
+      tranquillity that are conceded to be the best sauce for one's food. The
+      wedding, of course, was the all-absorbing topic of conversation; and
+      Billy, between Aunt Hannah's attempts to be polite, Marie's to be
+      sweet-tempered, Mrs. Hartwell's to be dictatorial, and her own to be
+      pacifying as well as firm, had a hard time of it. If it had not been for
+      two or three diversions created by little Kate, the meal would have been,
+      indeed, a dismal failure.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But little Kate&mdash;most of the time the personification of proper
+      little-girlhood&mdash;had a disconcerting faculty of occasionally dropping
+      a word here, or a question there, with startling effect. As, for instance,
+      when she asked Billy &ldquo;Who's going to boss your wedding?&rdquo; and again when
+      she calmly informed her mother that when <i>she</i> was married she was
+      not going to have any wedding at all to bother with, anyhow. She was going
+      to elope, and she should choose somebody's chauffeur, because he'd know
+      how to go the farthest and fastest so her mother couldn't catch up with
+      her and tell her how she ought to have done it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After luncheon Aunt Hannah went up-stairs for rest and recuperation. Marie
+      took little Kate and went for a brisk walk&mdash;for the same purpose.
+      This left Billy alone with her guest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps you would like a nap, too, Mrs. Hartwell,&rdquo; suggested Billy, as
+      they passed into the living-room. There was a curious note of almost
+      hopefulness in her voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Hartwell scorned naps, and she said so very emphatically. She said
+      something else, too.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, why do you always call me 'Mrs. Hartwell' in that stiff, formal
+      fashion? You used to call me 'Aunt Kate.'&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I was very young then.&rdquo; Billy's voice was troubled. Billy had been
+      trying so hard for the last two hours to be the graciously cordial hostess
+      to this woman&mdash;Bertram's sister.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very true. Then why not 'Kate' now?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy hesitated. She was wondering why it seemed so hard to call Mrs.
+      Hartwell &ldquo;Kate.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course,&rdquo; resumed the lady, &ldquo;when you're Bertram's wife and my sister&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, of course,&rdquo; cried Billy, in a sudden flood of understanding.
+      Curiously enough, she had never before thought of Mrs. Hartwell as <i>her</i>
+      sister. &ldquo;I shall be glad to call you 'Kate'&mdash;if you like.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you. I shall like it very much, Billy,&rdquo; nodded the other cordially.
+      &ldquo;Indeed, my dear, I'm very fond of you, and I was delighted to hear you
+      were to be my sister. If only&mdash;it could have stayed William instead
+      of Bertram.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But it couldn't,&rdquo; smiled Billy. &ldquo;It wasn't William&mdash;that I loved.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But <i>Bertram!</i>&mdash;it's so absurd.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Absurd!&rdquo; The smile was gone now.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. Forgive me, Billy, but I was about as much surprised to hear of
+      Bertram's engagement as I was of Cyril's.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy grew a little white.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But Bertram was never an avowed&mdash;woman-hater, like Cyril, was he?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Woman-hater'&mdash;dear me, no! He was a woman-lover, always. As if his
+      eternal 'Face of a Girl' didn't prove that! Bertram has always loved women&mdash;to
+      paint. But as for his ever taking them seriously&mdash;why, Billy, what's
+      the matter?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy had risen suddenly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you'll excuse me, please, just a few minutes,&rdquo; Billy said very
+      quietly. &ldquo;I want to speak to Rosa in the kitchen. I'll be back&mdash;soon.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In the kitchen Billy spoke to Rosa&mdash;she wondered afterwards what she
+      said. Certainly she did not stay in the kitchen long enough to say much.
+      In her own room a minute later, with the door fast closed, she took from
+      her table the photograph of Bertram and held it in her two hands, talking
+      to it softly, but a little wildly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I didn't listen! I didn't stay! Do you hear? I came to you. She shall not
+      say anything that will make trouble between you and me. I've suffered
+      enough through her already! And she doesn't <i>know</i>&mdash;she didn't
+      know before, and she doesn't now. She's only imagining. I will not not&mdash;<i>not</i>
+      believe that you love me&mdash;just to paint. No matter what they say&mdash;all
+      of them! I <i>will not!</i>&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy put the photograph back on the table then, and went down-stairs to
+      her guest. She smiled brightly, though her face was a little pale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wondered if perhaps you wouldn't like some music,&rdquo; she said pleasantly,
+      going straight to the piano.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Indeed I would!&rdquo; agreed Mrs. Hartwell.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy sat down then and played&mdash;played as Mrs. Hartwell had never
+      heard her play before.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Billy, you amaze me,&rdquo; she cried, when the pianist stopped and
+      whirled about. &ldquo;I had no idea you could play like that!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy smiled enigmatically. Billy was thinking that Mrs. Hartwell would,
+      indeed, have been surprised if she had known that in that playing were
+      herself, the ride home, the luncheon, Bertram, and the girl&mdash;whom
+      Bertram <i>did not love only to paint!</i>
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XIII. CYRIL AND A WEDDING
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      The twelfth was a beautiful day. Clear, frosty air set the blood to
+      tingling and the eyes to sparkling, even if it were not your wedding day;
+      while if it were&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It <i>was</i> Marie Hawthorn's wedding day, and certainly her eyes
+      sparkled and her blood tingled as she threw open the window of her room
+      and breathed long and deep of the fresh morning air before going down to
+      breakfast.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They say 'Happy is the bride that the sun shines on,'&rdquo; she whispered
+      softly to an English sparrow that cocked his eye at her from a neighboring
+      tree branch. &ldquo;As if a bride wouldn't be happy, sun or no sun,&rdquo; she scoffed
+      tenderly, as she turned to go down-stairs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As it happens, however, tingling blood and sparkling eyes are a matter of
+      more than weather, or even weddings, as was proved a little later when the
+      telephone bell rang.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Kate answered the ring.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hullo, is that you, Kate?&rdquo; called a despairing voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. Good morning, Bertram. Isn't this a fine day for the wedding?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fine! Oh, yes, I suppose so, though I must confess I haven't noticed it&mdash;and
+      you wouldn't, if you had a lunatic on your hands.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A lunatic!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. Maybe you have, though. Is Marie rampaging around the house like a
+      wild creature, and asking ten questions and making twenty threats to the
+      minute?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Certainly not! Don't be absurd, Bertram. What do you mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;See here, Kate, that show comes off at twelve sharp, doesn't it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Show, indeed!&rdquo; retorted Kate, indignantly. &ldquo;The <i>wedding</i> is at noon
+      sharp&mdash;as the best man should know very well.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right; then tell Billy, please, to see that it is sharp, or I won't
+      answer for the consequences.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you mean? What is the matter?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Cyril. He's broken loose at last. I've been expecting it all along. I've
+      simply marvelled at the meekness with which he has submitted himself to be
+      tied up with white ribbons and topped with roses.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense, Bertram!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, it amounts to that. Anyhow, he thinks it does, and he's wild. I
+      wish you could have heard the thunderous performance on his piano with
+      which he woke me up this morning. Billy says he plays everything&mdash;his
+      past, present, and future. All is, if he was playing his future this
+      morning, I pity the girl who's got to live it with him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bertram!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram chuckled remorselessly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I do. But I'll warrant he wasn't playing his future this morning.
+      He was playing his present&mdash;the wedding. You see, he's just waked up
+      to the fact that it'll be a perfect orgy of women and other confusion, and
+      he doesn't like it. All the samee,{sic} I've had to assure him just
+      fourteen times this morning that the ring, the license, the carriage, the
+      minister's fee, and my sanity are all O. K. When he isn't asking questions
+      he's making threats to snake the parson up there an hour ahead of time and
+      be off with Marie before a soul comes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What an absurd idea!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Cyril doesn't think so. Indeed, Kate, I've had a hard struggle to
+      convince him that the guests wouldn't think it the most delightful
+      experience of their lives if they should come and find the ceremony over
+      with and the bride gone.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, you remind Cyril, please, that there are other people besides
+      himself concerned in this wedding,&rdquo; observed Kate, icily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have,&rdquo; purred Bertram, &ldquo;and he says all right, let them have it, then.
+      He's gone now to look up proxy marriages, I believe.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Proxy marriages, indeed! Come, come, Bertram, I've got something to do
+      this morning besides to stand here listening to your nonsense. See that
+      you and Cyril get here on time&mdash;that's all!&rdquo; And she hung up the
+      receiver with an impatient jerk.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She turned to confront the startled eyes of the bride elect.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is it? Is anything wrong&mdash;with Cyril?&rdquo; faltered Marie.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Kate laughed and raised her eyebrows slightly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nothing but a little stage fright, my dear.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Stage fright!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. Bertram says he's trying to find some one to play his rôle, I
+      believe, in the ceremony.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;<i>Mrs. Hartwell!</i>&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At the look of dismayed terror that came into Marie's face, Mrs. Hartwell
+      laughed reassuringly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There, there, dear child, don't look so horror-stricken. There probably
+      never was a man yet who wouldn't have fled from the wedding part of his
+      marriage if he could; and you know how Cyril hates fuss and feathers. The
+      wonder to me is that he's stood it as long as he has. I thought I saw it
+      coming, last night at the rehearsal&mdash;and now I know I did.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Marie still looked distressed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But he never said&mdash;I thought&mdash;&rdquo; She stopped helplessly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course he didn't, child. He never said anything but that he loved you,
+      and he never thought anything but that you were going to be his. Men never
+      do&mdash;till the wedding day. Then they never think of anything but a
+      place to run,&rdquo; she finished laughingly, as she began to arrange on a stand
+      the quantity of little white boxes waiting for her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But if he'd told me&mdash;in time, I wouldn't have had a thing&mdash;but
+      the minister,&rdquo; faltered Marie.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And when you think so much of a pretty wedding, too? Nonsense! It isn't
+      good for a man, to give up to his whims like that!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Marie's cheeks grew a deeper pink. Her nostrils dilated a little.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It wouldn't be a 'whim,' Mrs. Hartwell, and I should be <i>glad</i> to
+      give up,&rdquo; she said with decision.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Hartwell laughed again, her amused eyes on Marie's face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dear me, child! don't you know that if men had their way, they'd&mdash;well,
+      if men married men there'd never be such a thing in the world as a shower
+      bouquet or a piece of wedding cake!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was no reply. A little precipitately Marie turned and hurried away.
+      A moment later she was laying a restraining hand on Billy, who was filling
+      tall vases with superb long-stemmed roses in the kitchen.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, please,&rdquo; she panted, &ldquo;couldn't we do without those? Couldn't we
+      send them to some&mdash;some hospital?&mdash;and the wedding cake, too,
+      and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The wedding cake&mdash;to some <i>hospital!</i>&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, of course not&mdash;to the hospital. It would make them sick to eat
+      it, wouldn't it?&rdquo; That there was no shadow of a smile on Marie's face
+      showed how desperate, indeed, was her state of mind. &ldquo;I only meant that I
+      didn't want them myself, nor the shower bouquet, nor the rooms darkened,
+      nor little Kate as the flower girl&mdash;and would you mind very much if I
+      asked you not to be my maid of honor?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;<i>Marie!</i>&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Marie covered her face with her hands then and began to sob brokenly; so
+      there was nothing for Billy to do but to take her into her arms with
+      soothing little murmurs and pettings. By degrees, then, the whole story
+      came out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy almost laughed&mdash;but she almost cried, too. Then she said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dearie, I don't believe Cyril feels or acts half so bad as Bertram and
+      Kate make out, and, anyhow, if he did, it's too late now to&mdash;to send
+      the wedding cake to the hospital, or make any other of the little changes
+      you suggest.&rdquo; Billy's lips puckered into a half-smile, but her eyes were
+      grave. &ldquo;Besides, there are your music pupils trimming the living-room this
+      minute with evergreen, there's little Kate making her flower-girl wreath,
+      and Mrs. Hartwell stacking cake boxes in the hall, to say nothing of Rosa
+      gloating over the best china in the dining-room, and Aunt Hannah putting
+      purple bows into the new lace cap she's counting on wearing. Only think
+      how disappointed they'd all be if I should say: 'Never mind&mdash;stop
+      that. Marie's just going to have a minister. No fuss, no feathers!' Why,
+      dearie, even the roses are hanging their heads for grief,&rdquo; she went on
+      mistily, lifting with gentle fingers one of the full-petalled pink
+      beauties near her. &ldquo;Besides, there's your&mdash;guests.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, of course, I knew I couldn't&mdash;really,&rdquo; sighed Marie, as she
+      turned to go up-stairs, all the light and joy gone from her face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy, once assured that Marie was out of hearing, ran to the telephone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bertram, tell Cyril I want to speak to him, please.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right, dear, but go easy. Better strike up your tuning fork to find
+      his pitch to-day. You'll discover it's a high one, all right.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A moment later Cyril's tersely nervous &ldquo;Good morning, Billy,&rdquo; came across
+      the line.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy drew in her breath and cast a hurriedly apprehensive glance over her
+      shoulder to make sure Marie was not near.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Cyril,&rdquo; she called in a low voice, &ldquo;if you care a shred for Marie, for
+      heaven's sake call her up and tell her that you dote on pink roses, and
+      pink ribbons, and pink breakfasts&mdash;and pink wedding cake!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I don't.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes, you do&mdash;to-day! You would&mdash;if you could see Marie
+      now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nothing, only she overheard part of Bertram's nonsensical talk with Kate
+      a little while ago, and she's ready to cast the last ravelling of white
+      satin and conventionality behind her, and go with you to the justice of
+      the peace.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sensible girl!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, but she can't, you know, with fifty guests coming to the wedding,
+      and twice as many more to the reception. Honestly, Cyril, she's
+      broken-hearted. You must do something. She's&mdash;coming!&rdquo; And the
+      receiver clicked sharply into place.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Five minutes later Marie was called to the telephone. Dejectedly,
+      wistful-eyed, she went. Just what were the words that hummed across the
+      wire into the pink little ear of the bride-to-be, Billy never knew; but a
+      Marie that was anything but wistful-eyed and dejected left the telephone a
+      little later, and was heard very soon in the room above trilling merry
+      snatches of a little song. Contentedly, then, Billy went back to her
+      roses.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a pretty wedding, a very pretty wedding. Every one said that. The
+      pink and green of the decorations, the soft lights (Kate had had her way
+      about darkening the rooms), the pretty frocks and smiling faces of the
+      guests all helped. Then there were the dainty flower girl, little Kate,
+      the charming maid of honor, Billy, the stalwart, handsome best man,
+      Bertram, to say nothing of the delicately beautiful bride, who looked like
+      some fairy visitor from another world in the floating shimmer of her
+      gossamer silk and tulle. There was, too, not quite unnoticed, the
+      bridegroom; tall, of distinguished bearing, and with features that were
+      clear cut and-to-day-rather pale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then came the reception&mdash;the &ldquo;women and confusion&rdquo; of Cyril's fears&mdash;followed
+      by the going away of the bride and groom with its merry warfare of
+      confetti and old shoes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At four o'clock, however, with only William and Bertram remaining for
+      guests, something like quiet descended at last on the little house.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, it's over,&rdquo; sighed Billy, dropping exhaustedly into a big chair in
+      the living-room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And <i>well</i> over,&rdquo; supplemented Aunt Hannah, covering her white shawl
+      with a warmer blue one.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I think it was,&rdquo; nodded Kate. &ldquo;It was really a very pretty wedding.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;With your help, Kate&mdash;eh?&rdquo; teased William.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I flatter myself I did do some good,&rdquo; bridled Kate, as she turned
+      to help little Kate take the flower wreath from her head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Even if you did hurry into my room and scare me into conniption fits
+      telling me I'd be late,&rdquo; laughed Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Kate tossed her head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, how was I to know that Aunt Hannah's clock only meant half-past
+      eleven when it struck twelve?&rdquo; she retorted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Everybody laughed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, well, it was a pretty wedding,&rdquo; declared William, with a long sigh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It'll do&mdash;for an understudy,&rdquo; said Bertram softly, for Billy's ears
+      alone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Only the added color and the swift glance showed that Billy heard, for
+      when she spoke she said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And didn't Cyril behave beautifully? 'Most every time I looked at him he
+      was talking to some woman.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no, he wasn't&mdash;begging your pardon, my dear,&rdquo; objected Bertram.
+      &ldquo;I watched him, too, even more closely than you did, and it was always the
+      <i>woman</i> who was talking to <i>Cyril!</i>&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, anyhow,&rdquo; she maintained, &ldquo;he listened. He didn't run away.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As if a bridegroom could!&rdquo; cried Kate.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm going to,&rdquo; avowed Bertram, his nose in the air.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pooh!&rdquo; scoffed Kate. Then she added eagerly: &ldquo;You must be married in
+      church, Billy, and in the evening.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram's nose came suddenly out of the air. His eyes met Kate's squarely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy hasn't decided yet how <i>she</i> does want to be married,&rdquo; he said
+      with unnecessary emphasis.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed and interposed a quick change of subject.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think people had a pretty good time, too, for a wedding, don't you?&rdquo;
+       she asked. &ldquo;I was sorry Mary Jane couldn't be here&mdash;'twould have been
+      such a good chance for him to meet our friends.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As&mdash;<i>Mary Jane?</i>&rdquo; asked Bertram, a little stiffly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Really, my dear,&rdquo; murmured Aunt Hannah, &ldquo;I think it <i>would</i> be more
+      respectful to call him by his name.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By the way, what is his name?&rdquo; questioned William.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's what we don't know,&rdquo; laughed Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, you know the 'Arkwright,' don't you?&rdquo; put in Bertram. Bertram, too,
+      laughed, but it was a little forcedly. &ldquo;I suppose if you knew his name was
+      'Methuselah,' you wouldn't call him that&mdash;yet, would you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy clapped her hands, and threw a merry glance at Aunt Hannah.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There! we never thought of 'Methuselah,'&rdquo; she gurgled gleefully. &ldquo;Maybe
+      it <i>is</i> 'Methuselah,' now&mdash;'Methuselah John'! You see, he's told
+      us to try to guess it,&rdquo; she explained, turning to William; &ldquo;but, honestly,
+      I don't believe, whatever it is, I'll ever think of him as anything but
+      'Mary Jane.'&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, as far as I can judge, he has nobody but himself to thank for that,
+      so he can't do any complaining,&rdquo; smiled William, as he rose to go. &ldquo;Well,
+      how about it, Bertram? I suppose you're going to stay a while to comfort
+      the lonely&mdash;eh, boy?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course he is&mdash;and so are you, too, Uncle William,&rdquo; spoke up
+      Billy, with affectionate cordiality. &ldquo;As if I'd let you go back to a
+      forlorn dinner in that great house to-night! Indeed, no!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      William smiled, hesitated, and sat down.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, of course&mdash;&rdquo; he began.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, of course,&rdquo; finished Billy, quickly. &ldquo;I'll telephone Pete that
+      you'll stay here&mdash;both of you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was at this point that little Kate, who had been turning interested
+      eyes from one brother to the other, interposed a clear, high-pitched
+      question.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Uncle William, didn't you <i>want</i> to marry my going-to-be-Aunt
+      Billy?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Kate!&rdquo; gasped her mother, &ldquo;didn't I tell you&mdash;&rdquo; Her voice trailed
+      into an incoherent murmur of remonstrance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy blushed. Bertram said a low word under his breath. Aunt Hannah's
+      &ldquo;Oh, my grief and conscience!&rdquo; was almost a groan.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      William laughed lightly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, my little lady,&rdquo; he suggested, &ldquo;let us put it the other way and say
+      that quite probably she didn't want to marry me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Does she want to marry Uncle Bertram?&rdquo; &ldquo;Kate!&rdquo; gasped Billy and Mrs.
+      Hartwell together this time, fearful of what might be coming next.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We'll hope so,&rdquo; nodded Uncle William, speaking in a cheerfully
+      matter-of-fact voice, intended to discourage curiosity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little girl frowned and pondered. Her elders cast about in their minds
+      for a speedy change of subject; but their somewhat scattered wits were not
+      quick enough. It was little Kate who spoke next.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Uncle William, would she have got Uncle Cyril if Aunt Marie hadn't nabbed
+      him first?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Kate!&rdquo; The word was a chorus of dismay this time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Hartwell struggled to her feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come, come, Kate, we must go up-stairs&mdash;to bed,&rdquo; she stammered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little girl drew back indignantly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To bed? Why, mama, I haven't had my supper yet!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What? Oh, sure enough&mdash;the lights! I forgot. Well, then, come up&mdash;to
+      change your dress,&rdquo; finished Mrs. Hartwell, as with a despairing look and
+      gesture she led her young daughter from the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XIV. M. J. MAKES ANOTHER MOVE
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Billy came down-stairs on the thirteenth of December to find everywhere
+      the peculiar flatness that always follows a day which for weeks has been
+      the focus of one's aims and thoughts and labor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's just as if everything had stopped at Marie's wedding, and there
+      wasn't anything more to do,&rdquo; she complained to Aunt Hannah at the
+      breakfast table. &ldquo;Everything seems so&mdash;queer!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It won't&mdash;long, dear,&rdquo; smiled Aunt Hannah, tranquilly, as she
+      buttered her roll, &ldquo;specially after Bertram comes back. How long does he
+      stay in New York?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Only three days; but I'm just sure it's going to seem three weeks, now,&rdquo;
+       sighed Billy. &ldquo;But he simply had to go&mdash;else he wouldn't have gone.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I've no doubt of it,&rdquo; observed Aunt Hannah. And at the meaning emphasis
+      of her words, Billy laughed a little. After a minute she said aggrievedly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I had supposed that I could at least have a sort of 'after the ball'
+      celebration this morning picking up and straightening things around. But
+      John and Rosa have done it all. There isn't so much as a rose leaf
+      anywhere on the floor. Of course most of the flowers went to the hospital
+      last night, anyway. As for Marie's room&mdash;it looks as spick-and-span
+      as if it had never seen a scrap of ribbon or an inch of tulle.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But&mdash;the wedding presents?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All carried down to the kitchen and half packed now, ready to go over to
+      the new home. John says he'll take them over in Peggy this afternoon,
+      after he takes Mrs. Hartwell's trunk to Uncle William's.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, you can at least go over to the apartment and work,&rdquo; suggested Aunt
+      Hannah, hopefully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph! Can I?&rdquo; scoffed Billy. &ldquo;As if I could&mdash;when Marie left strict
+      orders that not one thing was to be touched till she got here. They
+      arranged everything but the presents before the wedding, anyway; and Marie
+      wants to fix those herself after she gets back. Mercy! Aunt Hannah, if I
+      should so much as move a plate one inch in the china closet, Marie would
+      know it&mdash;and change it when she got home,&rdquo; laughed Billy, as she rose
+      from the table. &ldquo;No, I can't go to work over there.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But there's your music, my dear. You said you were going to write some
+      new songs after the wedding.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I was,&rdquo; sighed Billy, walking to the window, and looking listlessly at
+      the bare, brown world outside; &ldquo;but I can't write songs&mdash;when there
+      aren't any songs in my head to write.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, of course not; but they'll come, dear, in time. You're tired, now,&rdquo;
+       soothed Aunt Hannah, as she turned to leave the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's the reaction, of course,&rdquo; murmured Aunt Hannah to herself, on the
+      way up-stairs. &ldquo;She's had the whole thing on her hands&mdash;dear child!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A few minutes later, from the living-room, came a plaintive little minor
+      melody. Billy was at the piano.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Kate and little Kate had, the night before, gone home with William. It had
+      been a sudden decision, brought about by the realization that Bertram's
+      trip to New York would leave William alone. Her trunk was to be carried
+      there to-day, and she would leave for home from there, at the end of a two
+      or three days' visit.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It began to snow at twelve o'clock. All the morning the sky had been gray
+      and threatening; and the threats took visible shape at noon in myriads of
+      white snow feathers that filled the air to the blinding point, and turned
+      the brown, bare world into a thing of fairylike beauty. Billy, however,
+      with a rare frown upon her face, looked out upon it with disapproving
+      eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I <i>was</i> going in town&mdash;and I believe I'll go now,&rdquo; she cried.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't, dear, please don't,&rdquo; begged Aunt Hannah. &ldquo;See, the flakes are
+      smaller now, and the wind is coming up. We're in for a blizzard&mdash;I'm
+      sure we are. And you know you have some cold, already.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right,&rdquo; sighed Billy. &ldquo;Then it's me for the knitting work and the
+      fire, I suppose,&rdquo; she finished, with a whimsicality that did not hide the
+      wistful disappointment of her voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She was not knitting, however, she was sewing with Aunt Hannah when at
+      four o'clock Rosa brought in the card.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy glanced at the name, then sprang to her feet with a glad little cry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's Mary Jane!&rdquo; she exclaimed, as Rosa disappeared. &ldquo;Now wasn't he a
+      dear to think to come to-day? You'll be down, won't you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah smiled even while she frowned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Billy!&rdquo; she remonstrated. &ldquo;Yes, I'll come down, of course, a little
+      later, and I'm glad <i>Mr. Arkwright</i> came,&rdquo; she said with reproving
+      emphasis.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed and threw a mischievous glance over her shoulder.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right,&rdquo; she nodded. &ldquo;I'll go and tell <i>Mr. Arkwright</i> you'll be
+      down directly.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In the living-room Billy greeted her visitor with a frankly cordial hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How did you know, Mr. Arkwright, that I was feeling specially restless
+      and lonesome to-day?&rdquo; she demanded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A glad light sprang to the man's dark eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I didn't know it,&rdquo; he rejoined. &ldquo;I only knew that I was specially
+      restless and lonesome myself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright's voice was not quite steady. The unmistakable friendliness in
+      the girl's words and manner had sent a quick throb of joy to his heart.
+      Her evident delight in his coming had filled him with rapture. He could
+      not know that it was only the chill of the snowstorm that had given warmth
+      to her handclasp, the dreariness of the day that had made her greeting so
+      cordial, the loneliness of a maiden whose lover is away that had made his
+      presence so welcome.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I'm glad you came, anyway,&rdquo; sighed Billy, contentedly; &ldquo;though I
+      suppose I ought to be sorry that you were lonesome&mdash;but I'm afraid
+      I'm not, for now you'll know just how I felt, so you won't mind if I'm a
+      little wild and erratic. You see, the tension has snapped,&rdquo; she added
+      laughingly, as she seated herself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tension?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The wedding, you know. For so many weeks we've been seeing just December
+      twelfth, that we'd apparently forgotten all about the thirteenth that came
+      after it; so when I got up this morning I felt just as you do when the
+      clock has stopped ticking. But it was a lovely wedding, Mr. Arkwright. I'm
+      sorry you could not be here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you; so am I&mdash;though usually, I will confess, I'm not much
+      good at attending 'functions' and meeting strangers. As perhaps you've
+      guessed, Miss Neilson, I'm not particularly a society chap.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course you aren't! People who are doing things&mdash;real things&mdash;seldom
+      are. But we aren't the society kind ourselves, you know&mdash;not the
+      capital S kind. We like sociability, which is vastly different from liking
+      Society. Oh, we have friends, to be sure, who dote on 'pink teas and
+      purple pageants,' as Cyril calls them; and we even go ourselves sometimes.
+      But if you had been here yesterday, Mr. Arkwright, you'd have met lots
+      like yourself, men and women who are doing things: singing, playing,
+      painting, illustrating, writing. Why, we even had a poet, sir&mdash;only
+      he didn't have long hair, so he didn't look the part a bit,&rdquo; she finished
+      laughingly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is long hair&mdash;necessary&mdash;for poets?&rdquo; Arkwright's smile was
+      quizzical.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dear me, no; not now. But it used to be, didn't it? And for painters,
+      too. But now they look just like&mdash;folks.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright laughed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It isn't possible that you are sighing for the velvet coats and flowing
+      ties of the past, is it, Miss Neilson?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm afraid it is,&rdquo; dimpled Billy. &ldquo;I <i>love</i> velvet coats and flowing
+      ties!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;May singers wear them? I shall don them at once, anyhow, at a venture,&rdquo;
+       declared the man, promptly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy smiled and shook her head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't think you will. You all like your horrid fuzzy tweeds and
+      worsteds too well!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You speak with feeling. One would almost suspect that you already had
+      tried to bring about a reform&mdash;and failed. Perhaps Mr. Cyril, now, or
+      Mr. Bertram&mdash;&rdquo; Arkwright stopped with a whimsical smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy flushed a little. As it happened, she had, indeed, had a merry tilt
+      with Bertram on that very subject, and he had laughingly promised that his
+      wedding present to her would be a velvet house coat for himself. It was on
+      the point of Billy's tongue now to say this to Arkwright; but another
+      glance at the provoking smile on his lips drove the words back in angry
+      confusion. For the second time, in the presence of this man, Billy found
+      herself unable to refer to her engagement to Bertram Henshaw&mdash;though
+      this time she did not in the least doubt that Arkwright already knew of
+      it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With a little gesture of playful scorn she rose and went to the piano.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come, let us try some duets,&rdquo; she suggested. &ldquo;That's lots nicer than
+      quarrelling over velvet coats; and Aunt Hannah will be down presently to
+      hear us sing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Before she had ceased speaking, Arkwright was at her side with an
+      exclamation of eager acquiescence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was after the second duet that Arkwright asked, a little diffidently.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you written any new songs lately?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You're going to?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps&mdash;if I find one to write.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You mean&mdash;you have no words?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes&mdash;and no. I have some words, both of my own and other people's;
+      but I haven't found in any one of them, yet&mdash;a melody.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright hesitated. His right hand went almost to his inner coat pocket&mdash;then
+      fell back at his side. The next moment he picked up a sheet of music.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you too tired to try this?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A puzzled frown appeared on Billy's face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, no, but&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, children, I've come down to hear the music,&rdquo; announced Aunt Hannah,
+      smilingly, from the doorway; &ldquo;only&mdash;Billy, <i>will</i> you run up and
+      get my pink shawl, too? This room <i>is</i> colder than I thought, and
+      there's only the white one down here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course,&rdquo; cried Billy, rising at once. &ldquo;You shall have a dozen shawls,
+      if you like,&rdquo; she laughed, as she left the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What a cozy time it was&mdash;the hour that followed, after Billy returned
+      with the pink shawl! Outside, the wind howled at the windows and flung the
+      snow against the glass in sleety crashes. Inside, the man and the girl
+      sang duets until they were tired; then, with Aunt Hannah, they feasted
+      royally on the buttered toast, tea, and frosted cakes that Rosa served on
+      a little table before the roaring fire. It was then that Arkwright talked
+      of himself, telling them something of his studies, and of the life he was
+      living.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;After all, you see there's just this difference between my friends and
+      yours,&rdquo; he said, at last. &ldquo;Your friends <i>are</i> doing things. They've
+      succeeded. Mine haven't, yet&mdash;they're only <i>trying</i>.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But they will succeed,&rdquo; cried Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Some of them,&rdquo; amended the man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not&mdash;all of them?&rdquo; Billy looked a little troubled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright shook his head slowly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. They couldn't&mdash;all of them, you know. Some haven't the talent,
+      some haven't the perseverance, and some haven't the money.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But all that seems such a pity-when they've tried,&rdquo; grieved Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is a pity, Miss Neilson. Disappointed hopes are always a pity, aren't
+      they?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Y-yes,&rdquo; sighed the girl. &ldquo;But&mdash;if there were only something one
+      could do to&mdash;help!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright's eyes grew deep with feeling, but his voice, when he spoke, was
+      purposely light.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm afraid that would be quite too big a contract for even your
+      generosity, Miss Neilson&mdash;to mend all the broken hopes in the world,&rdquo;
+       he prophesied.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have known great good to come from great disappointments,&rdquo; remarked
+      Aunt Hannah, a bit didactically.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So have I,&rdquo; laughed Arkwright, still determined to drive the troubled
+      shadow from the face he was watching so intently. &ldquo;For instance: a fellow
+      I know was feeling all cut up last Friday because he was just too late to
+      get into Symphony Hall on the twenty-five-cent admission. Half an hour
+      afterwards his disappointment was turned to joy&mdash;a friend who had an
+      orchestra chair couldn't use his ticket that day, and so handed it over to
+      him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy turned interestedly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What are those twenty-five-cent tickets to the Symphony?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then&mdash;you don't know?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not exactly. I've heard of them, in a vague fashion.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then you've missed one of the sights of Boston if you haven't ever seen
+      that long line of patient waiters at the door of Symphony Hall of a Friday
+      morning.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Morning! But the concert isn't till afternoon!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, but the waiting is,&rdquo; retorted Arkwright. &ldquo;You see, those admissions
+      are limited&mdash;five hundred and five, I believe&mdash;and they're rush
+      seats, at that. First come, first served; and if you're too late you
+      aren't served at all. So the first arrival comes bright and early. I've
+      heard that he has been known to come at peep of day when there's a
+      Paderewski or a Melba for a drawing card. But I've got my doubts of that.
+      Anyhow, I never saw them there much before half-past eight. But many's the
+      cold, stormy day I've seen those steps in front of the Hall packed for
+      hours, and a long line reaching away up the avenue.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy's eyes widened.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And they'll stand all that time and wait?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To be sure they will. You see, each pays twenty-five cents at the door,
+      until the limit is reached, then the rest are turned away. Naturally they
+      don't want to be turned away, so they try to get there early enough to be
+      among the fortunate five hundred and five. Besides, the earlier you are,
+      the better seat you are likely to get.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But only think of <i>standing</i> all that time!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, they bring camp chairs, sometimes, I've heard, and then there are the
+      steps. You don't know what a really fine seat a stone step is&mdash;if you
+      have a <i>big</i> enough bundle of newspapers to cushion it with! They
+      bring their luncheons, too, with books, papers, and knitting work for fine
+      days, I've been told&mdash;some of them. All the comforts of home, you
+      see,&rdquo; smiled Arkwright.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, how&mdash;how dreadful!&rdquo; stammered Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, but they don't think it's dreadful at all,&rdquo; corrected Arkwright,
+      quickly. &ldquo;For twenty-five cents they can hear all that you hear down in
+      your orchestra chair, for which you've paid so high a premium.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But who&mdash;who are they? Where do they come from? Who <i>would</i> go
+      and stand hours like that to get a twenty-five-cent seat?&rdquo; questioned
+      Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who are they? Anybody, everybody, from anywhere? everywhere; people who
+      have the music hunger but not the money to satisfy it,&rdquo; he rejoined.
+      &ldquo;Students, teachers, a little milliner from South Boston, a little
+      dressmaker from Chelsea, a housewife from Cambridge, a stranger from the
+      uttermost parts of the earth; maybe a widow who used to sit down-stairs,
+      or a professor who has seen better days. Really to know that line, you
+      should see it for yourself, Miss Neilson,&rdquo; smiled Arkwright, as he
+      reluctantly rose to go. &ldquo;Some Friday, however, before you take your seat,
+      just glance up at that packed top balcony and judge by the faces you see
+      there whether their owners think they're getting their twenty-five-cents'
+      worth, or not.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I will,&rdquo; nodded Billy, with a smile; but the smile came from her lips
+      only, not her eyes: Billy was wishing, at that moment, that she owned the
+      whole of Symphony Hall&mdash;to give away. But that was like Billy. When
+      she was seven years old she had proposed to her Aunt Ella that they take
+      all the thirty-five orphans from the Hampden Falls Orphan Asylum to live
+      with them, so that little Sallie Cook and the other orphans might have ice
+      cream every day, if they wanted it. Since then Billy had always been
+      trying&mdash;in a way&mdash;to give ice cream to some one who wanted it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright was almost at the door when he turned abruptly. His face was an
+      abashed red. From his pocket he had taken a small folded paper.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you suppose&mdash;in this&mdash;you might find&mdash;that melody?&rdquo; he
+      stammered in a low voice. The next moment he was gone, having left in
+      Billy's fingers a paper upon which was written in a clear-cut, masculine
+      hand six four-line stanzas.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy read them at once, hurriedly, then more carefully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, they're beautiful,&rdquo; she breathed, &ldquo;just beautiful! Where did he get
+      them, I wonder? It's a love song&mdash;and such a pretty one! I believe
+      there <i>is</i> a melody in it,&rdquo; she exulted, pausing to hum a line or
+      two. &ldquo;There is&mdash;I know there is; and I'll write it&mdash;for
+      Bertram,&rdquo; she finished, crossing joyously to the piano.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Half-way down Corey Hill at that moment, Arkwright was buffeting the wind
+      and snow. He, too, was thinking joyously of those stanzas&mdash;joyously,
+      yet at the same time fearfully. Arkwright himself had written those lines&mdash;though
+      not for Bertram.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XV. &ldquo;MR. BILLY&rdquo; AND &ldquo;MISS MARY JANE&rdquo;
+     </h2>
+    <p>
+      On the fourteenth of December Billy came down-stairs alert, interested,
+      and happy. She had received a dear letter from Bertram (mailed on the way
+      to New York), the sun was shining, and her fingers were fairly tingling to
+      put on paper the little melody that was now surging riotously through her
+      brain. Emphatically, the restlessness of the day before was gone now. Once
+      more Billy's &ldquo;clock&rdquo; had &ldquo;begun to tick.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      After breakfast Billy went straight to the telephone and called up
+      Arkwright. Even one side of the conversation Aunt Hannah did not hear very
+      clearly; but in five minutes a radiant-faced Billy danced into the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aunt Hannah, just listen! Only think&mdash;Mary Jane wrote the words
+      himself, so of course I can use them!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, dear, <i>can't</i> you say 'Mr. Arkwright'?&rdquo; pleaded Aunt Hannah.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed and gave the anxious-eyed little old lady an impulsive hug.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course! I'll say 'His Majesty' if you like, dear,&rdquo; she chuckled. &ldquo;But
+      did you hear&mdash;did you realize? They're his own words, so there's no
+      question of rights or permission, or anything. And he's coming up this
+      afternoon to hear my melody, and to make a few little changes in the
+      words, maybe. Oh, Aunt Hannah, you don't know how good it seems to get
+      into my music again!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, yes, dear, of course; but&mdash;&rdquo; Aunt Hannah's sentence ended in a
+      vaguely troubled pause.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy turned in surprise.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Aunt Hannah, aren't you glad? You <i>said</i> you'd be glad!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, dear; and I am&mdash;very glad. It's only&mdash;if it doesn't take
+      too much time&mdash;and if Bertram doesn't mind.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy flushed. She laughed a little bitterly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, it won't take too much time, I fancy, and&mdash;so far as Bertram is
+      concerned&mdash;if what Sister Kate says is true, Aunt Hannah, he'll be
+      glad to have me occupy a little of my time with something besides
+      himself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fiddlededee!&rdquo; bristled Aunt Hannah.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What did she mean by that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy smiled ruefully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, probably I did need it. She said it night before last just before
+      she went home with Uncle William. She declared that I seemed to forget
+      entirely that Bertram belonged to his Art first, before he belonged to me;
+      and that it was exactly as she had supposed it would be&mdash;a perfect
+      absurdity for Bertram to think of marrying anybody.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fiddlededee!&rdquo; ejaculated the irate Aunt Hannah, even more sharply. &ldquo;I
+      hope you have too much good sense to mind what Kate says, Billy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I know,&rdquo; sighed the girl; &ldquo;but of course I can see some things for
+      myself, and I suppose I did make&mdash;a little fuss about his going to
+      New York the other night. And I will own that I've had a real struggle
+      with myself sometimes, lately, not to mind&mdash;his giving so much time
+      to his portrait painting. And of course both of those are very
+      reprehensible&mdash;in an artist's wife,&rdquo; she finished, a little
+      tremulously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph! Well, I don't think I should worry about that,&rdquo; observed Aunt
+      Hannah with grim positiveness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I don't mean to,&rdquo; smiled Billy, wistfully. &ldquo;I only told you so you'd
+      understand that it was just as well if I did have something to take up my
+      mind&mdash;besides Bertram. And of course music would be the most natural
+      thing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, of course,&rdquo; agreed Aunt Hannah.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And it seems actually almost providential that Mary&mdash;I mean Mr.
+      Arkwright is here to help me, now that Cyril is gone,&rdquo; went on Billy,
+      still a little wistfully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, of course. He isn't like&mdash;a stranger,&rdquo; murmured Aunt Hannah.
+      Aunt Hannah's voice sounded as if she were trying to convince herself&mdash;of
+      something.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, indeed! He seems just like one of the family to me, almost as if he
+      were really&mdash;your niece, Mary Jane,&rdquo; laughed Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah moved restlessly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy,&rdquo; she hazarded, &ldquo;he knows, of course, of your engagement?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, of course he does, Aunt Hannah everybody does!&rdquo; Billy's eyes were
+      plainly surprised.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, yes, of course&mdash;he must,&rdquo; subsided Aunt Hannah, confusedly,
+      hoping that Billy would not divine the hidden reason behind her question.
+      She was relieved when Billy's next words showed that she had not divined
+      it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I told you, didn't I? He's coming up this afternoon. He can't get here
+      till five, though; but he's so interested! He's about as crazy over the
+      thing as I am. And it's going to be fine, Aunt Hannah, when it's done. You
+      just wait and see!&rdquo; she finished gayly, as she tripped from the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Left to herself, Aunt Hannah drew a long breath.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm glad she didn't suspect,&rdquo; she was thinking. &ldquo;I believe she'd consider
+      even the <i>question</i> disloyal to Bertram&mdash;dear child! And of
+      course Mary&rdquo;&mdash;Aunt Hannah corrected herself with cheeks aflame&mdash;&ldquo;I
+      mean Mr. Arkwright does&mdash;know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was just here, however, that Aunt Hannah was mistaken. Mr. Arkwright
+      did not&mdash;know. He had not reached Boston when the engagement was
+      announced. He knew none of Billy's friends in town save the Henshaw
+      brothers. He had not heard from Calderwell since he came to Boston. The
+      very evident intimacy of Billy with the Henshaw brothers he accepted as a
+      matter of course, knowing the history of their acquaintance, and the fact
+      that Billy was Mr. William Henshaw's namesake. As to Bertram being Billy's
+      lover&mdash;that idea had long ago been killed at birth by Calderwell's
+      emphatic assertion that the artist would never care for any girl&mdash;except
+      to paint. Since coming to Boston, Arkwright had seen little of the two
+      together. His work, his friends, and his general mode of life precluded
+      that. Because of all this, therefore, Arkwright did not&mdash;know; which
+      was a pity&mdash;for Arkwright, and for some others.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Promptly at five o'clock that afternoon, Arkwright rang Billy's doorbell,
+      and was admitted by Rosa to the living-room, where Billy was at the piano.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy sprang to her feet with a joyous word of greeting.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm so glad you've come,&rdquo; she sighed happily. &ldquo;I want you to hear the
+      melody your pretty words have sung to me. Though, maybe, after all, you
+      won't like it, you know,&rdquo; she finished with arch wistfulness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As if I could help liking it,&rdquo; smiled the man, trying to keep from his
+      voice the ecstatic delight that the touch of her hand had brought him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy shook her head and seated herself again at the piano.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The words are lovely,&rdquo; she declared, sorting out two or three sheets of
+      manuscript music from the quantity on the rack before her. &ldquo;But there's
+      one place&mdash;the rhythm, you know&mdash;if you could change it. There!&mdash;but
+      listen. First I'm going to play it straight through to you.&rdquo; And she
+      dropped her fingers to the keyboard. The next moment a tenderly sweet
+      melody&mdash;with only a chord now and then for accompaniment&mdash;filled
+      Arkwright's soul with rapture. Then Billy began to sing, very softly, the
+      words!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      No wonder Arkwright's soul was filled with rapture. They were his words,
+      wrung straight from his heart; and they were being sung by the girl for
+      whom they were written. They were being sung with feeling, too&mdash;so
+      evident a feeling that the man's pulse quickened, and his eyes flashed a
+      sudden fire. Arkwright could not know, of course, that Billy, in her own
+      mind, was singing that song&mdash;to Bertram Henshaw.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The fire was still in Arkwright's eyes when the song was ended; but Billy
+      very plainly did not see it. With a frowning sigh and a murmured &ldquo;There!&rdquo;
+       she began to talk of &ldquo;rhythm&rdquo; and &ldquo;accent&rdquo; and &ldquo;cadence&rdquo;; and to point out
+      with anxious care why three syllables instead of two were needed at the
+      end of a certain line. From this she passed eagerly to the accompaniment,
+      and Arkwright at once found himself lost in a maze of &ldquo;minor thirds&rdquo; and
+      &ldquo;diminished sevenths,&rdquo; until he was forced to turn from the singer to the
+      song. Still, watching her a little later, he noticed her absorbed face and
+      eager enthusiasm, her earnest pursuance of an elusive harmony, and he
+      wondered: did she, or did she not sing that song with feeling a little
+      while before?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright had not settled this question to his own satisfaction when Aunt
+      Hannah came in at half-past five, and he was conscious of a vague
+      disappointment as he rose to greet her. Billy, however, turned an
+      untroubled face to the newcomer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We're doing finely, Aunt Hannah,&rdquo; she cried. Then, suddenly, she flung a
+      laughing question to the man. &ldquo;How about it, sir? Are we going to put on
+      the title-page: 'Words by Mary Jane Arkwright'&mdash;or will you unveil
+      the mystery for us now?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you guessed it?&rdquo; he bantered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No&mdash;unless it's 'Methuselah John.' We did think of that the other
+      day.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wrong again!&rdquo; he laughed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then it'll have to be 'Mary Jane,'&rdquo; retorted Billy, with calm
+      naughtiness, refusing to meet Aunt Hannah's beseechingly reproving eyes.
+      Then suddenly she chuckled. &ldquo;It would be a combination, wouldn't it?
+      'Words by Mary Jane Arkwright. Music by Billy Neilson'! We'd have sighing
+      swains writing to 'Dear Miss Arkwright,' telling how touching were <i>her</i>
+      words; and lovelorn damsels thanking <i>Mr</i>. Neilson for <i>his</i>
+      soul-inspiring music!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, my dear!&rdquo; remonstrated Aunt Hannah, faintly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, yes, I know; that was bad&mdash;and I won't again, truly,&rdquo; promised
+      Billy. But her eyes danced, and the next moment she had whirled about on
+      the piano stool and dashed into a Chopin waltz. The room itself, then,
+      seemed to be full of the twinkling feet of elves.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XVI. A GIRL AND A BIT OF LOWESTOFT
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Immediately after breakfast the next morning, Billy was summoned to the
+      telephone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, good morning, Uncle William,&rdquo; she called, in answer to the masculine
+      voice that replied to her &ldquo;Hullo.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, are you very busy this morning?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, indeed&mdash;not if you want me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I do, my dear.&rdquo; Uncle William's voice was troubled. &ldquo;I want you to
+      go with me, if you can, to see a Mrs. Greggory. She's got a teapot I want.
+      It's a genuine Lowestoft, Harlow says. Will you go?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course I will! What time?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eleven if you can, at Park Street. She's at the West End. I don't dare to
+      put it off for fear I'll lose it. Harlow says others will have to know of
+      it, of course. You see, she's just made up her mind to sell it, and asked
+      him to find a customer. I wouldn't trouble you, but he says they're
+      peculiar&mdash;the daughter, especially&mdash;and may need some careful
+      handling. That's why I wanted you&mdash;though I wanted you to see the
+      tea-pot, too,&mdash;it'll be yours some day, you know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy, all alone at her end of the line, blushed. That she was one day to
+      be mistress of the Strata and all it contained was still anything but
+      &ldquo;common&rdquo; to her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'd love to see it, and I'll come gladly; but I'm afraid I won't be much
+      help, Uncle William,&rdquo; she worried.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll take the risk of that. You see, Harlow says that about half the time
+      she isn't sure she wants to sell it, after all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, how funny! Well, I'll come. At eleven, you say, at Park Street?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes; and thank you, my dear. I tried to get Kate to go, too; but she
+      wouldn't. By the way, I'm going to bring you home to luncheon. Kate leaves
+      this afternoon, you know, and it's been so snowy she hasn't thought best
+      to try to get over to the house. Maybe Aunt Hannah would come, too, for
+      luncheon. Would she?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm afraid not,&rdquo; returned Billy, with a rueful laugh. &ldquo;She's got <i>three</i>
+      shawls on this morning, and you know that always means that she's felt a
+      draft somewhere&mdash;poor dear. I'll tell her, though, and I'll see you
+      at eleven,&rdquo; finished Billy, as she hung up the receiver.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Promptly at the appointed time Billy met Uncle William at Park Street, and
+      together they set out for the West End street named on the paper in his
+      pocket. But when the shabby house on the narrow little street was reached,
+      the man looked about him with a troubled frown.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I declare, Billy, I'm not sure but we'd better turn back,&rdquo; he fretted. &ldquo;I
+      didn't mean to take you to such a place as this.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy shivered a little; but after one glance at the man's disappointed
+      face she lifted a determined chin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense, Uncle William! Of course you won't turn back. I don't mind&mdash;for
+      myself; but only think of the people whose <i>homes</i> are here,&rdquo; she
+      finished, just above her breath.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Greggory was found to be living in two back rooms at the top of four
+      flights of stairs, up which William Henshaw toiled with increasing
+      weariness and dismay, punctuating each flight with a despairing: &ldquo;Billy,
+      really, I think we should turn back!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But Billy would not turn back, and at last they found themselves in the
+      presence of a white-haired, sweet-faced woman who said yes, she was Mrs.
+      Greggory; yes, she was. Even as she uttered the words, however, she looked
+      fearfully over her shoulders as if expecting to hear from the hall behind
+      them a voice denying her assertion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Greggory was a cripple. Her slender little body was poised on two
+      once-costly crutches. Both the worn places on the crutches, and the skill
+      with which the little woman swung herself about the room testified that
+      the crippled condition was not a new one.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy's eyes were brimming with pity and dismay. Mechanically she had
+      taken the chair toward which Mrs. Greggory had motioned her. She had tried
+      not to seem to look about her; but there was not one detail of the bare
+      little room, from its faded rug to the patched but spotless tablecloth,
+      that was not stamped on her brain.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Greggory had seated herself now, and William Henshaw had cleared his
+      throat nervously. Billy did not know whether she herself were the more
+      distressed or the more relieved to hear him stammer:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We&mdash;er&mdash;I came from Harlow, Mrs. Greggory. He gave me to
+      understand you had an&mdash;er&mdash;teapot that&mdash;er&mdash;&rdquo; With his
+      eyes on the cracked white crockery pitcher on the table, William Henshaw
+      came to a helpless pause.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A curious expression, or rather, series of expressions crossed Mrs.
+      Greggory's face. Terror, joy, dismay, and relief seemed, one after the
+      other to fight for supremacy. Relief in the end conquered, though even yet
+      there was a second hurriedly apprehensive glance toward the door before
+      she spoke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Lowestoft! Yes, I'm so glad!&mdash;that is, of course I must be glad.
+      I'll get it.&rdquo; Her voice broke as she pulled herself from her chair. There
+      was only despairing sorrow on her face now.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The man rose at once.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, madam, perhaps&mdash;don't let me&mdash;&rdquo; I he began stammeringly.
+      &ldquo;Of course&mdash;Billy!&rdquo; he broke off in an entirely different voice.
+      &ldquo;Jove! What a beauty!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Greggory had thrown open the door of a small cupboard near the
+      collector's chair, disclosing on one of the shelves a beautifully shaped
+      teapot, creamy in tint, and exquisitely decorated in a rose design. Near
+      it set a tray-like plate of the same ware and decoration.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you'll lift it down, please, yourself,&rdquo; motioned Mrs. Greggory. &ldquo;I
+      don't like to&mdash;with these,&rdquo; she explained, tapping the crutches at
+      her side.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With fingers that were almost reverent in their appreciation, the
+      collector reached for the teapot. His eyes sparkled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, look, what a beauty! And it's a Lowestoft, too, the real thing&mdash;the
+      genuine, true soft paste! And there's the tray&mdash;did you notice?&rdquo; he
+      exulted, turning back to the shelf. &ldquo;You <i>don't</i> see that every day!
+      They get separated, most generally, you know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;These pieces have been in our family for generations,&rdquo; said Mrs. Greggory
+      with an accent of pride. &ldquo;You'll find them quite perfect, I think.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perfect! I should say they were,&rdquo; cried the man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They are, then&mdash;valuable?&rdquo; Mrs. Greggory's voice shook.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Indeed they are! But you must know that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have been told so. Yet to me their chief value, of course, lies in
+      their association. My mother and my grandmother owned that teapot, sir.&rdquo;
+       Again her voice broke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      William Henshaw cleared his throat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, madam, if you do not wish to sell&mdash;&rdquo; He stopped abruptly. His
+      longing eyes had gone back to the enticing bit of china.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Greggory gave a low cry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I do&mdash;that is, I must. Mr. Harlow says that it is valuable, and
+      that it will bring in money; and we need&mdash;money.&rdquo; She threw a quick
+      glance toward the hall door, though she did not pause in her remarks. &ldquo;I
+      can't do much at work that pays. I sew&rdquo;&mdash;she nodded toward the
+      machine by the window&mdash;&ldquo;but with only one foot to make it go&mdash;You
+      see, the other is&mdash;is inclined to shirk a little,&rdquo; she finished with
+      a wistful whimsicality.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy turned away sharply. There was a lump in her throat and a smart in
+      her eyes. She was conscious suddenly of a fierce anger against&mdash;she
+      did not know what, exactly; but she fancied it was against the teapot, or
+      against Uncle William for wanting the teapot, or for <i>not</i> wanting it&mdash;if
+      he did not buy it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And so you see, I do very much wish to sell.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Greggory said then. &ldquo;Perhaps you will tell me what it would be worth
+      to you,&rdquo; she concluded tremulously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The collector's eyes glowed. He picked up the teapot with careful rapture
+      and examined it. Then he turned to the tray. After a moment he spoke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have only one other in my collection as rare,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I paid a
+      hundred dollars for that. I shall be glad to give you the same for this,
+      madam.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Greggory started visibly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A hundred dollars? So much as that?&rdquo; she cried almost joyously. &ldquo;Why,
+      nothing else that we've had has brought&mdash;Of course, if it's worth
+      that to you&mdash;&rdquo; She paused suddenly. A quick step had sounded in the
+      hall outside. The next moment the door flew open and a young woman, who
+      looked to be about twenty-three or twenty-four years old, burst into the
+      room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mother, only think, I've&mdash;&rdquo; She stopped, and drew back a little. Her
+      startled eyes went from one face to another, then dropped to the Lowestoft
+      teapot in the man's hands. Her expression changed at once. She shut the
+      door quickly and hurried forward.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mother, what is it? Who are these people?&rdquo; she asked sharply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy lifted her chin the least bit. She was conscious of a feeling which
+      she could not name: Billy was not used to being called &ldquo;these people&rdquo; in
+      precisely that tone of voice. William Henshaw, too, raised his chin. He,
+      also, was not in the habit of being referred to as &ldquo;these people.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My name is Henshaw, Miss&mdash;Greggory, I presume,&rdquo; he said quietly. &ldquo;I
+      was sent here by Mr. Harlow.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;About the teapot, my dear, you know,&rdquo; stammered Mrs. Greggory, wetting
+      her lips with an air of hurried apology and conciliation. &ldquo;This gentleman
+      says he will be glad to buy it. Er&mdash;my daughter, Alice, Mr. Henshaw,&rdquo;
+       she hastened on, in embarrassed introduction; &ldquo;and Miss&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Neilson,&rdquo; supplied the man, as she looked at Billy, and hesitated.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A swift red stained Alice Greggory's face. With barely an acknowledgment
+      of the introductions she turned to her mother.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, dear, but that won't be necessary now. As I started to tell you when
+      I came in, I have two new pupils; and so&rdquo;&mdash;turning to the man again
+      &ldquo;I thank you for your offer, but we have decided not to sell the teapot at
+      present.&rdquo; As she finished her sentence she stepped one side as if to make
+      room for the strangers to reach the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      William Henshaw frowned angrily&mdash;that was the man; but his eyes&mdash;the
+      collector's eyes&mdash;sought the teapot longingly. Before either the man
+      or the collector could speak, however; Mrs. Greggory interposed quick
+      words of remonstrance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, Alice, my dear,&rdquo; she almost sobbed. &ldquo;You didn't wait to let me tell
+      you. Mr. Henshaw says it is worth a hundred dollars to him. He will give
+      us&mdash;a hundred dollars.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A hundred dollars!&rdquo; echoed the girl, faintly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was plain to be seen that she was wavering. Billy, watching the little
+      scene, with mingled emotions, saw the glance with which the girl swept the
+      bare little room; and she knew that there was not a patch or darn or
+      poverty spot in sight, or out of sight, which that glance did not
+      encompass.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy was wondering which she herself desired more&mdash;that Uncle
+      William should buy the Lowestoft, or that he should not. She knew she
+      wished Mrs. Greggory to have the hundred dollars. There was no doubt on
+      that point. Then Uncle William spoke. His words carried the righteous
+      indignation of the man who thinks he has been unjustly treated, and the
+      final plea of the collector who sees a coveted treasure slipping from his
+      grasp.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am very sorry, of course, if my offer has annoyed you,&rdquo; he said
+      stiffly. &ldquo;I certainly should not have made it had I not had Mrs.
+      Greggory's assurance that she wished to sell the teapot.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Alice Greggory turned as if stung.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;<i>Wished to sell!</i>&rdquo; She repeated the words with superb disdain. She
+      was plainly very angry. Her blue-gray eyes gleamed with scorn, and her
+      whole face was suffused with a red that had swept to the roots of her soft
+      hair. &ldquo;Do you think a woman <i>wishes</i> to sell a thing that she's
+      treasured all her life, a thing that is perhaps the last visible reminder
+      of the days when she was living&mdash;not merely existing?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Alice, Alice, my love!&rdquo; protested the sweet-faced cripple, agitatedly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can't help it,&rdquo; stormed the girl, hotly. &ldquo;I know how much you think of
+      that teapot that was grandmother's. I know what it cost you to make up
+      your mind to sell it at all. And then to hear these people talk about your
+      <i>wishing</i> to sell it! Perhaps they think, too, we <i>wish</i> to live
+      in a place like this; that we <i>wish</i> to have rugs that are darned,
+      and chairs that are broken, and garments that are patches instead of
+      clothes!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Alice!&rdquo; gasped Mrs. Greggory in dismayed horror.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With a little outward fling of her two hands Alice Greggory stepped back.
+      Her face had grown white again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I beg your pardon, of course,&rdquo; she said in a voice that was bitterly
+      quiet. &ldquo;I should not have spoken so. You are very kind, Mr. Henshaw, but I
+      do not think we care to sell the Lowestoft to-day.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Both words and manner were obviously a dismissal; and with a puzzled sigh
+      William Henshaw picked up his hat. His face showed very clearly that he
+      did not know what to do, or what to say; but it showed, too, as clearly,
+      that he longed to do something, or say something. During the brief minute
+      that he hesitated, however, Billy sprang forward.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mrs. Greggory, please, won't you let <i>me</i> buy the teapot? And then&mdash;won't
+      you keep it for me&mdash;here? I haven't the hundred dollars with me, but
+      I'll send it right away. You will let me do it, won't you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was an impulsive speech, and a foolish one, of course, from the
+      standpoint of sense and logic and reasonableness; but it was one that
+      might be expected, perhaps, from Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Greggory must have divined, in a way, the spirit that prompted it,
+      for her eyes grew wet, and with a choking &ldquo;Dear child!&rdquo; she reached out
+      and caught Billy's hand in both her own&mdash;even while she shook her
+      head in denial.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Not so her daughter. Alice Greggory flushed scarlet. She drew herself
+      proudly erect.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you,&rdquo; she said with crisp coldness; &ldquo;but, distasteful as darns and
+      patches are to us, we prefer them, infinitely, to&mdash;charity!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, but, please, I didn't mean&mdash;you didn't understand,&rdquo; faltered
+      Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For answer Alice Greggory walked deliberately to the door and held it
+      open.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Alice, my dear,&rdquo; pleaded Mrs. Greggory again, feebly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come, Billy! We'll bid you good morning, ladies,&rdquo; said William Henshaw
+      then, decisively. And Billy, with a little wistful pat on Mrs. Greggory's
+      clasped hands, went.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Once down the long four flights of stairs and out on the sidewalk, William
+      Henshaw drew a long breath.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, by Jove! Billy, the next time I take you curio hunting, it won't be
+      to this place,&rdquo; he fumed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wasn't it awful!&rdquo; choked Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Awful! The girl was the most stubborn, unreasonable, vixenish little puss
+      I ever saw. I didn't want her old Lowestoft if she didn't want to sell it!
+      But to practically invite me there, and then treat me like that!&rdquo; scolded
+      the collector, his face growing red with anger. &ldquo;Still, I was sorry for
+      the poor little old lady. I wish, somehow, she could have that hundred
+      dollars!&rdquo; It was the man who said this, not the collector.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So do I,&rdquo; rejoined Billy, dolefully. &ldquo;But that girl was so&mdash;so
+      queer!&rdquo; she sighed, with a frown. Billy was puzzled. For the first time,
+      perhaps, in her life, she knew what it was to have her proffered &ldquo;ice
+      cream&rdquo; disdainfully refused.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XVII. ONLY A LOVE SONG, BUT&mdash;
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Kate and little Kate left for the West on the afternoon of the fifteenth,
+      and Bertram arrived from New York that evening. Notwithstanding the
+      confusion of all this, Billy still had time to give some thought to her
+      experience of the morning with Uncle William. The forlorn little room with
+      its poverty-stricken furnishings and its crippled mistress was very vivid
+      in Billy's memory. Equally vivid were the flashing eyes of Alice Greggory
+      as she had opened the door at the last.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;For,&rdquo; as Billy explained to Bertram that evening, after she had told him
+      the story of the morning's adventure, &ldquo;you see, dear, I had never been
+      really <i>turned out</i> of a house before!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I should think not,&rdquo; scowled her lover, indignantly; &ldquo;and it's safe to
+      say you never will again. The impertinence of it! But then, you won't see
+      them any more, sweetheart, so we'll just forget it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Forget it! Why, Bertram, I couldn't! You couldn't, if you'd been there.
+      Besides, of course I shall see them again!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram's jaw dropped.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Billy, you don't mean that Will, or you either, would try again for
+      that trumpery teapot!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course not,&rdquo; flashed Billy, heatedly. &ldquo;It isn't the teapot&mdash;it's
+      that dear little Mrs. Greggory. Why, dearie, you don't know how poor they
+      are! Everything in sight is so old and thin and worn it's enough to break
+      your heart. The rug isn't anything but darns, nor the tablecloth, either&mdash;except
+      patches. It's awful, Bertram!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know, darling; but <i>you</i> don't expect to buy them new rugs and new
+      tablecloths, do you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy gave one of her unexpected laughs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mercy!&rdquo; she chuckled. &ldquo;Only picture Miss Alice's face if I <i>should</i>
+      try to buy them rugs and tablecloths! No, dear,&rdquo; she went on more
+      seriously, &ldquo;I sha'n't do that, of course&mdash;though I'd like to; but I
+      shall try to see Mrs. Greggory again, if it's nothing more than a rose or
+      a book or a new magazine that I can take to her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Or a smile&mdash;which I fancy will be the best gift of the lot,&rdquo; amended
+      Bertram, fondly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy dimpled and shook her head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Smiles&mdash;my smiles&mdash;are not so valuable, I'm afraid&mdash;except
+      to you, perhaps,&rdquo; she laughed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Self-evident facts need no proving,&rdquo; retorted Bertram. &ldquo;Well, and what
+      else has happened in all these ages I've been away?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy brought her hands together with a sudden cry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, and I haven't told you!&rdquo; she exclaimed. &ldquo;I'm writing a new song&mdash;a
+      love song. Mary Jane wrote the words. They're beautiful.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram stiffened.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Indeed! And is&mdash;Mary Jane a poet, with all the rest?&rdquo; he asked, with
+      affected lightness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no, of course not,&rdquo; smiled Billy; &ldquo;but these words <i>are</i> pretty.
+      And they just sang themselves into the dearest little melody right away.
+      So I'm writing the music for them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Lucky Mary Jane!&rdquo; murmured Bertram, still with a lightness that he hoped
+      would pass for indifference. (Bertram was ashamed of himself, but deep
+      within him was a growing consciousness that he knew the meaning of the
+      vague irritation that he always felt at the mere mention of Arkwright's
+      name.) &ldquo;And will the title-page say, 'Words by Mary Jane Arkwright'?&rdquo; he
+      finished.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's what I asked him,&rdquo; laughed Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I even suggested 'Methuselah John' for a change. Oh, but, dearie,&rdquo; she
+      broke off with shy eagerness, &ldquo;I just want you to hear a little of what
+      I've done with it. You see, really, all the time, I suspect, I've been
+      singing it&mdash;to you,&rdquo; she confessed with an endearing blush, as she
+      sprang lightly to her feet and hurried to the piano.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a bad ten minutes that Bertram Henshaw spent then. How he could
+      love a song and hate it at the same time he did not understand; but he
+      knew that he was doing exactly that. To hear Billy carol &ldquo;Sweetheart, my
+      sweetheart!&rdquo; with that joyous tenderness was bliss unspeakable&mdash;until
+      he remembered that Arkwright wrote the &ldquo;Sweetheart, my sweetheart!&rdquo; then
+      it was&mdash;(Even in his thoughts Bertram bit the word off short. He was
+      not a swearing man.) When he looked at Billy now at the piano, and thought
+      of her singing&mdash;as she said she had sung&mdash;that song to him all
+      through the last three days, his heart glowed. But when he looked at her
+      and thought of Arkwright, who had made possible that singing, his heart
+      froze with terror.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      From the very first it had been music that Bertram had feared. He could
+      not forget that Billy herself had once told him that never would she love
+      any man better than she loved her music; that she was not going to marry.
+      All this had been at the first&mdash;the very first. He had boldly scorned
+      the idea then, and had said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So it's music&mdash;a cold, senseless thing of spidery marks on clean
+      white paper&mdash;that is my only rival!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He had said, too, that he was going to win. And he had won&mdash;but not
+      until after long weeks of fearing, hoping, striving, and despairing&mdash;this
+      last when Kate's blundering had nearly made her William's wife. Then, on
+      that memorable day in September, Billy had walked straight into his arms;
+      and he knew that he had, indeed, won. That is, he had supposed that he
+      knew&mdash;until Arkwright came.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Very sharply now, as he listened to Billy's singing, Bertram told himself
+      to be reasonable, to be sensible; that Billy did, indeed, love him. Was
+      she not, according to her own dear assertion, singing that song to him?
+      But it was Arkwright's song. He remembered that, too&mdash;and grew faint
+      at the thought. True, he had won when his rival, music, had been a &ldquo;cold,
+      senseless thing of spidery marks&rdquo; on paper; but would that winning stand
+      when &ldquo;music&rdquo; had become a thing of flesh and blood&mdash;a man of
+      undeniable charm, good looks, and winsomeness; a man whose thoughts, aims,
+      and words were the personification of the thing Billy, in the long ago,
+      had declared she loved best of all&mdash;music?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram shivered as with a sudden chill; then Billy rose from the piano.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There!&rdquo; she breathed, her face shyly radiant with the glory of the song.
+      &ldquo;Did you&mdash;like it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram did his best; but, in his state of mind, the very radiance of her
+      face was only an added torture, and his tongue stumbled over the words of
+      praise and appreciation that he tried to say. He saw, then, the happy
+      light in Billy's eyes change to troubled questioning and grieved
+      disappointment; and he hated himself for a jealous brute. More earnestly
+      than ever, now, he tried to force the ring of sincerity into his voice;
+      but he knew that he had miserably failed when he heard her falter:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course, dear, I&mdash;I haven't got it nearly perfected yet. It'll be
+      much better, later.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But it s{sic} fine, now, sweetheart&mdash;indeed it is,&rdquo; protested
+      Bertram, hurriedly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, of course I'm glad&mdash;if you like it,&rdquo; murmured Billy; but the
+      glow did not come back to her face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XVIII. SUGARPLUMS
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Those short December days after Bertram's return from New York were busy
+      ones for everybody. Miss Winthrop was not in town to give sittings for her
+      portrait, it is true; but her absence only afforded Bertram time and
+      opportunity to attend to other work that had been more or less delayed and
+      neglected. He was often at Hillside, however, and the lovers managed to
+      snatch many an hour of quiet happiness from the rush and confusion of the
+      Christmas preparations.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram was assuring himself now that his jealous fears of Arkwright were
+      groundless. Billy seldom mentioned the man, and, as the days passed, she
+      spoke only once of his being at the house. The song, too, she said little
+      of; and Bertram&mdash;though he was ashamed to own it to himself&mdash;breathed
+      more freely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The real facts of the case were that Billy had told Arkwright that she
+      should have no time to give attention to the song until after Christmas;
+      and her manner had so plainly shown him that she considered himself
+      synonymous with the song, that he had reluctantly taken the hint and kept
+      away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll make her care for me sometime&mdash;for something besides a song,&rdquo;
+       he told himself with fierce consolation&mdash;but Billy did not know this.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aside from Bertram, Christmas filled all of Billy's thoughts these days.
+      There were such a lot of things she wished to do.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, after all, they're only sugarplums, you know, that I'm giving,
+      dear,&rdquo; she declared to Bertram one day, when he had remonstrated with with
+      her for so taxing her time and strength. &ldquo;I can't really do much.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Much!&rdquo; scoffed Bertram.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But it isn't much, honestly&mdash;compared to what there is to do,&rdquo;
+       argued Billy. &ldquo;You see, dear, it's just this,&rdquo; she went on, her bright
+      face sobering a little. &ldquo;There are such a lot of people in the world who
+      aren't really poor. That is, they have bread, and probably meat, to eat,
+      and enough clothes to keep them warm. But when you've said that, you've
+      said it all. Books, music, fun, and frosting on their cake they know
+      nothing about&mdash;except to long for them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But there are the churches and the charities, and all those long-named
+      Societies&mdash;I thought that was what they were for,&rdquo; declared Bertram,
+      still a little aggrievedly, his worried eyes on Billy's tired face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, but the churches and charities don't frost cakes nor give
+      sugarplums,&rdquo; smiled Billy. &ldquo;And it's right that they shouldn't, too,&rdquo; she
+      added quickly. &ldquo;They have more than they can do now with the roast beef
+      and coal and flannel petticoats that are really necessary.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And so it's just frosting and sugarplums, is it&mdash;these books and
+      magazines and concert tickets and lace collars for the crippled boy, the
+      spinster lady, the little widow, and all the rest of those people who were
+      here last summer?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy turned in confused surprise.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Bertram, however in the world did you find out about all&mdash;that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I didn't. I just guessed it&mdash;and it seems 'the boy guessed right the
+      very first time,'&rdquo; laughed Bertram, teasingly, but with a tender light in
+      his eyes. &ldquo;Oh, and I suppose you'll be sending a frosted cake to the
+      Lowestoft lady, too, eh?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy's chin rose to a defiant stubbornness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm going to try to&mdash;if I can find out what kind of frosting she
+      likes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How about the Alice lady&mdash;or perhaps I should say, the Lady Alice?&rdquo;
+       smiled the man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy relaxed visibly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I know,&rdquo; she sighed. &ldquo;There is&mdash;the Lady Alice. But, anyhow,
+      she can't call a Christmas present 'charity'&mdash;not if it's only a
+      little bit of frosting!&rdquo; Billy's chin came up again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And you're going to, really, dare to send her something?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; avowed Billy. &ldquo;I'm going down there one of these days, in the
+      morning&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You're going down there! Billy&mdash;not alone?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. Why not?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, dearie, you mustn't. It was a horrid place, Will says.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So it was horrid&mdash;to live in. It was everything that was cheap and
+      mean and forlorn. But it was quiet and respectable. 'Tisn't as if I didn't
+      know the way, Bertram; and I'm sure that where that poor crippled woman
+      and daughter are safe, I shall be. Mrs. Greggory is a lady, Bertram,
+      well-born and well-bred, I'm sure&mdash;and that's the pity of it, to have
+      to live in a place like that! They have seen better days, I know. Those
+      pitiful little worn crutches of hers were mahogany, I'm sure, Bertram, and
+      they were silver mounted.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram made a restless movement.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know, dear; but if you had some one with you! It wouldn't do for Will,
+      of course, nor me&mdash;under the circumstances. But there's Aunt Hannah&mdash;&rdquo;
+       He paused hopefully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy chuckled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bless your dear heart! Aunt Hannah would call for a dozen shawls in that
+      place&mdash;if she had breath enough to call for any after she got to the
+      top of those four flights!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I suppose so,&rdquo; rejoined Bertram, with an unwilling smile. &ldquo;Still&mdash;well,
+      you <i>can</i> take Rosa,&rdquo; he concluded decisively.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How Miss Alice would like that&mdash;to catch me going 'slumming' with my
+      maid!&rdquo; cried Billy, righteous indignation in her voice. &ldquo;Honestly,
+      Bertram, I think even gentle Mrs. Greggory wouldn't stand for that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then leave Rosa outside in the hall,&rdquo; planned Bertram, promptly; and
+      after a few more arguments, Billy finally agreed to this.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was with Rosa, therefore, that she set out the next morning for the
+      little room up four flights on the narrow West End street.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Leaving the maid on the top stair of the fourth flight, Billy tapped at
+      Mrs. Greggory's door. To her joy Mrs. Greggory herself answered the knock.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! Why&mdash;why, good morning,&rdquo; murmured the lady, in evident
+      embarrassment. &ldquo;Won't you&mdash;come m?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you. May I?&mdash;just a minute?&rdquo; smiled Billy, brightly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As she entered the room, Billy threw a hasty look about her. There was no
+      one but themselves present. With a sigh of satisfaction, therefore, the
+      girl took the chair Mrs. Greggory offered, and began to speak.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I was down this way&mdash;that is, I came this way this morning,&rdquo; she
+      began a little hastily; &ldquo;and I wanted just to come up and tell you how
+      sorry I was about&mdash;about that teapot the other day. We didn't want
+      it, of course&mdash;if you didn't want us to have it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A swift change crossed Mrs. Greggory's perturbed face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, then you didn't come for it again&mdash;to-day,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I'm so
+      glad! I didn't want to refuse&mdash;<i>you</i>.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Indeed I didn't come for it&mdash;and we sha'n't again. Don't worry about
+      that, please.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Greggory sighed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm afraid you thought me very rude and&mdash;and impossible the other
+      day,&rdquo; she stammered. &ldquo;And please let me take this opportunity right now to
+      apologize for my daughter. She was overwrought and excited. She didn't
+      know what she was saying or doing, I'm sure. She was ashamed, I think
+      after you left.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy raised a quick hand of protest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't, please don't, Mrs. Greggory,&rdquo; she begged.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But it was our fault that you came. We <i>asked</i> you to come&mdash;through
+      Mr. Harlow,&rdquo; rejoined the other, hurriedly. &ldquo;And Mr. Henshaw&mdash;was
+      that his name?&mdash;was so kind in every way. I'm glad of this chance to
+      tell you how much we really did appreciate it&mdash;and <i>your</i> offer,
+      too, which we could not, of course, accept,&rdquo; she finished, the bright
+      color flooding her delicate face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Again Billy raised a protesting hand; but the little woman in the opposite
+      chair hurried on. There was still more, evidently, that she wished to say.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I hope Mr. Henshaw did not feel too disappointed&mdash;about the
+      Lowestoft. We didn't want to let it go if we could help it; and we hope
+      now to keep it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course,&rdquo; murmured Billy, sympathetically.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My daughter knew, you see, how much I have always thought of it, and she
+      was determined that I should not give it up. She said I should have that
+      much left, anyway. You see&mdash;my daughter is very unreconciled, still,
+      to things as they are; and no wonder, perhaps. They are so different&mdash;from
+      what they were!&rdquo; Her voice broke a little.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course,&rdquo; said Billy again, and this time the words were tinged with
+      impatient indignation. &ldquo;If only there were something one could do to
+      help!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you, my dear, but there isn't&mdash;indeed there isn't,&rdquo; rejoined
+      the other, quickly; and Billy, looking into the proudly lifted face,
+      realized suddenly that daughter Alice had perhaps inherited some traits
+      from mother. &ldquo;We shall get along very well, I am sure. My daughter has
+      still another pupil. She will be home soon to tell you herself, perhaps.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy rose with a haste so marked it was almost impolite, as she murmured:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Will she? I'm afraid, though, that I sha'n't see her, after all, for I
+      must go. And may I leave these, please?&rdquo; she added, hurriedly unpinning
+      the bunch of white carnations from her coat. &ldquo;It seems a pity to let them
+      wilt, when you can put them in water right here.&rdquo; Her studiously casual
+      voice gave no hint that those particular pinks had been bought less than
+      half an hour before of a Park Street florist so that Mrs. Greggory <i>might</i>
+      put them in water&mdash;right there.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, oh, how lovely!&rdquo; breathed Mrs. Greggory, her face deep in the
+      feathery bed of sweetness. Before she could half say &ldquo;Thank you,&rdquo; however?
+      she found herself alone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XIX. ALICE GREGGORY
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Christmas came and went; and in a flurry of snow and sleet January
+      arrived. The holidays over, matters and things seemed to settle down to
+      the winter routine.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Winthrop had prolonged her visit in Washington until after Christmas,
+      but she had returned to Boston now&mdash;and with her she had brought a
+      brand-new idea for her portrait; an idea that caused her to sweep aside
+      with superb disdain all poses and costumes and sketches to date, and
+      announce herself with disarming winsomeness as &ldquo;all ready now to really
+      begin!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram Henshaw was vexed, but helpless. Decidedly he wished to paint Miss
+      Marguerite Winthrop's portrait; but to attempt to paint it when all
+      matters were not to the lady's liking were worse than useless, unless he
+      wished to hang this portrait in the gallery of failures along with
+      Anderson's and Fullam's&mdash;and that was not the goal he had set for it.
+      As to the sordid money part of the affair&mdash;the great J. G. Winthrop
+      himself had come to the artist, and in one terse sentence had doubled the
+      original price and expressed himself as hopeful that Henshaw would put up
+      with &ldquo;the child's notions.&rdquo; It was the old financier's next sentence,
+      however, that put the zest of real determination into Bertram, for because
+      of it, the artist saw what this portrait was going to mean to the stern
+      old man, and how dear was the original of it to a heart that was commonly
+      reported &ldquo;on the street&rdquo; to be made of stone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Obviously, then, indeed, there was nothing for Bertram Henshaw to do but
+      to begin the new portrait. And he began it&mdash;though still, it must be
+      confessed, with inward questionings. Before a week had passed, however,
+      every trace of irritation had fled, and he was once again the absorbed
+      artist who sees the vision of his desire taking palpable shape at the end
+      of his brush.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's all right,&rdquo; he said to Billy then, one evening. &ldquo;I'm glad she
+      changed. It's going to be the best, the very best thing I've ever done&mdash;I
+      think! by the sketches.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm so glad!&rdquo; exclaimed Billy. &ldquo;I'm so glad!&rdquo; The repetition was so
+      vehement that it sounded almost as if she were trying to convince herself
+      as well as Bertram of something that was not true.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But it was true&mdash;Billy told herself very indignantly that it was;
+      indeed it was! Yet the very fact that she had to tell herself this, caused
+      her to know how perilously near she was to being actually jealous of that
+      portrait of Marguerite Winthrop. And it shamed her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Very sternly these days Billy reminded herself of what Kate had said about
+      Bertram's belonging first to his Art. She thought with mortification, too,
+      that it <i>did</i> look as if she were not the proper wife for an artist
+      if she were going to feel like this&mdash;always. Very resolutely, then,
+      Billy turned to her music. This was all the more easily done, for, not
+      only did she have her usual concerts and the opera to enjoy, but she had
+      become interested in an operetta her club was about to give; also she had
+      taken up the new song again. Christmas being over, Mr. Arkwright had been
+      to the house several times. He had changed some of the words and she had
+      improved the melody. The work on the accompaniment was progressing finely
+      now, and Billy was so glad!&mdash;when she was absorbed in her music she
+      forgot sometimes that she was ever so unfit an artist's sweetheart as to
+      be&mdash;jealous of a portrait.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was quite early in the month that the usually expected &ldquo;January thaw&rdquo;
+       came, and it was on a comparatively mild Friday at this time that a matter
+      of business took Billy into the neighborhood of Symphony Hall at about
+      eleven o'clock in the morning. Dismissing John and the car upon her
+      arrival, she said that she would later walk to the home of a friend near
+      by, where she would remain until it was time for the Symphony Concert.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This friend was a girl whom Billy had known at school. She was studying
+      now at the Conservatory of Music; and she had often urged Billy to come
+      and have luncheon with her in her tiny apartment, which she shared with
+      three other girls and a widowed aunt for housekeeper. On this particular
+      Friday it had occurred to Billy that, owing to her business appointment at
+      eleven and the Symphony Concert at half-past two, the intervening time
+      would give her just the opportunity she had been seeking to enable her to
+      accept her friend's invitation. A question asked, and enthusiastically
+      answered in the affirmative, over the telephone that morning, therefore,
+      had speedily completed arrangements, and she had agreed to be at her
+      friend's door by twelve o'clock, or before.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As it happened, business did not take quite so long as she had expected,
+      and half-past eleven found her well on her way to Miss Henderson's home.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In spite of the warm sunshine and the slushy snow in the streets, there
+      was a cold, raw wind, and Billy was beginning to feel thankful that she
+      had not far to go when she rounded a corner and came upon a long line of
+      humanity that curved itself back and forth on the wide expanse of steps
+      before Symphony Hall and then stretched itself far up the Avenue.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, what&mdash;&rdquo; she began under her breath; then suddenly she
+      understood. It was Friday. A world-famous pianist was to play with the
+      Symphony Orchestra that afternoon. This must be the line of patient
+      waiters for the twenty-five-cent balcony seats that Mr. Arkwright had told
+      about. With sympathetic, interested eyes, then, Billy stepped one side to
+      watch the line, for a moment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Almost at once two girls brushed by her, and one was saying:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What a shame!&mdash;and after all our struggles to get here! If only we
+      hadn't lost that other train!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We're too late&mdash;you no need to hurry!&rdquo; the other wailed shrilly to a
+      third girl who was hastening toward them. &ldquo;The line is 'way beyond the
+      Children's Hospital and around the corner now&mdash;and the ones there <i>never</i>
+      get in!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At the look of tragic disappointment that crossed the third girl's face,
+      Billy's heart ached. Her first impulse, of course, was to pull her own
+      symphony ticket from her muff and hurry forward with a &ldquo;Here, take mine!&rdquo;
+       But that <i>would</i> hardly do, she knew&mdash;though she would like to
+      see Aunt Hannah's aghast face if this girl in the red sweater and white
+      tam-o'-shanter should suddenly emerge from among the sumptuous satins and
+      furs and plumes that afternoon and claim the adjacent orchestra chair. But
+      it was out of the question, of course. There was only one seat, and there
+      were three girls, besides all those others. With a sigh, then, Billy
+      turned her eyes back to those others&mdash;those many others that made up
+      the long line stretching its weary length up the Avenue.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There were more women than men, yet the men were there: jolly young men
+      who were plainly students; older men whose refined faces and threadbare
+      overcoats hinted at cultured minds and starved bodies; other men who
+      showed no hollows in their cheeks nor near-holes in their garments. It
+      seemed to Billy that women of almost all sorts were there, young, old, and
+      middle-aged; students in tailored suits, widows in crape and veil; girls
+      that were members of a merry party, women that were plainly forlorn and
+      alone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Some in the line shuffled restlessly; some stood rigidly quiet. One had
+      brought a camp stool; many were seated on the steps. Beyond, where the
+      line passed an open lot, a wooden fence afforded a convenient prop. One
+      read a book, another a paper. Three were studying what was probably the
+      score of the symphony or of the concerto they expected to hear that
+      afternoon.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A few did not appear to mind the biting wind, but most of them, by
+      turned-up coat-collars or bent heads, testified to the contrary. Not far
+      from Billy a woman nibbled a sandwich furtively, while beyond her a group
+      of girls were hilariously merry over four triangles of pie which they held
+      up where all might see.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Many of the faces were youthful, happy, and alert with anticipation; but
+      others carried a wistfulness and a weariness that made Billy's heart ache.
+      Her eyes, indeed, filled with quick tears. Later she turned to go, and it
+      was then that she saw in the line a face that she knew&mdash;a face that
+      drooped with such a white misery of spent strength that she hurried
+      straight toward it with a low cry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Greggory!&rdquo; she exclaimed, when she reached the girl. &ldquo;You look
+      actually ill. Are you ill?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      For a brief second only dazed questioning stared from the girl's blue-gray
+      eyes. Billy knew when the recognition came, for she saw the painful color
+      stain the white face red.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you, no. I am not ill, Miss Neilson,&rdquo; said the girl, coldly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you look so tired out!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have been standing here some time; that is all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy threw a hurried glance down the far-reaching line that she knew had
+      formed since the girl's two tired feet had taken their first position.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you must have come&mdash;so early! It isn't twelve o'clock yet,&rdquo; she
+      faltered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A slight smile curved Alice Greggory's lips.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, it was early,&rdquo; she rejoined a little bitterly; &ldquo;but it had to be,
+      you know. I wanted to hear the music; and with this soloist, and this
+      weather, I knew that many others&mdash;would want to hear the music, too.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you look so white! How much longer&mdash;when will they let you in?&rdquo;
+       demanded Billy, raising indignant eyes to the huge, gray-pillared building
+      before her, much as if she would pull down the walls if she could, and
+      make way for this tired girl at her side.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Greggory's thin shoulders rose and fell in an expressive shrug.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Half-past one.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy gave a dismayed cry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Half-past one&mdash;almost two hours more! But, Miss Greggory, you can't&mdash;how
+      can you stand it till then? You've shivered three times since I came, and
+      you look as if you were going to faint away.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Greggory shook her head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is nothing, really,&rdquo; she insisted. &ldquo;I am quite well. It is only&mdash;I
+      didn't happen to feel like eating much breakfast this morning; and that,
+      with no luncheon&mdash;&rdquo; She let a gesture finish her sentence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No luncheon! Why&mdash;oh, you couldn't leave your place, of course,&rdquo;
+       frowned Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, and&rdquo;&mdash;Alice Greggory lifted her head a little proudly&mdash;&ldquo;I
+      do not care to eat&mdash;here.&rdquo; Her scornful eyes were on one of the
+      pieces of pie down the line&mdash;no longer a triangle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course not,&rdquo; agreed Billy, promptly. She paused, frowned, and bit her
+      lip. Suddenly her face cleared. &ldquo;There! the very thing,&rdquo; she exulted. &ldquo;You
+      shall have my ticket this afternoon, Miss Greggory, then you won't have to
+      stay here another minute. Meanwhile, there is an excellent restaurant&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you&mdash;no. I couldn't do that,&rdquo; cut in the other, sharply, but
+      in a low voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you'll take my ticket,&rdquo; begged Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Greggory shook her head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Certainly not.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I want you to, please. I shall be very unhappy if you don't,&rdquo; grieved
+      Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The other made a peremptory gesture.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;<i>I</i> should be very unhappy if I did,&rdquo; she said with cold emphasis.
+      &ldquo;Really, Miss Neilson,&rdquo; she went on in a low voice, throwing an
+      apprehensive glance at the man ahead, who was apparently absorbed in his
+      newspaper, &ldquo;I'm afraid I shall have to ask you to let me go on in my own
+      way. You are very kind, but there is nothing you can do; nothing. You were
+      very kind, too, of course, to send the book and the flowers to mother at
+      Christmas; but&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never mind that, please,&rdquo; interrupted Billy, hurriedly. Billy's head was
+      lifted now. Her eyes were no longer pleading. Her round little chin looked
+      square and determined. &ldquo;If you simply will not take my ticket this
+      afternoon, you <i>must</i> do this. Go to some restaurant near here and
+      get a good luncheon&mdash;something that will sustain you. I will take
+      your place here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;<i>Miss Neilson!</i>&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy smiled radiantly. It was the first time she had ever seen Alice
+      Greggory's haughtily cold reserve break into anything like naturalness&mdash;the
+      astonished incredulity of that &ldquo;Miss Neilson!&rdquo; was plainly straight from
+      the heart; so, too, were the amazed words that followed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;<i>You</i>&mdash;will stand <i>here?</i>&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Certainly; I will keep your place. Don't worry. You sha'n't lose it.&rdquo;
+       Billy spoke with a smiling indifference that was meant to convey the
+      impression that standing in line for a twenty-five-cent seat was a daily
+      habit of hers. &ldquo;There's a restaurant only a little way&mdash;right down
+      there,&rdquo; she finished. And before the dazed Alice Greggory knew quite what
+      was happening she found herself outside the line, and the other in her
+      place.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, Miss Neilson, I can't&mdash;you mustn't&mdash;&rdquo; she stammered; then,
+      because of something in the unyieldingness of the square young chin above
+      the sealskin coat, and because she could not (she knew) use actual force
+      to drag the owner of that chin out of the line, she bowed her head in
+      acquiescence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, then&mdash;I will, long enough for some coffee and maybe a
+      sandwich. And&mdash;thank you,&rdquo; she choked, as she turned and hurried
+      away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy drew the deep breath of one who has triumphed after long struggles&mdash;but
+      the breath broke off short in a gasp of dismay: coming straight up the
+      Avenue toward her was the one person in the world Billy wished least to
+      see at that moment&mdash;Bertram Henshaw. Billy remembered then that she
+      had twice lately heard her lover speak of calling at the Boston Opera
+      House concerning a commission to paint an ideal head to represent &ldquo;Music&rdquo;
+       for some decorative purpose. The Opera House was only a short distance up
+      the Avenue. Doubtless he was on his way there now.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was very near by this time, and Billy held her breath suspended. There
+      was a chance, of course, that he might not notice her; and Billy was
+      counting on that chance&mdash;until a gust of wind whirled a loose
+      half-sheet of newspaper from the hands of the man in front of her, and
+      naturally attracted Bertram's eyes to its vicinity&mdash;and to hers. The
+      next moment he was at her side and his dumfounded but softly-breathed &ldquo;<i>Billy!</i>&rdquo;
+       was in her ears.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy bubbled into low laughter&mdash;there were such a lot of funny
+      situations in the world, and of them all this one was about the drollest,
+      she thought.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I know,&rdquo; she gurgled. &ldquo;You don't have to say it-your face is saying
+      even more than your tongue <i>could!</i> This is just for a girl I know.
+      I'm keeping her place.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram frowned. He looked as if he were meditating picking Billy up and
+      walking off with her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, Billy,&rdquo; he protested just above his breath, &ldquo;this isn't sugarplums
+      nor frosting; it's plain suicide&mdash;standing out in this wind like
+      this! Besides&mdash;&rdquo; He stopped with an angrily despairing glance at her
+      surroundings.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I know,&rdquo; she nodded, a little soberly, understanding the look and
+      answering that first; &ldquo;it isn't pleasant nor comfortable, in lots of ways&mdash;but
+      <i>she's</i> had it all the morning. As for the cold&mdash;I'm as warm as
+      toast. It won't be long, anyway; she's just gone to get something to eat.
+      Then I'm going to May Henderson's for luncheon.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram sighed impatiently and opened his lips&mdash;only to close them
+      with the words unsaid. There was nothing he could do, and he had already
+      said too much, he thought, with a savage glance at the man ahead who still
+      had enough of his paper left to serve for a pretence at reading. As
+      Bertram could see, however, the man was not reading a word&mdash;he was
+      too acutely conscious of the handsome young woman in the long sealskin
+      coat behind him. Billy was already the cynosure of dozens of eyes, and
+      Bertram knew that his own arrival on the scene had not lessened the
+      interest of the owners of those eyes. He only hoped devoutly that no one
+      in the line knew him ar Billy, and that no one quite knew what had
+      happened. He did not wish to see himself and his fiancée the subject of
+      inch-high headlines in some evening paper figuring as:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Talented young composer and her famous artist lover take poor girl's
+      place in a twenty-five-cent ticket line.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He shivered at the thought.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you cold?&rdquo; worried Billy. &ldquo;If you are, don't stand here, please!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He shook his head silently. His eyes were searching the street for the
+      only one whose coming could bring him relief.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It must have been but a coffee-and-sandwich luncheon for the girl, for
+      soon she came. The man surmised that it was she, as soon as he saw her,
+      and stepped back at once. He had no wish for introductions. A moment later
+      the girl was in Billy's place, and Billy herself was at his side.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That was Alice Greggory, Bertram,&rdquo; she told him, as they walked on
+      swiftly; &ldquo;and Bertram, she was actually almost <i>crying</i> when she took
+      my place.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph! Well, I should think she'd better be,&rdquo; growled Bertram,
+      perversely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pooh! It didn't hurt me any, dearie,&rdquo; laughed Billy with a conciliatory
+      pat on his arm as they turned down the street upon which her friend lived.
+      &ldquo;And now can you come in and see May a minute?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm afraid not,&rdquo; regretted Bertram. &ldquo;I wish I could, but I'm busier than
+      busy to-day&mdash;and I was <i>supposed</i> to be already late when I saw
+      you. Jove, Billy, I just couldn't believe my eyes!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You looked it,&rdquo; twinkled Billy. &ldquo;It was worth a farm just to see your
+      face!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'd want the farm&mdash;if I was going through that again,&rdquo; retorted the
+      man, grimly&mdash;Bertram was still seeing that newspaper heading.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But Billy only laughed again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XX. ARKWRIGHT TELLS A STORY
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright called Monday afternoon by appointment; and together he and
+      Billy put the finishing touches to the new song.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was when, with Aunt Hannah, they were having tea before the fire a
+      little later, that Billy told of her adventure the preceding Friday
+      afternoon in front of Symphony Hall.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You knew the girl, of course&mdash;I think you said you knew the girl,&rdquo;
+       ventured Arkwright.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes. She was Alice Greggory. I met her with Uncle William first, over
+      a Lowestoft teapot. Maybe you'd like to know <i>how</i> I met her,&rdquo; smiled
+      Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Alice Greggory?&rdquo; Arkwright's eyes showed a sudden interest. &ldquo;I used to
+      know an Alice Greggory, but it isn't the same one, probably. Her mother
+      was a cripple.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy gave a little cry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, it is&mdash;it must be! <i>My</i> Alice Greggory's mother is a
+      cripple. Oh, do you know them, really?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, it does look like it,&rdquo; rejoined Arkwright, showing even deeper
+      interest. &ldquo;I haven't seen them for four or five years. They used to live
+      in our town. The mother was a little sweet-faced woman with young eyes and
+      prematurely white hair.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That describes my Mrs. Greggory exactly,&rdquo; cried Billy's eager voice. &ldquo;And
+      the daughter?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Alice? Why&mdash;as I said, it's been four years since I've seen her.&rdquo; A
+      touch of constraint had come into Arkwright's voice which Billy's keen ear
+      was quick to detect. &ldquo;She was nineteen then and very pretty.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;About my height, and with light-brown hair and big blue-gray eyes that
+      look steely cold when she's angry?&rdquo; questioned Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I reckon that's about it,&rdquo; acknowledged the man, with a faint smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then they <i>are</i> the ones,&rdquo; declared the girl, plainly excited.
+      &ldquo;Isn't that splendid? Now we can know them, and perhaps do something for
+      them. I love that dear little mother already, and I think I should the
+      daughter&mdash;if she didn't put out so many prickers that I couldn't get
+      near her! But tell us about them. How did they come here? Why didn't you
+      know they were here?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you good at answering a dozen questions at once?&rdquo; asked Aunt Hannah,
+      turning smiling eyes from Billy to the man at her side.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I can try,&rdquo; he offered. &ldquo;To begin with, they are Judge Greggory's
+      widow and daughter. They belong to fine families on both sides, and they
+      used to be well off&mdash;really wealthy, for a small town. But the judge
+      was better at money-making than he was at money-keeping, and when he came
+      to die his income stopped, of course, and his estate was found to be in
+      bad shape through reckless loans and worthless investments. That was eight
+      years ago. Things went from bad to worse then, until there was almost
+      nothing left.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I knew there was some such story as that back of them,&rdquo; declared Billy.
+      &ldquo;But how do you suppose they came here?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To get away from&mdash;everybody, I suspect,&rdquo; replied Arkwright. &ldquo;That
+      would be like them. They were very proud; and it isn't easy, you know, to
+      be nobody where you've been somebody. It doesn't hurt quite so hard&mdash;to
+      be nobody where you've never been anything but nobody.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I suppose so,&rdquo; sighed Billy. &ldquo;Still&mdash;they must have had friends.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They did, of course; but when the love of one's friends becomes <i>too</i>
+      highly seasoned with pity, it doesn't make a pleasant morsel to swallow,
+      specially if you don't like the taste of the pity&mdash;and there are
+      people who don't, you know. The Greggorys were that kind. They were
+      morbidly so. From their cheap little cottage, where they did their own
+      work, they stepped out in their shabby garments and old-fashioned hats
+      with heads even more proudly erect than in the old days when their home
+      and their gowns and their doings were the admiration and envy of the town.
+      You see, they didn't want&mdash;that pity.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I <i>do</i> see,&rdquo; cried Billy, her face aglow with sudden understanding;
+      &ldquo;and I don't believe pity would be&mdash;nice!&rdquo; Her own chin was held high
+      as she spoke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It must have been hard, indeed,&rdquo; murmured Aunt Hannah with a sigh, as she
+      set down her teacup.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It was,&rdquo; nodded Arkwright. &ldquo;Of course Mrs. Greggory, with her crippled
+      foot, could do nothing to bring in any money except to sew a little. It
+      all depended on Alice; and when matters got to their worst she began to
+      teach. She was fond of music, and could play the piano well; and of course
+      she had had the best instruction she could get from city teachers only
+      twenty miles away from our home town. Young as she was&mdash;about
+      seventeen when she began to teach, I think&mdash;she got a few beginners
+      right away, and in two years she had worked up quite a class, meanwhile
+      keeping on with her own studies, herself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They might have carried the thing through, maybe,&rdquo; continued Arkwright,
+      &ldquo;and never <i>apparently</i> known that the 'pity' existed, if it hadn't
+      been for some ugly rumors that suddenly arose attacking the Judge's
+      honesty in an old matter that somebody raked up. That was too much. Under
+      this last straw their courage broke utterly. Alice dismissed every pupil,
+      sold almost all their remaining goods&mdash;they had lots of quite
+      valuable heirlooms; I suspect that's where your Lowestoft teapot came in&mdash;and
+      with the money thus gained they left town. Until they could go, they
+      scarcely showed themselves once on the street, they were never at home to
+      callers, and they left without telling one soul where they were going, so
+      far as we could ever learn.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, the poor dears!&rdquo; cried Billy. &ldquo;How they must have suffered! But
+      things will be different now. You'll go to see them, of course, and&mdash;&rdquo;
+       At the look that came into Arkwright's face, she stopped in surprise.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You forget; they wouldn't wish to see me,&rdquo; demurred the man. And again
+      Billy noticed the odd constraint in his voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But they wouldn't mind <i>you&mdash;here</i>,&rdquo; argued Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm afraid they would. In fact, I'm sure they'd refuse entirely to see
+      me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy's eyes grew determined.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But they can't refuse&mdash;if I bring about a meeting just casually, you
+      know,&rdquo; she challenged.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright laughed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I won't pretend to say as to the consequences of that,&rdquo; he
+      rejoined, rising to his feet; &ldquo;but they might be disastrous. Wasn't it you
+      yourself who were telling me a few minutes ago how steely cold Miss
+      Alice's eyes got when she was angry?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy knew by the way the man spoke that, for some reason, he did not wish
+      to prolong the subject of his meeting the Greggorys. She made a quick
+      shift, therefore, to another phase of the matter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But tell me, please, before you go, how did those rumors come out&mdash;about
+      Judge Greggory's honesty, I mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, I never knew, exactly,&rdquo; frowned Arkwright, musingly. &ldquo;Yet it seems,
+      too, that mother did say in one letter, while I was in Paris, that some of
+      the accusations had been found to be false, and that there was a prospect
+      that the Judge's good name might be saved, after all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I wish it might,&rdquo; sighed Billy. &ldquo;Think what it would mean to those
+      women!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Twould mean everything,&rdquo; cried Arkwright, warmly; &ldquo;and I'll write to
+      mother to-night, I will, and find out just what there is to it-if
+      anything. Then you can tell them,&rdquo; he finished a little stiffly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes&mdash;or you,&rdquo; nodded Billy, lightly. And because she began at once
+      to speak of something else, the first part of her sentence passed without
+      comment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The door had scarcely closed behind Arkwright when Billy turned to Aunt
+      Hannah a beaming face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aunt Hannah, did you notice?&rdquo; she cried, &ldquo;how Mary Jane looked and acted
+      whenever Alice Greggory was spoken of? There was something between them&mdash;I'm
+      sure there was; and they quarrelled, probably.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, no, dear; I didn't see anything unusual,&rdquo; murmured the elder lady.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I did. And I'm going to be the fairy godmother that straightens
+      everything all out, too. See if I'm not! They'd make a splendid couple,
+      Aunt Hannah. I'm going right down there to-morrow.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, my dear!&rdquo; exclaimed the more conservative old lady, &ldquo;aren't you
+      taking things a little too much for granted? Maybe they don't wish for&mdash;for
+      a fairy godmother!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, <i>they</i> won't know I'm a fairy godmother&mdash;not one of them;
+      and of course I wouldn't mention even a hint to anybody,&rdquo; laughed Billy.
+      &ldquo;I'm just going down to get acquainted with the Greggorys; that's all.
+      Only think, Aunt Hannah, what they must have suffered! And look at the
+      place they're living in now&mdash;gentlewomen like them!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, yes, poor things, poor things!&rdquo; sighed Aunt Hannah.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I hope I'll find out that she's really good&mdash;at teaching, I mean&mdash;the
+      daughter,&rdquo; resumed Billy, after a moment's pause. &ldquo;If she is, there's one
+      thing I can do to help, anyhow. I can get some of Marie's old pupils for
+      her. I <i>know</i> some of them haven't begun with a new teacher, yet; and
+      Mrs. Carleton told me last Friday that neither she nor her sister was at
+      all satisfied with the one their girls <i>have</i> taken. They'd change, I
+      know, in a minute, at my recommendation&mdash;that is, of course, if I can
+      <i>give</i> the recommendation,&rdquo; continued Billy, with a troubled frown.
+      &ldquo;Anyhow, I'm going down to begin operations to-morrow.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXI. A MATTER OF STRAIGHT BUSINESS
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      True to her assertion, Billy went down to the Greggorys' the next day.
+      This time she did not take Rosa with her. Even Aunt Hannah conceded that
+      it would not be necessary. She had not been gone ten minutes, however,
+      when the telephone bell rang, and Rosa came to say that Mr. Bertram
+      Henshaw wanted to speak with Mrs. Stetson.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Rosa says that Billy's not there,&rdquo; called Bertram's aggrieved voice, when
+      Aunt Hannah had said, &ldquo;Good morning, my boy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dear me, no, Bertram. She's in a fever of excitement this morning. She'll
+      probably tell you all about it when you come out here to-night. You <i>are</i>
+      coming out to-night, aren't you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes; oh, yes! But what is it? Where's she gone?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah laughed softly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, she's gone down to the Greggorys'.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Greggorys'! What&mdash;again?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, you might as well get used to it, Bertram,&rdquo; bantered Aunt Hannah,
+      &ldquo;for there'll be a good many 'agains,' I fancy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Aunt Hannah, what do you mean?&rdquo; Bertram's voice was not quite
+      pleased.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, she'll tell you. It's only that the Greggorys have turned out to be
+      old friends of Mr. Arkwright's.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;<i>Friends</i> of Arkwright's!&rdquo; Bertram's voice was decidedly displeased
+      now.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes; and there's quite a story to it all, as well. Billy is wildly
+      excited, as you'd know she would be. You'll hear all about it to-night, of
+      course.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, of course,&rdquo; echoed Bertram. But there was no ring of enthusiasm in
+      his voice, neither then, nor when he said good-by a moment later.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy, meanwhile, on her way to the Greggory home, was, as Aunt Hannah had
+      said, &ldquo;wildly excited.&rdquo; It seemed so strange and wonderful and delightful&mdash;the
+      whole affair: that she should have found them because of a Lowestoft
+      teapot, that Arkwright should know them, and that there should be the
+      chance now that she might help them&mdash;in some way; though this last,
+      she knew, could be accomplished only through the exercise of the greatest
+      tact and delicacy. She had not forgotten that Arkwright had told her of
+      their hatred of pity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the sober second thought of the morning, Billy was not sure now of a
+      possible romance in connection with Arkwright and the daughter, Alice; but
+      she had by no means abandoned the idea, and she meant to keep her eyes
+      open&mdash;and if there should be a chance to bring such a thing about&mdash;!
+      Meanwhile, of course, she should not mention the matter, even to Bertram.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Just what would be her method of procedure this first morning, Billy had
+      not determined. The pretty potted azalea in her hand would be excuse for
+      her entrance into the room. After that, circumstances must decide for
+      themselves.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Greggory was found to be alone at home as before, and Billy was glad.
+      She would rather begin with one than two, she thought. The little woman
+      greeted her cordially, gave misty-eyed thanks for the beautiful plant, and
+      also for Billy's kind thoughtfulness Friday afternoon. From that she was
+      very skilfully led to talk more of the daughter; and soon Billy was
+      getting just the information she wanted&mdash;information concerning the
+      character, aims, and daily life of Alice Greggory.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You see, we have some money&mdash;a very little,&rdquo; explained Mrs.
+      Greggory, after a time; &ldquo;though to get it we have had to sell all our
+      treasures&mdash;but the Lowestoft,&rdquo; with a quick glance into Billy's eyes.
+      &ldquo;We need not, perhaps, live in quite so poor a place; but we prefer&mdash;just
+      now&mdash;to spend the little money we have for something other than
+      imitation comfort&mdash;lessons, for instance, and an occasional concert.
+      My daughter is studying even while she is teaching. She hopes to train
+      herself for an accompanist, and for a teacher. She does not aspire to
+      concert solo work. She understands her limitations.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But she is probably&mdash;very good&mdash;at teaching.&rdquo; Billy hesitated a
+      little.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She is; very good. She has the best of recommendations.&rdquo; A little proudly
+      Mrs. Greggory gave the names of two Boston pianists&mdash;names that would
+      carry weight anywhere.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Unconsciously Billy relaxed. She did not know until that moment how she
+      had worried for fear she could not, conscientiously, recommend this Alice
+      Greggory.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course,&rdquo; resumed the mother, &ldquo;Alice's pupils are few, and they pay low
+      prices; but she is gaining. She goes to the houses, of course. She herself
+      practises two hours a day at a house up on Pinckney Street. She gives
+      lessons to a little girl in return.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I see,&rdquo; nodded Billy, brightly; &ldquo;and I've been thinking, Mrs. Greggory&mdash;maybe
+      I know of some pupils she could get. I have a friend who has just given
+      hers up, owing to her marriage. Sometime, soon, I'm going to talk to your
+      daughter, if I may, and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And here she is right now,&rdquo; interposed Mrs. Greggory, as the door opened
+      under a hurried hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy flushed and bit her lip. She was disturbed and disappointed. She did
+      not particularly wish to see Alice Greggory just then. She wished even
+      less to see her when she noted the swift change that came to the girl's
+      face at sight of herself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! Why-good morning, Miss Neilson,&rdquo; murmured Miss Greggory with a smile
+      so forced that her mother hurriedly looked to the azalea in search of a
+      possible peacemaker.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My dear, see,&rdquo; she stammered, &ldquo;what Miss Neilson has brought me. And it's
+      so full of blossoms, too! And she says it'll remain so for a long, long
+      time&mdash;if we'll only keep it wet.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Alice Greggory murmured a low something&mdash;a something that she tried,
+      evidently, very hard to make politely appropriate and appreciative. Yet
+      her manner, as she took off her hat and coat and sat down, so plainly
+      said: &ldquo;You are very kind, of course, but I wish you would keep yourself
+      and your plants at home!&rdquo; that Mrs. Greggory began a hurried apology, much
+      as if the words had indeed been spoken.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My daughter is really ill this morning. You mustn't mind&mdash;that is,
+      I'm afraid you'll think&mdash;you see, she took cold last week; a bad cold&mdash;and
+      she isn't over it, yet,&rdquo; finished the little woman in painful
+      embarrassment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course she took cold&mdash;standing all those hours in that horrid
+      wind, Friday!&rdquo; cried Billy, indignantly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A quick red flew to Alice Greggory's face. Billy saw it at once and
+      fervently wished she had spoken of anything but that Friday afternoon. It
+      looked almost as if she were <i>reminding</i> them of what she had done
+      that day. In her confusion, and in her anxiety to say something&mdash;anything
+      that would get their minds off that idea&mdash;she uttered now the first
+      words that came into her head. As it happened, they were the last words
+      that sober second thought would have told her to say.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never mind, Mrs. Greggory. We'll have her all well and strong soon; never
+      fear! Just wait till I send Peggy and Mary Jane to take her out for a
+      drive one of these mild, sunny days. You have no idea how much good it
+      will do her!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Alice Greggory got suddenly to her feet. Her face was very white now. Her
+      eyes had the steely coldness that Billy knew so well. Her voice, when she
+      spoke, was low and sternly controlled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Neilson, you will think me rude, of course, especially after your
+      great kindness to me the other day; but I can't help it. It seems to me
+      best to speak now before it goes any further.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Alice, dear,&rdquo; remonstrated Mrs. Greggory, extending a frightened hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The girl did not turn her head nor hesitate; but she caught the extended
+      hand and held it warmly in both her own, with gentle little pats, while
+      she went on speaking.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm sure mother agrees with me that it is best, for the present, that we
+      keep quite to ourselves. I cannot question your kindness, of course, after
+      your somewhat unusual favor the other day; but I am very sure that your
+      friends, Miss Peggy, and Miss Mary Jane, have no real desire to make my
+      acquaintance, nor&mdash;if you'll pardon me&mdash;have I, under the
+      circumstances, any wish to make theirs.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Alice, Alice,&rdquo; began the little mother, in dismay; but a rippling
+      laugh from their visitor brought an angry flush even to her gentle face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy understood the flush, and struggled for self-control.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Please&mdash;please, forgive me!&rdquo; she choked. &ldquo;But you see&mdash;you
+      couldn't, of course, know that Mary Jane and Peggy aren't <i>girls</i>.
+      They're just a man and an automobile!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      An unwilling smile trembled on Alice Greggory's lips; but she still stood
+      her ground.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;After all, girls, or men and automobiles, Miss Neilson&mdash;it makes
+      little difference. They're&mdash;charity. And it's not so long that we've
+      been objects of charity that we quite really enjoy it&mdash;yet.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a moment's hush. Billy's eyes had filled with tears.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I never even <i>thought</i>&mdash;charity,&rdquo; said Billy, so gently that a
+      faint red stole into the white cheeks opposite.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For a tense minute Alice Greggory held herself erect; then, with a
+      complete change of manner and voice, she released her mother's hand,
+      dropped into her own chair again, and said wearily:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know you didn't, Miss Neilson. It's all my foolish pride, of course.
+      It's only that I was thinking how dearly I would love to meet girls again&mdash;just
+      as <i>girls!</i> But&mdash;I no longer have any business with pride, of
+      course. I shall be pleased, I'm sure,&rdquo; she went on dully, &ldquo;to accept
+      anything you may do for us, from automobile rides to&mdash;to red flannel
+      petticoats.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy almost&mdash;but not quite&mdash;laughed. Still, the laugh would
+      have been near to a sob, had it been given. Surprising as was the quick
+      transition in the girl's manner, and absurd as was the juxtaposition of
+      automobiles and red flannel petticoats, the white misery of Alice
+      Greggory's face and the weary despair of her attitude were tragic&mdash;specially
+      to one who knew her story as did Billy Neilson. And it was because Billy
+      did know her story that she did not make the mistake now of offering pity.
+      Instead, she said with a bright smile, and a casual manner that gave no
+      hint of studied labor:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, as it happens, Miss Greggory, what I want to-day has nothing
+      whatever to do with automobiles or red flannel petticoats. It's a matter
+      of straight business.&rdquo; (How Billy blessed the thought that had so suddenly
+      come to her!) &ldquo;Your mother tells me you play accompaniments. Now a girls'
+      club, of which I am a member, is getting up an operetta for charity, and
+      we need an accompanist. There is no one in the club who is able, and at
+      the same time willing, to spend the amount of time necessary for practice
+      and rehearsals. So we had decided to hire one outside, and I have been
+      given the task of finding one. It has occurred to me that perhaps you
+      would be willing to undertake it for us. Would you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy knew, at once, from the quick change in the other's face and manner,
+      that she had taken exactly the right course to relieve the strain of the
+      situation. Despair and lassitude fell away from Alice Greggory almost like
+      a garment. Her countenance became alert and interested.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Indeed I would! I should be glad to do it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good! Then can you come out to my home sometime to-morrow, and go over
+      the music with me? Rehearsals will not begin until next week; but I can
+      give you the music, and tell you something of what we are planning to do.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. I could come at ten in the morning for an hour, or at three in the
+      afternoon for two hours or more,&rdquo; replied Miss Greggory, after a moment's
+      hesitation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Suppose we call it in the afternoon, then,&rdquo; smiled Billy, as she rose to
+      her feet. &ldquo;And now I must go&mdash;and here's my address,&rdquo; she finished,
+      taking out her card and laying it on the table near her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For reasons of her own Billy went away that morning without saying
+      anything more about the proposed new pupils. New pupils were not
+      automobile rides nor petticoats, to be sure&mdash;but she did not care to
+      risk disturbing the present interested happiness of Alice Greggory's face
+      by mentioning anything that might be construed as too officious an
+      assistance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the whole, Billy felt well pleased with her morning's work. To Aunt
+      Hannah, upon her return, she expressed herself thus:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's splendid&mdash;even better than I hoped. I shall have a chance
+      to-morrow, of course, to see for myself just how well she plays, and all
+      that. I'm pretty sure, though, from what I hear, that that part will be
+      all right. Then the operetta will give us a chance to see a good deal of
+      her, and to bring about a natural meeting between her and Mary Jane. Oh,
+      Aunt Hannah, I couldn't have <i>planned</i> it better&mdash;and there the
+      whole thing just tumbled into my hands! I knew it had the minute I
+      remembered about the operetta. You know I'm chairman, and they left me to
+      get the accompanist; and like a flash it came to me, when I was wondering
+      <i>what</i> to say or do to get her out of that awful state she was in&mdash;'Ask
+      her to be your accompanist.' And I did. And I'm so glad I did! Oh, Aunt
+      Hannah, it's coming out lovely!&mdash;I know it is.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXII. PLANS AND PLOTTINGS
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      To Billy, Alice Greggory's first visit to Hillside was in every way a
+      delight and a satisfaction. To Alice, it was even more than that. For the
+      first time in years she found herself welcomed into a home of wealth,
+      culture, and refinement as an equal; and the frank cordiality and
+      naturalness of her hostess's evident expectation of meeting a congenial
+      companion was like balm to a sensitive soul rendered morbid by long years
+      of superciliousness and snubbing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      No wonder that under the cheery friendliness of it all, Alice Greggory's
+      cold reserve vanished, and that in its place came something very like her
+      old ease and charm of manner. By the time Aunt Hannah&mdash;according to
+      previous agreement&mdash;came into the room, the two girls were laughing
+      and chatting over the operetta as if they had known each other for years.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Much to Billy's delight, Alice Greggory, as a musician, proved to be
+      eminently satisfactory. She was quick at sight reading, and accurate. She
+      played easily, and with good expression. Particularly was she a good
+      accompanist, possessing to a marked degree that happy faculty of <i>accompanying</i>
+      a singer: which means that she neither led the way nor lagged behind,
+      being always exactly in sympathetic step&mdash;than which nothing is more
+      soul-satisfying to the singer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was after the music for the operetta had been well-practised and
+      discussed that Alice Greggory chanced to see one of Billy's own songs
+      lying near her. With a pleased smile she picked it up.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, you know this, too!&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;I played it for a lady only the
+      other day. It's so pretty, I think&mdash;all of hers are, that I have
+      seen. Billy Neilson is a girl, you know, they say, in spite of&mdash;&rdquo; She
+      stopped abruptly. Her eyes grew wide and questioning. &ldquo;Miss Neilson&mdash;it
+      can't be&mdash;you don't mean&mdash;is your name&mdash;it <i>is&mdash;you!</i>&rdquo;
+       she finished joyously, as the telltale color dyed Billy's face. The next
+      moment her own cheeks burned scarlet. &ldquo;And to think of my letting <i>you</i>
+      stand in line for a twenty-five-cent admission!&rdquo; she scorned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense!&rdquo; laughed Billy. &ldquo;It didn't hurt me any more than it did you.
+      Come!&rdquo;&mdash;in looking about for a quick something to take her guest's
+      attention, Billy's eyes fell on the manuscript copy of her new song,
+      bearing Arkwright's name. Yielding to a daring impulse, she drew it
+      hastily forward. &ldquo;Here's a new one&mdash;a brand-new one, not even printed
+      yet. Don't you think the words are pretty?&rdquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As she had hoped, Alice Greggory's eyes, after they had glanced half-way
+      through the first page, sought the name at the left side below the title.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Words by M. J.&mdash;'&rdquo;&mdash;there was a visible start, and a pause
+      before the &ldquo;'Arkwright'&rdquo; was uttered in a slightly different tone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy noted both the start and the pause&mdash;and gloried in them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes; the words are by M. J. Arkwright,&rdquo; she said with smooth unconcern,
+      but with a covert glance at the other's face. &ldquo;Ever hear of him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Alice Greggory gave a short little laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Probably not&mdash;this one. I used to know an M. J. Arkwright, long ago;
+      but he wasn't&mdash;a poet, so far as I know,&rdquo; she finished, with a little
+      catch in her breath that made Billy long to take her into a warm embrace.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Alice Greggory turned then to the music. She had much to say of this&mdash;very
+      much; but she had nothing more whatever to say of Mr. M. J. Arkwright in
+      spite of the tempting conversation bait that Billy dropped so freely.
+      After that, Rosa brought in tea and toast, and the little frosted cakes
+      that were always such a favorite with Billy's guests. Then Alice Greggory
+      said good-by&mdash;her eyes full of tears that Billy pretended not to see.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There!&rdquo; breathed Billy, as soon as she had Aunt Hannah to herself again.
+      &ldquo;What did I tell you? Did you see Miss Greggory's start and blush and hear
+      her sigh just over the <i>name</i> of M. J. Arkwright? Just as if&mdash;!
+      Now I want them to meet; only it must be casual, Aunt Hannah&mdash;casual!
+      And I'd rather wait till Mary Jane hears from his mother, if possible, so
+      if there <i>is</i> anything good to tell the poor girl, he can tell it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, of course. Dear child!&mdash;I hope he can,&rdquo; murmured Aunt Hannah.
+      (Aunt Hannah had ceased now trying to make Billy refrain from the
+      reprehensible &ldquo;Mary Jane.&rdquo; In fact, if the truth were known, Aunt Hannah
+      herself in her thoughts&mdash;and sometimes in her words&mdash;called him
+      &ldquo;Mary Jane.&rdquo;) &ldquo;But, indeed, my dear, I didn't see anything stiff, or&mdash;or
+      repelling about Miss Greggory, as you said there was.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There wasn't&mdash;to-day,&rdquo; smiled Billy. &ldquo;Honestly, Aunt Hannah, I
+      should never have known her for the same girl&mdash;who showed me the door
+      that first morning,&rdquo; she finished merrily, as she turned to go up-stairs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was the next day that Cyril and Marie came home from their honeymoon.
+      They went directly to their pretty little apartment on Beacon Street,
+      Brookline, within easy walking distance of Billy's own cozy home.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Cyril intended to build in a year or two. Meanwhile they had a very
+      pretty, convenient home which was, according to Bertram, &ldquo;electrified to
+      within an inch of its life, and equipped with everything that was
+      fireless, smokeless, dustless, and laborless.&rdquo; In it Marie had a
+      spotlessly white kitchen where she might make puddings to her heart's
+      content.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Marie had&mdash;again according to Bertram&mdash;&ldquo;a visiting acquaintance
+      with a maid.&rdquo; In other words, a stout woman was engaged to come two days
+      in the week to wash, iron, and scrub; also to come in each night to wash
+      the dinner dishes, thus leaving Marie's evenings free&mdash;&ldquo;for the
+      shaded lamp,&rdquo; Billy said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Marie had not arrived at this&mdash;to her, delightful&mdash;arrangement
+      of a &ldquo;visiting acquaintance&rdquo; without some opposition from her friends.
+      Even Billy had stood somewhat aghast.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, my dear, won't it be hard for you, to do so much?&rdquo; she argued one
+      day. &ldquo;You know you aren't very strong.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know; but it won't be hard, as I've planned it,&rdquo; replied Marie,
+      &ldquo;specially when I've been longing for years to do this very thing. Why,
+      Billy, if I had to stand by and watch a maid do all these things I want to
+      do myself, I should feel just like&mdash;like a hungry man who sees
+      another man eating up his dinner! Oh, of course,&rdquo; she added plaintively,
+      after Billy's laughter had subsided, &ldquo;I sha'n't do it always. I don't
+      expect to. Of course, when we have a house&mdash;I'm not sure, then,
+      though, that I sha'n't dress up the maid and order her to receive the
+      calls and go to the pink teas, while I make her puddings,&rdquo; she finished
+      saucily, as Billy began to laugh again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The bride and groom, as was proper, were, soon after their arrival,
+      invited to dine at both William's and Billy's. Then, until Marie's &ldquo;At
+      Homes&rdquo; should begin, the devoted couple settled down to quiet days by
+      themselves, with only occasional visits from the family to interrupt&mdash;&ldquo;interrupt&rdquo;
+       was Bertram's word, not Marie's. Though it is safe to say it was not far
+      different from the one Cyril used&mdash;in his thoughts.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram himself, these days, was more than busy. Besides working on Miss
+      Winthrop's portrait, and on two or three other commissions, he was putting
+      the finishing touches to four pictures which he was to show in the
+      exhibition soon to be held by a prominent Art Club of which he was the
+      acknowledged &ldquo;star&rdquo; member. Naturally, therefore, his time was well
+      occupied. Naturally, too, Billy, knowing this, lashed herself more sternly
+      than ever into a daily reminder of Kate's assertion that he belonged first
+      to his Art.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In pursuance of this idea, Billy was careful to see that no engagement
+      with herself should in any way interfere with the artist's work, and that
+      no word of hers should attempt to keep him at her side when ART called.
+      (Billy always spelled that word now in her mind with tall, black letters&mdash;the
+      way it had sounded when it fell from Kate's lips.) That these tactics on
+      her part were beginning to fill her lover with vague alarm and a very
+      definite unrest, she did not once suspect. Eagerly, therefore,&mdash;even
+      with conscientious delight&mdash;she welcomed the new song-words that
+      Arkwright brought&mdash;they would give her something else to take up her
+      time and attention. She welcomed them, also, for another reason: they
+      would bring Arkwright more often to the house, and this would, of course,
+      lead to that &ldquo;casual meeting&rdquo; between him and Alice Greggory when the
+      rehearsals for the operetta should commence&mdash;which would be very soon
+      now. And Billy did so long to bring about that meeting!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To Billy, all this was but &ldquo;occupying her mind,&rdquo; and playing Cupid's
+      assistant to a worthy young couple torn cruelly apart by an unfeeling
+      fate. To Bertram&mdash;to Bertram it was terror, and woe, and all manner
+      of torture; for in it Bertram saw only a growing fondness on the part of
+      Billy for Arkwright, Arkwright's music, Arkwright's words, and Arkwright's
+      friends.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The first rehearsal for the operetta came on Wednesday evening. There
+      would be another on Thursday afternoon. Billy had told Alice Greggory to
+      arrange her pupils so that she could stay Wednesday night at Hillside, if
+      the crippled mother could get along alone&mdash;and she could, Alice had
+      said. Thursday forenoon, therefore, Alice Greggory would, in all
+      probability, be at Hillside, specially as there would doubtless be an
+      appointment or two for private rehearsal with some nervous soloist whose
+      part was not progressing well. Such being the case, Billy had a plan she
+      meant to carry out. She was highly pleased, therefore, when Thursday
+      morning came, and everything, apparently, was working exactly to her mind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Alice was there. She had an appointment at quarter of eleven with the
+      leading tenor, and another later with the alto. After breakfast,
+      therefore, Billy said decisively:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now, if you please, Miss Greggory, I'm going to put you up-stairs on the
+      couch in the sewing-room for a nap.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I've just got up,&rdquo; remonstrated Miss Greggory.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know you have,&rdquo; smiled Billy; &ldquo;but you were very late to bed last
+      night, and you've got a hard day before you. I insist upon your resting.
+      You will be absolutely undisturbed there, and you must shut the door and
+      not come down-stairs till I send for you. Mr. Johnson isn't due till
+      quarter of eleven, is he?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;N-no.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then come with me,&rdquo; directed Billy, leading the way up-stairs. &ldquo;There,
+      now, don't come down till I call you,&rdquo; she went on, when they had reached
+      the little room at the end of the hall. &ldquo;I'm going to leave Aunt Hannah's
+      door open, so you'll have good air&mdash;she isn't in there. She's writing
+      letters in my room, Now here's a book, and you <i>may</i> read, but I
+      should prefer you to sleep,&rdquo; she nodded brightly as she went out and shut
+      the door quietly. Then, like the guilty conspirator she was, she went
+      down-stairs to wait for Arkwright.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a fine plan. Arkwright was due at ten o'clock&mdash;Billy had
+      specially asked him to come at that hour. He would not know, of course,
+      that Alice Greggory was in the house; but soon after his arrival Billy
+      meant to excuse herself for a moment, slip up-stairs and send Alice
+      Greggory down for a book, a pair of scissors, a shawl for Aunt Hannah&mdash;anything
+      would do for a pretext, anything so that the girl might walk into the
+      living-room and find Arkwright waiting for her alone. And then&mdash;What
+      happened next was, in Billy's mind, very vague, but very attractive as a
+      nucleus for one's thoughts, nevertheless.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All this was, indeed, a fine plan; but&mdash;(If only fine plans would not
+      so often have a &ldquo;but&rdquo;!) In Billy's case the &ldquo;but&rdquo; had to do with things so
+      apparently unrelated as were Aunt Hannah's clock and a negro's coal wagon.
+      The clock struck eleven at half-past ten, and the wagon dumped itself to
+      destruction directly in front of a trolley car in which sat Mr. M. J.
+      Arkwright, hurrying to keep his appointment with Miss Billy Neilson. It
+      was almost half-past ten when Arkwright finally rang the bell at Hillside.
+      Billy greeted him so eagerly, and at the same time with such evident
+      disappointment at his late arrival, that Arkwright's heart sang with joy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But there's a rehearsal at quarter of eleven,&rdquo; exclaimed Billy, in answer
+      to his hurried explanation of the delay; &ldquo;and this gives so little time
+      for&mdash;for&mdash;so little time, you know,&rdquo; she finished in confusion,
+      casting frantically about in her mind for an excuse to hurry up-stairs and
+      send Alice Greggory down before it should be quite too late.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      No wonder that Arkwright, noting the sparkle in her eye, the agitation in
+      her manner, and the embarrassed red in her cheek, took new courage. For so
+      long had this girl held him at the end of a major third or a diminished
+      seventh; for so long had she blithely accepted his every word and act as
+      devotion to music, not herself&mdash;for so long had she done all this
+      that he had come to fear that never would she do anything else. No wonder
+      then, that now, in the soft radiance of the strange, new light on her
+      face, his own face glowed ardently, and that he leaned forward with an
+      impetuous rush of eager words.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But there is time, Miss Billy&mdash;if you'd give me leave&mdash;to say&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm afraid I kept you waiting,&rdquo; interrupted the hurried voice of Alice
+      Greggory from the hall doorway. &ldquo;I was asleep, I think, when a clock
+      somewhere, striking eleven&mdash;Why, Mr.&mdash;Arkwright!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Not until Alice Greggory had nearly crossed the room did she see that the
+      man standing by her hostess was&mdash;not the tenor she had expected to
+      find&mdash;but an old acquaintance. Then it was that the tremulous
+      &ldquo;Mr.-Arkwright!&rdquo; fell from her lips.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy and Arkwright had turned at her first words. At her last, Arkwright,
+      with a half-despairing, half-reproachful glance at Billy, stepped forward.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Greggory!&mdash;you <i>are</i> Miss Alice Greggory, I am sure,&rdquo; he
+      said pleasantly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the first opportunity Billy murmured a hasty excuse and left the room.
+      To Aunt Hannah she flew with a woebegone face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Aunt Hannah, Aunt Hannah,&rdquo; she wailed, half laughing, half crying;
+      &ldquo;that wretched little fib-teller of a clock of yours spoiled it all!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Spoiled it! Spoiled what, child?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My first meeting between Mary Jane and Miss Greggory. I had it all
+      arranged that they were to have it <i>alone</i>; but that miserable little
+      fibber up-stairs struck eleven at half-past ten, and Miss Greggory heard
+      it and thought she was fifteen minutes late. So down she hurried, half
+      awake, and spoiled all my plans. Now she's sitting in there with him, in
+      chairs the length of the room apart, discussing the snowstorm last night
+      or the moonrise this morning&mdash;or some other such silly thing. And I
+      had it so beautifully planned!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, well, dear, I'm sorry, I'm sure,&rdquo; smiled Aunt Hannah; &ldquo;but I can't
+      think any real harm is done. Did Mary Jane have anything to tell her&mdash;about
+      her father, I mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Only the faintest flicker of Billy's eyelid testified that the everyday
+      accustomedness of that &ldquo;Mary Jane&rdquo; on Aunt Hannah's lips had not escaped
+      her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, nothing definite. Yet there was a little. Friends are still trying to
+      clear his name, and I believe are meeting with increasing success. I don't
+      know, of course, whether he'll say anything about it to-day&mdash;<i>now</i>.
+      To think I had to be right round under foot like that when they met!&rdquo; went
+      on Billy, indignantly. &ldquo;I shouldn't have been, in a minute more, though. I
+      was just trying to think up an excuse to come up and send down Miss
+      Greggory, when Mary Jane began to tell me something&mdash;I haven't the
+      faintest idea what&mdash;then <i>she</i> appeared, and it was all over.
+      And there's the doorbell, and the tenor, I suppose; so of course it's all
+      over now,&rdquo; she sighed, rising to go down-stairs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As it chanced, however, it was not the tenor, but a message from him&mdash;a
+      message that brought dire consternation to the Chairman of the Committee
+      of Arrangements. The tenor had thrown up his part. He could not take it;
+      it was too difficult. He felt that this should be told&mdash;at once
+      rather than to worry along for another week or two, and then give up. So
+      he had told it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But what shall we do, Miss Greggory?&rdquo; appealed Billy. &ldquo;It <i>is</i> a
+      hard part, you know; but if Mr. Tobey can't take it, I don't know who can.
+      We don't want to hire a singer for it, if we can help it. The profits are
+      to go to the Home for Crippled Children, you know,&rdquo; she explained, turning
+      to Arkwright, &ldquo;and we decided to hire only the accompanist.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      An odd expression flitted across Miss Greggory's face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Arkwright used to sing&mdash;tenor,&rdquo; she observed quietly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As if he didn't now&mdash;a perfectly glorious tenor,&rdquo; retorted Billy.
+      &ldquo;But as if <i>he</i> would take <i>this!</i>&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      For only a brief moment did Arkwright hesitate; then blandly he suggested:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Suppose you try him, and see.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy sat suddenly erect.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Would you, really? <i>Could</i> you&mdash;take the time, and all?&rdquo; she
+      cried.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I think I would&mdash;under the circumstances,&rdquo; he smiled. &ldquo;I think
+      I could, too, though I might not be able to attend all the rehearsals.
+      Still, if I find I have to ask permission, I'll endeavor to convince the
+      powers-that-be that singing in this operetta will be just the
+      stepping-stone I need to success in Grand Opera.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, if you only would take it,&rdquo; breathed Billy, &ldquo;we'd be so glad!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; said Arkwright, his eyes on Billy's frankly delighted face, &ldquo;as I
+      said before&mdash;under the circumstances I think I would.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you! Then it's all beautifully settled,&rdquo; rejoiced Billy, with a
+      happy sigh; and unconsciously she gave Alice Greggory's hand near her a
+      little pat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In Billy's mind the &ldquo;circumstances&rdquo; of Arkwright's acceptance of the part
+      were Alice Greggory and her position as accompanist, of course. Billy
+      would have been surprised indeed&mdash;and dismayed&mdash;had she known
+      that in Arkwright's mind the &ldquo;circumstances&rdquo; were herself, and the fact
+      that she, too, had a part in the operetta, necessitating her presence at
+      rehearsals, and hinting at a delightful comradeship impossible, perhaps,
+      otherwise.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXIII. THE CAUSE AND BERTRAM
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      February came The operetta, for which Billy was working so hard, was to be
+      given the twentieth. The Art Exhibition, for which Bertram was preparing
+      his four pictures, was to open the sixteenth, with a private view for
+      specially invited friends the evening before.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the eleventh day of February Mrs. Greggory and her daughter arrived at
+      Hillside for a ten-days' visit. Not until after a great deal of pleading
+      and argument, however, had Billy been able to bring this about.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, my dears, both of you,&rdquo; Billy had at last said to them; &ldquo;just
+      listen. We shall have numberless rehearsals during those last ten days
+      before the thing comes off. They will be at all hours, and of all lengths.
+      You, Miss Greggory, will have to be on hand for them all, of course, and
+      will have to stay all night several times, probably. You, Mrs. Greggory,
+      ought not to be alone down here. There is no sensible, valid reason why
+      you should not both come out to the house for those ten days; and I shall
+      feel seriously hurt and offended if you do not consent to do it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But&mdash;my pupils,&rdquo; Alice Greggory had demurred.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You can go in town from my home at any time to give your lessons, and a
+      little shifting about and arranging for those ten days will enable you to
+      set the hours conveniently one after another, I am sure, so you can attend
+      to several on one trip. Meanwhile your mother will be having a lovely time
+      teaching Aunt Hannah how to knit a new shawl; so you won't have to be
+      worrying about her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      After all, it had been the great good and pleasure which the visit would
+      bring to Mrs. Greggory that had been the final straw to tip the scales. On
+      the eleventh of February, therefore, in the company of the once scorned
+      &ldquo;Peggy and Mary Jane,&rdquo; Alice Greggory and her mother had arrived at
+      Hillside.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ever since the first meeting of Alice Greggory and Arkwright, Billy had
+      been sorely troubled by the conduct of the two young people. She had, as
+      she mournfully told herself, been able to make nothing of it. The two were
+      civility itself to each other, but very plainly they were not at ease in
+      each other's company; and Billy, much to her surprise, had to admit that
+      Arkwright did not appear to appreciate the &ldquo;circumstances&rdquo; now that he had
+      them. The pair called each other, ceremoniously, &ldquo;Mr. Arkwright,&rdquo; and
+      &ldquo;Miss Greggory&rdquo;&mdash;but then, that, of course, did not &ldquo;signify,&rdquo; Billy
+      declared to herself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I suppose you don't ever call him 'Mary Jane,'&rdquo; she said to the girl, a
+      little mischievously, one day.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Mary Jane'? Mr. Arkwright? No, I don't,&rdquo; rejoined Miss Greggory, with an
+      odd smile. Then, after a moment, she added: &ldquo;I believe his brothers and
+      sisters used to, however.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I know,&rdquo; laughed Billy. &ldquo;We thought he was a real Mary Jane, once.&rdquo;
+       And she told the story of his arrival. &ldquo;So you see,&rdquo; she finished, when
+      Alice Greggory had done laughing over the tale, &ldquo;he always will be 'Mary
+      Jane' to us. By the way, what is his name?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Greggory looked up in surprise.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, it's&mdash;&rdquo; She stopped short, her eyes questioning. &ldquo;Why, hasn't
+      he ever told you?&rdquo; she queried.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy lifted her chin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. He told us to guess it, and we have guessed everything we can think
+      of, even up to 'Methuselah John'; but he says we haven't hit it yet.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Methuselah John,' indeed!&rdquo; laughed the other, merrily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I'm sure that's a nice, solid name,&rdquo; defended Billy, her chin still
+      at a challenging tilt. &ldquo;If it isn't 'Methuselah John,' what is it, then?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But Alice Greggory shook her head. She, too, it seemed, could be firm, on
+      occasion. And though she smiled brightly, all she would say, was:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If he hasn't told you, I sha'n't. You'll have to go to him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, well, I can still call him 'Mary Jane,'&rdquo; retorted Billy, with airy
+      disdain.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All this, however, so far as Billy could see, was not in the least helping
+      along the cause that had become so dear to her&mdash;the reuniting of a
+      pair of lovers. It occurred to her then, one day, that perhaps, after all,
+      they were not lovers, and did not wish to be reunited. At this disquieting
+      thought Billy decided, suddenly, to go almost to headquarters. She would
+      speak to Mrs. Greggory if ever the opportunity offered. Great was her joy,
+      therefore, when, a day or two after the Greggorys arrived at the house,
+      Mrs. Greggory's chance reference to Arkwright and her daughter gave Billy
+      the opportunity she sought.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They used to know each other long ago, Mr. Arkwright tells me,&rdquo; Billy
+      began warily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The quietly polite monosyllable was not very encouraging, to be sure; but
+      Billy, secure in her conviction that her cause was a righteous one,
+      refused to be daunted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think it was so romantic&mdash;their running across each other like
+      this, Mrs. Greggory,&rdquo; she murmured. &ldquo;And there <i>was</i> a romance,
+      wasn't there? I have just felt in my bones that there was&mdash;a
+      romance!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy held her breath. It was what she had meant to say, but now that she
+      had said it, the words seemed very fearsome indeed&mdash;to say to Mrs.
+      Greggory. Then Billy remembered her Cause, and took heart&mdash;Billy was
+      spelling it now with a capital C.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For a long minute Mrs. Greggory did not answer&mdash;for so long a minute
+      that Billy's breath dropped into a fluttering sigh, and her Cause became
+      suddenly &ldquo;IMPERTINENCE&rdquo; spelled in black capitals. Then Mrs. Greggory
+      spoke slowly, a little sadly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't mind saying to you that I did hope, once, that there would be a
+      romance there. They were the best of friends, and they were well-suited to
+      each other in tastes and temperament. I think, indeed, that the romance
+      was well under way (though there was never an engagement) when&mdash;&rdquo;
+       Mrs. Greggory paused and wet her lips. Her voice, when she resumed,
+      carried the stern note so familiar to Billy in her first acquaintance with
+      this woman and her daughter. &ldquo;As I presume Mr. Arkwright has told you, we
+      have met with many changes in our life&mdash;changes which necessitated a
+      new home and a new mode of living. Naturally, under those circumstances,
+      old friends&mdash;and old romances&mdash;must change, too.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, Mrs. Greggory,&rdquo; stammered Billy, &ldquo;I'm sure Mr. Arkwright would want&mdash;&rdquo;
+       An up-lifted hand silenced her peremptorily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Arkwright was very kind, and a gentleman, always,&rdquo; interposed the
+      lady, coldly; &ldquo;but Judge Greggory's daughter would not allow herself to be
+      placed where apologies for her father would be necessary&mdash;<i>ever!</i>
+      There, please, dear Miss Neilson, let us not talk of it any more,&rdquo; begged
+      Mrs. Greggory, brokenly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, indeed, of course not!&rdquo; cried Billy; but her heart rejoiced.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She understood it all now. Arkwright and Alice Greggory had been almost
+      lovers when the charges against the Judge's honor had plunged the family
+      into despairing humiliation. Then had come the time when, according to
+      Arkwright's own story, the two women had shut themselves indoors, refused
+      to see their friends, and left town as soon as possible. Thus had come the
+      breaking of whatever tie there was between Alice Greggory and Arkwright.
+      Not to have broken it would have meant, for Alice, the placing of herself
+      in a position where, sometime, apologies must be made for her father. This
+      was what Mrs. Greggory had meant&mdash;and again, as Billy thought of it,
+      Billy's heart rejoiced.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Was not her way clear now before her? Did she not have it in her power,
+      possibly&mdash;even probably&mdash;to bring happiness where only sadness
+      was before? As if it would not be a simple thing to rekindle the old flame&mdash;to
+      make these two estranged hearts beat as one again!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Not now was the Cause an IMPERTINENCE in tall black letters. It was,
+      instead, a shining beacon in letters of flame guiding straight to victory.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy went to sleep that night making plans for Alice Greggory and
+      Arkwright to be thrown together naturally&mdash;&ldquo;just as a matter of
+      course, you know,&rdquo; she said drowsily to herself, all in the dark.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Some three or four miles away down Beacon Street at that moment Bertram
+      Henshaw, in the Strata, was, as it happened, not falling asleep. He was
+      lying broadly and unhappily awake Bertram very frequently lay broadly and
+      unhappily awake these days&mdash;or rather nights. He told himself, on
+      these occasions, that it was perfectly natural&mdash;indeed it was!&mdash;that
+      Billy should be with Arkwright and his friends, the Greggorys, so much.
+      There were the new songs, and the operetta with its rehearsals as a cause
+      for it all. At the same time, deep within his fearful soul was the
+      consciousness that Arkwright, the Greggorys, and the operetta were but
+      Music&mdash;Music, the spectre that from the first had dogged his
+      footsteps.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With Billy's behavior toward himself, Bertram could find no fault. She was
+      always her sweet, loyal, lovable self, eager to hear of his work,
+      earnestly solicitous that it should be a success. She even&mdash;as he
+      sometimes half-irritably remembered&mdash;had once told him that she
+      realized he belonged to Art before he did to himself; and when he had
+      indignantly denied this, she had only laughed and thrown a kiss at him,
+      with the remark that he ought to hear his sister Kate's opinion of that
+      matter. As if he wanted Kate's opinion on that or anything else that
+      concerned him and Billy!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Once, torn by jealousy, and exasperated at the frequent interruptions of
+      their quiet hours together, he had complained openly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Actually, Billy, it's worse than Marie's wedding,&rdquo; he declared, &ldquo;<i>Then</i>
+      it was tablecloths and napkins that could be dumped in a chair. <i>Now</i>
+      it's a girl who wants to rehearse, or a woman that wants a different wig,
+      or a telephone message that the sopranos have quarrelled again. I loathe
+      that operetta!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed, but she frowned, too.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know, dear; I don't like that part. I wish they <i>would</i> let me
+      alone when I'm with you! But as for the operetta, it is really a good
+      thing, dear, and you'll say so when you see it. It's going to be a great
+      success&mdash;I can say that because my part is only a small one, you
+      know. We shall make lots of money for the Home, too, I'm sure.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you're wearing yourself all out with it, dear,&rdquo; scowled Bertram.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense! I like it; besides, when I'm doing this I'm not telephoning you
+      to come and amuse me. Just think what a lot of extra time you have for
+      your work!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't want it,&rdquo; avowed Bertram.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But the <i>work</i> may,&rdquo; retorted Billy, showing all her dimples. &ldquo;Never
+      mind, though; it'll all be over after the twentieth. <i>This</i> isn't an
+      understudy like Marie's wedding, you know,&rdquo; she finished demurely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank heaven for that!&rdquo; Bertram had breathed fervently. But even as he
+      said the words he grew sick with fear. What if, after all, this <i>were</i>
+      an understudy to what was to come later when Music, his rival, had really
+      conquered?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram knew that however secure might seem Billy's affection for himself,
+      there was still in his own mind a horrid fear lest underneath that
+      security were an unconscious, growing fondness for something he could not
+      give, for some one that he was not&mdash;a fondness that would one day
+      cause Billy to awake. As Bertram, in his morbid fancy pictured it, he
+      realized only too well what that awakening would mean to himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXIV. THE ARTIST AND HIS ART
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      The private view of the paintings and drawings of the Brush and Pencil
+      Club on the evening of the fifteenth was a great success. Society sent its
+      fairest women in frocks that were pictures in themselves. Art sent its
+      severest critics and its most ardent devotees. The Press sent reporters
+      that the World might know what Art and Society were doing, and how they
+      did it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Before the canvases signed with Bertram Henshaw's name there was always to
+      be found an admiring group representing both Art and Society with the
+      Press on the outskirts to report. William Henshaw, coming unobserved upon
+      one such group, paused a moment to smile at the various more or less
+      disconnected comments.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What a lovely blue!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Marvellous color sense!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now those shadows are&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He gets his high lights so&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I declare, she looks just like Blanche Payton!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Every line there is full of meaning.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I suppose it's very fine, but&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now, I say, Henshaw is&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is this by the man that's painting Margy Winthrop's portrait?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's idealism, man, idealism!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm going to have a dress just that shade of blue.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Isn't that just too sweet!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now for realism, I consider Henshaw&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There aren't many with his sensitive, brilliant touch.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, what a pretty picture!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      William moved on then.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy was rapturously proud of Bertram that evening. He was, of course,
+      the centre of congratulations and hearty praise. At his side, Billy, with
+      sparkling eyes, welcomed each smiling congratulation and gloried in every
+      commendatory word she heard.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Bertram, isn't it splendid! I'm so proud of you,&rdquo; she whispered
+      softly, when a moment's lull gave her opportunity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They're all words, words, idle words,&rdquo; he laughed; but his eyes shone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Just as if they weren't all true!&rdquo; she bridled, turning to greet William,
+      who came up at that moment. &ldquo;Isn't it fine, Uncle William?&rdquo; she beamed.
+      &ldquo;And aren't we proud of him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We are, indeed,&rdquo; smiled the man. &ldquo;But if you and Bertram want to get the
+      real opinion of this crowd, you should go and stand near one of his
+      pictures five minutes. As a sort of crazy&mdash;quilt criticism it can't
+      be beat.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know,&rdquo; laughed Bertram. &ldquo;I've done it, in days long gone.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bertram, not really?&rdquo; cried Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sure! As if every young artist at the first didn't don goggles or a false
+      mustache and study the pictures on either side of his own till he could
+      paint them with his eyes shut!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And what did you hear?&rdquo; demanded the girl.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What didn't I hear?&rdquo; laughed her lover. &ldquo;But I didn't do it but once or
+      twice. I lost my head one day and began to argue the question of
+      perspective with a couple of old codgers who were criticizing a bit of
+      foreshortening that was my special pet. I forgot my goggles and sailed in.
+      The game was up then, of course; and I never put them on again. But it was
+      worth a farm to see their faces when I stood 'discovered' as the
+      stage-folk say.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Serves you right, sir&mdash;listening like that,&rdquo; scolded Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram laughed and shrugged his shoulders.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, it cured me, anyhow. I haven't done it since,&rdquo; he declared.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was some time later, on the way home, that Bertram said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It was gratifying, of course, Billy, and I liked it. It would be absurd
+      to say I didn't like the many pleasant words of apparently sincere
+      appreciation I heard to-night. But I couldn't help thinking of the next
+      time&mdash;always the next time.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The next time?&rdquo; Billy's eyes were slightly puzzled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That I exhibit, I mean. The Bohemian Ten hold their exhibition next
+      month, you know. I shall show just one picture&mdash;the portrait of Miss
+      Winthrop.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Bertram!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It'll be 'Oh, Bertram!' then, dear, if it isn't a success,&rdquo; he sighed. &ldquo;I
+      don't believe you realize yet what that thing is going to mean for me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I should think I might,&rdquo; retorted Billy, a little tremulously,
+      &ldquo;after all I've heard about it. I should think <i>everybody</i> knew you
+      were doing it, Bertram. Actually, I'm not sure Marie's scrub-lady won't
+      ask me some day how Mr. Bertram's picture is coming on!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's the dickens of it, in a way,&rdquo; sighed Bertram, with a faint smile.
+      &ldquo;I am amazed&mdash;and a little frightened, I'll admit&mdash;at the
+      universality of the interest. You see, the Winthrops have been pleased to
+      spread it, for one reason or another, and of course many already know of
+      the failures of Anderson and Fullam. That's why, if I should fail&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you aren't going to fail,&rdquo; interposed the girl, resolutely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I know I'm not. I only said 'if,'&rdquo; fenced the man, his voice not
+      quite steady.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There isn't going to be any 'if,'&rdquo; settled Billy. &ldquo;Now tell me, when is
+      the exhibition?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;March twentieth&mdash;the private view. Mr. Winthrop is not only willing,
+      but anxious, that I show it. I wasn't sure that he'd want me to&mdash;in
+      an exhibition. But it seems he does. His daughter says he has every
+      confidence in the portrait and wants everybody to see it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's where he shows his good sense,&rdquo; declared Billy. Then, with just a
+      touch of constraint, she asked: &ldquo;And how is the new, latest pose coming
+      on?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very well, I think,&rdquo; answered Bertram, a little hesitatingly. &ldquo;We've had
+      so many, many interruptions, though, that it is surprising how slow it is
+      moving. In the first place, Miss Winthrop is gone more than half the time
+      (she goes again to-morrow for a week!), and in this portrait I'm not
+      painting a stroke without my model before me. I mean to take no chances,
+      you see; and Miss Winthrop is perfectly willing to give me all the
+      sittings I wish for. Of course, if she hadn't changed the pose and costume
+      so many times, it would have been done long ago&mdash;and she knows it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course&mdash;she knows it,&rdquo; murmured Billy, a little faintly, but with
+      a peculiar intonation in her voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And so you see,&rdquo; sighed Bertram, &ldquo;what the twentieth of March is going to
+      mean for me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's going to mean a splendid triumph!&rdquo; asserted Billy; and this time her
+      voice was not faint, and it carried only a ring of loyal confidence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You blessed comforter!&rdquo; murmured Bertram, giving with his eyes the caress
+      that his lips would so much have preferred to give&mdash;under more
+      propitious circumstances.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXV. THE OPERETTA
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      The sixteenth, seventeenth, and eighteenth of February were, for Billy,
+      and for all concerned in the success of the operetta, days of hurry,
+      worry, and feverish excitement, as was to be expected, of course. Each
+      afternoon and every evening saw rehearsals in whole, or in parts. A friend
+      of the Club-president's sister-in-law-a woman whose husband was stage
+      manager of a Boston theatre&mdash;had consented to come and &ldquo;coach&rdquo; the
+      performers. At her appearance the performers&mdash;promptly thrown into
+      nervous spasms by this fearsome nearness to the &ldquo;real thing&rdquo;&mdash;forgot
+      half their cues, and conducted themselves generally like frightened school
+      children on &ldquo;piece day,&rdquo; much to their own and every one else's despair.
+      Then, on the evening of the nineteenth, came the final dress rehearsal on
+      the stage of the pretty little hall that had been engaged for the
+      performance of the operetta.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The dress rehearsal, like most of its kind, was, for every one, nothing
+      but a nightmare of discord, discouragement, and disaster. Everybody's
+      nerves were on edge, everybody was sure the thing would be a &ldquo;flat
+      failure.&rdquo; The soprano sang off the key, the alto forgot to shriek &ldquo;Beware,
+      beware!&rdquo; until it was so late there was nothing to beware of; the basso
+      stepped on Billy's trailing frock and tore it; even the tenor, Arkwright
+      himself, seemed to have lost every bit of vim from his acting. The chorus
+      sang &ldquo;Oh, be joyful!&rdquo; with dirge-like solemnity, and danced as if legs and
+      feet were made of wood. The lovers, after the fashion of amateur actors
+      from time immemorial, &ldquo;made love like sticks.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy, when the dismal thing had dragged its way through the final note,
+      sat &ldquo;down front,&rdquo; crying softly in the semi-darkness while she was waiting
+      for Alice Greggory to &ldquo;run it through just once more&rdquo; with a pair of
+      tired-faced, fluffy-skirted fairies who could <i>not</i> learn that a duet
+      meant a <i>duet</i>&mdash;not two solos, independently hurried or retarded
+      as one's fancy for the moment dictated.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To Billy, just then, life did not look to be even half worth the living.
+      Her head ached, her throat was going-to-be-sore, her shoe hurt, and her
+      dress&mdash;the trailing frock that had been under the basso's foot&mdash;could
+      not possibly be decently repaired before to-morrow night, she was sure.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bad as these things were, however, they were only the intimate, immediate
+      woes. Beyond and around them lay others many others. To be sure, Bertram
+      and happiness were supposed to be somewhere in the dim and uncertain
+      future; but between her and them lay all these other woes, chief of which
+      was the unutterable tragedy of to-morrow night.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was to be a failure, of course. Billy had calmly made up her mind to
+      that, now. But then, she was used to failures, she told herself. Was she
+      not plainly failing every day of her life to bring about even friendship
+      between Alice Greggory and Arkwright? Did they not emphatically and
+      systematically refuse to be &ldquo;thrown together,&rdquo; either naturally, or
+      unnaturally? And yet&mdash;whenever again could she expect such
+      opportunities to further her Cause as had been hers the past few weeks,
+      through the operetta and its rehearsals? Certainly, never again! It had
+      been a failure like all the rest; like the operetta, in particular.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy did not mean that any one should know she was crying. She supposed
+      that all the performers except herself and the two earth-bound fairies by
+      the piano with Alice Greggory were gone. She knew that John with Peggy was
+      probably waiting at the door outside, and she hoped that soon the fairies
+      would decide to go home and go to bed, and let other people do the same.
+      For her part, she did not see why they were struggling so hard, anyway.
+      Why needn't they go ahead and sing their duet like two solos if they
+      wanted to? As if a little thing like that could make a feather's weight of
+      difference in the grand total of to-morrow night's wretchedness when the
+      final curtain should have been rung down on their shame!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Neilson, you aren't&mdash;crying!&rdquo; exclaimed a low voice; and Billy
+      turned to find Arkwright standing by her side in the dim light.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no&mdash;yes&mdash;well, maybe I was, a little,&rdquo; stammered Billy,
+      trying to speak very unconcernedly. &ldquo;How warm it is in here! Do you think
+      it's going to rain?&mdash;that is, outdoors, of course, I mean.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright dropped into the seat behind Billy and leaned forward, his eyes
+      striving to read the girl's half-averted face. If Billy had turned, she
+      would have seen that Arkwright's own face showed white and a little
+      drawn-looking in the feeble rays from the light by the piano. But Billy
+      did not turn. She kept her eyes steadily averted; and she went on speaking&mdash;airy,
+      inconsequential words.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dear me, if those girls <i>would</i> only pull together! But then, what's
+      the difference? I supposed you had gone home long ago, Mr. Arkwright.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Neilson, you <i>are</i> crying!&rdquo; Arkwright's voice was low and
+      vibrant. &ldquo;As if anything or anybody in the world <i>could</i> make <i>you</i>
+      cry! Please&mdash;you have only to command me, and I will sally forth at
+      once to slay the offender.&rdquo; His words were light, but his voice still
+      shook with emotion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy gave an hysterical little giggle. Angrily she brushed the persistent
+      tears from her eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right, then; I'll dub you my Sir Knight,&rdquo; she faltered. &ldquo;But I'll
+      warn you&mdash;you'll have your hands full. You'll have to slay my
+      headache, and my throat-ache, and my shoe that hurts, and the man who
+      stepped on my dress, and&mdash;and everybody in the operetta, including
+      myself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Everybody&mdash;in the operetta!&rdquo; Arkwright did look a little startled,
+      at this wholesale slaughter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. Did you ever see such an awful, awful thing as that was to-night?&rdquo;
+       moaned the girl.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright's face relaxed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, so <i>that's</i> what it is!&rdquo; he laughed lightly. &ldquo;Then it's only a
+      bogy of fear that I've got to slay, after all; and I'll despatch that
+      right now with a single blow. Dress rehearsals always go like that
+      to-night. I've been in a dozen, and I never yet saw one go half decent.
+      Don't you worry. The worse the rehearsal, the better the performance,
+      every time!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy blinked off the tears and essayed a smile as she retorted:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, if that's so, then ours to-morrow night ought to be a&mdash;a&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A corker,&rdquo; helped out Arkwright, promptly; &ldquo;and it will be, too. You poor
+      child, you're worn out; and no wonder! But don't worry another bit about
+      the operetta. Now is there anything else I can do for you? Anything else I
+      can slay?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed tremulously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;N-no, thank you; not that you can&mdash;slay, I fancy,&rdquo; she sighed. &ldquo;That
+      is&mdash;not that you <i>will</i>,&rdquo; she amended wistfully, with a sudden
+      remembrance of the Cause, for which he might do so much&mdash;if he only
+      would.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright bent a little nearer. His breath stirred the loose, curling hair
+      behind Billy's ear. His eyes had flashed into sudden fire.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you don't know what I'd do if I could,&rdquo; he murmured unsteadily. &ldquo;If
+      you'd let me tell you&mdash;if you only knew the wish that has lain
+      closest to my heart for&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Neilson, please,&rdquo; called the despairing voice of one of the
+      earth-bound fairies; &ldquo;Miss Neilson, you <i>are</i> there, aren't you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I'm right here,&rdquo; answered Billy, wearily. Arkwright answered, too,
+      but not aloud&mdash;which was wise.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh dear! you're tired, I know,&rdquo; wailed the fairy, &ldquo;but if you would
+      please come and help us just a minute! Could you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, yes, of course.&rdquo; Billy rose to her feet, still wearily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright touched her arm. She turned and saw his face. It was very white&mdash;so
+      white that her eyes widened in surprised questioning.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As if answering the unspoken words, the man shook his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can't, now, of course,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;But there <i>is</i> something I want
+      to say&mdash;a story I want to tell you&mdash;after to-morrow, perhaps.
+      May I?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      To Billy, the tremor of his voice, the suffering in his eyes, and the
+      &ldquo;story&rdquo; he was begging to tell could have but one interpretation: Alice
+      Greggory. Her face, therefore, was a glory of tender sympathy as she
+      reached out her hand in farewell.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course you may,&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;Come any time after to-morrow night,
+      please,&rdquo; she smiled encouragingly, as she turned toward the stage.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Behind her, Arkwright stumbled twice as he walked up the incline toward
+      the outer door&mdash;stumbled, not because of the semi-darkness of the
+      little theatre, but because of the blinding radiance of a girl's illumined
+      face which he had, a moment before, read all unknowingly exactly wrong.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A little more than twenty-four hours later, Billy Neilson, in her own
+      room, drew a long breath of relief. It was twelve o'clock on the night of
+      the twentieth, and the operetta was over.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To Billy, life was eminently worth living to-night. Her head did not ache,
+      her throat was not sore, her shoe did not hurt, her dress had been mended
+      so successfully by Aunt Hannah, and with such comforting celerity, that
+      long before night one would never have suspected the filmy thing had known
+      the devastating tread of any man's foot. Better yet, the soprano had sung
+      exactly to key, the alto had shrieked &ldquo;Beware!&rdquo; to thrilling purpose,
+      Arkwright had shown all his old charm and vim, and the chorus had been
+      prodigies of joyousness and marvels of lightness. Even the lovers had lost
+      their stiffness, while the two earth-bound fairies of the night before had
+      found so amiable a meeting point that their solos sounded, to the
+      uninitiated, very like, indeed, a duet. The operetta was, in short, a
+      glorious and gratifying success, both artistically and financially. Nor
+      was this all that, to Billy, made life worth the living: Arkwright had
+      begged permission that evening to come up the following afternoon to tell
+      her his &ldquo;story&rdquo;; and Billy, who was so joyously confident that this story
+      meant the final crowning of her Cause with victory, had given happy
+      consent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram was to come up in the evening, and Billy was anticipating that,
+      too, particularly: it had been so long since they had known a really free,
+      comfortable evening together, with nothing to interrupt. Doubtless, too,
+      after Arkwright's visit of the afternoon, she would be in a position to
+      tell Bertram the story of the suspended romance between Arkwright and Miss
+      Greggory, and perhaps something, also, of her own efforts to bring the
+      couple together again. On the whole, life did, indeed, look decidedly
+      worth the living as Billy, with a contented sigh, turned over to go to
+      sleep.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXVI. ARKWRIGHT TELLS ANOTHER STORY
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Promptly at the suggested hour on the day after the operetta, Arkwright
+      rang Billy Neilson's doorbell. Promptly, too, Billy herself came into the
+      living-room to greet him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy was in white to-day&mdash;a soft, creamy white wool with a touch of
+      black velvet at her throat and in her hair. The man thought she had never
+      looked so lovely: Arkwright was still under the spell wrought by the soft
+      radiance of Billy's face the two times he had mentioned his &ldquo;story.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Until the night before the operetta Arkwright had been more than doubtful
+      of the way that story would be received, should he ever summon the courage
+      to tell it. Since then his fears had been changed to rapturous hopes. It
+      was very eagerly, therefore, that he turned now to greet Billy as she came
+      into the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Suppose we don't have any music to-day. Suppose we give the whole time up
+      to the story,&rdquo; she smiled brightly, as she held out her hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright's heart leaped; but almost at once it throbbed with a vague
+      uneasiness. He would have preferred to see her blush and be a little shy
+      over that story. Still&mdash;there was a chance, of course, that she did
+      not know what the story was. But if that were the case, what of the
+      radiance in her face? What of&mdash;Finding himself in a tangled labyrinth
+      that led apparently only to disappointment and disaster, Arkwright pulled
+      himself up with a firm hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are very kind,&rdquo; he murmured, as he relinquished her fingers and
+      seated himself near her. &ldquo;You are sure, then, that you wish to hear the
+      story?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very sure,&rdquo; smiled Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright hesitated. Again he longed to see a little embarrassment in the
+      bright face opposite. Suddenly it came to him, however, that if Billy knew
+      what he was about to say, it would manifestly not be her part to act as if
+      she knew! With a lighter heart, then, he began his story.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You want it from the beginning?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By all means! I never dip into books, nor peek at the ending. I don't
+      think it's fair to the author.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then I will, indeed, begin at the beginning,&rdquo; smiled Arkwright, &ldquo;for I'm
+      specially anxious that you shall be&mdash;even more than 'fair' to me.&rdquo;
+       His voice shook a little, but he hurried on. &ldquo;There's a&mdash;girl&mdash;in
+      it; a very dear, lovely girl.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course&mdash;if it's a nice story,&rdquo; twinkled Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And&mdash;there's a man, too. It's a love story, you see.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Again of course&mdash;if it's interesting.&rdquo; Billy laughed mischievously,
+      but she flushed a little.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Still, the man doesn't amount to much, after all, perhaps. I might as
+      well own up at the beginning&mdash;I'm the man.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That will do for you to say, as long as you're telling the story,&rdquo; smiled
+      Billy. &ldquo;We'll let it pass for proper modesty on your part. But I shall say&mdash;the
+      personal touch only adds to the interest.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright drew in his breath.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We'll hope&mdash;it'll really be so,&rdquo; he murmured.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a moment's silence. Arkwright seemed to be hesitating what to
+      say.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well?&rdquo; prompted Billy, with a smile. &ldquo;We have the hero and the heroine;
+      now what happens next? Do you know,&rdquo; she added, &ldquo;I have always thought
+      that part must bother the story-writers&mdash;to get the couple to doing
+      interesting things, after they'd got them introduced.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright sighed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps&mdash;on paper; but, you see, my story has been <i>lived</i>, so
+      far. So it's quite different.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very well, then&mdash;what did happen?&rdquo; smiled Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I was trying to think&mdash;of the first thing. You see it began with a
+      picture, a photograph of the girl. Mother had it. I saw it, and wanted it,
+      and&mdash;&rdquo; Arkwright had started to say &ldquo;and took it.&rdquo; But he stopped
+      with the last two words unsaid. It was not time, yet, he deemed, to tell
+      this girl how much that picture had been to him for so many months past.
+      He hurried on a little precipitately. &ldquo;You see, I had heard about this
+      girl a lot; and I liked&mdash;what I heard.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You mean&mdash;you didn't know her&mdash;at the first?&rdquo; Billy's eyes were
+      surprised. Billy had supposed that Arkwright had always known Alice
+      Greggory.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I didn't know the girl&mdash;till afterwards. Before that I was
+      always dreaming and wondering what she would be like.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; Billy subsided into her chair, still with the puzzled questioning in
+      her eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then I met her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And she was everything and more than I had pictured her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And you fell in love at once?&rdquo; Billy's voice had grown confident again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I was already in love,&rdquo; sighed Arkwright. &ldquo;I simply sank deeper.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh-h!&rdquo; breathed Billy, sympathetically. &ldquo;And the girl?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She didn't care&mdash;or know&mdash;for a long time. I'm not really sure
+      she cares&mdash;or knows&mdash;even now.&rdquo; Arkwright's eyes were wistfully
+      fixed on Billy's face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, but you can't tell, always, about girls,&rdquo; murmured Billy, hurriedly.
+      A faint pink had stolen to her forehead. She was thinking of Alice
+      Greggory, and wondering if, indeed, Alice did care; and if she, Billy,
+      might dare to assure this man&mdash;what she believed to be true&mdash;that
+      his sweetheart was only waiting for him to come to her and tell her that
+      he loved her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright saw the color sweep to Billy's forehead, and took sudden
+      courage. He leaned forward eagerly. A tender light came to his eyes. The
+      expression on his face was unmistakable.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, do you mean, really, that there is&mdash;hope for me?&rdquo; he begged
+      brokenly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy gave a visible start. A quick something like shocked terror came to
+      her eyes. She drew back and would have risen to her feet had the thought
+      not come to her that twice before she had supposed a man was making love
+      to her, when subsequent events proved that she had been mortifyingly
+      mistaken: once when Cyril had told her of his love for Marie; and again
+      when William had asked her to come back as a daughter to the house she had
+      left desolate.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Telling herself sternly now not to be for the third time a &ldquo;foolish little
+      simpleton,&rdquo; she summoned all her wits, forced a cheery smile to her lips,
+      and said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, really, Mr. Arkwright, of course I can't answer for the girl, so
+      I'm not the one to give hope; and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you are the one,&rdquo; interrupted the man, passionately. &ldquo;You're the only
+      one! As if from the very first I hadn't loved you, and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, no, not that&mdash;not that! I'm mistaken! I'm not understanding what
+      you mean,&rdquo; pleaded a horror-stricken voice. Billy was on her feet now,
+      holding up two protesting hands, palms outward.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Neilson, you don't mean&mdash;that you haven't known&mdash;all this
+      time&mdash;that it was you?&rdquo; The man, now, was on his feet, his eyes hurt
+      and unbelieving, looking into hers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy paled. She began slowly to back away. Her eyes, still fixed on his,
+      carried the shrinking terror of one who sees a horrid vision.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you know&mdash;you <i>must</i> know that I am not yours to win!&rdquo; she
+      reproached him sharply. &ldquo;I'm to be Bertram Henshaw's&mdash;<i>wife</i>.&rdquo;
+       From Billy's shocked young lips the word dropped with a ringing force that
+      was at once accusatory and prohibitive. It was as if, by the mere
+      utterance of the word, wife, she had drawn a sacred circle about her and
+      placed herself in sanctuary.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      From the blazing accusation in her eyes Arkwright fell back.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wife! You are to be Bertram Henshaw's wife!&rdquo; he exclaimed. There was no
+      mistaking the amazed incredulity on his face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy caught her breath. The righteous indignation in her eyes fled, and a
+      terrified appeal took its place.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You don't mean that you <i>didn't&mdash;know?</i>&rdquo; she faltered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a moment's silence. A power quite outside herself kept Billy's
+      eyes on Arkwright's face, and forced her to watch the change there from
+      unbelief to belief, and from belief to set misery.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I did not know,&rdquo; said the man then, dully, as he turned, rested his
+      arm on the mantel behind him, and half shielded his face with his hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy sank into a low chair. Her fingers fluttered nervously to her
+      throat. Her piteous, beseeching eyes were on the broad back and bent head
+      of the man before her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I&mdash;I don't see how you could have helped&mdash;knowing,&rdquo; she
+      stammered at last. &ldquo;I don't see how such a thing could have happened that
+      you shouldn't know!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I've been trying to think, myself,&rdquo; returned the man, still in a dull,
+      emotionless voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's been so&mdash;so much a matter of course. I supposed everybody knew
+      it,&rdquo; maintained Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps that's just it&mdash;that it was&mdash;so much a matter of
+      course,&rdquo; rejoined the man. &ldquo;You see, I know very few of your friends,
+      anyway&mdash;who would be apt to mention it to me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But the announcements&mdash;oh, you weren't here then,&rdquo; moaned Billy.
+      &ldquo;But you must have known that&mdash;that he came here a good deal&mdash;that
+      we were together so much!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To a certain extent, yes,&rdquo; sighed Arkwright. &ldquo;But I took your friendship
+      with him and his brothers as&mdash;as a matter of course. <i>That</i> was
+      <i>my</i> 'matter of course,' you see,&rdquo; he went on bitterly. &ldquo;I knew you
+      were Mr. William Henshaw's namesake, and Calderwell had told me the story
+      of your coming to them when you were left alone in the world. Calderwell
+      had said, too, that&mdash;&rdquo; Arkwright paused, then hurried on a little
+      constrainedly&mdash;&ldquo;well, he said something that led me to think Mr.
+      Bertram Henshaw was not a marrying man, anyway.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy winced and changed color. She had noticed the pause, and she knew
+      very well what it was that Calderwell had said to occasion that pause.
+      Must <i>always</i> she be reminded that no one expected Bertram Henshaw to
+      love any girl&mdash;except to paint?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But&mdash;but Mr. Calderwell must know about the engagement&mdash;now,&rdquo;
+       she stammered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very likely, but I have not happened to hear from him since my arrival in
+      Boston. We do not correspond.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a long silence, then Arkwright spoke again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think I understand now&mdash;many things. I wonder I did not see them
+      before; but I never thought of Bertram Henshaw's being&mdash;If Calderwell
+      hadn't said&mdash;&rdquo; Again Arkwright stopped with his sentence half
+      complete, and again Billy winced. &ldquo;I've been a blind fool. I was so intent
+      on my own&mdash;I've been a blind fool; that's all,&rdquo; repeated Arkwright,
+      with a break in his voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy tried to speak, but instead of words, there came only a choking sob.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright turned sharply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Neilson, don't&mdash;please,&rdquo; he begged. &ldquo;There is no need that you
+      should suffer&mdash;too.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I am so ashamed that such a thing <i>could</i> happen,&rdquo; she faltered.
+      &ldquo;I'm sure, some way, I must be to blame. But I never thought. I was blind,
+      too. I was wrapped up in my own affairs. I never suspected. I never even
+      <i>thought</i> to suspect! I thought of course you knew. It was just the
+      music that brought us together, I supposed; and you were just like one of
+      the family, anyway. I always thought of you as Aunt Hannah's&mdash;&rdquo; She
+      stopped with a vivid blush.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As Aunt Hannah's niece, Mary Jane, of course,&rdquo; supplied Arkwright,
+      bitterly, turning back to his old position. &ldquo;And that was my own fault,
+      too. My name, Miss Neilson, is Michael Jeremiah,&rdquo; he went on wearily,
+      after a moment's hesitation, his voice showing his utter abandonment to
+      despair. &ldquo;When a boy at school I got heartily sick of the 'Mike' and the
+      'Jerry' and the even worse 'Tom and Jerry' that my young friends delighted
+      in; so as soon as possible I sought obscurity and peace in 'M. J.' Much to
+      my surprise and annoyance the initials proved to be little better, for
+      they became at once the biggest sort of whet to people's curiosity.
+      Naturally, the more determined persistent inquirers were to know the name,
+      the more determined I became that they shouldn't. All very silly and very
+      foolish, of course. Certainly it seems so now,&rdquo; he finished.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy was silent. She was trying to find something, <i>anything</i>, to
+      say, when Arkwright began speaking again, still in that dull, hopeless
+      voice that Billy thought would break her heart.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As for the 'Mary Jane'&mdash;that was another foolishness, of course. My
+      small brothers and sisters originated it; others followed, on occasion,
+      even Calderwell. Perhaps you did not know, but he was the friend who, by
+      his laughing question, 'Why don't you, Mary Jane?' put into my head the
+      crazy scheme of writing to Aunt Hannah and letting her think I was a real
+      Mary Jane. You see what I stooped to do, Miss Neilson, for the chance of
+      meeting and knowing you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy gave a low cry. She had suddenly remembered the beginning of
+      Arkwright's story. For the first time she realized that he had been
+      talking then about herself, not Alice Greggory.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you don't mean that you&mdash;cared&mdash;that I was the&mdash;&rdquo; She
+      could not finish.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright turned from the mantel with a gesture of utter despair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I cared then. I had heard of you. I had sung your songs. I was
+      determined to meet you. So I came&mdash;and met you. After that I was more
+      determined than ever to win you. Perhaps you see, now, why I was so blind
+      to&mdash;to any other possibility. But it doesn't do any good&mdash;to
+      talk like this. I understand now. Only, please, don't blame yourself,&rdquo; he
+      begged as he saw her eyes fill with tears. The next moment he was gone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy had turned away and was crying softly, so she did not see him go.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXVII. THE THING THAT WAS THE TRUTH
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Bertram called that evening. Billy had no story now to tell&mdash;nothing
+      of the interrupted romance between Alice Greggory and Arkwright. Billy
+      carefully, indeed, avoided mentioning Arkwright's name.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ever since the man's departure that afternoon, Billy had been frantically
+      trying to assure herself that she was not to blame; that she would not be
+      supposed to know he cared for her; that it had all been as he said it was&mdash;his
+      foolish blindness. But even when she had partially comforted herself by
+      these assertions, she could not by any means escape the haunting vision of
+      the man's stern-set, suffering face as she had seen it that afternoon; nor
+      could she keep from weeping at the memory of the words he had said, and at
+      the thought that never again could their pleasant friendship be quite the
+      same&mdash;if, indeed, there could be any friendship at all between them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But if Billy expected that her red eyes, pale cheeks, and generally
+      troubled appearance and unquiet manner were to be passed unnoticed by her
+      lover's keen eyes that evening, she found herself much mistaken.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sweetheart, what <i>is</i> the matter?&rdquo; demanded Bertram resolutely, at
+      last, when his more indirect questions had been evasively turned aside.
+      &ldquo;You can't make me think there isn't something the trouble, because I know
+      there is!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, then, there is, dear,&rdquo; smiled Billy, tearfully; &ldquo;but please just
+      don't let us talk of it. I&mdash;I want to forget it. Truly I do.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I want to know so <i>I</i> can forget it,&rdquo; persisted Bertram. &ldquo;What
+      is it? Maybe I could help.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She shook her head with a little frightened cry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, no&mdash;you can't help&mdash;really.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, sweetheart, you don't know. Perhaps I could. Won't you <i>tell</i>
+      me about it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy looked distressed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can't, dear&mdash;truly. You see, it isn't quite mine&mdash;to tell.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not yours!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not&mdash;entirely.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But it makes you feel bad?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes&mdash;very.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then can't I know that part?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no&mdash;no, indeed, no! You see&mdash;it wouldn't be fair&mdash;to
+      the other.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram stared a little. Then his mouth set into stern lines.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, what are you talking about? Seems to me I have a right to know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy hesitated. To her mind, a girl who would tell of the unrequited love
+      of a man for herself, was unspeakably base. To tell Bertram Arkwright's
+      love story was therefore impossible. Yet, in some way, she must set
+      Bertram's mind at rest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dearest,&rdquo; she began slowly, her eyes wistfully pleading, &ldquo;just what it
+      is, I can't tell you. In a way it's another's secret, and I don't feel
+      that I have the right to tell it. It's just something that I learned this
+      afternoon.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But it has made you cry!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. It made me feel very unhappy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then&mdash;it was something you couldn't help?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      To Bertram's surprise, the face he was watching so intently flushed
+      scarlet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I couldn't help it&mdash;now; though I might have&mdash;once.&rdquo; Billy
+      spoke this last just above her breath. Then she went on, beseechingly:
+      &ldquo;Bertram, please, please don't talk of it any more. It&mdash;it's just
+      spoiling our happy evening together!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram bit his lip, and drew a long sigh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right, dear; you know best, of course&mdash;since I don't know <i>anything</i>
+      about it,&rdquo; he finished a little stiffly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy began to talk then very brightly of Aunt Hannah and her shawls, and
+      of a visit she had made to Cyril and Marie that morning.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And, do you know? Aunt Hannah's clock <i>has</i> done a good turn, at
+      last, and justified its existence. Listen,&rdquo; she cried gayly. &ldquo;Marie had a
+      letter from her mother's Cousin Jane. Cousin Jane couldn't sleep nights,
+      because she was always lying awake to find out just what time it was; so
+      Marie had written her about Aunt Hannah's clock. And now this Cousin Jane
+      has fixed <i>her</i> clock, and she sleeps like a top, just because she
+      knows there'll never be but half an hour that she doesn't know what time
+      it is!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram smiled, and murmured a polite &ldquo;Well, I'm sure that's fine!&rdquo;; but
+      the words were plainly abstracted, and the frown had not left his brow.
+      Nor did it quite leave till some time later, when Billy, in answer to a
+      question of his about another operetta, cried, with a shudder:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mercy, I hope not, dear! I don't want to <i>hear</i> the word 'operetta'
+      again for a year!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram smiled, then, broadly. He, too, would be quite satisfied not to
+      hear the word &ldquo;operetta&rdquo; for a year. Operetta, to Bertram, meant
+      interruptions, interferences, and the constant presence of Arkwright, the
+      Greggorys, and innumerable creatures who wished to rehearse or to change
+      wigs&mdash;all of which Bertram abhorred. No wonder, therefore, that he
+      smiled, and that the frown disappeared from his brow. He thought he saw,
+      ahead, serene, blissful days for Billy and himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As the days, however, began to pass, one by one, Bertram Henshaw found
+      them to be anything but serene and blissful. The operetta, with its
+      rehearsals and its interruptions, was gone, certainly; but he was becoming
+      seriously troubled about Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy did not act natural. Sometimes she seemed like her old self; and he
+      breathed more freely, telling himself that his fears were groundless. Then
+      would come the haunting shadow to her eyes, the droop to her mouth, and
+      the nervousness to her manner that he so dreaded. Worse yet, all this
+      seemed to be connected in some strange way with Arkwright. He found this
+      out by accident one day. She had been talking and laughing brightly about
+      something, when he chanced to introduce Arkwright's name.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By the way, where is Mary Jane these days?&rdquo; he asked then.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know, I'm sure. He hasn't been here lately,&rdquo; murmured Billy,
+      reaching for a book on the table.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At a peculiar something in her voice, he had looked up quickly, only to
+      find, to his great surprise, that her face showed a painful flush as she
+      bent over the book in her hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He had said nothing more at the time, but he had not forgotten. Several
+      times, after that, he had introduced the man's name, and never had it
+      failed to bring a rush of color, a biting of the lip, or a quick change of
+      position followed always by the troubled eyes and nervous manner that he
+      had learned to dread. He noticed then that never, of her own free will,
+      did she herself mention the man; never did she speak of him with the old
+      frank lightness as &ldquo;Mary Jane.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      By casual questions asked from time to time, Bertram had learned that
+      Arkwright never came there now, and that the song-writing together had
+      been given up. Curiously enough, this discovery, which would once have
+      filled Bertram with joy, served now only to deepen his distress. That
+      there was anything inconsistent in the fact that he was more frightened
+      now at the man's absence than he had been before at his presence, did not
+      occur to him. He knew only that he was frightened, and badly frightened.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram had not forgotten the evening after the operetta, and Billy's
+      tear-stained face on that occasion. He dated the whole thing, in fact,
+      from that evening. He fell to wondering one day if that, too, had anything
+      to do with Arkwright. He determined then to find out. Shamelessly&mdash;for
+      the good of the cause&mdash;he set a trap for Billy's unwary feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Very adroitly one day he led the talk straight to Arkwright; then he asked
+      abruptly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where is the chap, I wonder! Why, he hasn't shown up once since the
+      operetta, has he?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy, always truthful,&mdash;and just now always embarrassed when
+      Arkwright's name was mentioned,&mdash;walked straight into the trap.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes; well, he was here once&mdash;the day after the operetta. I
+      haven't seen him since.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram answered a light something, but his face grew a little white. Now
+      that the trap had been sprung and the victim caught, he almost wished that
+      he had not set any trap at all.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He knew now it was true. Arkwright had been with Billy the day after the
+      operetta, and her tears and her distress that evening had been caused by
+      something Arkwright had said. It was Arkwright's secret that she could not
+      tell. It was Arkwright to whom she must be fair. It was Arkwright's sorrow
+      that she &ldquo;could not help&mdash;now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Naturally, with these tools in his hands, and aided by days of brooding
+      and nights of sleeplessness, it did not take Bertram long to fashion The
+      Thing that finally loomed before him as The Truth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He understood it all now. Music had conquered. Billy and Arkwright had
+      found that they loved each other. On the day after the operetta, they had
+      met, and had had some sort of scene together&mdash;doubtless Arkwright had
+      declared his love. That was the &ldquo;secret&rdquo; that Billy could not tell and be
+      &ldquo;fair.&rdquo; Billy, of course,&mdash;loyal little soul that she was,&mdash;had
+      sent him away at once. Was her hand not already pledged? That was why she
+      could not &ldquo;help it-now.&rdquo; (Bertram writhed in agony at the thought.) Since
+      that meeting Arkwright had not been near the house. Billy had found,
+      however, that her heart had gone with Arkwright; hence the shadow in her
+      eyes, the nervousness in her manner, and the embarrassment that she always
+      showed at the mention of his name.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That Billy was still outwardly loyal to himself, and that she still kept
+      to her engagement, did not surprise Bertram in the least. That was like
+      Billy. Bertram had not forgotten how, less than a year before, this same
+      Billy had held herself loyal and true to an engagement with William,
+      because a wretched mistake all around had caused her to give her promise
+      to be William's wife under the impression that she was carrying out
+      William's dearest wish. Bertram remembered her face as it had looked all
+      those long summer days while her heart was being slowly broken; and he
+      thought he could see that same look in her eyes now. All of which only
+      goes to prove with what woeful skill Bertram had fashioned this Thing that
+      was looming before him as The Truth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The exhibition of &ldquo;The Bohemian Ten&rdquo; was to open with a private view on
+      the evening of the twentieth of March. Bertram Henshaw's one contribution
+      was to be his portrait of Miss Marguerite Winthrop&mdash;the piece of work
+      that had come to mean so much to him; the piece of work upon which already
+      he felt the focus of multitudes of eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Winthrop was in Boston now, and it was during these early March days
+      that Bertram was supposed to be putting in his best work on the portrait;
+      but, unfortunately, it was during these same early March days that he was
+      engaged, also, in fashioning The Thing&mdash;and the two did not
+      harmonize.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Thing, indeed, was a jealous creature, and would brook no rival. She
+      filled his eyes with horrid visions, and his brain with sickening
+      thoughts. Between him and his model she flung a veil of fear; and she set
+      his hand to trembling, and his brush to making blunders with the paints on
+      his palette.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram saw The Thing, and saw, too, the grievous result of her presence.
+      Despairingly he fought against her and her work; but The Thing had become
+      full grown now, and was The Truth. Hence she was not to be banished. She
+      even, in a taunting way, seemed sometimes to be justifying her presence,
+      for she reminded him:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;After all, what's the difference? What do you care for this, or anything
+      again if Billy is lost to you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But the artist told himself fiercely that he did care&mdash;that he must
+      care&mdash;for his work; and he struggled&mdash;how he struggled!&mdash;to
+      ignore the horrid visions and the sickening thoughts, and to pierce the
+      veil of fear so that his hand might be steady and his brush regain its
+      skill.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And so he worked. Sometimes he let his work remain. Sometimes one hour saw
+      only the erasing of what the hour before had wrought. Sometimes the
+      elusive something in Marguerite Winthrop's face seemed right at the tip of
+      his brush&mdash;on the canvas, even. He saw success then so plainly that
+      for a moment it almost&mdash;but not quite&mdash;blotted out The Thing. At
+      other times that elusive something on the high-bred face of his model was
+      a veritable will-o'-the-wisp, refusing to be caught and held, even in his
+      eye. The artist knew then that his picture would be hung with Anderson's
+      and Fullam's.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But the portrait was, irrefutably, nearing completion, and it was to be
+      exhibited the twentieth of the month. Bertram knew these for facts.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXVIII. BILLY TAKES HER TURN
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      If for Billy those first twenty days of March did not carry quite the
+      tragedy they contained for Bertram, they were, nevertheless, not really
+      happy ones. She was vaguely troubled by a curious something in Bertram's
+      behavior that she could not name; she was grieved over Arkwright's sorrow,
+      and she was constantly probing her own past conduct to see if anywhere she
+      could find that she was to blame for that sorrow. She missed, too,
+      undeniably, Arkwright's cheery presence, and the charm and inspiration of
+      his music. Nor was she finding it easy to give satisfactory answers to the
+      questions Aunt Hannah, William, and Bertram so often asked her as to where
+      Mary Jane was.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Even her music was little comfort to her these days. She was not writing
+      anything. There was no song in her heart to tempt her to write.
+      Arkwright's new words that he had brought her were out of the question, of
+      course. They had been put away with the manuscript of the completed song,
+      which had not, fortunately, gone to the publishers. Billy had waited,
+      intending to send them together. She was so glad, now, that she had
+      waited. Just once, since Arkwright's last call, she had tried to sing that
+      song. But she had stopped at the end of the first two lines. The full
+      meaning of those words, as coming from Arkwright, had swept over her then,
+      and she had snatched up the manuscript and hidden it under the bottom pile
+      of music in her cabinet ... And she had presumed to sing that love song to
+      Bertram!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright had written Billy once&mdash;a kind, courteous, manly note that
+      had made her cry. He had begged her again not to blame herself, and he had
+      said that he hoped he should be strong enough sometime to wish to call
+      occasionally&mdash;if she were willing&mdash;and renew their pleasant
+      hours with their music; but, for the present, he knew there was nothing
+      for him to do but to stay away. He had signed himself &ldquo;Michael Jeremiah
+      Arkwright&rdquo;; and to Billy that was the most pathetic thing in the letter&mdash;it
+      sounded so hopeless and dreary to one who knew the jaunty &ldquo;M. J.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Alice Greggory, Billy saw frequently. Billy and Aunt Hannah were great
+      friends with the Greggorys now, and had been ever since the Greggorys'
+      ten-days' visit at Hillside. The cheery little cripple, with the gentle
+      tap, tap, tap of her crutches, had won everybody's heart the very first
+      day; and Alice was scarcely less of a favorite, after the sunny
+      friendliness of Hillside had thawed her stiff reserve into naturalness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy had little to say to Alice Greggory of Arkwright. Billy was no
+      longer trying to play Cupid's assistant. The Cause, for which she had so
+      valiantly worked, had been felled by Arkwright's own hand&mdash;but that
+      there were still some faint stirrings of life in it was evidenced by
+      Billy's secret delight when one day Alice Greggory chanced to mention that
+      Arkwright had called the night before upon her and her mother.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He brought us news of our old home,&rdquo; she explained a little hurriedly, to
+      Billy. &ldquo;He had heard from his mother, and he thought some things she said
+      would be interesting to us.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course,&rdquo; murmured Billy, carefully excluding from her voice any hint
+      of the delight she felt, but hoping, all the while, that Alice would
+      continue the subject.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Alice, however, had nothing more to say; and Billy was left in entire
+      ignorance of what the news was that Arkwright had brought. She suspected,
+      though, that it had something to do with Alice's father&mdash;certainly
+      she hoped that it had; for if Arkwright had called to tell it, it must be
+      good.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy had found a new home for the Greggorys; although at first they had
+      drawn sensitively back, and had said that they preferred to remain where
+      they were, they had later gratefully accepted it. A little couple from
+      South Boston, to whom Billy had given a two weeks' outing the summer
+      before, had moved into town and taken a flat in the South End. They had
+      two extra rooms which they had told Billy they would like to let for light
+      house-keeping, if only they knew just the right people to take into such
+      close quarters with themselves. Billy at once thought of the Greggorys,
+      and spoke of them. The little couple were delighted, and the Greggorys
+      were scarcely less so when they at last became convinced that only a very
+      little more money than they were already paying would give themselves a
+      much pleasanter home, and would at the same time be a real boon to two
+      young people who were trying to meet expenses. So the change was made, and
+      general happiness all round had resulted&mdash;so much so, that Bertram
+      had said to Billy, when he heard of it:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It looks as if this was a case where your cake is frosted on both sides.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense! This isn't frosting&mdash;it's business,&rdquo; Billy had laughed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And the new pupils you have found for Miss Alice&mdash;they're business,
+      too, I suppose?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Certainly,&rdquo; retorted Billy, with decision. Then she had given a low laugh
+      and said: &ldquo;Mercy! If Alice Greggory thought it was anything <i>but</i>
+      business, I verily believe she would refuse every one of the new pupils,
+      and begin to-night to carry back the tables and chairs herself to those
+      wretched rooms she left last month!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram had smiled, but the smile had been a fleeting one, and the
+      brooding look of gloom that Billy had noticed so frequently, of late, had
+      come back to his eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy was not a little disturbed over Bertram these days. He did not seem
+      to be his natural, cheery self at all. He talked little, and what he did
+      say seldom showed a trace of his usually whimsical way of putting things.
+      He was kindness itself to her, and seemed particularly anxious to please
+      her in every way; but she frequently found his eyes fixed on her with a
+      sombre questioning that almost frightened her. The more she thought of it,
+      the more she wondered what the question was, that he did not dare to ask;
+      and whether it was of herself or himself that he would ask it&mdash;if he
+      did dare. Then, with benumbing force, one day, a possible solution of the
+      mystery came to her, he had found out that it was true (what all his
+      friends had declared of him)&mdash;he did not really love any girl, except
+      to paint!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The minute this thought came to her, Billy thrust it indignantly away. It
+      was disloyal to Bertram and unworthy of herself, even to think such a
+      thing. She told herself then that it was only the portrait of Miss
+      Winthrop that was troubling him. She knew that he was worried over that.
+      He had confessed to her that actually sometimes he was beginning to fear
+      his hand had lost its cunning. As if that were not enough to bring the
+      gloom to any man's face&mdash;to any artist's!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      No sooner, however, had Billy arrived at this point in her mental
+      argument, than a new element entered&mdash;her old lurking jealousy, of
+      which she was heartily ashamed, but which she had never yet been able
+      quite to subdue; her jealousy of the beautiful girl with the beautiful
+      name (not Billy), whose portrait had needed so much time and so many
+      sittings to finish. What if Bertram had found that he loved <i>her?</i>
+      What if that were why his hand had lost its cunning&mdash;because, though
+      loving her, he realized that he was bound to another, Billy herself?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This thought, too, Billy cast from her at once as again disloyal and
+      unworthy. But both thoughts, having once entered her brain, had made for
+      themselves roads over which the second passing was much easier than the
+      first&mdash;as Billy found to her sorrow. Certainly, as the days went by,
+      and as Bertram's face and manner became more and more a tragedy of
+      suffering, Billy found it increasingly difficult to keep those thoughts
+      from wearing their roads of suspicion into horrid deep ruts of certainty.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Only with William and Marie, now, could Billy escape from it all. With
+      William she sought new curios and catalogued the old. With Marie she beat
+      eggs and whipped cream in the shining kitchen, and tried to think that
+      nothing in the world mattered except that the cake in the oven should not
+      fall.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0029" id="link2HCH0029">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXIX. KATE WRITES A LETTER
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Bertram feared that he knew, before the portrait was hung, that it was a
+      failure. He was sure that he knew it on the evening of the twentieth when
+      he encountered the swiftly averted eyes of some of his artist friends, and
+      saw the perplexed frown on the faces of others. But he knew, afterwards,
+      that he did not really know it&mdash;till he read the newspapers during
+      the next few days.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was praise&mdash;oh, yes; the faint praise that kills. There was
+      some adverse criticism, too; but it was of the light, insincere variety
+      that is given to mediocre work by unimportant artists. Then, here and
+      there, appeared the signed critiques of the men whose opinion counted&mdash;and
+      Bertram knew that he had failed. Neither as a work of art, nor as a
+      likeness, was the portrait the success that Henshaw's former work would
+      seem to indicate that it should have been. Indeed, as one caustic pen put
+      it, if this were to be taken as a sample of what was to follow&mdash;then
+      the famous originator of &ldquo;The Face of a Girl&rdquo; had &ldquo;a most distinguished
+      future behind him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Seldom, if ever before, had an exhibited portrait attracted so much
+      attention. As Bertram had said, uncounted eyes were watching for it before
+      it was hung, because it was a portrait of the noted beauty, Marguerite
+      Winthrop, and because two other well-known artists had failed where he,
+      Bertram Henshaw, was hoping to succeed. After it was hung, and the
+      uncounted eyes had seen it&mdash;either literally, or through the eyes of
+      the critics&mdash;interest seemed rather to grow than to lessen, for other
+      uncounted eyes wanted to see what all the fuss was about, anyway. And when
+      these eyes had seen, their owners talked. Nor did they, by any means, all
+      talk against the portrait. Some were as loud in its praise as were others
+      in its condemnation; all of which, of course, but helped to attract more
+      eyes to the cause of it all.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For Bertram and his friends these days were, naturally, trying ones.
+      William finally dreaded to open his newspaper. (It had become the fashion,
+      when murders and divorces were scarce, occasionally to &ldquo;feature&rdquo;
+       somebody's opinion of the Henshaw portrait, on the first page&mdash;something
+      that had almost never been known to happen before.) Cyril, according to
+      Marie, played &ldquo;perfectly awful things on his piano every day, now.&rdquo; Aunt
+      Hannah had said &ldquo;Oh, my grief and conscience!&rdquo; so many times that it
+      melted now into a wordless groan whenever a new unfriendly criticism of
+      the portrait met her indignant eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Of all Bertram's friends, Billy, perhaps not unnaturally, was the
+      angriest. Not only did she, after a time, refuse to read the papers, but
+      she refused even to allow certain ones to be brought into the house,
+      foolish and unreasonable as she knew this to be.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As to the artist himself, Bertram's face showed drawn lines and his eyes
+      sombre shadows, but his words and manner carried a stolid indifference
+      that to Billy was at once heartbreaking and maddening.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, Bertram, why don't you do something? Why don't you say something?
+      Why don't you act something?&rdquo; she burst out one day.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The artist shrugged his shoulders.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, my dear, what can I say, or do, or act?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know, of course,&rdquo; sighed Billy. &ldquo;But I know what I'd like to do.
+      I should like to go out and&mdash;fight somebody!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So fierce were words and manner, coupled as they were with a pair of
+      gentle eyes ablaze and two soft little hands doubled into menacing fists,
+      that Bertram laughed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What a fiery little champion it is, to be sure,&rdquo; he said tenderly. &ldquo;But
+      as if fighting could do any good&mdash;in this case!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy's tense muscles relaxed. Her eyes filled with tears.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I don't suppose it would,&rdquo; she choked, beginning to cry, so that
+      Bertram had to turn comforter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come, come, dear,&rdquo; he begged; &ldquo;don't take it so to heart. It's not so
+      bad, after all. I've still my good right hand left, and we'll hope there's
+      something in it yet&mdash;that'll be worth while.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But <i>this</i> one isn't bad,&rdquo; stormed Billy. &ldquo;It's splendid! I'm sure,
+      I think it's a b-beautiful portrait, and I don't see <i>what</i> people
+      mean by talking so about it!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram shook his head. His eyes grew sombre again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you, dear. But I know&mdash;and you know, really&mdash;that it
+      isn't a splendid portrait. I've done lots better work than that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then why don't they look at those, and let this alone?&rdquo; wailed Billy,
+      with indignation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because I deliberately put up this for them to see,&rdquo; smiled the artist,
+      wearily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy sighed, and twisted in her chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What does&mdash;Mr. Winthrop say?&rdquo; she asked at last, in a faint voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram lifted his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Winthrop's been a trump all through, dear. He's already insisted on
+      paying for this&mdash;and he's ordered another.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Another!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. The old fellow never minces his words, as you may know. He came to
+      me one day, put his hand on my shoulder, and said tersely: 'Will you give
+      me another, same terms? Go in, boy, and win. Show 'em! I lost the first
+      ten thousand I made. I didn't the next!' That's all he said. Before I
+      could even choke out an answer he was gone. Gorry! talk about his having a
+      'heart of stone'! I don't believe another man in the country would have
+      done that&mdash;and done it in the way he did&mdash;in the face of all
+      this talk,&rdquo; finished Bertram, his eyes luminous with feeling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy hesitated.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps&mdash;his daughter&mdash;influenced him&mdash;some.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps,&rdquo; nodded Bertram. &ldquo;She, too, has been very kind, all the way
+      through.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy hesitated again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I thought&mdash;it was going so splendidly,&rdquo; she faltered, in a
+      half-stifled voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So it was&mdash;at the first.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then what&mdash;ailed it, at the last, do you suppose?&rdquo; Billy was holding
+      her breath till he should answer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The man got to his feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, don't&mdash;don't ask me,&rdquo; he begged. &ldquo;Please don't let's talk of
+      it any more. It can't do any good! I just flunked&mdash;that's all. My
+      hand failed me. Maybe I tried too hard. Maybe I was tired. Maybe something&mdash;troubled
+      me. Never mind, dear, what it was. It can do no good even to think of that&mdash;now.
+      So just let's&mdash;drop it, please, dear,&rdquo; he finished, his face working
+      with emotion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And Billy dropped it&mdash;so far as words were concerned; but she could
+      not drop it from her thoughts&mdash;specially after Kate's letter came.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Kate's letter was addressed to Billy, and it said, after speaking of
+      various other matters:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And now about poor Bertram's failure.&rdquo; (Billy frowned. In Billy's
+      presence no one was allowed to say &ldquo;Bertram's failure&rdquo;; but a letter has a
+      most annoying privilege of saying what it pleases without let or
+      hindrance, unless one tears it up&mdash;and a letter destroyed unread
+      remains always such a tantalizing mystery of possibilities! So Billy let
+      the letter talk.) &ldquo;Of course we have heard of it away out here. I do wish
+      if Bertram <i>must</i> paint such famous people, he would manage to
+      flatter them up&mdash;in the painting, I mean, of course&mdash;enough so
+      that it might pass for a success!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The technical part of all this criticism I don't pretend to understand in
+      the least; but from what I hear and read, he must, indeed, have made a
+      terrible mess of it, and of course I'm very sorry&mdash;and some
+      surprised, too, for usually he paints such pretty pictures!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Still, on the other hand, Billy, I'm not surprised. William says that
+      Bertram has been completely out of fix over something, and as gloomy as an
+      owl, for weeks past; and of course, under those circumstances, the poor
+      boy could not be expected to do good work. Now William, being a man, is
+      not supposed to understand what the trouble is. But I, being a woman, can
+      see through a pane of glass when it's held right up before me; and I can
+      guess, of course, that a woman is at the bottom of it&mdash;she always is!&mdash;and
+      that you, being his special fancy at the moment&rdquo; (Billy almost did tear
+      the letter now&mdash;but not quite), &ldquo;are that woman.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now, Billy, you don't like such frank talk, of course; but, on the other
+      hand, I know you do not want to ruin the dear boy's career. So, for
+      heaven's sake, if you two have been having one of those quarrels that
+      lovers so delight in&mdash;do, please, for the good of the cause, make up
+      quick, or else quarrel harder and break it off entirely&mdash;which,
+      honestly, would be the better way, I think, all around.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There, there, my dear child, don't bristle up! I am very fond of you, and
+      would dearly love to have you for a sister&mdash;if you'd only take
+      William, as you should! But, as you very well know, I never did approve of
+      this last match at all, for either of your sakes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He can't make you happy, my dear, and you can't make him happy. Bertram
+      never was&mdash;and never will be&mdash;a marrying man. He's too
+      temperamental&mdash;too thoroughly wrapped up in his Art. Girls have never
+      meant anything to him but a beautiful picture to paint. And they never
+      will. They can't. He's made that way. Listen! I can prove it to you. Up to
+      this winter he's always been a care-free, happy, jolly fellow, and you <i>know</i>
+      what beautiful work he has done. Never before has he tied himself to any
+      one girl till last fall. Then you two entered into this absurd engagement.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now what has it been since? William wrote me himself not a fortnight ago
+      that he'd been worried to death over Bertram for weeks past, he's been so
+      moody, so irritable, so fretted over his work, so unlike himself. And his
+      picture has <i>failed</i> dismally. Of course William doesn't understand;
+      but I do. I know you've probably quarrelled, or something. You know how
+      flighty and unreliable you can be sometimes, Billy, and I don't say that
+      to mean anything against you, either&mdash;that's <i>your</i> way. You're
+      just as temperamental in your art, music, as Bertram is in his. You're
+      utterly unsuited to him. If Bertram is to marry <i>anybody</i>, it should
+      be some quiet, staid, sensible girl who would be a <i>help</i> to him. But
+      when I think of you two flyaway flutterbudgets marrying&mdash;!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now, for heaven's sake, Billy, <i>do</i> make up or something&mdash;and
+      do it now. Don't, for pity's sake, let Bertram ever put out another such a
+      piece of work to shame us all like this. Do you want to ruin his career?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Faithfully yours,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;KATE HARTWELL.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;P. S. <i>I</i> think William's the one for you. He's devoted to you, and
+      his quiet, sensible affection is just what your temperament needs. I <i>always</i>
+      thought William was the one for you. Think it over.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;P. S. No. 2. You can see by the above that it isn't you I'm objecting to,
+      my dear. It's just <i>you-and-Bertram</i>.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;K.&rdquo; <a name="link2HCH0030" id="link2HCH0030">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXX. &ldquo;I'VE HINDERED HIM&rdquo;
+     </h2>
+    <p>
+      Billy was shaking with anger and terror by the time she had finished
+      reading Kate's letter. Anger was uppermost at the moment, and with one
+      sweeping wrench of her trembling fingers she tore the closely written
+      sheets straight through the middle, and flung them into the little wicker
+      basket by her desk. Then she went down-stairs and played her noisiest,
+      merriest Tarantella, and tried to see how fast she could make her fingers
+      fly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But Billy could not, of course, play tarantellas all day; and even while
+      she did play them she could not forget that waste-basket up-stairs, and
+      the horror it contained. The anger was still uppermost, but the terror was
+      prodding her at every turn, and demanding to know just what it was that
+      Kate had written in that letter, anyway. It is not strange then, perhaps,
+      that before two hours passed, Billy went up-stairs, took the letter from
+      the basket, matched together the torn half-sheets and forced her shrinking
+      eyes to read every word again-just to satisfy that terror which would not
+      be silenced.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the end of the second reading, Billy reminded herself with stern
+      calmness that it was only Kate, after all; that nobody ought to mind what
+      Kate said; that certainly <i>she</i>, Billy, ought not&mdash;after the
+      experience she had already had with her unpleasant interference! Kate did
+      not know what she was talking about, anyway. This was only another case of
+      her trying &ldquo;to manage.&rdquo; She did so love to manage&mdash;everything!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At this point Billy got out her pen and paper and wrote to Kate.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a formal, cold little letter, not at all the sort that Billy's
+      friends usually received. It thanked Kate for her advice, and for her
+      &ldquo;kind willingness&rdquo; to have Billy for a sister; but it hinted that perhaps
+      Kate did not realize that as long as Billy was the one who would have to
+      <i>live</i> with the chosen man, it would be pleasanter to take the one
+      Billy loved, which happened in this case to be Bertram&mdash;not William.
+      As for any &ldquo;quarrel&rdquo; being the cause of whatever fancied trouble there was
+      with the new picture&mdash;the letter scouted that idea in no uncertain
+      terms. There had been no suggestion of a quarrel even once since the
+      engagement.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then Billy signed her name and took the letter out to post immediately.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For the first few minutes after the letter had been dropped into the green
+      box at the corner, Billy held her head high, and told herself that the
+      matter was now closed. She had sent Kate a courteous, dignified,
+      conclusive, effectual answer, and she thought with much satisfaction of
+      the things she had said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Very soon, however, she began to think&mdash;not so much of what <i>she</i>
+      had said&mdash;but of what Kate had said. Many of Kate's sentences were
+      unpleasantly vivid in her mind. They seemed, indeed, to stand out in
+      letters of flame, and they began to burn, and burn, and burn. These were
+      some of them:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;William says that Bertram has been completely out of fix over something,
+      and as gloomy as an owl for weeks past.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A woman is at the bottom of it&mdash;... you are that woman.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You can't make him happy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bertram never was&mdash;and never will be&mdash;a marrying man.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Girls have never meant anything to him but a beautiful picture to paint.
+      And they never will.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Up to this winter he's always been a carefree, happy, jolly fellow, and
+      you <i>know</i> what beautiful work he has done. Never before has he tied
+      himself to any one girl until last fall.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now what has it been since?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He's been so moody, so irritable, so fretted over his work, so unlike
+      himself; and his picture has failed, dismally.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you want to ruin his career?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy began to see now that she had not really answered Kate's letter at
+      all. The matter was not closed. Her reply had been, perhaps, courteous and
+      dignified&mdash;but it had not been conclusive nor effectual.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy had reached home now, and she was crying. Bertram <i>had</i> acted
+      strangely, of late. Bertram <i>had</i> seemed troubled over something. His
+      picture <i>had</i>&mdash;With a little shudder Billy tossed aside these
+      thoughts, and dug at her teary eyes with a determined hand. Fiercely she
+      told herself that the matter <i>was</i> settled. Very scornfully she
+      declared that it was &ldquo;only Kate,&rdquo; after all, and that she <i>would not</i>
+      let Kate make her unhappy again! Forthwith she picked up a current
+      magazine and began to read.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As it chanced, however, even here Billy found no peace; for the first
+      article she opened to was headed in huge black type:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;MARRIAGE AND THE ARTISTIC TEMPERAMENT.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      With a little cry Billy flung the magazine far from her, and picked up
+      another. But even &ldquo;The Elusiveness of Chopin,&rdquo; which she found here, could
+      not keep her thoughts nor her eyes from wandering to the discarded thing
+      in the corner, lying ignominiously face down with crumpled, out-flung
+      leaves.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy knew that in the end she should go over and pick that magazine up,
+      and read that article from beginning to end. She was not surprised,
+      therefore, when she did it&mdash;but she was not any the happier for
+      having done it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The writer of the article did not approve of marriage and the artistic
+      temperament. He said the artist belonged to his Art, and to posterity
+      through his Art. The essay fairly bristled with many-lettered words and
+      high-sounding phrases, few of which Billy really understood. She did
+      understand enough, however, to feel, guiltily, when the thing was
+      finished, that already she had married Bertram, and by so doing had
+      committed a Crime. She had slain Art, stifled Ambition, destroyed
+      Inspiration, and been a nuisance generally. In consequence of which
+      Bertram would henceforth and forevermore be doomed to Littleness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Naturally, in this state of mind, and with this vision before her, Billy
+      was anything but her bright, easy self when she met Bertram an hour or two
+      later. Naturally, too, Bertram, still the tormented victim of the bugaboo
+      his jealous fears had fashioned, was just in the mood to place the worst
+      possible construction on his sweetheart's very evident unhappiness. With
+      sighs, unspoken questions, and frequently averted eyes, therefore, the
+      wretched evening passed, a pitiful misery to them both.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      During the days that followed, Billy thought that the world itself must be
+      in league with Kate, so often did she encounter Kate's letter masquerading
+      under some thin disguise. She did not stop to realize that because she was
+      so afraid she <i>would</i> find it, she <i>did</i> find it. In the books
+      she read, in the plays she saw, in the chance words she heard spoken by
+      friend or stranger&mdash;always there was something to feed her fears in
+      one way or another. Even in a yellowed newspaper that had covered the top
+      shelf in her closet she found one day a symposium on whether or not an
+      artist's wife should be an artist; and she shuddered&mdash;but she read
+      every opinion given.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Some writers said no, and some, yes; and some said it all depended&mdash;on
+      the artist and his wife. Billy found much food for thought, some for
+      amusement, and a little that made for peace of mind. On the whole it
+      opened up a new phase of the matter, perhaps. At all events, upon
+      finishing it she almost sobbed:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;One would think that just because I write a song now and then, I was
+      going to let Bertram starve, and go with holes in his socks and no buttons
+      on his clothes!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was that afternoon that Billy went to see Marie; but even there she did
+      not escape, for the gentle Marie all unknowingly added her mite to the
+      woeful whole.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy found Marie in tears.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Marie!&rdquo; she cried in dismay.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sh-h!&rdquo; warned Marie, turning agonized eyes toward the closed door of
+      Cyril's den.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, dear, what is it?&rdquo; begged Billy, with no less dismay, but with
+      greater caution.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sh-h!&rdquo; admonished Marie again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On tiptoe, then, she led the way to a room at the other end of the tiny
+      apartment. Once there; she explained in a more natural tone of voice:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Cyril's at work on a new piece for the piano.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, what if he is?&rdquo; demanded Billy. &ldquo;That needn't make you cry, need
+      it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no&mdash;no, indeed,&rdquo; demurred Marie, in a shocked voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, then, what is it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Marie hesitated; then, with the abandon of a hurt child that longs for
+      sympathy, she sobbed:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It&mdash;it's just that I'm afraid, after all, that I'm not good enough
+      for Cyril.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy stared frankly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not <i>good</i> enough, Marie Henshaw! Whatever in the world do you
+      mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, not good <i>for</i> him, then. Listen! To-day, I know, in lots of
+      ways I must have disappointed him. First, he put on some socks that I'd
+      darned. They were the first since our marriage that I'd found to darn, and
+      I'd been so proud and&mdash;and happy while I <i>was</i> darning them. But&mdash;but
+      he took 'em off right after breakfast and threw 'em in a corner. Then he
+      put on a new pair, and said that I&mdash;I needn't darn any more; that it
+      made&mdash;bunches. Billy, <i>my darns&mdash;bunches!</i>&rdquo; Marie's face
+      and voice were tragic.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense, dear! Don't let that fret you,&rdquo; comforted Billy, promptly,
+      trying not to laugh too hard. &ldquo;It wasn't <i>your</i> darns; it was just
+      darns&mdash;anybody's darns. Cyril won't wear darned socks. Aunt Hannah
+      told me so long ago, and I said then there'd be a tragedy when <i>you</i>
+      found it out. So don't worry over that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, but that isn't all,&rdquo; moaned Marie. &ldquo;Listen! You know how quiet he
+      must have everything when he's composing&mdash;and he ought to have it,
+      too! But I forgot, this morning, and put on some old shoes that didn't
+      have any rubber heels, and I ran the carpet sweeper, and I rattled tins in
+      the kitchen. But I never thought a thing until he opened his door and
+      asked me <i>please</i> to change my shoes and let the&mdash;the confounded
+      dirt go, and didn't I have any dishes in the house but what were made of
+      that abominable tin s-stuff,&rdquo; she finished in a wail of misery.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy burst into a ringing laugh, but Marie's aghast face and upraised
+      hand speedily reduced it to a convulsive giggle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You dear child! Cyril's always like that when he's composing,&rdquo; soothed
+      Billy. &ldquo;I supposed you knew it, dear. Don't you fret! Run along and make
+      him his favorite pudding, and by night both of you will have forgotten
+      there ever were such things in the world as tins and shoes and carpet
+      sweepers that clatter.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Marie shook her head. Her dismal face did not relax.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You don't understand,&rdquo; she moaned. &ldquo;It's myself. I've <i>hindered</i>
+      him!&rdquo; She brought out the word with an agony of slow horror. &ldquo;And only
+      to-day I read-here, look!&rdquo; she faltered, going to the table and picking up
+      with shaking hands a magazine.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy recognized it by the cover at once&mdash;another like it had been
+      flung not so long ago by her own hand into the corner. She was not
+      surprised, therefore, to see very soon at the end of Marie's trembling
+      finger:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Marriage and the Artistic Temperament.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy did not give a ringing laugh this time. She gave an involuntary
+      little shudder, though she tried valiantly to turn it all off with a light
+      word of scorn, and a cheery pat on Marie's heaving shoulders. But she went
+      home very soon; and it was plain to be seen that her visit to Marie had
+      not brought her peace.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy knew Kate's letter, by heart, now, both in the original, and in its
+      different versions, and she knew that, despite her struggles, she was
+      being forced straight toward Kate's own verdict: that she, Billy, <i>was</i>
+      the cause, in some way, of the deplorable change in Bertram's appearance,
+      manner, and work. Before she would quite surrender to this heart-sickening
+      belief, however, she determined to ask Bertram himself. Falteringly, but
+      resolutely, therefore, one day, she questioned him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bertram, once you hinted that the picture did not go right because you
+      were troubled over something; and I've been wondering&mdash;was it about&mdash;me,
+      in any way, that you were troubled?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy had her answer before the man spoke. She had it in the quick terror
+      that sprang to his eyes, and the dull red that swept from his neck to his
+      forehead. His reply, so far as words went did not count, for it evaded
+      everything and told nothing. But Billy knew without words. She knew, too,
+      what she must do. For the time being she took Bertram's evasive answer as
+      he so evidently wished it to be taken; but that evening, after he had
+      gone, she wrote him a little note and broke the engagement. So heartbroken
+      was she&mdash;and so fearful was she that he should suspect this&mdash;that
+      her note, when completed, was a cold little thing of few words, which
+      carried no hint that its very coldness was but the heart-break in the
+      disguise of pride.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This was like Billy in all ways. Billy, had she lived in the days of the
+      Christian martyrs, would have been the first to walk with head erect into
+      the Arena of Sacrifice. The arena now was just everyday living, the lions
+      were her own devouring misery, and the cause was Bertram's best good.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      From Bertram's own self she had it now&mdash;that she had been the cause
+      of his being troubled; so she could doubt no longer. The only part that
+      was uncertain was the reason why he had been troubled. Whether his bond to
+      her had become irksome because of his love for another, or because of his
+      love for no girl&mdash;except to paint, Billy did not know. But that it
+      was irksome she did not doubt now. Besides, as if she were going to slay
+      his Art, stifle his Ambition, destroy his Inspiration, and be a nuisance
+      generally just so that <i>she</i> might be happy! Indeed, no! Hence she
+      broke the engagement.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This was the letter:
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     &ldquo;DEAR BERTRAM:&mdash;You won't make the
+     move, so I must. I knew, from the way you spoke
+     to-day, that it <i>was</i> about me that you were
+     troubled, even though you generously tried to
+     make me think it was not. And so the picture did
+     not go well.
+
+     &ldquo;Now, dear, we have not been happy together
+     lately. You have seen it; so have I. I fear our
+     engagement was a mistake, so I'm going to send
+     back your ring to-morrow, and I'm writing this
+     letter to-night. Please don't try to see me just
+     yet. You <i>know</i> what I am doing is best&mdash;all
+     round.
+               &ldquo;Always your friend,
+                       &ldquo;BILLY.&rdquo;
+ </pre>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0031" id="link2HCH0031">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXXI. FLIGHT
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Billy feared if she did not mail the letter at once she would not have the
+      courage to mail it at all. So she slipped down-stairs very quietly and
+      went herself to the post box a little way down the street; then she came
+      back and sobbed herself to sleep&mdash;though not until after she had
+      sobbed awake for long hours of wretchedness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When she awoke in the morning, heavy-eyed and unrested, there came to her
+      first the vague horror of some shadow hanging over her, then the sickening
+      consciousness of what that shadow was. For one wild minute Billy felt that
+      she must run to the telephone, summon Bertram, and beseech him to return
+      unread the letter he would receive from her that day. Then there came to
+      her the memory of Bertram's face as it had looked the night before when
+      she had asked him if she were the cause of his being troubled. There came,
+      too, the memory of Kate's scathing &ldquo;Do you want to ruin his career?&rdquo; Even
+      the hated magazine article and Marie's tragic &ldquo;I've <i>hindered</i> him!&rdquo;
+       added their mite; and Billy knew that she should not go to the telephone,
+      nor summon Bertram.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The one fatal mistake now would be to let Bertram see her own distress. If
+      once he should suspect how she suffered in doing this thing, there would
+      be a scene that Billy felt she had not the courage to face. She must,
+      therefore, manage in some way not to see Bertram&mdash;not to let him see
+      her until she felt more sure of her self-control no matter what he said.
+      The easiest way to do this was, of course, to go away. But where? How? She
+      must think. Meanwhile, for these first few hours, she would not tell any
+      one, even Aunt Hannah, what had happened. There must <i>no one</i> speak
+      to her of it, yet. That she could not endure. Aunt Hannah would, of
+      course, shiver, groan &ldquo;Oh, my grief and conscience!&rdquo; and call for another
+      shawl; and Billy just now felt as if she should scream if she heard Aunt
+      Hannah say &ldquo;Oh, my grief and conscience!&rdquo;&mdash;over that. Billy went down
+      to breakfast, therefore, with a determination to act exactly as usual, so
+      that Aunt Hannah should not know&mdash;yet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When people try to &ldquo;act exactly as usual,&rdquo; they generally end in acting
+      quite the opposite; and Billy was no exception to the rule. Hence her
+      attempted cheerfulness became flippantness, and her laughter giggles that
+      rang too frequently to be quite sincere&mdash;though from Aunt Hannah it
+      all elicited only an affectionate smile at &ldquo;the dear child's high
+      spirits.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A little later, when Aunt Hannah was glancing over the morning paper&mdash;now
+      no longer barred from the door&mdash;she gave a sudden cry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, just listen to this!&rdquo; she exclaimed, reading from the paper in her
+      hand. &ldquo;'A new tenor in &ldquo;The Girl of the Golden West.&rdquo; Appearance of Mr. M.
+      J. Arkwright at the Boston Opera House to-night. Owing to the sudden
+      illness of Dubassi, who was to have taken the part of Johnson tonight, an
+      exceptional opportunity has come to a young tenor singer, one of the most
+      promising pupils at the Conservatory school. Arkwright is said to have a
+      fine voice, a particularly good stage presence, and a purity of tone and
+      smoothness of execution that few of his age and experience can show. Only
+      a short time ago he appeared as the duke at one of the popular-priced
+      Saturday night performances of &ldquo;Rigoletto&rdquo;; and his extraordinary success
+      on that occasion, coupled with his familiarity with, and fitness for the
+      part of Johnson in &ldquo;The Girl of the Golden West,&rdquo; led to his being chosen
+      to take Dubassi's place to-night. His performance is awaited with the
+      greatest of interest.' Now isn't that splendid for Mary Jane? I'm so
+      glad!&rdquo; beamed Aunt Hannah.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course we're glad!&rdquo; cried Billy. &ldquo;And didn't it come just in time?
+      This is the last week of opera, anyway, you know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But it says he sang before&mdash;on a Saturday night,&rdquo; declared Aunt
+      Hannah, going back to the paper in her hand. &ldquo;Now wouldn't you have
+      thought we'd have heard of it, or read of it? And wouldn't you have
+      thought he'd have told us?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, well, maybe he didn't happen to see us so he could tell us,&rdquo; returned
+      Billy with elaborate carelessness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know it; but it's so funny he <i>hasn't</i> seen us,&rdquo; contended Aunt
+      Hannah, frowning. &ldquo;You know how much he used to be here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy colored, and hurried into the fray.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, but he must have been so busy, with all this, you know. And of course
+      we didn't see it in the paper&mdash;because we didn't have any paper at
+      that time, probably. Oh, yes, that's my fault, I know,&rdquo; she laughed; &ldquo;and
+      I was silly, I'll own. But we'll make up for it now. We'll go, of course,
+      I wish it had been on our regular season-ticket night, but I fancy we can
+      get seats somewhere; and I'm going to ask Alice Greggory and her mother,
+      too. I'll go down there this morning to tell them, and to get the tickets.
+      I've got it all planned.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy had, indeed, &ldquo;got it all planned.&rdquo; She had been longing for
+      something that would take her away from the house&mdash;and if possible
+      away from herself. This would do the one easily, and might help on the
+      other. She rose at once.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll go right away,&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, my dear,&rdquo; frowned Aunt Hannah, anxiously, &ldquo;I don't believe I can go
+      to-night&mdash;though I'd love to, dearly.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But why not?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm tired and half sick with a headache this morning. I didn't sleep, and
+      I've taken cold somewhere,&rdquo; sighed the lady, pulling the top shawl a
+      little higher about her throat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, you poor dear, what a shame!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Won't Bertram go?&rdquo; asked Aunt Hannah.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy shook her head&mdash;but she did not meet Aunt Hannah's eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no. I sha'n't even ask him. He said last night he had a banquet on
+      for to-night&mdash;one of his art clubs, I believe.&rdquo; Billy's voice was
+      casualness itself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you'll have the Greggorys&mdash;that is, Mrs. Greggory <i>can</i> go,
+      can't she?&rdquo; inquired Aunt Hannah.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes; I'm sure she can,&rdquo; nodded Billy. &ldquo;You know she went to the
+      operetta, and this is just the same&mdash;only bigger.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, yes, I know,&rdquo; murmured Aunt Hannah.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dear me! How can she get about so on those two wretched little sticks?
+      She's a perfect marvel to me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She is to me, too,&rdquo; sighed Billy, as she hurried from the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy was, indeed, in a hurry. To herself she said she wanted to get away&mdash;away!
+      And she got away as soon as she could.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She had her plans all made. She would go first to the Greggorys' and
+      invite them to attend the opera with her that evening. Then she would get
+      the tickets. Just what she would do with the rest of the day she did not
+      know. She knew only that she would not go home until time to dress for
+      dinner and the opera. She did not tell Aunt Hannah this, however, when she
+      left the house. She planned to telephone it from somewhere down town,
+      later. She told herself that she <i>could not</i> stay all day under the
+      sharp eyes of Aunt Hannah&mdash;but she managed, nevertheless, to bid that
+      lady a particularly blithe and bright-faced good-by.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy had not been long gone when the telephone bell rang. Aunt Hannah
+      answered it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Bertram, is that you?&rdquo; she called, in answer to the words that came
+      to her across the wire. &ldquo;Why, I hardly knew your voice!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Didn't you? Well, is&mdash;is Billy there?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, she isn't. She's gone down to see Alice Greggory.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; So evident was the disappointment in the voice that Aunt Hannah
+      added hastily:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm so sorry! She hasn't been gone ten minutes. But&mdash;is there any
+      message?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, thank you. There's no&mdash;message.&rdquo; The voice hesitated, then went
+      on a little constrainedly. &ldquo;How&mdash;how is Billy this morning? She&mdash;she's
+      all right, isn't she?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah laughed in obvious amusement.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bless your dear heart, yes, my boy! Has it been such a <i>long</i> time
+      since last evening&mdash;when you saw her yourself? Yes, she's all right.
+      In fact, I was thinking at the breakfast table how pretty she looked with
+      her pink cheeks and her bright eyes. She seemed to be in such high
+      spirits.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      An inarticulate something that Aunt Hannah could not quite catch came
+      across the line; then a somewhat hurried &ldquo;All right. Thank you. Good-by.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The next time Aunt Hannah was called to the telephone, Billy spoke to her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aunt Hannah, don't wait luncheon for me, please. I shall get it in town.
+      And don't expect me till five o'clock. I have some shopping to do.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right, dear,&rdquo; replied Aunt Hannah. &ldquo;Did you get the tickets?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, and the Greggorys will go. Oh, and Aunt Hannah!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, dear.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Please tell John to bring Peggy around early enough to-night so we can go
+      down and get the Greggorys. I told them we'd call for them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very well, dear. I'll tell him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you. How's the poor head?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Better, a little, I think.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's good. Won't you repent and go, too?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No&mdash;oh, no, indeed!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right, then; good-by. I'm sorry!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So'm I. Good-by,&rdquo; sighed Aunt Hannah, as she hung up the receiver and
+      turned away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was after five o'clock when Billy got home, and so hurried were the
+      dressing and the dinner that Aunt Hannah forgot to mention Bertram's
+      telephone call till just as Billy was ready to start for the Greggorys'.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There! and I forgot,&rdquo; she confessed. &ldquo;Bertram called you up just after
+      you left this morning, my dear.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did he?&rdquo; Billy's face was turned away, but Aunt Hannah did not notice
+      that.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. Oh, he didn't want anything special,&rdquo; smiled the lady, &ldquo;only&mdash;well,
+      he did ask if you were all right this morning,&rdquo; she finished with quiet
+      mischief.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did he?&rdquo; murmured Billy again. This time there was a little sound after
+      the words, which Aunt Hannah would have taken for a sob if she had not
+      known that it must have been a laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then Billy was gone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At eight o'clock the doorbell rang, and a minute later Rosa came up to say
+      that Mr. Bertram Henshaw was down-stairs and wished to see Mrs. Stetson.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Stetson went down at once.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, my dear boy,&rdquo; she exclaimed, as she entered the room; &ldquo;Billy said
+      you had a banquet on for to-night!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I know; but&mdash;I didn't go.&rdquo; Bertram's face was pale and drawn.
+      His voice did not sound natural.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Bertram, you look ill! <i>Are</i> you ill?&rdquo; The man made an
+      impatient gesture.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, no, I'm not ill&mdash;I'm not ill at all. Rosa says&mdash;Billy's not
+      here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No; she's gone to the opera with the Greggorys.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The <i>opera!</i>&rdquo; There was a grieved hurt in Bertram's voice that Aunt
+      Hannah quite misunderstood. She hastened to give an apologetic
+      explanation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. She would have told you&mdash;she would have asked you to join them,
+      I'm sure, but she said you were going to a banquet. I'm <i>sure</i> she
+      said so.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I did tell her so&mdash;last night,&rdquo; nodded Bertram, dully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah frowned a little. Still more anxiously she endeavored to
+      explain to this disappointed lover why his sweetheart was not at home to
+      greet him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, then, of course, my boy, she'd never think of your coming here
+      to-night; and when she found Mr. Arkwright was going to sing&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Arkwright!&rdquo; There was no listlessness in Bertram's voice or manner now.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. Didn't you see it in the paper? Such a splendid chance for him! His
+      picture was there, too.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. I didn't see it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then you don't know about it, of course,&rdquo; smiled Aunt Hannah. &ldquo;But he's
+      to take the part of Johnson in 'The Girl of the Golden West.' Isn't that
+      splendid? I'm so glad! And Billy was, too. She hurried right off this
+      morning to get the tickets and to ask the Greggorys.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; Bertram got to his feet a little abruptly, and held out his hand.
+      &ldquo;Well, then, I might as well say good-by then, I suppose,&rdquo; he suggested
+      with a laugh that Aunt Hannah thought was a bit forced. Before she could
+      remind him again, though, that Billy was really not to blame for not being
+      there to welcome him, he was gone. And Aunt Hannah could only go up-stairs
+      and meditate on the unreasonableness of lovers in general, and of Bertram
+      in particular.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah had gone to bed, but she was still awake, when Billy came
+      home, so she heard the automobile come to a stop before the door, and she
+      called to Billy when the girl came upstairs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, dear, come in here. I'm awake! I want to hear about it. Was it
+      good?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy stopped in the doorway. The light from the hall struck her face.
+      There was no brightness in her eyes now, no pink in her cheeks.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes, it was good&mdash;very good,&rdquo; she replied listlessly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Billy, how queer you answer! What was the matter? Wasn't Mary Jane&mdash;all
+      right?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mary Jane? Oh!&mdash;oh, yes; he was very good, Aunt Hannah.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Very good,' indeed!&rdquo; echoed the lady, indignantly. &ldquo;He must have been!&mdash;when
+      you speak as if you'd actually forgotten that he sang at all, anyway!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy had forgotten&mdash;almost. Billy had found that, in spite of her
+      getting away from the house, she had not got away from herself once, all
+      day. She tried now, however, to summon her acting powers of the morning.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But it was splendid, really, Aunt Hannah,&rdquo; she cried, with some show of
+      animation. &ldquo;And they clapped and cheered and gave him any number of
+      curtain calls. We were so proud of him! But you see, I <i>am</i> tired,&rdquo;
+       she broke off wearily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You poor child, of course you are, and you look like a ghost! I won't
+      keep you another minute. Run along to bed. Oh&mdash;Bertram didn't go to
+      that banquet, after all. He came here,&rdquo; she added, as Billy turned to go.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bertram!&rdquo; The girl wheeled sharply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. He wanted you, of course. I found I didn't do, at all,&rdquo; chuckled
+      Aunt Hannah. &ldquo;Did you suppose I would?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was no answer. Billy had gone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the long night watches Billy fought it out with herself. (Billy had
+      always fought things out with herself.) She must go away. She knew that.
+      Already Bertram had telephoned, and called. He evidently meant to see her&mdash;and
+      she could not see him. She dared not. If she did&mdash;Billy knew now how
+      pitifully little it would take to make her actually <i>willing</i> to slay
+      Bertram's Art, stifle his Ambition, destroy his Inspiration, and be a
+      nuisance generally&mdash;if only she could have Bertram while she was
+      doing it all. Sternly then she asked herself if she had no pride; if she
+      had forgotten that it was because of her that the Winthrop portrait had
+      not been a success&mdash;because of her, either for the reason that he
+      loved now Miss Winthrop, or else that he loved no girl&mdash;except to
+      paint.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Very early in the morning a white-faced, red-eyed Billy appeared at Aunt
+      Hannah's bedside.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy!&rdquo; exclaimed Aunt Hannah, plainly appalled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy sat down on the edge of the bed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aunt Hannah,&rdquo; she began in a monotonous voice as if she were reciting a
+      lesson she had learned by heart, &ldquo;please listen, and please try not to be
+      too surprised. You were saying the other day that you would like to visit
+      your old home town. Well, I think that's a very nice idea. If you don't
+      mind we'll go to-day.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah pulled herself half erect in bed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;<i>To-day</i>&mdash;child?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; nodded Billy, unsmilingly. &ldquo;We shall have to go somewhere to-day,
+      and I thought you would like that place best.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But&mdash;Billy!&mdash;what does this mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy sighed heavily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I understand. You'll have to know the rest, of course. I've broken
+      my engagement. I don't want to see Bertram. That's why I'm going away.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah fell nervelessly back on the pillow. Her teeth fairly
+      chattered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, my grief and conscience&mdash;<i>Billy!</i> Won't you please pull up
+      that blanket,&rdquo; she moaned. &ldquo;Billy, what do you mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy shook her head and got to her feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can't tell any more now, really, Aunt Hannah. Please don't ask me; and
+      don't&mdash;talk. You <i>will</i>&mdash;go with me, won't you?&rdquo; And Aunt
+      Hannah, with her terrified eyes on Billy's piteously agitated face, nodded
+      her head and choked:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, of course I'll go&mdash;anywhere&mdash;with you, Billy; but&mdash;why
+      did you do it, why did you do it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A little later, Billy, in her own room, wrote this note to Bertram:
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     &ldquo;DEAR BERTRAM:&mdash;I'm going away to-day.
+     That'll be best all around. You'll agree to that,
+     I'm sure. Please don't try to see me, and please
+     don't write. It wouldn't make either one of us
+     any happier. You must know that.
+
+             &ldquo;As ever your friend,
+
+                    &ldquo;BILLY.&rdquo;
+ </pre>
+    <p>
+      Bertram, when he read it, grew only a shade more white, a degree more sick
+      at heart. Then he kissed the letter gently and put it away with the other.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To Bertram, the thing was very clear. Billy had come now to the conclusion
+      that it would be wrong to give herself where she could not give her heart.
+      And in this he agreed with her&mdash;bitter as it was for him. Certainly
+      he did not want Billy, if Billy did not want him, he told himself. He
+      would now, of course, accede to her request. He would not write to her&mdash;and
+      make her suffer more. But to Bertram, at that moment, it seemed that the
+      very sun in the heavens had gone out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0032" id="link2HCH0032">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXXII. PETE TO THE RESCUE
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      One by one the weeks passed and became a month. Then other weeks became
+      other months. It was July when Billy, homesick and weary, came back to
+      Hillside with Aunt Hannah.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Home looked wonderfully good to Billy, in spite of the fact that she had
+      so dreaded to see it. Billy had made up her mind, however, that, come
+      sometime she must. She could not, of course, stay always away. Perhaps,
+      too, it would be just as easy at home as it was away. Certainly it could
+      not be any harder. She was convinced of that. Besides, she did not want
+      Bertram to think&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy had received only meagre news from Boston since she went away.
+      Bertram had not written at all. William had written twice&mdash;hurt,
+      grieved, puzzled, questioning letters that were very hard to answer. From
+      Marie, too, had come letters of much the same sort. By far the cheeriest
+      epistles had come from Alice Greggory. They contained, indeed, about the
+      only comfort Billy had known for weeks, for they showed very plainly to
+      Billy that Arkwright's heart had been caught on the rebound; and that in
+      Alice Greggory he was finding the sweetest sort of balm for his wounded
+      feelings. From these letters Billy learned, too, that Judge Greggory's
+      honor had been wholly vindicated; and, as Billy told Aunt Hannah, &ldquo;anybody
+      could put two and two together and make four, now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was eight o'clock on a rainy July evening that Billy and Aunt Hannah
+      arrived at Hillside; and it was only a little past eight that Aunt Hannah
+      was summoned to the telephone. When she came back to Billy she was crying
+      and wringing her hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy sprang to her feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Aunt Hannah, what is it? What's the matter?&rdquo; she demanded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah sank into a chair, still wringing her hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Billy, Billy, how can I tell you, how can I tell you?&rdquo; she moaned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You must tell me! Aunt Hannah, what is it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh&mdash;oh&mdash;oh! Billy, I can't&mdash;I can't!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you'll have to! What is it, Aunt Hannah?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's&mdash;B-Bertram!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bertram!&rdquo; Billy's face grew ashen. &ldquo;Quick, quick&mdash;what do you mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      For answer, Aunt Hannah covered her face with her hands and began to sob
+      aloud. Billy, almost beside herself now with terror and anxiety, dropped
+      on her knees and tried to pull away the shaking hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aunt Hannah, you must tell me! You must&mdash;you must!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can't, Billy. It's Bertram. He's&mdash;<i>hurt!</i>&rdquo; choked Aunt
+      Hannah, hysterically.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hurt! How?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know. Pete told me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pete!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. Rosa had told him we were coming, and he called me up. He said maybe
+      I could do something. So he told me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, yes! But told you what?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That he was hurt.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I couldn't hear all, but I think 'twas an accident&mdash;automobile. And,
+      Billy, Billy&mdash;Pete says it's his arm&mdash;his right arm&mdash;and
+      that maybe he can't ever p-paint again!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh-h!&rdquo; Billy fell back as if the words had been a blow. &ldquo;Not that, Aunt
+      Hannah&mdash;not that!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's what Pete said. I couldn't get all of it, but I got that. And,
+      Billy, he's been out of his head&mdash;though he isn't now, Pete says&mdash;and&mdash;and&mdash;and
+      he's been calling for you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;For&mdash;<i>me?</i>&rdquo; A swift change came to Billy's face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. Over and over again he called for you&mdash;while he was crazy, you
+      know. That's why Pete told me. He said he didn't rightly understand what
+      the trouble was, but he didn't believe there was any trouble, <i>really</i>,
+      between you two; anyway, that you wouldn't think there was, if you could
+      hear him, and know how he wanted you, and&mdash;why, Billy!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy was on her feet now. Her fingers were on the electric push-button
+      that would summon Rosa. Her face was illumined. The next moment Rosa
+      appeared.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tell John to bring Peggy to the door at once, please,&rdquo; directed her
+      mistress.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy!&rdquo; gasped Aunt Hannah again, as the maid disappeared. Billy was
+      tremblingly putting on the hat she had but just taken off. &ldquo;Billy, what
+      are you going to do?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy turned in obvious surprise.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, I'm going to Bertram, of course.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To Bertram! But it's nearly half-past eight, child, and it rains, and
+      everything!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But Bertram <i>wants</i> me!&rdquo; exclaimed Billy. &ldquo;As if I'd mind rain, or
+      time, or anything else, <i>now!</i>&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But&mdash;but&mdash;oh, my grief and conscience!&rdquo; groaned Aunt Hannah,
+      beginning to wring her hands again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy reached for her coat. Aunt Hannah stirred into sudden action.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, Billy, if you'd only wait till to-morrow,&rdquo; she quavered, putting out
+      a feebly restraining hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To-morrow!&rdquo; The young voice rang with supreme scorn. &ldquo;Do you think I'd
+      wait till to-morrow&mdash;after all this? I say Bertram <i>wants</i> me.&rdquo;
+       Billy picked up her gloves.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you broke it off, dear&mdash;you said you did; and to go down there
+      to-night&mdash;like this&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy lifted her head. Her eyes shone. Her whole face was a glory of love
+      and pride.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That was before. I didn't know. He <i>wants</i> me, Aunt Hannah. Did you
+      hear? He <i>wants</i> me! And now I won't even&mdash;hinder him, if he
+      can't&mdash;p-paint again!&rdquo; Billy's voice broke. The glory left her face.
+      Her eyes brimmed with tears, but her head was still bravely uplifted. &ldquo;I'm
+      going to Bertram!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Blindly Aunt Hannah got to her feet. Still more blindly she reached for
+      her bonnet and cloak on the chair near her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, will you go, too?&rdquo; asked Billy, abstractedly, hurrying to the window
+      to look for the motor car.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Will I go, too!&rdquo; burst out Aunt Hannah's indignant voice. &ldquo;Do you think
+      I'd let you go alone, and at this time of night, on such a wild-goose
+      chase as this?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know, I'm sure,&rdquo; murmured Billy, still abstractedly, peering out
+      into the rain.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't know, indeed! Oh, my grief and conscience!&rdquo; groaned Aunt Hannah,
+      setting her bonnet hopelessly askew on top of her agitated head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But Billy did not even answer now. Her face was pressed hard against the
+      window-pane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0033" id="link2HCH0033">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXXIII. BERTRAM TAKES THE REINS
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      With stiffly pompous dignity Pete opened the door. The next moment he fell
+      back in amazement before the impetuous rush of a starry-eyed,
+      flushed-cheeked young woman who demanded:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where is he, Pete?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Billy!&rdquo; gasped the old man. Then he saw Aunt Hannah&mdash;Aunt
+      Hannah with her bonnet askew, her neck-bow awry, one hand bare, and the
+      other half covered with a glove wrong side out. Aunt Hannah's cheeks, too,
+      were flushed, and her eyes starry, but with dismay and anger&mdash;the
+      last because she did not like the way Pete had said Miss Billy's name. It
+      was one matter for her to object to this thing Billy was doing&mdash;but
+      quite another for Pete to do it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course it's she!&rdquo; retorted Aunt Hannah, testily. &ldquo;As if you yourself
+      didn't bring her here with your crazy messages at this time of night!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pete, where is he?&rdquo; interposed Billy. &ldquo;Tell Mr. Bertram I am here&mdash;or,
+      wait! I'll go right in and surprise him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;<i>Billy!</i>&rdquo; This time it was Aunt Hannah who gasped her name.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Pete had recovered himself by now, but he did not even glance toward Aunt
+      Hannah. His face was beaming, and his old eyes were shining.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Billy, Miss Billy, you're an angel straight from heaven, you are&mdash;you
+      are! Oh, I'm so glad you came! It'll be all right now&mdash;all right!
+      He's in the den, Miss Billy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy turned eagerly, but before she could take so much as one step toward
+      the door at the end of the hall, Aunt Hannah's indignant voice arrested
+      her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy-stop! You're not an angel; you're a young woman&mdash;and a crazy
+      one, at that! Whatever angels do, young women don't go unannounced and
+      unchaperoned into young men's rooms! Pete, go tell your master that <i>we</i>
+      are here, and ask if he will receive <i>us</i>.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Pete's lips twitched. The emphatic &ldquo;we&rdquo; and &ldquo;us&rdquo; were not lost on him. But
+      his face was preternaturally grave when he spoke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Bertram is up and dressed, ma'am. He's in the den. I'll speak to
+      him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Pete, once again the punctilious butler, stalked to the door of Bertram's
+      den and threw it wide open.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Opposite the door, on a low couch, lay Bertram, his head bandaged, and his
+      right arm in a sling. His face was turned toward the door, but his eyes
+      were closed. He looked very white, and his features were pitifully drawn
+      with suffering.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Bertram,&rdquo; began Pete&mdash;but he got no further. A flying figure
+      brushed by him and fell on its knees by the couch, with a low cry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram's eyes flew open. Across his face swept such a radiant look of
+      unearthly joy that Pete sobbed audibly and fled to the kitchen. Dong Ling
+      found him there a minute later polishing a silver teaspoon with a fringed
+      napkin that had been spread over Bertram's tray. In the hall above Aunt
+      Hannah was crying into William's gray linen duster that hung on the
+      hall-rack&mdash;Aunt Hannah's handkerchief was on the floor back at
+      Hillside.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the den neither Billy nor Bertram knew or cared what had become of Aunt
+      Hannah and Pete. There were just two people in their world&mdash;two
+      people, and unutterable, incredible, overwhelming rapture and peace. Then,
+      very gradually it dawned over them that there was, after all, something
+      strange and unexplained in it all.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, dearest, what does it mean&mdash;you here like this?&rdquo; asked Bertram
+      then. As if to make sure that she was &ldquo;here, like this,&rdquo; he drew her even
+      closer&mdash;Bertram was so thankful that he did have one arm that was
+      usable.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy, on her knees by the couch, snuggled into the curve of the one arm
+      with a contented little sigh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, you see, just as soon as I found out to-night that you wanted me, I
+      came,&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You darling! That was&mdash;&rdquo; Bertram stopped suddenly. A puzzled frown
+      showed below the fantastic bandage about his head. &ldquo;'As soon as,'&rdquo; he
+      quoted then scornfully. &ldquo;Were you ever by any possible chance thinking I
+      <i>didn't</i> want you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy's eyes widened a little.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Bertram, dear, don't you see? When you were so troubled that the
+      picture didn't go well, and I found out it was about me you were troubled&mdash;I&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well?&rdquo; Bertram's voice was a little strained.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, of&mdash;of course,&rdquo; stammered Billy, &ldquo;I couldn't help thinking that
+      maybe you had found out you <i>didn't</i> want me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;<i>Didn't want you!</i>&rdquo; groaned Bertram, his tense muscles relaxing.
+      &ldquo;May I ask why?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy blushed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wasn't quite sure why,&rdquo; she faltered; &ldquo;only, of course, I thought of&mdash;of
+      Miss Winthrop, you know, or that maybe it was because you didn't care for
+      <i>any</i> girl, only to paint&mdash;oh, oh, Bertram! Pete told us,&rdquo; she
+      broke off wildly, beginning to sob.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pete told you that I didn't care for any girl, only to paint?&rdquo; demanded
+      Bertram, angry and mystified.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, no,&rdquo; sobbed Billy, &ldquo;not that. It was all the others that told me
+      that! Pete told Aunt Hannah about the accident, you know, and he said&mdash;he
+      said&mdash;Oh, Bertram, I <i>can't</i> say it! But that's one of the
+      things that made me know I <i>could</i> come now, you see, because I&mdash;I
+      wouldn't hinder you, nor slay your Art, nor any other of those dreadful
+      things if&mdash;if you couldn't ever&mdash;p-paint again,&rdquo; finished Billy
+      in an uncontrollable burst of grief.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There, there, dear,&rdquo; comforted Bertram, patting the bronze-gold head on
+      his breast. &ldquo;I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about&mdash;except
+      the last; but I know there <i>can't</i> be anything that ought to make you
+      cry like that. As for my not painting again&mdash;you didn't understand
+      Pete, dearie. That was what they were afraid of at first&mdash;that I'd
+      lose my arm; but that danger is all past now. I'm loads better. Of course
+      I'm going to paint again&mdash;and better than ever before&mdash;<i>now!</i>&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy lifted her head. A look that was almost terror came to her eyes. She
+      pulled herself half away from Bertram's encircling arm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Billy,&rdquo; cried the man, in pained surprise. &ldquo;You don't mean to say
+      you're <i>sorry</i> I'm going to paint again!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, no! Oh, no, Bertram&mdash;never that!&rdquo; she faltered, still regarding
+      him with fearful eyes. &ldquo;It's only&mdash;for <i>me</i>, you know. I <i>can't</i>
+      go back now, and not have you&mdash;after this!&mdash;even if I do hinder
+      you, and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;<i>Hinder me!</i> What are you talking about, Billy?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy drew a quivering sigh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, to begin with, Kate said&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good heavens! Is Kate in <i>this</i>, too?&rdquo; Bertram's voice was savage
+      now.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, she wrote a letter.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll warrant she did! Great Scott, Billy! Don't you know Kate by this
+      time?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Y-yes, I said so, too. But, Bertram, what she wrote was true. I found it
+      everywhere, afterwards&mdash;in magazines and papers, and even in Marie.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph! Well, dearie, I don't know yet what you found, but I do know you
+      wouldn't have found it at all if it hadn't been for Kate&mdash;and I wish
+      I had her here this minute!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy giggled hysterically.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't&mdash;not <i>right</i> here,&rdquo; she cooed, nestling comfortably
+      against her lover's arm. &ldquo;But you see, dear, she never <i>has</i> approved
+      of the marriage.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, who's doing the marrying&mdash;she, or I?&rdquo; &ldquo;That's what I said, too&mdash;only
+      in another way,&rdquo; sighed Billy. &ldquo;But she called us flyaway flutterbudgets,
+      and she said I'd ruin your career, if I did marry you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I can tell you right now, Billy, you will ruin it if you don't!&rdquo;
+       declared Bertram. &ldquo;That's what ailed me all the time I was painting that
+      miserable portrait. I was so worried&mdash;for fear I'd lose you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Lose me! Why, Bertram Henshaw, what do you mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A shamed red crept to the man's forehead.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I suppose I might as well own up now as any time. I was scared
+      blue, Billy, with jealousy of&mdash;Arkwright.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed gayly&mdash;but she shifted her position and did not meet
+      her lover's eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Arkwright? Nonsense!&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;Why, he's going to marry Alice
+      Greggory. I know he is! I can see it as plain as day in her letters. He's
+      there a lot.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And you never did think for a minute, Billy, that you cared for him?&rdquo;
+       Bertram's gaze searched Billy's face a little fearfully. He had not been
+      slow to mark that swift lowering of her eyelids. But Billy looked him now
+      straight in the face&mdash;it was a level, frank gaze of absolute truth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never, dear,&rdquo; she said firmly. (Billy was so glad Bertram had turned the
+      question on <i>her</i> love instead of Arkwright's!) &ldquo;There has never
+      really been any one but you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank God for that,&rdquo; breathed Bertram, as he drew the bright head nearer
+      and held it close.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After a minute Billy stirred and sighed happily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aren't lovers the beat'em for imagining things?&rdquo; she murmured.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They certainly are.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You see&mdash;I wasn't in love with Mr. Arkwright.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I see&mdash;I hope.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And&mdash;and you didn't care <i>specially</i> for&mdash;for Miss
+      Winthrop?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh? Well, no!&rdquo; exploded Bertram. &ldquo;Do you mean to say you really&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy put a soft finger on his lips.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Er&mdash;'people who live in <i>glass houses</i>,' you know,&rdquo; she
+      reminded him, with roguish eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram kissed the finger and subsided.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph!&rdquo; he commented.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a long silence; then, a little breathlessly, Billy asked:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And you don't&mdash;after all, love me&mdash;just to paint?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, what is that? Is that Kate, too?&rdquo; demanded Bertram, grimly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No&mdash;oh, she said it, all right, but, you see, <i>everybody</i> said
+      that to me, Bertram; and that's what made me so&mdash;so worried sometimes
+      when you talked about the tilt of my chin, and all that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, by Jove!&rdquo; breathed Bertram.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was another silence. Then, suddenly, Bertram stirred.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, I'm going to marry you to-morrow,&rdquo; he announced decisively.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy lifted her head and sat back in palpitating dismay.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bertram! What an absurd idea!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I am. I don't <i>know</i> as I can trust you out of my sight till
+      <i>then!</i> You'll read something, or hear something, or get a letter
+      from Kate after breakfast to-morrow morning, that will set you 'saving me'
+      again; and I don't want to be saved&mdash;that way. I'm going to marry you
+      to-morrow. I'll get&mdash;&rdquo; He stopped short, with a sudden frown.
+      &ldquo;Confound that law! I forgot. Great Scott, Billy, I'll have to trust you
+      five days, after all! There's a new law about the license. We've <i>got</i>
+      to wait five days&mdash;and maybe more, counting in the notice, and all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed softly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Five days, indeed, sir! I wonder if you think I can get ready to be
+      married in five days.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't want you to get ready,&rdquo; retorted Bertram, promptly. &ldquo;I saw Marie
+      get ready, and I had all I wanted of it. If you really must have all those
+      miles of tablecloths and napkins and doilies and lace rufflings we'll do
+      it afterwards,&mdash;not before.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Besides, I <i>need</i> you to take care of me,&rdquo; cut in Bertram, craftily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bertram, do you&mdash;really?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The tender glow on Billy's face told its own story, and Bertram's eager
+      eyes were not slow to read it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sweetheart, see here, dear,&rdquo; he cried softly, tightening his good left
+      arm. And forthwith he began to tell her how much he did, indeed, need her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, my dear!&rdquo; It was Aunt Hannah's plaintive voice at the doorway, a
+      little later. &ldquo;We must go home; and William is here, too, and wants to see
+      you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy rose at once as Aunt Hannah entered the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, Aunt Hannah, I'll come; besides&rdquo;&mdash;she glanced at Bertram
+      mischievously&mdash;&ldquo;I shall need all the time I've got to prepare for&mdash;my
+      wedding.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your wedding! You mean it'll be before&mdash;October?&rdquo; Aunt Hannah
+      glanced from one to the other uncertainly. Something in their smiling
+      faces sent a quick suspicion to her eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; nodded Billy, demurely. &ldquo;It's next Tuesday, you see.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Next Tuesday! But that's only a week away,&rdquo; gasped Aunt Hannah.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, a week.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, child, your trousseau&mdash;the wedding&mdash;the&mdash;the&mdash;a
+      week!&rdquo; Aunt Hannah could not articulate further.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I know; that is a good while,&rdquo; cut in Bertram, airily. &ldquo;We wanted it
+      to-morrow, but we had to wait, on account of the new license law.
+      Otherwise it wouldn't have been so long, and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But Aunt Hannah was gone. With a low-breathed &ldquo;Long! Oh, my grief and
+      conscience&mdash;<i>William!</i>&rdquo; she had fled through the hall door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, it <i>is</i> long,&rdquo; maintained Bertram, with tender eyes, as he
+      reached out his hand to say good-night.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+
+
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+</pre>
+  </body>
+</html>
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+******The Project Gutenberg Etext of Miss Billy's Decision******
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+by Eleanor H. Porter
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+November, 1995  [Etext #362]
+
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+
+MISS BILLY'S DECISION
+
+BY
+ELEANOR H. PORTER
+Author of ``Miss Billy,'' etc.
+
+
+TO
+My Cousin Helen
+
+
+                              CONTENTS
+CHAPTER                                                     
+I.      CALDERWELL DOES SOME TALKING
+II.     AUNT HANNAH GETS A LETTER
+III.    BILLY AND BERTRAM
+IV.     FOR MARY JANE
+V.      MARIE SPEAKS HER MIND
+VI.     AT THE SIGN OF THE PINK
+VII.    OLD FRIENDS AND NEW
+VIII.   M. J. OPENS THE GAME
+IX.     A RUG, A PICTURE, AND A GIRL AFRAID
+X.      A JOB FOR PETE--AND FOR BERTRAM
+XI.     A CLOCK AND AUNT HANNAH
+XII.    SISTER KATE
+XIII.   CYRIL AND A WEDDING
+XIV.    M. J. MAKES ANOTHER MOVE
+XV.     ``MR. BILLY'' AND ``MISS MARY JANE''
+XVI.    A GIRL AND A BIT OF LOWESTOFT
+XVII.   ONLY A LOVE SONG, BUT--
+XVIII.  SUGARPLUMS
+XIX.    ALICE GREGGORY
+XX.     ARKWRIGHT TELLS A STORY
+XXI.    A MATTER OF STRAIGHT BUSINESS
+XXII.   PLANS AND PLOTTINGS
+XXIII.  THE CAUSE AND BERTRAM
+XXIV.   THE ARTIST AND HIS ART
+XXV.    THE OPERETTA
+XXVI.   ARKWRIGHT TELLS ANOTHER STORY
+XXVII.  THE THING THAT WAS THE TRUTH
+XXVIII. BILLY TAKES HER TURN
+XXIX.   KATE WRITES A LETTER
+XXX.    ``I'VE HINDERED HIM''
+XXXI.   FLIGHT
+XXXII.  PETE TO THE RESCUE
+XXXIII. BERTRAM TAKES THE REINS
+
+
+
+
+
+Miss Billy's Decision
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+CALDERWELL DOES SOME TALKING
+
+
+Calderwell had met Mr. M. J. Arkwright in
+London through a common friend; since then
+they had tramped half over Europe together in a
+comradeship that was as delightful as it was unusual. 
+As Calderwell put it in a letter to his sister, Belle:
+
+``We smoke the same cigar and drink the same
+tea (he's just as much of an old woman on that
+subject as I am!), and we agree beautifully on
+all necessary points of living, from tipping to late
+sleeping in the morning; while as for politics and
+religion--we disagree in those just enough to
+lend spice to an otherwise tame existence.''
+
+Farther along in this same letter Calderwell
+touched upon his new friend again.
+
+``I admit, however, I would like to know his
+name.  To find out what that mysterious `M. J.'
+stands for has got to be pretty nearly an obsession
+with me.  I am about ready to pick his pocket or
+rifle his trunk in search of some lurking `Martin'
+or `John' that will set me at peace.  As it is, I
+confess that I have ogled his incoming mail and
+his outgoing baggage shamelessly, only to be
+slapped in the face always and everlastingly by
+that bland `M. J.'  I've got my revenge, now,
+though.  To myself I call him `Mary Jane'--
+and his broad-shouldered, brown-bearded six feet
+of muscular manhood would so like to be called
+`Mary Jane'!  By the way, Belle, if you ever
+hear of murder and sudden death in my direction,
+better set the sleuths on the trail of Arkwright. 
+Six to one you'll find I called him `Mary Jane'
+to his face!''
+
+Calderwell was thinking of that letter now, as
+he sat at a small table in a Paris caf<e'>.  Opposite
+him was the six feet of muscular manhood, broad
+shoulders, pointed brown beard, and all--and he
+had just addressed it, inadvertently, as ``Mary
+Jane.''
+
+During the brief, sickening moment of silence
+after the name had left his lips, Calderwell was
+conscious of a whimsical realization of the lights,
+music, and laughter all about him.
+
+``Well, I chose as safe a place as I could!'' he
+was thinking.  Then Arkwright spoke.
+
+``How long since you've been in correspondence
+with members of my family?''
+
+``Eh?''
+
+Arkwright laughed grimly.
+
+``Perhaps you thought of it yourself, then--
+I'll admit you're capable of it,'' he nodded, reaching
+for a cigar.  ``But it so happens you hit upon
+my family's favorite name for me.''
+
+``_Mary Jane!_  You mean they actually _call_
+you that?''
+
+``Yes,'' bowed the big fellow, calmly, as he
+struck a light.  ``Appropriate!--don't you
+think?''
+
+Calderwell did not answer.  He thought he
+could not.
+
+``Well, silence gives consent, they say,'' laughed
+the other.  ``Anyhow, you must have had _some_
+reason for calling me that.''
+
+``Arkwright, what _does_ `M. J.' stand for?''
+demanded Calderwell.
+
+``Oh, is that it?'' smiled the man opposite. 
+``Well, I'll own those initials have been something
+of a puzzle to people.  One man declares they're
+`Merely Jokes'; but another, not so friendly, says
+they stand for `Mostly Jealousy' of more fortunate
+chaps who have real names for a handle.  My
+small brothers and sisters, discovering, with the
+usual perspicacity of one's family on such matters,
+that I never signed, or called myself anything but
+`M. J.,' dubbed me `Mary Jane.'  And there you
+have it.''
+
+``Mary Jane!  You!''
+
+Arkwright smiled oddly.
+
+``Oh, well, what's the difference?  Would you
+deprive them of their innocent amusement?  And
+they do so love that `Mary Jane'!  Besides,
+what's in a name, anyway?'' he went on, eyeing
+the glowing tip of the cigar between his fingers. 
+`` `A rose by any other name--'--you've heard
+that, probably.  Names don't always signify, my
+dear fellow.  For instance, I know a `Billy'--but
+he's a girl.''
+
+Calderwell gave a sudden start.
+
+``You don't mean Billy--Neilson?''
+
+The other turned sharply.
+
+``Do _you_ know Billy Neilson?''
+
+Calderwell gave his friend a glance from
+scornful eyes.
+
+``Do I know Billy Neilson?'' he cried.  ``Does
+a fellow usually know the girl he's proposed to
+regularly once in three months?  Oh, I know I'm
+telling tales out of school, of course,'' he went on,
+in response to the look that had come into the
+brown eyes opposite.  ``But what's the use?
+Everybody knows it--that knows us.  Billy herself
+got so she took it as a matter of course--and
+refused as a matter of course, too; just as she
+would refuse a serving of apple pie at dinner, if
+she hadn't wanted it.''
+
+``Apple pie!'' scouted Arkwright.
+
+Calderwell shrugged his shoulders.
+
+``My dear fellow, you don't seem to realize it,
+but for the last six months you have been assisting
+at the obsequies of a dead romance.''
+
+``Indeed!  And is it--buried, yet?''
+
+``Oh, no,'' sighed Calderwell, cheerfully.  ``I
+shall go back one of these days, I'll warrant, and
+begin the same old game again; though I will
+acknowledge that the last refusal was so very
+decided that it's been a year, almost, since I received
+it.  I think I was really convinced, for a while,
+that--that she didn't want that apple pie,'' he
+finished with a whimsical lightness that did not
+quite coincide with the stern lines that had come
+to his mouth.
+
+For a moment there was silence, then Calderwell
+spoke again.
+
+``Where did you know--Miss Billy?''
+
+``Oh, I don't know her at all.  I know of her--
+through Aunt Hannah.''
+
+Calderwell sat suddenly erect.
+
+``Aunt Hannah!  Is she your aunt, too? 
+Jove!  This _is_ a little old world, after all; isn't
+it?''
+
+``She isn't my aunt.  She's my mother's third
+cousin.  None of us have seen her for years, but
+she writes to mother occasionally; and, of course,
+for some time now, her letters have been running
+over full of Billy.  She lives with her, I believe;
+doesn't she?''
+
+``She does,'' rejoined Calderwell, with an
+unexpected chuckle.  ``I wonder if you know how she
+happened to live with her, at first.''
+
+``Why, no, I reckon not.  What do you mean?''
+
+Calderwell chuckled again.
+
+``Well, I'll tell you.  You, being a `Mary Jane,'
+ought to appreciate it.  You see, Billy was named
+for one William Henshaw, her father's chum,
+who promptly forgot all about her.  At eighteen,
+Billy, being left quite alone in the world, wrote to
+`Uncle William' and asked to come and live with
+him.''
+
+``Well?''
+
+``But it wasn't well.  William was a forty-year-
+old widower who lived with two younger brothers,
+an old butler, and a Chinese cook in one of those
+funny old Beacon Street houses in Boston.  `The
+Strata,' Bertram called it.  Bright boy--Bertram!''
+
+``The Strata!''
+
+``Yes.  I wish you could see that house,
+Arkwright.  It's a regular layer cake.  Cyril--he's
+the second brother; must be thirty-four or five
+now--lives on the top floor in a rugless, curtainless,
+music-mad existence--just a plain crank. 
+Below him comes William.  William collects things
+--everything from tenpenny nails to teapots, I
+should say, and they're all there in his rooms. 
+Farther down somewhere comes Bertram.  He's
+_the_ Bertram Henshaw, you understand; the artist.''
+
+``Not the `Face-of-a-Girl' Henshaw?''
+
+``The same; only of course four years ago he
+wasn't quite so well known as he is now.  Well, to
+resume and go on.  It was into this house, this
+masculine paradise ruled over by Pete and Dong
+Ling in the kitchen, that Billy's na<i:>ve request for
+a home came.''
+
+``Great Scott!'' breathed Arkwright, appreciatively.
+
+``Yes.  Well, the letter was signed `Billy.' 
+They took her for a boy, naturally, and after something
+of a struggle they agreed to let `him' come. 
+For his particular delectation they fixed up a room
+next to Bertram with guns and fishing rods, and
+such ladylike specialties; and William went to the
+station to meet the boy.''
+
+``With never a suspicion?''
+
+``With never a suspicion.''
+
+``Gorry!''
+
+``Well, `he' came, and `she' conquered.  I
+guess things were lively for a while, though.  Oh,
+there was a kitten, too, I believe, `Spunk,' who
+added to the gayety of nations.''
+
+``But what did the Henshaws do?''
+
+``Well, I wasn't there, of course; but Bertram
+says they spun around like tops gone mad for a
+time, but finally quieted down enough to summon
+a married sister for immediate propriety, and to
+establish Aunt Hannah for permanency the next
+day.''
+
+``So that's how it happened!  Well, by
+George!'' cried Arkwright.
+
+``Yes,'' nodded the other.  ``So you see there
+are untold possibilities just in a name.  Remember
+that.  Just suppose _you_, as Mary Jane, should
+beg a home in a feminine household--say in
+Miss Billy's, for instance!''
+
+``I'd like to,'' retorted Arkwright, with
+sudden warmth.
+
+Calderwell stared a little.
+
+The other laughed shamefacedly.
+
+``Oh, it's only that I happen to have a
+devouring curiosity to meet that special young lady. 
+I sing her songs (you know she's written some
+dandies!), I've heard a lot about her, and I've
+seen her picture.''  (He did not add that he had
+also purloined that same picture from his mother's
+bureau--the picture being a gift from Aunt
+Hannah.)  ``So you see I would, indeed, like to
+occupy a corner in the fair Miss Billy's household. 
+I could write to Aunt Hannah and beg a home
+with her, you know; eh?''
+
+``Of course!  Why don't you--`Mary Jane'?''
+laughed Calderwell.  ``Billy'd take you all right. 
+She's had a little Miss Hawthorn, a music teacher,
+there for months.  She's always doing stunts of
+that sort.  Belle writes me that she's had a dozen
+forlornites there all this last summer, two or three
+at a time-tired widows, lonesome old maids,
+and crippled kids--just to give them a royal
+good time.  So you see she'd take you, without a
+doubt.  Jove! what a pair you'd make:  Miss
+Billy and Mr. Mary Jane!  You'd drive the
+suffragettes into conniption fits--just by the sound
+of you!''
+
+Arkwright laughed quietly; then he frowned.
+
+``But how about it?'' he asked.  ``I thought
+she was keeping house with Aunt Hannah.  Didn't
+she stay at all with the Henshaws?''
+
+``Oh, yes, a few months.  I never knew just
+why she did leave, but I fancied, from something
+Billy herself said once, that she discovered she
+was creating rather too much of an upheaval in
+the Strata.  So she took herself off.  She went to
+school, and travelled considerably.  She was over
+here when I met her first.  After that she was with
+us all one summer on the yacht.  A couple of
+years ago, or so, she went back to Boston, bought
+a house and settled down with Aunt Hannah.''
+
+``And she's not married--or even engaged?''
+
+``Wasn't the last I heard.  I haven't seen her
+since December, and I've heard from her only
+indirectly.  She corresponds with my sister, and
+so do I--intermittently.  I heard a month ago
+from Belle, and _she_ had a letter from Billy in
+August.  But I heard nothing of any engagement.''
+
+``How about the Henshaws?  I should think
+there might be a chance there for a romance-- a
+charming girl, and three unattached men.''
+
+Calderwell gave a slow shake of the head.
+
+``I don't think so.  William is--let me see--
+nearly forty-five, I guess, by this time; and he
+isn't a marrying man.  He buried his heart with
+his wife and baby years ago.  Cyril, according to
+Bertram, `hates women and all other confusion,'
+so that ought to let him out.  As for Bertram
+himself--Bertram is `only Bertram.'  He's always
+been that.  Bertram loves girls--to paint; but
+I can't imagine him making serious love to any
+one.  It would always be the tilt of a chin or the
+turn of a cheek that he was admiring--to paint.
+
+No, there's no chance for a romance there, I'll
+warrant.''
+
+``But there's--yourself.''
+
+Calderwell's eyebrows rose the fraction of an
+inch.
+
+``Oh, of course.  I presume January or February
+will find me back there,'' he admitted with a
+sigh and a shrug.  Then, a little bitterly, he added: 
+``No, Arkwright.  I shall keep away if I can.  I
+_know_ there's no chance for me--now.''
+
+``Then you'll leave me a clear field?'' bantered
+the other.
+
+``Of course--`Mary Jane,' '' retorted Calderwell,
+with equal lightness.
+
+``Thank you.''
+
+``Oh, you needn't,'' laughed Calderwell.  ``My
+giving you the right of way doesn't insure you a
+thoroughfare for yourself--there are others, you
+know.  Billy Neilson has had sighing swains about I
+her, I imagine, since she could walk and talk.  She
+is a wonderfully fascinating little bit of femininity,
+and she has a heart of pure gold.  All is, I envy
+the man who wins it--for the man who wins
+that, wins her.''
+
+There was no answer.  Arkwright sat with his
+eyes on the moving throng outside the window
+near them.  Perhaps he had not heard.  At all
+events, when he spoke some time later, it was of a
+matter far removed from Miss Billy Neilson, or
+the way to her heart.  Nor was the young lady
+mentioned between them again that day.
+
+Long hours later, just before parting for the
+night, Arkwright said:
+
+``Calderwell, I'm sorry, but I believe, after all,
+I can't take that trip to the lakes with you.  I--
+I'm going home next week.''
+
+``Home!  Hang it, Arkwright!  I'd counted on
+you.  Isn't this rather sudden?''
+
+``Yes, and no.  I'll own I've been drifting about
+with you contentedly enough for the last six
+months to make you think mountain-climbing and
+boat-paddling were the end and aim of my existence. 
+But they aren't, you know, really.''
+
+``Nonsense!  At heart you're as much of a
+vagabond as I am; and you know it.''
+
+``Perhaps.  But unfortunately I don't happen
+to carry your pocketbook.''
+
+``You may, if you like.  I'll hand it over any
+time,'' grinned Calderwell.
+
+``Thanks.  You know well enough what I
+mean,'' shrugged the other.
+
+There was a moment's silence; then Calderwell
+queried:
+
+``Arkwright, how old are you?''
+
+``Twenty-four.''
+
+``Good!  Then you're merely travelling to
+supplement your education, see?''
+
+``Oh, yes, I see.  But something besides my
+education has got to be supplemented now, I reckon.''
+
+``What are you going to do?''
+
+There was an almost imperceptible hesitation;
+then, a little shortly, came the answer:
+
+``Hit the trail for Grand Opera, and bring up,
+probably--in vaudeville.''
+
+Calderwell smiled appreciatively.
+
+``You _can_ sing like the devil,'' he admitted.
+
+``Thanks,'' returned his friend, with uplifted
+eyebrows.  ``Do you mind calling it `an angel'
+--just for this occasion?''
+
+``Oh, the matin<e'>e-girls will do that fast enough. 
+But, I say, Arkwright, what are you going to do
+with those initials then?''
+
+``Let 'em alone.''
+
+``Oh, no, you won't.  And you won't be `Mary
+Jane,' either.  Imagine a Mary Jane in Grand
+Opera!  I know what you'll be.  You'll be `Se<n?>or
+Martini Johnini Arkwrightino'!  By the way,
+you didn't say what that `M. J.' really did stand
+for,'' hinted Calderwell, shamelessly
+
+`` `Merely Jokes'--in your estimation,
+evidently,'' shrugged the other.  ``But my going
+isn't a joke, Calderwell.  I'm really going.  And
+I'm going to work.''
+
+``But--how shall you manage?''
+
+``Time will tell.''
+
+Calderwell frowned and stirred restlessly in his
+chair.
+
+``But, honestly, now, to--to follow that trail
+of yours will take money.  And--er--'' a faint
+red stole to his forehead--``don't they have--
+er--patrons for these young and budding geniuses? 
+Why can't I have a hand in this trail, too
+--or maybe you'd call it a foot, eh?  I'd be no
+end glad to, Arkwright.''
+
+``Thanks, old man.''  The red was duplicated
+this time above the brown silky beard.  ``That
+was mighty kind of you, and I appreciate it; but
+it won't be necessary.  A generous, but perhaps
+misguided bachelor uncle left me a few thousands
+a year or so ago; and I'm going to put them all
+down my throat--or rather, _into_ it--before I
+give up.''
+
+``Where you going to study?  New York?''
+
+Again there was an almost imperceptible
+hesitation before the answer came.
+
+``I'm not quite prepared to say.''
+
+``Why not try it here?''
+
+Arkwright shook his head.
+
+``I did plan to, when I came over but I've
+changed my mind.  I believe I'd rather work
+while longer in America.''
+
+``Hm-m,'' murmured Calderwell.
+
+There was a brief silence, followed by other
+questions and other answers; after which the
+friends said good night.
+
+In his own room, as he was dropping off to
+sleep, Calderwell muttered drowsily:
+
+``By George!  I haven't found out yet what
+that blamed `M. J.' stands for!''
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+AUNT HANNAH GETS A LETTER
+
+
+In the cozy living-room at Hillside, Billy Neilson's
+pretty home on Corey Hill, Billy herself sat
+writing at the desk.  Her pen had just traced the
+date, ``October twenty-fifth,'' when Mrs. Stetson
+entered with a letter in her hand.
+
+``Writing, my dear?  Then don't let me disturb
+you.''  She turned as if to go.
+
+Billy dropped her pen, sprang to her feet, flew
+to the little woman's side and whirled her half
+across the room.
+
+``There!'' she exclaimed, as she plumped the
+breathless and scandalized Aunt Hannah into the
+biggest easy chair.  ``I feel better.  I just had to
+let off steam some way.  It's so lovely you came
+in just when you did!''
+
+``Indeed! I--I'm not so sure of that,'' stammered
+the lady, dropping the letter into her lap,
+and patting with agitated fingers her cap, her
+curls, the two shawls about her shoulders, and the
+lace at her throat.  ``My grief and conscience,
+Billy!  Wors't you _ever_ grow up?''
+
+``Hope not,'' purred Billy cheerfully, dropping
+herself on to a low hassock at Aunt Hannah's feet.
+
+``But, my dear, you--you're engaged!''
+
+Billy bubbled into a chuckling laugh.
+
+``As if I didn't know that, when I've just written
+a dozen notes to announce it!  And, oh, Aunt
+Hannah, such a time as I've had, telling what a
+dear Bertram is, and how I love, love, _love_ him,
+and what beautiful eyes he has, and _such_ a nose,
+and--''
+
+``Billy!''  Aunt Hannah was sitting erect in
+pale horror.
+
+``Eh?'' Billy's eyes were roguish.
+
+``You didn't write that in those notes!''
+
+``Write it?  Oh, no!  That's only what I _wanted_
+to write,'' chuckled Billy.  ``What I really did
+write was as staid and proper as--here, let me
+show you,'' she broke off, springing to her feet and
+running over to her desk.  ``There! this is about
+what I wrote to them all,'' she finished, whipping
+a note out of one of the unsealed envelopes on the
+desk and spreading it open before Aunt Hannah's
+suspicious eyes.
+
+``Hm-m; that is very good--for you,'' admitted
+the lady.
+
+``Well, I like that!--after all my stern self-
+control and self-sacrifice to keep out all those
+things I _wanted_ to write,'' bridled Billy.  ``Besides,
+they'd have been ever so much more interesting
+reading than these will be,'' she pouted, as
+she took the note from her companion's hand.
+
+``I don't doubt it,'' observed Aunt Hannah,
+dryly.
+
+Billy laughed, and tossed the note back on the
+desk.
+
+``I'm writing to Belle Calderwell, now,'' she
+announced musingly, dropping herself again on
+the hassock.  ``I suppose she'll tell Hugh.''
+
+``Poor boy!  He'll be disappointed.''
+
+Billy sighed, but she uptilted her chin a little.
+
+``He ought not to be.  I told him long, long ago,
+the very first time, that--that I couldn't.''
+
+``I know, dear; but--they don't always
+understand.''  Aunt Hannah sighed in sympathy
+with the far-away Hugh Calderwell, as she looked
+down at the bright young face near her.
+
+There was a moment's silence; then Billy gave
+a little laugh.
+
+``He _will_ be surprised,'' she said.  ``He told
+me once that Bertram wouldn't ever care for any
+girl except to paint.  To paint, indeed!  As if Bertram
+didn't love me--just _me!_--if he never saw
+another tube of paint!''
+
+``I think he does, my dear.''
+
+Again there was silence; then, from Billy's lips
+there came softly:
+
+``Just think; we've been engaged almost four
+weeks--and to-morrow it'll be announced.  I'm
+so glad I didn't ever announce the other
+two!''
+
+``The other _two!_'' cried Aunt Hannah.
+
+Billy laughed.
+
+``Oh, I forgot.  You didn't know about Cyril.''
+
+``Cyril!''
+
+``Oh, there didn't anybody know it, either
+not even Cyril himself,'' dimpled Billy, mischievously. 
+``I just engaged myself to him in imagination,
+you know, to see how I'd like it.  I didn't
+like it.  But it didn't last, anyhow, very long--
+just three weeks, I believe.  Then I broke it off,''
+she finished, with unsmiling mouth, but dancing
+eyes.
+
+``Billy!'' protested Aunt Hannah, feebly.
+
+``But I _am_ glad only the family knew about
+my engagement to Uncle William--oh, Aunt
+Hannah, you don't know how good it does seem
+to call him `Uncle' again.  It was always slipping
+out, anyhow, all the time we were engaged; and
+of course it was awful then.''
+
+``That only goes to prove, my dear, how
+entirely unsuitable it was, from the start.''
+
+A bright color flooded Billy's face.
+
+``I know; but if a girl _will_ think a man is asking
+for a wife when all he wants is a daughter, and if
+she blandly says `Yes, thank you, I'll marry you,'
+I don't know what you can expect!''
+
+``You can expect just what you got--misery,
+and almost a tragedy,'' retorted Aunt Hannah,
+severely.
+
+A tender light came into Billy's eyes.
+
+``Dear Uncle William!  What a jewel he was,
+all the way through!  And he'd have marched
+straight to the altar, too, with never a flicker of
+an eyelid, I know--self-sacrificing martyr that
+he was!''
+
+``Martyr!'' bristled Aunt Hannah, with
+extraordinary violence for her.  ``I'm thinking that
+term belonged somewhere else.  A month ago,
+Billy Neilson, you did not look as if you'd live
+out half your days.  But I suppose _you'd_ have
+gone to the altar, too, with never a flicker of an
+eyelid!''
+
+``But I thought I had to,'' protested Billy. 
+``I couldn't grieve Uncle William so, after Mrs.
+Hartwell had said how he--he wanted me.''
+
+Aunt Hannah's lips grew stern at the corners.
+
+``There are times when--when I think it
+would be wiser if Mrs. Kate Hartwell would attend
+to her own affairs!'' Aunt Hannah's voice
+fairly shook with wrath.
+
+``Why-Aunt Hannah!'' reproved Billy in
+mischievous horror.  ``I'm shocked at you!''
+
+Aunt Hannah flushed miserably.
+
+``There, there, child, forget I said it.  I ought
+not to have said it, of course,'' she murmured agitatedly.
+
+Billy laughed.
+
+``You should have heard what Uncle William
+said!  But never mind.  We all found out the mistake
+before it was too late, and everything is
+lovely now, even to Cyril and Marie.  Did you
+ever see anything so beatifically happy as that
+couple are?  Bertram says he hasn't heard a dirge
+from Cyril's rooms for three weeks; and that if
+anybody else played the kind of music he's been
+playing, it would be just common garden ragtime!''
+
+``Music!  Oh, my grief and conscience!  That
+makes me think, Billy.  If I'm not actually
+forgetting what I came in here for,'' cried Aunt
+Hannah, fumbling in the folds of her dress for the
+letter that had slipped from her lap.  ``I've had
+word from a young niece.  She's going to study
+music in Boston.''
+
+``A niece?''
+
+``Well, not really, you know.  She calls me
+`Aunt,' just as you and the Henshaw boys do. 
+But I really am related to _her_, for her mother and
+I are third cousins, while it was my husband who
+was distantly related to the Henshaw family.''
+
+``What's her name?''
+
+`` `Mary Jane Arkwright.'  Where is that
+letter?''
+
+``Here it is, on the floor,'' reported Billy. 
+``Were you going to read it to me?'' she asked,
+as she picked it up.
+
+``Yes--if you don't mind.''
+
+``I'd love to hear it.''
+
+``Then I'll read it.  It--it rather annoys me
+in some ways.  I thought the whole family understood
+that I wasn't living by myself any longer
+--that I was living with you.  I'm sure I thought
+I wrote them that, long ago.  But this sounds
+almost as if they didn't understand it--at least,
+as if this girl didn't.''
+
+``How old is she?''
+
+``I don't know; but she must be some old, to
+be coming here to Boston to study music, alone
+--singing, I think she said.''
+
+``You don't remember her, then?''
+
+Aunt Hannah frowned and paused, the letter
+half withdrawn from its envelope.
+
+``No--but that isn't strange.  They live West. 
+I haven't seen any of them for years.  I know there
+are several children--and I suppose I've been
+told their names.  I know there's a boy--the
+eldest, I think--who is quite a singer, and there's
+a girl who paints, I believe; but I don't seem to
+remember a `Mary Jane.' ''
+
+``Never mind!  Suppose we let Mary Jane speak
+for herself,'' suggested Billy, dropping her chin
+into the small pink cup of her hand, and settling
+herself to listen.
+
+``Very well,'' sighed Aunt Hannah; and she
+opened the letter and began to read.
+
+
+``DEAR AUNT HANNAH:--This is to tell you
+that I'm coming to Boston to study singing in
+the school for Grand Opera, and I'm planning to
+look you up.  Do you object?  I said to a friend
+the other day that I'd half a mind to write to Aunt
+Hannah and beg a home with her; and my friend
+retorted:  `Why don't you, Mary Jane?'  But
+that, of course, I should not think of doing.
+
+``But I know I shall be lonesome, Aunt Hannah,
+and I hope you'll let me see you once in a
+while, anyway.  I plan now to come next week
+--I've already got as far as New York, as you see
+by the address--and I shall hope to see you
+soon.
+
+``All the family would send love, I know.
+                         ``M. J. ARKWRIGHT.''
+
+
+``Grand Opera!  Oh, how perfectly lovely,''
+cried Billy.
+
+``Yes, but Billy, do you think she is expecting
+me to invite her to make her home with me?  I
+shall have to write and explain that I can't--
+if she does, of course.''
+
+Billy frowned and hesitated.
+
+``Why, it sounded--a little--that way;
+but--''  Suddenly her face cleared.  ``Aunt
+Hannah, I've thought of the very thing.  We _will_
+take her!''
+
+``Oh, Billy, I couldn't think of letting you do
+that,'' demurred Aunt Hannah.  ``You're very
+kind--but, oh, no; not that!''
+
+``Why not?  I think it would be lovely; and
+we can just as well as not.  After Marie is married
+in December, she can have that room.  Until
+then she can have the little blue room next to me.''
+
+``But--but--we don't know anything about
+her.''
+
+``We know she's your niece, and she's lonesome;
+and we know she's musical.  I shall love her for
+every one of those things.  Of course we'll take
+her!''
+
+``But--I don't know anything about her age.''
+
+``All the more reason why she should be looked
+out for, then,'' retorted Billy, promptly.  ``Why,
+Aunt Hannah, just as if you didn't want to give
+this lonesome, unprotected young girl a home!''
+
+``Oh, I do, of course; but--''
+
+``Then it's all settled,'' interposed Billy,
+springing to her feet.
+
+``But what if we--we shouldn't like her?''
+
+``Nonsense!  What if she shouldn't like us?''
+laughed Billy.  ``However, if you'd feel better,
+just ask her to come and stay with us a month. 
+We shall keep her all right, afterwards.  See if we
+don't!''
+
+Slowly Aunt Hannah got to her feet.
+
+``Very well, dear.  I'll write, of course, as you
+tell me to; and it's lovely of you to do it.  Now
+I'll leave you to your letters.  I've hindered you
+far too long, as it is.''
+
+``You've rested me,'' declared Billy, flinging
+wide her arms.
+
+Aunt Hannah, fearing a second dizzying whirl
+impelled by those same young arms, drew her
+shawls about her shoulders and backed hastily
+toward the hall door.
+
+Billy laughed.
+
+``Oh, I won't again--to-day,'' she promised
+merrily.  Then, as the lady reached the arched
+doorway:  ``Tell Mary Jane to let us know the
+day and train and we'll meet her.  Oh, and Aunt
+Hannah, tell her to wear a pink--a white pink;
+and tell her we will, too,'' she finished gayly.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+BILLY AND BERTRAM
+
+
+Bertram called that evening.  Before the open
+fire in the living-room he found a pensive Billy
+awaiting him--a Billy who let herself be kissed,
+it is true, and who even kissed back, shyly, adorably;
+but a Billy who looked at him with wide,
+almost frightened eyes.
+
+``Why, darling, what's the matter?'' he
+demanded, his own eyes growing wide and frightened.
+
+``Bertram, it's--done!''
+
+``What's done?  What do you mean?''
+
+``Our engagement.  It's--announced.  I wrote
+stacks of notes to-day, and even now there are
+some left for to-morrow.  And then there's--the
+newspapers.  Bertram, right away, now, _everybody_
+will know it.''  Her voice was tragic.
+
+Bertram relaxed visibly.  A tender light came
+to his eyes.
+
+``Well, didn't you expect everybody would
+know it, my dear?''
+
+``Y-yes; but--''
+
+At her hesitation, the tender light changed
+to a quick fear.
+
+``Billy, you aren't--sorry?''
+
+The pink glory that suffused her face answered
+him before her words did.
+
+``Sorry!  Oh, never, Bertram!  It's only that
+it won't be ours any longer--that is, it won't
+belong to just our two selves.  Everybody will
+know it.  And they'll bow and smile and say `How
+lovely!' to our faces, and `Did you ever?' to
+our backs.  Oh, no, I'm not sorry, Bertram; but
+I am--afraid.''
+
+``_Afraid_--Billy!''
+
+``Yes.''
+
+Billy sighed, and gazed with pensive eyes into
+the fire.
+
+Across Bertram's face swept surprise,
+consternation, and dismay.  Bertram had thought he
+knew Billy in all her moods and fancies; but he
+did not know her in this one.
+
+``Why, Billy!'' he breathed.
+
+Billy drew another sigh.  It seemed to come
+from the very bottoms of her small, satin-slippered
+feet.
+
+``Well, I am.  You're _the_ Bertram Henshaw. 
+You know lots and lots of people that I never
+even saw.  And they'll come and stand around
+and stare and lift their lorgnettes and say:  `Is
+that the one?  Dear me!' ''
+
+Bertram gave a relieved laugh.
+
+``Nonsense, sweetheart!  I should think you
+were a picture I'd painted and hung on a
+wall.''
+
+``I shall feel as if I were--with all those friends
+of yours.  Bertram, what if they don't like it?'' 
+Her voice had grown tragic again.
+
+``_Like_ it!''
+
+``Yes.  The picture--me, I mean.''
+
+``They can't help liking it,'' he retorted, with
+the prompt certainty of an adoring lover.
+
+Billy shook her head.  Her eyes had gone back
+to the fire.
+
+``Oh, yes, they can.  I can hear them.  `What,
+_she_--Bertram Henshaw's wife?--a frivolous,
+inconsequential ``Billy'' like that?'  Bertram!''
+--Billy turned fiercely despairing eyes on her
+lover--``Bertram, sometimes I wish my name
+were `Clarissa Cordelia,' or `Arabella Maud,'
+or `Hannah Jane'--anything that's feminine
+and proper!''
+
+Bertram's ringing laugh brought a faint smile
+to Billy's lips.  But the words that followed the
+laugh, and the caressing touch of the man's hands
+sent a flood of shy color to her face.
+
+`` `Hannah Jane,' indeed!  As if I'd exchange
+my Billy for her or any Clarissa or Arabella
+that ever grew!  I adore Billy--flame, nature,
+and--''
+
+``And naughtiness?'' put in Billy herself.
+
+``Yes--if there be any,'' laughed Bertram,
+fondly.  ``But, see,'' he added, taking a tiny box
+from his pocket, ``see what I've brought for
+this same Billy to wear.  She'd have had it long
+ago if she hadn't insisted on waiting for this
+announcement business.''
+
+``Oh, Bertram, what a beauty!'' dimpled
+Billy, as the flawless diamond in Bertram's fingers
+caught the light and sent it back in a flash of
+flame and crimson.
+
+``Now you are mine--really mine, sweetheart!'' 
+The man's voice and hand shook as he
+slipped the ring on Billy's outstretched finger.
+
+Billy caught her breath with almost a sob.
+
+``And I'm so glad to be--yours, dear,'' she
+murmured brokenly.  ``And--and I'll make you
+proud that I am yours, even if I am just `Billy,' ''
+she choked.  ``Oh, I know I'll write such beautiful,
+beautiful songs now.''
+
+The man drew her into a close embrace.
+
+``As if I cared for that,'' he scoffed lovingly.
+
+Billy looked up in quick horror.
+
+``Why, Bertram, you don't mean you don't
+--care?''
+
+He laughed lightly, and took the dismayed
+little face between his two hands.
+
+``Care, darling? of course I care!  You know
+how I love your music.  I care about everything
+that concerns you.  I meant that I'm proud of
+you _now_--just you.  I love _you_, you know.''
+
+There was a moment's pause.  Billy's eyes,
+as they looked at him, carried a curious intentness
+in their dark depths.
+
+``You mean, you like--the turn of my head
+and the tilt of my chin?'' she asked a little breathlessly.
+
+``I adore them!'' came the prompt answer.
+
+To Bertram's utter amazement, Billy drew
+back with a sharp cry.
+
+``No, no--not that!''
+
+``Why, _Billy!_''
+
+Billy laughed unexpectedly; then she sighed.
+
+``Oh, it's all right, of course,'' she assured
+him hastily.  ``It's only--''  Billy stopped and
+blushed.  Billy was thinking of what Hugh Calderwell
+had once said to her: that Bertram Henshaw
+would never love any girl seriously; that it would
+always be the turn of her head or the tilt of her
+chin that he loved--to paint.
+
+``Well; only what?'' demanded Bertram.
+
+Billy blushed the more deeply, but she gave a
+light laugh.
+
+``Nothing, only something Hugh Calderwell
+said to me once.  You see, Bertram, I don't
+think Hugh ever thought you would--marry.''
+
+``Oh, didn't he?'' bridled Bertram.  ``Well,
+that only goes to show how much he knows
+about it.  Er--did you announce it--to
+him?'' Bertram's voice was almost savage
+now.
+
+Billy smiled.
+
+``No; but I did to his sister, and she'll tell
+him.  Oh, Bertram, such a time as I had over
+those notes,'' went on Billy, with a chuckle. 
+Her eyes were dancing, and she was seeming more
+like her usual self, Bertram thought.  ``You see
+there were such a lot of things I wanted to say,
+about what a dear you were, and how much I--I
+liked you, and that you had such lovely eyes,
+and a nose--''
+
+``Billy!''  This time it was Bertram who was
+sitting erect in pale horror.
+
+Billy threw him a roguish glance.
+
+``Goosey!  You are as bad as Aunt Hannah! 
+I said that was what I _wanted_ to say.  What
+I really said was--quite another matter,''
+she finished with a saucy uptilting of her
+chin.
+
+Bertram relaxed with a laugh.
+
+``You witch!''  His admiring eyes still lingered
+on her face.  ``Billy, I'm going to paint you
+sometime in just that pose.  You're adorable!''
+
+``Pooh!  Just another face of a girl,'' teased the
+adorable one.
+
+Bertram gave a sudden exclamation.
+
+``There!  And I haven't told you, yet.  Guess
+what my next commission is.''
+
+``To paint a portrait?''
+
+``Yes.''
+
+``Can't.  Who is it?''
+
+``J. G. Winthrop's daughter.''
+
+``Not _the_ J. G. Winthrop?''
+
+``The same.''
+
+``Oh, Bertram, how splendid!''
+
+``Isn't it?  And then the girl herself!  Have you
+seen her?  But you haven't, I know, unless you
+met her abroad.  She hasn't been in Boston for
+years until now.''
+
+``No, I haven't seen her.  Is she so _very_
+beautiful?''  Billy spoke a little soberly.
+
+``Yes--and no.''  The artist lifted his head
+alertly.  What Billy called his ``painting look''
+came to his face.  ``It isn't that her features
+are so regular--though her mouth and chin are
+perfect.  But her face has so much character,
+and there's an elusive something about her eyes
+--Jove!  If I can only catch it, it'll be the best
+thing yet that I've ever done, Billy.''
+
+``Will it?  I'm so glad--and you'll get it,
+I know you will,'' claimed Billy, clearing her
+throat a little nervously.
+
+``I wish I felt so sure,'' sighed Bertram.  ``But
+it'll be a great thing if I do get it--J. G. Winthrop's
+daughter, you know, besides the merit of
+the likeness itself.''
+
+``Yes; yes, indeed!''  Billy cleared her throat
+again.  ``You've seen her, of course, lately?''
+
+``Oh, yes.  I was there half the morning
+discussing the details--sittings and costume, and
+deciding on the pose.''
+
+``Did you find one--to suit?''
+
+``Find one!''  The artist made a despairing
+gesture.  ``I found a dozen that I wanted.  The
+trouble was to tell which I wanted the most.''
+
+Billy gave a nervous little laugh.
+
+``Isn't that--unusual?'' she asked.
+
+Bertram lifted his eyebrows with a quizzical
+smile.
+
+``Well, they aren't all Marguerite Winthrops,''
+he reminded her.
+
+``Marguerite!'' cried Billy.  ``Oh, is her name
+Marguerite?  I do think Marguerite is the dearest
+name!''  Billy's eyes and voice were wistful.
+
+``I don't--not the _dearest_.  Oh, it's all well
+enough, of course, but it can't be compared for
+a moment to--well, say, `Billy'!''
+
+Billy smiled, but she shook her head.
+
+``I'm afraid you're not a good judge of names,''
+she objected.
+
+``Yes, I am; though, for that matter, I should
+love your name, no matter what it was.''
+
+``Even if 'twas `Mary Jane,' eh?'' bantered
+Billy.  ``Well, you'll have a chance to find out
+how you like that name pretty quick, sir.  We're
+going to have one here.''
+
+``You're going to have a Mary Jane here?  Do
+you mean that Rosa's going away?''
+
+``Mercy!  I hope not,'' shuddered Billy.  ``You
+don't find a Rosa in every kitchen--and never
+in employment agencies!  My Mary Jane is a
+niece of Aunt Hannah's,--or rather, a cousin. 
+She's coming to Boston to study music, and I've
+invited her here.  We've asked her for a month,
+though I presume we shall keep her right
+along.''
+
+Bertram frowned.
+
+``Well, of course, that's very nice for--_Mary
+Jane_,'' he sighed with meaning emphasis.
+
+Billy laughed.
+
+``Don't worry, dear.  She won't bother us any.''
+
+``Oh, yes, she will,'' sighed Bertram.  ``She'll
+be 'round--lots; you see if she isn't.  Billy, I
+think sometimes you're almost too kind--to
+other folks.''
+
+``Never!'' laughed Billy.  Besides, what would
+you have me do when a lonesome young girl was
+coming to Boston?  Anyhow, _you're_ not the one
+to talk, young man.  I've known _you_ to take in
+a lonesome girl and give her a home,'' she flashed
+merrily.
+
+Bertram chuckled.
+
+``Jove!  What a time that was!'' he exclaimed,
+regarding his companion with fond eyes.  ``And
+Spunk, too!  Is she going to bring a Spunk?''
+
+``Not that I've heard,'' smiled Billy; ``but she
+_is_ going to wear a pink.''
+
+``Not really, Billy?''
+
+``Of course she is!  I told her to.  How do you
+suppose we could know her when we saw her,
+if she didn't?'' demanded the girl, indignantly. 
+``And what is more, sir, there will be _two_ pinks
+worn this time.  _I_ sha'n't do as Uncle William did,
+and leave off my pink.  Only think what long minutes--
+that seemed hours of misery--I spent
+waiting there in that train-shed, just because
+I didn't know which man was my Uncle
+William!''
+
+Bertram laughed and shrugged his shoulders.
+
+``Well, your Mary Jane won't probably turn
+out to be quite such a bombshell as our Billy
+did--unless she should prove to be a boy,'' he
+added whimsically.  ``Oh, but Billy, she _can't_
+turn out to be such a dear treasure,'' finished the
+man.  And at the adoring look in his eyes Billy
+blushed deeply--and promptly forgot all about
+Mary Jane and her pink.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+FOR MARY JANE
+
+
+``I have a letter here from Mary Jane, my
+dear,'' announced Aunt Hannah at the luncheon
+table one day.
+
+``Have you?'' Billy raised interested eyes
+from her own letters.  ``What does she say?''
+
+``She will be here Thursday.  Her train is
+due at the South Station at four-thirty.  She
+seems to be very grateful to you for your offer to
+let her come right here for a month; but she says
+she's afraid you don't realize, perhaps, just what
+you are doing--to take her in like that, with her
+singing, and all.''
+
+``Nonsense!  She doesn't refuse, does she?''
+
+``Oh, no; she doesn't refuse--but she doesn't
+accept either, exactly, as I can see.  I've read the
+letter over twice, too.  I'll let you judge for yourself
+by and by, when you have time to read it.''
+
+Billy laughed.
+
+``Never mind.  I don't want to read it.  She's
+just a little shy about coming, that's all.  She'll
+stay all right, when we come to meet her.  What
+time did you say it was, Thursday?''
+
+``Half past four, South Station.''
+
+``Thursday, at half past four.  Let me see--
+that's the day of the Carletons' `At Home,'
+isn't it?''
+
+``Oh, my grief and conscience, yes!  But I had
+forgotten it.  What shall we do?''
+
+``Oh, that will be easy.  We'll just go to the
+Carletons' early and have John wait, then take
+us from there to the South Station.  Meanwhile
+we'll make sure that the little blue room is all ready
+for her.  I put in my white enamel work-basket
+yesterday, and that pretty little blue case for
+hairpins and curling tongs that I bought at the
+fair.  I want the room to look homey to her, you
+know.''
+
+``As if it could look any other way, if _you_ had
+anything to do with it,'' sighed Aunt Hannah,
+admiringly.
+
+Billy laughed.
+
+``If we get stranded we might ask the Henshaw
+boys to help us out, Aunt Hannah.  They'd
+probably suggest guns and swords.  That's the
+way they fixed up _my_ room.''
+
+Aunt Hannah raised shocked hands of protest.
+
+``As if we would!  Mercy, what a time that
+was!''
+
+Billy laughed again.
+
+``I never shall forget, _never_, my first glimpse of
+that room when Mrs. Hartwell switched on the
+lights.  Oh, Aunt Hannah, I wish you could have
+seen it before they took out those guns and
+spiders!''
+
+``As if I didn't see quite enough when I saw
+William's face that morning he came for me!''
+retorted Aunt Hannah, spiritedly.
+
+``Dear Uncle William!  What an old saint he
+has been all the way through,'' mused Billy aloud. 
+``And Cyril--who would ever have believed that
+the day would come when Cyril would say to
+me, as he did last night, that he felt as if Marie
+had been gone a month.  It's been just seven days,
+you know.''
+
+``I know.  She comes to-morrow, doesn't she?''
+
+``Yes, and I'm glad.  I shall tell Marie she
+needn't leave Cyril on _my_ hands again.  Bertram
+says that at home Cyril hasn't played a dirge
+since his engagement; but I notice that up here
+--where Marie might be, but isn't--his tunes
+would never be mistaken for ragtime.  By the
+way,'' she added, as she rose from the table,
+``that's another surprise in store for Hugh
+Calderwell.  He always declared that Cyril wasn't a
+marrying man, either, any more than Bertram. 
+You know he said Bertram only cared for girls
+to paint; but--''  She stopped and looked
+inquiringly at Rosa, who had appeared at that
+moment in the hall doorway.
+
+``It's the telephone, Miss Neilson.  Mr.
+Bertram Henshaw wants you.''
+
+A few minutes later Aunt Hannah heard Billy
+at the piano.  For fifteen, twenty, thirty minutes
+the brilliant scales and arpeggios rippled through
+the rooms and up the stairs to Aunt Hannah, who
+knew, by the very sound of them, that some
+unusual nervousness was being worked off at the
+finger tips that played them.  At the end of forty-
+five minutes Aunt Hannah went down-stairs.
+
+``Billy, my dear, excuse me, but have you
+forgotten what time it is?  Weren't you going out
+with Bertram?''
+
+Billy stopped playing at once, but she did not
+turn her head.  Her fingers busied themselves
+with some music on the piano.
+
+``We aren't going, Aunt Hannah,'' she said.
+
+``Bertram can't.''
+
+``_Can't!_''
+
+``Well, he didn't want to--so of course I
+said not to.  He's been painting this morning on
+a new portrait, and she said he might stay to
+luncheon and keep right on for a while this
+afternoon, if he liked.  And--he did like, so he
+stayed.''
+
+``Why, how--how--''  Aunt Hannah stopped
+helplessly.
+
+``Oh, no, not at all,'' interposed Billy, lightly. 
+``He told me all about it the other night.  It's
+going to be a very wonderful portrait; and, of
+course, I wouldn't want to interfere with--his
+work!''  And again a brilliant scale rippled from
+Billy's fingers after a crashing chord in the bass.
+
+Slowly Aunt Hannah turned and went up-stairs. 
+Her eyes were troubled.  Not since Billy's engagement
+had she heard Billy play like that.
+
+Bertram did not find a pensive Billy awaiting
+him that evening.  He found a bright-eyed,
+flushed-cheeked Billy, who let herself be kissed
+--once--but who did not kiss back; a blithe,
+elusive Billy, who played tripping little melodies,
+and sang jolly little songs, instead of sitting
+before the fire and talking; a Billy who at last
+turned, and asked tranquilly:
+
+``Well, how did the picture go?''
+
+Bertram rose then, crossed the room, and took
+Billy very gently into his arms.
+
+``Sweetheart, you were a dear this noon to
+let me off like that,'' he began in a voice shaken
+with emotion.  ``You don't know, perhaps,
+exactly what you did.  You see, I was nearly
+wild between wanting to be with you, and wanting
+to go on with my work.  And I was just at that
+point where one little word from you, one hint
+that you wanted me to come anyway--and I
+should have come.  But you didn't say it, nor hint
+it.  Like the brave little bit of inspiration that you
+are, you bade me stay and go on with my work.''
+
+The ``inspiration's'' head drooped a little
+lower, but this only brought a wealth of soft
+bronze hair to just where Bertram could lay his
+cheek against it--and Bertram promptly took
+advantage of his opportunity.  ``And so I stayed,
+Billy, and I did good work; I know I did good
+work.  Why, Billy,''--Bertram stepped back
+now, and held Billy by the shoulders at arms'
+length--``Billy, that's going to be the best
+work I've ever done.  I can see it coming even
+now, under my fingers.''
+
+Billy lifted her head and looked into her lover's
+face.  His eyes were glowing.  His cheeks were
+flushed.  His whole countenance was aflame with
+the soul of the artist who sees his vision taking
+shape before him.  And Billy, looking at him, felt
+suddenly--ashamed.
+
+``Oh, Bertram, I'm proud, proud, _proud_ of
+you!'' she breathed.  ``Come, let's go over to
+the fire-and talk!''
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+MARIE SPEAKS HER MIND
+
+
+Billy with John and Peggy met Marie Hawthorn
+at the station.  ``Peggy'' was short for
+``Pegasus,'' and was what Billy always called
+her luxurious, seven-seated touring car.
+
+``I simply won't call it `automobile,' '' she
+had declared when she bought it.  ``In the first
+place, it takes too long to say it, and in the second
+place, I don't want to add one more to the nineteen
+different ways to pronounce it that I hear
+all around me every day now.  As for calling it
+my `car,' or my `motor car'--I should expect
+to see a Pullman or one of those huge black trucks
+before my door, if I ordered it by either of those
+names.  Neither will I insult the beautiful thing
+by calling it a `machine.'  Its name is Pegasus. 
+I shall call it `Peggy.' ''
+
+And ``Peggy'' she called it.  John sniffed his
+disdain, and Billy's friends made no secret of
+their amused tolerance; but, in an astonishingly
+short time, half the automobile owners of her
+acquaintance were calling their own cars ``Peggy'';
+and even the dignified John himself was heard to
+order ``some gasoline for Peggy,'' quite as a
+matter of course.
+
+When Marie Hawthorn stepped from the train
+at the North Station she greeted Billy with
+affectionate warmth, though at once her blue eyes
+swept the space beyond expectantly and eagerly.
+
+Billy's lips curved in a mischievous smile.
+
+``No, he didn't come,'' she said.  ``He didn't
+want to--a little bit.''
+
+Marie grew actually pale.
+
+``Didn't _want_ to!'' she stammered.
+
+Billy gave her a spasmodic hug.
+
+``Goosey!  No, he didn't--a _little_ bit; but
+he did a great _big_ bit.  As if you didn't know he
+was dying to come, Marie!  But he simply
+couldn't--something about his concert Monday
+night.  He told me over the telephone; but
+between his joy that you were coming, and his
+rage that he couldn't see you the first minute
+you did come, I couldn't quite make out what was
+the trouble.  But he's coming to dinner to-night,
+so he'll doubtless tell you all about it.''
+
+Marie sighed her relief.
+
+``Oh, that's all right then.  I was afraid he
+was sick--when I didn't see him.''
+
+Billy laughed softly.
+
+``No, he isn't sick, Marie; but you needn't go
+away again before the wedding--not to leave
+him on my hands.  I wouldn't have believed
+Cyril Henshaw, confirmed old bachelor and
+avowed woman-hater, could have acted the part
+of a love-sick boy as he has the last week or
+two.''
+
+The rose-flush on Marie's cheek spread to the
+roots of her fine yellow hair.
+
+``Billy, dear, he--he didn't!''
+
+``Marie, dear--he--he did!''
+
+Marie laughed.  She did not say anything,
+but the rose-flush deepened as she occupied herself
+very busily in getting her trunk-check from
+the little hand bag she carried.
+
+Cyril was not mentioned again until the two
+girls, veils tied and coats buttoned, were snugly
+ensconced in the tonneau, and Peggy's nose was
+turned toward home.  Then Billy asked:
+
+``Have you settled on where you're going to
+live?''
+
+``Not quite.  We're going to talk of that
+to-night; but we _do_ know that we aren't going
+to live at the Strata.''
+
+``Marie!''
+
+Marie stirred uneasily at the obvious
+disappointment and reproach in her friend's voice.
+
+``But, dear, it wouldn't be wise, I'm sure,''
+she argued hastily.  ``There will be you and
+Bertram--''
+
+``We sha'n't be there for a year, nearly,'' cut
+in Billy, with swift promptness.  ``Besides, I
+think it would be lovely--all together.''
+
+Marie smiled, but she shook her head.
+
+``Lovely--but not practical, dear.''
+
+Billy laughed ruefully.
+
+``I know; you're worrying about those puddings
+of yours.  You're afraid somebody is going to
+interfere with your making quite so many as you
+want to; and Cyril is worrying for fear there'll
+be somebody else in the circle of his shaded lamp
+besides his little Marie with the light on her hair,
+and the mending basket by her side.''
+
+``Billy, what are you talking about?''
+
+Billy threw a roguish glance into her friend's
+amazed blue eyes.
+
+``Oh, just a little picture Cyril drew once for
+me of what home meant for him: a room with
+a table and a shaded lamp, and a little woman
+beside it with the light on her hair and a great
+basket of sewing by her side.''
+
+Marie's eyes softened.
+
+``Did he say--that?''
+
+``Yes.  Oh, he declared he shouldn't want her
+to sit under that lamp all the time, of course;
+but he hoped she'd like that sort of thing.''
+
+Marie threw a quick glance at the stolid back
+of John beyond the two empty seats in front of
+them.  Although she knew he could not hear her
+words, instinctively she lowered her voice.
+
+``Did you know--then--about--me?'' she
+asked, with heightened color.
+
+``No, only that there was a girl somewhere
+who, he hoped, would sit under the lamp some
+day.  And when I asked him if the girl did like
+that sort of thing, he said yes, he thought so;
+for she had told him once that the things she liked
+best of all to do were to mend stockings and
+make puddings.  Then I knew, of course, 'twas
+you, for I'd heard you say the same thing.  So
+I sent him right along out to you in the summer-
+house.''
+
+The pink flush on Marie's face grew to a red
+one.  Her blue eyes turned again to John's broad
+back, then drifted to the long, imposing line of
+windowed walls and doorways on the right.  The
+automobile was passing smoothly along Beacon
+Street now with the Public Garden just behind
+them on the left.  After a moment Marie turned
+to Billy again.
+
+``I'm so glad he wants--just puddings and
+stockings,'' she began a little breathlessly.  ``You
+see, for so long I supposed he _wouldn't_ want anything
+but a very brilliant, talented wife who could
+play and sing beautifully; a wife he'd be proud
+of--like you.''
+
+``Me?  Nonsense!'' laughed Billy.  ``Cyril
+never wanted me, and I never wanted him--only
+once for a few minutes, so to speak, when I thought,
+I did.  In spite of our music, we aren't a mite
+congenial.  I like people around; he doesn't. 
+I like to go to plays; he doesn't.  He likes rainy
+days, and I abhor them.  Mercy!  Life with me
+for him would be one long jangling discord, my
+love, while with you it'll be one long sweet song!''
+
+Marie drew a deep breath.  Her eyes were fixed
+on a point far ahead up the curveless street.
+
+``I hope it will, indeed!'' she breathed.
+
+Not until they were almost home did Billy
+say suddenly:
+
+``Oh, did Cyril write you?  A young relative
+of Aunt Hannah's is coming to-morrow to stay
+a while at the house.''
+
+``Er--yes, Cyril told me,'' admitted Marie.
+
+Billy smiled.
+
+``Didn't like it, I suppose; eh?'' she queried
+shrewdly.
+
+``N-no, I'm afraid he didn't--very well .  He
+said she'd be--one more to be around.''
+
+``There, what did I tell you?'' dimpled Billy. 
+``You can see what you're coming to when you
+do get that shaded lamp and the mending basket!''
+
+A moment later, coming in sight of the house,
+Billy saw a tall, smooth-shaven man standing on
+the porch.  The man lifted his hat and waved it
+gayly, baring a slightly bald head to the sun.
+
+``It's Uncle William--bless his heart!'' cried
+Billy.  ``They're all coming to dinner, then he
+and Aunt Hannah and Bertram and I are going
+down to the Hollis Street Theatre and let you and
+Cyril have a taste of what that shaded lamp is
+going to be.  I hope you won't be lonesome,''
+she finished mischievously, as the car drew up
+before the door.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+AT THE SIGN OF THE PINK
+
+
+After a week of beautiful autumn weather,
+Thursday dawned raw and cold.  By noon an
+east wind had made the temperature still more
+uncomfortable.
+
+At two o'clock Aunt Hannah tapped at Billy's
+chamber door.  She showed a troubled face to
+the girl who answered her knock.
+
+``Billy, _would_ you mind very much if I asked
+you to go alone to the Carletons' and to meet
+Mary Jane?'' she inquired anxiously.
+
+``Why, no--that is, of course I should _mind_,
+dear, because I always like to have you go to
+places with me.  But it isn't necessary.  You
+aren't sick; are you?''
+
+``N-no, not exactly; but I have been sneezing
+all the morning, and taking camphor and sugar
+to break it up--if it is a cold.  But it is so raw
+and Novemberish out, that--''
+
+``Why, of course you sha'n't go, you poor
+dear!  Mercy! don't get one of those dreadful
+colds on to you before the wedding!  Have you felt
+a draft?  Where's another shawl?''  Billy turned
+and cast searching eyes about the room--Billy
+always kept shawls everywhere for Aunt Hannah's
+shoulders and feet.  Bertram had been known
+to say, indeed, that a room, according to Aunt
+Hannah, was not fully furnished unless it contained
+from one to four shawls, assorted as to size
+and warmth.  Shawls, certainly, did seem to be
+a necessity with Aunt Hannah, as she usually
+wore from one to three at the same time--which
+again caused Bertram to declare that he always
+counted Aunt Hannah's shawls when he wished
+to know what the thermometer was.
+
+``No, I'm not cold, and I haven't felt a draft,''
+said Aunt Hannah now.  ``I put on my thickest
+gray shawl this morning with the little pink one
+for down-stairs, and the blue one for breakfast;
+so you see I've been very careful.  But I _have_
+sneezed six times, so I think 'twould be safer not
+to go out in this east wind.  You were going to
+stop for Mrs. Granger, anyway, weren't you? 
+So you'll have her with you for the tea.''
+
+``Yes, dear, don't worry.  I'll take your cards
+and explain to Mrs. Carleton and her daughters.''
+
+``And, of course, as far as Mary Jane is
+concerned, I don't know her any more than you do;
+so I couldn't be any help there,'' sighed Aunt
+Hannah.
+
+``Not a bit,'' smiled Billy, cheerily.  ``Don't
+give it another thought, my dear.  I sha'n't
+have a bit of trouble.  All I'll have to do is to
+look for a girl alone with a pink.  Of course I'll
+have mine on, too, and she'll be watching for me. 
+So just run along and take your nap, dear, and be
+all rested and ready to welcome her when she
+comes,'' finished Billy, stooping to give the soft,
+faintly pink cheek a warm kiss.
+
+``Well, thank you, my dear; perhaps I will,''
+sighed Aunt Hannah, drawing the gray shawl
+about her as she turned away contentedly.
+
+Mrs. Carleton's tea that afternoon was, for
+Billy, not an occasion of unalloyed joy.  It was the
+first time she had appeared at a gathering of
+any size since the announcement of her engagement;
+and, as she dolefully told Bertram afterwards,
+she had very much the feeling of the picture
+hung on the wall.
+
+``And they _did_ put up their lorgnettes and say,
+`Is _that_ the one?' '' she declared; ``and I know
+some of them finished with `Did you ever?' too,''
+she sighed.
+
+But Billy did not stay long in Mrs. Carleton's
+softly-lighted, flower-perfumed rooms.  At ten
+minutes past four she was saying good-by to a
+group of friends who were vainly urging her to
+remain longer.
+
+``I can't--I really can't,'' she declared.  ``I'm
+due at the South Station at half past four to
+meet a Miss Arkwright, a young cousin of Aunt
+Hannah's, whom I've never seen before.  We're
+to meet at the sign of the pink,'' she explained
+smilingly, just touching the single flower she
+wore.
+
+Her hostess gave a sudden laugh.
+
+``Let me see, my dear; if I remember rightly,
+you've had experience before, meeting at this
+sign of the pink.  At least, I have a very vivid
+recollection of Mr. William Henshaw's going once
+to meet a _boy_ with a pink, who turned out to be
+a girl.  Now, to even things up, your girl should
+turn out to be a boy!''
+
+Billy smiled and reddened.
+
+``Perhaps--but I don't think to-day will
+strike the balance,'' she retorted, backing toward
+the door.  ``This young lady's name is `Mary
+Jane'; and I'll leave it to you to find anything
+very masculine in that!''
+
+It was a short drive from Mrs. Carleton's
+Commonwealth Avenue home to the South Station,
+and Peggy made as quick work of it as the
+narrow, congested cross streets would allow. 
+In ample time Billy found herself in the great
+waiting-room, with John saying respectfully in
+her ear:
+
+``The man says the train comes in on Track
+Fourteen, Miss, an' it's on time.''
+
+At twenty-nine minutes past four Billy left
+her seat and walked down the train-shed platform
+to Track Number Fourteen.  She had pinned
+the pink now to the outside of her long coat, and
+it made an attractive dash of white against the
+dark-blue velvet.  Billy was looking particularly
+lovely to-day.  Framing her face was the big
+dark-blue velvet picture hat with its becoming
+white plumes.
+
+During the brief minutes' wait before the clanging
+locomotive puffed into view far down the long
+track, Billy's thoughts involuntarily went back
+to that other watcher beside a train gate not
+quite five years before.
+
+``Dear Uncle William!'' she murmured
+tenderly.  Then suddenly she laughed--so nearly
+aloud that a man behind her gave her a covert
+glance from curious eyes.  ``My! but what a
+jolt I must have been to Uncle William!'' Billy
+was thinking.
+
+The next minute she drew nearer the gate and
+regarded with absorbed attention the long line
+of passengers already sweeping up the narrow
+aisle between the cars.
+
+Hurrying men came first, with long strides,
+and eyes that looked straight ahead.  These
+Billy let pass with a mere glance.  The next group
+showed a sprinkling of women--women whose
+trig hats and linen collars spelled promptness as
+well as certainty of aim and accomplishment. 
+To these, also, Billy paid scant attention.  Couples
+came next--the men anxious-eyed, and usually
+walking two steps ahead of their companions;
+the women plainly flustered and hurried, and
+invariably buttoning gloves or gathering up trailing
+ends of scarfs or boas.
+
+The crowd was thickening fast, now, and Billy's
+eyes were alert.  Children were appearing, and
+young women walking alone.  One of these wore
+a bunch of violets.  Billy gave her a second glance. 
+Then she saw a pink--but it was on the coat lapel
+of a tall young fellow with a brown beard; so with
+a slight frown she looked beyond down the line.
+
+Old men came now, and old women; fleshy
+women, and women with small children and babies. 
+Couples came, too--dawdling couples, plainly
+newly married: the men were not two steps
+ahead, and the women's gloves were buttoned and
+their furs in place.
+
+Gradually the line thinned, and soon there were
+left only an old man with a cane, and a young
+woman with three children.  Yet nowhere had
+Billy seen a girl wearing a white carnation, and
+walking alone.
+
+With a deeper frown on her face Billy turned
+and looked about her.  She thought that somewhere
+in the crowd she had missed Mary Jane,
+and that she would find her now, standing near. 
+But there was no one standing near except the
+good-looking young fellow with the little pointed
+brown beard, who, as Billy noticed a second
+time, was wearing a white carnation.
+
+As she glanced toward him, their eyes met. 
+Then, to Billy's unbounded amazement, the man
+advanced with uplifted hat.
+
+``I beg your pardon, but is not this--Miss
+Neilson?''
+
+Billy drew back with just a touch of hauteur.
+
+``Y-yes,'' she murmured.
+
+``I thought so--yet I was expecting to see
+you with Aunt Hannah.  I am M. J. Arkwright,
+Miss Neilson.''
+
+For a brief instant Billy stared dazedly.
+
+``You don't mean--Mary Jane?'' she gasped.
+
+``I'm afraid I do.''  His lips twitched.
+
+``But I thought--we were expecting--'' 
+She stopped helplessly.  For one more brief
+instant she stared; then, suddenly, a swift
+change came to her face.  Her eyes danced.
+
+``Oh--oh!'' she chuckled.  ``How perfectly
+funny!  You _have_ evened things up, after
+all.  To think that Mary Jane should be a--'' 
+She paused and flashed almost angrily suspicious
+eyes into his face.  ``But mine _was_ `Billy,' ''
+she cried.  ``Your name isn't really--Mary
+Jane'?''
+
+``I am often called that.''  His brown eyes
+twinkled, but they did not swerve from their
+direct gaze into her own.
+
+``But--'' Billy hesitated, and turned her
+eyes away.  She saw then that many curious
+glances were already being flung in her direction. 
+The color in her cheeks deepened.  With an odd
+little gesture she seemed to toss something aside. 
+``Never mind,'' she laughed a little hysterically. 
+``If you'll pick up your bag, please, Mr.
+Mary Jane, and come with me.  John and Peggy
+are waiting.  Or--I forgot--you have a trunk,
+of course?''
+
+The man raised a protesting hand.
+
+``Thank you; but, Miss Neilson, really--I
+couldn't think of trespassing on your hospitality
+--now, you know.''
+
+``But we--we invited you,'' stammered Billy.
+
+He shook his head.
+
+``You invited _Miss_ Mary Jane.''
+
+Billy bubbled into low laughter.
+
+``I beg your pardon, but it _is_ funny,'' she sighed.
+``You see _I_ came once just the same way, and
+now to have the tables turned like this!  What
+will Aunt Hannah say--what will everybody
+say?  Come, I want them to begin--to say it,''
+she chuckled irrepressibly.
+
+``Thank you, but I shall go to a hotel, of course. 
+Later, if you'll be so good as to let me call, and
+explain--!''
+
+``But I'm afraid Aunt Hannah will think--''
+Billy stopped abruptly.  Some distance away
+she saw John coming toward them.  She turned
+hurriedly to the man at her side.  Her eyes still
+danced, but her voice was mockingly serious. 
+``Really, Mr. Mary Jane, I'm afraid you'll have
+to come to dinner; then you can settle the rest
+with Aunt Hannah.  John is almost upon us--
+and _I_ don't want to make explanations.  Do you?''
+
+``John,'' she said airily to the somewhat dazed
+chauffeur (who had been told he was to meet a
+young woman), ``take Mr. Arkwright's bag,
+please, and show him where Peggy is waiting. 
+It will be five minutes, perhaps, before I can come
+--if you'll kindly excuse me,'' she added to
+Arkwright, with a flashing glance from merry
+eyes.  ``I have some--telephoning to do.''
+
+All the way to the telephone booth Billy was
+trying to bring order out of the chaos of her mind;
+but all the way, too, she was chuckling.
+
+``To think that this thing should have happened
+to _me!_'' she said, almost aloud.  ``And here I
+am telephoning just like Uncle William--Bertram
+said Uncle William _did_ telephone about _me!_''
+
+In due course Billy had Aunt Hannah at the
+other end of the wire.
+
+``Aunt Hannah, listen.  I'd never have
+believed it, but it's happened.  Mary Jane is--a
+man.''
+
+Billy heard a dismayed gasp and a muttered
+``Oh, my grief and conscience!'' then a shaking
+``Wha-at?''
+
+``I say, Mary Jane is a man.''  Billy was
+enjoying herself hugely.
+
+``A _ma-an!_''
+
+``Yes; a great big man with a brown beard. 
+He's waiting now with John and I must go.''
+
+``But, Billy, I don't understand,'' chattered
+an agitated voice over the line.  ``He--he called
+himself `Mary Jane.'  He hasn't any business
+to be a big man with a brown beard!  What shall
+we do?  We don't want a big man with a brown
+beard--here!''
+
+Billy laughed roguishly.
+
+``I don't know.  _You_ asked him!  How he
+will like that little blue room--Aunt Hannah!'' 
+Billy's voice turned suddenly tragic.  ``For pity's
+sake take out those curling tongs and hairpins,
+and the work-basket.  I'd _never_ hear the last of
+it if he saw those, I know.  He's just that kind!''
+
+A half stifled groan came over the wire.
+
+``Billy, he can't stay here.''
+
+Billy laughed again.
+
+``No, no, dear; he won't, I know.  He says
+he's going to a hotel.  But I had to bring him home
+to dinner; there was no other way, under the
+circumstances.  He won't stay.  Don't you worry. 
+But good-by.  I must go.  _Remember those curling
+tongs!_'' And the receiver clicked sharply against
+the hook.
+
+In the automobile some minutes later, Billy
+and Mr. M. J. Arkwright were speeding toward
+Corey Hill.  It was during a slight pause in the
+conversation that Billy turned to her companion
+with a demure:
+
+``I telephoned Aunt Hannah, Mr. Arkwright. 
+I thought she ought to be--warned.''
+
+``You are very kind.  What did she say?--if
+I may ask.''
+
+There was a brief moment of hesitation before
+Billy answered.
+
+``She said you called yourself `Mary Jane,'
+and that you hadn't any business to be a big man
+with a brown beard.''
+
+Arkwright laughed.
+
+``I'm afraid I owe Aunt Hannah an apology,''
+he said.  He hesitated, glanced admiringly at the
+glowing, half-averted face near him, then went
+on decisively.  He wore the air of a man who has
+set the match to his bridges.  ``I signed both
+letters `M. J. Arkwright,' but in the first one
+I quoted a remark of a friend, and in that remark
+I was addressed as `Mary Jane.'  I did not know
+but Aunt Hannah knew of the nickname.'' 
+(Arkwright was speaking a little slowly now, as if
+weighing his words.)  ``But when she answered,
+I saw that she did not; for, from something she
+said, I realized that she thought I was a real
+Mary Jane.  For the joke of the thing I let it pass. 
+But--if she noticed my letter carefully, she saw
+that I did not accept your kind invitation to give
+
+`Mary Jane' a home.''
+
+``Yes, we noticed that,'' nodded Billy, merrily. 
+``But we didn't think you meant it.  You see
+we pictured you as a shy young thing.  But,
+really,'' she went on with a low laugh, ``you see
+your coming as a masculine `Mary Jane' was
+particularly funny--for me; for, though perhaps
+you didn't know it, I came once to this very same
+city, wearing a pink, and was expected to be Billy,
+a boy.  And only to-day a lady warned me that
+your coming might even things up.  But I didn't
+believe it would--a Mary Jane!''
+
+Arkwright laughed.  Again he hesitated, and
+seemed to be weighing his words.
+
+``Yes, I heard about that coming of yours.
+I might almost say--that's why I--let the
+mistake pass in Aunt Hannah's letter,'' he said.
+
+Billy turned with reproachful eyes.
+
+``Oh, how could--you?  But then--it was a
+temptation!''  She laughed suddenly.  ``What
+sinful joy you must have had watching me hunt
+for `Mary Jane.' ''
+
+``I didn't,'' acknowledged the other, with
+unexpected candor.  ``I felt--ashamed.  And when
+I saw you were there alone without Aunt Hannah,
+I came very near not speaking at all--until I
+realized that that would be even worse, under the
+circumstances.''
+
+``Of course it would,'' smiled Billy, brightly;
+``so I don't see but I shall have to forgive you,
+after all.  And here we are at home, Mr. Mary
+Jane.  By the way, what did you say that `M. J.'
+did stand for?'' she asked, as the car came to a
+stop.
+
+The man did not seem to hear; at least he did
+not answer.  He was helping his hostess to alight. 
+A moment later a plainly agitated Aunt Hannah
+--her gray shawl topped with a huge black one
+--opened the door of the house.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+OLD FRIENDS AND NEW
+
+
+At ten minutes before six on the afternoon of
+Arkwright's arrival, Billy came into the living-
+room to welcome the three Henshaw brothers,
+who, as was frequently the case, were dining at
+Hillside.
+
+Bertram thought Billy had never looked prettier
+than she did this afternoon with the bronze sheen
+of her pretty house gown bringing out the bronze
+lights in her dark eyes and in the soft waves of
+her beautiful hair.  Her countenance, too, carried
+a peculiar something that the artist's eye was quick
+to detect, and that the artist's fingers tingled to
+put on canvas.
+
+``Jove! Billy,'' he said low in her ear, as he
+greeted her, ``I wish I had a brush in my hand
+this minute.  I'd have a `Face of a Girl' that
+would be worth while!''
+
+Billy laughed and dimpled her appreciation;
+but down in her heart she was conscious of a
+vague unrest.  Billy wished, sometimes, that she
+did not so often seem to Bertram--a picture.
+
+She turned to Cyril with outstretched hand.
+
+``Oh, yes, Marie's coming,'' she smiled in
+answer to the quick shifting of Cyril's eyes to the
+hall doorway.  ``And Aunt Hannah, too.  They're
+up-stairs.''
+
+``And Mary Jane?'' demanded William, a
+little anxiously
+
+``Will's getting nervous,'' volunteered Bertram,
+airily.  ``He wants to see Mary Jane.  You see
+we've told him that we shall expect him to see
+that she doesn't bother us four too much, you
+know.  He's expected always to remove her quietly
+but effectually, whenever he sees that she is
+likely to interrupt a t<e^>te-<a!>-t<e^>te.  Naturally, then,
+Will wants to see Mary Jane.''
+
+Billy began to laugh hysterically.  She dropped
+into a chair and raised both her hands, palms
+outward.
+
+``Don't, don't--please don't!'' she choked,
+``or I shall die.  I've had all I can stand, already.''
+
+``All you can stand?''
+
+``What do you mean?''
+
+``Is she so--impossible?''  This last was from
+Bertram, spoken softly, and with a hurried glance
+toward the hall.
+
+Billy dropped her hands and lifted her head. 
+By heroic effort she pulled her face into sobriety
+--all but her eyes--and announced:
+
+``Mary Jane is--a man.''
+
+``Wha-at?''
+
+``A _man!_''
+
+``Billy!''
+
+Three masculine forms sat suddenly erect.
+
+``Yes.  Oh, Uncle William, I know now just
+how you felt--I know, I know,'' gurgled Billy,
+incoherently.  ``There he stood with his pink
+just as I did--only he had a brown beard, and
+he didn't have Spunk--and I had to telephone
+to prepare folks, just as you did.  And the room
+--the room!  I fixed the room, too,'' she babbled
+breathlessly, ``only I had curling tongs and hair
+pins in it instead of guns and spiders!''
+
+``Child, child! what _are_ you talking about?''
+William's face was red.
+
+``A _man!_--_Mary Jane!_'' Cyril was merely
+cross.
+
+``Billy, what does this mean?'' Bertram had
+grown a little white.
+
+Billy began to laugh again, yet she was plainly
+trying to control herself.
+
+``I'll tell you.  I must tell you.  Aunt Hannah
+is keeping him up-stairs so I can tell you,'' she
+panted.  ``But it was so funny, when I expected
+a girl, you know, to see him with his brown
+beard, and he was so tall and big!  And, of course,
+it made me think how _I_ came, and was a girl
+when you expected a boy; and Mrs. Carleton
+had just said to-day that maybe this girl would
+even things up.  Oh, it was so funny!''
+
+``Billy, my-my dear,'' remonstrated Uncle
+William, mildly.
+
+``But what _is_ his name?'' demanded Cyril.
+
+``Did the creature sign himself `Mary Jane'?''
+exploded Bertram.
+
+``I don't know his name, except that it's `M.
+J.'--and that's how he signed the letters.  But
+he _is_ called `Mary Jane' sometimes, and in the
+letter he quoted somebody's speech--I've
+forgotten just how--but in it he was called `Mary
+Jane,' and, of course, Aunt Hannah took him
+for a girl,'' explained Billy, grown a little more
+coherent now.
+
+``Didn't he write again?'' asked William.
+
+``Yes.''
+
+``Well, why didn't he correct the mistake,
+then?'' demanded Bertram.
+
+Billy chuckled.
+
+``He didn't want to, I guess.  He thought it
+was too good a joke.''
+
+``Joke!'' scoffed Cyril.
+
+``But, see here, Billy, he isn't going to live here
+--now?'' Bertram's voice was almost savage.
+
+``Oh, no, he isn't going to live here--now,''
+interposed smooth tones from the doorway.
+
+``Mr.--Arkwright!'' breathed Billy, confusedly.
+
+Three crimson-faced men sprang to their feet. 
+The situation, for a moment, threatened embarrassed
+misery for all concerned; but Arkwright,
+with a cheery smile, advanced straight toward
+Bertram, and held out a friendly hand.
+
+``The proverbial fate of listeners,'' he said
+easily; ``but I don't blame you at all.  No,
+`he' isn't going to live here,'' he went on,
+grasping each brother's hand in turn, as Billy
+murmured faint introductions; ``and what is more,
+he hereby asks everybody's pardon for the annoyance
+his little joke has caused.  He might add
+that he's heartily-ashamed of himself, as well;
+but if any of you--''  Arkwright turned to the
+three tall men still standing by their chairs--
+``if any of you had suffered what he has at the
+hands of a swarm of youngsters for that name's
+sake, you wouldn't blame him for being tempted
+to get what fun he could out of Mary Jane--if
+there ever came a chance!''
+
+Naturally, after this, there could be nothing
+stiff or embarrassing.  Billy laughed in relief,
+and motioned Mr. Arkwright to a seat near her. 
+William said ``Of course, of course!'' and shook
+hands again.  Bertram and Cyril laughed
+shamefacedly and sat down.  Somebody said:  ``But
+what does the `M. J.' stand for, anyhow?'' 
+Nobody answered this, however; perhaps
+because Aunt Hannah and Marie appeared just
+then in the doorway.
+
+Dinner proved to be a lively meal.  In the
+newcomer, Bertram met his match for wit and satire;
+and ``Mr. Mary Jane,'' as he was promptly called
+by every one but Aunt Hannah, was found to
+be a most entertaining guest.
+
+After dinner somebody suggested music.
+
+Cyril frowned, and got up abruptly.  Still
+frowning, he turned to a bookcase near him and
+began to take down and examine some of the
+books.
+
+Bertram twinkled and glanced at Billy.
+
+``Which is it, Cyril?'' he called with cheerful
+impertinence; ``stool, piano, or audience that is
+the matter to-night?''
+
+Only a shrug from Cyril answered.
+
+``You see,'' explained Bertram, jauntily, to
+Arkwright, whose eyes were slightly puzzled,
+``Cyril never plays unless the piano and the pedals
+and the weather and your ears and my watch
+and his fingers are just right!''
+
+``Nonsense!'' scorned Cyril, dropping his book
+and walking back to his chair.  ``I don't feel
+like playing to-night; that's all.''
+
+``You see,'' nodded Bertram again.
+
+``I see,'' bowed Arkwright with quiet amusement.
+
+``I believe--Mr. Mary Jane--sings,'' observed
+Billy, at this point, demurely.
+
+``Why, yes, of course, ' chimed in Aunt Hannah
+with some nervousness.  ``That's what she--I
+mean he--was coming to Boston for--to study
+music.''
+
+Everybody laughed.
+
+``Won't you sing, please?'' asked Billy.  ``Can
+you--without your notes?  I have lots of songs
+if you want them.''
+
+For a moment--but only a moment--Arkwright
+hesitated; then he rose and went to the
+piano.
+
+With the easy sureness of the trained musician
+his fingers dropped to the keys and slid into
+preliminary chords and arpeggios to test the touch of
+the piano; then, with a sweetness and purity that
+made every listener turn in amazed delight, a
+well-trained tenor began the ``Thro' the leaves
+the night winds moving,'' of Schubert's Serenade.
+
+Cyril's chin had lifted at the first tone.  He was
+listening now with very obvious pleasure.  Bertram,
+too, was showing by his attitude the keenest
+appreciation.  William and Aunt Hannah, resting
+back in their chairs, were contentedly nodding their
+approval to each other.  Marie in her corner was
+motionless with rapture.  As to Billy--Billy
+was plainly oblivious of everything but the song
+and the singer.  She seemed scarcely to move or
+to breathe till the song's completion; then there
+came a low ``Oh, how beautiful!'' through her
+parted lips.
+
+Bertram, looking at her, was conscious of a
+vague irritation.
+
+``Arkwright, you're a lucky dog,'' he declared
+almost crossly.  ``I wish I could sing like that!''
+
+``I wish I could paint a `Face of a Girl,' ''
+smiled the tenor as he turned from the piano.
+
+``Oh, but, Mr. Arkwright, don't stop,'' objected
+Billy, springing to her feet and going to her music
+cabinet by the piano.  ``There's a little song
+of Nevin's I want you to sing.  There, here it is. 
+Just let me play it for you.''  And she slipped into
+the place the singer had just left.
+
+It was the beginning of the end.  After Nevin
+came De Koven, and after De Koven, Gounod. 
+Then came Nevin again, Billy still playing the
+accompaniment.  Next followed a duet.  Billy
+did not consider herself much of a singer, but her
+voice was sweet and true, and not without training. 
+It blended very prettily with the clear, pure
+tenor.
+
+William and Aunt Hannah still smiled contentedly
+in their chairs, though Aunt Hannah had
+reached for the pink shawl near her--the music
+had sent little shivers down her spine.  Cyril,
+with Marie, had slipped into the little reception-
+room across the hall, ostensibly to look at some
+plans for a house, although--as everybody
+knew--they were not intending to build for a
+year.
+
+Bertram, still sitting stiffly erect in his chair,
+was not conscious of a vague irritation now. 
+He was conscious of a very real, and a very
+decided one--an irritation that was directed against
+himself, against Billy, and against this man,
+Arkwright; but chiefly against music, _#per se_.  He
+hated music.  He wished he could sing.  He
+wondered how long it took to teach a man to sing,
+anyhow; and he wondered if a man could sing--
+who never had sung.
+
+At this point the duet came to an end, and Billy
+and her guest left the piano.  Almost at once,
+after this, Arkwright made his very graceful
+adieus, and went off with his suit-case to the hotel
+where, as he had informed Aunt Hannah, his room
+was already engaged.
+
+William went home then, and Aunt Hannah
+went up-stairs.  Cyril and Marie withdrew into
+a still more secluded corner to look at their plans,
+and Bertram found himself at last alone with
+Billy.  He forgot, then, in the blissful hour he
+spent with her before the open fire, how he hated
+music; though he did say, just before he went
+home that night:
+
+``Billy, how long does it take--to learn to
+sing?''
+
+``Why, I don't know, I'm sure,'' replied Billy,
+abstractedly; then, with sudden fervor:  ``Oh,
+Bertram, hasn't Mr. Mary Jane a beautiful
+voice?''
+
+Bertram wished then he had not asked the
+question; but all he said was:
+
+`` `Mr. Mary Jane,' indeed!  What an absurd
+name!''
+
+``But doesn't he sing beautifully?''
+
+``Eh?  Oh, yes, he sings all right,'' said
+Bertram's tongue.  Bertram's manner said:  ``Oh,
+yes, anybody can sing.''
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+M. J. OPENS THE GAME
+
+
+On the morning after Cyril's first concert of
+the season, Billy sat sewing with Aunt Hannah
+in the little sitting-room at the end of the hall
+upstairs.  Aunt Hannah wore only one shawl this
+morning,--which meant that she was feeling
+unusually well.
+
+``Marie ought to be here to mend these stockings,''
+remarked Billy, as she critically examined
+a tiny break in the black silk mesh stretched across
+the darning-egg in her hand; ``only she'd want
+a bigger hole.  She does so love to make a beautiful
+black latticework bridge across a yawning white
+china sea--and you'd think the safety of an
+army depended on the way each plank was laid,
+too,'' she concluded.
+
+Aunt Hannah smiled tranquilly, but she did
+not speak.
+
+``I suppose you don't happen to know if Cyril
+does wear big holes in his socks,'' resumed Billy,
+after a moment's silence.  ``If you'll believe it,
+that thought popped into my head last night when
+Cyril was playing that concerto so superbly.  It
+did, actually--right in the middle of the adagio
+movement, too.  And in spite of my joy and pride
+in the music I had all I could do to keep from
+nudging Marie right there and then and asking
+her whether or not the dear man was hard on
+his hose.''
+
+``Billy!'' gasped the shocked Aunt Hannah;
+but the gasp broke at once into what--in Aunt
+Hannah--passed for a chuckle.  ``If I remember
+rightly, when I was there at the house with you
+at first, my dear, William told me that Cyril
+wouldn't wear any sock after it came to mending.''
+
+``Horrors!'' Billy waved her stocking in
+mock despair.  ``That will never do in the world. 
+It would break Marie's heart.  You know how she
+dotes on darning.''
+
+``Yes, I know,'' smiled Aunt Hannah.  ``By
+the way, where is she this morning?''
+
+Billy raised her eyebrows quizzically.
+
+``Gone to look at an apartment in Cambridge, I
+believe.  Really, Aunt Hannah, between her home-
+hunting in the morning, and her furniture-and-
+rug hunting in the afternoon, and her poring over
+house-plans in the evening, I can't get her to
+attend to her clothes at all.  Never did I see a
+bride so utterly indifferent to her trousseau as
+Marie Hawthorn--and her wedding less than
+a month away!''
+
+``But she's been shopping with you once or
+twice, since she came back, hasn't she?  And she
+said it was for her trousseau.''
+
+Billy laughed.
+
+``Her trousseau!  Oh, yes, it was.  I'll tell you
+what she got for her trousseau that first day. 
+We started out to buy two hats, some lace for
+her wedding gown, some cr<e^>pe de Chine and net
+for a little dinner frock, and some silk for a couple
+of waists to go with her tailored suit; and what did
+we get?  We purchased a new-style egg-beater and
+a set of cake tins.  Marie got into the kitchen
+department and I simply couldn't get her out of it. 
+But the next day I was not to be inveigled below
+stairs by any plaintive prayer for a nutmeg-
+grater or a soda spoon.  She _shopped_ that day, and
+to some purpose.  We accomplished lots.''
+
+Aunt Hannah looked a little concerned.
+
+``But she must have _some_ things started!''
+
+``Oh, she has--'most everything now.  _I've_
+seen to that.  Of course her outfit is very simple,
+anyway.  Marie hasn't much money, you know,
+and she simply won't let me do half what I want
+to.  Still, she had saved up some money, and I've
+finally convinced her that a trousseau doesn't
+consist of egg-beaters and cake tins, and that
+Cyril would want her to look pretty.  That name
+will fetch her every time, and I've learned to
+use it beautifully.  I think if I told her Cyril
+approved of short hair and near-sightedness she'd
+I cut off her golden locks and don spectacles on the
+spot.''
+
+Aunt Hannah laughed softly.
+
+``What a child you are, Billy!  Besides, just
+as if Marie were the only one in the house who is
+ruled by a magic name!''
+
+The color deepened in Billy's cheeks.
+
+``Well, of course, any girl--cares something--
+for the man she loves.  Just as if I wouldn't do
+anything in the world I could for Bertram!''
+
+``Oh, that makes me think; who was that young
+woman Bertram was talking with last evening--
+just after he left us, I mean?''
+
+``Miss Winthrop--Miss Marguerite Winthrop. 
+Bertram is--is painting her portrait, you know.''
+
+``Oh, is that the one?'' murmured Aunt
+Hannah.  ``Hm-m; well, she has a beautiful face.''
+
+``Yes, she has.''  Billy spoke very cheerfully. 
+She even hummed a little tune as she carefully
+selected a needle from the cushion in her basket.
+
+``There's a peculiar something in her face,''
+mused Aunt Hannah, aloud.
+
+The little tune stopped abruptly, ending in a
+nervous laugh.
+
+``Dear me!  I wonder how it feels to have a
+peculiar something in your face.  Bertram, too,
+says she has it.  He's trying to `catch it,' he says. 
+I wonder now--if he does catch it, does she lose
+it?''  Flippant as were the words, the voice that
+uttered them shook a little.
+
+Aunt Hannah smiled indulgently--Aunt Hannah
+had heard only the flippancy, not the shake.
+
+``I don't know, my dear.  You might ask him
+this afternoon.''
+
+Billy made a sudden movement.  The china
+egg in her lap rolled to the floor.
+
+``Oh, but I don't see him this afternoon,'' she
+said lightly, as she stooped to pick up the egg.
+
+``Why, I'm sure he told me--''  Aunt Hannah's
+sentence ended in a questioning pause.
+
+``Yes, I know,'' nodded Billy, brightly; ``but
+he's told me something since.  He isn't going. 
+He telephoned me this morning.  Miss Winthrop
+wanted the sitting changed from to-morrow to
+this afternoon.  He said he knew I'd understand.''
+
+``Why, yes; but--''  Aunt Hannah did not
+finish her sentence.  The whir of an electric bell
+had sounded through the house.  A few moments
+later Rosa appeared in the open doorway.
+
+``It,'s Mr. Arkwright, Miss.  He said as how
+he had brought the music,'' she announced.
+
+``Tell him I'll be down at once,'' directed the
+mistress of Hillside.
+
+As the maid disappeared, Billy put aside her
+work and sprang lightly to her feet.
+
+``Now wasn't that nice of him?  We were
+talking last night about some duets he had, and he
+said he'd bring them over.  I didn't know he'd
+come so soon, though.''
+
+Billy had almost reached the bottom of the
+stairway, when a low, familiar strain of music drifted
+out from the living-room.  Billy caught her breath,
+and held her foot suspended.  The next moment
+the familiar strain of music had become a lullaby
+--one of Billy's own--and sung now by a melting
+tenor voice that lingered caressingly and
+understandingly on every tender cadence.
+
+Motionless and almost breathless, Billy waited
+until the last low ``lul-la-by'' vibrated into
+silence; then with shining eyes and outstretched
+hands she entered the living-room.
+
+``Oh, that was--beautiful,'' she breathed.
+
+Arkwright was on his feet instantly.  His eyes,
+too, were alight.
+
+``I could not resist singing it just once--
+here,'' he said a little unsteadily, as their hands
+met.
+
+``But to hear my little song sung like that! 
+I couldn't believe it was mine,'' choked Billy,
+still plainly very much moved.  ``You sang it as
+I've never heard it sung before.''
+
+Arkwright shook his head slowly.
+
+``The inspiration of the room--that is all,'',
+he said.  ``It is a beautiful song.  All of your songs
+are beautiful.''
+
+Billy blushed rosily.
+
+``Thank you.  You know--more of them,
+then?''
+
+``I think I know them all--unless you have
+some new ones out.  Have you some new ones,
+lately?''
+
+Billy shook her head.
+
+``No; I haven't written anything since last
+spring.''
+
+``But you're going to?''
+
+She drew a long sigh.
+
+``Yes, oh, yes.  I know that _now_--''  With a
+swift biting of her lower lip Billy caught herself
+up in time.  As if she could tell this man, this
+stranger, what she had told Bertram that night
+by the fire--that she knew that now, _now_ she
+would write beautiful songs, with his love, and
+his pride in her, as incentives.  ``Oh, yes, I think
+I shall write more one of these days,'' she finished
+lightly.  ``But come, this isn't singing duets!  I
+want to see the music you brought.''
+
+They sang then, one after another of the duets. 
+To Billy, the music was new and interesting. 
+To Billy, too, it was new (and interesting) to hear
+her own voice blending with another's so perfectly
+--to feel herself a part of such exquisite harmony.
+
+``Oh, oh!'' she breathed ecstatically, after the
+last note of a particularly beautiful phrase.  ``I
+never knew before how lovely it was to sing
+duets.''
+
+``Nor I,'' replied Arkwright in a voice that was
+not quite steady.
+
+Arkwright's eyes were on the enraptured face
+of the girl so near him.  It was well, perhaps,
+that Billy did not happen to turn and catch their
+expression.  Still, it might have been better if
+she had turned, after all.  But Billy's eyes were
+on the music before her.  Her fingers were busy
+with the fluttering pages, searching for another
+duet.
+
+``Didn't you?'' she murmured abstractedly. 
+``I supposed _you'd_ sung them before; but you
+see I never did--until the other night.  There,
+let's try this one!''
+
+``This one'' was followed by another and
+another.  Then Billy drew a long breath.
+
+``There! that must positively be the last,''
+she declared reluctantly.  ``I'm so hoarse now
+I can scarcely croak.  You see, I don't pretend
+to sing, really.''
+
+``Don't you?  You sing far better than some
+who do, anyhow,''retorted the man, warmly.
+
+``Thank you,'' smiled Billy; ``that was nice
+of you to say so--for my sake--and the others
+aren't here to care.  But tell me of yourself.  I
+haven't had a chance to ask you yet; and--I
+think you said Mary Jane was going to study for
+Grand Opera.''
+
+Arkwright laughed and shrugged his shoulders.
+
+``She is; but, as I told Calderwell, she's quite
+likely to bring up in vaudeville.''
+
+``Calderwell!  Do you mean--Hugh Calderwell?'' 
+Billy's cheeks showed a deeper color.
+
+The man gave an embarrassed little laugh.  He
+had not meant to let that name slip out just yet.
+
+``Yes.''  He hesitated, then plunged on
+recklessly.  ``We tramped half over Europe together
+last summer.''
+
+``Did you?''  Billy left her seat at the piano
+for one nearer the fire.  ``But this isn't telling
+me about your own plans,'' she hurried on a little
+precipitately.  ``You've studied before, of course. 
+Your voice shows that.''
+
+``Oh, yes; I've studied singing several years,
+and I've had a year or two of church work,
+besides a little concert practice of a mild sort.''
+
+``Have you begun here, yet?''
+
+``Y-yes, I've had my voice tried.''
+
+Billy sat erect with eager interest.
+
+``They liked it, of course?''
+
+Arkwright laughed.
+
+``I'm not saying that.''
+
+``No, but I am,'' declared Billy, with conviction. 
+``They couldn't help liking it.''
+
+Arkwright laughed again.  Just how well they
+had ``liked it'' he did not intend to say.  Their
+remarks had been quite too flattering to repeat
+even to this very plainly interested young woman
+--delightful and heart-warming as was this same
+show of interest, to himself.
+
+``Thank you,'' was all he said.
+
+Billy gave an excited little bounce in her
+chair.
+
+``And you'll begin to learn r<o^>les right away?''
+
+``I already have, some--after a fashion--before
+I came here.''
+
+``Really?  How splendid!  Why, then you'll
+be acting them next right on the Boston Opera
+House stage, and we'll all go to hear you.  How
+perfectly lovely!  I can hardly wait.''
+
+Arkwright laughed--but his eyes glowed with
+pleasure.
+
+``Aren't you hurrying things a little?'' he
+ventured.
+
+``But they do let the students appear,''
+argued Billy.  ``I knew a girl last year who went on
+
+in `Aida,' and she was a pupil at the School. 
+She sang first in a Sunday concert, then they put
+her in the bill for a Saturday night.  She did
+splendidly--so well that they gave her a chance
+later at a subscription performance.  Oh, you'll
+be there--and soon, too!''
+
+``Thank you!  I only wish the powers that
+could put me there had your flattering enthusiasm
+on the matter,'' he smiled.
+
+``I don't worry any,'' nodded Billy, ``only
+please don't `arrive' too soon--not before the
+wedding, you know,'' she added jokingly.  ``We
+shall be too busy to give you proper attention
+until after that.''
+
+A peculiar look crossed Arkwright's face.
+
+``The--_wedding?_'' he asked, a little faintly.
+
+``Yes.  Didn't you know?  My friend, Miss
+Hawthorn, is to marry Mr. Cyril Henshaw next
+month.''
+
+The man opposite relaxed visibly.
+
+``Oh, _Miss Hawthorn!_  No, I didn't know,''
+he murmured; then, with sudden astonishment
+he added:  ``And to Mr. Cyril, the musician,
+did you say?''
+
+``Yes.  You seem surprised.''
+
+``I am.''  Arkwright paused, then went on
+almost defiantly.  ``You see, Calderwell was
+telling me only last September how very
+unmarriageable all the Henshaw brothers were.  So
+I am surprised--naturally,'' finished Arkwright,
+as he rose to take his leave.
+
+A swift crimson stained Billy's face.
+
+``But surely you must know that--that--''
+
+``That he has a right to change his mind, of
+course,'' supplemented Arkwright smilingly,
+coming to her rescue in the evident confusion that
+would not let her finish her sentence.  ``But
+Calderwell made it so emphatic, you see, about
+all the brothers.  He said that William had lost
+his heart long ago; that Cyril hadn't any to lose;
+and that Bertram--''
+
+``But, Mr. Arkwright, Bertram is--is--''
+Billy had moistened her lips, and plunged hurriedly
+in to prevent Arkwright's next words.  But again
+was she unable to finish her sentence, and again
+was she forced to listen to a very different
+completion from the smiling lips of the man at her
+side.
+
+``Is an artist, of course,'' said Arkwright. 
+``That's what Calderwell declared--that it
+would always be the tilt of a chin or the curve
+of a cheek that the artist loved--to paint.''
+
+Billy drew back suddenly.  Her face paled. 
+As if _now_ she could tell this man that Bertram
+Henshaw was engaged to her!  He would find it
+out soon, of course, for himself; and perhaps he,
+like Hugh Calderwell, would think it was the
+curve of _her_ cheek, or the tilt of _her_ chin--
+
+Billy lifted her chin very defiantly now as she
+held out her hand in good-by.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+A RUG, A PICTURE, AND A GIRL AFRAID
+
+
+Thanksgiving came.  Once again the Henshaw
+brothers invited Billy and Aunt Hannah to spend
+the day with them.  This time, however, there
+was to be an additional guest present in the person
+of Marie Hawthorn.
+
+And what a day it was, for everything and
+everybody concerned!  First the Strata itself: from
+Dong Ling's kitchen in the basement to Cyril's
+domain on the top floor, the house was as spick-
+and-span as Pete's eager old hands could make
+it.  In the drawing-room and in Bertram's den
+and studio, great clusters of pink roses perfumed
+the air, and brightened the sombre richness of
+the old-time furnishings.  Before the open fire
+in the den a sleek gray cat--adorned with a huge
+ribbon bow the exact shade of the roses (Bertram
+had seen to that!)--winked and blinked sleepy
+yellow eyes.  In Bertram's studio the latest ``Face
+of a Girl'' had made way for a group of canvases
+and plaques, every one of which showed Billy
+Neilson in one pose or another.  Up-stairs, where
+William's chaos of treasures filled shelves and
+cabinets, the place of honor was given to a small
+black velvet square on which rested a pair of
+quaint Battersea enamel mirror knobs.  In Cyril's
+rooms--usually so austerely bare--a handsome
+Oriental rug and several curtain-draped chairs
+hinted at purchases made at the instigation of
+a taste other than his own.
+
+When the doorbell rang Pete admitted the
+ladies with a promptness that was suggestive
+of surreptitious watching at some window.  On
+Pete's face the dignity of his high office and the
+delight of the moment were fighting for mastery. 
+The dignity held firmly through Mrs. Stetson's
+friendly greeting; but it fled in defeat when Billy
+Neilson stepped over the threshold with a cheery
+``Good morning, Pete.''
+
+``Laws!  But it's good to be seein' you here
+again,'' stammered the man,--delight now in
+sole possession.
+
+``She'll be coming to stay, one of these days,
+Pete,'' smiled the eldest Henshaw, hurrying forward.
+
+``I wish she had now,'' whispered Bertram, who,
+in spite of William's quick stride, had reached
+Billy's side first.
+
+From the stairway came the patter of a man's
+slippered feet.
+
+``The rug has come, and the curtains, too,''
+called a ``householder'' sort of voice that few
+would have recognized as belonging to Cyril
+Henshaw.  ``You must all come up-stairs and
+see them after dinner.''  The voice, apparently,
+spoke to everybody; but the eyes of the owner
+of the voice plainly saw only the fair-haired young
+woman who stood a little in the shadow behind
+Billy, and who was looking about her now as at
+something a little fearsome, but very dear.
+
+``You know--I've never been--where you
+live--before,'' explained Marie Hawthorn in a
+low, vibrant tone, when Cyril bent over her to
+take the furs from her shoulders.
+
+In Bertram's den a little later, as hosts and
+guests advanced toward the fire, the sleek gray
+cat rose, stretched lazily, and turned her head
+with majestic condescension.
+
+``Well, Spunkie, come here,'' commanded Billy,
+snapping her fingers at the slow-moving creature
+on the hearthrug.  ``Spunkie, when I am your
+mistress, you'll have to change either your name
+or your nature.  As if I were going to have such
+a bunch of independent moderation as you
+masquerading as an understudy to my frisky little
+Spunk!''
+
+Everybody laughed.  William regarded his
+namesake with fond eyes as he said:
+
+``Spunkie doesn't seem to be worrying.''  The
+cat had jumped into Billy's lap with a matter-
+of-course air that was unmistakable--and to Bertram,
+adorable.  Bertram's eyes, as they rested
+on Billy, were even fonder than were his
+brother's.
+
+``I don't think any one is--_worrying_,'' he
+said with quiet emphasis.
+
+Billy smiled.
+
+``I should think they might be,'' she answered. 
+``Only think how dreadfully upsetting I was in
+the first place!''
+
+William's beaming face grew a little stern.
+
+``Nobody knew it but Kate--and she didn't
+_know_ it; she only imagined it,'' he said tersely.
+
+Billy shook her head.
+
+``I'm not so sure,'' she demurred.  ``As I look
+back at it now, I think I can discern a few
+evidences myself--that I was upsetting.  I was a
+bother to Bertram in his painting, I am sure.''
+
+``You were an inspiration,'' corrected Bertram. 
+``Think of the posing you did for me.''
+
+A swift something like a shadow crossed Billy's
+face; but before her lover could question its
+meaning, it was gone.
+
+``And I know I was a torment to Cyril.''  Billy
+had turned to the musician now.
+
+``Well, I admit you were a little--upsetting,
+at times,'' retorted that individual, with something
+of his old imperturbable rudeness.
+
+``Nonsense!'' cut in William, sharply.  ``You
+were never anything but a comfort in the house,
+Billy, my dear--and you never will be.''
+
+``Thank you,'' murmured Billy, demurely. 
+``I'll remember that--when Pete and I disagree
+about the table decorations, and Dong Ling
+doesn't like the way I want my soup seasoned.''
+
+An anxious frown showed on Bertram's face.
+
+``Billy,'' he said in a low voice, as the others
+laughed at her sally, ``you needn't have Pete
+nor Dong Ling here if you don't want them.''
+
+``Don't want them!'' echoed Billy, indignantly. 
+``Of course I want them!''
+
+``But--Pete _is_ old, and--''
+
+``Yes; and where's he grown old?  For whom
+has he worked the last fifty years, while he's
+been growing old?  I wonder if you think I'd
+let Pete leave this house as long as he _wants_ to
+stay!  As for Dong Ling--''
+
+A sudden movement of Bertram's hand arrested
+her words.  She looked up to find Pete in
+the doorway.
+
+``Dinner is served, sir,'' announced the old
+butler, his eyes on his master's face.
+
+William rose with alacrity, and gave his arm
+to Aunt Hannah.
+
+``Well, I'm sure we're ready for dinner,'' he
+declared.
+
+It was a good dinner, and it was well served. 
+It could scarcely have been otherwise with Dong
+Ling in the kitchen and Pete in the dining-room
+doing their utmost to please.  But even had the
+turkey been tough instead of tender, and even
+had the pies been filled with sawdust instead of
+with delicious mincemeat, it is doubtful if four
+at the table would have known the difference: 
+Cyril and Marie at one end were discussing where
+to put their new sideboard in their dining-room,
+and Bertram and Billy at the other were talking
+of the next Thanksgiving, when, according to
+Bertram, the Strata would have the ``dearest
+little mistress that ever was born.''  As if, under
+these circumstances, the tenderness of the turkey
+or the toothsomeness of the mince pie mattered! 
+To Aunt Hannah and William, in the centre of
+the table, however, it did matter; so it was well,
+of course, that the dinner was a good one.
+
+``And now,'' said Cyril, when dinner was over,
+``suppose you come up and see the rug.''
+
+In compliance with this suggestion, the six
+trailed up the long flights of stairs then, Billy
+carrying an extra shawl for Aunt Hannah--
+Cyril's rooms were always cool.
+
+``Oh, yes, I knew we should need it,'' she nodded
+to Bertram, as she picked up the shawl from the
+hall stand where she had left it when she came
+in.  ``That's why I brought it.''
+
+``Oh, my grief and conscience, Cyril, how _can_
+you stand it?--to climb stairs like this,'' panted
+Aunt Hannah, as she reached the top of the last
+flight and dropped breathlessly into the nearest
+chair--from which Marie had rescued a curtain
+just in time.
+
+``Well, I'm not sure I could--if I were always
+to eat a Thanksgiving dinner just before,'' laughed
+Cyril.  ``Maybe I ought to have waited and let
+you rest an hour or two.''
+
+``But 'twould have been too dark, then, to see the
+rug,'' objected Marie.  ``It's a genuine Persian--
+a Kirman, you know; and I'm so proud of it,''
+she added, turning to the others.  ``I wanted you
+to see the colors by daylight.  Cyril likes it better,
+anyhow, in the daytime.''
+
+``Fancy Cyril _liking_ any sort of a rug at any
+time,'' chuckled Bertram, his eyes on the rich,
+softly blended colors of the rug before him. 
+``Honestly, Miss Marie,'' he added, turning to the
+little bride elect, ``how did you ever manage to
+get him to buy _any_ rug?  He won't have so much
+as a ravelling on the floor up here to walk on.''
+
+A startled dismay came into Marie's blue
+eyes.
+
+``Why, I thought he wanted rugs,'' she
+faltered.  ``I'm sure he said--''
+
+``Of course I want rugs,'' interrupted Cyril,
+irritably.  ``I want them everywhere except in
+my own especial den.  You don't suppose I want
+to hear other people clattering over bare floors
+all day, do you?''
+
+``Of course not!'' Bertram's face was
+preternaturally grave as he turned to the little music
+teacher.  ``I hope, Miss Marie, that you wear
+rubber heels on your shoes,'' he observed solicitously.
+
+Even Cyril laughed at this, though all he said
+was:
+
+``Come, come, I got you up here to look at the
+rug.''
+
+Bertram, however, was not to be silenced.
+
+``And another thing, Miss Marie,'' he resumed,
+with the air of a true and tried adviser.  ``Just
+let me give you a pointer.  I've lived with your
+future husband a good many years, and I know
+what I'm talking about.''
+
+``Bertram, be still,'' growled Cyril.
+
+Bertram refused to be still.
+
+``Whenever you want to know anything about
+Cyril, listen to his playing.  For instance: if,
+after dinner, you hear a dreamy waltz or a sleepy
+nocturne, you may know that all is well.  But if
+on your ears there falls anything like a dirge, or
+the wail of a lost spirit gone mad, better look to
+your soup and see if it hasn't been scorched, or
+taste of your pudding and see if you didn't put
+in salt instead of sugar.''
+
+``Bertram, will you be still?'' cut in Cyril,
+testily, again.
+
+``After all, judging from what Billy tells me,''
+resumed Bertram, cheerfully, ``what I've said
+won't be so important to you, for you aren't the
+kind that scorches soups or uses salt for sugar. 
+So maybe I'd better put it to you this way: if you
+want a new sealskin coat or an extra diamond
+tiara, tackle him when he plays like this!''  And
+with a swift turn Bertram dropped himself to the
+piano stool and dashed into a rollicking melody
+that half the newsboys of Boston were whistling.
+
+What happened next was a surprise to every one. 
+Bertram, very much as if he were a naughty
+little boy, was jerked by a wrathful brother's
+hand off the piano stool.  The next moment the
+wrathful brother himself sat at the piano, and
+there burst on five pairs of astonished ears a
+crashing dissonance which was but the prelude
+to music such as few of the party often heard.
+
+Spellbound they listened while rippling runs
+and sonorous harmonies filled the room to overflowing,
+as if under the fingers of the player there
+were--not the keyboard of a piano--but the
+violins, flutes, cornets, trombones, bass viols
+and kettledrums of a full orchestra.
+
+Billy, perhaps, of them all, best understood. 
+She knew that in those tripping melodies and
+crashing chords were Cyril's joy at the presence
+of Marie, his wrath at the flippancy of Bertram,
+his ecstasy at that for which the rug and curtains
+stood--the little woman sewing in the radiant
+circle of a shaded lamp.  Billy knew that all this
+and more were finding voice at Cyril's finger tips. 
+The others, too, understood in a way; but they,
+unlike Billy, were not in the habit of finding on
+a few score bits of wood and ivory a vent for their
+moods and fancies.
+
+The music was softer now.  The resounding
+chords and purling runs had become a bell-like
+melody that wound itself in and out of a maze of
+exquisite harmonies, now hiding, now coming out
+clear and unafraid, like a mountain stream emerging
+into a sunlit meadow from the leafy shadows
+of its forest home.
+
+In a breathless hush the melody quivered into
+silence.  It was Bertram who broke the pause
+with a long-drawn:
+
+``By George!''  Then, a little unsteadily: 
+``If it's I that set you going like that, old chap,
+I'll come up and play ragtime every day!''
+
+Cyril shrugged his shoulders and got to his
+feet.
+
+``If you've seen all you want of the rug we'll
+go down-stairs,'' he said nonchalantly.
+
+``But we haven't!'' chorussed several indignant
+voices.  And for the next few minutes not even
+the owner of the beautiful Kirman could find
+any fault with the quantity or the quality of the
+attention bestowed on his new possession.  But
+Billy, under cover of the chatter, said reproachfully
+in his ear:
+
+``Oh, Cyril, to think you can play like that--
+and won't--on demand!''
+
+``I can't--on demand,'' shrugged Cyril again.
+
+On the way down-stairs they stopped at
+William's rooms.
+
+``I want you to see a couple of Batterseas I
+got last week,'' cried the collector eagerly, as he
+led the way to the black velvet square.  ``They're
+fine--and I think she looks like you,'' he finished,
+turning to Billy, and holding out one of the knobs,
+on which was a beautifully executed miniature of
+a young girl with dark, dreamy eyes.
+
+``Oh, how pretty!'' exclaimed Marie, over
+Billy's shoulder.  ``But what are they?''
+
+The collector turned, his face alight.
+
+``Mirror knobs.  I've got lots of them.  Would
+you like to see them--really?  They're right here.''
+
+The next minute Marie found herself looking
+into a cabinet where lay a score or more of round
+and oval discs of glass, porcelain, and metal,
+framed in silver, gilt, and brass, and mounted on
+long spikes.
+
+``Oh, how pretty,'' cried Marie again; ``but
+how--how queer!  Tell me about them, please.''
+
+William drew a long breath.  His eyes glistened. 
+William loved to talk--when he had a curio
+and a listener.
+
+``I will.  Our great-grandmothers used them,
+you know, to support their mirrors, or to fasten
+back their curtains,'' he explained ardently. 
+``Now here's another Battersea enamel, but it
+isn't so good as my new ones--that face is almost
+a caricature.''
+
+``But what a beautiful ship--on that round
+one!'' exclaimed Marie.  ``And what's this one?
+--glass?''
+
+``Yes; but that's not so rare as the others. 
+Still, it's pretty enough.  Did you notice this
+one, with the bright red and blue and green on
+the white background?--regular Chinese mode
+of decoration, that is.''
+
+``Er--any time, William,'' began Bertram,
+mischievously; but William did not seem to
+hear.
+
+``Now in this corner,'' he went on, warming
+to his subject, ``are the enamelled porcelains. 
+They were probably made at the Worcester works
+--England, you know; and I think many of them
+are quite as pretty as the Batterseas.  You see
+it was at Worcester that they invented that
+variation of the transfer printing process that
+they called bat printing, where they used oil
+instead of ink, and gelatine instead of paper.  Now
+engravings for that kind of printing were usually
+in stipple work--dots, you know--so the prints
+on these knobs can easily be distinguished from
+those of the transfer printing.  See?  Now, this
+one is--''
+
+``Er, of course, William, any time--''
+interposed Bertram again, his eyes twinkling.
+
+William stopped with a laugh.
+
+``Yes, I know.  'Tis time I talked of something
+else, Bertram,'' he conceded.
+
+``But 'twas lovely, and I _was_ interested,
+really,'' claimed Marie.  ``Besides, there are such
+a lot of things here that I'd like to see,'' she
+finished, turning slowly about.
+
+``These are what he was collecting last year,''
+murmured Billy, hovering over a small cabinet
+where were some beautiful specimens of antique
+jewelry brooches, necklaces, armlets, Rajah
+rings, and anklets, gorgeous in color and exquisite
+in workmanship.
+
+``Well, here is something you _will_ enjoy,''
+declared Bertram, with an airy flourish.  ``Do
+you see those teapots?  Well, we can have tea
+every day in the year, and not use one of them
+but five times.  I've counted.  There are exactly
+seventy-three,'' he concluded, as he laughingly
+led the way from the room.
+
+``How about leap year?'' quizzed Billy.
+
+``Ho!  Trust Will to find another `Old Blue'
+or a `perfect treasure of a black basalt' by that
+time,'' shrugged Bertram.
+
+Below William's rooms was the floor once
+Bertram's, but afterwards given over to the use
+of Billy and Aunt Hannah.  The rooms were open
+to-day, and were bright with sunshine and roses;
+but they were very plainly unoccupied.
+
+``And you don't use them yet?'' remonstrated
+Billy, as she paused at an open door.
+
+``No.  These are Mrs. Bertram Henshaw's
+rooms,'' said the youngest Henshaw brother in a
+voice that made Billy hurry away with a dimpling
+blush.
+
+``They were Billy's--and they can never seem
+any one's but Billy's, now,'' declared William to
+Marie, as they went down the stairs.
+
+``And now for the den and some good stories
+before the fire,'' proposed Bertram, as the six
+reached the first floor again.
+
+``But we haven't seen your pictures, yet,''
+objected Billy.
+
+Bertram made a deprecatory gesture.
+
+``There's nothing much--'' he began; but
+he stopped at once, with an odd laugh.  ``Well,
+I sha'n't say _that_,'' he finished, flinging open the
+door of his studio, and pressing a button that
+flooded the room with light.  The next moment,
+as they stood before those plaques and panels
+and canvases--on each of which was a pictured
+``Billy''--they understood the change in his
+sentence, and they laughed appreciatively.
+
+`` `Much,' indeed!'' exclaimed William.
+
+``Oh, how lovely!'' breathed Marie.
+
+``My grief and conscience, Bertram!  All these
+--and of Billy?  I knew you had a good many,
+but--''  Aunt Hannah paused impotently, her
+eyes going from Bertram's face to the pictures
+again.
+
+``But how--when did you do them?'' queried
+Marie.
+
+``Some of them from memory.  More of them
+from life.  A lot of them were just sketches that
+I did when she was here in the house four or five
+years ago,'' answered Bertram; ``like this,
+for instance.''  And he pulled into a better light
+a picture of a laughing, dark-eyed girl holding
+against her cheek a small gray kitten, with alert,
+bright eyes.  ``The original and only Spunk,''
+he announced.
+
+``What a dear little cat!'' cried Marie.
+
+``You should have seen it--in the flesh,''
+remarked Cyril, dryly.  ``No paint nor painter
+could imprison that untamed bit of Satanic mischief
+on any canvas that ever grew!''
+
+Everybody laughed--everybody but Billy. 
+Billy, indeed, of them all, had been strangely
+silent ever since they entered the studio.  She
+stood now a little apart.  Her eyes were wide, and
+a bit frightened.  Her fingers were twisting the
+corners of her handkerchief nervously.  She was
+looking to the right and to the left, and everywhere
+she saw--herself.
+
+Sometimes it was her full face, sometimes her
+profile; sometimes there were only her eyes
+peeping from above a fan, or peering from out
+brown shadows of nothingness.  Once it was
+merely the back of her head showing the mass of
+waving hair with its high lights of burnished
+bronze.  Again it was still the back of her head
+with below it the bare, slender neck and the scarf-
+draped shoulders.  In this picture the curve of a
+half-turned cheek showed plainly, and in the
+background was visible a hand holding four playing
+cards, at which the pictured girl was evidently
+looking.  Sometimes it was a merry Billy with
+dancing eyes; sometimes a demure Billy with long
+lashes caressing a flushed cheek.  Sometimes it
+was a wistful Billy with eyes that looked straight
+into yours with peculiar appeal.  But always it
+was--Billy.
+
+``There, I think the tilt of this chin is perfect.'' 
+It was Bertram speaking.
+
+Billy gave a sudden cry.  Her face whitened. 
+She stumbled forward.
+
+``No, no, Bertram, you--you didn't mean
+the--the tilt of the chin,'' she faltered wildly.
+
+The man turned in amazement.
+
+``Why--Billy!'' he stammered.  ``Billy,
+what is it?''
+
+The girl fell back at once.  She tried to laugh
+lightly.  She had seen the dismayed questioning
+in her lover's eyes, and in the eyes of William and
+the others.
+
+``N-nothing,'' she gesticulated hurriedly.  ``It
+was nothing at all, truly.''
+
+``But, Billy, it _was_ something.''  Bertram's
+eyes were still troubled.  ``Was it the picture? 
+I thought you liked this picture.''
+
+Billy laughed again--this time more naturally.
+
+``Bertram, I'm ashamed of you--expecting
+me to say I `like' any of this,'' she scolded, with
+a wave of her hands toward the omnipresent
+Billy.  ``Why, I feel as if I were in a room with
+a thousand mirrors, and that I'd been discovered
+putting rouge on my cheeks and lampblack on
+my eyebrows!''
+
+William laughed fondly.  Aunt Hannah and
+Marie gave an indulgent smile.  Cyril actually
+chuckled.  Bertram only still wore a puzzled
+expression as he laid aside the canvas in his
+hands.
+
+Billy examined intently a sketch she had found
+with its back to the wall.  It was not a pretty
+sketch; it was not even a finished one, and Billy
+did not in the least care what it was.  But her
+lips cried interestedly:
+
+``Oh, Bertram, what is this?''
+
+There was no answer.  Bertram was still
+engaged, apparently, in putting away some sketches. 
+Over by the doorway leading to the den Marie
+and Aunt Hannah, followed by William and Cyril,
+were just disappearing behind a huge easel. 
+In another minute the merry chatter of their
+voices came from the room beyond.  Bertram
+hurried then straight across the studio to the
+girl still bending over the sketch in the corner.
+
+``Bertram!'' gasped Billy, as a kiss brushed
+her cheek.
+
+``Pooh!  They're gone.  Besides, what if they
+did see?  Billy, what was the matter with the
+tilt of that chin?''
+
+Billy gave an hysterical little laugh--at least,
+Bertram tried to assure himself that it was a
+laugh, though it had sounded almost like a sob.
+
+``Bertram, if you say another word about--
+about the tilt of that chin, I shall _scream!_'' she
+panted.
+
+``Why, Billy!''
+
+With a nervous little movement Billy turned
+and began to reverse the canvases nearest her.
+
+``Come, sir,'' she commanded gayly.  ``Billy
+has been on exhibition quite long enough.  It is
+high time she was turned face to the wall to
+meditate, and grow more modest.''
+
+Bertram did not answer.  Neither did he make
+a move to assist her.  His ardent gray eyes were
+following her slim, graceful figure admiringly.
+
+``Billy, it doesn't seem true, yet, that you're
+really mine,'' he said at last, in a low voice shaken
+with emotion.
+
+Billy turned abruptly.  A peculiar radiance
+shone in her eyes and glorified her face.  As
+she stood, she was close to a picture on an easel
+and full in the soft glow of the shaded lights
+above it.
+
+``Then you _do_ want me,'' she began, ``--just
+_me!_--not to--'' she stopped short.  The man
+opposite had taken an eager step toward her.  On
+his face was the look she knew so well, the look
+she had come almost to dread--the ``painting
+look.''
+
+``Billy, stand just as you are,'' he was saying. 
+``Don't move.  Jove!  But that effect is perfect
+with those dark shadows beyond, and just your
+hair and face and throat showing.  I declare,
+I've half a mind to sketch--''  But Billy, with
+a little cry, was gone.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+A JOB FOR PETE--AND FOR BERTRAM
+
+
+The early days in December were busy ones,
+certainly, in the little house on Corey Hill.  Marie
+was to be married the twelfth.  It was to be a home
+wedding, and a very simple one--according to
+Billy, and according to what Marie had said it
+was to be.  Billy still serenely spoke of it as a
+``simple affair,'' but Marie was beginning to be
+fearful.  As the days passed, bringing with them
+more and more frequent evidences either tangible
+or intangible of orders to stationers, caterers,
+and florists, her fears found voice in a protest.
+
+``But Billy, it was to be a _simple_ wedding,''
+she cried.
+
+``And so it is.''
+
+``But what is this I hear about a breakfast?''
+
+Billy's chin assumed its most stubborn squareness.
+
+``I don't know, I'm sure, what you did hear,''
+she retorted calmly.
+
+``Billy!''
+
+Billy laughed.  The chin was just as stubborn,
+but the smiling lips above it graced it with an
+air of charming concession.
+
+``There, there, dear,'' coaxed the mistress of
+Hillside, ``don't fret.  Besides, I'm sure I should
+think you, of all people, would want your guests
+_fed!_''
+
+``But this is so elaborate, from what I hear.''
+
+``Nonsense!  Not a bit of it.''
+
+``Rosa says there'll be salads and cakes and
+ices--and I don't know what all.''
+
+Billy looked concerned.
+
+``Well, of course, Marie, if you'd _rather_ have
+oatmeal and doughnuts,'' she began with kind
+solicitude; but she got no farther.
+
+``Billy!'' besought the bride elect.  ``Won't
+you be serious?  And there's the cake in wedding
+boxes, too.''
+
+``I know, but boxes are so much easier and
+cleaner than--just fingers,'' apologized an anxiously
+serious voice.
+
+Marie answered with an indignant, grieved
+glance and hurried on.
+
+``And the flowers--roses, dozens of them,
+in December!  Billy, I can't let you do all this
+for me.''
+
+``Nonsense, dear!'' laughed Billy.  ``Why, I
+love to do it.  Besides, when you're gone, just
+think how lonesome I'll be!  I shall have to adopt
+somebody else then--now that Mary Jane has
+proved to be nothing but a disappointing man
+instead of a nice little girl like you,'' she finished
+whimsically.
+
+Marie did not smile.  The frown still lay
+between her delicate brows.
+
+``And for my trousseau--there were so many
+things that you simply would buy!''
+
+``I didn't get one of the egg-beaters,'' Billy
+reminded her anxiously.
+
+Marie smiled now, but she shook her head, too.
+
+``Billy, I cannot have you do all this for me.''
+
+``Why not?''
+
+At the unexpectedly direct question, Marie
+fell back a little.
+
+``Why, because I--I can't,'' she stammered. 
+``I can't get them for myself, and--and--''
+
+``Don't you love me?''
+
+A pink flush stole to Marie's face.
+
+``Indeed I do, dearly.''
+
+``Don't I love you?''
+
+The flush deepened.
+
+``I--I hope so.''
+
+``Then why won't you let me do what I want
+to, and be happy in it?  Money, just money,
+isn't any good unless you can exchange it for
+something you want.  And just now I want pink roses
+and ice cream and lace flounces for you.  Marie,''
+--Billy's voice trembled a little--``I never had a
+sister till I had you, and I have had such a good
+time buying things that I thought you wanted! 
+But, of course, if you don't want them--''  The
+words ended in a choking sob, and down went
+Billy's head into her folded arms on the desk
+before her.
+
+Marie sprang to her feet and cuddled the bowed
+head in a loving embrace.
+
+``But I do want them, dear; I want them all--
+every single one,'' she urged.  ``Now promise me
+--promise me that you'll do them all, just as
+you'd planned!  You will, won't you?''
+
+There was the briefest of hesitations, then came
+the muffled reply:
+
+``Yes--if you really want them.''
+
+``I do, dear--indeed I do.  I love pretty
+weddings, and I--I always hoped that I could
+have one--if I ever married.  So you must
+know, dear, how I really do want all those things,''
+declared Marie, fervently.  ``And now I must go. 
+I promised to meet Cyril at Park Street at three
+o'clock.''  And she hurried from the room--and
+not until she was half-way to her destination did
+it suddenly occur to her that she had been urging,
+actually urging Miss Billy Neilson to buy for
+her pink roses, ice cream, and lace flounces.
+
+Her cheeks burned with shame then.  But
+almost at once she smiled.
+
+``Now wasn't that just like Billy?'' she was
+saying to herself, with a tender glow in her eyes.
+
+
+It was early in December that Pete came one
+day with a package for Marie from Cyril.  Marie
+was not at home, and Billy herself went downstairs
+to take the package from the old man's
+hands.
+
+``Mr. Cyril said to give it to Miss Hawthorn,''
+stammered the old servant, his face lighting up
+as Billy entered the room; ``but I'm sure he
+wouldn't mind _your_ taking it.''
+
+``I'm afraid I'll have to take it, Pete, unless
+you want to carry it back with you,'' she smiled. 
+``I'll see that Miss Hawthorn has it the very first
+moment she comes in.''
+
+``Thank you, Miss.  It does my old eyes good
+to see your bright face.''  He hesitated, then
+turned slowly.  ``Good day, Miss Billy.''
+
+Billy laid the package on the table.  Her eyes
+were thoughtful as she looked after the old man,
+who was now almost to the door.  Something
+in his bowed form appealed to her strangely.  She
+took a quick step toward him.
+
+``You'll miss Mr. Cyril, Pete,'' she said pleasantly.
+
+The old man stopped at once and turned.  He
+lifted his head a little proudly.
+
+``Yes, Miss.  I--I was there when he was
+born.  Mr. Cyril's a fine man.''
+
+``Indeed he is.  Perhaps it's your good care
+that's helped, some--to make him so,'' smiled
+the girl, vaguely wishing that she could say
+something that would drive the wistful look from the
+dim old eyes before her.
+
+For a moment Billy thought she had succeeded. 
+The old servant drew himself stiffly erect.  In
+his eyes shone the loyal pride of more than fifty
+years' honest service.  Almost at once, however,
+the pride died away, and the wistfulness returned.
+
+``Thank ye, Miss; but I don't lay no claim to
+that, of course,'' he said.  ``Mr. Cyril's a fine
+man, and we shall miss him; but--I cal'late
+changes must come--to all of us.''
+
+Billy's brown eyes grew a little misty.
+
+``I suppose they must,'' she admitted.
+
+The old man hesitated; then, as if impelled
+by some hidden force, he plunged on:
+
+``Yes; and they'll be comin' to you one of
+these days, Miss, and that's what I was wantin'
+to speak to ye about.  I understand, of course,
+that when you get there you'll be wantin' younger
+blood to serve ye.  My feet ain't so spry as they
+once was, and my old hands blunder sometimes,
+in spite of what my head bids 'em do.  So I wanted
+to tell ye--that of course I shouldn't expect to
+stay.  I'd go.''
+
+As he said the words, Pete stood with head and
+shoulders erect, his eyes looking straight forward
+but not at Billy.
+
+``Don't you _want_ to stay?'' The girlish voice
+was a little reproachful.
+
+Pete's head drooped.
+
+``Not if--I'm not wanted,'' came the husky
+reply.
+
+With an impulsive movement Billy came
+straight to the old man's side and held out her
+hand.
+
+``Pete!''
+
+Amazement, incredulity, and a look that was
+almost terror crossed the old man's face; then a
+flood of dull red blotted them all out and left only
+worshipful rapture.  With a choking cry he took
+the slim little hand in both his rough and twisted
+ones much as if he were possessing himself of
+a treasured bit of eggshell china.
+
+``Miss Billy!''
+
+``Pete, there aren't a pair of feet in Boston,
+nor a pair of hands, either, that I'd rather have
+serve me than yours, no matter if they stumble
+and blunder all day!  I shall love stumbles and
+blunders--if you make them.  Now run home,
+and don't ever let me hear another syllable about
+your leaving!''
+
+They were not the words Billy had intended
+to say.  She had meant to speak of his long,
+faithful service, and of how much they appreciated
+it; but, to her surprise, Billy found her
+own eyes wet and her own voice trembling, and
+the words that she would have said she found
+fast shut in her throat.  So there was nothing
+to do but to stammer out something--anything,
+that would help to keep her from yielding to
+that absurd and awful desire to fall on the old
+servant's neck and cry.
+
+``Not another syllable!'' she repeated sternly.
+
+``Miss Billy!'' choked Pete again.  Then he
+turned and fled with anything but his usual
+dignity.
+
+Bertram called that evening.  When Billy
+came to him in the living-room, her slender self
+was almost hidden behind the swirls of damask
+linen in her arms.
+
+Bertram's eyes grew mutinous.
+
+``Do you expect me to hug all that?'' he demanded.
+
+Billy flashed him a mischievous glance.
+
+``Of course not!  You don't _have_ to hug
+anything, you know.''
+
+For answer he impetuously swept the offending
+linen into the nearest chair and drew the girl
+into his arms.
+
+``Oh!  And see how you've crushed poor Marie's
+table-cloth!'' she cried, with reproachful eyes.
+
+Bertram sniffed imperturbably.
+
+``I'm not sure but I'd like to crush Marie,''
+he alleged.
+
+``Bertram!''
+
+``I can't help it.  See here, Billy.''  He loosened
+his clasp and held the girl off at arm's length,
+regarding her with stormy eyes.  ``It's Marie,
+Marie, Marie--always.  If I telephone in the
+morning, you've gone shopping with Marie. 
+If I want you in the afternoon for something,
+you're at the dressmaker's with Marie.  If I call
+in the evening--''
+
+``I'm here,'' interrupted Billy, with decision.
+
+``Oh, yes, you're here,'' admitted Bertram,
+aggrievedly, ``and so are dozens of napkins,
+miles of table-cloths, and yards upon yards of
+lace and flummydiddles you call `doilies.'  They
+all belong to Marie, and they fill your arms and
+your thoughts full, until there isn't an inch of
+room for me.  Billy, when is this thing going to
+end?''
+
+Billy laughed softly.  Her eyes danced.
+
+``The twelfth;--that is, there'll be a--pause,
+then.''
+
+``Well, I'm thankful if--eh?'' broke off the
+man, with a sudden change of manner.  ``What
+do you mean by `a pause'?''
+
+Billy cast down her eyes demurely.
+
+``Well, of course _this_ ends the twelfth with
+Marie's wedding; but I've sort of regarded it as
+an--understudy for one that's coming next
+October, you see.''
+
+``Billy, you darling!'' breathed a supremely
+happy voice in a shell-like ear--Billy was not
+at arm's length now.
+
+Billy smiled, but she drew away with gentle
+firmness.
+
+``And now I must go back to my sewing,''
+she said.
+
+Bertram's arms did not loosen.  His eyes had
+grown mutinous again.
+
+``That is,'' she amended, ``I must be practising
+my part of--the understudy, you know.''
+
+``You darling!'' breathed Bertram again; this
+time, however, he let her go.
+
+``But, honestly, is it all necessary?'' he sighed
+despairingly, as she seated herself and gathered
+the table-cloth into her lap.  ``Do you have to do
+so much of it all?''
+
+``I do,'' smiled Billy, ``unless you want your
+brother to run the risk of leading his bride to
+the altar and finding her robed in a kitchen
+apron with an egg-beater in her hand for a
+bouquet.''
+
+Bertram laughed.
+
+``Is it so bad as that?''
+
+``No, of course not--quite.  But never have
+I seen a bride so utterly oblivious to clothes as
+Marie was till one day in despair I told her that
+Cyril never could bear a dowdy woman.''
+
+``As if Cyril, in the old days, ever could bear
+any sort of woman!'' scoffed Bertram, merrily.
+
+``I know; but I didn't mention that part,''
+smiled Billy.  ``I just singled out the dowdy
+one.''
+
+``Did it work?''
+
+Billy made a gesture of despair.
+
+``Did it work!  It worked too well.  Marie gave
+me one horrified look, then at once and immediately
+she became possessed with the idea that she
+_was_ a dowdy woman.  And from that day to
+this she has pursued every lurking wrinkle and
+every fold awry, until her dressmaker's life isn't
+worth the living; and I'm beginning to think
+mine isn't, either, for I have to assure her at
+least four times every day now that she is _not_
+a dowdy woman.''
+
+``You poor dear,'' laughed Bertram.  ``No
+wonder you don't have time to give to me!''
+
+A peculiar expression crossed Billy's face.
+
+``Oh, but I'm not the _only_ one who, at times,
+is otherwise engaged, sir,'' she reminded him.
+
+``What do you mean?''
+
+``There was yesterday, and last Monday, and
+last week Wednesday, and--''
+
+``Oh, but you _let_ me off, then,'' argued
+Bertram, anxiously.  ``And you said--''
+
+``That I didn't wish to interfere with your
+work--which was quite true,'' interrupted Billy
+in her turn, smoothly.  ``By the way,''--Billy
+was examining her stitches very closely now
+--``how is Miss Winthrop's portrait coming
+on?''
+
+``Splendidly!--that is, it _was_, until she began
+to put off the sittings for her pink teas and
+folderols.  She's going to Washington next week, too,
+to be gone nearly a fortnight,'' finished Bertram, gloomily.
+
+``Aren't you putting more work than usual
+into this one--and more sittings?''
+
+``Well, yes,'' laughed Bertram, a little shortly. 
+``You see, she's changed the pose twice already.''
+
+``Changed it!''
+
+``Yes.  Wasn't satisfied.  Fancied she wanted
+it different.''
+
+``But can't you--don't you have something to
+say about it?''
+
+``Oh, yes, of course; and she claims she'll
+yield to my judgment, anyhow.  But what's the
+use?  She's been a spoiled darling all her life, and
+in the habit of having her own way about everything. 
+Naturally, under those circumstances,
+I can't expect to get a satisfactory portrait,
+if she's out of tune with the pose.  Besides, I will
+own, so far her suggestions have made for
+improvement--probably because she's been happy
+in making them, so her expression has been good.''
+
+Billy wet her lips.
+
+``I saw her the other night,'' she said lightly. 
+(If the lightness was a little artificial Bertram did
+not seem to notice it.)  ``She is certainly--very
+beautiful.''
+
+``Yes.''  Bertram got to his feet and began to
+walk up and down the little room.  His eyes were
+alight.  On his face the ``painting look'' was king. 
+``It's going to mean a lot to me--this picture,
+Billy.  In the first place I'm just at the point in
+my career where a big success would mean a lot
+--and where a big failure would mean more. 
+And this portrait is bound to be one or the other
+from the very nature of the thing.''
+
+``I-is it?'' Billy's voice was a little faint.
+
+``Yes.  First, because of who the sitter is, and
+secondly because of what she is.  She is, of course,
+the most famous subject I've had, and half the
+artistic world knows by this time that Marguerite
+Winthrop is being done by Henshaw.  You can
+see what it'll be--if I fail.''
+
+``But you won't fail, Bertram!''
+
+The artist lifted his chin and threw back his
+shoulders.
+
+``No, of course not; but--''  He hesitated,
+frowned, and dropped himself into a chair.  His
+eyes studied the fire moodily.  ``You see,'' he
+resumed, after a moment, ``there's a peculiar,
+elusive something about her expression--''
+(Billy stirred restlessly and gave her thread so
+savage a jerk that it broke)``--a something
+that isn't easily caught by the brush.  Anderson
+and Fullam--big fellows, both of them--didn't
+catch it.  At least, I've understood that neither
+her family nor her friends are satisfied with _their_
+portraits.  And to succeed where Anderson and
+Fullam failed--Jove!  Billy, a chance like that
+doesn't come to a fellow twice in a lifetime!'' 
+Bertram was out of his chair, again, tramping
+up and down the little room.
+
+Billy tossed her work aside and sprang to her
+feet.  Her eyes, too, were alight, now.
+
+``But you aren't going to fail, dear,'' she cried,
+holding out both her hands.  ``You're going to
+succeed!''
+
+Bertram caught the hands and kissed first one
+then the other of their soft little palms.
+
+``Of course I am,'' he agreed passionately,
+leading her to the sofa, and seating himself at her
+side.
+
+``Yes, but you must really _feel_ it,'' she urged;
+``feel the `_sure_' in yourself.  You have to!--to
+doing things.  That's what I told Mary Jane yesterday,
+when he was running on about what _he_
+wanted to do--in his singing, you know.''
+
+Bertram stiffened a little.  A quick frown came
+to his face.
+
+``Mary Jane, indeed!  Of all the absurd names
+to give a full-grown, six-foot man!  Billy, do, for
+pity's sake, call him by his name--if he's got
+one.''
+
+Billy broke into a rippling laugh.
+
+``I wish I could, dear,'' she sighed ingenuously.
+
+``Honestly, it bothers me because I _can't_ think
+of him as anything but `Mary Jane.'  It seems
+so silly!''
+
+``It certainly does--when one remembers
+his beard.''
+
+``Oh, he's shaved that off now.  He looks
+rather better, too.''
+
+Bertram turned a little sharply.
+
+``Do you see the fellow--often?''
+
+Billy laughed merrily.
+
+``No.  He's about as disgruntled as you are
+over the way the wedding monopolizes everything. 
+He's been up once or twice to see Aunt Hannah
+and to get acquainted, as he expresses it, and once
+he brought up some music and we sang; but he
+declares the wedding hasn't given him half a show.''
+
+``Indeed!  Well, that's a pity, I'm sure,''
+rejoined Bertram, icily.
+
+Billy turned in slight surprise.
+
+``Why, Bertram, don't you like Mary Jane?''
+
+``Billy, for heaven's sake!  _Hasn't_ he got any
+name but that?''
+
+Billy clapped her hands together suddenly.
+
+``There, that makes me think.  He told Aunt
+Hannah and me to guess what his name was, and
+we never hit it once.  What do you think it is? 
+The initials are M. J.''
+
+``I couldn't say, I'm sure.  What is it?''
+
+``Oh, he didn't tell us.  You see he left us to
+guess it.''
+
+``Did he?''
+
+``Yes,'' mused Billy, abstractedly, her eyes on
+the dancing fire.  The next minute she stirred and
+settled herself more comfortably in the curve
+of her lover's arm.  ``But there! who cares
+what his name is?  I'm sure I don't.''
+
+``Nor I,'' echoed Bertram in a voice that he
+tried to make not too fervent.  He had not
+forgotten Billy's surprised:  ``Why, Bertram, don't
+you like Mary Jane?'' and he did not like to call
+forth a repetition of it.  Abruptly, therefore, he
+changed the subject.  ``By the way, what did
+you do to Pete to-day?'' he asked laughingly. 
+``He came home in a seventh heaven of happiness
+babbling of what an angel straight from the sky
+Miss Billy was.  Naturally I agreed with him
+on that point.  But what did you do to him?''
+
+Billy smiled.
+
+``Nothing--only engaged him for our butler
+--for life.''
+
+``Oh, I see.  That was dear of you, Billy.''
+
+``As if I'd do anything else!  And now for
+Dong Ling, I suppose, some day.''
+
+Bertram chuckled.
+
+``Well, maybe I can help you there,'' he hinted. 
+``You see, his Celestial Majesty came to me
+himself the other day, and said, after sundry and
+various preliminaries, that he should be `velly
+much glad' when the `Little Missee' came to
+live with me, for then he could go back to China
+with a heart at rest, as he had money `velly
+much plenty' and didn't wish to be `Melican
+man' any longer.''
+
+``Dear me,'' smiled Billy, ``what a happy
+state of affairs--for him.  But for you--do you
+realize, young man, what that means for you? 
+A new wife and a new cook all at once?  And you
+know I'm not Marie!''
+
+``Ho! I'm not worrying,'' retorted Bertram
+with a contented smile; ``besides, as perhaps
+you noticed, it wasn't Marie that I asked--to
+marry me!''
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+A CLOCK AND AUNT HANNAH
+
+
+Mrs. Kate Hartwell, the Henshaw brothers'
+sister from the West, was expected on the tenth. 
+Her husband could not come, she had written,
+but she would bring with her, little Kate, the
+youngest child.  The boys, Paul and Egbert,
+would stay with their father.
+
+Billy received the news of little Kate's coming
+with outspoken delight.
+
+``The very thing!'' she cried.  ``We'll have
+her for a flower girl.  She was a dear little creature,
+as I remember her.''
+
+Aunt Hannah gave a sudden low laugh.
+
+``Yes, I remember,'' she observed.  ``Kate
+told me, after you spent the first day with her,
+that you graciously informed her that little Kate
+was almost as nice as Spunk.  Kate did not fully
+appreciate the compliment, I fear.''
+
+Billy made a wry face.
+
+``Did I say that?  Dear me!  I _was_ a terror
+in those days, wasn't I?  But then,'' and she
+laughed softly, ``really, Aunt Hannah, that was
+the prettiest thing I knew how to say, for I
+considered Spunk the top-notch of desirability.''
+
+``I think I should have liked to know Spunk,''
+smiled Marie from the other side of the sewing
+table.
+
+``He was a dear,'' declared Billy.  ``I had
+another 'most as good when I first came to Hillside,
+but he got lost.  For a time it seemed as if I never
+wanted another, but I've about come to the conclusion
+now that I do, and I've told Bertram to find
+one for me if he can.  You see I shall be lonesome
+after you're gone, Marie, and I'll have to have
+_something_,'' she finished mischievously.
+
+``Oh, I don't mind the inference--as long as
+I know your admiration of cats,'' laughed Marie.
+
+``Let me see; Kate writes she is coming the
+tenth,'' murmured Aunt Hannah, going back
+to the letter in her hand.
+
+``Good!'' nodded Billy.  ``That will give time
+to put little Kate through her paces as flower
+girl.''
+
+``Yes, and it will give Big Kate time to _try_ to
+make your breakfast a supper, and your roses
+pinks--or sunflowers,'' cut in a new voice, dryly.
+
+``Cyril!'' chorussed the three ladies in horror,
+adoration, and amusement--according to whether
+the voice belonged to Aunt Hannah, Marie, or
+Billy.
+
+Cyril shrugged his shoulders and smiled.
+
+``I beg your pardon,'' he apologized; ``but
+Rosa said you were in here sewing, and I told
+her not to bother.  I'd announce myself.  Just
+as I got to the door I chanced to hear Billy's
+speech, and I couldn't resist making the amendment. 
+Maybe you've forgotten Kate's love of
+managing--but I haven't,'' he finished, as he
+sauntered over to the chair nearest Marie.
+
+``No, I haven't--forgotten,'' observed Billy,
+meaningly.
+
+``Nor I--nor anybody else,'' declared a
+severe voice--both the words and the severity
+being most extraordinary as coming from the
+usually gentle Aunt Hannah.
+
+``Oh, well, never mind,'' spoke up Billy, quickly. 
+``Everything's all right now, so let's forget it. 
+She always meant it for kindness, I'm sure.''
+
+``Even when she told you in the first place
+what a--er--torment you were to us?'' quizzed
+Cyril.
+
+``Yes,'' flashed Billy.  ``She was being kind to
+_you_, then.''
+
+``Humph!'' vouchsafed Cyril.
+
+For a moment no one spoke.  Cyril's eyes were
+on Marie, who was nervously trying to smooth
+back a few fluffy wisps of hair that had escaped
+from restraining combs and pins.
+
+``What's the matter with the hair, little girl?''
+asked Cyril in a voice that was caressingly irritable. 
+``You've been fussing with that long-
+suffering curl for the last five minutes!''
+
+Marie's delicate face flushed painfully.
+
+``It's got loose--my hair,'' she stammered,
+``and it looks so dowdy that way!''
+
+Billy dropped her thread suddenly.  She sprang
+for it at once, before Cyril could make a move to
+get it.  She had to dive far under a chair to capture
+it--which may explain why her face was so
+very red when she finally reached her seat again.
+
+
+On the morning of the tenth, Billy, Marie, and
+Aunt Hannah were once more sewing together,
+this time in the little sitting-room at the end of
+the hall up-stairs.
+
+Billy's fingers, in particular, were flying very
+fast.
+
+``I told John to have Peggy at the door at
+eleven,'' she said, after a time; ``but I think I
+can finish running in this ribbon before then.  I
+haven't much to do to get ready to go.''
+
+``I hope Kate's train won't be late,'' worried
+Aunt Hannah.
+
+``I hope not,'' replied Billy; ``but I told Rosa
+to delay luncheon, anyway, till we get here.  I--'' 
+She stopped abruptly and turned a listening ear
+toward the door of Aunt Hannah's room, which
+was open.  A clock was striking.  ``Mercy!
+that can't be eleven now,'' she cried.  ``But it
+must be--it was ten before I came up-stairs.'' 
+She got to her feet hurriedly.
+
+Aunt Hannah put out a restraining hand.
+
+``No, no, dear, that's half-past ten.''
+
+``But it struck eleven.''
+
+``Yes, I know.  It does--at half-past ten.''
+
+``Why, the little wretch,'' laughed Billy,
+dropping back into her chair and picking up her work
+again.  ``The idea of its telling fibs like that and
+frightening people half out of their lives!  I'll
+have it fixed right away.  Maybe John can do it
+--he's always so handy about such things.''
+
+``But I don't want it fixed,'' demurred Aunt
+Hannah.
+
+Billy stared a little.
+
+``You don't want it fixed!  Maybe you like
+to have it strike eleven when it's half-past ten!'' 
+Billy's voice was merrily sarcastic.
+
+``Y-yes, I do,'' stammered the lady,
+apologetically.  ``You see, I--I worked very hard to
+fix it so it would strike that way.''
+
+``_Aunt Hannah!_''
+
+``Well, I did,'' retorted the lady, with
+unexpected spirit.  ``I wanted to know what time it
+was in the night--I'm awake such a lot.''
+
+``But I don't see.''  Billy's eyes were perplexed. 
+``Why must you make it tell fibs in order to--to
+find out the truth?'' she laughed.
+
+Aunt Hannah elevated her chin a little.
+
+``Because that clock was always striking one.''
+
+``One!''
+
+``Yes--half-past, you know; and I never
+knew which half-past it was.''
+
+``But it must strike half-past now, just the
+same!''
+
+``It does.''  There was the triumphant ring of
+the conqueror in Aunt Hannah's voice.  ``But
+now it strikes half-past _on the hour_, and the clock
+in the hall tells me _then_ what time it is, so I don't
+care.''
+
+For one more brief minute Billy stared, before
+a sudden light of understanding illumined her
+face.  Then her laugh rang out gleefully.
+
+``Oh, Aunt Hannah, Aunt Hannah,'' she
+gurgled.  ``If Bertram wouldn't call you the limit
+--making a clock strike eleven so you'll know it's
+half-past ten!''
+
+Aunt Hannah colored a little, but she stood
+her ground.
+
+``Well, there's only half an hour, anyway, now,
+that I don't know what time it is,'' she maintained,
+``for one or the other of those clocks strikes the
+hour every thirty minutes.  Even during those
+never-ending three ones that strike one after
+the other in the middle of the night, I can tell
+now, for the hall clock has a different sound for
+the half-hours, you know, so I can tell whether
+it's one or a half-past.''
+
+``Of course,'' chuckled Billy.
+
+``I'm sure I think it's a splendid idea,'' chimed
+in Marie, valiantly; ``and I'm going to write it
+to mother's Cousin Jane right away.  She's an
+invalid, and she's always lying awake nights
+wondering what time it is.  The doctor says
+actually he believes she'd get well if he could find
+some way of letting her know the time at night,
+so she'd get some sleep; for she simply can't
+go to sleep till she knows.  She can't bear a light
+in the room, and it wakes her all up to turn an
+electric switch, or anything of that kind.''
+
+``Why doesn't she have one of those phosphorous
+things?'' questioned Billy.
+
+Marie laughed quietly.
+
+``She did.  I sent her one,--and she stood it
+just one night.''
+
+``Stood it!''
+
+``Yes.  She declared it gave her the creeps,
+and that she wouldn't have the spooky thing
+staring at her all night like that.  So it's got to
+be something she can hear, and I'm going to
+tell her Mrs. Stetson's plan right away.''
+
+``Well, I'm sure I wish you would,'' cried that
+lady, with prompt interest; ``and she'll like it,
+I'm sure.  And tell her if she can hear a _town_
+clock strike, it's just the same, and even better;
+for there aren't any half-hours at all to think of
+there.''
+
+``I will--and I think it's lovely,'' declared
+Marie.
+
+``Of course it's lovely,'' smiled Billy, rising;
+``but I fancy I'd better go and get ready to meet
+Mrs. Hartwell, or the `lovely' thing will be telling
+me that it's half-past eleven!''  And she
+tripped laughingly from the room.
+
+Promptly at the appointed time John with
+Peggy drew up before the door, and Billy, muffled
+in furs, stepped into the car, which, with its
+protecting top and sides and glass wind-shield, was
+in its winter dress.
+
+``Yes'm, 'tis a little chilly, Miss,'' said John,
+in answer to her greeting, as he tucked the heavy
+robes about her.
+
+``Oh, well, I shall be very comfortable, I'm
+sure,'' smiled Billy.  ``Just don't drive too rapidly,
+specially coming home.  I shall have to get a
+limousine, I think, when my ship comes in, John.''
+
+John's grizzled old face twitched.  So evident
+were the words that were not spoken that Billy
+asked laughingly:
+
+``Well, John, what is it?''
+
+John reddened furiously.
+
+``Nothing, Miss.  I was only thinkin' that if
+you didn't 'tend ter haulin' in so many other
+folks's ships, yours might get in sooner.''
+
+``Why, John!  Nonsense!  I--I love to haul
+in other folks's ships,'' laughed the girl, embarrassedly.
+
+``Yes, Miss; I know you do,'' grunted John.
+
+Billy colored.
+
+``No, no--that is, I mean--I don't do it--
+very much,'' she stammered.
+
+John did not answer apparently; but Billy
+was sure she caught a low-muttered, indignant
+``much!'' as he snapped the door shut and took
+his place at the wheel.
+
+To herself she laughed softly.  She thought she
+possessed the secret now of some of John's
+disapproving glances toward her humble guests of
+the summer before.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+SISTER KATE
+
+
+At the station Mrs. Hartwell's train was found
+to be gratifyingly on time; and in due course
+Billy was extending a cordial welcome to a tall,
+handsome woman who carried herself with an
+unmistakable air of assured competence.  Accompanying
+her was a little girl with big blue eyes
+and yellow curls.
+
+``I am very glad to see you both,'' smiled Billy,
+holding out a friendly hand to Mrs. Hartwell,
+and stooping to kiss the round cheek of the little
+girl.
+
+``Thank you, you are very kind,'' murmured
+the lady; ``but--are you alone, Billy?  Where
+are the boys?''
+
+``Uncle William is out of town, and Cyril is
+rushed to death and sent his excuses.  Bertram
+did mean to come, but he telephoned this morning
+that he couldn't, after all.  I'm sorry, but I'm
+afraid you'll have to make the best of just me,''
+condoled Billy.  ``They'll be out to the house this
+evening, of course--all but Uncle William.  He
+doesn't return until to-morrow.''
+
+``Oh, doesn't he?'' murmured the lady, reaching
+for her daughter's hand.
+
+Billy looked down with a smile.
+
+``And this is little Kate, I suppose,'' she said,
+``whom I haven't seen for such a long, long time. 
+Let me see, you are how old now?''
+
+``I'm eight.  I've been eight six weeks.''
+
+Billy's eyes twinkled.
+
+``And you don't remember me, I suppose.''
+
+The little girl shook her head.
+
+``No; but I know who you are,'' she added,
+with shy eagerness.  ``You're going to be my
+Aunt Billy, and you're going to marry my Uncle
+William--I mean, my Uncle Bertram.''
+
+Billy's face changed color.  Mrs. Hartwell
+gave a despairing gesture.
+
+``Kate, my dear, I told you to be sure and
+remember that it was your Uncle Bertram now. 
+You see,'' she added in a discouraged aside to
+Billy, ``she can't seem to forget the first one. 
+But then, what can you expect?'' laughed Mrs.
+Hartwell, a little disagreeably.  ``Such abrupt
+changes from one brother to another are somewhat
+disconcerting, you know.''
+
+Billy bit her lip.  For a moment she said nothing,
+then, a little constrainedly, she rejoined:
+
+``Perhaps.  Still--let us hope we have the
+right one, now.''
+
+Mrs. Hartwell raised her eyebrows.
+
+``Well, my dear, I'm not so confident of that. 
+_My_ choice has been and always will be--William.''
+
+Billy bit her lip again.  This time her brown
+eyes flashed a little.
+
+``Is that so?  But you see, after all, _you_ aren't
+making the--the choice.''  Billy spoke lightly,
+gayly; and she ended with a bright little laugh, as
+if to hide any intended impertinence.
+
+It was Mrs. Hartwell's turn to bite her lip--
+and she did it.
+
+``So it seems,'' she rejoined frigidly, after the
+briefest of pauses.
+
+It was not until they were on their way to
+Corey Hill some time later that Mrs. Hartwell
+turned with the question:
+
+``Cyril is to be married in church, I suppose?''
+
+``No.  They both preferred a home wedding.''
+
+``Oh, what a pity!  Church weddings are so
+attractive!''
+
+``To those who like them,'' amended Billy in
+spite of herself.
+
+``To every one, I think,'' corrected Mrs.
+Hartwell, positively.
+
+Billy laughed.  She was beginning to discern
+that it did not do much harm--nor much good
+--to disagree with her guest.
+
+``It's in the evening, then, of course?''
+pursued Mrs. Hartwell.
+
+``No; at noon.''
+
+``Oh, how could you let them?''
+
+``But they preferred it, Mrs. Hartwell.''
+
+``What if they did?'' retorted the lady, sharply. 
+``Can't you do as you please in your own home? 
+Evening weddings are so much prettier!  We
+can't change now, of course, with the guests all
+invited.  That is, I suppose you do have guests!''
+
+Mrs. Hartwell's voice was aggrievedly despairing.
+
+``Oh, yes,'' smiled Billy, demurely.  ``We have
+guests invited--and I'm afraid we can't change
+the time.''
+
+``No, of course not; but it's too bad.  I
+conclude there are announcements only, as I got no
+cards.
+
+``Announcements only,'' bowed Billy.
+
+``I wish Cyril had consulted _me_, a little, about
+this affair.''
+
+Billy did not answer.  She could not trust herself
+to speak just then.  Cyril's words of two
+days before were in her ears:  ``Yes, and it will
+give Big Kate time to try to make your breakfast
+supper, and your roses pinks--or sunflowers.''
+
+In a moment Mrs. Hartwell spoke again.
+
+``Of course a noon wedding is quite pretty
+if you darken the rooms and have lights--you're
+going to do that, I suppose?''
+
+Billy shook her head slowly.
+
+``I'm afraid not, Mrs. Hartwell.  That isn't
+the plan, now.''
+
+``Not darken the rooms!'' exclaimed Mrs.
+Hartwell.  ``Why, it won't--''  She stopped
+suddenly, and fell back in her seat.  The look of
+annoyed disappointment gave way to one of
+confident relief.  ``But then, _that can_ be changed,''
+she finished serenely.
+
+Billy opened her lips, but she shut them without
+speaking.  After a minute she opened them again.
+
+``You might consult--Cyril--about that,''
+she said in a quiet voice.
+
+``Yes, I will,'' nodded Mrs. Hartwell, brightly. 
+She was looking pleased and happy again.  ``I
+love weddings.  Don't you?  You can _do_ so much
+with them!''
+
+``Can you?'' laughed Billy, irrepressibly.
+
+``Yes.  Cyril is happy, of course.  Still, I
+can't imagine _him_ in love with any woman.''
+
+``I think Marie can.''
+
+``I suppose so.  I don't seem to remember her
+much; still, I think I saw her once or twice when
+I was on last June.  Music teacher, wasn't she?''
+
+``Yes.  She is a very sweet girl.''
+
+``Hm-m; I suppose so.  Still, I think 'twould
+have been better if Cyril could have selected some
+one that _wasn't_ musical--say a more domestic
+wife.  He's so terribly unpractical himself about
+household matters.''
+
+Billy gave a ringing laugh and stood up.  The
+car had come to a stop before her own door.
+
+``Do you?  Just you wait till you see Marie's
+trousseau of--egg-beaters and cake tins,'' she
+chuckled.
+
+Mrs. Hartwell looked blank.
+
+``Whatever in the world do you mean, Billy?''
+she demanded fretfully, as she followed her hostess
+from the car.  ``I declare! aren't you ever going
+to grow beyond making those absurd remarks
+of yours?''
+
+``Maybe--sometime,'' laughed Billy, as she
+took little Kate's hand and led the way up the
+steps.
+
+Luncheon in the cozy dining-room at Hillside
+that day was not entirely a success.  At least
+there were not present exactly the harmony and
+tranquillity that are conceded to be the best
+sauce for one's food.  The wedding, of course,
+was the all-absorbing topic of conversation; and
+Billy, between Aunt Hannah's attempts to be
+polite, Marie's to be sweet-tempered, Mrs. Hartwell's
+to be dictatorial, and her own to be pacifying
+as well as firm, had a hard time of it.  If it had
+not been for two or three diversions created by
+little Kate, the meal would have been, indeed, a
+dismal failure.
+
+But little Kate--most of the time the
+personification of proper little-girlhood--had a
+disconcerting faculty of occasionally dropping a
+word here, or a question there, with startling
+effect.  As, for instance, when she asked Billy
+``Who's going to boss your wedding?'' and again
+when she calmly informed her mother that when _she_
+was married she was not going to have any wedding
+at all to bother with, anyhow.  She was going to
+elope, and she should choose somebody's chauffeur,
+because he'd know how to go the farthest and fastest
+so her mother couldn't catch up with her and
+tell her how she ought to have done it.
+
+After luncheon Aunt Hannah went up-stairs
+for rest and recuperation.  Marie took little Kate
+and went for a brisk walk--for the same
+purpose.  This left Billy alone with her guest.
+
+``Perhaps you would like a nap, too, Mrs.
+Hartwell,'' suggested Billy, as they passed into
+the living-room.  There was a curious note of almost
+hopefulness in her voice.
+
+Mrs. Hartwell scorned naps, and she said so
+very emphatically.  She said something else, too.
+
+``Billy, why do you always call me `Mrs. Hartwell'
+in that stiff, formal fashion?  You used to
+call me `Aunt Kate.' ''
+
+``But I was very young then.''  Billy's voice
+was troubled.  Billy had been trying so hard for
+the last two hours to be the graciously cordial
+hostess to this woman--Bertram's sister.
+
+``Very true.  Then why not `Kate' now?''
+
+Billy hesitated.  She was wondering why it
+seemed so hard to call Mrs. Hartwell ``Kate.''
+
+``Of course,'' resumed the lady, ``when you're
+Bertram's wife and my sister--''
+
+``Why, of course,'' cried Billy, in a sudden
+flood of understanding.  Curiously enough, she
+had never before thought of Mrs. Hartwell as _her_
+sister.  ``I shall be glad to call you `Kate'--if
+you like.''
+
+``Thank you.  I shall like it very much, Billy,''
+nodded the other cordially.  ``Indeed, my dear,
+I'm very fond of you, and I was delighted to hear
+you were to be my sister.  If only--it could have
+stayed William instead of Bertram.''
+
+``But it couldn't,'' smiled Billy.  ``It wasn't
+William--that I loved.''
+
+``But _Bertram!_--it's so absurd.''
+
+``Absurd!''  The smile was gone now.
+
+``Yes.  Forgive me, Billy, but I was about as
+much surprised to hear of Bertram's engagement
+as I was of Cyril's.''
+
+Billy grew a little white.
+
+``But Bertram was never an avowed--woman-
+hater, like Cyril, was he?''
+
+`` `Woman-hater'--dear me, no!  He was
+a woman-lover, always.  As if his eternal `Face
+of a Girl' didn't prove that!  Bertram has always
+loved women--to paint.  But as for his ever
+taking them seriously--why, Billy, what's the
+matter?''
+
+Billy had risen suddenly.
+
+``If you'll excuse me, please, just a few
+minutes,'' Billy said very quietly.  ``I want to
+speak to Rosa in the kitchen.  I'll be back--soon.''
+
+In the kitchen Billy spoke to Rosa--she
+wondered afterwards what she said.  Certainly she did
+not stay in the kitchen long enough to say much. 
+In her own room a minute later, with the door
+fast closed, she took from her table the photograph
+of Bertram and held it in her two hands,
+talking to it softly, but a little wildly.
+
+``I didn't listen!  I didn't stay!  Do you hear? 
+I came to you.  She shall not say anything that
+will make trouble between you and me.  I've
+suffered enough through her already!  And she
+doesn't _know_--she didn't know before, and she
+doesn't now.  She's only imagining.  I will not
+not--_not_ believe that you love me--just to
+paint.  No matter what they say--all of them! 
+I _will not!_''
+
+Billy put the photograph back on the table
+then, and went down-stairs to her guest.  She
+smiled brightly, though her face was a little pale.
+
+``I wondered if perhaps you wouldn't like some
+music,'' she said pleasantly, going straight to
+the piano.
+
+``Indeed I would!'' agreed Mrs. Hartwell.
+
+Billy sat down then and played--played as
+Mrs. Hartwell had never heard her play before.
+
+``Why, Billy, you amaze me,'' she cried, when
+the pianist stopped and whirled about.  ``I had
+no idea you could play like that!''
+
+Billy smiled enigmatically.  Billy was thinking
+that Mrs. Hartwell would, indeed, have been
+surprised if she had known that in that playing
+were herself, the ride home, the luncheon, Bertram,
+and the girl--whom Bertram _did not love only
+to paint!_
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+CYRIL AND A WEDDING
+
+
+The twelfth was a beautiful day.  Clear, frosty
+air set the blood to tingling and the eyes to sparkling,
+even if it were not your wedding day; while
+if it were--
+
+It _was_ Marie Hawthorn's wedding day, and
+certainly her eyes sparkled and her blood tingled
+as she threw open the window of her room and
+breathed long and deep of the fresh morning air
+before going down to breakfast.
+
+``They say `Happy is the bride that the sun
+shines on,' '' she whispered softly to an English
+sparrow that cocked his eye at her from a
+neighboring tree branch.  ``As if a bride wouldn't
+be happy, sun or no sun,'' she scoffed tenderly,
+as she turned to go down-stairs.
+
+As it happens, however, tingling blood and
+sparkling eyes are a matter of more than weather,
+or even weddings, as was proved a little later
+when the telephone bell rang.
+
+Kate answered the ring.
+
+``Hullo, is that you, Kate?'' called a despairing
+voice.
+
+``Yes.  Good morning, Bertram.  Isn't this
+a fine day for the wedding?''
+
+``Fine!  Oh, yes, I suppose so, though I must
+confess I haven't noticed it--and you wouldn't,
+if you had a lunatic on your hands.''
+
+``A lunatic!''
+
+``Yes.  Maybe you have, though.  Is Marie
+rampaging around the house like a wild creature,
+and asking ten questions and making twenty
+threats to the minute?''
+
+``Certainly not!  Don't be absurd, Bertram. 
+What do you mean?''
+
+``See here, Kate, that show comes off at twelve
+sharp, doesn't it?''
+
+``Show, indeed!'' retorted Kate, indignantly. 
+``The _wedding_ is at noon sharp--as the best man
+should know very well.''
+
+``All right; then tell Billy, please, to see that it
+is sharp, or I won't answer for the consequences.''
+
+``What do you mean?  What is the matter?''
+
+``Cyril.  He's broken loose at last.  I've been
+expecting it all along.  I've simply marvelled at
+the meekness with which he has submitted himself
+to be tied up with white ribbons and topped
+with roses.''
+
+``Nonsense, Bertram!''
+
+``Well, it amounts to that.  Anyhow, he thinks
+it does, and he's wild.  I wish you could have
+heard the thunderous performance on his piano
+with which he woke me up this morning.  Billy
+says he plays everything--his past, present,
+and future.  All is, if he was playing his future
+this morning, I pity the girl who's got to live it
+with him.''
+
+``Bertram!''
+
+Bertram chuckled remorselessly.
+
+``Well, I do.  But I'll warrant he wasn't
+playing his future this morning.  He was playing his
+present--the wedding.  You see, he's just waked
+up to the fact that it'll be a perfect orgy of women
+and other confusion, and he doesn't like it.  All
+the samee,{sic} I've had to assure him just fourteen
+times this morning that the ring, the license, the
+carriage, the minister's fee, and my sanity are
+all O. K.  When he isn't asking questions he's
+making threats to snake the parson up there an
+hour ahead of time and be off with Marie before a
+soul comes.''
+
+``What an absurd idea!''
+
+``Cyril doesn't think so.  Indeed, Kate, I've
+had a hard struggle to convince him that the
+guests wouldn't think it the most delightful
+experience of their lives if they should come and
+find the ceremony over with and the bride gone.''
+
+``Well, you remind Cyril, please, that there
+are other people besides himself concerned in
+this wedding,'' observed Kate, icily.
+
+``I have,'' purred Bertram, ``and he says all
+right, let them have it, then.  He's gone now to
+look up proxy marriages, I believe.''
+
+``Proxy marriages, indeed!  Come, come, Bertram,
+I've got something to do this morning
+besides to stand here listening to your nonsense. 
+See that you and Cyril get here on time--that's
+all!''  And she hung up the receiver with an
+impatient jerk.
+
+She turned to confront the startled eyes of the
+bride elect.
+
+``What is it?  Is anything wrong--with
+Cyril?'' faltered Marie.
+
+Kate laughed and raised her eyebrows slightly.
+
+``Nothing but a little stage fright, my dear.''
+
+``Stage fright!''
+
+``Yes.  Bertram says he's trying to find some
+one to play his r<o^>le, I believe, in the ceremony.''
+
+``_Mrs. Hartwell!_''
+
+At the look of dismayed terror that came into
+Marie's face, Mrs. Hartwell laughed reassuringly.
+
+``There, there, dear child, don't look so horror-
+stricken.  There probably never was a man yet
+who wouldn't have fled from the wedding part
+of his marriage if he could; and you know how
+Cyril hates fuss and feathers.  The wonder to me
+is that he's stood it as long as he has.  I thought I
+saw it coming, last night at the rehearsal--and
+now I know I did.''
+
+Marie still looked distressed.
+
+``But he never said--I thought--''  She
+stopped helplessly.
+
+``Of course he didn't, child.  He never said
+anything but that he loved you, and he never
+thought anything but that you were going to be
+his.  Men never do--till the wedding day.  Then
+they never think of anything but a place to run,''
+she finished laughingly, as she began to arrange
+on a stand the quantity of little white boxes
+waiting for her.
+
+``But if he'd told me--in time, I wouldn't have
+had a thing--but the minister,'' faltered Marie.
+
+``And when you think so much of a pretty
+wedding, too?  Nonsense!  It isn't good for a
+man, to give up to his whims like that!''
+
+Marie's cheeks grew a deeper pink.  Her
+nostrils dilated a little.
+
+``It wouldn't be a `whim,' Mrs. Hartwell, and
+I should be _glad_ to give up,'' she said with decision.
+
+Mrs. Hartwell laughed again, her amused eyes
+on Marie's face.
+
+``Dear me, child! don't you know that if men
+had their way, they'd--well, if men married
+men there'd never be such a thing in the world
+as a shower bouquet or a piece of wedding cake!''
+
+There was no reply.  A little precipitately
+Marie turned and hurried away.  A moment
+later she was laying a restraining hand on Billy,
+who was filling tall vases with superb long-stemmed
+roses in the kitchen.
+
+``Billy, please,'' she panted, ``couldn't we
+do without those?  Couldn't we send them to
+some--some hospital?--and the wedding cake,
+too, and--''
+
+``The wedding cake--to some _hospital!_''
+
+``No, of course not--to the hospital.  It
+would make them sick to eat it, wouldn't it?'' 
+That there was no shadow of a smile on Marie's
+face showed how desperate, indeed, was her state
+of mind.  ``I only meant that I didn't want them
+myself, nor the shower bouquet, nor the rooms
+darkened, nor little Kate as the flower girl--and
+would you mind very much if I asked you not
+to be my maid of honor?''
+
+``_Marie!_''
+
+Marie covered her face with her hands then and
+began to sob brokenly; so there was nothing for
+Billy to do but to take her into her arms with
+soothing little murmurs and pettings.  By degrees,
+then, the whole story came out.
+
+Billy almost laughed--but she almost cried,
+too.  Then she said:
+
+``Dearie, I don't believe Cyril feels or acts
+half so bad as Bertram and Kate make out, and,
+anyhow, if he did, it's too late now to--to send
+the wedding cake to the hospital, or make any
+other of the little changes you suggest.''  Billy's
+lips puckered into a half-smile, but her eyes were
+grave.  ``Besides, there are your music pupils
+trimming the living-room this minute with evergreen,
+there's little Kate making her flower-girl
+wreath, and Mrs. Hartwell stacking cake boxes
+in the hall, to say nothing of Rosa gloating over
+the best china in the dining-room, and Aunt
+Hannah putting purple bows into the new lace
+cap she's counting on wearing.  Only think how
+disappointed they'd all be if I should say:  `Never
+mind--stop that.  Marie's just going to have a
+minister.  No fuss, no feathers!'  Why, dearie,
+even the roses are hanging their heads for grief,''
+she went on mistily, lifting with gentle fingers
+one of the full-petalled pink beauties near her. 
+``Besides, there's your--guests.''
+
+``Oh, of course, I knew I couldn't--really,''
+sighed Marie, as she turned to go up-stairs, all
+the light and joy gone from her face.
+
+Billy, once assured that Marie was out of
+hearing, ran to the telephone.
+
+Bertram answered.
+
+``Bertram, tell Cyril I want to speak to him,
+please.''
+
+``All right, dear, but go easy.  Better strike
+up your tuning fork to find his pitch to-day. 
+You'll discover it's a high one, all right.''
+
+A moment later Cyril's tersely nervous ``Good
+morning, Billy,'' came across the line.
+
+Billy drew in her breath and cast a hurriedly
+apprehensive glance over her shoulder to make
+sure Marie was not near.
+
+``Cyril,'' she called in a low voice, ``if you care
+a shred for Marie, for heaven's sake call her up
+and tell her that you dote on pink roses, and pink
+ribbons, and pink breakfasts--and pink wedding
+cake!''
+
+``But I don't.''
+
+``Oh, yes, you do--to-day!  You would--if
+you could see Marie now.''
+
+``What do you mean?''
+
+``Nothing, only she overheard part of Bertram's
+nonsensical talk with Kate a little while ago, and
+she's ready to cast the last ravelling of white satin
+and conventionality behind her, and go with you
+to the justice of the peace.''
+
+``Sensible girl!''
+
+``Yes, but she can't, you know, with fifty
+guests coming to the wedding, and twice as many
+more to the reception.  Honestly, Cyril, she's
+broken-hearted.  You must do something.  She's
+--coming!''  And the receiver clicked sharply
+into place.
+
+Five minutes later Marie was called to the
+telephone.  Dejectedly, wistful-eyed, she went. 
+Just what were the words that hummed across the
+wire into the pink little ear of the bride-to-be,
+Billy never knew; but a Marie that was anything
+but wistful-eyed and dejected left the telephone
+a little later, and was heard very soon in the room
+above trilling merry snatches of a little song. 
+Contentedly, then, Billy went back to her roses.
+
+It was a pretty wedding, a very pretty wedding. 
+Every one said that.  The pink and green of the
+decorations, the soft lights (Kate had had her
+way about darkening the rooms), the pretty frocks
+and smiling faces of the guests all helped.  Then
+there were the dainty flower girl, little Kate, the
+charming maid of honor, Billy, the stalwart,
+handsome best man, Bertram, to say nothing of
+the delicately beautiful bride, who looked like
+some fairy visitor from another world in the floating
+shimmer of her gossamer silk and tulle.  There
+was, too, not quite unnoticed, the bridegroom;
+tall, of distinguished bearing, and with features
+that were clear cut and-to-day-rather pale.
+
+Then came the reception--the ``women and
+confusion ``of Cyril's fears--followed by the
+going away of the bride and groom with its merry
+warfare of confetti and old shoes.
+
+At four o'clock, however, with only William
+and Bertram remaining for guests, something like
+quiet descended at last on the little house.
+
+``Well, it's over,'' sighed Billy, dropping
+exhaustedly into a big chair in the living-room.
+
+``And _well_ over,'' supplemented Aunt Hannah,
+covering her white shawl with a warmer blue one.
+
+``Yes, I think it was,'' nodded Kate.  ``It
+was really a very pretty wedding.''
+
+``With your help, Kate--eh?'' teased William.
+
+``Well, I flatter myself I did do some good,''
+bridled Kate, as she turned to help little Kate
+take the flower wreath from her head.
+
+``Even if you did hurry into my room and scare
+me into conniption fits telling me I'd be late,''
+laughed Billy.
+
+Kate tossed her head.
+
+``Well, how was I to know that Aunt Hannah's
+clock only meant half-past eleven when it struck
+twelve?'' she retorted.
+
+Everybody laughed.
+
+``Oh, well, it was a pretty wedding,'' declared
+William, with a long sigh.
+
+``It'll do--for an understudy,'' said Bertram
+softly, for Billy's ears alone.
+
+Only the added color and the swift glance
+showed that Billy heard, for when she spoke she
+said:
+
+``And didn't Cyril behave beautifully?  'Most
+every time I looked at him he was talking to some
+woman.''
+
+``Oh, no, he wasn't--begging your pardon,
+my dear,'' objected Bertram.  ``I watched him,
+too, even more closely than you did, and it was
+always the _woman_ who was talking to _Cyril!_''
+
+Billy laughed.
+
+``Well, anyhow,'' she maintained, ``he listened. 
+He didn't run away.''
+
+``As if a bridegroom could!'' cried Kate.
+
+``I'm going to,'' avowed Bertram, his nose in
+the air.
+
+``Pooh!'' scoffed Kate.  Then she added
+eagerly:  ``You must be married in church, Billy,
+and in the evening.''
+
+Bertram's nose came suddenly out of the air. 
+His eyes met Kate's squarely.
+
+``Billy hasn't decided yet how _she_ does want
+to be married,'' he said with unnecessary emphasis.
+
+Billy laughed and interposed a quick change of
+subject.
+
+``I think people had a pretty good time, too,
+for a wedding, don't you?'' she asked.  ``I was
+sorry Mary Jane couldn't be here--'twould have
+been such a good chance for him to meet our
+friends.''
+
+``As--_Mary Jane?_'' asked Bertram, a little
+stiffly.
+
+``Really, my dear,'' murmured Aunt Hannah,
+``I think it _would_ be more respectful to call him
+by his name.''
+
+``By the way, what is his name?'' questioned
+William.
+
+``That's what we don't know,'' laughed Billy.
+
+``Well, you know the `Arkwright,' don't you?''
+put in Bertram.  Bertram, too, laughed, but it
+was a little forcedly.  ``I suppose if you knew his
+name was `Methuselah,' you wouldn't call him
+that--yet, would you?''
+
+Billy clapped her hands, and threw a merry
+glance at Aunt Hannah.
+
+``There! we never thought of `Methuselah,' ''
+she gurgled gleefully.  ``Maybe it _is_ `Methuselah,'
+now--`Methuselah John'!  You see, he's told
+us to try to guess it,'' she explained, turning to
+William; ``but, honestly, I don't believe, whatever
+it is, I'll ever think of him as anything but `Mary
+Jane.' ''
+
+``Well, as far as I can judge, he has nobody
+but himself to thank for that, so he can't do any
+complaining,'' smiled William, as he rose to go. 
+``Well, how about it, Bertram?  I suppose you're
+going to stay a while to comfort the lonely--eh,
+boy?''
+
+``Of course he is--and so are you, too, Uncle
+William,'' spoke up Billy, with affectionate
+cordiality.  ``As if I'd let you go back to a forlorn
+dinner in that great house to-night!  Indeed,
+no!''
+
+William smiled, hesitated, and sat down.
+
+``Well, of course--'' he began.
+
+``Yes, of course,'' finished Billy, quickly. 
+``I'll telephone Pete that you'll stay here--both
+of you.''
+
+It was at this point that little Kate, who had
+been turning interested eyes from one brother
+to the other, interposed a clear, high-pitched
+question.
+
+``Uncle William, didn't you _want_ to marry my
+going-to-be-Aunt Billy?''
+
+``Kate!'' gasped her mother, ``didn't I tell
+you--''  Her voice trailed into an incoherent
+murmur of remonstrance.
+
+Billy blushed.  Bertram said a low word under
+his breath.  Aunt Hannah's ``Oh, my grief and
+conscience!'' was almost a groan.
+
+William laughed lightly.
+
+``Well, my little lady,'' he suggested, ``let
+us put it the other way and say that quite probably
+she didn't want to marry me.''
+
+``Does she want to marry Uncle Bertram?'' 
+``Kate!'' gasped Billy and Mrs. Hartwell together
+this time, fearful of what might be coming
+next.
+
+``We'll hope so,'' nodded Uncle William,
+speaking in a cheerfully matter-of-fact voice, intended
+to discourage curiosity.
+
+The little girl frowned and pondered.  Her
+elders cast about in their minds for a speedy
+change of subject; but their somewhat scattered
+wits were not quick enough.  It was little Kate
+who spoke next.
+
+``Uncle William, would she have got Uncle
+Cyril if Aunt Marie hadn't nabbed him first?''
+
+``Kate!''  The word was a chorus of dismay
+this time.
+
+Mrs. Hartwell struggled to her feet.
+
+``Come, come, Kate, we must go up-stairs--to
+bed,'' she stammered.
+
+The little girl drew back indignantly.
+
+``To bed?  Why, mama, I haven't had my
+supper yet!''
+
+``What?  Oh, sure enough--the lights!  I
+forgot.  Well, then, come up--to change your
+dress,'' finished Mrs. Hartwell, as with a despairing
+look and gesture she led her young daughter
+from the room.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+M. J. MAKES ANOTHER MOVE
+
+
+Billy came down-stairs on the thirteenth of
+December to find everywhere the peculiar flatness
+that always follows a day which for weeks has
+been the focus of one's aims and thoughts and
+labor.
+
+``It's just as if everything had stopped at Marie's
+wedding, and there wasn't anything more to do,''
+she complained to Aunt Hannah at the breakfast
+table.  ``Everything seems so--queer!''
+
+``It won't--long, dear,'' smiled Aunt Hannah,
+tranquilly, as she buttered her roll, ``specially
+after Bertram comes back.  How long does he
+stay in New York?''
+
+``Only three days; but I'm just sure it's going
+to seem three weeks, now,'' sighed Billy.  ``But
+he simply had to go--else he wouldn't have
+gone.''
+
+``I've no doubt of it,'' observed Aunt Hannah. 
+And at the meaning emphasis of her words,
+Billy laughed a little.  After a minute she said
+aggrievedly:
+
+``I had supposed that I could at least have a sort
+of `after the ball' celebration this morning picking
+up and straightening things around.  But John
+and Rosa have done it all.  There isn't so much
+as a rose leaf anywhere on the floor.  Of course
+most of the flowers went to the hospital last night,
+anyway.  As for Marie's room--it looks as
+spick-and-span as if it had never seen a scrap
+of ribbon or an inch of tulle.''
+
+``But--the wedding presents?''
+
+``All carried down to the kitchen and half
+packed now, ready to go over to the new home. 
+John says he'll take them over in Peggy this
+afternoon, after he takes Mrs. Hartwell's trunk to
+Uncle William's.''
+
+``Well, you can at least go over to the
+apartment and work,'' suggested Aunt Hannah, hopefully.
+
+``Humph!  Can I?'' scoffed Billy.  ``As if I
+could--when Marie left strict orders that not
+one thing was to be touched till she got here. 
+They arranged everything but the presents before
+the wedding, anyway; and Marie wants to fix
+those herself after she gets back.  Mercy!  Aunt
+Hannah, if I should so much as move a plate one
+inch in the china closet, Marie would know it--
+and change it when she got home,'' laughed Billy,
+as she rose from the table.  ``No, I can't go to
+work over there.''
+
+``But there's your music, my dear.  You said
+you were going to write some new songs after the
+wedding.''
+
+``I was,'' sighed Billy, walking to the window,
+and looking listlessly at the bare, brown world
+outside; ``but I can't write songs--when there
+aren't any songs in my head to write.''
+
+``No, of course not; but they'll come, dear, in
+time.  You're tired, now,'' soothed Aunt Hannah,
+as she turned to leave the room.
+
+``It's the reaction, of course,'' murmured Aunt
+Hannah to herself, on the way up-stairs.  ``She's
+had the whole thing on her hands--dear child!''
+
+A few minutes later, from the living-room,
+came a plaintive little minor melody.  Billy was
+at the piano.
+
+Kate and little Kate had, the night before, gone
+home with William.  It had been a sudden
+decision, brought about by the realization that
+Bertram's trip to New York would leave William
+alone.  Her trunk was to be carried there to-day,
+and she would leave for home from there, at the
+end of a two or three days' visit.
+
+It began to snow at twelve o'clock.  All the
+morning the sky had been gray and threatening;
+and the threats took visible shape at noon in
+myriads of white snow feathers that filled the
+air to the blinding point, and turned the brown,
+bare world into a thing of fairylike beauty.  Billy,
+however, with a rare frown upon her face, looked
+out upon it with disapproving eyes.
+
+``I _was_ going in town--and I believe I'll go
+now,'' she cried.
+
+``Don't, dear, please don't,'' begged Aunt
+Hannah.  ``See, the flakes are smaller now, and
+the wind is coming up.  We're in for a blizzard--
+I'm sure we are.  And you know you have some
+cold, already.''
+
+``All right,'' sighed Billy.  ``Then it's me for the
+knitting work and the fire, I suppose,'' she finished,
+with a whimsicality that did not hide the wistful
+disappointment of her voice.
+
+She was not knitting, however, she was sewing
+with Aunt Hannah when at four o'clock Rosa
+brought in the card.
+
+Billy glanced at the name, then sprang to her
+feet with a glad little cry.
+
+``It's Mary Jane!'' she exclaimed, as Rosa
+disappeared.  ``Now wasn't he a dear to think
+to come to-day?  You'll be down, won't you?''
+
+Aunt Hannah smiled even while she frowned.
+
+``Oh, Billy!'' she remonstrated.  ``Yes, I'll
+come down, of course, a little later, and I'm glad
+_Mr. Arkwright_ came,'' she said with reproving
+emphasis.
+
+Billy laughed and threw a mischievous glance
+over her shoulder.
+
+``All right,'' she nodded.  ``I'll go and tell
+_Mr. Arkwright_ you'll be down directly.''
+
+In the living-room Billy greeted her visitor
+with a frankly cordial hand.
+
+``How did you know, Mr. Arkwright, that I
+was feeling specially restless and lonesome to-
+day?'' she demanded.
+
+A glad light sprang to the man's dark eyes.
+
+``I didn't know it,'' he rejoined.  ``I only
+knew that I was specially restless and lonesome
+myself.''
+
+Arkwright's voice was not quite steady.  The
+unmistakable friendliness in the girl's words and
+manner had sent a quick throb of joy to his
+heart.  Her evident delight in his coming had
+filled him with rapture.  He could not know that
+it was only the chill of the snowstorm that had
+given warmth to her handclasp, the dreariness
+of the day that had made her greeting so cordial,
+the loneliness of a maiden whose lover is away
+that had made his presence so welcome.
+
+``Well, I'm glad you came, anyway,'' sighed
+Billy, contentedly; ``though I suppose I ought
+to be sorry that you were lonesome--but I'm
+afraid I'm not, for now you'll know just how I
+felt, so you won't mind if I'm a little wild and
+erratic.  You see, the tension has snapped,'' she
+added laughingly, as she seated herself.
+
+``Tension?''
+
+``The wedding, you know.  For so many weeks
+we've been seeing just December twelfth, that
+we'd apparently forgotten all about the thirteenth
+that came after it; so when I got up this morning
+I felt just as you do when the clock has
+stopped ticking.  But it was a lovely wedding,
+Mr. Arkwright.  I'm sorry you could not be
+here.''
+
+``Thank you; so am I--though usually, I
+will confess, I'm not much good at attending
+`functions' and meeting strangers.  As perhaps
+you've guessed, Miss Neilson, I'm not particularly
+a society chap.''
+
+``Of course you aren't!  People who are doing
+things--real things--seldom are.  But we aren't
+the society kind ourselves, you know--not
+the capital S kind.  We like sociability, which is
+vastly different from liking Society.  Oh, we have
+friends, to be sure, who dote on `pink teas and
+purple pageants,' as Cyril calls them; and we even
+go ourselves sometimes.  But if you had been here
+yesterday, Mr. Arkwright, you'd have met lots
+like yourself, men and women who are doing
+things: singing, playing, painting, illustrating,
+writing.  Why, we even had a poet, sir--only
+he didn't have long hair, so he didn't look the
+part a bit,'' she finished laughingly.
+
+``Is long hair--necessary--for poets?''
+Arkwright's smile was quizzical.
+
+``Dear me, no; not now.  But it used to be,
+didn't it?  And for painters, too.  But now they
+look just like--folks.''
+
+Arkwright laughed.
+
+``It isn't possible that you are sighing for the
+velvet coats and flowing ties of the past, is it,
+Miss Neilson?''
+
+``I'm afraid it is,'' dimpled Billy.  ``I _love_
+velvet coats and flowing ties!''
+
+``May singers wear them?  I shall don them at
+once, anyhow, at a venture,'' declared the man,
+promptly.
+
+Billy smiled and shook her head.
+
+``I don't think you will.  You all like your
+horrid fuzzy tweeds and worsteds too well!''
+
+``You speak with feeling.  One would almost
+suspect that you already had tried to bring about
+a reform--and failed.  Perhaps Mr. Cyril, now,
+or Mr. Bertram--''  Arkwright stopped with
+a whimsical smile.
+
+Billy flushed a little.  As it happened, she had,
+indeed, had a merry tilt with Bertram on that
+very subject, and he had laughingly promised
+that his wedding present to her would be a velvet
+house coat for himself.  It was on the point of
+Billy's tongue now to say this to Arkwright;
+but another glance at the provoking smile on
+his lips drove the words back in angry confusion. 
+For the second time, in the presence of this man,
+Billy found herself unable to refer to her engagement
+to Bertram Henshaw--though this time
+she did not in the least doubt that Arkwright
+already knew of it.
+
+With a little gesture of playful scorn she rose
+and went to the piano.
+
+``Come, let us try some duets,'' she suggested. 
+``That's lots nicer than quarrelling over velvet
+coats; and Aunt Hannah will be down presently
+to hear us sing.''
+
+Before she had ceased speaking, Arkwright was
+at her side with an exclamation of eager acquiescence.
+
+It was after the second duet that Arkwright
+asked, a little diffidently.
+
+``Have you written any new songs lately?''
+
+``No.''
+
+``You're going to?''
+
+``Perhaps--if I find one to write.''
+
+``You mean--you have no words?''
+
+``Yes--and no.  I have some words, both of
+my own and other people's; but I haven't found
+in any one of them, yet--a melody.''
+
+Arkwright hesitated.  His right hand went
+almost to his inner coat pocket--then fell back
+at his side.  The next moment he picked up a
+sheet of music.
+
+``Are you too tired to try this?'' he
+asked.
+
+A puzzled frown appeared on Billy's face.
+
+``Why, no, but--''
+
+``Well, children, I've come down to hear the
+music,'' announced Aunt Hannah, smilingly,
+from the doorway; ``only--Billy, _will_ you run
+up and get my pink shawl, too?  This room _is_
+colder than I thought, and there's only the white
+one down here.''
+
+``Of course,'' cried Billy, rising at once.  ``You
+shall have a dozen shawls, if you like,'' she laughed,
+as she left the room.
+
+What a cozy time it was--the hour that
+followed, after Billy returned with the pink shawl! 
+Outside, the wind howled at the windows and
+flung the snow against the glass in sleety crashes. 
+Inside, the man and the girl sang duets until they
+were tired; then, with Aunt Hannah, they feasted
+royally on the buttered toast, tea, and frosted
+cakes that Rosa served on a little table before the
+roaring fire.  It was then that Arkwright talked
+of himself, telling them something of his studies,
+and of the life he was living.
+
+``After all, you see there's just this difference
+between my friends and yours,'' he said, at last.
+``Your friends _are_ doing things.  They've succeeded. 
+Mine haven't, yet--they're only _trying_.''
+
+``But they will succeed,'' cried Billy.
+
+``Some of them,'' amended the man.
+
+``Not--all of them?'' Billy looked a little
+troubled.
+
+Arkwright shook his head slowly.
+
+``No.  They couldn't--all of them, you know. 
+Some haven't the talent, some haven't the
+perseverance, and some haven't the money.''
+
+``But all that seems such a pity-when they've
+tried,'' grieved Billy.
+
+``It is a pity, Miss Neilson.  Disappointed
+hopes are always a pity, aren't they?''
+
+``Y-yes,'' sighed the girl.  ``But--if there
+were only something one could do to--help!''
+
+Arkwright's eyes grew deep with feeling, but
+his voice, when he spoke, was purposely light.
+
+``I'm afraid that would be quite too big a
+contract for even your generosity, Miss Neilson--
+to mend all the broken hopes in the world,'' he
+prophesied.
+
+``I have known great good to come from great
+disappointments, ``remarked Aunt Hannah, a
+bit didactically.
+
+``So have I,'' laughed Arkwright, still
+determined to drive the troubled shadow from the
+face he was watching so intently.  ``For instance:
+a fellow I know was feeling all cut up last Friday
+because he was just too late to get into Symphony
+Hall on the twenty-five-cent admission.  Half
+an hour afterwards his disappointment was turned
+to joy--a friend who had an orchestra chair
+couldn't use his ticket that day, and so handed
+it over to him.''
+
+Billy turned interestedly.
+
+``What are those twenty-five-cent tickets to
+the Symphony?''
+
+``Then--you don't know?''
+
+``Not exactly.  I've heard of them, in a vague
+fashion.''
+
+``Then you've missed one of the sights of Boston
+if you haven't ever seen that long line of patient
+waiters at the door of Symphony Hall of a Friday
+morning.''
+
+``Morning!  But the concert isn't till afternoon!''
+
+``No, but the waiting is,'' retorted Arkwright. 
+``You see, those admissions are limited--five
+hundred and five, I believe--and they're rush
+seats, at that.  First come, first served; and if
+you're too late you aren't served at all.  So the
+first arrival comes bright and early.  I've heard
+that he has been known to come at peep of day
+when there's a Paderewski or a Melba for a
+drawing card.  But I've got my doubts of that. 
+Anyhow, I never saw them there much before
+half-past eight.  But many's the cold, stormy
+day I've seen those steps in front of the Hall
+packed for hours, and a long line reaching away
+up the avenue.''
+
+Billy's eyes widened.
+
+``And they'll stand all that time and wait?''
+
+``To be sure they will.  You see, each pays
+twenty-five cents at the door, until the limit is
+reached, then the rest are turned away.  Naturally
+they don't want to be turned away, so they try
+to get there early enough to be among the fortunate
+five hundred and five.  Besides, the earlier
+you are, the better seat you are likely to get.''
+
+``But only think of _standing_ all that time!''
+
+``Oh, they bring camp chairs, sometimes, I've
+heard, and then there are the steps.  You don't
+know what a really fine seat a stone step is--if
+you have a _big_ enough bundle of newspapers to
+cushion it with!  They bring their luncheons, too,
+with books, papers, and knitting work for fine
+days, I've been told--some of them.  All the
+comforts of home, you see,'' smiled Arkwright.
+
+``Why, how--how dreadful!'' stammered
+Billy.
+
+``Oh, but they don't think it's dreadful at
+all,'' corrected Arkwright, quickly.  ``For twenty-
+five cents they can hear all that you hear down
+in your orchestra chair, for which you've paid so
+high a premium.''
+
+``But who--who are they?  Where do they
+come from?  Who _would_ go and stand hours like
+that to get a twenty-five-cent seat?'' questioned
+Billy.
+
+``Who are they?  Anybody, everybody, from
+anywhere? everywhere; people who have the
+music hunger but not the money to satisfy it,''
+he rejoined.  ``Students, teachers, a little milliner
+from South Boston, a little dressmaker from Chelsea,
+a housewife from Cambridge, a stranger from
+the uttermost parts of the earth; maybe a widow
+who used to sit down-stairs, or a professor who has
+seen better days.  Really to know that line, you
+should see it for yourself, Miss Neilson,'' smiled
+Arkwright, as he reluctantly rose to go.  ``Some
+Friday, however, before you take your seat, just
+glance up at that packed top balcony and judge
+by the faces you see there whether their owners
+think they're getting their twenty-five-cents'
+worth, or not.''
+
+``I will,'' nodded Billy, with a smile; but the
+smile came from her lips only, not her eyes: 
+Billy was wishing, at that moment, that she
+owned the whole of Symphony Hall--to give
+away.  But that was like Billy.  When she was
+seven years old she had proposed to her Aunt Ella
+that they take all the thirty-five orphans from the
+Hampden Falls Orphan Asylum to live with them,
+so that little Sallie Cook and the other orphans
+might have ice cream every day, if they wanted
+it.  Since then Billy had always been trying--in
+a way--to give ice cream to some one who
+wanted it.
+
+Arkwright was almost at the door when he
+turned abruptly.  His face was an abashed red. 
+From his pocket he had taken a small folded
+paper.
+
+``Do you suppose--in this--you might find
+--that melody?'' he stammered in a low voice. 
+The next moment he was gone, having left in
+Billy's fingers a paper upon which was written
+in a clear-cut, masculine hand six four-line stanzas.
+
+Billy read them at once, hurriedly, then more
+carefully.
+
+``Why, they're beautiful,'' she breathed, ``just
+beautiful!  Where did he get them, I wonder? 
+It's a love song--and such a pretty one!  I
+believe there _is_ a melody in it,'' she exulted, pausing
+to hum a line or two.  ``There is--I know there
+is; and I'll write it--for Bertram,'' she finished,
+crossing joyously to the piano.
+
+Half-way down Corey Hill at that moment,
+Arkwright was buffeting the wind and snow. 
+He, too, was thinking joyously of those stanzas--
+joyously, yet at the same time fearfully. 
+Arkwright himself had written those lines--though
+not for Bertram.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+``MR. BILLY'' AND ``MISS MARY JANE''
+
+
+On the fourteenth of December Billy came
+down-stairs alert, interested, and happy.  She
+had received a dear letter from Bertram (mailed
+on the way to New York), the sun was shining,
+and her fingers were fairly tingling to put on paper
+the little melody that was now surging riotously
+through her brain.  Emphatically, the restlessness
+of the day before was gone now.  Once more
+Billy's ``clock'' had ``begun to tick.''
+
+After breakfast Billy went straight to the
+telephone and called up Arkwright.  Even one
+side of the conversation Aunt Hannah did not
+hear very clearly; but in five minutes a radiant-
+faced Billy danced into the room.
+
+``Aunt Hannah, just listen!  Only think--
+Mary Jane wrote the words himself, so of course
+I can use them!''
+
+``Billy, dear, _can't_ you say `Mr. Arkwright'?''
+pleaded Aunt Hannah.
+
+Billy laughed and gave the anxious-eyed little
+old lady an impulsive hug.
+
+``Of course!  I'll say `His Majesty' if you like,
+dear,'' she chuckled.  ``But did you hear--did
+you realize?  They're his own words, so there's
+no question of rights or permission, or anything. 
+And he's coming up this afternoon to hear my
+melody, and to make a few little changes in the
+words, maybe.  Oh, Aunt Hannah, you don't
+know how good it seems to get into my music
+again!''
+
+``Yes, yes, dear, of course; but--''  Aunt
+Hannah's sentence ended in a vaguely troubled
+pause.
+
+Billy turned in surprise.
+
+``Why, Aunt Hannah, aren't you glad?  You
+_said_ you'd be glad!''
+
+``Yes, dear; and I am--very glad.  It's only
+--if it doesn't take too much time--and if
+Bertram doesn't mind.''
+
+Billy flushed.  She laughed a little bitterly.
+
+``No, it won't take too much time, I fancy,
+and--so far as Bertram is concerned--if what
+Sister Kate says is true, Aunt Hannah, he'll
+be glad to have me occupy a little of my time with
+something besides himself.''
+
+``Fiddlededee!'' bristled Aunt Hannah.
+
+``What did she mean by that?''
+
+Billy smiled ruefully.
+
+``Well, probably I did need it.  She said it
+night before last just before she went home with
+Uncle William.  She declared that I seemed to
+forget entirely that Bertram belonged to his Art
+first, before he belonged to me; and that it was
+exactly as she had supposed it would be--a
+perfect absurdity for Bertram to think of marrying
+anybody.''
+
+``Fiddlededee!'' ejaculated the irate Aunt
+Hannah, even more sharply.  ``I hope you have
+too much good sense to mind what Kate says,
+Billy.''
+
+``Yes, I know,'' sighed the girl; ``but of course
+I can see some things for myself, and I suppose
+I did make--a little fuss about his going to
+New York the other night.  And I will own that
+I've had a real struggle with myself sometimes,
+lately, not to mind--his giving so much time
+to his portrait painting.  And of course both of
+those are very reprehensible--in an artist's wife,''
+she finished, a little tremulously.
+
+``Humph!  Well, I don't think I should worry
+about that,'' observed Aunt Hannah with grim
+positiveness.
+
+``No, I don't mean to,'' smiled Billy, wistfully. 
+``I only told you so you'd understand that it
+was just as well if I did have something to take
+up my mind--besides Bertram.  And of course
+music would be the most natural thing.''
+
+``Yes, of course,'' agreed Aunt Hannah.
+
+``And it seems actually almost providential
+that Mary--I mean Mr. Arkwright is here to
+help me, now that Cyril is gone,'' went on Billy,
+still a little wistfully.
+
+``Yes, of course.  He isn't like--a stranger,''
+murmured Aunt Hannah.  Aunt Hannah's voice
+sounded as if she were trying to convince herself
+--of something.
+
+``No, indeed!  He seems just like one of the
+family to me, almost as if he were really--your
+niece, Mary Jane,'' laughed Billy.
+
+Aunt Hannah moved restlessly.
+
+``Billy,'' she hazarded, ``he knows, of course,
+of your engagement?''
+
+``Why, of course he does, Aunt Hannah
+everybody does!''  Billy's eyes were plainly surprised.
+
+``Yes, yes, of course--he must,'' subsided
+Aunt Hannah, confusedly, hoping that Billy
+would not divine the hidden reason behind her
+question.  She was relieved when Billy's next
+words showed that she had not divined it.
+
+``I told you, didn't I?  He's coming up this
+afternoon.  He can't get here till five, though;
+but he's so interested!  He's about as crazy over
+the thing as I am.  And it's going to be fine, Aunt
+Hannah, when it's done.  You just wait and see!''
+she finished gayly, as she tripped from the
+room.
+
+Left to herself, Aunt Hannah drew a long
+breath.
+
+``I'm glad she didn't suspect,'' she was
+thinking.  ``I believe she'd consider even the _question_
+disloyal to Bertram--dear child!  And of course
+Mary''--Aunt Hannah corrected herself with
+cheeks aflame--``I mean Mr. Arkwright does
+--know.''
+
+It was just here, however, that Aunt Hannah
+was mistaken.  Mr. Arkwright did not--know. 
+He had not reached Boston when the engagement
+was announced.  He knew none of Billy's friends
+in town save the Henshaw brothers.  He had
+not heard from Calderwell since he came to Boston. 
+The very evident intimacy of Billy with the
+Henshaw brothers he accepted as a matter of
+course, knowing the history of their acquaintance,
+and the fact that Billy was Mr. William Henshaw's
+namesake.  As to Bertram being Billy's lover--
+that idea had long ago been killed at birth by
+Calderwell's emphatic assertion that the artist
+would never care for any girl--except to paint. 
+Since coming to Boston, Arkwright had seen
+little of the two together.  His work, his friends,
+and his general mode of life precluded that. 
+Because of all this, therefore, Arkwright did not--
+know; which was a pity--for Arkwright, and
+for some others.
+
+Promptly at five o'clock that afternoon,
+Arkwright rang Billy's doorbell, and was admitted
+by Rosa to the living-room, where Billy was at
+the piano.
+
+Billy sprang to her feet with a joyous word of
+greeting.
+
+``I'm so glad you've come,'' she sighed happily. 
+``I want you to hear the melody your pretty
+words have sung to me.  Though, maybe, after
+all, you won't like it, you know,'' she finished
+with arch wistfulness.
+
+``As if I could help liking it,'' smiled the man,
+trying to keep from his voice the ecstatic delight
+that the touch of her hand had brought
+him.
+
+Billy shook her head and seated herself again
+at the piano.
+
+``The words are lovely,'' she declared, sorting
+out two or three sheets of manuscript music from
+the quantity on the rack before her.  ``But there's
+one place--the rhythm, you know--if you could
+change it.  There!--but listen.  First I'm going
+to play it straight through to you.''  And she
+dropped her fingers to the keyboard.  The next
+moment a tenderly sweet melody--with only a
+chord now and then for accompaniment--filled
+Arkwright's soul with rapture.  Then Billy began
+to sing, very softly, the words!
+
+No wonder Arkwright's soul was filled with
+rapture.  They were his words, wrung straight
+from his heart; and they were being sung by
+the girl for whom they were written.  They
+were being sung with feeling, too--so evident
+a feeling that the man's pulse quickened, and his
+eyes flashed a sudden fire.  Arkwright could not
+know, of course, that Billy, in her own mind, was
+singing that song--to Bertram Henshaw.
+
+The fire was still in Arkwright's eyes when the
+song was ended; but Billy very plainly did not
+see it.  With a frowning sigh and a murmured
+``There!'' she began to talk of ``rhythm'' and
+``accent'' and ``cadence''; and to point out
+with anxious care why three syllables instead of
+two were needed at the end of a certain line. 
+From this she passed eagerly to the accompaniment,
+and Arkwright at once found himself lost
+in a maze of ``minor thirds'' and ``diminished
+sevenths,'' until he was forced to turn from the
+singer to the song.  Still, watching her a little
+later, he noticed her absorbed face and eager
+enthusiasm, her earnest pursuance of an elusive
+harmony, and he wondered: did she, or did she
+not sing that song with feeling a little while before?
+
+Arkwright had not settled this question to his
+own satisfaction when Aunt Hannah came in
+at half-past five, and he was conscious of a vague
+disappointment as he rose to greet her.  Billy,
+however, turned an untroubled face to the newcomer.
+
+``We're doing finely, Aunt Hannah,'' she cried. 
+Then, suddenly, she flung a laughing question
+to the man.  ``How about it, sir?  Are we going
+to put on the title-page:  `Words by Mary Jane
+Arkwright'--or will you unveil the mystery
+for us now?''
+
+``Have you guessed it?'' he bantered.
+
+``No--unless it's `Methuselah John.'  We
+did think of that the other day.''
+
+``Wrong again!'' he laughed.
+
+``Then it'll have to be `Mary Jane,' '' retorted
+Billy, with calm naughtiness, refusing to meet
+Aunt Hannah's beseechingly reproving eyes. 
+Then suddenly she chuckled.  ``It would be a
+combination, wouldn't it?  `Words by Mary
+Jane Arkwright.  Music by Billy Neilson'! 
+We'd have sighing swains writing to `Dear Miss
+Arkwright,' telling how touching were _her_ words;
+and lovelorn damsels thanking _Mr_. Neilson for
+_his_ soul-inspiring music!''
+
+``Billy, my dear!'' remonstrated Aunt Hannah, faintly.
+
+``Yes, yes, I know; that was bad--and I
+won't again, truly,'' promised Billy.  But her
+eyes danced, and the next moment she had whirled
+about on the piano stool and dashed into a Chopin
+waltz.  The room itself, then, seemed to be full
+of the twinkling feet of elves.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+A GIRL AND A BIT OF LOWESTOFT
+
+
+Immediately after breakfast the next morning,
+Billy was summoned to the telephone.
+
+``Oh, good morning, Uncle William,'' she called,
+in answer to the masculine voice that replied to
+her ``Hullo.''
+
+``Billy, are you very busy this morning?''
+
+``No, indeed--not if you want me.''
+
+``Well, I do, my dear.''  Uncle William's
+voice was troubled.  ``I want you to go with me,
+if you can, to see a Mrs. Greggory.  She's got a
+teapot I want.  It's a genuine Lowestoft, Harlow
+says.  Will you go?''
+
+``Of course I will!  What time?''
+
+``Eleven if you can, at Park Street.  She's
+at the West End.  I don't dare to put it off for
+fear I'll lose it.  Harlow says others will have to
+know of it, of course.  You see, she's just made up
+her mind to sell it, and asked him to find a
+customer.  I wouldn't trouble you, but he says
+they're peculiar--the daughter, especially--and
+may need some careful handling.  That's why I
+wanted you--though I wanted you to see the tea-pot,
+too,--it'll be yours some day, you know.''
+
+Billy, all alone at her end of the line, blushed. 
+That she was one day to be mistress of the Strata
+and all it contained was still anything but ``common''
+to her.
+
+``I'd love to see it, and I'll come gladly; but
+I'm afraid I won't be much help, Uncle William,''
+she worried.
+
+``I'll take the risk of that.  You see, Harlow
+says that about half the time she isn't sure she
+wants to sell it, after all.''
+
+``Why, how funny!  Well, I'll come.  At
+eleven, you say, at Park Street?''
+
+``Yes; and thank you, my dear.  I tried to
+get Kate to go, too; but she wouldn't.  By the
+way, I'm going to bring you home to luncheon. 
+Kate leaves this afternoon, you know, and it's
+been so snowy she hasn't thought best to try to
+get over to the house.  Maybe Aunt Hannah would
+come, too, for luncheon.  Would she?''
+
+``I'm afraid not,'' returned Billy, with a rueful
+laugh.  ``She's got _three_ shawls on this morning,
+and you know that always means that she's
+felt a draft somewhere--poor dear.  I'll tell her,
+though, and I'll see you at eleven,'' finished Billy,
+as she hung up the receiver.
+
+Promptly at the appointed time Billy met Uncle
+William at Park Street, and together they set
+out for the West End street named on the paper
+in his pocket.  But when the shabby house on
+the narrow little street was reached, the man looked
+about him with a troubled frown.
+
+``I declare, Billy, I'm not sure but we'd better
+turn back,'' he fretted.  ``I didn't mean to take
+you to such a place as this.''
+
+Billy shivered a little; but after one glance at
+the man's disappointed face she lifted a determined
+chin.
+
+``Nonsense, Uncle William!  Of course you
+won't turn back.  I don't mind--for myself;
+but only think of the people whose _homes_ are
+here,'' she finished, just above her breath.
+
+Mrs. Greggory was found to be living in two
+back rooms at the top of four flights of stairs,
+up which William Henshaw toiled with increasing
+weariness and dismay, punctuating each flight
+with a despairing:  ``Billy, really, I think we
+should turn back!''
+
+But Billy would not turn back, and at last
+they found themselves in the presence of a white-
+haired, sweet-faced woman who said yes, she
+was Mrs. Greggory; yes, she was.  Even as she
+uttered the words, however, she looked fearfully
+over her shoulders as if expecting to hear from
+the hall behind them a voice denying her assertion.
+
+Mrs. Greggory was a cripple.  Her slender
+little body was poised on two once-costly crutches. 
+Both the worn places on the crutches, and the
+skill with which the little woman swung herself
+about the room testified that the crippled condition
+was not a new one.
+
+Billy's eyes were brimming with pity and
+dismay.  Mechanically she had taken the chair
+toward which Mrs. Greggory had motioned her. 
+She had tried not to seem to look about her; but
+there was not one detail of the bare little room,
+from its faded rug to the patched but spotless
+tablecloth, that was not stamped on her brain.
+
+Mrs. Greggory had seated herself now, and
+William Henshaw had cleared his throat nervously. 
+Billy did not know whether she herself were the
+more distressed or the more relieved to hear him
+stammer:
+
+``We--er--I came from Harlow, Mrs. Greggory. 
+He gave me to understand you had an--
+er--teapot that--er--''  With his eyes on
+the cracked white crockery pitcher on the table,
+William Henshaw came to a helpless pause.
+
+A curious expression, or rather, series of
+expressions crossed Mrs. Greggory's face.  Terror,
+joy, dismay, and relief seemed, one after the other
+to fight for supremacy.  Relief in the end
+conquered, though even yet there was a second
+hurriedly apprehensive glance toward the door
+before she spoke.
+
+``The Lowestoft!  Yes, I'm so glad!--that
+is, of course I must be glad.  I'll get it.''  Her
+voice broke as she pulled herself from her chair. 
+There was only despairing sorrow on her face
+now.
+
+The man rose at once.
+
+``But, madam, perhaps--don't let me--''  I
+he began stammeringly.  ``Of course--Billy!''
+he broke off in an entirely different voice.  ``Jove!
+What a beauty!''
+
+Mrs. Greggory had thrown open the door of
+a small cupboard near the collector's chair,
+disclosing on one of the shelves a beautifully shaped
+teapot, creamy in tint, and exquisitely decorated
+in a rose design.  Near it set a tray-like plate of
+the same ware and decoration.
+
+``If you'll lift it down, please, yourself,''
+motioned Mrs. Greggory.  ``I don't like to--with
+these,'' she explained, tapping the crutches at
+her side.
+
+With fingers that were almost reverent in their
+appreciation, the collector reached for the teapot. 
+His eyes sparkled.
+
+``Billy, look, what a beauty!  And it's a
+Lowestoft, too, the real thing--the genuine, true soft
+paste!  And there's the tray--did you notice?''
+he exulted, turning back to the shelf.  ``You
+_don't_ see that every day!  They get separated,
+most generally, you know.''
+
+``These pieces have been in our family for
+generations,'' said Mrs. Greggory with an accent
+of pride.  ``You'll find them quite perfect, I
+think.''
+
+``Perfect!  I should say they were,'' cried the
+man.
+
+``They are, then--valuable?'' Mrs. Greggory's
+voice shook.
+
+``Indeed they are!  But you must know that.''
+
+``I have been told so.  Yet to me their chief
+value, of course, lies in their association.  My
+mother and my grandmother owned that teapot,
+sir.''  Again her voice broke.
+
+William Henshaw cleared his throat.
+
+``But, madam, if you do not wish to sell--''
+He stopped abruptly.  His longing eyes had gone
+back to the enticing bit of china.
+
+Mrs. Greggory gave a low cry.
+
+``But I do--that is, I must.  Mr. Harlow
+says that it is valuable, and that it will bring
+in money; and we need--money.''  She threw
+a quick glance toward the hall door, though she
+did not pause in her remarks.  ``I can't do much
+at work that pays.  I sew--'' she nodded
+toward the machine by the window--'' but with
+only one foot to make it go--  You see, the
+other is--is inclined to shirk a little,'' she finished
+with a wistful whimsicality.
+
+Billy turned away sharply.  There was a lump
+in her throat and a smart in her eyes.  She was
+conscious suddenly of a fierce anger against--
+she did not know what, exactly; but she fancied
+it was against the teapot, or against Uncle William
+for wanting the teapot, or for _not_ wanting
+it--if he did not buy it.
+
+``And so you see, I do very much wish to sell,''
+
+Mrs. Greggory said then.  ``Perhaps you will
+tell me what it would be worth to you,'' she concluded
+tremulously.
+
+The collector's eyes glowed.  He picked up
+the teapot with careful rapture and examined
+it.  Then he turned to the tray.  After a moment
+he spoke.
+
+``I have only one other in my collection as
+rare,'' he said.  ``I paid a hundred dollars for
+that.  I shall be glad to give you the same for
+this, madam.''
+
+Mrs. Greggory started visibly.
+
+``A hundred dollars?  So much as that?'' she
+cried almost joyously.  ``Why, nothing else that
+we've had has brought--  Of course, if it's worth
+that to you--''  She paused suddenly.  A quick
+step had sounded in the hall outside.  The next
+moment the door flew open and a young woman,
+who looked to be about twenty-three or twenty-
+four years old, burst into the room.
+
+``Mother, only think, I've--''  She stopped,
+and drew back a little.  Her startled eyes went
+from one face to another, then dropped to
+the Lowestoft teapot in the man's hands.  Her
+expression changed at once.  She shut the door
+quickly and hurried forward.
+
+``Mother, what is it?  Who are these people?''
+she asked sharply.
+
+Billy lifted her chin the least bit.  She was
+conscious of a feeling which she could not name: 
+Billy was not used to being called ``these people''
+in precisely that tone of voice.  William Henshaw,
+too, raised his chin.  He, also, was not in the habit
+of being referred to as ``these people.''
+
+``My name is Henshaw, Miss--Greggory, I
+presume,'' he said quietly.  ``I was sent here by
+Mr. Harlow.''
+
+``About the teapot, my dear, you know,''
+stammered Mrs. Greggory, wetting her lips with
+an air of hurried apology and conciliation.  ``This
+gentleman says he will be glad to buy it.  Er--
+my daughter, Alice, Mr. Henshaw,'' she hastened
+on, in embarrassed introduction; ``and Miss--''
+
+``Neilson,'' supplied the man, as she looked at
+Billy, and hesitated.
+
+A swift red stained Alice Greggory's face.  With
+barely an acknowledgment of the introductions
+she turned to her mother.
+
+``Yes, dear, but that won't be necessary now. 
+As I started to tell you when I came in, I have two
+new pupils; and so''--turning to the man again
+``I thank you for your offer, but we have decided
+not to sell the teapot at present.''  As she finished
+her sentence she stepped one side as if to make
+room for the strangers to reach the door.
+
+William Henshaw frowned angrily--that was
+the man; but his eyes--the collector's eyes--
+sought the teapot longingly.  Before either the
+man or the collector could speak, however; Mrs.
+Greggory interposed quick words of remonstrance.
+
+``But, Alice, my dear,'' she almost sobbed. 
+``You didn't wait to let me tell you.  Mr. Henshaw
+says it is worth a hundred dollars to him. 
+He will give us--a hundred dollars.''
+
+``A hundred dollars!'' echoed the girl, faintly.
+
+It was plain to be seen that she was wavering. 
+Billy, watching the little scene, with mingled
+emotions, saw the glance with which the girl
+swept the bare little room; and she knew that
+there was not a patch or darn or poverty spot in
+sight, or out of sight, which that glance did not
+encompass.
+
+Billy was wondering which she herself desired
+more--that Uncle William should buy the Lowestoft,
+or that he should not.  She knew she wished
+Mrs. Greggory to have the hundred dollars. 
+There was no doubt on that point.  Then Uncle
+William spoke.  His words carried the righteous
+indignation of the man who thinks he has been
+unjustly treated, and the final plea of the collector
+who sees a coveted treasure slipping from his grasp.
+
+``I am very sorry, of course, if my offer has
+annoyed you,'' he said stiffly.  ``I certainly
+should not have made it had I not had Mrs.
+Greggory's assurance that she wished to sell the
+teapot.''
+
+Alice Greggory turned as if stung.
+
+``_Wished to sell!_''  She repeated the words
+with superb disdain.  She was plainly very angry. 
+Her blue-gray eyes gleamed with scorn, and her
+whole face was suffused with a red that had swept
+to the roots of her soft hair.  ``Do you think a
+woman _wishes_ to sell a thing that she's treasured
+all her life, a thing that is perhaps the last visible
+reminder of the days when she was living--not
+merely existing?''
+
+``Alice, Alice, my love!'' protested the sweet-
+faced cripple, agitatedly.
+
+``I can't help it,'' stormed the girl, hotly.  ``I
+know how much you think of that teapot that
+was grandmother's.  I know what it cost you to
+make up your mind to sell it at all.  And then to
+hear these people talk about your _wishing_ to
+sell it!  Perhaps they think, too, we _wish_ to live
+in a place like this; that we _wish_ to have rugs
+that are darned, and chairs that are broken, and
+garments that are patches instead of clothes!''
+
+``Alice!'' gasped Mrs. Greggory in dismayed
+horror.
+
+With a little outward fling of her two hands
+Alice Greggory stepped back.  Her face had grown
+white again.
+
+``I beg your pardon, of course,'' she said in a
+voice that was bitterly quiet.  ``I should not
+have spoken so.  You are very kind, Mr. Henshaw,
+but I do not think we care to sell the Lowestoft
+to-day.''
+
+Both words and manner were obviously a
+dismissal; and with a puzzled sigh William Henshaw
+picked up his hat.  His face showed very clearly
+that he did not know what to do, or what to say;
+but it showed, too, as clearly, that he longed to
+do something, or say something.  During the
+brief minute that he hesitated, however, Billy
+sprang forward.
+
+``Mrs. Greggory, please, won't you let _me_ buy
+the teapot?  And then--won't you keep it for
+me--here?  I haven't the hundred dollars with
+me, but I'll send it right away.  You will let me
+do it, won't you?''
+
+It was an impulsive speech, and a foolish one,
+of course, from the standpoint of sense and logic
+and reasonableness; but it was one that might be
+expected, perhaps, from Billy.
+
+Mrs. Greggory must have divined, in a way,
+the spirit that prompted it, for her eyes grew wet,
+and with a choking ``Dear child!'' she reached
+out and caught Billy's hand in both her own--
+even while she shook her head in denial.
+
+Not so her daughter.  Alice Greggory flushed
+scarlet.  She drew herself proudly erect.
+
+``Thank you,'' she said with crisp coldness;
+``but, distasteful as darns and patches are to us,
+we prefer them, infinitely, to--charity!''
+
+``Oh, but, please, I didn't mean--you didn't
+understand,'' faltered Billy.
+
+For answer Alice Greggory walked deliberately
+to the door and held it open.
+
+``Oh, Alice, my dear,'' pleaded Mrs. Greggory
+again, feebly.
+
+``Come, Billy!  We'll bid you good morning,
+ladies,'' said William Henshaw then, decisively.
+And Billy, with a little wistful pat on Mrs.
+Greggory's clasped hands, went.
+
+Once down the long four flights of stairs and
+out on the sidewalk, William Henshaw drew a long
+breath.
+
+``Well, by Jove!  Billy, the next time I take
+you curio hunting, it won't be to this place,'' he
+fumed.
+
+``Wasn't it awful!'' choked Billy.
+
+``Awful!  The girl was the most stubborn,
+unreasonable, vixenish little puss I ever saw.  I
+didn't want her old Lowestoft if she didn't want
+to sell it!  But to practically invite me there, and
+then treat me like that!'' scolded the collector, his
+face growing red with anger.  ``Still, I was sorry
+for the poor little old lady.  I wish, somehow, she
+could have that hundred dollars!''  It was the
+man who said this, not the collector.
+
+``So do I,'' rejoined Billy, dolefully.  ``But
+that girl was so--so queer!'' she sighed, with a
+frown.  Billy was puzzled.  For the first time,
+perhaps, in her life, she knew what it was to have
+her proffered ``ice cream'' disdainfully refused.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+ONLY A LOVE SONG, BUT--
+
+
+Kate and little Kate left for the West on the
+afternoon of the fifteenth, and Bertram arrived
+from New York that evening.  Notwithstanding
+the confusion of all this, Billy still had time to
+give some thought to her experience of the morning
+with Uncle William.  The forlorn little room with
+its poverty-stricken furnishings and its crippled
+mistress was very vivid in Billy's memory. 
+Equally vivid were the flashing eyes of Alice
+Greggory as she had opened the door at the last.
+
+``For,'' as Billy explained to Bertram that
+evening, after she had told him the story of the
+morning's adventure, ``you see, dear, I had never
+been really _turned out_ of a house before!''
+
+``I should think not,'' scowled her lover,
+indignantly; ``and it's safe to say you never will
+again.  The impertinence of it!  But then, you
+won't see them any more, sweetheart, so we'll
+just forget it.''
+
+``Forget it!  Why, Bertram, I couldn't!  You
+couldn't, if you'd been there.  Besides, of course
+I shall see them again!''
+
+Bertram's jaw dropped.
+
+``Why, Billy, you don't mean that Will, or
+you either, would try again for that trumpery
+teapot!''
+
+``Of course not,'' flashed Billy, heatedly.  ``It
+isn't the teapot--it's that dear little Mrs.
+Greggory.  Why, dearie, you don't know how poor
+they are!  Everything in sight is so old and thin
+and worn it's enough to break your heart.  The
+rug isn't anything but darns, nor the tablecloth,
+either--except patches.  It's awful, Bertram!''
+
+``I know, darling; but _you_ don't expect to buy
+them new rugs and new tablecloths, do you?''
+
+Billy gave one of her unexpected laughs.
+
+``Mercy!'' she chuckled.  ``Only picture Miss
+Alice's face if I _should_ try to buy them rugs and
+tablecloths!  No, dear,'' she went on more seriously,
+``I sha'n't do that, of course--though I'd like
+to; but I shall try to see Mrs. Greggory again,
+if it's nothing more than a rose or a book or a new
+magazine that I can take to her.''
+
+``Or a smile--which I fancy will be the best
+gift of the lot,'' amended Bertram, fondly.
+
+Billy dimpled and shook her head.
+
+``Smiles--my smiles--are not so valuable,
+I'm afraid--except to you, perhaps,'' she
+laughed.
+
+``Self-evident facts need no proving,'' retorted
+Bertram.  ``Well, and what else has happened
+in all these ages I've been away?''
+
+Billy brought her hands together with a sudden
+cry.
+
+``Oh, and I haven't told you!'' she exclaimed. 
+``I'm writing a new song--a love song.  Mary
+Jane wrote the words.  They're beautiful.''
+
+Bertram stiffened.
+
+``Indeed!  And is--Mary Jane a poet, with
+all the rest?'' he asked, with affected lightness.
+
+``Oh, no, of course not,'' smiled Billy; ``but
+these words _are_ pretty.  And they just sang
+themselves into the dearest little melody right away. 
+So I'm writing the music for them.''
+
+``Lucky Mary Jane!'' murmured Bertram,
+still with a lightness that he hoped would pass
+for indifference.  (Bertram was ashamed of himself,
+but deep within him was a growing consciousness
+that he knew the meaning of the vague irritation
+that he always felt at the mere mention of
+Arkwright's name.)  ``And will the title-page
+say, `Words by Mary Jane Arkwright'?'' he
+finished.
+
+``That's what I asked him,'' laughed Billy.
+
+
+``I even suggested `Methuselah John' for a
+change.  Oh, but, dearie,'' she broke off with shy
+eagerness, ``I just want you to hear a little of
+what I've done with it.  You see, really, all the
+time, I suspect, I've been singing it--to you,''
+she confessed with an endearing blush, as she
+sprang lightly to her feet and hurried to the
+piano.
+
+It was a bad ten minutes that Bertram Henshaw
+spent then.  How he could love a song and hate
+it at the same time he did not understand; but
+he knew that he was doing exactly that.  To hear
+Billy carol ``Sweetheart, my sweetheart!'' with
+that joyous tenderness was bliss unspeakable--
+until he remembered that Arkwright wrote the
+``Sweetheart, my sweetheart!'' then it was--
+(Even in his thoughts Bertram bit the word off
+short.  He was not a swearing man.)  When he
+looked at Billy now at the piano, and thought of
+her singing--as she said she had sung--that
+song to him all through the last three days, his
+heart glowed.  But when he looked at her and
+thought of Arkwright, who had made possible
+that singing, his heart froze with terror.
+
+From the very first it had been music that
+Bertram had feared.  He could not forget that
+Billy herself had once told him that never would
+she love any man better than she loved her music;
+that she was not going to marry.  All this had
+been at the first--the very first.  He had boldly
+scorned the idea then, and had said:
+
+``So it's music--a cold, senseless thing of
+spidery marks on clean white paper--that is
+my only rival!''
+
+He had said, too, that he was going to win. 
+And he had won--but not until after long weeks
+of fearing, hoping, striving, and despairing--this
+last when Kate's blundering had nearly made her
+William's wife.  Then, on that memorable day
+in September, Billy had walked straight into his
+arms; and he knew that he had, indeed, won. 
+That is, he had supposed that he knew--until
+Arkwright came.
+
+Very sharply now, as he listened to Billy's
+singing, Bertram told himself to be reasonable,
+to be sensible; that Billy did, indeed, love him. 
+Was she not, according to her own dear assertion,
+singing that song to him?  But it was Arkwright's
+song.  He remembered that, too--and grew faint
+at the thought.  True, he had won when his rival,
+music, had been a ``cold, senseless thing of spidery
+marks'' on paper; but would that winning stand
+when ``music'' had become a thing of flesh and
+blood--a man of undeniable charm, good looks,
+and winsomeness; a man whose thoughts, aims,
+and words were the personification of the thing
+Billy, in the long ago, had declared she loved best
+of all--music?
+
+Bertram shivered as with a sudden chill; then
+Billy rose from the piano.
+
+``There!'' she breathed, her face shyly radiant
+with the glory of the song.  ``Did you--like
+it?''
+
+Bertram did his best; but, in his state of mind,
+the very radiance of her face was only an added
+torture, and his tongue stumbled over the words
+of praise and appreciation that he tried to say. 
+He saw, then, the happy light in Billy's eyes
+change to troubled questioning and grieved
+disappointment; and he hated himself for a
+jealous brute.  More earnestly than ever, now,
+he tried to force the ring of sincerity into his voice;
+but he knew that he had miserably failed when
+he heard her falter:
+
+``Of course, dear, I--I haven't got it nearly
+perfected yet.  It'll be much better, later.''
+
+``But it s{sic} fine, now, sweetheart--indeed it is,''
+protested Bertram, hurriedly.
+
+``Well, of course I'm glad--if you like it,''
+murmured Billy; but the glow did not come back
+to her face.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+SUGARPLUMS
+
+
+Those short December days after Bertram's
+return from New York were busy ones for everybody. 
+Miss Winthrop was not in town to give
+sittings for her portrait, it is true; but her absence
+only afforded Bertram time and opportunity to
+attend to other work that had been more or less
+delayed and neglected.  He was often at Hillside,
+however, and the lovers managed to snatch many
+an hour of quiet happiness from the rush and
+confusion of the Christmas preparations.
+
+Bertram was assuring himself now that his
+jealous fears of Arkwright were groundless.  Billy
+seldom mentioned the man, and, as the days
+passed, she spoke only once of his being at the
+house.  The song, too, she said little of; and
+Bertram--though he was ashamed to own it to
+himself--breathed more freely.
+
+The real facts of the case were that Billy had
+told Arkwright that she should have no time to
+give attention to the song until after Christmas;
+and her manner had so plainly shown him that
+she considered himself synonymous with the song,
+that he had reluctantly taken the hint and kept
+away.
+
+``I'll make her care for me sometime--for
+something besides a song,'' he told himself with
+fierce consolation--but Billy did not know this.
+
+Aside from Bertram, Christmas filled all of
+Billy's thoughts these days.  There were such a
+lot of things she wished to do.
+
+``But, after all, they're only sugarplums, you
+know, that I'm giving, dear,'' she declared to
+Bertram one day, when he had remonstrated with
+with her for so taxing her time and strength. 
+``I can't really do much.''
+
+``Much!'' scoffed Bertram.
+
+``But it isn't much,, honestly--compared to
+what there is to do,'' argued Billy.  ``You see,
+dear, it's just this,'' she went on, her bright face
+sobering a little.  ``There are such a lot of people
+in the world who aren't really poor.  That is, they
+have bread, and probably meat, to eat, and enough
+clothes to keep them warm.  But when you've
+said that, you've said it all.  Books, music, fun,
+and frosting on their cake they know nothing
+about--except to long for them.''
+
+``But there are the churches and the charities,
+and all those long-named Societies--I thought
+that was what they were for,'' declared Bertram,
+still a little aggrievedly, his worried eyes on Billy's
+tired face.
+
+``Oh, but the churches and charities don't
+frost cakes nor give sugarplums,'' smiled Billy. 
+``And it's right that they shouldn't, too,'' she
+added quickly.  ``They have more than they can
+do now with the roast beef and coal and flannel
+petticoats that are really necessary.''
+
+``And so it's just frosting and sugarplums, is
+it--these books and magazines and concert
+tickets and lace collars for the crippled boy, the
+spinster lady, the little widow, and all the rest
+of those people who were here last summer?''
+
+Billy turned in confused surprise.
+
+``Why, Bertram, however in the world did
+you find out about all--that?''
+
+``I didn't.  I just guessed it--and it seems
+`the boy guessed right the very first time,' ''
+laughed Bertram, teasingly, but with a tender
+light in his eyes.  ``Oh, and I suppose you'll be
+sending a frosted cake to the Lowestoft lady,
+too, eh?''
+
+Billy's chin rose to a defiant stubbornness.
+
+``I'm going to try to--if I can find out what
+kind of frosting she likes.''
+
+``How about the Alice lady--or perhaps
+I should say, the Lady Alice?'' smiled the man.
+
+Billy relaxed visibly.
+
+``Yes, I know,'' she sighed.  ``There is--the
+Lady Alice.  But, anyhow, she can't call a Christmas
+present `charity'--not if it's only a little
+bit of frosting!'' Billy's chin came up again.
+
+``And you're going to, really, dare to send her
+something?''
+
+``Yes,'' avowed Billy.  ``I'm going down there
+one of these days, in the morning--''
+
+``You're going down there!  Billy--not
+alone?''
+
+``Yes.  Why not?''
+
+``But, dearie, you mustn't.  It was a horrid
+place, Will says.''
+
+``So it was horrid--to live in.  It was
+everything that was cheap and mean and forlorn.  But
+it was quiet and respectable.  'Tisn't as if I didn't
+know the way, Bertram; and I'm sure that where
+that poor crippled woman and daughter are safe,
+I shall be.  Mrs. Greggory is a lady, Bertram, well-
+born and well-bred, I'm sure--and that's the
+pity of it, to have to live in a place like that! 
+They have seen better days, I know.  Those
+pitiful little worn crutches of hers were
+mahogany, I'm sure, Bertram, and they were silver
+mounted.''
+
+Bertram made a restless movement.
+
+``I know, dear; but if you had some one with
+you!  It wouldn't do for Will, of course, nor me--
+under the circumstances.  But there's Aunt
+Hannah--''  He paused hopefully.
+
+Billy chuckled.
+
+``Bless your dear heart!  Aunt Hannah would
+call for a dozen shawls in that place--if she had
+breath enough to call for any after she got to
+the top of those four flights!''
+
+``Yes, I suppose so,'' rejoined Bertram, with
+an unwilling smile.  ``Still--well, you _can_ take
+Rosa,'' he concluded decisively.
+
+``How Miss Alice would like that--to catch
+me going `slumming' with my maid!'' cried
+Billy, righteous indignation in her voice.  ``Honestly,
+Bertram, I think even gentle Mrs. Greggory
+wouldn't stand for that.''
+
+``Then leave Rosa outside in the hall,'' planned
+Bertram, promptly; and after a few more arguments,
+Billy finally agreed to this.
+
+It was with Rosa, therefore, that she set out
+the next morning for the little room up four flights
+on the narrow West End street.
+
+Leaving the maid on the top stair of the fourth
+flight, Billy tapped at Mrs. Greggory's door.  To
+her joy Mrs. Greggory herself answered the
+knock.
+
+``Oh!  Why--why, good morning,'' murmured
+the lady, in evident embarrassment.  ``Won't
+you--come m?''
+
+``Thank you.  May I?--just a minute?''
+smiled Billy, brightly.
+
+As she entered the room, Billy threw a hasty
+look about her.  There was no one but themselves
+present.  With a sigh of satisfaction, therefore,
+the girl took the chair Mrs. Greggory offered,
+and began to speak.
+
+``I was down this way--that is, I came this
+way this morning,'' she began a little hastily;
+``and I wanted just to come up and tell you how
+sorry I was about--about that teapot the other
+day.  We didn't want it, of course--if you didn't
+want us to have it.''
+
+A swift change crossed Mrs. Greggory's
+perturbed face.
+
+``Oh, then you didn't come for it again--to-
+day,'' she said.  ``I'm so glad!  I didn't want to
+refuse--_you_.''
+
+``Indeed I didn't come for it--and we sha'n't
+again.  Don't worry about that, please.''
+
+Mrs. Greggory sighed.
+
+``I'm afraid you thought me very rude and--and
+impossible the other day,'' she stammered.  ``And
+please let me take this opportunity right now to
+apologize for my daughter.  She was overwrought
+and excited.  She didn't know what she was saying
+or doing, I'm sure.  She was ashamed, I think after
+you left.''
+
+Billy raised a quick hand of protest.
+
+``Don't, please don't, Mrs. Greggory,'' she
+begged.
+
+``But it was our fault that you came.  We
+_asked_ you to come--through Mr. Harlow,'' rejoined
+the other, hurriedly.  ``And Mr. Henshaw
+--was that his name?--was so kind in every
+way.  I'm glad of this chance to tell you how much
+we really did appreciate it--and _your_ offer, too,
+which we could not, of course, accept,'' she finished,
+the bright color flooding her delicate face.
+
+Again Billy raised a protesting hand; but the
+little woman in the opposite chair hurried on. 
+There was still more, evidently, that she wished
+to say.
+
+``I hope Mr. Henshaw did not feel too
+disappointed--about the Lowestoft.  We didn't want
+to let it go if we could help it; and we hope now
+to keep it.''
+
+``Of course,'' murmured Billy, sympathetically.
+
+``My daughter knew, you see, how much I have
+always thought of it, and she was determined that
+I should not give it up.  She said I should have
+that much left, anyway.  You see--my daughter
+is very unreconciled, still, to things as they are;
+and no wonder, perhaps.  They are so different
+--from what they were!''  Her voice broke a
+little.
+
+``Of course,'' said Billy again, and this time
+the words were tinged with impatient indignation. 
+``If only there were something one could do to
+help!''
+
+``Thank you, my dear, but there isn't--indeed
+there isn't,'' rejoined the other, quickly; and
+Billy, looking into the proudly lifted face, realized
+suddenly that daughter Alice had perhaps
+inherited some traits from mother.  ``We shall
+get along very well, I am sure.  My daughter
+has still another pupil.  She will be home soon to
+tell you herself, perhaps.''
+
+Billy rose with a haste so marked it was almost
+impolite, as she murmured:
+
+``Will she?  I'm afraid, though, that I sha'n't
+see her, after all, for I must go.  And may I leave
+these, please?'' she added, hurriedly unpinning
+the bunch of white carnations from her coat. 
+``It seems a pity to let them wilt, when you can
+put them in water right here.''  Her studiously
+casual voice gave no hint that those particular
+pinks had been bought less than half an hour
+before of a Park Street florist so that Mrs.
+Greggory _might_ put them in water--right there.
+
+``Oh, oh, how lovely!'' breathed Mrs. Greggory,
+her face deep in the feathery bed of sweetness.
+Before she could half say ``Thank you,'' however?
+she found herself alone.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX
+ALICE GREGGORY
+
+
+Christmas came and went; and in a flurry of
+snow and sleet January arrived.  The holidays
+over, matters and things seemed to settle down
+to the winter routine.
+
+Miss Winthrop had prolonged her visit in
+Washington until after Christmas, but she had
+returned to Boston now--and with her she had
+brought a brand-new idea for her portrait; an
+idea that caused her to sweep aside with superb
+disdain all poses and costumes and sketches to
+date, and announce herself with disarming
+winsomeness as ``all ready now to really begin!''
+
+Bertram Henshaw was vexed, but helpless. 
+Decidedly he wished to paint Miss Marguerite
+Winthrop's portrait; but to attempt to paint it when
+all matters were not to the lady's liking were
+worse than useless, unless he wished to hang
+this portrait in the gallery of failures along with
+Anderson's and Fullam's--and that was not
+the goal he had set for it.  As to the sordid money
+part of the affair--the great J. G. Winthrop
+himself had come to the artist, and in one terse
+sentence had doubled the original price and
+expressed himself as hopeful that Henshaw would
+put up with ``the child's notions.''  It was the
+old financier's next sentence, however, that put
+the zest of real determination into Bertram, for
+because of it, the artist saw what this portrait
+was going to mean to the stern old man, and how
+dear was the original of it to a heart that was
+commonly reported ``on the street'' to be made
+of stone.
+
+Obviously, then, indeed, there was nothing for
+Bertram Henshaw to do but to begin the new portrait. 
+And he began it--though still, it must be
+confessed, with inward questionings.  Before a
+week had passed, however, every trace of irritation
+had fled, and he was once again the absorbed
+artist who sees the vision of his desire taking
+palpable shape at the end of his brush.
+
+``It's all right,'' he said to Billy then, one
+evening.  ``I'm glad she changed.  It's going to be
+the best, the very best thing I've ever done--I
+think! by the sketches.''
+
+``I'm so glad!'' exclaimed Billy.  ``I'm so
+glad!''  The repetition was so vehement that it
+sounded almost as if she were trying to convince
+herself as well as Bertram of something that was
+not true.
+
+But it was true--Billy told herself very
+indignantly that it was; indeed it was!  Yet the
+very fact that she had to tell herself this, caused
+her to know how perilously near she was to being
+actually jealous of that portrait of Marguerite
+Winthrop.  And it shamed her.
+
+Very sternly these days Billy reminded herself
+of what Kate had said about Bertram's belonging
+first to his Art.  She thought with mortification,
+too, that it _did_ look as if she were not the proper
+wife for an artist if she were going to feel like
+this--always.  Very resolutely, then, Billy turned
+to her music.  This was all the more easily done,
+for, not only did she have her usual concerts and
+the opera to enjoy, but she had become interested
+in an operetta her club was about to give; also
+she had taken up the new song again.  Christmas
+being over, Mr. Arkwright had been to the house
+several times.  He had changed some of the words
+and she had improved the melody.  The work
+on the accompaniment was progressing finely
+now, and Billy was so glad!--when she was
+absorbed in her music she forgot sometimes that
+she was ever so unfit an artist's sweetheart as to
+be--jealous of a portrait.
+
+It was quite early in the month that the
+usually expected ``January thaw'' came, and
+it was on a comparatively mild Friday at this time
+that a matter of business took Billy into the
+neighborhood of Symphony Hall at about eleven
+o'clock in the morning.  Dismissing John and
+the car upon her arrival, she said that she would
+later walk to the home of a friend near by, where
+she would remain until it was time for the
+Symphony Concert.
+
+This friend was a girl whom Billy had known
+at school.  She was studying now at the Conservatory
+of Music; and she had often urged Billy
+to come and have luncheon with her in her tiny
+apartment, which she shared with three other
+girls and a widowed aunt for housekeeper.  On
+this particular Friday it had occurred to Billy
+that, owing to her business appointment at eleven
+and the Symphony Concert at half-past two, the
+intervening time would give her just the
+opportunity she had been seeking to enable her to
+accept her friend's invitation.  A question asked,
+and enthusiastically answered in the affirmative,
+over the telephone that morning, therefore, had
+speedily completed arrangements, and she had
+agreed to be at her friend's door by twelve o'clock,
+or before.
+
+As it happened, business did not take quite so
+long as she had expected, and half-past eleven
+found her well on her way to Miss Henderson's
+home.
+
+In spite of the warm sunshine and the slushy
+snow in the streets, there was a cold, raw wind,
+and Billy was beginning to feel thankful that she
+had not far to go when she rounded a corner and
+came upon a long line of humanity that curved
+itself back and forth on the wide expanse of steps
+before Symphony Hall and then stretched itself
+far up the Avenue.
+
+``Why, what--'' she began under her breath;
+then suddenly she understood.  It was Friday. 
+A world-famous pianist was to play with the
+Symphony Orchestra that afternoon.  This must
+be the line of patient waiters for the twenty-five-
+cent balcony seats that Mr. Arkwright had told
+about.  With sympathetic, interested eyes, then,
+Billy stepped one side to watch the line, for a moment.
+
+Almost at once two girls brushed by her, and
+one was saying:
+
+``What a shame!--and after all our struggles
+to get here!  If only we hadn't lost that other
+train!''
+
+``We're too late--you no need to hurry!''
+the other wailed shrilly to a third girl who was
+hastening toward them.  ``The line is 'way beyond
+the Children's Hospital and around the
+corner now--and the ones there _never_ get in!''
+
+At the look of tragic disappointment that crossed
+the third girl's face, Billy's heart ached.  Her
+first impulse, of course, was to pull her own
+symphony ticket from her muff and hurry forward
+with a ``Here, take mine!''  But that _would_ hardly
+do, she knew--though she would like to see
+Aunt Hannah's aghast face if this girl in the red
+sweater and white tam-o'-shanter should suddenly
+emerge from among the sumptuous satins and
+furs and plumes that afternoon and claim the
+adjacent orchestra chair.  But it was out of the
+question, of course.  There was only one seat, and
+there were three girls, besides all those others. 
+With a sigh, then, Billy turned her eyes back to
+those others--those many others that made up
+the long line stretching its weary length up the
+Avenue.
+
+There were more women than men, yet the
+men were there: jolly young men who were
+plainly students; older men whose refined faces and
+threadbare overcoats hinted at cultured minds and
+starved bodies; other men who showed no hollows
+in their cheeks nor near-holes in their garments.  It
+seemed to Billy that women of almost all sorts
+were there, young, old, and middle-aged; students
+in tailored suits, widows in crape and veil; girls
+that were members of a merry party, women that
+were plainly forlorn and alone.
+
+Some in the line shuffled restlessly; some stood
+rigidly quiet.  One had brought a camp stool;
+many were seated on the steps.  Beyond, where the
+line passed an open lot, a wooden fence afforded
+a convenient prop.  One read a book, another a
+paper.  Three were studying what was probably
+the score of the symphony or of the concerto they
+expected to hear that afternoon.
+
+A few did not appear to mind the biting wind,
+but most of them, by turned-up coat-collars or
+bent heads, testified to the contrary.  Not far
+from Billy a woman nibbled a sandwich furtively,
+while beyond her a group of girls were hilariously
+merry over four triangles of pie which they held
+up where all might see.
+
+Many of the faces were youthful, happy, and
+alert with anticipation; but others carried a
+wistfulness and a weariness that made Billy's
+heart ache.  Her eyes, indeed, filled with quick
+tears.  Later she turned to go, and it was then that
+she saw in the line a face that she knew--a face
+that drooped with such a white misery of spent
+strength that she hurried straight toward it with
+a low cry.
+
+``Miss Greggory!'' she exclaimed, when she
+reached the girl.  ``You look actually ill.  Are
+you ill?''
+
+For a brief second only dazed questioning
+stared from the girl's blue-gray eyes.  Billy knew
+when the recognition came, for she saw the painful
+color stain the white face red.
+
+``Thank you, no.  I am not ill, Miss Neilson,''
+said the girl, coldly.
+
+``But you look so tired out!''
+
+``I have been standing here some time; that
+is all.''
+
+Billy threw a hurried glance down the far-
+reaching line that she knew had formed since the
+girl's two tired feet had taken their first position.
+
+``But you must have come--so early!  It
+isn't twelve o'clock yet,'' she faltered.
+
+A slight smile curved Alice Greggory's lips.
+
+``Yes, it was early,'' she rejoined a little bitterly;
+``but it had to be, you know.  I wanted to hear
+the music; and with this soloist, and this weather,
+I knew that many others--would want to hear
+the music, too.''
+
+``But you look so white!  How much longer--
+when will they let you in?'' demanded Billy,
+raising indignant eyes to the huge, gray-pillared
+building before her, much as if she would pull
+down the walls if she could, and make way for
+this tired girl at her side.
+
+Miss Greggory's thin shoulders rose and fell
+in an expressive shrug.
+
+``Half-past one.''
+
+Billy gave a dismayed cry.
+
+``Half-past one--almost two hours more! 
+But, Miss Greggory, you can't--how can you
+stand it till then?  You've shivered three times
+since I came, and you look as if you were going
+to faint away.''
+
+Miss Greggory shook her head.
+
+``It is nothing, really,'' she insisted.  ``I am
+quite well.  It is only--I didn't happen to feel
+like eating much breakfast this morning; and
+that, with no luncheon--''  She let a gesture
+finish her sentence.
+
+``No luncheon!  Why--oh, you couldn't leave
+your place, of course,'' frowned Billy.
+
+``No, and''--Alice Greggory lifted her
+head a little proudly--``I do not care to eat
+--here.''  Her scornful eyes were on one of the
+pieces of pie down the line--no longer a triangle.
+
+``Of course not,'' agreed Billy, promptly.  She
+paused, frowned, and bit her lip.  Suddenly her
+face cleared.  ``There! the very thing,'' she
+exulted.  ``You shall have my ticket this afternoon,
+Miss Greggory, then you won't have to stay here
+another minute.  Meanwhile, there is an excellent
+restaurant--''
+
+``Thank you--no.  I couldn't do that,'' cut
+in the other, sharply, but in a low voice.
+
+``But you'll take my ticket,'' begged Billy.
+
+Miss Greggory shook her head.
+
+``Certainly not.''
+
+``But I want you to, please.  I shall be very
+unhappy if you don't,'' grieved Billy.
+
+The other made a peremptory gesture.
+
+``_I_ should be very unhappy if I did,'' she said
+with cold emphasis.  ``Really, Miss Neilson,''
+she went on in a low voice, throwing an apprehensive
+glance at the man ahead, who was apparently
+absorbed in his newspaper, ``I'm afraid
+I shall have to ask you to let me go on in my own
+way.  You are very kind, but there is nothing you
+can do; nothing.  You were very kind, too, of
+course, to send the book and the flowers to mother
+at Christmas; but--''
+
+``Never mind that, please,'' interrupted Billy,
+hurriedly.  Billy's head was lifted now.  Her eyes
+were no longer pleading.  Her round little chin
+looked square and determined.  ``If you simply
+will not take my ticket this afternoon, you _must_
+do this.  Go to some restaurant near here and
+get a good luncheon--something that will sustain
+you.  I will take your place here.''
+
+``_Miss Neilson!_''
+
+Billy smiled radiantly.  It was the first time
+she had ever seen Alice Greggory's haughtily
+cold reserve break into anything like naturalness
+--the astonished incredulity of that ``Miss
+Neilson!'' was plainly straight from the heart;
+so, too, were the amazed words that followed.
+
+``_You_--will stand _here?_''
+
+``Certainly; I will keep your place.  Don't
+worry.  You sha'n't lose it.''  Billy spoke with a
+smiling indifference that was meant to convey
+the impression that standing in line for a twenty-
+five-cent seat was a daily habit of hers.  ``There's
+a restaurant only a little way--right down
+there,'' she finished.  And before the dazed Alice
+Greggory knew quite what was happening she
+found herself outside the line, and the other in
+her place.
+
+``But, Miss Neilson, I can't--you mustn't--''
+she stammered; then, because of something in
+the unyieldingness of the square young chin above
+the sealskin coat, and because she could not (she
+knew) use actual force to drag the owner of that
+chin out of the line, she bowed her head in acquiescence.
+
+``Well, then--I will, long enough for some
+coffee and maybe a sandwich.  And--thank you,''
+she choked, as she turned and hurried away.
+
+Billy drew the deep breath of one who has
+triumphed after long struggles--but the breath
+broke off short in a gasp of dismay: coming
+straight up the Avenue toward her was the one
+person in the world Billy wished least to see at
+that moment--Bertram Henshaw.  Billy remembered
+then that she had twice lately heard her
+lover speak of calling at the Boston Opera House
+concerning a commission to paint an ideal head
+to represent ``Music'' for some decorative
+purpose.  The Opera House was only a short distance
+up the Avenue.  Doubtless he was on his way there
+now.
+
+He was very near by this time, and Billy held
+her breath suspended.  There was a chance, of
+course, that he might not notice her; and Billy
+was counting on that chance--until a gust of
+wind whirled a loose half-sheet of newspaper from
+the hands of the man in front of her, and naturally
+attracted Bertram's eyes to its vicinity--and to
+hers.  The next moment he was at her side and
+his dumfounded but softly-breathed ``_Billy!_''
+was in her ears.
+
+Billy bubbled into low laughter--there were
+such a lot of funny situations in the world, and
+of them all this one was about the drollest, she
+thought.
+
+``Yes, I know,'' she gurgled.  ``You don't have
+to say it-your face is saying even more than
+your tongue _could!_  This is just for a girl I know. 
+I'm keeping her place.''
+
+Bertram frowned.  He looked as if he were
+meditating picking Billy up and walking off with
+her.
+
+``But, Billy,'' he protested just above his breath,
+``this isn't sugarplums nor frosting; it's plain
+suicide--standing out in this wind like this! 
+Besides--''  He stopped with an angrily despairing
+glance at her surroundings.
+
+``Yes, I know,'' she nodded, a little soberly,
+understanding the look and answering that first;
+``it isn't pleasant nor comfortable, in lots of
+ways--but _she's_ had it all the morning.  As for the
+cold--I'm as warm as toast.  It won't be long,
+anyway; she's just gone to get something to eat. 
+Then I'm going to May Henderson's for luncheon.''
+
+Bertram sighed impatiently and opened his
+lips--only to close them with the words unsaid. 
+There was nothing he could do, and he had already
+said too much, he thought, with a savage glance
+at the man ahead who still had enough of his paper
+left to serve for a pretence at reading.  As Bertram
+could see, however, the man was not reading a word
+--he was too acutely conscious of the handsome
+young woman in the long sealskin coat behind
+him.  Billy was already the cynosure of dozens
+of eyes, and Bertram knew that his own arrival
+on the scene had not lessened the interest of the
+owners of those eyes.  He only hoped devoutly
+that no one in the line knew him ar Billy, and that
+no one quite knew what had happened.  He did
+not wish to see himself and his fianc<e'>e the subject
+of inch-high headlines in some evening paper
+figuring as:
+
+``Talented young composer and her famous
+artist lover take poor girl's place in a twenty-five-
+cent ticket line.''
+
+He shivered at the thought.
+
+``Are you cold?'' worried Billy.  ``If you are,
+don't stand here, please!''
+
+He shook his head silently.  His eyes were
+searching the street for the only one whose coming
+could bring him relief.
+
+It must have been but a coffee-and-sandwich
+luncheon for the girl, for soon she came.  The man
+surmised that it was she, as soon as he saw her, and
+stepped back at once.  He had no wish for introductions. 
+A moment later the girl was in Billy's
+place, and Billy herself was at his side.
+
+``That was Alice Greggory, Bertram,'' she
+told him, as they walked on swiftly; ``and
+Bertram, she was actually almost _crying_ when
+she took my place.''
+
+``Humph!  Well, I should think she'd better
+be,'' growled Bertram, perversely.
+
+``Pooh!  It didn't hurt me any, dearie,'' laughed
+Billy with a conciliatory pat on his arm as they
+turned down the street upon which her friend
+lived.  ``And now can you come in and see May a
+minute?''
+
+``I'm afraid not,'' regretted Bertram.  ``I
+wish I could, but I'm busier than busy to-day--
+and I was _supposed_ to be already late when I saw
+you.  Jove, Billy, I just couldn't believe my eyes!''
+
+``You looked it,'' twinkled Billy.  ``It was worth
+a farm just to see your face!''
+
+``I'd want the farm--if I was going through
+that again,'' retorted the man, grimly--Bertram
+was still seeing that newspaper heading.
+
+But Billy only laughed again.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX
+
+ARKWRIGHT TELLS A STORY
+
+
+Arkwright called Monday afternoon by
+appointment; and together he and Billy put the
+finishing touches to the new song.
+
+It was when, with Aunt Hannah, they were
+having tea before the fire a little later, that Billy
+told of her adventure the preceding Friday afternoon
+in front of Symphony Hall.
+
+``You knew the girl, of course--I think you
+said you knew the girl,'' ventured Arkwright.
+
+``Oh, yes.  She was Alice Greggory.  I met her
+with Uncle William first, over a Lowestoft teapot. 
+Maybe you'd like to know _how_ I met her,'' smiled
+Billy.
+
+``Alice Greggory?'' Arkwright's eyes showed a
+sudden interest.  ``I used to know an Alice Greggory,
+but it isn't the same one, probably.  Her
+mother was a cripple.''
+
+Billy gave a little cry.
+
+``Why, it is--it must be!  _My_ Alice Greggory's
+mother is a cripple.  Oh, do you know them,
+really?''
+
+``Well, it does look like it,'' rejoined Arkwright,
+showing even deeper interest.  ``I haven't seen
+them for four or five years.  They used to live
+in our town.  The mother was a little sweet-
+faced woman with young eyes and prematurely
+white hair.''
+
+``That describes my Mrs. Greggory exactly,''
+cried Billy's eager voice.  ``And the daughter?''
+
+``Alice?  Why--as I said, it's been four years
+since I've seen her.''  A touch of constraint had
+come into Arkwright's voice which Billy's keen
+ear was quick to detect.  ``She was nineteen then
+and very pretty.''
+
+``About my height, and with light-brown hair
+and big blue-gray eyes that look steely cold when
+she's angry?'' questioned Billy.
+
+``I reckon that's about it,'' acknowledged the
+man, with a faint smile.
+
+``Then they _are_ the ones,'' declared the girl,
+plainly excited.  ``Isn't that splendid?  Now we
+can know them, and perhaps do something for
+them.  I love that dear little mother already,
+and I think I should the daughter--if she didn't
+put out so many prickers that I couldn't get near
+her!  But tell us about them.  How did they
+come here?  Why didn't you know they were
+here?''
+
+``Are you good at answering a dozen questions
+at once?'' asked Aunt Hannah, turning smiling
+eyes from Billy to the man at her side.
+
+``Well, I can try,'' he offered.  ``To begin
+with, they are Judge Greggory's widow and daughter. 
+They belong to fine families on both sides,
+and they used to be well off--really wealthy,
+for a small town.  But the judge was better at
+money-making than he was at money-keeping,
+and when he came to die his income stopped, of
+course, and his estate was found to be in bad
+shape through reckless loans and worthless
+investments.  That was eight years ago.  Things
+went from bad to worse then, until there was almost
+nothing left.''
+
+``I knew there was some such story as that
+back of them,'' declared Billy.  ``But how do
+you suppose they came here?''
+
+``To get away from--everybody, I suspect,''
+replied Arkwright.  ``That would be like them. 
+They were very proud; and it isn't easy, you
+know, to be nobody where you've been somebody. 
+It doesn't hurt quite so hard--to be nobody where
+you've never been anything but nobody.''
+
+``I suppose so,'' sighed Billy.  ``Still--they
+must have had friends.''
+
+``They did, of course; but when the love of
+one's friends becomes _too_ highly seasoned with
+pity, it doesn't make a pleasant morsel to swallow,
+specially if you don't like the taste of the pity--
+and there are people who don't, you know.  The
+Greggorys were that kind.  They were morbidly
+so.  From their cheap little cottage, where they
+did their own work, they stepped out in their
+shabby garments and old-fashioned hats with
+heads even more proudly erect than in the old
+days when their home and their gowns and their
+doings were the admiration and envy of the town. 
+You see, they didn't want--that pity.''
+
+``I _do_ see,'' cried Billy, her face aglow with
+sudden understanding; ``and I don't believe
+pity would be--nice!''  Her own chin was held
+high as she spoke.
+
+``It must have been hard, indeed,'' murmured
+Aunt Hannah with a sigh, as she set down her
+teacup.
+
+``It was,'' nodded Arkwright.  ``Of course
+Mrs. Greggory, with her crippled foot, could do
+nothing to bring in any money except to sew a
+little.  It all depended on Alice; and when matters
+got to their worst she began to teach.  She was
+fond of music, and could play the piano well; and
+of course she had had the best instruction she
+could get from city teachers only twenty miles
+away from our home town.  Young as she was--
+about seventeen when she began to teach, I think
+--she got a few beginners right away, and in
+two years she had worked up quite a class,
+meanwhile keeping on with her own studies, herself.
+
+``They might have carried the thing through,
+maybe,'' continued Arkwright, ``and never
+_apparently_ known that the `pity' existed, if it
+hadn't been for some ugly rumors that suddenly
+arose attacking the Judge's honesty in an old
+matter that somebody raked up.  That was too
+much.  Under this last straw their courage broke
+utterly.  Alice dismissed every pupil, sold almost
+all their remaining goods--they had lots of quite
+valuable heirlooms; I suspect that's where your
+Lowestoft teapot came in--and with the money
+thus gained they left town.  Until they could
+go, they scarcely showed themselves once on the
+street, they were never at home to callers, and
+they left without telling one soul where they were
+going, so far as we could ever learn.''
+
+``Why, the poor dears!'' cried Billy.  ``How
+they must have suffered!  But things will be
+different now.  You'll go to see them, of course,
+and--''  At the look that came into Arkwright's
+face, she stopped in surprise.
+
+``You forget; they wouldn't wish to see me,''
+demurred the man.  And again Billy noticed the
+odd constraint in his voice.
+
+``But they wouldn't mind _you--here_,'' argued
+Billy.
+
+``I'm afraid they would.  In fact, I'm sure they'd
+refuse entirely to see me.''
+
+Billy's eyes grew determined.
+
+``But they can't refuse--if I bring about a
+meeting just casually, you know,'' she challenged.
+
+Arkwright laughed.
+
+``Well, I won't pretend to say as to the
+consequences of that,'' he rejoined, rising to his feet;
+``but they might be disastrous.  Wasn't it you
+yourself who were telling me a few minutes ago
+how steely cold Miss Alice's eyes got when she
+was angry?''
+
+Billy knew by the way the man spoke that, for
+some reason, he did not wish to prolong the subject
+of his meeting the Greggorys.  She made a quick
+shift, therefore, to another phase of the matter.
+
+``But tell me, please, before you go, how did
+those rumors come out--about Judge Greggory's
+honesty, I mean?''
+
+``Why, I never knew, exactly,'' frowned Arkwright,
+musingly.  ``Yet it seems, too, that
+mother did say in one letter, while I was in Paris,
+that some of the accusations had been found to
+be false, and that there was a prospect that the
+Judge's good name might be saved, after all.''
+
+``Oh, I wish it might,'' sighed Billy.  ``Think
+what it would mean to those women!''
+
+``'Twould mean everything,'' cried Arkwright,
+warmly; ``and I'll write to mother to-night, I will,
+and find out just what there is to it-if anything. 
+Then you can tell them,'' he finished a little stiffly.
+
+``Yes--or you,'' nodded Billy, lightly.  And
+because she began at once to speak of something
+else, the first part of her sentence passed without
+comment.
+
+The door had scarcely closed behind Arkwright
+when Billy turned to Aunt Hannah a beaming
+face.
+
+``Aunt Hannah, did you notice?'' she cried,
+``how Mary Jane looked and acted whenever Alice
+Greggory was spoken of?  There was something
+between them--I'm sure there was; and they
+quarrelled, probably.''
+
+``Why, no, dear; I didn't see anything unusual,''
+murmured the elder lady.
+
+``Well, I did.  And I'm going to be the fairy
+godmother that straightens everything all out,
+too.  See if I'm not!  They'd make a splendid
+couple, Aunt Hannah.  I'm going right down
+there to-morrow.''
+
+``Billy, my dear!'' exclaimed the more
+conservative old lady, ``aren't you taking things a
+little too much for granted?  Maybe they don't
+wish for--for a fairy godmother!''
+
+``Oh, _they_ won't know I'm a fairy godmother
+--not one of them; and of course I wouldn't
+mention even a hint to anybody,'' laughed Billy. 
+``I'm just going down to get acquainted with the
+Greggorys; that's all.  Only think, Aunt Hannah,
+what they must have suffered!  And look at the
+place they're living in now--gentlewomen like
+them!''
+
+``Yes, yes, poor things, poor things!'' sighed
+Aunt Hannah.
+
+``I hope I'll find out that she's really good--at
+teaching, I mean--the daughter,'' resumed Billy,
+after a moment's pause.  ``If she is, there's one
+thing I can do to help, anyhow.  I can get some
+of Marie's old pupils for her.  I _know_ some of
+them haven't begun with a new teacher, yet; and
+Mrs. Carleton told me last Friday that neither
+she nor her sister was at all satisfied with the one
+their girls _have_ taken.  They'd change, I know, in
+a minute, at my recommendation--that is, of
+course, if I can _give_ the recommendation,''
+continued Billy, with a troubled frown.  ``Anyhow,
+I'm going down to begin operations to-morrow.''
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI
+
+A MATTER OF STRAIGHT BUSINESS
+
+
+True to her assertion, Billy went down to the
+Greggorys' the next day.  This time she did not
+take Rosa with her.  Even Aunt Hannah conceded
+that it would not be necessary.  She had
+not been gone ten minutes, however, when the
+telephone bell rang, and Rosa came to say that
+Mr. Bertram Henshaw wanted to speak with Mrs.
+Stetson.
+
+``Rosa says that Billy's not there,'' called
+Bertram's aggrieved voice, when Aunt Hannah
+had said, ``Good morning, my boy.''
+
+``Dear me, no, Bertram.  She's in a fever of
+excitement this morning.  She'll probably tell you
+all about it when you come out here to-night. 
+You _are_ coming out to-night, aren't you?''
+
+``Yes; oh, yes!  But what is it?  Where's she
+gone?''
+
+Aunt Hannah laughed softly.
+
+``Well, she's gone down to the Greggorys'.''
+
+``The Greggorys'!  What--again?''
+
+``Oh, you might as well get used to it, Bertram,''
+bantered Aunt Hannah, ``for there'll be a good
+many `agains,' I fancy.''
+
+``Why, Aunt Hannah, what do you mean?''
+Bertram's voice was not quite pleased.
+
+``Oh, she'll tell you.  It's only that the
+Greggorys have turned out to be old friends of Mr.
+Arkwright's.''
+
+``_Friends_ of Arkwright's!'' Bertram's voice
+was decidedly displeased now.
+
+``Yes; and there's quite a story to it all, as
+well.  Billy is wildly excited, as you'd know she
+would be.  You'll hear all about it to-night, of
+course.''
+
+``Yes, of course,'' echoed Bertram.  But there
+was no ring of enthusiasm in his voice, neither
+then, nor when he said good-by a moment later.
+
+Billy, meanwhile, on her way to the Greggory
+home, was, as Aunt Hannah had said, ``wildly
+excited.''  It seemed so strange and wonderful
+and delightful--the whole affair: that she should
+have found them because of a Lowestoft teapot,
+that Arkwright should know them, and that there
+should be the chance now that she might help
+them--in some way; though this last, she knew,
+could be accomplished only through the exercise
+of the greatest tact and delicacy.  She had not
+forgotten that Arkwright had told her of their
+hatred of pity.
+
+In the sober second thought of the morning,
+Billy was not sure now of a possible romance in
+connection with Arkwright and the daughter,
+Alice; but she had by no means abandoned the
+idea, and she meant to keep her eyes open--and
+if there should be a chance to bring such a thing
+about--!  Meanwhile, of course, she should not
+mention the matter, even to Bertram.
+
+Just what would be her method of procedure
+this first morning, Billy had not determined.  The
+pretty potted azalea in her hand would be
+excuse for her entrance into the room.  After that,
+circumstances must decide for themselves.
+
+Mrs. Greggory was found to be alone at home as
+before, and Billy was glad.  She would rather begin
+with one than two, she thought.  The little woman
+greeted her cordially, gave misty-eyed thanks for
+the beautiful plant, and also for Billy's kind
+thoughtfulness Friday afternoon.  From that she
+was very skilfully led to talk more of the daughter;
+and soon Billy was getting just the information
+she wanted--information concerning the character,
+aims, and daily life of Alice Greggory.
+
+``You see, we have some money--a very little,''
+explained Mrs. Greggory, after a time; ``though
+to get it we have had to sell all our treasures--
+but the Lowestoft, ``with a quick glance into
+Billy's eyes.  ``We need not, perhaps, live in
+quite so poor a place; but we prefer--just now
+--to spend the little money we have for something
+other than imitation comfort--lessons, for
+instance, and an occasional concert.  My daughter
+is studying even while she is teaching.  She hopes
+to train herself for an accompanist, and for a
+teacher.  She does not aspire to concert solo work. 
+She understands her limitations.''
+
+``But she is probably--very good--at teaching.'' 
+Billy hesitated a little.
+
+``She is; very good.  She has the best of
+recommendations.''  A little proudly Mrs. Greggory
+gave the names of two Boston pianists--names
+that would carry weight anywhere.
+
+Unconsciously Billy relaxed.  She did not know
+until that moment how she had worried for fear
+she could not, conscientiously, recommend this
+Alice Greggory.
+
+``Of course,'' resumed the mother, ``Alice's
+pupils are few, and they pay low prices; but she
+is gaining.  She goes to the houses, of course. 
+She herself practises two hours a day at a house
+up on Pinckney Street.  She gives lessons to a
+little girl in return.''
+
+``I see,'' nodded Billy, brightly; ``and I've
+been thinking, Mrs. Greggory--maybe I know
+of some pupils she could get.  I have a friend who
+has just given hers up, owing to her marriage. 
+Sometime, soon, I'm going to talk to your daughter,
+if I may, and--''
+
+``And here she is right now,'' interposed Mrs.
+Greggory, as the door opened under a hurried
+hand.
+
+Billy flushed and bit her lip.  She was disturbed
+and disappointed.  She did not particularly wish
+to see Alice Greggory just then.  She wished even
+less to see her when she noted the swift change that
+came to the girl's face at sight of herself.
+
+``Oh!  Why-good morning, Miss Neilson,''
+murmured Miss Greggory with a smile so forced
+that her mother hurriedly looked to the azalea
+in search of a possible peacemaker.
+
+``My dear, see,'' she stammered, ``what Miss
+Neilson has brought me.  And it's so full of
+blossoms, too!  And she says it'll remain so for
+a long, long time--if we'll only keep it wet.''
+
+Alice Greggory murmured a low something--
+a something that she tried, evidently, very hard
+to make politely appropriate and appreciative. 
+Yet her manner, as she took off her hat and coat
+and sat down, so plainly said:  ``You are very kind,
+of course, but I wish you would keep yourself
+and your plants at home!'' that Mrs. Greggory
+began a hurried apology, much as if the words
+had indeed been spoken.
+
+``My daughter is really ill this morning.  You
+mustn't mind--that is, I'm afraid you'll think
+--you see, she took cold last week; a bad cold--
+and she isn't over it, yet,'' finished the little woman
+in painful embarrassment.
+
+``Of course she took cold--standing all
+those hours in that horrid wind, Friday!'' cried
+Billy, indignantly.
+
+A quick red flew to Alice Greggory's face. 
+Billy saw it at once and fervently wished she had
+spoken of anything but that Friday afternoon. 
+It looked almost as if she were _reminding_ them of
+what she had done that day.  In her confusion,
+and in her anxiety to say something--anything
+that would get their minds off that idea--she
+uttered now the first words that came into her
+head.  As it happened, they were the last words
+that sober second thought would have told her
+to say.
+
+``Never mind, Mrs. Greggory.  We'll have her
+all well and strong soon; never fear!  Just wait
+till I send Peggy and Mary Jane to take her out
+for a drive one of these mild, sunny days.  You
+have no idea how much good it will do her!''
+
+Alice Greggory got suddenly to her feet.  Her
+face was very white now.  Her eyes had the
+steely coldness that Billy knew so well.  Her
+voice, when she spoke, was low and sternly controlled.
+
+``Miss Neilson, you will think me rude, of
+course, especially after your great kindness to me
+the other day; but I can't help it.  It seems to me
+best to speak now before it goes any further.''
+
+``Alice, dear,'' remonstrated Mrs. Greggory,
+extending a frightened hand.
+
+The girl did not turn her head nor hesitate;
+but she caught the extended hand and held it
+warmly in both her own, with gentle little pats,
+while she went on speaking.
+
+``I'm sure mother agrees with me that it is
+best, for the present, that we keep quite to
+ourselves.  I cannot question your kindness, of
+course, after your somewhat unusual favor the
+other day; but I am very sure that your friends,
+Miss Peggy, and Miss Mary Jane, have no real
+desire to make my acquaintance, nor--if you'll
+pardon me--have I, under the circumstances,
+any wish to make theirs.''
+
+``Oh, Alice, Alice,'' began the little mother, in
+dismay; but a rippling laugh from their visitor
+brought an angry flush even to her gentle face.
+
+Billy understood the flush, and struggled for
+self-control.
+
+``Please--please, forgive me!'' she choked. 
+``But you see--you couldn't, of course, know
+that Mary Jane and Peggy aren't _girls_.  They're
+just a man and an automobile!''
+
+An unwilling smile trembled on Alice Greggory's
+lips; but she still stood her ground.
+
+``After all, girls, or men and automobiles,
+Miss Neilson--it makes little difference.  They're
+--charity.  And it's not so long that we've been
+objects of charity that we quite really enjoy it--
+yet.''
+
+There was a moment's hush.  Billy's eyes had
+filled with tears.
+
+``I never even _thought_--charity,'' said Billy,
+so gently that a faint red stole into the white
+cheeks opposite.
+
+For a tense minute Alice Greggory held herself
+erect; then, with a complete change of manner
+and voice, she released her mother's hand, dropped
+into her own chair again, and said wearily:
+
+``I know you didn't, Miss Neilson.  It's all
+my foolish pride, of course.  It's only that I was
+thinking how dearly I would love to meet girls
+again--just as _girls!_  But--I no longer have
+any business with pride, of course.  I shall be
+pleased, I'm sure,'' she went on dully, ``to accept
+anything you may do for us, from automobile
+rides to--to red flannel petticoats.''
+
+Billy almost--but not quite--laughed.  Still,
+the laugh would have been near to a sob, had it
+been given.  Surprising as was the quick transition
+in the girl's manner, and absurd as was the
+juxtaposition of automobiles and red flannel
+petticoats, the white misery of Alice Greggory's face
+and the weary despair of her attitude were tragic
+--specially to one who knew her story as did
+Billy Neilson.  And it was because Billy did know
+her story that she did not make the mistake now
+of offering pity.  Instead, she said with a bright
+smile, and a casual manner that gave no hint
+of studied labor:
+
+``Well, as it happens, Miss Greggory, what I
+want to-day has nothing whatever to do with
+automobiles or red flannel petticoats.  It's a
+matter of straight business.''  (How Billy blessed
+the thought that had so suddenly come to her!) 
+``Your mother tells me you play accompaniments. 
+Now a girls' club, of which I am a member, is
+getting up an operetta for charity, and we need
+an accompanist.  There is no one in the club who
+is able, and at the same time willing, to spend
+the amount of time necessary for practice and
+rehearsals.  So we had decided to hire one outside,
+and I have been given the task of finding one.  It
+has occurred to me that perhaps you would be
+willing to undertake it for us.  Would you?''
+
+Billy knew, at once, from the quick change in
+the other's face and manner, that she had taken
+exactly the right course to relieve the strain of
+the situation.  Despair and lassitude fell away
+from Alice Greggory almost like a garment.  Her
+countenance became alert and interested.
+
+``Indeed I would!  I should be glad to do it.''
+
+``Good!  Then can you come out to my home
+sometime to-morrow, and go over the music with
+me?  Rehearsals will not begin until next week;
+but I can give you the music, and tell you
+something of what we are planning to do.''
+
+``Yes.  I could come at ten in the morning for
+an hour, or at three in the afternoon for two
+hours or more,'' replied Miss Greggory, after a
+moment's hesitation.
+
+``Suppose we call it in the afternoon, then,''
+smiled Billy, as she rose to her feet.  ``And now I
+must go--and here's my address,'' she finished,
+taking out her card and laying it on the table
+near her.
+
+For reasons of her own Billy went away that
+morning without saying anything more about
+the proposed new pupils.  New pupils were not
+automobile rides nor petticoats, to be sure--but
+she did not care to risk disturbing the present
+interested happiness of Alice Greggory's face by
+mentioning anything that might be construed as
+too officious an assistance.
+
+On the whole, Billy felt well pleased with her
+morning's work.  To Aunt Hannah, upon her
+return, she expressed herself thus:
+
+``It's splendid--even better than I hoped.  I
+shall have a chance to-morrow, of course, to see
+for myself just how well she plays, and all that. 
+I'm pretty sure, though, from what I hear, that
+that part will be all right.  Then the operetta
+will give us a chance to see a good deal of her,
+and to bring about a natural meeting between her
+and Mary Jane.  Oh, Aunt Hannah, I couldn't
+have _planned_ it better--and there the whole
+thing just tumbled into my hands!  I knew it had
+the minute I remembered about the operetta. 
+You know I'm chairman, and they left me to
+get the accompanist; and like a flash it came to
+me, when I was wondering _what_ to say or do to
+get her out of that awful state she was in--`Ask
+her to be your accompanist.'  And I did.  And I'm
+so glad I did!  Oh, Aunt Hannah, it's coming out
+lovely!--I know it is.''
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII
+
+PLANS AND PLOTTINGS
+
+
+To Billy, Alice Greggory's first visit to Hillside
+was in every way a delight and a satisfaction.  To
+Alice, it was even more than that.  For the first
+time in years she found herself welcomed into a
+home of wealth, culture, and refinement as an equal;
+and the frank cordiality and naturalness of her
+hostess's evident expectation of meeting a
+congenial companion was like balm to a sensitive
+soul rendered morbid by long years of superciliousness
+and snubbing.
+
+No wonder that under the cheery friendliness
+of it all, Alice Greggory's cold reserve vanished,
+and that in its place came something very like
+her old ease and charm of manner.  By the time
+Aunt Hannah--according to previous agreement
+--came into the room, the two girls were laughing
+and chatting over the operetta as if they had known
+each other for years.
+
+Much to Billy's delight, Alice Greggory, as a
+musician, proved to be eminently satisfactory.
+She was quick at sight reading, and accurate. 
+She played easily, and with good expression. 
+Particularly was she a good accompanist, possessing
+to a marked degree that happy faculty of _accompanying_
+a singer: which means that she neither
+led the way nor lagged behind, being always
+exactly in sympathetic step--than which nothing
+is more soul-satisfying to the singer.
+
+It was after the music for the operetta had been
+well-practised and discussed that Alice Greggory
+chanced to see one of Billy's own songs lying near
+her.  With a pleased smile she picked it up.
+
+``Oh, you know this, too!'' she cried.  ``I
+played it for a lady only the other day.  It's so
+pretty, I think--all of hers are, that I have seen. 
+Billy Neilson is a girl, you know, they say, in
+spite of--``She stopped abruptly.  Her eyes
+grew wide and questioning.  ``Miss Neilson--it
+can't be--you don't mean--is your name--it
+_is--you!_'' she finished joyously, as the telltale
+color dyed Billy's face.  The next moment her
+own cheeks burned scarlet.  ``And to think of
+my letting _you_ stand in line for a twenty-five-cent
+admission!'' she scorned.
+
+``Nonsense!'' laughed Billy.  ``It didn't hurt
+me any more than it did you.  Come!''--in
+looking about for a quick something to take her
+guest's attention, Billy's eyes fell on the manuscript
+copy of her new song, bearing Arkwright's
+name.  Yielding to a daring impulse, she drew
+it hastily forward.  ``Here's a new one--a brand-
+new one, not even printed yet.  Don't you think
+the words are pretty?'' she asked.
+
+As she had hoped, Alice Greggory's eyes, after
+they had glanced half-way through the first page,
+sought the name at the left side below the title.
+
+`` `Words by M. J.--' ''--there was a
+visible start, and a pause before the `` `Arkwright' ''
+was uttered in a slightly different tone.
+
+Billy noted both the start and the pause--and
+gloried in them.
+
+``Yes; the words are by M. J. Arkwright,'' she
+said with smooth unconcern, but with a covert
+glance at the other's face.  ``Ever hear of him?''
+
+Alice Greggory gave a short little laugh.
+
+``Probably not--this one.  I used to know
+an M. J. Arkwright, long ago; but he wasn't--a
+poet, so far as I know,'' she finished, with a little
+catch in her breath that made Billy long to take
+her into a warm embrace.
+
+Alice Greggory turned then to the music.  She
+had much to say of this--very much; but she
+had nothing more whatever to say of Mr. M. J.
+Arkwright in spite of the tempting conversation
+bait that Billy dropped so freely.  After that,
+Rosa brought in tea and toast, and the little
+frosted cakes that were always such a favorite
+with Billy's guests.  Then Alice Greggory said
+good-by--her eyes full of tears that Billy pretended
+not to see.
+
+``There!'' breathed Billy, as soon as she had
+Aunt Hannah to herself again.  ``What did I
+tell you?  Did you see Miss Greggory's start
+and blush and hear her sigh just over the _name_
+of M. J. Arkwright?  Just as if--!  Now I want
+them to meet; only it must be casual, Aunt Hannah--
+casual!  And I'd rather wait till Mary
+Jane hears from his mother, if possible, so if there
+_is_ anything good to tell the poor girl, he can tell
+it.''
+
+``Yes, of course.  Dear child!--I hope he can,''
+murmured Aunt Hannah.  (Aunt Hannah had
+ceased now trying to make Billy refrain from the
+reprehensible ``Mary Jane.''  In fact, if the truth
+were known, Aunt Hannah herself in her thoughts
+--and sometimes in her words--called him
+``Mary Jane.'')  ``But, indeed, my dear, I didn't
+see anything stiff, or--or repelling about Miss
+Greggory, as you said there was.''
+
+``There wasn't--to-day,'' smiled Billy. 
+``Honestly, Aunt Hannah, I should never have known
+her for the same girl--who showed me the door
+that first morning,'' she finished merrily, as she
+turned to go up-stairs.
+
+It was the next day that Cyril and Marie came
+home from their honeymoon.  They went directly
+to their pretty little apartment on Beacon Street,
+Brookline, within easy walking distance of Billy's
+own cozy home.
+
+Cyril intended to build in a year or two. 
+Meanwhile they had a very pretty, convenient home
+which was, according to Bertram, ``electrified to
+within an inch of its life, and equipped with
+everything that was fireless, smokeless, dustless, and
+laborless.''  In it Marie had a spotlessly white
+kitchen where she might make puddings to her
+heart's content.
+
+Marie had--again according to Bertram--
+``a visiting acquaintance with a maid.''  In
+other words, a stout woman was engaged to come
+two days in the week to wash, iron, and scrub;
+also to come in each night to wash the dinner
+dishes, thus leaving Marie's evenings free--``for
+the shaded lamp,'' Billy said.
+
+Marie had not arrived at this--to her, delightful--
+arrangement of a ``visiting acquaintance''
+without some opposition from her friends.  Even
+Billy had stood somewhat aghast.
+
+``But, my dear, won't it be hard for you, to do
+so much?'' she argued one day.  ``You know
+you aren't very strong.''
+
+``I know; but it won't be hard, as I've planned
+it,'' replied Marie, ``specially when I've been
+longing for years to do this very thing.  Why, Billy,
+if I had to stand by and watch a maid do all these
+things I want to do myself, I should feel just like
+--like a hungry man who sees another man eating
+up his dinner!  Oh, of course,'' she added plaintively,
+after Billy's laughter had subsided, ``I
+sha'n't do it always.  I don't expect to.  Of course,
+when we have a house--I'm not sure, then,
+though, that I sha'n't dress up the maid and order
+her to receive the calls and go to the pink teas,
+while I make her puddings,'' she finished saucily,
+as Billy began to laugh again.
+
+The bride and groom, as was proper, were, soon
+after their arrival, invited to dine at both William's
+and Billy's.  Then, until Marie's ``At Homes''
+should begin, the devoted couple settled down to
+quiet days by themselves, with only occasional
+visits from the family to interrupt--``interrupt''
+was Bertram's word, not Marie's.  Though it is
+safe to say it was not far different from the one
+Cyril used--in his thoughts.
+
+Bertram himself, these days, was more than
+busy.  Besides working on Miss Winthrop's portrait,
+and on two or three other commissions, he
+was putting the finishing touches to four pictures
+which he was to show in the exhibition soon to be
+held by a prominent Art Club of which he was
+the acknowledged ``star'' member.  Naturally,
+therefore, his time was well occupied.  Naturally,
+too, Billy, knowing this, lashed herself more
+sternly than ever into a daily reminder of Kate's
+assertion that he belonged first to his Art.
+
+In pursuance of this idea, Billy was careful to
+see that no engagement with herself should in any
+way interfere with the artist's work, and that
+no word of hers should attempt to keep him at her
+side when ART called.  (Billy always spelled
+that word now in her mind with tall, black letters
+--the way it had sounded when it fell from Kate's
+lips.)  That these tactics on her part were beginning
+to fill her lover with vague alarm and a very
+definite unrest, she did not once suspect.  Eagerly,
+therefore,--even with conscientious delight--
+she welcomed the new song-words that Arkwright
+brought--they would give her something else
+to take up her time and attention.  She welcomed
+them, also, for another reason: they would bring
+Arkwright more often to the house, and this
+would, of course, lead to that ``casual meeting''
+between him and Alice Greggory when the
+rehearsals for the operetta should commence--
+which would be very soon now.  And Billy did
+so long to bring about that meeting!
+
+To Billy, all this was but ``occupying her mind,''
+and playing Cupid's assistant to a worthy young
+couple torn cruelly apart by an unfeeling fate. 
+To Bertram--to Bertram it was terror, and woe,
+and all manner of torture; for in it Bertram saw
+only a growing fondness on the part of Billy for
+Arkwright, Arkwright's music, Arkwright's words,
+and Arkwright's friends.
+
+The first rehearsal for the operetta came on
+Wednesday evening.  There would be another on
+Thursday afternoon.  Billy had told Alice Greggory
+to arrange her pupils so that she could stay
+Wednesday night at Hillside, if the crippled mother
+could get along alone--and she could, Alice had
+said.  Thursday forenoon, therefore, Alice Greggory
+would, in all probability, be at Hillside, specially
+as there would doubtless be an appointment or
+two for private rehearsal with some nervous soloist
+whose part was not progressing well.  Such being
+the case, Billy had a plan she meant to carry out. 
+She was highly pleased, therefore, when Thursday
+morning came, and everything, apparently, was
+working exactly to her mind.
+
+Alice was there.  She had an appointment at
+quarter of eleven with the leading tenor, and another
+later with the alto.  After breakfast, therefore,
+Billy said decisively:
+
+``Now, if you please, Miss Greggory, I'm going
+to put you up-stairs on the couch in the sewing-
+room for a nap.''
+
+``But I've just got up,'' remonstrated Miss
+Greggory.
+
+``I know you have,'' smiled Billy; ``but you
+were very late to bed last night, and you've got
+a hard day before you.  I insist upon your resting. 
+You will be absolutely undisturbed there, and
+you must shut the door and not come down-stairs
+till I send for you.  Mr. Johnson isn't due till
+quarter of eleven, is he?''
+
+``N-no.''
+
+``Then come with me,'' directed Billy, leading
+the way up-stairs.  ``There, now, don't come down
+till I call you,'' she went on, when they had reached
+the little room at the end of the hall.  ``I'm going
+to leave Aunt Hannah's door open, so you'll
+have good air--she isn't in there.  She's writing
+letters in my room, Now here's a book, and you
+_may_ read, but I should prefer you to sleep,'' she
+nodded brightly as she went out and shut the
+door quietly.  Then, like the guilty conspirator
+she was, she went down-stairs to wait for Arkwright.
+
+It was a fine plan.  Arkwright was due at ten
+o'clock--Billy had specially asked him to come
+at that hour.  He would not know, of course, that
+Alice Greggory was in the house; but soon after
+his arrival Billy meant to excuse herself for a
+moment, slip up-stairs and send Alice Greggory
+down for a book, a pair of scissors, a shawl for
+Aunt Hannah--anything would do for a pretext,
+anything so that the girl might walk into the
+living-room and find Arkwright waiting for her
+alone.  And then--  What happened next was,
+in Billy's mind, very vague, but very attractive
+as a nucleus for one's thoughts, nevertheless.
+
+All this was, indeed, a fine plan; but--  (If
+only fine plans would not so often have a ``but''!) 
+In Billy's case the ``but'' had to do with things
+so apparently unrelated as were Aunt Hannah's
+clock and a negro's coal wagon.  The clock struck
+eleven at half-past ten, and the wagon dumped
+itself to destruction directly in front of a trolley
+car in which sat Mr. M. J. Arkwright, hurrying
+to keep his appointment with Miss Billy Neilson. 
+It was almost half-past ten when Arkwright
+finally rang the bell at Hillside.  Billy greeted
+him so eagerly, and at the same time with such
+evident disappointment at his late arrival, that
+Arkwright's heart sang with joy.
+
+``But there's a rehearsal at quarter of eleven,''
+exclaimed Billy, in answer to his hurried explanation
+of the delay; ``and this gives so little time
+for--for--so little time, you know,'' she finished
+in confusion, casting frantically about in
+her mind for an excuse to hurry up-stairs and
+send Alice Greggory down before it should be
+quite too late.
+
+No wonder that Arkwright, noting the sparkle
+in her eye, the agitation in her manner, and the
+embarrassed red in her cheek, took new courage.
+For so long had this girl held him at the end of a
+major third or a diminished seventh; for so long
+had she blithely accepted his every word and act
+as devotion to music, not herself--for so long
+had she done all this that he had come to fear
+that never would she do anything else.  No
+wonder then, that now, in the soft radiance of the
+strange, new light on her face, his own face
+glowed ardently, and that he leaned forward
+with an impetuous rush of eager words.
+
+``But there is time, Miss Billy--if you'd give
+me leave--to say--''
+
+``I'm afraid I kept you waiting,'' interrupted
+the hurried voice of Alice Greggory from the hall
+doorway.  ``I was asleep, I think, when a clock
+somewhere, striking eleven--  Why, Mr.--Arkwright!''
+
+Not until Alice Greggory had nearly crossed the
+room did she see that the man standing by her
+hostess was--not the tenor she had expected to
+find--but an old acquaintance.  Then it was
+that the tremulous ``Mr.-Arkwright!'' fell from
+her lips.
+
+Billy and Arkwright had turned at her first
+words.  At her last, Arkwright, with a half-
+despairing, half-reproachful glance at Billy, stepped
+forward.
+
+``Miss Greggory!--you _are_ Miss Alice Greggory,
+I am sure,'' he said pleasantly.
+
+At the first opportunity Billy murmured a
+hasty excuse and left the room.  To Aunt Hannah
+she flew with a woebegone face.
+
+``Oh, Aunt Hannah, Aunt Hannah,'' she
+wailed, half laughing, half crying; ``that wretched
+little fib-teller of a clock of yours spoiled it
+all!''
+
+``Spoiled it!  Spoiled what, child?''
+
+``My first meeting between Mary Jane and
+Miss Greggory.  I had it all arranged that they
+were to have it _alone_; but that miserable little
+fibber up-stairs struck eleven at half-past ten,
+and Miss Greggory heard it and thought she was
+fifteen minutes late.  So down she hurried, half
+awake, and spoiled all my plans.  Now she's
+sitting in there with him, in chairs the length of
+the room apart, discussing the snowstorm last
+night or the moonrise this morning--or some
+other such silly thing.  And I had it so beautifully
+planned!''
+
+``Well, well, dear, I'm sorry, I'm sure,'' smiled
+Aunt Hannah; ``but I can't think any real harm
+is done.  Did Mary Jane have anything to tell
+her--about her father, I mean?''
+
+Only the faintest flicker of Billy's eyelid testified
+that the everyday accustomedness of that ``Mary
+Jane'' on Aunt Hannah's lips had not escaped her.
+
+``No, nothing definite.  Yet there was a little. 
+Friends are still trying to clear his name, and I
+believe are meeting with increasing success.  I
+don't know, of course, whether he'll say anything
+about it to-day--_now_.  To think I had to be
+right round under foot like that when they met!''
+went on Billy, indignantly.  ``I shouldn't have
+been, in a minute more, though.  I was just trying
+to think up an excuse to come up and send down
+Miss Greggory, when Mary Jane began to tell
+me something--I haven't the faintest idea what
+--then _she_ appeared, and it was all over.  And
+there's the doorbell, and the tenor, I suppose; so
+of course it's all over now,'' she sighed, rising to go
+down-stairs.
+
+As it chanced, however, it was not the tenor,
+but a message from him--a message that brought
+dire consternation to the Chairman of the Committee
+of Arrangements.  The tenor had thrown
+up his part.  He could not take it; it was too
+difficult.  He felt that this should be told--at once
+rather than to worry along for another week or
+two, and then give up.  So he had told it.
+
+``But what shall we do, Miss Greggory?''
+appealed Billy.  ``It _is_ a hard part, you know;
+but if Mr. Tobey can't take it, I don't know who
+can.  We don't want to hire a singer for it, if we can
+help it.  The profits are to go to the Home for
+Crippled Children, you know,'' she explained,
+turning to Arkwright, ``and we decided to hire
+only the accompanist.''
+
+An odd expression flitted across Miss Greggory's
+face.
+
+``Mr. Arkwright used to sing--tenor,'' she
+observed quietly.
+
+``As if he didn't now--a perfectly glorious
+tenor,'' retorted Billy.  ``But as if _he_ would take
+_this!_''
+
+For only a brief moment did Arkwright hesitate;
+then blandly he suggested:
+
+``Suppose you try him, and see.''
+
+Billy sat suddenly erect.
+
+``Would you, really?  _Could_ you--take the
+time, and all?'' she cried.
+
+``Yes, I think I would--under the circumstances,''
+he smiled.  ``I think I could, too,
+though I might not be able to attend all the
+rehearsals.  Still, if I find I have to ask permission,
+I'll endeavor to convince the powers-that-be that
+singing in this operetta will be just the stepping-
+stone I need to success in Grand Opera.''
+
+``Oh, if you only would take it,'' breathed Billy,
+``we'd be so glad!''
+
+``Well,'' said Arkwright, his eyes on Billy's
+frankly delighted face, ``as I said before--under
+the circumstances I think I would.''
+
+``Thank you!  Then it's all beautifully settled,''
+rejoiced Billy, with a happy sigh; and unconsciously
+she gave Alice Greggory's hand near her
+a little pat.
+
+In Billy's mind the ``circumstances'' of
+Arkwright's acceptance of the part were Alice Greggory
+and her position as accompanist, of course. 
+Billy would have been surprised indeed--and
+dismayed--had she known that in Arkwright's
+mind the ``circumstances'' were herself, and the
+fact that she, too, had a part in the operetta,
+necessitating her presence at rehearsals, and hinting
+at a delightful comradeship impossible, perhaps, otherwise.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII
+
+THE CAUSE AND BERTRAM
+
+
+February came The operetta, for which
+Billy was working so hard, was to be given the
+twentieth.  The Art Exhibition, for which Bertram
+was preparing his four pictures, was to open the
+sixteenth, with a private view for specially
+invited friends the evening before.
+
+On the eleventh day of February Mrs. Greggory
+and her daughter arrived at Hillside for a ten-
+days' visit.  Not until after a great deal of pleading
+and argument, however, had Billy been able
+to bring this about.
+
+``But, my dears, both of you,'' Billy had at
+last said to them; ``just listen.  We shall have
+numberless rehearsals during those last ten days
+before the thing comes off.  They will be at all
+hours, and of all lengths.  You, Miss Greggory,
+will have to be on hand for them all, of course,
+and will have to stay all night several times,
+probably.  You, Mrs. Greggory, ought not to
+be alone down here.  There is no sensible, valid
+reason why you should not both come out to the
+house for those ten days; and I shall feel seriously
+hurt and offended if you do not consent to do
+it.''
+
+``But--my pupils,'' Alice Greggory had demurred.
+
+``You can go in town from my home at any
+time to give your lessons, and a little shifting
+about and arranging for those ten days will enable
+you to set the hours conveniently one after another,
+I am sure, so you can attend to several on
+one trip.  Meanwhile your mother will be having
+a lovely time teaching Aunt Hannah how to
+knit a new shawl; so you won't have to be
+worrying about her.''
+
+After all, it had been the great good and pleasure
+which the visit would bring to Mrs. Greggory that
+had been the final straw to tip the scales.  On the
+eleventh of February, therefore, in the company
+of the once scorned ``Peggy and Mary Jane,''
+Alice Greggory and her mother had arrived at
+Hillside.
+
+Ever since the first meeting of Alice Greggory
+and Arkwright, Billy had been sorely troubled
+by the conduct of the two young people.  She had,
+as she mournfully told herself, been able to make
+nothing of it.  The two were civility itself to each
+other, but very plainly they were not at ease in
+each other's company; and Billy, much to her
+surprise, had to admit that Arkwright did not
+appear to appreciate the ``circumstances'' now
+that he had them.  The pair called each other,
+ceremoniously, ``Mr. Arkwright,'' and ``Miss
+Greggory''--but then, that, of course, did not
+``signify,'' Billy declared to herself.
+
+``I suppose you don't ever call him `Mary
+Jane,' '' she said to the girl, a little mischievously,
+one day.
+
+`` `Mary Jane'?  Mr. Arkwright?  No, I don't,''
+rejoined Miss Greggory, with an odd smile.  Then,
+after a moment, she added:  ``I believe his brothers
+and sisters used to, however.''
+
+``Yes, I know,'' laughed Billy.  ``We thought
+he was a real Mary Jane, once.''  And she told
+the story of his arrival.  ``So you see,'' she
+finished, when Alice Greggory had done laughing
+over the tale, ``he always will be `Mary Jane' to
+us.  By the way, what is his name?''
+
+Miss Greggory looked up in surprise.
+
+``Why, it's--''  She stopped short, her eyes
+questioning.  ``Why, hasn't he ever told you?''
+she queried.
+
+Billy lifted her chin.
+
+``No.  He told us to guess it, and we have
+guessed everything we can think of, even up to
+`Methuselah John'; but he says we haven't
+hit it yet.''
+
+`` `Methuselah John,' indeed!'' laughed the
+other, merrily.
+
+``Well, I'm sure that's a nice, solid name,''
+defended Billy, her chin still at a challenging
+tilt.  ``If it isn't `Methuselah John,' what is it,
+then?''
+
+But Alice Greggory shook her head.  She, too,
+it seemed, could be firm, on occasion.  And though
+she smiled brightly, all she would say, was:
+
+``If he hasn't told you, I sha'n't.  You'll have
+to go to him.''
+
+``Oh, well, I can still call him `Mary Jane,' ''
+retorted Billy, with airy disdain.
+
+All this, however, so far as Billy could see, was
+not in the least helping along the cause that had
+become so dear to her--the reuniting of a pair
+of lovers.  It occurred to her then, one day, that
+perhaps, after all, they were not lovers, and did
+not wish to be reunited.  At this disquieting
+thought Billy decided, suddenly, to go almost to
+headquarters.  She would speak to Mrs. Greggory
+if ever the opportunity offered.  Great was her
+joy, therefore, when, a day or two after the
+Greggorys arrived at the house, Mrs. Greggory's
+chance reference to Arkwright and her daughter
+gave Billy the opportunity she sought.
+
+``They used to know each other long ago, Mr.
+Arkwright tells me,'' Billy began warily.
+
+``Yes.''
+
+The quietly polite monosyllable was not very
+encouraging, to be sure; but Billy, secure in her
+conviction that her cause was a righteous one,
+refused to be daunted.
+
+``I think it was so romantic--their running
+across each other like this, Mrs. Greggory,'' she
+murmured.  ``And there _was_ a romance, wasn't
+there?  I have just felt in my bones that there
+was--a romance!''
+
+Billy held her breath.  It was what she had
+meant to say, but now that she had said it, the
+words seemed very fearsome indeed--to say to
+Mrs. Greggory.  Then Billy remembered her
+Cause, and took heart--Billy was spelling it
+now with a capital C.
+
+For a long minute Mrs. Greggory did not
+answer--for so long a minute that Billy's breath
+dropped into a fluttering sigh, and her Cause
+became suddenly ``IMPERTINENCE'' spelled
+in black capitals.  Then Mrs. Greggory spoke
+slowly, a little sadly.
+
+``I don't mind saying to you that I did hope,
+once, that there would be a romance there.  They
+were the best of friends, and they were well-
+suited to each other in tastes and temperament. 
+I think, indeed, that the romance was well under
+way (though there was never an engagement)
+when--''  Mrs. Greggory paused and wet her
+lips.  Her voice, when she resumed, carried the
+stern note so familiar to Billy in her first acquaintance
+with this woman and her daughter.  ``As
+I presume Mr. Arkwright has told you, we have
+met with many changes in our life--changes
+which necessitated a new home and a new mode
+of living.  Naturally, under those circumstances,
+old friends--and old romances--must change,
+too.''
+
+``But, Mrs. Greggory,'' stammered Billy, ``I'm
+sure Mr. Arkwright would want--''  An up-
+lifted hand silenced her peremptorily.
+
+``Mr. Arkwright was very kind, and a gentleman,
+always,'' interposed the lady, coldly; ``but
+Judge Greggory's daughter would not allow herself
+to be placed where apologies for her father
+would be necessary--_ever!_  There, please, dear
+Miss Neilson, let us not talk of it any more,''
+begged Mrs. Greggory, brokenly.
+
+``No, indeed, of course not!'' cried Billy; but
+her heart rejoiced.
+
+She understood it all now.  Arkwright and Alice
+Greggory had been almost lovers when the charges
+against the Judge's honor had plunged the family
+into despairing humiliation.  Then had come the
+time when, according to Arkwright's own story,
+the two women had shut themselves indoors, refused
+to see their friends, and left town as soon
+as possible.  Thus had come the breaking of
+whatever tie there was between Alice Greggory
+and Arkwright.  Not to have broken it would have
+meant, for Alice, the placing of herself in a position
+where, sometime, apologies must be made for
+her father.  This was what Mrs. Greggory had
+meant--and again, as Billy thought of it, Billy's
+heart rejoiced.
+
+Was not her way clear now before her?  Did
+she not have it in her power, possibly--even
+probably--to bring happiness where only sadness
+was before?  As if it would not be a simple thing
+to rekindle the old flame--to make these two
+estranged hearts beat as one again!
+
+Not now was the Cause an IMPERTINENCE
+in tall black letters.  It was, instead, a shining
+beacon in letters of flame guiding straight to
+victory.
+
+Billy went to sleep that night making plans
+for Alice Greggory and Arkwright to be thrown
+together naturally--``just as a matter of course,
+you know,'' she said drowsily to herself, all in
+the dark.
+
+Some three or four miles away down Beacon
+Street at that moment Bertram Henshaw, in the
+Strata, was, as it happened, not falling asleep. 
+He was lying broadly and unhappily awake Bertram
+very frequently lay broadly and unhappily
+awake these days--or rather nights.  He told
+himself, on these occasions, that it was perfectly
+natural--indeed it was!--that Billy should be
+with Arkwright and his friends, the Greggorys,
+so much.  There were the new songs, and the
+operetta with its rehearsals as a cause for it all. 
+At the same time, deep within his fearful soul
+was the consciousness that Arkwright, the Greggorys,
+and the operetta were but Music--Music,
+the spectre that from the first had dogged his
+footsteps.
+
+With Billy's behavior toward himself, Bertram
+could find no fault.  She was always her sweet,
+loyal, lovable self, eager to hear of his work,
+earnestly solicitous that it should be a success. 
+She even--as he sometimes half-irritably
+remembered--had once told him that she realized
+he belonged to Art before he did to himself; and
+when he had indignantly denied this, she had only
+laughed and thrown a kiss at him, with the remark
+that he ought to hear his sister Kate's opinion of
+that matter.  As if he wanted Kate's opinion on
+that or anything else that concerned him and
+Billy!
+
+Once, torn by jealousy, and exasperated at the
+frequent interruptions of their quiet hours
+together, he had complained openly.
+
+``Actually, Billy, it's worse than Marie's
+wedding,'' he declared, ``_Then_ it was tablecloths
+and napkins that could be dumped in a chair.
+_Now_ it's a girl who wants to rehearse, or a woman
+that wants a different wig, or a telephone message
+that the sopranos have quarrelled again.  I loathe
+that operetta!''
+
+Billy laughed, but she frowned, too.
+
+``I know, dear; I don't like that part.  I wish
+they _would_ let me alone when I'm with you!  But
+as for the operetta, it is really a good thing, dear,
+and you'll say so when you see it.  It's going to
+be a great success--I can say that because my
+part is only a small one, you know.  We shall
+make lots of money for the Home, too, I'm sure.''
+
+``But you're wearing yourself all out with it,
+dear,'' scowled Bertram.
+
+``Nonsense!  I like it; besides, when I'm doing
+this I'm not telephoning you to come and amuse
+me.  Just think what a lot of extra time you have
+for your work!''
+
+``Don't want it,'' avowed Bertram.
+
+``But the _work_ may,'' retorted Billy, showing
+all her dimples.  ``Never mind, though; it'll all
+be over after the twentieth.  _This_ isn't an understudy
+like Marie's wedding, you know,'' she finished demurely.
+
+``Thank heaven for that!'' Bertram had
+breathed fervently.  But even as he said the words
+he grew sick with fear.  What if, after all, this
+_were_ an understudy to what was to come later
+when Music, his rival, had really conquered?
+
+Bertram knew that however secure might seem
+Billy's affection for himself, there was still in
+his own mind a horrid fear lest underneath that
+security were an unconscious, growing fondness
+for something he could not give, for some one
+that he was not--a fondness that would one day
+cause Billy to awake.  As Bertram, in his morbid
+fancy pictured it, he realized only too well what
+that awakening would mean to himself.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV
+
+THE ARTIST AND HIS ART
+
+
+The private view of the paintings and drawings
+of the Brush and Pencil Club on the evening of
+the fifteenth was a great success.  Society sent
+its fairest women in frocks that were pictures in
+themselves.  Art sent its severest critics and its
+most ardent devotees.  The Press sent reporters
+that the World might know what Art and Society
+were doing, and how they did it.
+
+Before the canvases signed with Bertram
+Henshaw's name there was always to be found an
+admiring group representing both Art and Society
+with the Press on the outskirts to report.  William
+Henshaw, coming unobserved upon one such group,
+paused a moment to smile at the various more or
+less disconnected comments.
+
+``What a lovely blue!''
+
+``Marvellous color sense!''
+
+``Now those shadows are--''
+
+``He gets his high lights so--''
+
+``I declare, she looks just like Blanche Payton!''
+
+``Every line there is full of meaning.''
+
+``I suppose it's very fine, but--''
+
+``Now, I say, Henshaw is--''
+
+``Is this by the man that's painting Margy
+Winthrop's portrait?''
+
+``It's idealism, man, idealism!''
+
+``I'm going to have a dress just that shade of
+blue.''
+
+``Isn't that just too sweet!''
+
+``Now for realism, I consider Henshaw--''
+
+``There aren't many with his sensitive, brilliant
+touch.''
+
+``Oh, what a pretty picture!''
+
+William moved on then.
+
+Billy was rapturously proud of Bertram that
+evening.  He was, of course, the centre of
+congratulations and hearty praise.  At his side,
+Billy, with sparkling eyes, welcomed each smiling
+congratulation and gloried in every commendatory
+word she heard.
+
+``Oh, Bertram, isn't it splendid!  I'm so proud
+of you,'' she whispered softly, when a moment's
+lull gave her opportunity.
+
+``They're all words, words, idle words,'' he
+laughed; but his eyes shone.
+
+``Just as if they weren't all true!'' she bridled,
+turning to greet William, who came up at that
+moment.  ``Isn't it fine, Uncle William?'' she
+beamed.  ``And aren't we proud of him?''
+
+``We are, indeed,'' smiled the man.  ``But if
+you and Bertram want to get the real opinion of
+this crowd, you should go and stand near one
+of his pictures five minutes.  As a sort of crazy--
+quilt criticism it can't be beat.''
+
+``I know,'' laughed Bertram.  ``I've done it,
+in days long gone.''
+
+``Bertram, not really?'' cried Billy.
+
+``Sure!  As if every young artist at the first
+didn't don goggles or a false mustache and study
+the pictures on either side of his own till he could
+paint them with his eyes shut!''
+
+``And what did you hear?'' demanded the girl.
+
+``What didn't I hear?'' laughed her lover. 
+``But I didn't do it but once or twice.  I lost my
+head one day and began to argue the question
+of perspective with a couple of old codgers who
+were criticizing a bit of foreshortening that was
+my special pet.  I forgot my goggles and sailed
+in.  The game was up then, of course; and I
+never put them on again.  But it was worth a
+farm to see their faces when I stood `discovered'
+as the stage-folk say.''
+
+``Serves you right, sir--listening like that,''
+scolded Billy.
+
+Bertram laughed and shrugged his shoulders.
+
+``Well, it cured me, anyhow.  I haven't done
+it since,'' he declared.
+
+It was some time later, on the way home, that
+Bertram said:
+
+``It was gratifying, of course, Billy, and I
+liked it.  It would be absurd to say I didn't like
+the many pleasant words of apparently sincere
+appreciation I heard to-night.  But I couldn't
+help thinking of the next time--always the next
+time.''
+
+``The next time?''  Billy's eyes were slightly
+puzzled.
+
+``That I exhibit, I mean.  The Bohemian Ten
+hold their exhibition next month, you know.  I
+shall show just one picture--the portrait of
+Miss Winthrop.''
+
+``Oh, Bertram!''
+
+``It'll be `Oh, Bertram!' then, dear, if it isn't
+a success,'' he sighed.  ``I don't believe you realize
+yet what that thing is going to mean for me.''
+
+``Well, I should think I might,'' retorted
+Billy, a little tremulously, ``after all I've heard
+about it.  I should think _everybody_ knew you were
+doing it, Bertram.  Actually, I'm not sure Marie's
+scrub-lady won't ask me some day how Mr.
+Bertram's picture is coming on!''
+
+``That's the dickens of it, in a way,'' sighed
+Bertram, with a faint smile.  ``I am amazed--
+and a little frightened, I'll admit--at the universality
+of the interest.  You see, the Winthrops
+have been pleased to spread it, for one reason or
+another, and of course many already know of
+the failures of Anderson and Fullam.  That's
+why, if I should fail--''
+
+``But you aren't going to fail,'' interposed
+the girl, resolutely.
+
+``No, I know I'm not.  I only said `if,' '' fenced
+the man, his voice not quite steady.
+
+``There isn't going to be any `if,' '' settled
+Billy.  ``Now tell me, when is the exhibition?''
+
+``March twentieth--the private view.  Mr.
+Winthrop is not only willing, but anxious, that I
+show it.  I wasn't sure that he'd want me to--
+in an exhibition.  But it seems he does.  His
+daughter says he has every confidence in the
+portrait and wants everybody to see it.''
+
+``That's where he shows his good sense,''
+declared Billy.  Then, with just a touch of constraint,
+she asked:  ``And how is the new, latest pose
+coming on?''
+
+``Very well, I think,'' answered Bertram, a
+little hesitatingly.  ``We've had so many, many
+interruptions, though, that it is surprising how
+slow it is moving.  In the first place, Miss
+Winthrop is gone more than half the time (she goes
+again to-morrow for a week!), and in this portrait
+I'm not painting a stroke without my model before
+me.  I mean to take no chances, you see; and Miss
+Winthrop is perfectly willing to give me all the
+sittings I wish for.  Of course, if she hadn't changed
+the pose and costume so many times, it would
+have been done long ago--and she knows it.''
+
+``Of course--she knows it,'' murmured Billy,
+a little faintly, but with a peculiar intonation in
+her voice.
+
+``And so you see,'' sighed Bertram, ``what the
+twentieth of March is going to mean for me.''
+
+``It's going to mean a splendid triumph!''
+asserted Billy; and this time her voice was not
+faint, and it carried only a ring of loyal confidence.
+
+``You blessed comforter!'' murmured Bertram,
+giving with his eyes the caress that his lips would
+so much have preferred to give--under more
+propitious circumstances.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV
+
+THE OPERETTA
+
+
+The sixteenth, seventeenth, and eighteenth of
+February were, for Billy, and for all concerned
+in the success of the operetta, days of hurry,
+worry, and feverish excitement, as was to be
+expected, of course.  Each afternoon and every
+evening saw rehearsals in whole, or in parts.  A
+friend of the Club-president's sister-in-law-a
+woman whose husband was stage manager of a
+Boston theatre--had consented to come and
+``coach'' the performers.  At her appearance
+the performers--promptly thrown into nervous
+spasms by this fearsome nearness to the ``real
+thing''--forgot half their cues, and conducted
+themselves generally like frightened school children
+on ``piece day,'' much to their own and every one
+else's despair.  Then, on the evening of the
+nineteenth, came the final dress rehearsal on the stage
+of the pretty little hall that had been engaged for
+the performance of the operetta.
+
+The dress rehearsal, like most of its kind, was,
+for every one, nothing but a nightmare of discord,
+discouragement, and disaster.  Everybody's nerves
+were on edge, everybody was sure the thing would
+be a ``flat failure.''  The soprano sang off the
+key, the alto forgot to shriek ``Beware, beware!''
+until it was so late there was nothing to beware of;
+the basso stepped on Billy's trailing frock and
+tore it; even the tenor, Arkwright himself, seemed
+to have lost every bit of vim from his acting.  The
+chorus sang ``Oh, be joyful!'' with dirge-like
+solemnity, and danced as if legs and feet were
+made of wood.  The lovers, after the fashion
+of amateur actors from time immemorial, ``made
+love like sticks.''
+
+Billy, when the dismal thing had dragged its
+way through the final note, sat ``down front,''
+crying softly in the semi-darkness while she was
+waiting for Alice Greggory to ``run it through
+just once more'' with a pair of tired-faced, fluffy-
+skirted fairies who could _not_ learn that a duet
+meant a _duet_--not two solos, independently
+hurried or retarded as one's fancy for the moment
+dictated.
+
+To Billy, just then, life did not look to be even
+half worth the living.  Her head ached, her throat
+was going-to-be-sore, her shoe hurt, and her dress
+--the trailing frock that had been under the
+basso's foot--could not possibly be decently
+repaired before to-morrow night, she was sure.
+
+Bad as these things were, however, they were
+only the intimate, immediate woes.  Beyond and
+around them lay others many others.  To be
+sure, Bertram and happiness were supposed to
+be somewhere in the dim and uncertain future;
+but between her and them lay all these other
+woes, chief of which was the unutterable tragedy
+of to-morrow night.
+
+It was to be a failure, of course.  Billy had
+calmly made up her mind to that, now.  But then,
+she was used to failures, she told herself.  Was
+she not plainly failing every day of her life to
+bring about even friendship between Alice Greggory
+and Arkwright?  Did they not emphatically and
+systematically refuse to be ``thrown together,''
+either naturally, or unnaturally?  And yet--
+whenever again could she expect such opportunities
+to further her Cause as had been hers the
+past few weeks, through the operetta and its
+rehearsals?  Certainly, never again!  It had been
+a failure like all the rest; like the operetta, in
+particular.
+
+Billy did not mean that any one should know
+she was crying.  She supposed that all the performers
+except herself and the two earth-bound
+fairies by the piano with Alice Greggory were gone. 
+She knew that John with Peggy was probably
+waiting at the door outside, and she hoped that
+soon the fairies would decide to go home and go
+to bed, and let other people do the same.  For her
+part, she did not see why they were struggling
+so hard, anyway.  Why needn't they go ahead
+and sing their duet like two solos if they wanted
+to?  As if a little thing like that could make a
+feather's weight of difference in the grand total
+of to-morrow night's wretchedness when the final
+curtain should have been rung down on their
+shame!
+
+``Miss Neilson, you aren't--crying!''
+exclaimed a low voice; and Billy turned to find
+Arkwright standing by her side in the dim light.
+
+``Oh, no--yes--well, maybe I was, a little,''
+stammered Billy, trying to speak very unconcernedly. 
+``How warm it is in here!  Do you
+think it's going to rain?--that is, outdoors,
+of course, I mean.''
+
+Arkwright dropped into the seat behind Billy
+and leaned forward, his eyes striving to read the
+girl's half-averted face.  If Billy had turned,
+she would have seen that Arkwright's own face
+showed white and a little drawn-looking in the
+feeble rays from the light by the piano.  But Billy
+did not turn.  She kept her eyes steadily averted;
+and she went on speaking--airy, inconsequential words.
+
+``Dear me, if those girls _would_ only pull together! 
+But then, what's the difference?  I supposed
+you had gone home long ago, Mr. Arkwright.''
+
+``Miss Neilson, you _are_ crying!'' Arkwright's
+voice was low and vibrant.  ``As if anything or
+anybody in the world _could_ make _you_ cry!  Please
+--you have only to command me, and I will
+sally forth at once to slay the offender.''  His
+words were light, but his voice still shook with
+emotion.
+
+Billy gave an hysterical little giggle.  Angrily
+she brushed the persistent tears from her eyes.
+
+``All right, then; I'll dub you my Sir Knight,''
+she faltered.  ``But I'll warn you--you'll have
+your hands full.  You'll have to slay my headache,
+and my throat-ache, and my shoe that hurts,
+and the man who stepped on my dress, and--and
+everybody in the operetta, including myself.''
+
+``Everybody--in the operetta!''  Arkwright
+did look a little startled, at this wholesale slaughter.
+
+``Yes.  Did you ever see such an awful, awful
+thing as that was to-night?'' moaned the girl.
+
+Arkwright's face relaxed.
+
+``Oh, so _that's_ what it is!'' he laughed lightly. 
+``Then it's only a bogy of fear that I've got to
+slay, after all; and I'll despatch that right now
+with a single blow.  Dress rehearsals always go
+like that to-night.  I've been in a dozen, and I
+never yet saw one go half decent.  Don't you
+worry.  The worse the rehearsal, the better the
+performance, every time!''
+
+Billy blinked off the tears and essayed a smile
+as she retorted:
+
+``Well, if that's so, then ours to-morrow night
+ought to be a--a--''
+
+``A corker,'' helped out Arkwright, promptly;
+``and it will be, too.  You poor child, you're worn
+out; and no wonder!  But don't worry another
+bit about the operetta.  Now is there anything
+else I can do for you?  Anything else I can slay?''
+
+Billy laughed tremulously.
+
+``N-no, thank you; not that you can--slay, I
+fancy,'' she sighed.  ``That is--not that you
+_will_,'' she amended wistfully, with a sudden
+remembrance of the Cause, for which he might
+do so much--if he only would.
+
+Arkwright bent a little nearer.  His breath
+stirred the loose, curling hair behind Billy's ear. 
+His eyes had flashed into sudden fire.
+
+``But you don't know what I'd do if I could,''
+he murmured unsteadily.  ``If you'd let me tell
+you--if you only knew the wish that has lain
+closest to my heart for--''
+
+``Miss Neilson, please,'' called the despairing
+voice of one of the earth-bound fairies; ``Miss
+Neilson, you _are_ there, aren't you?''
+
+``Yes, I'm right here,'' answered Billy, wearily. 
+Arkwright answered, too, but not aloud--which
+was wise.
+
+``Oh dear! you're tired, I know,'' wailed the
+fairy, ``but if you would please come and help
+us just a minute!  Could you?''
+
+``Why, yes, of course.''  Billy rose to her feet,
+still wearily.
+
+Arkwright touched her arm.  She turned and
+saw his face.  It was very white--so white that
+her eyes widened in surprised questioning.
+
+As if answering the unspoken words, the man
+shook his head.
+
+``I can't, now, of course,'' he said.  ``But there
+_is_ something I want to say--a story I want to
+tell you--after to-morrow, perhaps.  May I?''
+
+To Billy, the tremor of his voice, the suffering
+in his eyes, and the ``story'' he was begging to
+tell could have but one interpretation:  Alice
+Greggory.  Her face, therefore, was a glory of
+tender sympathy as she reached out her hand in
+farewell.
+
+``Of course you may,'' she cried.  ``Come any
+time after to-morrow night, please,'' she smiled
+encouragingly, as she turned toward the stage.
+
+Behind her, Arkwright stumbled twice as he
+walked up the incline toward the outer door--
+stumbled, not because of the semi-darkness of
+the little theatre, but because of the blinding
+radiance of a girl's illumined face which he had, a
+moment before, read all unknowingly exactly
+wrong.
+
+
+A little more than twenty-four hours later,
+Billy Neilson, in her own room, drew a long breath
+of relief.  It was twelve o'clock on the night of
+the twentieth, and the operetta was over.
+
+To Billy, life was eminently worth living to-
+night.  Her head did not ache, her throat was not
+sore, her shoe did not hurt, her dress had been
+mended so successfully by Aunt Hannah, and with
+such comforting celerity, that long before night
+one would never have suspected the filmy thing
+had known the devastating tread of any man's
+foot.  Better yet, the soprano had sung exactly
+to key, the alto had shrieked ``Beware!'' to
+thrilling purpose, Arkwright had shown all his
+old charm and vim, and the chorus had been prodigies
+of joyousness and marvels of lightness.  Even
+the lovers had lost their stiffness, while the two
+earth-bound fairies of the night before had found
+so amiable a meeting point that their solos sounded,
+to the uninitiated, very like, indeed, a duet.  The
+operetta was, in short, a glorious and gratifying
+success, both artistically and financially.  Nor was
+this all that, to Billy, made life worth the living: 
+Arkwright had begged permission that evening
+to come up the following afternoon to tell her
+his ``story''; and Billy, who was so joyously
+confident that this story meant the final crowning
+of her Cause with victory, had given happy consent.
+
+Bertram was to come up in the evening, and
+Billy was anticipating that, too, particularly:
+it had been so long since they had known a really
+free, comfortable evening together, with nothing
+to interrupt.  Doubtless, too, after Arkwright's
+visit of the afternoon, she would be in a position
+to tell Bertram the story of the suspended romance
+between Arkwright and Miss Greggory, and perhaps
+something, also, of her own efforts to bring
+the couple together again.  On the whole, life
+did, indeed, look decidedly worth the living as
+Billy, with a contented sigh, turned over to go
+to sleep.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI
+
+ARKWRIGHT TELLS ANOTHER STORY
+
+
+Promptly at the suggested hour on the day
+after the operetta, Arkwright rang Billy Neilson's
+doorbell.  Promptly, too, Billy herself came into
+the living-room to greet him.
+
+Billy was in white to-day--a soft, creamy
+white wool with a touch of black velvet at her
+throat and in her hair.  The man thought she
+had never looked so lovely:  Arkwright was still
+under the spell wrought by the soft radiance of
+Billy's face the two times he had mentioned his
+``story.''
+
+Until the night before the operetta Arkwright
+had been more than doubtful of the way that
+story would be received, should he ever summon
+the courage to tell it.  Since then his fears had been
+changed to rapturous hopes.  It was very eagerly,
+therefore, that he turned now to greet Billy as
+she came into the room.
+
+``Suppose we don't have any music to-day. 
+Suppose we give the whole time up to the story,''
+she smiled brightly, as she held out her hand.
+
+Arkwright's heart leaped; but almost at once
+it throbbed with a vague uneasiness.  He would
+have preferred to see her blush and be a little
+shy over that story.  Still--there was a chance,
+of course, that she did not know what the story
+was.  But if that were the case, what of the radiance
+in her face?  What of--  Finding himself
+in a tangled labyrinth that led apparently only
+to disappointment and disaster, Arkwright pulled
+himself up with a firm hand.
+
+``You are very kind,'' he murmured, as he
+relinquished her fingers and seated himself near her. 
+``You are sure, then, that you wish to hear the
+story?''
+
+``Very sure,'' smiled Billy.
+
+Arkwright hesitated.  Again he longed to see
+a little embarrassment in the bright face opposite. 
+Suddenly it came to him, however, that if Billy
+knew what he was about to say, it would manifestly
+not be her part to act as if she knew!  With
+a lighter heart, then, he began his story.
+
+``You want it from the beginning?''
+
+``By all means!  I never dip into books, nor
+peek at the ending.  I don't think it's fair to
+the author.''
+
+``Then I will, indeed, begin at the beginning,''
+smiled Arkwright, ``for I'm specially anxious
+that you shall be--even more than `fair' to
+me.''  His voice shook a little, but he hurried on. 
+``There's a--girl--in it; a very dear, lovely
+girl.''
+
+``Of course--if it's a nice story,'' twinkled
+Billy.
+
+``And--there's a man, too.  It's a love story,
+you see.''
+
+``Again of course--if it's interesting.''  Billy
+laughed mischievously, but she flushed a little.
+
+``Still, the man doesn't amount to much, after
+all, perhaps.  I might as well own up at the
+beginning--I'm the man.''
+
+``That will do for you to say, as long as you're
+telling the story,'' smiled Billy.  ``We'll let it
+pass for proper modesty on your part.  But I
+shall say--the personal touch only adds to the
+interest.''
+
+Arkwright drew in his breath.
+
+``We'll hope--it'll really be so,'' he murmured.
+
+There was a moment's silence.  Arkwright
+seemed to be hesitating what to say.
+
+``Well?'' prompted Billy, with a smile.  ``We
+have the hero and the heroine; now what happens
+next?  Do you know,'' she added, ``I have always
+thought that part must bother the story-
+writers--to get the couple to doing interesting
+things, after they'd got them introduced.''
+
+Arkwright sighed.
+
+``Perhaps--on paper; but, you see, my story
+has been _lived_, so far.  So it's quite different.''
+
+``Very well, then--what did happen?'' smiled
+Billy.
+
+``I was trying to think--of the first thing. 
+You see it began with a picture, a photograph
+of the girl.  Mother had it.  I saw it, and wanted
+it, and--''  Arkwright had started to say ``and
+took it.''  But he stopped with the last two words
+unsaid.  It was not time, yet, he deemed, to tell
+this girl how much that picture had been to him
+for so many months past.  He hurried on a little
+precipitately.  ``You see, I had heard about this
+girl a lot; and I liked--what I heard.''
+
+``You mean--you didn't know her--at the
+first?''  Billy's eyes were surprised.  Billy had
+supposed that Arkwright had always known Alice
+Greggory.
+
+``No, I didn't know the girl--till afterwards. 
+Before that I was always dreaming and wondering
+what she would be like.''
+
+``Oh!'' Billy subsided into her chair, still
+with the puzzled questioning in her eyes.
+
+``Then I met her.''
+
+``Yes?''
+
+``And she was everything and more than I had
+pictured her.''
+
+``And you fell in love at once?'' Billy's voice
+had grown confident again.
+
+``Oh, I was already in love,'' sighed Arkwright. 
+``I simply sank deeper.''
+
+``Oh-h!'' breathed Billy, sympathetically. 
+``And the girl?''
+
+``She didn't care--or know--for a long time. 
+I'm not really sure she cares--or knows--even
+now.''  Arkwright's eyes were wistfully fixed on
+Billy's face.
+
+``Oh, but you can't tell, always, about girls,''
+murmured Billy, hurriedly.  A faint pink had
+stolen to her forehead.  She was thinking of Alice
+Greggory, and wondering if, indeed, Alice did
+care; and if she, Billy, might dare to assure this
+man--what she believed to be true--that his
+sweetheart was only waiting for him to come to
+her and tell her that he loved her.
+
+Arkwright saw the color sweep to Billy's forehead,
+and took sudden courage.  He leaned forward
+eagerly.  A tender light came to his eyes. 
+The expression on his face was unmistakable.
+
+``Billy, do you mean, really, that there is--
+hope for me?'' he begged brokenly.
+
+Billy gave a visible start.  A quick something
+like shocked terror came to her eyes.  She drew
+back and would have risen to her feet had the
+thought not come to her that twice before she had
+supposed a man was making love to her, when
+subsequent events proved that she had been
+mortifyingly mistaken: once when Cyril had told her of
+his love for Marie; and again when William had
+asked her to come back as a daughter to the house
+she had left desolate.
+
+Telling herself sternly now not to be for the third
+time a ``foolish little simpleton,'' she summoned
+all her wits, forced a cheery smile to her lips,
+and said:
+
+``Well, really, Mr. Arkwright, of course I
+can't answer for the girl, so I'm not the one to
+give hope; and--''
+
+``But you are the one,'' interrupted the man,
+passionately.  ``You're the only one!  As if from
+the very first I hadn't loved you, and--''
+
+``No, no, not that--not that!  I'm mistaken! 
+I'm not understanding what you mean,'' pleaded
+a horror-stricken voice.  Billy was on her feet
+now, holding up two protesting hands, palms outward.
+
+``Miss Neilson, you don't mean--that you
+haven't known--all this time--that it was
+you?''  The man, now, was on his feet, his eyes
+hurt and unbelieving, looking into hers.
+
+Billy paled.  She began slowly to back away. 
+Her eyes, still fixed on his, carried the shrinking
+terror of one who sees a horrid vision.
+
+``But you know--you _must_ know that I am
+not yours to win!'' she reproached him sharply. 
+``I'm to be Bertram Henshaw's--_wife_.''  From
+Billy's shocked young lips the word dropped with
+a ringing force that was at once accusatory and
+prohibitive.  It was as if, by the mere utterance
+of the word, wife, she had drawn a sacred circle
+about her and placed herself in sanctuary.
+
+From the blazing accusation in her eyes
+Arkwright fell back.
+
+``Wife!  You are to be Bertram Henshaw's
+wife!'' he exclaimed.  There was no mistaking
+the amazed incredulity on his face.
+
+Billy caught her breath.  The righteous
+indignation in her eyes fled, and a terrified appeal
+took its place.
+
+``You don't mean that you _didn't--know?_''
+she faltered.
+
+There was a moment's silence.  A power quite
+outside herself kept Billy's eyes on Arkwright's
+face, and forced her to watch the change there
+from unbelief to belief, and from belief to set
+misery.
+
+``No, I did not know,'' said the man then,
+dully, as he turned, rested his arm on the mantel
+behind him, and half shielded his face with his
+hand.
+
+Billy sank into a low chair.  Her fingers fluttered
+nervously to her throat.  Her piteous, beseeching
+eyes were on the broad back and bent head of
+the man before her.
+
+``But I--I don't see how you could have
+helped--knowing,'' she stammered at last.  ``I
+don't see how such a thing could have happened
+that you shouldn't know!''
+
+``I've been trying to think, myself,'' returned
+the man, still in a dull, emotionless voice.
+
+``It's been so--so much a matter of course. 
+I supposed everybody knew it,'' maintained
+Billy.
+
+``Perhaps that's just it--that it was--so much
+a matter of course,'' rejoined the man.  ``You
+see, I know very few of your friends, anyway--
+who would be apt to mention it to me.''
+
+``But the announcements--oh, you weren't
+here then,'' moaned Billy.  ``But you must have
+known that--that he came here a good deal--
+that we were together so much!''
+
+``To a certain extent, yes,'' sighed Arkwright. 
+``But I took your friendship with him and his
+brothers as--as a matter of course.  _That_ was
+_my_ `matter of course,' you see,'' he went on
+bitterly.  ``I knew you were Mr. William
+Henshaw's namesake, and Calderwell had told me
+the story of your coming to them when you were
+left alone in the world.  Calderwell had said, too,
+that--''  Arkwright paused, then hurried on a
+little constrainedly--``well, he said something
+that led me to think Mr. Bertram Henshaw was
+not a marrying man, anyway.''
+
+Billy winced and changed color.  She had
+noticed the pause, and she knew very well what
+it was that Calderwell had said to occasion that
+pause.  Must _always_ she be reminded that no one
+expected Bertram Henshaw to love any girl--
+except to paint?
+
+``But--but Mr. Calderwell must know about
+the engagement--now,'' she stammered.
+
+``Very likely, but I have not happened to
+hear from him since my arrival in Boston.  We
+do not correspond.''
+
+There was a long silence, then Arkwright spoke
+again.
+
+``I think I understand now--many things. 
+I wonder I did not see them before; but I never
+thought of Bertram Henshaw's being--  If
+Calderwell hadn't said--''  Again Arkwright
+stopped with his sentence half complete, and again
+Billy winced.  ``I've been a blind fool.  I was
+so intent on my own--  I've been a blind fool;
+that's all,'' repeated Arkwright, with a break
+in his voice.
+
+Billy tried to speak, but instead of words,
+there came only a choking sob.
+
+Arkwright turned sharply.
+
+``Miss Neilson, don't--please,'' he begged.
+``There is no need that you should suffer--too.''
+
+``But I am so ashamed that such a thing _could_
+happen,'' she faltered.  ``I'm sure, some way, I
+must be to blame.  But I never thought.  I was
+blind, too.  I was wrapped up in my own affairs. 
+I never suspected.  I never even _thought_ to
+suspect!  I thought of course you knew.  It was
+just the music that brought us together, I
+supposed; and you were just like one of the family,
+anyway.  I always thought of you as Aunt Hannah's--'' 
+She stopped with a vivid blush.
+
+``As Aunt Hannah's niece, Mary Jane, of
+course,'' supplied Arkwright, bitterly, turning back
+to his old position.  ``And that was my own fault,
+too.  My name, Miss Neilson, is Michael Jeremiah,''
+he went on wearily, after a moment's
+hesitation, his voice showing his utter abandonment
+to despair.  ``When a boy at school I got
+heartily sick of the `Mike' and the `Jerry' and
+the even worse `Tom and Jerry' that my young
+friends delighted in; so as soon as possible I
+sought obscurity and peace in `M. J.'  Much
+to my surprise and annoyance the initials proved
+to be little better, for they became at once the
+biggest sort of whet to people's curiosity.  Naturally,
+the more determined persistent inquirers
+were to know the name, the more determined I
+became that they shouldn't.  All very silly and
+very foolish, of course.  Certainly it seems so
+now,'' he finished.
+
+Billy was silent.  She was trying to find
+something, _anything_, to say, when Arkwright began
+speaking again, still in that dull, hopeless voice
+that Billy thought would break her heart.
+
+``As for the `Mary Jane'--that was another
+foolishness, of course.  My small brothers and
+sisters originated it; others followed, on occasion,
+even Calderwell.  Perhaps you did not know, but
+he was the friend who, by his laughing question,
+`Why don't you, Mary Jane?' put into my head
+the crazy scheme of writing to Aunt Hannah and
+letting her think I was a real Mary Jane.  You
+see what I stooped to do, Miss Neilson, for the
+chance of meeting and knowing you.''
+
+Billy gave a low cry.  She had suddenly
+remembered the beginning of Arkwright's story.  For
+the first time she realized that he had been talking
+then about herself, not Alice Greggory.
+
+``But you don't mean that you--cared--
+that I was the--''  She could not finish.
+
+Arkwright turned from the mantel with a
+gesture of utter despair.
+
+``Yes, I cared then.  I had heard of you.  I
+had sung your songs.  I was determined to meet
+you.  So I came--and met you.  After that
+I was more determined than ever to win you.  Perhaps
+you see, now, why I was so blind to--to
+any other possibility.  But it doesn't do any
+good--to talk like this.  I understand now.  Only,
+please, don't blame yourself,'' he begged as he
+saw her eyes fill with tears.  The next moment he
+was gone.
+
+Billy had turned away and was crying softly,
+so she did not see him go.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII
+
+THE THING THAT WAS THE TRUTH
+
+
+Bertram called that evening.  Billy had no
+story now to tell--nothing of the interrupted
+romance between Alice Greggory and Arkwright. 
+Billy carefully, indeed, avoided mentioning
+Arkwright's name.
+
+Ever since the man's departure that afternoon,
+Billy had been frantically trying to assure herself
+that she was not to blame; that she would not
+be supposed to know he cared for her; that it
+had all been as he said it was--his foolish
+blindness.  But even when she had partially comforted
+herself by these assertions, she could not by any
+means escape the haunting vision of the man's
+stern-set, suffering face as she had seen it that
+afternoon; nor could she keep from weeping at
+the memory of the words he had said, and at
+the thought that never again could their pleasant
+friendship be quite the same--if, indeed, there
+could be any friendship at all between them.
+
+But if Billy expected that her red eyes, pale
+cheeks, and generally troubled appearance and
+unquiet manner were to be passed unnoticed by
+her lover's keen eyes that evening, she found
+herself much mistaken.
+
+``Sweetheart, what _is_ the matter?'' demanded
+Bertram resolutely, at last, when his more
+indirect questions had been evasively turned aside. 
+``You can't make me think there isn't something
+the trouble, because I know there is!''
+
+``Well, then, there is, dear,'' smiled Billy,
+tearfully; ``but please just don't let us talk of
+it.  I--I want to forget it.  Truly I do.''
+
+``But I want to know so _I_ can forget it,''
+persisted Bertram.  ``What is it?  Maybe I could
+help.''
+
+She shook her head with a little frightened
+cry.
+
+``No, no--you can't help--really.''
+
+``But, sweetheart, you don't know.  Perhaps
+I could.  Won't you _tell_ me about it?''
+
+Billy looked distressed.
+
+``I can't, dear--truly.  You see, it isn't
+quite mine--to tell.''
+
+``Not yours!''
+
+``Not--entirely.''
+
+``But it makes you feel bad?''
+
+``Yes--very.''
+
+``Then can't I know that part?''
+
+``Oh, no--no, indeed, no!  You see--it
+wouldn't be fair--to the other.''
+
+Bertram stared a little.  Then his mouth set
+into stern lines.
+
+``Billy, what are you talking about?  Seems
+to me I have a right to know.''
+
+Billy hesitated.  To her mind, a girl who would
+tell of the unrequited love of a man for herself,
+was unspeakably base.  To tell Bertram
+Arkwright's love story was therefore impossible. 
+Yet, in some way, she must set Bertram's mind
+at rest.
+
+``Dearest,'' she began slowly, her eyes wistfully
+pleading, ``just what it is, I can't tell you.  In
+a way it's another's secret, and I don't feel that
+I have the right to tell it.  It's just something
+that I learned this afternoon.''
+
+``But it has made you cry!''
+
+``Yes.  It made me feel very unhappy.''
+
+``Then--it was something you couldn't help?''
+
+To Bertram's surprise, the face he was watching
+so intently flushed scarlet.
+
+``No, I couldn't help it--now; though I
+might have--once.''  Billy spoke this last just
+above her breath.  Then she went on, beseechingly: 
+``Bertram, please, please don't talk of it any more. 
+It--it's just spoiling our happy evening together!''
+
+Bertram bit his lip, and drew a long sigh.
+
+``All right, dear; you know best, of course--
+since I don't know _anything_ about it,'' he finished
+a little stiffly.
+
+Billy began to talk then very brightly of Aunt
+Hannah and her shawls, and of a visit she had
+made to Cyril and Marie that morning.
+
+``And, do you know?  Aunt Hannah's clock
+_has_ done a good turn, at last, and justified its
+existence.  Listen,'' she cried gayly.  ``Marie
+had a letter from her mother's Cousin Jane. 
+Cousin Jane couldn't sleep nights, because she
+was always lying awake to find out just what time
+it was; so Marie had written her about Aunt
+Hannah's clock.  And now this Cousin Jane has
+fixed _her_ clock, and she sleeps like a top, just
+because she knows there'll never be but half an hour
+that she doesn't know what time it is!''
+
+Bertram smiled, and murmured a polite ``Well,
+I'm sure that's fine!''; but the words were
+plainly abstracted, and the frown had not left
+his brow.  Nor did it quite leave till some time
+later, when Billy, in answer to a question of his
+about another operetta, cried, with a shudder:
+
+``Mercy, I hope not, dear!  I don't want to
+_hear_ the word `operetta' again for a year!''
+
+Bertram smiled, then, broadly.  He, too,
+would be quite satisfied not to hear the word
+``operetta'' for a year.  Operetta, to Bertram,
+meant interruptions, interferences, and the
+constant presence of Arkwright, the Greggorys,
+and innumerable creatures who wished to rehearse
+or to change wigs--all of which Bertram
+abhorred.  No wonder, therefore, that he smiled,
+and that the frown disappeared from his brow. 
+He thought he saw, ahead, serene, blissful days
+for Billy and himself.
+
+As the days, however, began to pass, one by
+one, Bertram Henshaw found them to be anything
+but serene and blissful.  The operetta, with its
+rehearsals and its interruptions, was gone,
+certainly; but he was becoming seriously troubled
+about Billy.
+
+Billy did not act natural.  Sometimes she
+seemed like her old self; and he breathed more
+freely, telling himself that his fears were
+groundless.  Then would come the haunting shadow to
+her eyes, the droop to her mouth, and the nervousness
+to her manner that he so dreaded.  Worse
+yet, all this seemed to be connected in some strange
+way with Arkwright.  He found this out by accident
+one day.  She had been talking and laughing
+brightly about something, when he chanced
+to introduce Arkwright's name.
+
+``By the way, where is Mary Jane these days?''
+he asked then.
+
+``I don't know, I'm sure.  He hasn't been here
+lately,'' murmured Billy, reaching for a book on
+the table.
+
+At a peculiar something in her voice, he had
+looked up quickly, only to find, to his great
+surprise, that her face showed a painful flush as she
+bent over the book in her hand.
+
+He had said nothing more at the time, but he
+had not forgotten.  Several times, after that, he
+had introduced the man's name, and never had
+it failed to bring a rush of color, a biting of the
+lip, or a quick change of position followed always by
+the troubled eyes and nervous manner that he had
+learned to dread.  He noticed then that never, of
+her own free will, did she herself mention the man;
+never did she speak of him with the old frank
+lightness as ``Mary Jane.''
+
+By casual questions asked from time to time,
+Bertram had learned that Arkwright never came
+there now, and that the song-writing together
+had been given up.  Curiously enough, this
+discovery, which would once have filled Bertram
+with joy, served now only to deepen his distress. 
+That there was anything inconsistent in the fact
+that he was more frightened now at the man's
+absence than he had been before at his presence,
+did not occur to him.  He knew only that he was
+frightened, and badly frightened.
+
+Bertram had not forgotten the evening after
+the operetta, and Billy's tear-stained face on
+that occasion.  He dated the whole thing, in fact,
+from that evening.  He fell to wondering one day
+if that, too, had anything to do with Arkwright. 
+He determined then to find out.  Shamelessly--
+for the good of the cause--he set a trap for
+Billy's unwary feet.
+
+Very adroitly one day he led the talk straight
+to Arkwright; then he asked abruptly:
+
+``Where is the chap, I wonder!  Why, he hasn't
+shown up once since the operetta, has he?''
+
+Billy, always truthful,--and just now always
+embarrassed when Arkwright's name was mentioned,--
+walked straight into the trap.
+
+``Oh, yes; well, he was here once--the day
+after the operetta.  I haven't seen him since.''
+
+Bertram answered a light something, but his
+face grew a little white.  Now that the trap had
+been sprung and the victim caught, he almost
+wished that he had not set any trap at all.
+
+He knew now it was true.  Arkwright had been
+with Billy the day after the operetta, and her
+tears and her distress that evening had been caused
+by something Arkwright had said.  It was Arkwright's
+secret that she could not tell.  It was
+Arkwright to whom she must be fair.  It was
+Arkwright's sorrow that she ``could not help--now.''
+
+Naturally, with these tools in his hands, and
+aided by days of brooding and nights of sleeplessness,
+it did not take Bertram long to fashion The
+Thing that finally loomed before him as The Truth.
+
+He understood it all now.  Music had conquered. 
+Billy and Arkwright had found that they loved
+each other.  On the day after the operetta, they
+had met, and had had some sort of scene together
+--doubtless Arkwright had declared his love. 
+That was the ``secret'' that Billy could not tell
+and be ``fair.''  Billy, of course,--loyal little
+soul that she was,--had sent him away at once. 
+Was her hand not already pledged?  That was
+why she could not ``help it-now.''  (Bertram
+writhed in agony at the thought.)  Since that
+meeting Arkwright had not been near the house. 
+Billy had found, however, that her heart had gone
+with Arkwright; hence the shadow in her eyes,
+the nervousness in her manner, and the embarrassment
+that she always showed at the mention of
+his name.
+
+That Billy was still outwardly loyal to himself,
+and that she still kept to her engagement, did
+not surprise Bertram in the least.  That was like
+Billy.  Bertram had not forgotten how, less than
+a year before, this same Billy had held herself
+loyal and true to an engagement with William,
+because a wretched mistake all around had caused
+her to give her promise to be William's wife under
+the impression that she was carrying out William's
+dearest wish.  Bertram remembered her face as
+it had looked all those long summer days while
+her heart was being slowly broken; and he thought
+he could see that same look in her eyes now.  All
+of which only goes to prove with what woeful
+skill Bertram had fashioned this Thing that was
+looming before him as The Truth.
+
+The exhibition of ``The Bohemian Ten'' was
+to open with a private view on the evening of
+the twentieth of March.  Bertram Henshaw's
+one contribution was to be his portrait of Miss
+Marguerite Winthrop--the piece of work that
+had come to mean so much to him; the piece
+of work upon which already he felt the focus of
+multitudes of eyes.
+
+Miss Winthrop was in Boston now, and it was
+during these early March days that Bertram was
+supposed to be putting in his best work on the
+portrait; but, unfortunately, it was during these
+same early March days that he was engaged, also,
+in fashioning The Thing--and the two did not
+harmonize.
+
+The Thing, indeed, was a jealous creature,
+and would brook no rival.  She filled his eyes
+with horrid visions, and his brain with sickening
+thoughts.  Between him and his model she flung
+a veil of fear; and she set his hand to trembling,
+and his brush to making blunders with the paints
+on his palette.
+
+Bertram saw The Thing, and saw, too, the
+grievous result of her presence.  Despairingly
+he fought against her and her work; but The
+Thing had become full grown now, and was The
+Truth.  Hence she was not to be banished.  She
+even, in a taunting way, seemed sometimes to
+be justifying her presence, for she reminded him:
+
+``After all, what's the difference?  What do
+you care for this, or anything again if Billy
+is lost to you?''
+
+But the artist told himself fiercely that he did
+care--that he must care--for his work; and
+he struggled--how he struggled!--to ignore
+the horrid visions and the sickening thoughts,
+and to pierce the veil of fear so that his hand
+might be steady and his brush regain its skill.
+
+And so he worked.  Sometimes he let his work
+remain.  Sometimes one hour saw only the erasing
+of what the hour before had wrought.  Sometimes
+the elusive something in Marguerite Winthrop's
+face seemed right at the tip of his brush--on the
+canvas, even.  He saw success then so plainly
+that for a moment it almost--but not quite--
+blotted out The Thing.  At other times that
+elusive something on the high-bred face of his
+model was a veritable will-o'-the-wisp, refusing to
+be caught and held, even in his eye.  The artist
+knew then that his picture would be hung with
+Anderson's and Fullam's.
+
+But the portrait was, irrefutably, nearing
+completion, and it was to be exhibited the
+twentieth of the month.  Bertram knew these for
+facts.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVIII
+
+BILLY TAKES HER TURN
+
+
+If for Billy those first twenty days of March
+did not carry quite the tragedy they contained
+for Bertram, they were, nevertheless, not really
+happy ones.  She was vaguely troubled by a
+curious something in Bertram's behavior that
+she could not name; she was grieved over Arkwright's
+sorrow, and she was constantly probing
+her own past conduct to see if anywhere she could
+find that she was to blame for that sorrow.  She
+missed, too, undeniably, Arkwright's cheery presence,
+and the charm and inspiration of his music. 
+Nor was she finding it easy to give satisfactory
+answers to the questions Aunt Hannah, William,
+and Bertram so often asked her as to where Mary
+Jane was.
+
+Even her music was little comfort to her these
+days.  She was not writing anything.  There
+was no song in her heart to tempt her to write. 
+Arkwright's new words that he had brought her
+were out of the question, of course.  They had
+been put away with the manuscript of the
+completed song, which had not, fortunately, gone to
+the publishers.  Billy had waited, intending to
+send them together.  She was so glad, now, that
+she had waited.  Just once, since Arkwright's
+last call, she had tried to sing that song.  But
+she had stopped at the end of the first two lines. 
+The full meaning of those words, as coming from
+Arkwright, had swept over her then, and she
+had snatched up the manuscript and hidden it
+under the bottom pile of music in her cabinet
+. . . And she had presumed to sing that love song
+to Bertram!
+
+Arkwright had written Billy once--a kind,
+courteous, manly note that had made her cry.  He
+had begged her again not to blame herself, and he
+had said that he hoped he should be strong
+enough sometime to wish to call occasionally--
+if she were willing--and renew their pleasant
+hours with their music; but, for the present, he
+knew there was nothing for him to do but to stay
+away.  He had signed himself ``Michael Jeremiah
+Arkwright''; and to Billy that was the most
+pathetic thing in the letter--it sounded so hopeless
+and dreary to one who knew the jaunty
+``M. J.''
+
+Alice Greggory, Billy saw frequently.  Billy
+and Aunt Hannah were great friends with the
+Greggorys now, and had been ever since the
+Greggorys' ten-days' visit at Hillside.  The cheery
+little cripple, with the gentle tap, tap, tap of her
+crutches, had won everybody's heart the very
+first day; and Alice was scarcely less of a favorite,
+after the sunny friendliness of Hillside had thawed
+her stiff reserve into naturalness.
+
+Billy had little to say to Alice Greggory of
+Arkwright.  Billy was no longer trying to play
+Cupid's assistant.  The Cause, for which she
+had so valiantly worked, had been felled by
+Arkwright's own hand--but that there were still
+some faint stirrings of life in it was evidenced by
+Billy's secret delight when one day Alice Greggory
+chanced to mention that Arkwright had called
+the night before upon her and her mother.
+
+``He brought us news of our old home,'' she
+explained a little hurriedly, to Billy.  ``He had
+heard from his mother, and he thought some
+things she said would be interesting to us.''
+
+``Of course,'' murmured Billy, carefully
+excluding from her voice any hint of the delight she
+felt, but hoping, all the while, that Alice would
+continue the subject.
+
+Alice, however, had nothing more to say; and
+Billy was left in entire ignorance of what the news
+was that Arkwright had brought.  She suspected,
+though, that it had something to do with Alice's
+father--certainly she hoped that it had; for
+if Arkwright had called to tell it, it must be good.
+
+Billy had found a new home for the Greggorys;
+although at first they had drawn sensitively back,
+and had said that they preferred to remain where
+they were, they had later gratefully accepted it. 
+A little couple from South Boston, to whom Billy
+had given a two weeks' outing the summer before,
+had moved into town and taken a flat in the South
+End.  They had two extra rooms which they had
+told Billy they would like to let for light house-
+keeping, if only they knew just the right people
+to take into such close quarters with themselves. 
+Billy at once thought of the Greggorys, and spoke
+of them.  The little couple were delighted, and
+the Greggorys were scarcely less so when they
+at last became convinced that only a very little
+more money than they were already paying
+would give themselves a much pleasanter home,
+and would at the same time be a real boon to two
+young people who were trying to meet expenses. 
+So the change was made, and general happiness
+all round had resulted--so much so, that Bertram
+had said to Billy, when he heard of it:
+
+``It looks as if this was a case where your cake
+is frosted on both sides.''
+
+``Nonsense!  This isn't frosting--it's business,''
+Billy had laughed.
+
+``And the new pupils you have found for Miss
+Alice--they're business, too, I suppose?''
+
+``Certainly,'' retorted Billy, with decision. 
+Then she had given a low laugh and said:  ``Mercy! 
+If Alice Greggory thought it was anything _but_
+business, I verily believe she would refuse every
+one of the new pupils, and begin to-night to carry
+back the tables and chairs herself to those wretched
+rooms she left last month!''
+
+Bertram had smiled, but the smile had been
+a fleeting one, and the brooding look of gloom that
+Billy had noticed so frequently, of late, had come
+back to his eyes.
+
+Billy was not a little disturbed over Bertram
+these days.  He did not seem to be his natural,
+cheery self at all.  He talked little, and what he
+did say seldom showed a trace of his usually
+whimsical way of putting things.  He was kindness
+itself to her, and seemed particularly anxious
+to please her in every way; but she frequently
+found his eyes fixed on her with a sombre questioning
+that almost frightened her.  The more she
+thought of it, the more she wondered what the
+question was, that he did not dare to ask; and
+whether it was of herself or himself that he would
+ask it--if he did dare.  Then, with benumbing
+force, one day, a possible solution of the mystery
+came to her, he had found out that it was true
+(what all his friends had declared of him)--he
+did not really love any girl, except to paint!
+
+The minute this thought came to her, Billy
+thrust it indignantly away.  It was disloyal to
+Bertram and unworthy of herself, even to think
+such a thing.  She told herself then that it was
+only the portrait of Miss Winthrop that was
+troubling him.  She knew that he was worried
+over that.  He had confessed to her that actually
+sometimes he was beginning to fear his hand had
+lost its cunning.  As if that were not enough to
+bring the gloom to any man's face--to any
+artist's!
+
+No sooner, however, had Billy arrived at this
+point in her mental argument, than a new element
+entered--her old lurking jealousy, of which she
+was heartily ashamed, but which she had never
+yet been able quite to subdue; her jealousy of
+the beautiful girl with the beautiful name (not
+Billy), whose portrait had needed so much time
+and so many sittings to finish.  What if Bertram
+had found that he loved _her?_  What if that were
+why his hand had lost its cunning--because,
+though loving her, he realized that he was bound
+to another, Billy herself?
+
+This thought, too, Billy cast from her at once as
+again disloyal and unworthy.  But both thoughts,
+having once entered her brain, had made for themselves
+roads over which the second passing was
+much easier than the first--as Billy found to
+her sorrow.  Certainly, as the days went by,
+and as Bertram's face and manner became more
+and more a tragedy of suffering, Billy found it
+increasingly difficult to keep those thoughts
+from wearing their roads of suspicion into horrid
+deep ruts of certainty.
+
+Only with William and Marie, now, could Billy
+escape from it all.  With William she sought
+new curios and catalogued the old.  With Marie
+she beat eggs and whipped cream in the shining
+kitchen, and tried to think that nothing in the
+world mattered except that the cake in the oven
+should not fall.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIX
+
+KATE WRITES A LETTER
+
+
+Bertram feared that he knew, before the portrait
+was hung, that it was a failure.  He was sure
+that he knew it on the evening of the twentieth
+when he encountered the swiftly averted eyes
+of some of his artist friends, and saw the perplexed
+frown on the faces of others.  But he knew,
+afterwards, that he did not really know it--till
+he read the newspapers during the next few days.
+
+There was praise--oh, yes; the faint praise
+that kills.  There was some adverse criticism,
+too; but it was of the light, insincere variety that
+is given to mediocre work by unimportant artists. 
+Then, here and there, appeared the signed
+critiques of the men whose opinion counted--
+and Bertram knew that he had failed.  Neither
+as a work of art, nor as a likeness, was the portrait
+the success that Henshaw's former work would
+seem to indicate that it should have been.  Indeed,
+as one caustic pen put it, if this were to be taken
+as a sample of what was to follow--then the
+famous originator of ``The Face of a Girl'' had
+``a most distinguished future behind him.''
+
+Seldom, if ever before, had an exhibited
+portrait attracted so much attention.  As Bertram
+had said, uncounted eyes were watching for it
+before it was hung, because it was a portrait of
+the noted beauty, Marguerite Winthrop, and
+because two other well-known artists had failed
+where he, Bertram Henshaw, was hoping to succeed. 
+After it was hung, and the uncounted eyes
+had seen it--either literally, or through the eyes
+of the critics--interest seemed rather to grow
+than to lessen, for other uncounted eyes wanted
+to see what all the fuss was about, anyway.  And
+when these eyes had seen, their owners talked. 
+Nor did they, by any means, all talk against the
+portrait.  Some were as loud in its praise as were
+others in its condemnation; all of which, of
+course, but helped to attract more eyes to the
+cause of it all.
+
+For Bertram and his friends these days were,
+naturally, trying ones.  William finally dreaded
+to open his newspaper.  (It had become the fashion,
+when murders and divorces were scarce, occasionally
+to ``feature'' somebody's opinion of the
+Henshaw portrait, on the first page--something
+that had almost never been known to happen before.) 
+Cyril, according to Marie, played ``perfectly
+awful things on his piano every day, now.''  Aunt
+Hannah had said ``Oh, my grief and conscience!''
+so many times that it melted now into a wordless
+groan whenever a new unfriendly criticism of the
+portrait met her indignant eyes.
+
+Of all Bertram's friends, Billy, perhaps not
+unnaturally, was the angriest.  Not only did she,
+after a time, refuse to read the papers, but she
+refused even to allow certain ones to be brought
+into the house, foolish and unreasonable as she
+knew this to be.
+
+As to the artist himself, Bertram's face showed
+drawn lines and his eyes sombre shadows, but his
+words and manner carried a stolid indifference
+that to Billy was at once heartbreaking and maddening.
+
+``But, Bertram, why don't you do something? 
+Why don't you say something?  Why don't you
+act something?'' she burst out one day.
+
+The artist shrugged his shoulders.
+
+``But, my dear, what can I say, or do, or act?''
+he asked.
+
+``I don't know, of course,'' sighed Billy.  ``But
+I know what I'd like to do.  I should like to go
+out and--fight somebody!''
+
+So fierce were words and manner, coupled as
+they were with a pair of gentle eyes ablaze and
+two soft little hands doubled into menacing fists,
+that Bertram laughed.
+
+``What a fiery little champion it is, to be sure,''
+he said tenderly.  ``But as if fighting could do any
+good--in this case!''
+
+Billy's tense muscles relaxed.  Her eyes filled
+with tears.
+
+``No, I don't suppose it would,'' she choked,
+beginning to cry, so that Bertram had to turn
+comforter.
+
+``Come, come, dear,'' he begged; ``don't take
+it so to heart.  It's not so bad, after all.  I've
+still my good right hand left, and we'll hope
+there's something in it yet--that'll be worth
+while.''
+
+``But _this_ one isn't bad,'' stormed Billy.  ``It's
+splendid!  I'm sure, I think it's a b-beautiful
+portrait, and I don't see _what_ people mean by
+talking so about it!''
+
+Bertram shook his head.  His eyes grew sombre
+again.
+
+``Thank you, dear.  But I know--and you
+know, really--that it isn't a splendid portrait. 
+I've done lots better work than that.''
+
+``Then why don't they look at those, and let
+this alone?'' wailed Billy, with indignation.
+
+``Because I deliberately put up this for them to
+see,'' smiled the artist, wearily.
+
+Billy sighed, and twisted in her chair.
+
+``What does--Mr. Winthrop say?'' she asked
+at last, in a faint voice.
+
+Bertram lifted his head.
+
+``Mr. Winthrop's been a trump all through,
+dear.  He's already insisted on paying for this--
+and he's ordered another.''
+
+``Another!''
+
+``Yes.  The old fellow never minces his words,
+as you may know.  He came to me one day, put
+his hand on my shoulder, and said tersely:  `Will
+you give me another, same terms?  Go in, boy,
+and win.  Show 'em!  I lost the first ten thousand
+I made.  I didn't the next!'  That's all he said. 
+Before I could even choke out an answer he was
+gone.  Gorry! talk about his having a `heart
+of stone'!  I don't believe another man in the
+country would have done that--and done it in
+the way he did--in the face of all this talk,''
+finished Bertram, his eyes luminous with feeling.
+
+Billy hesitated.
+
+``Perhaps--his daughter--influenced him--some.''
+
+``Perhaps,'' nodded Bertram.  ``She, too, has
+been very kind, all the way through.''
+
+Billy hesitated again.
+
+``But I thought--it was going so splendidly,''
+she faltered, in a half-stifled voice.
+
+``So it was--at the first.''
+
+``Then what--ailed it, at the last, do you
+suppose?''  Billy was holding her breath till he
+should answer.
+
+The man got to his feet.
+
+``Billy, don't--don't ask me,'' he begged.
+``Please don't let's talk of it any more.  It can't
+do any good!  I just flunked--that's all.  My
+hand failed me.  Maybe I tried too hard.  Maybe
+I was tired.  Maybe something--troubled me. 
+Never mind, dear, what it was.  It can do no
+good even to think of that--now.  So just let's
+--drop it, please, dear,'' he finished, his face
+working with emotion.
+
+And Billy dropped it--so far as words were
+concerned; but she could not drop it from her
+thoughts--specially after Kate's letter came.
+
+Kate's letter was addressed to Billy, and it said,
+after speaking of various other matters:
+
+``And now about poor Bertram's failure.''
+(Billy frowned.  In Billy's presence no one was
+allowed to say ``Bertram's failure''; but a letter
+has a most annoying privilege of saying what it
+pleases without let or hindrance, unless one tears
+it up--and a letter destroyed unread remains always
+such a tantalizing mystery of possibilities! 
+So Billy let the letter talk.)  ``Of course we have
+heard of it away out here.  I do wish if Bertram
+_must_ paint such famous people, he would manage
+to flatter them up--in the painting, I mean, of
+course--enough so that it might pass for a success!
+
+``The technical part of all this criticism I don't
+pretend to understand in the least; but from what
+I hear and read, he must, indeed, have made a
+terrible mess of it, and of course I'm very sorry
+--and some surprised, too, for usually he paints
+such pretty pictures!
+
+``Still, on the other hand, Billy, I'm not
+surprised.  William says that Bertram has been
+completely out of fix over something, and as gloomy
+as an owl, for weeks past; and of course, under
+those circumstances, the poor boy could not be
+expected to do good work.  Now William, being a
+man, is not supposed to understand what the
+trouble is.  But I, being a woman, can see through
+a pane of glass when it's held right up before me;
+and I can guess, of course, that a woman is at the
+bottom of it--she always is!--and that you,
+being his special fancy at the moment'' (Billy
+almost did tear the letter now--but not quite),
+``are that woman.
+
+``Now, Billy, you don't like such frank talk, of
+course; but, on the other hand, I know you do not
+want to ruin the dear boy's career.  So, for heaven's
+sake, if you two have been having one of those
+quarrels that lovers so delight in--do, please, for
+the good of the cause, make up quick, or else quarrel
+harder and break it off entirely--which, honestly,
+would be the better way, I think, all around.
+
+``There, there, my dear child, don't bristle up! 
+I am very fond of you, and would dearly love to
+have you for a sister--if you'd only take William,
+as you should!  But, as you very well know, I never
+did approve of this last match at all, for either of
+your sakes.
+
+``He can't make you happy, my dear, and you
+can't make him happy.  Bertram never was--
+and never will be--a marrying man.  He's too
+temperamental--too thoroughly wrapped up in
+his Art.  Girls have never meant anything to him
+but a beautiful picture to paint.  And they never
+will.  They can't.  He's made that way.  Listen! 
+I can prove it to you.  Up to this winter he's
+always been a care-free, happy, jolly fellow, and you
+_know_ what beautiful work he has done.  Never
+before has he tied himself to any one girl till last
+fall.  Then you two entered into this absurd engagement.
+
+``Now what has it been since?  William wrote
+me himself not a fortnight ago that he'd been
+worried to death over Bertram for weeks past, he's
+been so moody, so irritable, so fretted over his
+work, so unlike himself.  And his picture has
+_failed_ dismally.  Of course William doesn't
+understand; but I do.  I know you've probably quarrelled,
+or something.  You know how flighty and
+unreliable you can be sometimes, Billy, and I don't
+say that to mean anything against you, either--
+that's _your_ way.  You're just as temperamental in
+your art, music, as Bertram is in his.  You're
+utterly unsuited to him.  If Bertram is to marry
+_anybody_, it should be some quiet, staid, sensible
+girl who would be a _help_ to him.  But when I think
+of you two flyaway flutterbudgets marrying--!
+
+``Now, for heaven's sake, Billy, _do_ make up or
+something--and do it now.  Don't, for pity's
+sake, let Bertram ever put out another such a piece
+of work to shame us all like this.  Do you want to
+ruin his career?
+               ``Faithfully yours,
+                    ``KATE HARTWELL.
+
+
+``P. S.  _I_ think William's the one for you. 
+He's devoted to you, and his quiet, sensible affection
+is just what your temperament needs.  I _always_
+thought William was the one for you.  Think
+it over.
+
+``P. S. No. 2.  You can see by the above that it
+isn't you I'm objecting to, my dear.  It's just _you-
+and-Bertram_.                           ``K.''
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXX
+
+``I'VE HINDERED HIM''
+
+
+Billy was shaking with anger and terror by the
+time she had finished reading Kate's letter.  Anger
+was uppermost at the moment, and with one
+sweeping wrench of her trembling fingers she tore
+the closely written sheets straight through the
+middle, and flung them into the little wicker basket
+by her desk.  Then she went down-stairs and
+played her noisiest, merriest Tarantella, and tried
+to see how fast she could make her fingers fly.
+
+But Billy could not, of course, play tarantellas
+all day; and even while she did play them she
+could not forget that waste-basket up-stairs,
+and the horror it contained.  The anger was still
+uppermost, but the terror was prodding her at
+every turn, and demanding to know just what it
+was that Kate had written in that letter, anyway. 
+It is not strange then, perhaps, that before two
+hours passed, Billy went up-stairs, took the letter
+from the basket, matched together the torn
+half-sheets and forced her shrinking eyes to read
+every word again-just to satisfy that terror
+which would not be silenced.
+
+At the end of the second reading, Billy reminded
+herself with stern calmness that it was only Kate,
+after all; that nobody ought to mind what Kate
+said; that certainly _she_, Billy, ought not--after
+the experience she had already had with her
+unpleasant interference!  Kate did not know what
+she was talking about, anyway.  This was only
+another case of her trying ``to manage.''  She
+did so love to manage--everything!
+
+At this point Billy got out her pen and paper
+and wrote to Kate.
+
+It was a formal, cold little letter, not at all the
+sort that Billy's friends usually received.  It
+thanked Kate for her advice, and for her ``kind
+willingness'' to have Billy for a sister; but it
+hinted that perhaps Kate did not realize that as
+long as Billy was the one who would have to _live_
+with the chosen man, it would be pleasanter to
+take the one Billy loved, which happened in
+this case to be Bertram--not William.  As for
+any ``quarrel'' being the cause of whatever
+fancied trouble there was with the new picture--
+the letter scouted that idea in no uncertain terms. 
+There had been no suggestion of a quarrel even
+once since the engagement.
+
+Then Billy signed her name and took the letter
+out to post immediately.
+
+For the first few minutes after the letter had
+been dropped into the green box at the corner,
+Billy held her head high, and told herself that
+the matter was now closed.  She had sent Kate
+a courteous, dignified, conclusive, effectual answer,
+and she thought with much satisfaction of the
+things she had said.
+
+Very soon, however, she began to think--not
+so much of what _she_ had said--but of what Kate
+had said.  Many of Kate's sentences were
+unpleasantly vivid in her mind.  They seemed,
+indeed, to stand out in letters of flame, and they
+began to burn, and burn, and burn.  These were
+some of them:
+
+``William says that Bertram has been
+completely out of fix over something, and as gloomy
+as an owl for weeks past.''
+
+``A woman is at the bottom of it--. . . you
+are that woman.''
+
+``You can't make him happy.''
+
+``Bertram never was--and never will be--a
+marrying man.''
+
+``Girls have never meant anything to him but
+a beautiful picture to paint.  And they never
+will.''
+
+``Up to this winter he's always been a
+carefree, happy, jolly fellow, and you _know_ what
+beautiful work he has done.  Never before has
+he tied himself to any one girl until last
+fall.''
+
+``Now what has it been since?''
+
+``He's been so moody, so irritable, so fretted
+over his work, so unlike himself; and his picture
+has failed, dismally.''
+
+``Do you want to ruin his career?''
+
+Billy began to see now that she had not really
+answered Kate's letter at all.  The matter was not
+closed.  Her reply had been, perhaps, courteous
+and dignified--but it had not been conclusive
+nor effectual.
+
+Billy had reached home now, and she was
+crying.  Bertram _had_ acted strangely, of late. 
+Bertram _had_ seemed troubled over something. 
+His picture _had_--  With a little shudder Billy
+tossed aside these thoughts, and dug at her teary
+eyes with a determined hand.  Fiercely she told
+herself that the matter _was_ settled.  Very scornfully
+she declared that it was ``only Kate,''
+after all, and that she _would not_ let Kate make
+her unhappy again!  Forthwith she picked up a
+current magazine and began to read.
+
+As it chanced, however, even here Billy found
+no peace; for the first article she opened to was
+headed in huge black type:
+
+
+``MARRIAGE AND THE ARTISTIC TEMPERAMENT.''
+
+
+With a little cry Billy flung the magazine far
+from her, and picked up another.  But even ``The
+Elusiveness of Chopin,'' which she found here,
+could not keep her thoughts nor her eyes from
+wandering to the discarded thing in the corner,
+lying ignominiously face down with crumpled,
+out-flung leaves.
+
+Billy knew that in the end she should go over
+and pick that magazine up, and read that article
+from beginning to end.  She was not surprised,
+therefore, when she did it--but she was not any
+the happier for having done it.
+
+The writer of the article did not approve of
+marriage and the artistic temperament.  He said
+the artist belonged to his Art, and to posterity
+through his Art.  The essay fairly bristled with
+many-lettered words and high-sounding phrases,
+few of which Billy really understood.  She did
+understand enough, however, to feel, guiltily,
+when the thing was finished, that already she had
+married Bertram, and by so doing had committed
+a Crime.  She had slain Art, stifled Ambition,
+destroyed Inspiration, and been a nuisance generally. 
+In consequence of which Bertram would henceforth
+and forevermore be doomed to Littleness.
+
+Naturally, in this state of mind, and with this
+vision before her, Billy was anything but her
+bright, easy self when she met Bertram an hour
+or two later.  Naturally, too, Bertram, still the
+tormented victim of the bugaboo his jealous fears
+had fashioned, was just in the mood to place the
+worst possible construction on his sweetheart's
+very evident unhappiness.  With sighs, unspoken
+questions, and frequently averted eyes, therefore,
+the wretched evening passed, a pitiful misery to
+them both.
+
+During the days that followed, Billy thought
+that the world itself must be in league with Kate,
+so often did she encounter Kate's letter
+masquerading under some thin disguise.  She did
+not stop to realize that because she was so afraid
+she _would_ find it, she _did_ find it.  In the books
+she read, in the plays she saw, in the chance
+words she heard spoken by friend or stranger--
+always there was something to feed her fears in
+one way or another.  Even in a yellowed newspaper
+that had covered the top shelf in her closet
+she found one day a symposium on whether or
+not an artist's wife should be an artist; and she
+shuddered--but she read every opinion given.
+
+Some writers said no, and some, yes; and some
+said it all depended--on the artist and his wife. 
+Billy found much food for thought, some for
+amusement, and a little that made for peace of
+mind.  On the whole it opened up a new phase
+of the matter, perhaps.  At all events, upon
+finishing it she almost sobbed:
+
+``One would think that just because I write a
+song now and then, I was going to let Bertram
+starve, and go with holes in his socks and no
+buttons on his clothes!''
+
+It was that afternoon that Billy went to see
+Marie; but even there she did not escape, for
+the gentle Marie all unknowingly added her mite
+to the woeful whole.
+
+Billy found Marie in tears.
+
+``Why, Marie!'' she cried in dismay.
+
+``Sh-h!'' warned Marie, turning agonized eyes
+toward the closed door of Cyril's den.
+
+``But, dear, what is it?'' begged Billy, with no
+less dismay, but with greater caution.
+
+``Sh-h!'' admonished Marie again.
+
+On tiptoe, then, she led the way to a room at
+the other end of the tiny apartment.  Once there;
+she explained in a more natural tone of voice:
+
+``Cyril's at work on a new piece for the piano.''
+
+``Well, what if he is?'' demanded Billy.  ``That
+needn't make you cry, need it?''
+
+``Oh, no--no, indeed,'' demurred Marie, in
+a shocked voice.
+
+``Well, then, what is it?''
+
+Marie hesitated; then, with the abandon of a
+hurt child that longs for sympathy, she sobbed:
+
+``It--it's just that I'm afraid, after all, that
+I'm not good enough for Cyril.''
+
+Billy stared frankly.
+
+``Not _good_ enough, Marie Henshaw!  Whatever
+in the world do you mean?''
+
+``Well, not good _for_ him, then.  Listen!  To-day,
+I know, in lots of ways I must have disappointed
+him.  First, he put on some socks that I'd darned. 
+They were the first since our marriage that I'd
+found to darn, and I'd been so proud and--and
+happy while I _was_ darning them.  But--but
+he took 'em off right after breakfast and threw
+'em in a corner.  Then he put on a new pair, and
+said that I--I needn't darn any more; that it
+made--bunches.  Billy, _my darns--bunches!_'' 
+Marie's face and voice were tragic.
+
+``Nonsense, dear!  Don't let that fret you,''
+comforted Billy, promptly, trying not to laugh
+too hard.  ``It wasn't _your_ darns; it was just
+darns--anybody's darns.  Cyril won't wear
+darned socks.  Aunt Hannah told me so long ago,
+and I said then there'd be a tragedy when _you_
+found it out.  So don't worry over that.''
+
+``Oh, but that isn't all,'' moaned Marie. 
+``Listen!  You know how quiet he must have everything
+when he's composing--and he ought to
+have it, too!  But I forgot, this morning, and put
+on some old shoes that didn't have any rubber
+heels, and I ran the carpet sweeper, and I rattled
+tins in the kitchen.  But I never thought a thing
+until he opened his door and asked me _please_ to
+change my shoes and let the--the confounded
+dirt go, and didn't I have any dishes in the house
+but what were made of that abominable tin
+s-stuff,'' she finished in a wail of misery.
+
+Billy burst into a ringing laugh, but Marie's
+aghast face and upraised hand speedily reduced it
+to a convulsive giggle.
+
+``You dear child!  Cyril's always like that when
+he's composing,'' soothed Billy.  ``I supposed you
+knew it, dear.  Don't you fret!  Run along and
+make him his favorite pudding, and by night both
+of you will have forgotten there ever were such
+things in the world as tins and shoes and carpet
+sweepers that clatter.''
+
+Marie shook her head.  Her dismal face did not
+relax.
+
+``You don't understand,'' she moaned.  ``It's
+myself.  I've _hindered_ him!''  She brought out the
+word with an agony of slow horror.  ``And only
+to-day I read-here, look!'' she faltered, going
+to the table and picking up with shaking hands a
+magazine.
+
+Billy recognized it by the cover at once--another
+like it had been flung not so long ago by her
+own hand into the corner.  She was not surprised,
+therefore, to see very soon at the end of Marie's
+trembling finger:
+
+``Marriage and the Artistic Temperament.''
+
+Billy did not give a ringing laugh this time. 
+She gave an involuntary little shudder, though she
+tried valiantly to turn it all off with a light word
+of scorn, and a cheery pat on Marie's heaving
+shoulders.  But she went home very soon; and it
+was plain to be seen that her visit to Marie had
+not brought her peace.
+
+Billy knew Kate's letter, by heart, now, both in
+the original, and in its different versions, and she
+knew that, despite her struggles, she was being
+forced straight toward Kate's own verdict: that
+she, Billy, _was_ the cause, in some way, of the
+deplorable change in Bertram's appearance, manner,
+and work.  Before she would quite surrender to
+this heart-sickening belief, however, she determined
+to ask Bertram himself.  Falteringly, but
+resolutely, therefore, one day, she questioned him.
+
+``Bertram, once you hinted that the picture did
+not go right because you were troubled over something;
+and I've been wondering--was it about--
+me, in any way, that you were troubled?''
+
+Billy had her answer before the man spoke.  She
+had it in the quick terror that sprang to his eyes,
+and the dull red that swept from his neck to his
+forehead.  His reply, so far as words went did not
+count, for it evaded everything and told nothing. 
+But Billy knew without words.  She knew, too,
+what she must do.  For the time being she took
+Bertram's evasive answer as he so evidently wished
+it to be taken; but that evening, after he had
+gone, she wrote him a little note and broke the
+engagement.  So heartbroken was she--and so
+fearful was she that he should suspect this--that
+her note, when completed, was a cold little thing of
+few words, which carried no hint that its very
+coldness was but the heart-break in the disguise of
+pride.
+
+This was like Billy in all ways.  Billy, had she
+lived in the days of the Christian martyrs, would
+have been the first to walk with head erect into the
+Arena of Sacrifice.  The arena now was just everyday
+living, the lions were her own devouring misery,
+and the cause was Bertram's best good.
+
+From Bertram's own self she had it now--that
+she had been the cause of his being troubled; so
+she could doubt no longer.  The only part that was
+uncertain was the reason why he had been
+troubled.  Whether his bond to her had become
+irksome because of his love for another, or because
+of his love for no girl--except to paint, Billy did
+not know.  But that it was irksome she did not
+doubt now.  Besides, as if she were going to slay
+his Art, stifle his Ambition, destroy his Inspiration,
+and be a nuisance generally just so that _she_
+might be happy!  Indeed, no!  Hence she broke
+the engagement.
+
+This was the letter:
+
+
+``DEAR BERTRAM:--You won't make the
+move, so I must.  I knew, from the way you spoke
+to-day, that it _was_ about me that you were
+troubled, even though you generously tried to
+make me think it was not.  And so the picture did
+not go well.
+
+``Now, dear, we have not been happy together
+lately.  You have seen it; so have I.  I fear our
+engagement was a mistake, so I'm going to send
+back your ring to-morrow, and I'm writing this
+letter to-night.  Please don't try to see me just
+yet.  You _know_ what I am doing is best--all
+round.
+                    ``Always your friend,
+                                   ``BILLY.''
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXI
+
+FLIGHT
+
+
+Billy feared if she did not mail the letter at once
+she would not have the courage to mail it at all.  So
+she slipped down-stairs very quietly and went herself
+to the post box a little way down the street;
+then she came back and sobbed herself to sleep--
+though not until after she had sobbed awake for
+long hours of wretchedness.
+
+When she awoke in the morning, heavy-eyed
+and unrested, there came to her first the vague
+horror of some shadow hanging over her, then the
+sickening consciousness of what that shadow was. 
+For one wild minute Billy felt that she must run
+to the telephone, summon Bertram, and beseech
+him to return unread the letter he would receive
+from her that day.  Then there came to her the
+memory of Bertram's face as it had looked the
+night before when she had asked him if she were
+the cause of his being troubled.  There came, too,
+the memory of Kate's scathing ``Do you want to
+ruin his career?''  Even the hated magazine article
+and Marie's tragic ``I've _hindered_ him!'' added
+their mite; and Billy knew that she should not go
+to the telephone, nor summon Bertram.
+
+The one fatal mistake now would be to let Bertram
+see her own distress.  If once he should suspect
+how she suffered in doing this thing, there
+would be a scene that Billy felt she had not the
+courage to face.  She must, therefore, manage in
+some way not to see Bertram--not to let him see
+her until she felt more sure of her self-control no
+matter what he said.  The easiest way to do this
+was, of course, to go away.  But where?  How? 
+She must think.  Meanwhile, for these first few
+hours, she would not tell any one, even Aunt
+Hannah, what had happened.  There must _no one_
+speak to her of it, yet.  That she could not endure. 
+Aunt Hannah would, of course, shiver, groan ``Oh,
+my grief and conscience!'' and call for another
+shawl; and Billy just now felt as if she should
+scream if she heard Aunt Hannah say ``Oh, my
+grief and conscience!''--over that.  Billy went
+down to breakfast, therefore, with a determination
+to act exactly as usual, so that Aunt Hannah
+should not know--yet.
+
+When people try to ``act exactly as usual,'' they
+generally end in acting quite the opposite; and
+Billy was no exception to the rule.  Hence her
+attempted cheerfulness became flippantness, and
+her laughter giggles that rang too frequently to be
+quite sincere--though from Aunt Hannah it all
+elicited only an affectionate smile at ``the dear
+child's high spirits.''
+
+A little later, when Aunt Hannah was glancing
+over the morning paper--now no longer barred
+from the door--she gave a sudden cry.
+
+``Billy, just listen to this!'' she exclaimed,
+reading from the paper in her hand.  `` `A new tenor in
+``The Girl of the Golden West.''  Appearance of
+Mr. M. J. Arkwright at the Boston Opera House
+to-night.  Owing to the sudden illness of Dubassi,
+who was to have taken the part of Johnson tonight,
+an exceptional opportunity has come to a
+young tenor singer, one of the most promising pupils
+at the Conservatory school.  Arkwright is said
+to have a fine voice, a particularly good stage
+presence, and a purity of tone and smoothness of execution
+that few of his age and experience can show. 
+Only a short time ago he appeared as the duke at
+one of the popular-priced Saturday night performances
+of ``Rigoletto''; and his extraordinary success
+on that occasion, coupled with his familiarity
+with, and fitness for the part of Johnson in ``The
+Girl of the Golden West,'' led to his being chosen
+to take Dubassi's place to-night.  His performance
+is awaited with the greatest of interest.'  Now
+isn't that splendid for Mary Jane?  I'm so glad!''
+beamed Aunt Hannah.
+
+``Of course we're glad!'' cried Billy.  ``And
+didn't it come just in time?  This is the last week
+of opera, anyway, you know.''
+
+``But it says he sang before--on a Saturday
+night,'' declared Aunt Hannah, going back to the
+paper in her hand.  ``Now wouldn't you have
+thought we'd have heard of it, or read of it?  And
+wouldn't you have thought he'd have told us?''
+
+``Oh, well, maybe he didn't happen to see us
+so he could tell us,'' returned Billy with elaborate
+carelessness.
+
+``I know it; but it's so funny he _hasn't_ seen us,''
+contended Aunt Hannah, frowning.  ``You know
+how much he used to be here.''
+
+Billy colored, and hurried into the fray.
+
+``Oh, but he must have been so busy, with all
+this, you know.  And of course we didn't see it in
+the paper--because we didn't have any paper at
+that time, probably.  Oh, yes, that's my fault, I
+know,'' she laughed; ``and I was silly, I'll own. 
+But we'll make up for it now.  We'll go, of course,
+I wish it had been on our regular season-ticket
+night, but I fancy we can get seats somewhere;
+and I'm going to ask Alice Greggory and her
+mother, too.  I'll go down there this morning to
+tell them, and to get the tickets.  I've got it all
+planned.''
+
+Billy had, indeed, ``got it all planned.''  She
+had been longing for something that would take
+her away from the house--and if possible away
+from herself.  This would do the one easily, and
+might help on the other.  She rose at once.
+
+``I'll go right away,'' she said.
+
+``But, my dear,'' frowned Aunt Hannah,
+anxiously, ``I don't believe I can go to-night--though
+I'd love to, dearly.''
+
+``But why not?''
+
+``I'm tired and half sick with a headache this
+morning.  I didn't sleep, and I've taken cold somewhere,''
+sighed the lady, pulling the top shawl a
+little higher about her throat.
+
+``Why, you poor dear, what a shame!''
+
+``Won't Bertram go?'' asked Aunt Hannah.
+
+Billy shook her head--but she did not meet
+Aunt Hannah's eyes.
+
+``Oh, no.  I sha'n't even ask him.  He said last
+night he had a banquet on for to-night--one of
+his art clubs, I believe.''  Billy's voice was
+casualness itself.
+
+``But you'll have the Greggorys--that is, Mrs.
+Greggory _can_ go, can't she?'' inquired Aunt Hannah.
+
+``Oh, yes; I'm sure she can,'' nodded Billy. 
+``You know she went to the operetta, and this is
+just the same--only bigger.''
+
+``Yes, yes, I know,'' murmured Aunt Hannah.
+
+``Dear me!  How can she get about so on those
+two wretched little sticks?  She's a perfect marvel
+to me.''
+
+``She is to me, too,'' sighed Billy, as she hurried
+from the room.
+
+Billy was, indeed, in a hurry.  To herself she
+said she wanted to get away--away!  And she
+got away as soon as she could.
+
+She had her plans all made.  She would go first
+to the Greggorys' and invite them to attend the
+opera with her that evening.  Then she would get
+the tickets.  Just what she would do with the rest
+of the day she did not know.  She knew only that
+she would not go home until time to dress for
+dinner and the opera.  She did not tell Aunt
+Hannah this, however, when she left the house.  She
+planned to telephone it from somewhere down
+town, later.  She told herself that she _could not_
+stay all day under the sharp eyes of Aunt Hannah
+--but she managed, nevertheless, to bid that lady
+a particularly blithe and bright-faced good-by.
+
+
+Billy had not been long gone when the telephone
+bell rang.  Aunt Hannah answered it.
+
+``Why, Bertram, is that you?'' she called, in
+answer to the words that came to her across the
+wire.  ``Why, I hardly knew your voice!''
+
+``Didn't you?  Well, is--is Billy there?'' 
+
+``No, she isn't.  She's gone down to see Alice
+Greggory.''
+
+``Oh!''  So evident was the disappointment in
+the voice that Aunt Hannah added hastily:
+
+``I'm so sorry!  She hasn't been gone ten
+minutes.  But--is there any message?''
+
+``No, thank you.  There's no--message.''  The
+voice hesitated, then went on a little constrainedly. 
+``How--how is Billy this morning?  She--she's
+all right, isn't she?''
+
+Aunt Hannah laughed in obvious amusement.
+
+``Bless your dear heart, yes, my boy!  Has it
+been such a _long_ time since last evening--when
+you saw her yourself?  Yes, she's all right.  In
+fact, I was thinking at the breakfast table how
+pretty she looked with her pink cheeks and her
+bright eyes.  She seemed to be in such high spirits.''
+
+An inarticulate something that Aunt Hannah
+could not quite catch came across the line; then
+a somewhat hurried ``All right.  Thank you.
+Good-by.''
+
+The next time Aunt Hannah was called to the
+telephone, Billy spoke to her.
+
+``Aunt Hannah, don't wait luncheon for me,
+please.  I shall get it in town.  And don't expect me
+till five o'clock.  I have some shopping to do.''
+
+``All right, dear,'' replied Aunt Hannah.  ``Did
+you get the tickets?''
+
+``Yes, and the Greggorys will go.  Oh, and
+Aunt Hannah!''
+
+``Yes, dear.''
+
+``Please tell John to bring Peggy around early
+enough to-night so we can go down and get the
+Greggorys.  I told them we'd call for them.''
+
+``Very well, dear.  I'll tell him.''
+
+``Thank you.  How's the poor head?''
+
+``Better, a little, I think.''
+
+``That's good.  Won't you repent and go, too?''
+
+``No--oh, no, indeed!''
+
+``All right, then; good-by.  I'm sorry!''
+
+``So'm I.  Good-by,'' sighed Aunt Hannah, as
+she hung up the receiver and turned away.
+
+It was after five o'clock when Billy got home,
+and so hurried were the dressing and the dinner
+that Aunt Hannah forgot to mention Bertram's
+telephone call till just as Billy was ready to start
+for the Greggorys'.
+
+``There! and I forgot,'' she confessed. 
+``Bertram called you up just after you left this morning,
+my dear.''
+
+``Did he?'' Billy's face was turned away, but
+Aunt Hannah did not notice that.
+
+``Yes.  Oh, he didn't want anything special,''
+smiled the lady, ``only--well, he did ask if you
+were all right this morning,'' she finished with
+quiet mischief.
+
+``Did he?'' murmured Billy again.  This time
+there was a little sound after the words, which
+Aunt Hannah would have taken for a sob if she
+had not known that it must have been a laugh.
+
+Then Billy was gone.
+
+At eight o'clock the doorbell rang, and a minute
+later Rosa came up to say that Mr. Bertram Henshaw
+was down-stairs and wished to see Mrs.
+Stetson.
+
+Mrs. Stetson went down at once.
+
+``Why, my dear boy,'' she exclaimed, as she
+entered the room; ``Billy said you had a banquet
+on for to-night!''
+
+``Yes, I know; but--I didn't go.''  Bertram's
+face was pale and drawn.  His voice did not sound
+natural.
+
+``Why, Bertram, you look ill!  _Are_ you ill?'' 
+The man made an impatient gesture.
+
+``No, no, I'm not ill--I'm not ill at all.  Rosa
+says--Billy's not here.''
+
+``No; she's gone to the opera with the Greggorys.''
+
+``The _opera!_''  There was a grieved hurt in
+Bertram's voice that Aunt Hannah quite misunderstood. 
+She hastened to give an apologetic
+explanation.
+
+``Yes.  She would have told you--she would
+have asked you to join them, I'm sure, but she
+said you were going to a banquet.  I'm _sure_ she
+said so.''
+
+``Yes, I did tell her so--last night,'' nodded
+Bertram, dully.
+
+Aunt Hannah frowned a little.  Still more
+anxiously she endeavored to explain to this
+disappointed lover why his sweetheart was not at home
+to greet him.
+
+``Well, then, of course, my boy, she'd never
+think of your coming here to-night; and when she
+found Mr. Arkwright was going to sing--''
+
+``Arkwright!''  There was no listlessness in
+Bertram's voice or manner now.
+
+``Yes.  Didn't you see it in the paper?  Such a
+splendid chance for him!  His picture was there,
+too.''
+
+``No.  I didn't see it.''
+
+``Then you don't know about it, of course,''
+smiled Aunt Hannah.  ``But he's to take the part
+of Johnson in `The Girl of the Golden West.' 
+Isn't that splendid?  I'm so glad!  And Billy was,
+too.  She hurried right off this morning to get the
+tickets and to ask the Greggorys.''
+
+``Oh!'' Bertram got to his feet a little abruptly,
+and held out his hand.  ``Well, then, I might as well
+say good-by then, I suppose,'' he suggested with a
+laugh that Aunt Hannah thought was a bit forced. 
+Before she could remind him again, though, that
+Billy was really not to blame for not being there to
+welcome him, he was gone.  And Aunt Hannah
+could only go up-stairs and meditate on the
+unreasonableness of lovers in general, and of Bertram
+in particular.
+
+Aunt Hannah had gone to bed, but she was still
+awake, when Billy came home, so she heard the
+automobile come to a stop before the door, and
+she called to Billy when the girl came upstairs.
+
+``Billy, dear, come in here.  I'm awake!  I want
+to hear about it.  Was it good?''
+
+Billy stopped in the doorway.  The light from
+the hall struck her face.  There was no brightness
+in her eyes now, no pink in her cheeks.
+
+``Oh, yes, it was good--very good,'' she replied
+listlessly.
+
+``Why, Billy, how queer you answer!  What
+was the matter?  Wasn't Mary Jane--all right?''
+
+``Mary Jane?  Oh!--oh, yes; he was very
+good, Aunt Hannah.''
+
+`` `Very good,' indeed!'' echoed the lady,
+indignantly.  ``He must have been!--when you speak
+as if you'd actually forgotten that he sang at all,
+anyway!''
+
+Billy had forgotten--almost.  Billy had found
+that, in spite of her getting away from the house,
+she had not got away from herself once, all day. 
+She tried now, however, to summon her acting
+powers of the morning.
+
+``But it was splendid, really, Aunt Hannah,''
+she cried, with some show of animation.  ``And
+they clapped and cheered and gave him any number
+of curtain calls.  We were so proud of him! 
+But you see, I _am_ tired,'' she broke off wearily.
+
+``You poor child, of course you are, and you
+look like a ghost!  I won't keep you another
+minute.  Run along to bed.  Oh--Bertram didn't go
+to that banquet, after all.  He came here,'' she
+added, as Billy turned to go.
+
+``Bertram!''  The girl wheeled sharply.
+
+``Yes.  He wanted you, of course.  I found I
+didn't do, at all,'' chuckled Aunt Hannah.  ``Did
+you suppose I would?''
+
+There was no answer.  Billy had gone.
+
+
+In the long night watches Billy fought it out
+with herself.  (Billy had always fought things out
+with herself.)  She must go away.  She knew that. 
+Already Bertram had telephoned, and called.  He
+evidently meant to see her--and she could not
+see him.  She dared not.  If she did--Billy knew
+now how pitifully little it would take to make her
+actually _willing_ to slay Bertram's Art, stifle his
+Ambition, destroy his Inspiration, and be a nuisance
+generally--if only she could have Bertram
+while she was doing it all.  Sternly then she asked
+herself if she had no pride; if she had forgotten
+that it was because of her that the Winthrop
+portrait had not been a success--because of her,
+either for the reason that he loved now Miss Winthrop,
+or else that he loved no girl--except to
+paint.
+
+Very early in the morning a white-faced, red-
+eyed Billy appeared at Aunt Hannah's bedside.
+
+``Billy!'' exclaimed Aunt Hannah, plainly appalled.
+
+Billy sat down on the edge of the bed.
+
+``Aunt Hannah,'' she began in a monotonous
+voice as if she were reciting a lesson she had learned
+by heart, ``please listen, and please try not to be
+too surprised.  You were saying the other day that
+you would like to visit your old home town.  Well,
+I think that's a very nice idea.  If you don't mind
+we'll go to-day.''
+
+Aunt Hannah pulled herself half erect in bed.
+
+``_To-day_--child?''
+
+``Yes,'' nodded Billy, unsmilingly.  ``We shall
+have to go somewhere to-day, and I thought you
+would like that place best.''
+
+``But--Billy !--what does this mean?''
+
+Billy sighed heavily.
+
+``Yes, I understand.  You'll have to know the
+rest, of course.  I've broken my engagement.  I
+don't want to see Bertram.  That's why I'm going
+away.''
+
+Aunt Hannah fell nervelessly back on the pillow. 
+Her teeth fairly chattered.
+
+``Oh, my grief and conscience--_Billy!_  Won't
+you please pull up that blanket,'' she moaned. 
+``Billy, what do you mean?''
+
+Billy shook her head and got to her feet.
+
+``I can't tell any more now, really, Aunt
+Hannah.  Please don't ask me; and don't--talk. 
+You _will_--go with me, won't you?''  And Aunt
+Hannah, with her terrified eyes on Billy's piteously
+agitated face, nodded her head and choked:
+
+``Why, of course I'll go--anywhere--with
+you, Billy; but--why did you do it, why did you
+do it?''
+
+A little later, Billy, in her own room, wrote this
+note to Bertram:
+
+
+``DEAR BERTRAM:--I'm going away to-day. 
+That'll be best all around.  You'll agree to that,
+I'm sure.  Please don't try to see me, and please
+don't write.  It wouldn't make either one of us
+any happier.  You must know that.
+               ``As ever your friend,
+                              ``BILLY.''
+
+
+Bertram, when he read it, grew only a shade
+more white, a degree more sick at heart.  Then he
+kissed the letter gently and put it away with the
+other.
+
+To Bertram, the thing was very clear.  Billy had
+come now to the conclusion that it would be wrong
+to give herself where she could not give her heart. 
+And in this he agreed with her--bitter as it was
+for him.  Certainly he did not want Billy, if Billy
+did not want him, he told himself.  He would now,
+of course, accede to her request.  He would not
+write to her--and make her suffer more.  But to
+Bertram, at that moment, it seemed that the very
+sun in the heavens had gone out.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXII
+
+PETE TO THE RESCUE
+
+
+One by one the weeks passed and became a
+month.  Then other weeks became other months. 
+It was July when Billy, homesick and weary, came
+back to Hillside with Aunt Hannah.
+
+Home looked wonderfully good to Billy, in spite
+of the fact that she had so dreaded to see it.  Billy
+had made up her mind, however, that, come sometime
+she must.  She could not, of course, stay always
+away.  Perhaps, too, it would be just as easy
+at home as it was away.  Certainly it could not be
+any harder.  She was convinced of that.  Besides,
+she did not want Bertram to think--
+
+Billy had received only meagre news from Boston
+since she went away.  Bertram had not written
+at all.  William had written twice--hurt, grieved,
+puzzled, questioning letters that were very hard
+to answer.  From Marie, too, had come letters of
+much the same sort.  By far the cheeriest epistles
+had come from Alice Greggory.  They contained,
+indeed, about the only comfort Billy had known
+for weeks, for they showed very plainly to Billy
+that Arkwright's heart had been caught on the
+rebound; and that in Alice Greggory he was finding
+the sweetest sort of balm for his wounded feelings. 
+From these letters Billy learned, too, that
+Judge Greggory's honor had been wholly vindicated;
+and, as Billy told Aunt Hannah, ``anybody
+could put two and two together and make
+four, now.''
+
+It was eight o'clock on a rainy July evening that
+Billy and Aunt Hannah arrived at Hillside; and
+it was only a little past eight that Aunt Hannah
+was summoned to the telephone.  When she came
+back to Billy she was crying and wringing her
+hands.
+
+Billy sprang to her feet.
+
+``Why, Aunt Hannah, what is it?  What's the
+matter?'' she demanded.
+
+Aunt Hannah sank into a chair, still wringing
+her hands.
+
+``Oh, Billy, Billy, how can I tell you, how can I
+tell you?'' she moaned.
+
+``You must tell me!  Aunt Hannah, what is it?''
+
+``Oh--oh--oh!  Billy, I can't--I can't!''
+
+``But you'll have to!  What is it, Aunt Hannah?''
+
+``It's--B-Bertram!''
+
+``Bertram!''  Billy's face grew ashen.  ``Quick,
+quick--what do you mean?''
+
+For answer, Aunt Hannah covered her face with
+her hands and began to sob aloud.  Billy, almost
+beside herself now with terror and anxiety, dropped
+on her knees and tried to pull away the shaking
+hands.
+
+``Aunt Hannah, you must tell me!  You must
+--you must!''
+
+``I can't, Billy.  It's Bertram.  He's--_hurt!_''
+choked Aunt Hannah, hysterically.
+
+``Hurt!  How?''
+
+``I don't know.  Pete told me.''
+
+``Pete!''
+
+``Yes.  Rosa had told him we were coming, and
+he called me up.  He said maybe I could do something. 
+So he told me.''
+
+``Yes, yes!  But told you what?''
+
+``That he was hurt.''
+
+``How?''
+
+``I couldn't hear all, but I think 'twas an
+accident--automobile.  And, Billy, Billy--Pete says
+it's his arm--his right arm--and that maybe he
+can't ever p-paint again!''
+
+``Oh-h!'' Billy fell back as if the words had
+been a blow.  ``Not that, Aunt Hannah--not that!''
+
+``That's what Pete said.  I couldn't get all of it,
+but I got that.  And, Billy, he's been out of his
+head--though he isn't now, Pete says--and--
+and--and he's been calling for you.''
+
+``For--_me?_''  A swift change came to Billy's
+face.
+
+``Yes.  Over and over again he called for you--
+while he was crazy, you know.  That's why Pete
+told me.  He said he didn't rightly understand
+what the trouble was, but he didn't believe there
+was any trouble, _really_, between you two; anyway,
+that you wouldn't think there was, if you
+could hear him, and know how he wanted you,
+and--why, Billy!''
+
+Billy was on her feet now.  Her fingers were on
+the electric push-button that would summon Rosa. 
+Her face was illumined.  The next moment Rosa
+appeared.
+
+``Tell John to bring Peggy to the door at once,
+please,'' directed her mistress.
+
+``Billy!'' gasped Aunt Hannah again, as the
+maid disappeared.  Billy was tremblingly putting
+on the hat she had but just taken off.  ``Billy,
+what are you going to do?''
+
+Billy turned in obvious surprise.
+
+``Why, I'm going to Bertram, of course.''
+
+``To Bertram!  But it's nearly half-past eight,
+child, and it rains, and everything!''
+
+``But Bertram _wants_ me!'' exclaimed Billy. 
+``As if I'd mind rain, or time, or anything else,
+_now!_''
+
+``But--but--oh, my grief and conscience!''
+groaned Aunt Hannah, beginning to wring her
+hands again.
+
+Billy reached for her coat.  Aunt Hannah stirred
+into sudden action.
+
+``But, Billy, if you'd only wait till to-morrow,''
+she quavered, putting out a feebly restraining
+hand.
+
+``To-morrow!''  The young voice rang with
+supreme scorn.  ``Do you think I'd wait till to-
+morrow--after all this?  I say Bertram _wants_
+me.''  Billy picked up her gloves.
+
+``But you broke it off, dear--you said you did;
+and to go down there to-night--like this--''
+
+Billy lifted her head.  Her eyes shone.  Her
+whole face was a glory of love and pride.
+
+``That was before.  I didn't know.  He _wants_
+me, Aunt Hannah.  Did you hear?  He _wants_ me!
+And now I won't even--hinder him, if he can't
+--p-paint again!''  Billy's voice broke.  The glory
+left her face.  Her eyes brimmed with tears, but
+her head was still bravely uplifted.  ``I'm going
+to Bertram!''
+
+Blindly Aunt Hannah got to her feet.  Still more
+blindly she reached for her bonnet and cloak on
+the chair near her.
+
+``Oh, will you go, too?'' asked Billy, abstractedly,
+hurrying to the window to look for the motor
+car.
+
+``Will I go, too!'' burst out Aunt Hannah's
+indignant voice.  ``Do you think I'd let you go
+alone, and at this time of night, on such a wild-
+goose chase as this?''
+
+``I don't know, I'm sure,'' murmured Billy, still
+abstractedly, peering out into the rain.
+
+``Don't know, indeed!  Oh, my grief and
+conscience!'' groaned Aunt Hannah, setting her bonnet
+hopelessly askew on top of her agitated head.
+
+But Billy did not even answer now.  Her face
+was pressed hard against the window-pane.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIII
+
+BERTRAM TAKES THE REINS
+
+
+With stiffly pompous dignity Pete opened the
+door.  The next moment he fell back in amazement
+before the impetuous rush of a starry-eyed,
+flushed-cheeked young woman who demanded:
+
+``Where is he, Pete?''
+
+``Miss Billy!'' gasped the old man.  Then he
+saw Aunt Hannah--Aunt Hannah with her bonnet
+askew, her neck-bow awry, one hand bare,
+and the other half covered with a glove wrong side
+out.  Aunt Hannah's cheeks, too, were flushed,
+and her eyes starry, but with dismay and anger--
+the last because she did not like the way Pete had
+said Miss Billy's name.  It was one matter for her
+to object to this thing Billy was doing--but quite
+another for Pete to do it.
+
+``Of course it's she!'' retorted Aunt Hannah,
+testily.  ``As if you yourself didn't bring her here
+with your crazy messages at this time of night!''
+
+``Pete, where is he?'' interposed Billy.  ``Tell
+Mr. Bertram I am here--or, wait!  I'll go right
+in and surprise him.''
+
+``_Billy!_''  This time it was Aunt Hannah who
+gasped her name.
+
+Pete had recovered himself by now, but he did
+not even glance toward Aunt Hannah.  His face
+was beaming, and his old eyes were shining.
+
+``Miss Billy, Miss Billy, you're an angel straight
+from heaven, you are--you are!  Oh, I'm so glad
+you came!  It'll be all right now--all right!  He's
+in the den, Miss Billy.''
+
+Billy turned eagerly, but before she could take
+so much as one step toward the door at the end of
+the hall, Aunt Hannah's indignant voice arrested
+her.
+
+``Billy-stop!  You're not an angel; you're a
+young woman--and a crazy one, at that!  Whatever
+angels do, young women don't go unannounced
+and unchaperoned into young men's
+rooms!  Pete, go tell your master that _we_ are
+here, and ask if he will receive _us_.''
+
+Pete's lips twitched.  The emphatic ``we'' and
+``us'' were not lost on him.  But his face was
+preternaturally grave when he spoke.
+
+``Mr. Bertram is up and dressed, ma'am.  He's
+in the den.  I'll speak to him.''
+
+Pete, once again the punctilious butler, stalked
+to the door of Bertram's den and threw it wide
+open.
+
+Opposite the door, on a low couch, lay Bertram,
+his head bandaged, and his right arm in a sling. 
+His face was turned toward the door, but his eyes
+were closed.  He looked very white, and his
+features were pitifully drawn with suffering.
+
+``Mr. Bertram,'' began Pete--but he got no
+further.  A flying figure brushed by him and fell
+on its knees by the couch, with a low cry.
+
+Bertram's eyes flew open.  Across his face swept
+such a radiant look of unearthly joy that Pete
+sobbed audibly and fled to the kitchen.  Dong Ling
+found him there a minute later polishing a silver
+teaspoon with a fringed napkin that had been
+spread over Bertram's tray.  In the hall above
+Aunt Hannah was crying into William's gray linen
+duster that hung on the hall-rack--Aunt Hannah's
+handkerchief was on the floor back at Hillside.
+
+In the den neither Billy nor Bertram knew or
+cared what had become of Aunt Hannah and Pete. 
+There were just two people in their world--two
+people, and unutterable, incredible, overwhelming
+rapture and peace.  Then, very gradually it
+dawned over them that there was, after all,
+something strange and unexplained in it all.
+
+``But, dearest, what does it mean--you here
+like this?'' asked Bertram then.  As if to make
+sure that she was ``here, like this,'' he drew her
+even closer--Bertram was so thankful that he
+did have one arm that was usable.
+
+Billy, on her knees by the couch, snuggled into
+the curve of the one arm with a contented little
+sigh.
+
+``Well, you see, just as soon as I found out to-
+night that you wanted me, I came,'' she said.
+
+``You darling!  That was--''  Bertram
+stopped suddenly.  A puzzled frown showed
+below the fantastic bandage about his head.  `` `As
+soon as,' '' he quoted then scornfully.  ``Were
+you ever by any possible chance thinking I _didn't_
+want you?''
+
+Billy's eyes widened a little.
+
+``Why, Bertram, dear, don't you see?  When
+you were so troubled that the picture didn't go
+well, and I found out it was about me you were
+troubled--I--''
+
+``Well?'' Bertram's voice was a little strained.
+
+``Why, of--of course,'' stammered Billy, ``I
+couldn't help thinking that maybe you had found
+out you _didn't_ want me.''
+
+``_Didn't want you!_'' groaned Bertram, his tense
+muscles relaxing.  ``May I ask why?''
+
+Billy blushed.
+
+``I wasn't quite sure why,'' she faltered; ``only,
+of course, I thought of--of Miss Winthrop, you
+know, or that maybe it was because you didn't
+care for _any_ girl, only to paint--oh, oh, Bertram! 
+Pete told us,'' she broke off wildly, beginning to sob.
+
+``Pete told you that I didn't care for any girl,
+only to paint?'' demanded Bertram, angry and
+mystified.
+
+``No, no,'' sobbed Billy, ``not that.  It was all
+the others that told me that!  Pete told Aunt Hannah
+about the accident, you know, and he said--
+he said--  Oh, Bertram, I _can't_ say it!  But that's
+one of the things that made me know I _could_ come
+now, you see, because I--I wouldn't hinder you,
+nor slay your Art, nor any other of those dreadful
+things if--if you couldn't ever--p-paint again,''
+finished Billy in an uncontrollable burst of
+grief.
+
+``There, there, dear,'' comforted Bertram,
+patting the bronze-gold head on his breast.  ``I
+haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about
+--except the last; but I know there _can't_ be anything
+that ought to make you cry like that.  As
+for my not painting again--you didn't understand
+Pete, dearie.  That was what they were
+afraid of at first--that I'd lose my arm; but that
+danger is all past now.  I'm loads better.  Of
+course I'm going to paint again--and better than
+ever before--_now!_''
+
+Billy lifted her head.  A look that was almost
+terror came to her eyes.  She pulled herself half
+away from Bertram's encircling arm.
+
+``Why, Billy,'' cried the man, in pained
+surprise.  ``You don't mean to say you're _sorry_ I'm
+going to paint again!''
+
+``No, no!  Oh, no, Bertram--never that!'' she
+faltered, still regarding him with fearful eyes. 
+``It's only--for _me_, you know.  I _can't_ go back
+now, and not have you--after this!--even if I
+do hinder you, and--''
+
+``_Hinder me!_  What are you talking about,
+Billy?''
+
+Billy drew a quivering sigh.
+
+``Well, to begin with, Kate said--''
+
+``Good heavens!  Is Kate in _this_, too?''
+Bertram's voice was savage now.
+
+``Well, she wrote a letter.''
+
+``I'll warrant she did!  Great Scott, Billy! 
+Don't you know Kate by this time?''
+
+``Y-yes, I said so, too.  But, Bertram, what she
+wrote was true.  I found it everywhere, afterwards--
+in magazines and papers, and even in
+Marie.''
+
+``Humph!  Well, dearie, I don't know yet what
+you found, but I do know you wouldn't have found
+it at all if it hadn't been for Kate--and I wish I
+had her here this minute!''
+
+Billy giggled hysterically.
+
+``I don't--not _right_ here,'' she cooed, nestling
+comfortably against her lover's arm.  ``But you
+see, dear, she never _has_ approved of the marriage.''
+
+``Well, who's doing the marrying--she, or I?'' 
+``That's what I said, too--only in another
+way,'' sighed Billy.  ``But she called us flyaway
+flutterbudgets, and she said I'd ruin your career,
+if I did marry you.''
+
+``Well, I can tell you right now, Billy, you will
+ruin it if you don't!'' declared Bertram.  ``That's
+what ailed me all the time I was painting that
+miserable portrait.  I was so worried--for fear I'd
+lose you.''
+
+``Lose me!  Why, Bertram Henshaw, what do
+you mean?''
+
+A shamed red crept to the man's forehead.
+
+``Well, I suppose I might as well own up now as
+any time.  I was scared blue, Billy, with jealousy
+of--Arkwright.''
+
+Billy laughed gayly--but she shifted her
+position and did not meet her lover's eyes.
+
+``Arkwright?  Nonsense!'' she cried.  ``Why,
+he's going to marry Alice Greggory.  I know he is! 
+I can see it as plain as day in her letters.  He's
+there a lot.''
+
+``And you never did think for a minute, Billy,
+that you cared for him?''  Bertram's gaze searched
+Billy's face a little fearfully.  He had not been
+slow to mark that swift lowering of her eyelids. 
+But Billy looked him now straight in the face--
+it was a level, frank gaze of absolute truth.
+
+``Never, dear,'' she said firmly.  (Billy was so
+glad Bertram had turned the question on _her_ love
+instead of Arkwright's!)  ``There has never really
+been any one but you.''
+
+``Thank God for that,'' breathed Bertram, as he
+drew the bright head nearer and held it close.
+
+After a minute Billy stirred and sighed happily.
+
+``Aren't lovers the beat'em for imagining
+things?'' she murmured.
+
+``They certainly are.''
+
+``You see--I wasn't in love with Mr. Arkwright.''
+
+``I see--I hope.''
+
+`` And--and you didn't care _specially_ for--for
+Miss Winthrop?''
+
+``Eh?  Well, no!'' exploded Bertram.  ``Do you
+mean to say you really--''
+
+Billy put a soft finger on his lips.
+
+``Er--`people who live in _glass houses_,' you
+know,'' she reminded him, with roguish eyes.
+
+Bertram kissed the finger and subsided.
+
+``Humph!'' he commented.
+
+There was a long silence; then, a little
+breathlessly, Billy asked:
+
+``And you don't--after all, love me--just to
+paint?''
+
+``Well, what is that?  Is that Kate, too?''
+demanded Bertram, grimly.
+
+Billy laughed.
+
+``No--oh, she said it, all right, but, you see,
+_everybody_ said that to me, Bertram; and that's
+what made me so--so worried sometimes when
+you talked about the tilt of my chin, and all that.''
+
+``Well, by Jove!'' breathed Bertram.
+
+There was another silence.  Then, suddenly,
+Bertram stirred.
+
+``Billy, I'm going to marry you to-morrow,'' he
+announced decisively.
+
+Billy lifted her head and sat back in palpitating
+dismay.
+
+``Bertram!  What an absurd idea!''
+
+``Well, I am.  I don't _know_ as I can trust you
+out of my sight till _then!_  You'll read something,
+or hear something, or get a letter from Kate after
+breakfast to-morrow morning, that will set you
+`saving me' again; and I don't want to be saved
+--that way.  I'm going to marry you to-morrow. 
+I'll get--''  He stopped short, with a sudden
+frown.  ``Confound that law!  I forgot.  Great
+Scott, Billy, I'll have to trust you five days, after
+all!  There's a new law about the license.  We've
+_got_ to wait five days--and maybe more, counting
+in the notice, and all.''
+
+Billy laughed softly.
+
+``Five days, indeed, sir!  I wonder if you think
+I can get ready to be married in five days.''
+
+
+``Don't want you to get ready,'' retorted
+Bertram, promptly.  ``I saw Marie get ready, and I
+had all I wanted of it.  If you really must have all
+those miles of tablecloths and napkins and doilies
+and lace rufflings we'll do it afterwards,--not before.''
+
+``But--''
+
+``Besides, I _need_ you to take care of me,'' cut in
+Bertram, craftily.
+
+``Bertram, do you--really?''
+
+The tender glow on Billy's face told its own
+story, and Bertram's eager eyes were not slow to
+read it.
+
+``Sweetheart, see here, dear,'' he cried softly,
+tightening his good left arm.  And forthwith he
+began to tell her how much he did, indeed, need
+her.
+
+
+``Billy, my dear!'' It was Aunt Hannah's
+plaintive voice at the doorway, a little later.  ``We
+must go home; and William is here, too, and wants
+to see you.''
+
+Billy rose at once as Aunt Hannah entered the
+room.
+
+``Yes, Aunt Hannah, I'll come; besides--'' she
+glanced at Bertram mischievously--''  I shall
+need all the time I've got to prepare for--my
+wedding.'',
+
+``Your wedding!  You mean it'll be before--
+October?''  Aunt Hannah glanced from one to the
+other uncertainly.  Something in their smiling
+faces sent a quick suspicion to her eyes.
+
+``Yes,'' nodded Billy, demurely.  ``It's next
+Tuesday, you see.''
+
+``Next Tuesday!  But that's only a week away,''
+gasped Aunt Hannah.
+
+``Yes, a week.''
+
+``But, child, your trousseau--the wedding--
+the--the--a week!''  Aunt Hannah could not
+articulate further.
+
+``Yes, I know; that is a good while,'' cut in
+Bertram, airily.  ``We wanted it to-morrow, but we
+had to wait, on account of the new license law. 
+Otherwise it wouldn't have been so long, and--''
+
+But Aunt Hannah was gone.  With a low-
+breathed ``Long!  Oh, my grief and conscience--
+_William!_'' she had fled through the hall door.
+
+``Well, it _is_ long,'' maintained Bertram, with
+tender eyes, as he reached out his hand to say
+good-night.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of The Project Gutenberg Etext of Miss Billy's Decision
+
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