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diff --git a/old/msbid10.txt b/old/msbid10.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7d3db23 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/msbid10.txt @@ -0,0 +1,12467 @@ +******The Project Gutenberg Etext of Miss Billy's Decision****** +by Eleanor H. Porter + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world, be sure to check +the copyright laws for your country before posting these files! + +Please take a look at the important information in this header. +We encourage you to keep this file on your own disk, keeping an +electronic path open for the next readers. Do not remove this. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**Etexts Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*These Etexts Prepared By Hundreds of Volunteers and Donations* + +Information on contacting Project Gutenberg to get Etexts, and +further information is included below. We need your donations. + + +Miss Billy's Decision + +by Eleanor H. 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If you + don't derive profits, no royalty is due. Royalties are + payable to "Project Gutenberg Association / Illinois + Benedictine College" within the 60 days following each + date you prepare (or were legally required to prepare) + your annual (or equivalent periodic) tax return. + +WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU DON'T HAVE TO? +The Project gratefully accepts contributions in money, time, +scanning machines, OCR software, public domain etexts, royalty +free copyright licenses, and every other sort of contribution +you can think of. Money should be paid to "Project Gutenberg +Association / Illinois Benedictine College". + +*END*THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END* + + + + + + + +Scanned by Charles Keller with +OmniPage Professional OCR software +donated by Caere Corporation, 1-800-535-7226. +Contact Mike Lough <Mikel@caere.com> + + + + + +MISS BILLY'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 + |