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+******The Project Gutenberg Etext of Miss Billy's Decision******
+by Eleanor H. Porter
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+Miss Billy's Decision
+
+by Eleanor H. Porter
+
+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
+