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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Miss Billy Married, by Eleanor H. Porter
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
+most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
+whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
+of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
+www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you
+will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before
+using this eBook.
+
+Title: Miss Billy Married
+
+Author: Eleanor H. Porter
+
+Release Date: July 8, 2008 [EBook #361]
+Last Updated: May 26, 2023
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+Produced by: Charles Keller
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MISS BILLY MARRIED ***
+
+
+
+
+MISS BILLY--MARRIED
+
+By Eleanor H. Porter
+
+Author Of Pollyanna, Etc.
+
+
+
+TO My Cousin Maud
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+          CHAPTER
+          I.      SOME OPINIONS AND A WEDDING
+          II.     FOR WILLIAM--A HOME
+          III.    BILLY SPEAKS HER MIND
+          IV.     JUST LIKE BILLY
+          V.      TIGER SKINS
+          VI.     “THE PAINTING LOOK”
+           VII.    THE BIG BAD QUARREL
+          VIII.   BILLY CULTIVATES A COMFORTABLE INDIFFERENCE
+          IX.     THE DINNER BILLY TRIED TO GET
+          X.      THE DINNER BILLY GOT
+          XI.     CALDERWELL DOES SOME QUESTIONING
+          XII.    FOR BILLY--SOME ADVICE
+          XIII.   PETE
+          XIV.    WHEN BERTRAM CAME HOME
+          XV.     AFTER THE STORM
+          XVI.    INTO TRAINING FOR MARY ELLEN
+          XVII.   THE EFFICIENCY STAR--AND BILLY
+          XVIII.  BILLY TRIES HER HAND AT “MANAGING”
+           XIX.    A TOUGH NUT TO CRACK FOR CYRIL
+          XX.     ARKWRIGHT'S EYES ARE OPENED
+          XXI.    BILLY TAKES HER TURN AT QUESTIONING
+          XXII.   A DOT AND A DIMPLE
+          XXIII.  BILLY AND THE ENORMOUS RESPONSIBILITY
+          XXIV.   A NIGHT OFF
+          XXV.    “SHOULD AULD ACQUAINTANCE BE FORGOT”
+           XXVI.   GHOSTS THAT WALKED FOR BERTRAM
+          XXVII.  THE MOTHER--THE WIFE
+          XXVIII. CONSPIRATORS
+          XXIX.   CHESS
+          XXX.    BY A BABY'S HAND
+
+
+
+
+MISS BILLY--MARRIED
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I. SOME OPINIONS AND A WEDDING
+
+
+“I, Bertram, take thee, Billy,” chanted the white-robed clergyman.
+
+“'I, Bertram, take thee, Billy,'” echoed the tall young bridegroom, his
+eyes gravely tender.
+
+“To my wedded wife.”
+
+“'To my wedded wife.'” The bridegroom's voice shook a little.
+
+“To have and to hold from this day forward.”
+
+“'To have and to hold from this day forward.'” Now the young voice rang
+with triumph. It had grown strong and steady.
+
+“For better for worse.”
+
+“'For better for worse.'”
+
+“For richer for poorer,” droned the clergyman, with the weariness of
+uncounted repetitions.
+
+“'For richer for poorer,'” avowed the bridegroom, with the decisive
+emphasis of one to whom the words are new and significant.
+
+“In sickness and in health.”
+
+“'In sickness and in health.'”
+
+“To love and to cherish.”
+
+“'To love and to cherish.'” The younger voice carried infinite
+tenderness now.
+
+“Till death us do part.”
+
+“'Till death us do part,'” repeated the bridegroom's lips; but everybody
+knew that what his heart said was: “Now, and through all eternity.”
+
+“According to God's holy ordinance.”
+
+“'According to God's holy ordinance.'”
+
+“And thereto I plight thee my troth.”
+
+“'And thereto I plight thee my troth.'”
+
+There was a faint stir in the room. In one corner a white-haired woman
+blinked tear-wet eyes and pulled a fleecy white shawl more closely about
+her shoulders. Then the minister's voice sounded again.
+
+“I, Billy, take thee, Bertram.”
+
+“'I, Billy, take thee, Bertram.'”
+
+This time the echoing voice was a feminine one, low and sweet, but
+clearly distinct, and vibrant with joyous confidence, on through one
+after another of the ever familiar, but ever impressive phrases of the
+service that gives into the hands of one man and of one woman the future
+happiness, each of the other.
+
+
+The wedding was at noon. That evening Mrs. Kate Hartwell, sister of the
+bridegroom, wrote the following letter:
+
+
+BOSTON, July 15th.
+
+“MY DEAR HUSBAND:--Well, it's all over with, and they're married. I
+couldn't do one thing to prevent it. Much as ever as they would even
+listen to what I had to say--and when they knew how I had hurried East
+to say it, too, with only two hours' notice!
+
+“But then, what can you expect? From time immemorial lovers never
+did have any sense; and when those lovers are such irresponsible
+flutterbudgets as Billy and Bertram--!
+
+“And such a wedding! I couldn't do anything with _that_, either, though
+I tried hard. They had it in Billy's living-room at noon, with nothing
+but the sun for light. There was no maid of honor, no bridesmaids, no
+wedding cake, no wedding veil, no presents (except from the family, and
+from that ridiculous Chinese cook of brother William's, Ding Dong, or
+whatever his name is. He tore in just before the wedding ceremony, and
+insisted upon seeing Billy to give her a wretched little green stone
+idol, which he declared would bring her 'heap plenty velly good luckee'
+if she received it before she 'got married.' I wouldn't have the
+hideous, grinning thing around, but William says it's real jade, and
+very valuable, and of course Billy was crazy over it--or pretended to
+be). There was no trousseau, either, and no reception. There was no
+anything but the bridegroom; and when I tell you that Billy actually
+declared that was all she wanted, you will understand how absurdly in
+love she is--in spite of all those weeks and weeks of broken engagement
+when I, at least, supposed she had come to her senses, until I got that
+crazy note from Bertram a week ago saying they were to be married today.
+
+“I can't say that I've got any really satisfactory explanation of the
+matter. Everything has been in such a hubbub, and those two ridiculous
+children have been so afraid they wouldn't be together every minute
+possible, that any really rational conversation with either of them was
+out of the question. When Billy broke the engagement last spring none of
+us knew why she had done it, as you know; and I fancy we shall be almost
+as much in the dark as to why she has--er--mended it now, as you might
+say. As near as I can make out, however, she thought he didn't want her,
+and he thought she didn't want him. I believe matters were still further
+complicated by a girl Bertram was painting, and a young fellow that used
+to sing with Billy--a Mr. Arkwright.
+
+“Anyhow, things came to a head last spring, Billy broke the engagement
+and fled to parts unknown with Aunt Hannah, leaving Bertram here in
+Boston to alternate between stony despair and reckless gayety, according
+to William; and it was while he was in the latter mood that he had that
+awful automobile accident and broke his arm--and almost his neck. He was
+wildly delirious, and called continually for Billy.
+
+“Well, it seems Billy didn't know all this; but a week ago she
+came home, and in some way found out about it, I think through
+Pete--William's old butler, you know. Just exactly what happened I
+can't say, but I do know that she dragged poor old Aunt Hannah down
+to Bertram's at some unearthly hour, and in the rain; and Aunt Hannah
+couldn't do a thing with her. All Billy would say, was, 'Bertram wants
+me.' And Aunt Hannah told me that if I could have seen Billy's face I'd
+have known that she'd have gone to Bertram then if he'd been at the top
+of the Himalaya Mountains, or at the bottom of the China Sea. So perhaps
+it's just as well--for Aunt Hannah's sake, at least--that he was in no
+worse place than on his own couch at home. Anyhow, she went, and in half
+an hour they blandly informed Aunt Hannah that they were going to be
+married to-day.
+
+“Aunt Hannah said she tried to stop that, and get them to put it off
+till October (the original date, you know), but Bertram was obdurate.
+And when he declared he'd marry her the next day if it wasn't for
+the new license law, Aunt Hannah said she gave up for fear he'd get a
+special dispensation, or go to the Governor or the President, or do some
+other dreadful thing. (What a funny old soul Aunt Hannah is!) Bertram
+told _me_ that he should never feel safe till Billy was really his; that
+she'd read something, or hear something, or think something, or get
+a letter from me (as if anything _I_ could say would do any good-or
+harm!), and so break the engagement again.
+
+“Well, she's his now, so I suppose he's satisfied; though, for my part,
+I haven't changed my mind at all. I still say that they are not one bit
+suited to each other, and that matrimony will simply ruin his career.
+Bertram never has loved and never will love any girl long--except to
+paint. But if he simply _would_ get married, why couldn't he have taken
+a nice, sensible domestic girl that would have kept him fed and mended?
+
+“Not but that I'm very fond of Billy, as you know, dear; but imagine
+Billy as a wife--worse yet, a mother! Billy's a dear girl, but she knows
+about as much of real life and its problems as--as our little Kate. A
+more impulsive, irresponsible, regardless-of-consequences young woman
+I never saw. She can play divinely, and write delightful songs, I'll
+acknowledge; but what is that when a man is hungry, or has lost a
+button?
+
+“Billy has had her own way, and had everything she wanted for years
+now--a rather dangerous preparation for marriage, especially marriage
+to a fellow like Bertram who has had _his_ own way and everything _he's_
+wanted for years. Pray, what's going to happen when those ways conflict,
+and neither one gets the thing wanted?
+
+“And think of her ignorance of cooking--but, there! What's the use?
+They're married now, and it can't be helped.
+
+“Mercy, what a letter I've written! But I, had to talk to some one;
+besides, I'd promised I to let you know how matters stood as soon as I
+could. As you see, though, my trip East has been practically useless. I
+saw the wedding, to be sure, but I didn't prevent it, or even postpone
+it--though I meant to do one or the other, else I should never have made
+that tiresome journey half across the continent at two hours' notice.
+
+“However, we shall see what we shall see. As for me, I'm dead tired.
+Good night.
+
+“Affectionately yours,
+
+“KATE.”
+
+
+Quite naturally, Mrs. Kate Hartwell was not the only one who was
+thinking that evening of the wedding. In the home of Bertram's brother
+Cyril, Cyril himself was at the piano, but where his thoughts were was
+plain to be seen--or rather, heard; for from under his fingers there
+came the Lohengrin wedding march until all the room seemed filled with
+the scent of orange blossoms, the mistiness of floating veils, and the
+echoing peals of far-away organs heralding the “Fair Bride and Groom.”
+
+Over by the table in the glowing circle of the shaded lamp, sat Marie,
+Cyril's wife, a dainty sewing-basket by her side. Her hands, however,
+lay idly across the stocking in her lap.
+
+As the music ceased, she drew a long sigh.
+
+What a perfectly beautiful wedding that was! she breathed.
+
+Cyril whirled about on the piano stool.
+
+“It was a very sensible wedding,” he said with emphasis.
+
+“They looked so happy--both of them,” went on Marie, dreamily; “so--so
+sort of above and beyond everything about them, as if nothing ever, ever
+could trouble them--_now_.”
+
+Cyril lifted his eyebrows.
+
+“Humph! Well, as I said before, it was a very _sensible_ wedding,” he
+declared.
+
+This time Marie noticed the emphasis. She laughed, though her eyes
+looked a little troubled.
+
+“I know, dear, of course, what you mean. _I_ thought our wedding was
+beautiful; but I would have made it simpler if I'd realized in time how
+you--you--”
+
+“How I abhorred pink teas and purple pageants,” he finished for her,
+with a frowning smile. “Oh, well, I stood it--for the sake of what it
+brought me.” His face showed now only the smile; the frown had vanished.
+For a man known for years to his friends as a “hater of women and all
+other confusion,” Cyril Henshaw was looking remarkably well-pleased with
+himself.
+
+His wife of less than a year colored as she met his gaze. Hurriedly she
+picked up her needle.
+
+The man laughed happily at her confusion.
+
+“What are you doing? Is that my stocking?” he demanded.
+
+A look, half pain, half reproach, crossed her face.
+
+“Why, Cyril, of course not! You--you told me not to, long ago. You said
+my darns made--bunches.
+
+“Ho! I meant I didn't want to _wear_ them,” retorted the man, upon whom
+the tragic wretchedness of that half-sobbed “bunches” had been quite
+lost. “I love to see you _mending_ them,” he finished, with an approving
+glance at the pretty little picture of domesticity before him.
+
+A peculiar expression came to Marie's eyes.
+
+“Why, Cyril, you mean you _like_ to have me mend them just for--for the
+sake of seeing me do it, when you _know_ you won't ever wear them?”
+
+“Sure!” nodded the man, imperturbably. Then, with a sudden laugh, he
+asked: “I wonder now, does Billy love to mend socks?”
+
+Marie smiled, but she sighed, too, and shook her head.
+
+“I'm afraid not, Cyril.”
+
+“Nor cook?”
+
+Marie laughed outright this time. The vaguely troubled look had fled
+from her eyes
+
+“Oh, Billy's helped me beat eggs and butter sometimes, but I never knew
+her to cook a thing or want to cook a thing, but once; then she spent
+nearly two weeks trying to learn to make puddings--for you.”
+
+“For _me!_”
+
+Marie puckered her lips queerly.
+
+“Well, I supposed they were for you at the time. At all events she was
+trying to make them for some one of you boys; probably it was really for
+Bertram, though.”
+
+“Humph!” grunted Cyril. Then, after a minute, he observed: “I judge Kate
+thinks Billy'll never make them--for anybody. I'm afraid Sister Kate
+isn't pleased.”
+
+“Oh, but Mrs. Hartwell was--was disappointed in the wedding,” apologized
+Marie, quickly. “You know she wanted it put off anyway, and she didn't
+like such a simple one.
+
+“Hm-m; as usual Sister Kate forgot it wasn't her funeral--I mean, her
+wedding,” retorted Cyril, dryly. “Kate is never happy, you know, unless
+she's managing things.”
+
+“Yes, I know,” nodded Marie, with a frowning smile of recollection at
+certain features of her own wedding.
+
+“She doesn't approve of Billy's taste in guests, either,” remarked
+Cyril, after a moment's silence.
+
+“I thought her guests were lovely,” spoke up Marie, in quick defense.
+“Of course, most of her social friends are away--in July; but Billy is
+never a society girl, you know, in spite of the way Society is always
+trying to lionize her and Bertram.”
+
+“Oh, of course Kate knows that; but she says it seems as if Billy
+needn't have gone out and gathered in the lame and the halt and the
+blind.”
+
+“Nonsense!” cried Marie, with unusual sharpness for her. “I suppose she
+said that just because of Mrs. Greggory's and Tommy Dunn's crutches.”
+
+“Well, they didn't make a real festive-looking wedding party, you must
+admit,” laughed Cyril; “what with the bridegroom's own arm in a sling,
+too! But who were they all, anyway?”
+
+“Why, you knew Mrs. Greggory and Alice, of course--and Pete,” smiled
+Marie. “And wasn't Pete happy? Billy says she'd have had Pete if she had
+no one else; that there wouldn't have been any wedding, anyway, if it
+hadn't been for his telephoning Aunt Hannah that night.”
+
+“Yes; Will told me.”
+
+“As for Tommy and the others--most of them were those people that Billy
+had at her home last summer for a two weeks' vacation--people, you
+know, too poor to give themselves one, and too proud to accept one from
+ordinary charity. Billy's been following them up and doing little things
+for them ever since--sugarplums and frosting on their cake, she calls
+it; and they adore her, of course. I think it was lovely of her to have
+them, and they did have such a good time! You should have seen Tommy
+when you played that wedding march for Billy to enter the room. His poor
+little face was so transfigured with joy that I almost cried, just to
+look at him. Billy says he loves music--poor little fellow!”
+
+“Well, I hope they'll be happy, in spite of Kate's doleful prophecies.
+Certainly they looked happy enough to-day,” declared Cyril, patting a
+yawn as he rose to his feet. “I fancy Will and Aunt Hannah are lonesome,
+though, about now,” he added.
+
+“Yes,” smiled Marie, mistily, as she gathered up her work. “I know what
+Aunt Hannah's doing. She's helping Rosa put the house to rights, and
+she's stopping to cry over every slipper and handkerchief of Billy's she
+finds. And she'll do that until that funny clock of hers strikes twelve,
+then she'll say 'Oh, my grief and conscience--midnight!' But the next
+minute she'll remember that it's only half-past eleven, after all, and
+she'll send Rosa to bed and sit patting Billy's slipper in her lap till
+it really is midnight by all the other clocks.”
+
+Cyril laughed appreciatively.
+
+“Well, I know what Will is doing,” he declared.
+
+“Will is in Bertram's den dozing before the fireplace with Spunkie
+curled up in his lap.”
+
+As it happened, both these surmises were not far from right. In the
+Strata, the Henshaws' old Beacon Street home, William was sitting before
+the fireplace with the cat in his lap, but he was not dozing. He was
+talking.
+
+“Spunkie,” he was saying, “your master, Bertram, got married to-day--and
+to Miss Billy. He'll be bringing her home one of these days--your new
+mistress. And such a mistress! Never did cat or house have a better!
+
+“Just think; for the first time in years this old place is to know the
+touch of a woman's hand--and that's what it hasn't known for almost
+twenty years, except for those few short months six years ago when
+a dark-eyed girl and a little gray kitten (that was Spunk, your
+predecessor, you know) blew in and blew out again before we scarcely
+knew they were here. That girl was Miss Billy, and she was a dear then,
+just as she is now, only now she's coming here to stay. She's coming
+home, Spunkie; and she'll make it a home for you, for me, and for all of
+us. Up to now, you know, it hasn't really been a home, for years--just
+us men, so. It'll be very different, Spunkie, as you'll soon find out.
+Now mind, madam! We must show that we appreciate all this: no tempers,
+no tantrums, no showing of claws, no leaving our coats--either yours or
+mine--on the drawing-room chairs, no tracking in of mud on clean rugs
+and floors! For we're going to have a home, Spunkie--a home!”
+
+At Hillside, Aunt Hannah was, indeed, helping Rosa to put the house to
+rights, as Marie had said. She was crying, too, over a glove she had
+found on Billy's piano; but she was crying over something else, also.
+Not only had she lost Billy, but she had lost her home.
+
+To be sure, nothing had been said during that nightmare of a week of
+hurry and confusion about Aunt Hannah's future; but Aunt Hannah knew
+very well how it must be. This dear little house on the side of Corey
+Hill was Billy's home, and Billy would not need it any longer. It
+would be sold, of course; and she, Aunt Hannah, would go back to a
+“second-story front” and loneliness in some Back Bay boarding-house; and
+a second story front and loneliness would not be easy now, after these
+years of home--and Billy.
+
+No wonder, indeed, that Aunt Hannah sat crying and patting the little
+white glove in her hand. No wonder, too, that--being Aunt Hannah--she
+reached for the shawl near by and put it on, shiveringly. Even July,
+to-night, was cold--to Aunt Hannah.
+
+In yet another home that evening was the wedding of Billy Neilson and
+Bertram Henshaw uppermost in thought and speech. In a certain little
+South-End flat where, in two rented rooms, lived Alice Greggory and
+her crippled mother, Alice was talking to Mr. M. J. Arkwright, commonly
+known to his friends as “Mary Jane,” owing to the mystery in which he
+had for so long shrouded his name.
+
+Arkwright to-night was plainly moody and ill at ease.
+
+“You're not listening. You're not listening at all,” complained Alice
+Greggory at last, reproachfully.
+
+With a visible effort the man roused himself.
+
+“Indeed I am,” he maintained.
+
+“I thought you'd be interested in the wedding. You used to be
+friends--you and Billy.” The girl's voice still vibrated with reproach.
+
+There was a moment's silence; then, a little harshly, the man said:
+
+“Perhaps--because I wanted to be more than--a friend--is why you're not
+satisfied with my interest now.”
+
+A look that was almost terror came to Alice Greggory's eyes. She flushed
+painfully, then grew very white.
+
+“You mean--”
+
+“Yes,” he nodded dully, without looking up. “I cared too much for her. I
+supposed Henshaw was just a friend--till too late.”
+
+There was a breathless hush before, a little unsteadily, the girl
+stammered:
+
+“Oh, I'm so sorry--so very sorry! I--I didn't know.”
+
+“No, of course you didn't. I've almost told you, though, lots of times;
+you've been so good to me all these weeks.” He raised his head now, and
+looked at her, frank comradeship in his eyes.
+
+The girl stirred restlessly. Her eyes swerved a little under his level
+gaze.
+
+“Oh, but I've done nothing--n-nothing,” she stammered. Then, at the
+light tap of crutches on a bare floor she turned in obvious relief. “Oh,
+here's mother. She's been in visiting with Mrs. Delano, our landlady.
+Mother, Mr. Arkwright is here.”
+
+
+Meanwhile, speeding north as fast as steam could carry them, were the
+bride and groom. The wondrousness of the first hour of their journey
+side by side had become a joyous certitude that always it was to be like
+this now.
+
+“Bertram,” began the bride, after a long minute of eloquent silence.
+
+“Yes, love.”
+
+“You know our wedding was very different from most weddings.”
+
+“Of course it was!”
+
+“Yes, but _really_ it was. Now listen.” The bride's voice grew tenderly
+earnest. “I think our marriage is going to be different, too.”
+
+“Different?”
+
+“Yes.” Billy's tone was emphatic. “There are so many common, everyday
+marriages where--where--Why, Bertram, as if you could ever be to me
+like--like Mr. Carleton is, for instance!”
+
+“Like Mr. Carleton is--to you?” Bertram's voice was frankly puzzled.
+
+“No, no! As Mr. Carleton is to Mrs. Carleton, I mean.”
+
+“Oh!” Bertram subsided in relief.
+
+“And the Grahams and Whartons, and the Freddie Agnews, and--and a lot
+of others. Why, Bertram, I've seen the Grahams and the Whartons not even
+speak to each other a whole evening, when they've been at a dinner, or
+something; and I've seen Mrs. Carleton not even seem to know her husband
+came into the room. I don't mean quarrel, dear. Of course we'd never
+_quarrel!_ But I mean I'm sure we shall never get used to--to you being
+you, and I being I.”
+
+“Indeed we sha'n't,” agreed Bertram, rapturously.
+
+“Ours is going to be such a beautiful marriage!”
+
+“Of course it will be.”
+
+“And we'll be so happy!”
+
+“I shall be, and I shall try to make you so.”
+
+“As if I could be anything else,” sighed Billy, blissfully. “And now we
+_can't_ have any misunderstandings, you see.”
+
+“Of course not. Er--what's that?”
+
+“Why, I mean that--that we can't ever repeat hose miserable weeks of
+misunderstanding. Everything is all explained up. I _know_, now, that
+you don't love Miss Winthrop, or just girls--any girl--to paint. You
+love me. Not the tilt of my chin, nor the turn of my head; but _me_.”
+
+“I do--just you.” Bertram's eyes gave the caress his lips would have
+given had it not been for the presence of the man in the seat across the
+aisle of the sleeping-car.
+
+“And you--you know now that I love you--just you?”
+
+“Not even Arkwright?”
+
+“Not even Arkwright,” smiled Billy.
+
+There was the briefest of hesitations; then, a little constrainedly,
+Bertram asked:
+
+“And you said you--you never _had_ cared for Arkwright, didn't you?”
+
+For the second time in her life Billy was thankful that Bertram's
+question had turned upon _her_ love for Arkwright, not Arkwright's love
+for her. In Billy's opinion, a man's unrequited love for a girl was his
+secret, not hers, and was certainly one that the girl had no right
+to tell. Once before Bertram had asked her if she had ever cared for
+Arkwright, and then she had answered emphatically, as she did now:
+
+“Never, dear.”
+
+“I thought you said so,” murmured Bertram, relaxing a little.
+
+“I did; besides, didn't I tell you?” she went on airily, “I think he'll
+marry Alice Greggory. Alice wrote me all the time I was away, and--oh,
+she didn't say anything definite, I'll admit,” confessed Billy, with
+an arch smile; “but she spoke of his being there lots, and they used to
+know each other years ago, you see. There was almost a romance there,
+I think, before the Greggorys lost their money and moved away from all
+their friends.”
+
+“Well, he may have her. She's a nice girl--a mighty nice girl,” answered
+Bertram, with the unmistakably satisfied air of the man who knows he
+himself possesses the nicest girl of them all.
+
+Billy, reading unerringly the triumph in his voice, grew suddenly
+grave. She regarded her husband with a thoughtful frown; then she drew a
+profound sigh.
+
+“Whew!” laughed Bertram, whimsically. “So soon as this?”
+
+“Bertram!” Billy's voice was tragic.
+
+“Yes, my love.” The bridegroom pulled his face into sobriety; then Billy
+spoke, with solemn impressiveness.
+
+“Bertram, I don't know a thing about--cooking--except what I've been
+learning in Rosa's cook-book this last week.”
+
+Bertram laughed so loud that the man across the aisle glanced over the
+top of his paper surreptitiously.
+
+“Rosa's cook-book! Is that what you were doing all this week?”
+
+“Yes; that is--I tried so hard to learn something,” stammered Billy.
+“But I'm afraid I didn't--much; there were so many things for me to
+think of, you know, with only a week. I believe I _could_ make peach
+fritters, though. They were the last thing I studied.”
+
+Bertram laughed again, uproariously; but, at Billy's unchangingly tragic
+face, he grew suddenly very grave and tender.
+
+“Billy, dear, I didn't marry you to--to get a cook,” he said gently.
+
+Billy shook her head.
+
+“I know; but Aunt Hannah said that even if I never expected to cook,
+myself, I ought to know how it was done, so to properly oversee it. She
+said that--that no woman, who didn't know how to cook and keep house
+properly, had any business to be a wife. And, Bertram, I did try,
+honestly, all this week. I tried so hard to remember when you sponged
+bread and when you kneaded it.”
+
+“I don't ever need--_yours_,” cut in Bertram, shamelessly; but he got
+only a deservedly stern glance in return.
+
+“And I repeated over and over again how many cupfuls of flour and
+pinches of salt and spoonfuls of baking-powder went into things; but,
+Bertram, I simply could not keep my mind on it. Everything, everywhere
+was singing to me. And how do you suppose I could remember how many
+pinches of flour and spoonfuls of salt and cupfuls of baking-powder went
+into a loaf of cake when all the while the very teakettle on the stove
+was singing: 'It's all right--Bertram loves me--I'm going to marry
+Bertram!'?”
+
+“You darling!” (In spite of the man across the aisle Bertram did
+almost kiss her this time.) “As if anybody cared how many cupfuls of
+baking-powder went anywhere--with that in your heart!”
+
+“Aunt Hannah says you will--when you're hungry. And Kate said--”
+
+Bertram uttered a sharp word behind his teeth.
+
+“Billy, for heaven's sake don't tell me what Kate said, if you want me
+to stay sane, and not attempt to fight somebody--broken arm, and all.
+Kate _thinks_ she's kind, and I suppose she means well; but--well, she's
+made trouble enough between us already. I've got you now, sweetheart.
+You're mine--all mine--” his voice shook, and dropped to a tender
+whisper--“'till death us do part.'”
+
+“Yes; 'till death us do part,'” breathed Billy.
+
+And then, for a time, they fell silent.
+
+“'I, Bertram, take thee, Billy,'” sang the whirring wheels beneath them,
+to one.
+
+“'I, Billy, take thee, Bertram,'” sang the whirring wheels beneath them,
+to the other. While straight ahead before them both, stretched fair and
+beautiful in their eyes, the wondrous path of life which they were to
+tread together.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II. FOR WILLIAM--A HOME
+
+
+On the first Sunday after the wedding Pete came up-stairs to tell
+his master, William, that Mrs. Stetson wanted to see him in the
+drawing-room.
+
+William went down at once.
+
+“Well, Aunt Hannah,” he began, reaching out a cordial hand. “Why, what's
+the matter?” he broke off concernedly, as he caught a clearer view of
+the little old lady's drawn face and troubled eyes.
+
+“William, it's silly, of course,” cried Aunt Hannah, tremulously, “but
+I simply had to go to some one. I--I feel so nervous and unsettled!
+Did--did Billy say anything to you--what she was going to do?”
+
+“What she was going to do? About what? What do you mean?”
+
+“About the house--selling it,” faltered Aunt Hannah, sinking wearily
+back into her chair.
+
+William frowned thoughtfully.
+
+“Why, no,” he answered. “It was all so hurried at the last, you know.
+There was really very little chance to make plans for anything--except
+the wedding,” he finished, with a smile.
+
+“Yes, I know,” sighed Aunt Hannah. “Everything was in such confusion!
+Still, I didn't know but she might have said something--to you.”
+
+“No, she didn't. But I imagine it won't be hard to guess what she'll do.
+When they get back from their trip I fancy she won't lose much time in
+having what things she wants brought down here. Then she'll sell the
+rest and put the house on the market.”
+
+“Yes, of--of course,” stammered Aunt Hannah, pulling herself hastily to
+a more erect position. “That's what I thought, too. Then don't you think
+we'd better dismiss Rosa and close the house at once?”
+
+“Why--yes, perhaps so. Why not? Then you'd be all settled here when she
+comes home. I'm sure, the sooner you come, the better I'll be pleased,”
+ he smiled.
+
+Aunt Hannah turned sharply.
+
+“Here!” she ejaculated. “William Henshaw, you didn't suppose I was
+coming _here_ to live, did you?”
+
+It was William's turn to look amazed.
+
+“Why, of course you're coming here! Where else should you go, pray?”
+
+“Where I was before--before Billy came--to you,” returned Aunt Hannah a
+little tremulously, but with a certain dignity. “I shall take a room in
+some quiet boarding-house, of course.”
+
+“Nonsense, Aunt Hannah! As if Billy would listen to that! You came
+before; why not come now?”
+
+Aunt Hannah lifted her chin the fraction of an inch.
+
+“You forget. I was needed before. Billy is a married woman now. She
+needs no chaperon.”
+
+“Nonsense!” scowled William, again. “Billy will always need you.”
+
+Aunt Hannah shook her head mournfully.
+
+“I like to think--she wants me, William, but I know, in my heart, it
+isn't best.”
+
+“Why not?”
+
+There was a moment's pause; then, decisively came the answer.
+
+“Because I think young married folks should not have outsiders in the
+home.”
+
+William laughed relievedly.
+
+“Oh, so that's it! Well, Aunt Hannah, you're no outsider. Come, run
+right along home and pack your trunk.”
+
+Aunt Hannah was plainly almost crying; but she held her ground.
+
+“William, I can't,” she reiterated.
+
+“But--Billy is such a child, and--”
+
+For once in her circumspect life Aunt Hannah was guilty of an
+interruption.
+
+“Pardon me, William, she is not a child. She is a woman now, and she has
+a woman's problems to meet.”
+
+“Well, then, why don't you help her meet them?” retorted William, still
+with a whimsical smile.
+
+But Aunt Hannah did not smile. For a minute she did not speak; then,
+with her eyes studiously averted, she said:
+
+“William, the first four years of my married life were--were spoiled by
+an outsider in our home. I don't mean to spoil Billy's.”
+
+William relaxed visibly. The smile fled from his face.
+
+“Why--Aunt--Hannah!” he exclaimed.
+
+The little old lady turned with a weary sigh.
+
+“Yes, I know. You are shocked, of course. I shouldn't have told you.
+Still, it is all past long ago, and--I wanted to make you understand
+why I can't come. He was my husband's eldest brother--a bachelor. He
+was good and kind, and meant well, I suppose; but--he interfered with
+everything. I was young, and probably headstrong. At all events, there
+was constant friction. He went away once and stayed two whole months. I
+shall never forget the utter freedom and happiness of those months for
+us, with the whole house to ourselves. No, William, I can't come.” She
+rose abruptly and turned toward the door. Her eyes were wistful, and
+her face was still drawn with suffering; but her whole frail little self
+quivered plainly with high resolve. “John has Peggy outside. I must go.”
+
+“But--but, Aunt Hannah,” began William, helplessly.
+
+She lifted a protesting hand.
+
+“No, don't urge me, please. I can't come here. But--I believe I won't
+close the house till Billy gets home, after all,” she declared. The
+next moment she was gone, and William, dazedly, from the doorway, was
+watching John help her into Billy's automobile, called by Billy and half
+her friends, “Peggy,” short for “Pegasus.”
+
+Still dazedly William turned back into the house and dropped himself
+into the nearest chair.
+
+What a curious call it had been! Aunt Hannah had not acted like herself
+at all. Not once had she said “Oh, my grief and conscience!” while the
+things she _had_ said--! Someway, he had never thought of Aunt Hannah as
+being young, and a bride. Still, of course she must have been--once. And
+the reason she gave for not coming there to live--the pitiful story
+of that outsider in her home! But she was no outsider! She was no
+interfering brother of Billy's--
+
+William caught his breath suddenly, and held it suspended. Then he gave
+a low ejaculation and half sprang from his chair.
+
+Spunkie, disturbed from her doze by the fire, uttered a purring
+“me-o-ow,” and looked up inquiringly.
+
+For a long minute William gazed dumbly into the cat's yellow, sleepily
+contented eyes; then he said with tragic distinctness:
+
+“Spunkie, it's true: Aunt Hannah isn't Billy's husband's brother, but--I
+am! Do you hear? I _am!_”
+
+“Pur-r-me-ow!” commented Spunkie; and curled herself for another nap.
+
+There was no peace for William after that. In vain he told himself that
+he was no “interfering” brother, and that this was his home and had been
+all his life; in vain did he declare emphatically that he could not go,
+he would not go; that Billy would not wish him to go: always before his
+eyes was the vision of that little bride of years long gone; always in
+his ears was the echo of Aunt Hannah's “I shall never forget the utter
+freedom and happiness of those months for us, with the whole house to
+ourselves.” Nor, turn which way he would, could he find anything to
+comfort him. Simply because he was so fearfully looking for it, he found
+it--the thing that had for its theme the wretchedness that might be
+expected from the presence of a third person in the new home.
+
+Poor William! Everywhere he met it--the hint, the word, the story, the
+song, even; and always it added its mite to the woeful whole. Even the
+hoariest of mother-in-law jokes had its sting for him; and, to make his
+cup quite full, he chanced to remember one day what Marie had said when
+he had suggested that she and Cyril come to the Strata to live: “No; I
+think young folks should begin by themselves.”
+
+Unhappy, indeed, were these days for William. Like a lost spirit he
+wandered from room to room, touching this, fingering that. For long
+minutes he would stand before some picture, or some treasured bit of old
+mahogany, as if to stamp indelibly upon his mind a thing that was soon
+to be no more. At other times, like a man without a home, he would
+go out into the Common or the Public Garden and sit for hours on some
+bench--thinking.
+
+All this could have but one ending, of course. Before the middle of
+August William summoned Pete to his rooms.
+
+“Oh, Pete, I'm going to move next week,” he began nonchalantly. His
+voice sounded as if moving were a pleasurable circumstance that occurred
+in his life regularly once a month. “I'd like you to begin to pack up
+these things, please, to-morrow.”
+
+The old servant's mouth fell open.
+
+“You're goin' to--to what, sir?” he stammered.
+
+“Move--_move_, I said.” William spoke with unusual harshness.
+
+Pete wet his lips.
+
+“You mean you've sold the old place, sir?--that we--we ain't goin' to
+live here no longer?”
+
+“Sold? Of course not! _I'm_ going to move away; not you.”
+
+If Pete could have known what caused the sharpness in his master's
+voice, he would not have been so grieved--or, rather, he would have
+been grieved for a different reason. As it was he could only falter
+miserably:
+
+“_You_ are goin' to move away from here!”
+
+“Yes, yes, man! Why, Pete, what ails you? One would think a body never
+moved before.”
+
+“They didn't--not you, sir.”
+
+William turned abruptly, so that his face could not be seen. With stern
+deliberation he picked up an elaborately decorated teapot; but the
+valuable bit of Lowestoft shook so in his hand that he set it down at
+once. It clicked sharply against its neighbor, betraying his nervous
+hand.
+
+Pete stirred.
+
+“But, Mr. William,” he stammered thickly; “how are you--what'll you do
+without--There doesn't nobody but me know so well about your tea, and
+the two lumps in your coffee; and there's your flannels that you never
+put on till I get 'em out, and the woolen socks that you'd wear all
+summer if I didn't hide 'em. And--and who's goin' to take care of
+these?” he finished, with a glance that encompassed the overflowing
+cabinets and shelves of curios all about him.
+
+His master smiled sadly. An affection that had its inception in his
+boyhood days shone in his eyes. The hand in which the Lowestoft had
+shaken rested now heavily on an old man's bent shoulder--a shoulder that
+straightened itself in unconscious loyalty under the touch.
+
+“Pete, you have spoiled me, and no mistake. I don't expect to find
+another like you. But maybe if I wear the woolen socks too late you'll
+come and hunt up the others for me. Eh?” And, with a smile that was
+meant to be quizzical, William turned and began to shift the teapots
+about again.
+
+“But, Mr. William, why--that is, what will Mr. Bertram and Miss Billy
+do--without you?” ventured the old man.
+
+There was a sudden tinkling crash. On the floor lay the fragments of a
+silver-luster teapot.
+
+The servant exclaimed aloud in dismay, but his master did not even
+glance toward his once treasured possession on the floor.
+
+“Nonsense, Pete!” he was saying in a particularly cheery voice. “Have
+you lived all these years and not found out that newly-married folks
+don't _need_ any one else around? Come, do you suppose we could begin
+to pack these teapots to-night?” he added, a little feverishly. “Aren't
+there some boxes down cellar?”
+
+“I'll see, sir,” said Pete, respectfully; but the expression on his face
+as he turned away showed that he was not thinking of teapots--nor of
+boxes in which to pack them.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III. BILLY SPEAKS HER MIND
+
+
+Mr. and Mrs. Bertram Henshaw were expected home the first of September.
+By the thirty-first of August the old Beacon Street homestead facing
+the Public Garden was in spick-and-span order, with Dong Ling in the
+basement hovering over a well-stocked larder, and Pete searching the
+rest of the house for a chair awry, or a bit of dust undiscovered.
+
+Twice before had the Strata--as Bertram long ago dubbed the home of
+his boyhood--been prepared for the coming of Billy, William's namesake:
+once, when it had been decorated with guns and fishing-rods to welcome
+the “boy” who turned out to be a girl; and again when with pink roses
+and sewing-baskets the three brothers got joyously ready for a feminine
+Billy who did not even come at all.
+
+The house had been very different then. It had been, indeed, a “strata,”
+ with its distinctive layers of fads and pursuits as represented by
+Bertram and his painting on one floor, William and his curios on
+another, and Cyril with his music on a third. Cyril was gone now. Only
+Pete and his humble belongings occupied the top floor. The floor below,
+too, was silent now, and almost empty save for a rug or two, and a few
+pieces of heavy furniture that William had not cared to take with him
+to his new quarters on top of Beacon Hill. Below this, however, came
+Billy's old rooms, and on these Pete had lavished all his skill and
+devotion.
+
+Freshly laundered curtains were at the windows, dustless rugs were on
+the floor. The old work-basket had been brought down from the top-floor
+storeroom, and the long-closed piano stood invitingly open. In
+a conspicuous place, also, sat the little green god, upon whose
+exquisitely carved shoulders was supposed to rest the “heap plenty velly
+good luckee” of Dong Ling's prophecy.
+
+On the first floor Bertram's old rooms and the drawing-room came in for
+their share of the general overhauling. Even Spunkie did not escape, but
+had to submit to the ignominy of a bath. And then dawned fair and clear
+the first day of September, bringing at five o'clock the bride and
+groom.
+
+Respectfully lined up in the hall to meet them were Pete and Dong Ling:
+Pete with his wrinkled old face alight with joy and excitement; Dong
+Ling grinning and kotowing, and chanting in a high-pitched treble:
+
+“Miss Billee, Miss Billee--plenty much welcome, Miss Billee!”
+
+“Yes, welcome home, Mrs. _Henshaw!_” bowed Bertram, turning at the door,
+with an elaborate flourish that did not in the least hide his tender
+pride in his new wife.
+
+Billy laughed and colored a pretty pink.
+
+“Thank you--all of you,” she cried a little unsteadily. “And how good,
+good everything does look to me! Why, where's Uncle William?” she broke
+off, casting hurriedly anxious eyes about her.
+
+“Well, I should say so,” echoed Bertram. “Where is he, Pete? He isn't
+sick, is he?”
+
+A quick change crossed the old servant's face. He shook his head dumbly.
+
+Billy gave a gleeful laugh.
+
+“I know--he's asleep!” she caroled, skipping to the bottom of the
+stairway and looking up.
+
+“Ho, Uncle William! Better wake up, sir. The folks have come!”
+
+Pete cleared his throat.
+
+“Mr. William isn't here, Miss--ma'am,” he corrected miserably.
+
+Billy smiled, but she frowned, too.
+
+“Not here! Well, I like that,” she pouted; “--and when I've brought him
+the most beautiful pair of mirror knobs he ever saw, and all the way
+in my bag, too, so I could give them to him the very first thing,” she
+added, darting over to the small bag she had brought in with her. “I'm
+glad I did, too, for our trunks didn't come,” she continued laughingly.
+“Still, if he isn't here to receive them--There, Pete, aren't they
+beautiful?” she cried, carefully taking from their wrappings two
+exquisitely decorated porcelain discs mounted on two long spikes.
+“They're Batterseas--the real article. I know enough for that; and
+they're finer than anything he's got. Won't he be pleased?”
+
+“Yes, Miss--ma'am, I mean,” stammered the old man.
+
+“These new titles come hard, don't they, Pete?” laughed Bertram.
+
+Pete smiled faintly.
+
+“Never mind, Pete,” soothed his new mistress. “You shall call me 'Miss
+Billy' all your life if you want to. Bertram,” she added, turning to
+her husband, “I'm going to just run up-stairs and put these in Uncle
+William's rooms so they'll be there when he comes in. We'll see how soon
+he discovers them!”
+
+Before Pete could stop her she was half-way up the first flight of
+stairs. Even then he tried to speak to his young master, to explain
+that Mr. William was not living there; but the words refused to come. He
+could only stand dumbly waiting.
+
+In a minute it came--Billy's sharp, startled cry.
+
+“Bertram! Bertram!”
+
+Bertram sprang for the stairway, but he had not reached the top when he
+met his wife coming down. She was white-faced and trembling.
+
+“Bertram--those rooms--there's not so much as a teapot there! Uncle
+William's--gone!”
+
+“Gone!” Bertram wheeled sharply. “Pete, what is the meaning of this?
+Where is my brother?” To hear him, one would think he suspected the old
+servant of having hidden his master.
+
+Pete lifted a shaking hand and fumbled with his collar.
+
+“He's moved, sir.”
+
+“Moved! Oh, you mean to other rooms--to Cyril's.” Bertram relaxed
+visibly. “He's upstairs, maybe.”
+
+Pete shook his head.
+
+“No, sir. He's moved away--out of the house, sir.”
+
+For a brief moment Bertram stared as if he could not believe what his
+ears had heard. Then, step by step, he began to descend the stairs.
+
+“Do you mean--to say--that my brother--has moved-gone away--_left_--his
+_home?_” he demanded.
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+Billy gave a low cry.
+
+“But why--why?” she choked, almost stumbling headlong down the stairway
+in her effort to reach the two men at the bottom. “Pete, why did he go?”
+
+There was no answer.
+
+“Pete,”--Bertram's voice was very sharp--“what is the meaning of this?
+Do you know why my brother left his home?”
+
+The old man wet his lips and swallowed chokingly, but he did not speak.
+
+“I'm waiting, Pete.”
+
+Billy laid one hand on the old servant's arm--in the other hand she
+still tightly clutched the mirror knobs.
+
+“Pete, if you do know, won't you tell us, please?” she begged.
+
+Pete looked down at the hand, then up at the troubled young face with
+the beseeching eyes. His own features worked convulsively. With a
+visible effort he cleared his throat.
+
+“I know--what he said,” he stammered, his eyes averted.
+
+“What was it?”
+
+There was no answer.
+
+“Look here, Pete, you'll have to tell us, you know,” cut in Bertram,
+decisively, “so you might as well do it now as ever.”
+
+Once more Pete cleared his throat. This time the words came in a burst
+of desperation.
+
+“Yes, sir. I understand, sir. It was only that he said--he said as how
+young folks didn't _need_ any one else around. So he was goin'.”
+
+“Didn't _need_ any one else!” exclaimed Bertram, plainly not
+comprehending.
+
+“Yes, sir. You two bein' married so, now.” Pete's eyes were still
+averted.
+
+Billy gave a low cry.
+
+“You mean--because _I_ came?” she demanded.
+
+“Why, yes, Miss--no--that is--” Pete stopped with an appealing glance at
+Bertram.
+
+“Then it was--it _was_--on account of _me_,” choked Billy.
+
+Pete looked still more distressed
+
+“No, no!” he faltered. “It was only that he thought you wouldn't want
+him here now.”
+
+“Want him here!” ejaculated Bertram.
+
+“Want him here!” echoed Billy, with a sob.
+
+“Pete, where is he?” As she asked the question she dropped the mirror
+knobs into her open bag, and reached for her coat and gloves--she had
+not removed her hat.
+
+Pete gave the address.
+
+“It's just down the street a bit and up the hill,” he added excitedly,
+divining her purpose. “It's a sort of a boarding-house, I reckon.”
+
+“A _boarding-house_--for Uncle William!” scorned Billy, her eyes ablaze.
+“Come, Bertram, we'll see about that.”
+
+Bertram reached out a detaining hand.
+
+“But, dearest, you're so tired,” he demurred. “Hadn't we better wait
+till after dinner, or till to-morrow?”
+
+“After dinner! To-morrow!” Billy's eyes blazed anew. “Why, Bertram
+Henshaw, do you think I'd leave that dear man even one minute longer,
+if I could help it, with a notion in his blessed old head that we didn't
+_want_ him?”
+
+“But you said a little while ago you had a headache, dear,” still
+objected Bertram. “If you'd just eat your dinner!”
+
+“Dinner!” choked Billy. “I wonder if you think I could eat any dinner
+with Uncle William turned out of his home! I'm going to find Uncle
+William.” And she stumbled blindly toward the door.
+
+Bertram reached for his hat. He threw a despairing glance into Pete's
+eyes.
+
+“We'll be back--when we can,” he said, with a frown.
+
+“Yes, sir,” answered Pete, respectfully. Then, as if impelled by some
+hidden force, he touched his master's arm. “It was that way she looked,
+sir, when she came to _you_--that night last July--with her eyes all
+shining,” he whispered.
+
+A tender smile curved Bertram's lips. The frown vanished from his face.
+
+“Bless you, Pete--and bless her, too!” he whispered back. The next
+moment he had hurried after his wife.
+
+The house that bore the number Pete had given proved to have a
+pretentious doorway, and a landlady who, in response to the summons of
+the neat maid, appeared with a most impressive rustle of black silk and
+jet bugles.
+
+No, Mr. William Henshaw was not in his rooms. In fact, he was very
+seldom there. His business, she believed, called him to State Street
+through the day. Outside of that, she had been told, he spent much time
+sitting on a bench in the Common. Doubtless, if they cared to search,
+they could find him there now.
+
+“A bench in the Common, indeed!” stormed Billy, as she and Bertram
+hurried down the wide stone steps. “Uncle William--on a bench!”
+
+“But surely now, dear,” ventured her husband, “you'll come home and get
+your dinner!”
+
+Billy turned indignantly.
+
+“And leave Uncle William on a bench in the Common? Indeed, no! Why,
+Bertram, you wouldn't, either,” she cried, as she turned resolutely
+toward one of the entrances to the Common.
+
+And Bertram, with the “eyes all shining” still before him, could only
+murmur: “No, of course not, dear!” and follow obediently where she led.
+
+Under ordinary circumstances it would have been a delightful hour for a
+walk. The sun had almost set, and the shadows lay long across the grass.
+The air was cool and unusually bracing for a day so early in September.
+But all this was lost on Bertram. Bertram did not wish to take a walk.
+He was hungry. He wanted his dinner; and he wanted, too, his old home
+with his new wife flitting about the rooms as he had pictured this first
+evening together. He wanted William, of course. Certainly he wanted
+William; but if William would insist on running away and sitting on
+park benches in this ridiculous fashion, he ought to take the
+consequences--until to-morrow.
+
+Five, ten, fifteen minutes passed. Up one path and down another trudged
+the anxious-eyed Billy and her increasingly impatient husband. Then when
+the fifteen weary minutes had become a still more weary half-hour, the
+bonds Bertram had set on his temper snapped.
+
+“Billy,” he remonstrated despairingly, “do, please, come home! Don't you
+see how highly improbable it is that we should happen on William if we
+walked like this all night? He might move--change his seat--go home,
+even. He probably has gone home. And surely never before did a bride
+insist on spending the first evening after her return tramping up and
+down a public park for hour after hour like this, looking for any man.
+_Won't_ you come home?”
+
+But Billy had not even heard. With a glad little cry she had darted to
+the side of the humped-up figure of a man alone on a park bench just
+ahead of them.
+
+“Uncle William! Oh, Uncle William, how could you?” she cried, dropping
+herself on to one end of the seat and catching the man's arm in both her
+hands.
+
+“Yes, how could you?” demanded Bertram, with just a touch of irritation,
+dropping himself on to the other end of the seat, and catching the man's
+other arm in his one usable hand.
+
+The bent shoulders and bowed head straightened up with a jerk.
+
+“Well, well, bless my soul! If it isn't our little bride,” cried Uncle
+William, fondly. “And the happy bridegroom, too. When did you get home?”
+
+“We haven't got home,” retorted Bertram, promptly, before his wife could
+speak. “Oh, we looked in at the door an hour or so back; but we didn't
+stay. We've been hunting for you ever since.”
+
+“Nonsense, children!” Uncle William spoke with gay cheeriness; but he
+refused to meet either Billy's or Bertram's eyes.
+
+“Uncle William, how could you do it?” reproached Billy, again.
+
+“Do what?” Uncle William was plainly fencing for time.
+
+“Leave the house like that?”
+
+“Ho! I wanted a change.”
+
+“As if we'd believe that!” scoffed Billy.
+
+“All right; let's call it you've had the change, then,” laughed Bertram,
+“and we'll send over for your things to-morrow. Come--now let's go home
+to dinner.”
+
+William shook his head. He essayed a gay smile.
+
+“Why, I've only just begun. I'm going to stay--oh, I don't know how long
+I'm going to stay,” he finished blithely.
+
+Billy lifted her chin a little.
+
+“Uncle William, you aren't playing square. Pete told us what you said
+when you left.”
+
+“Eh? What?” William looked up with startled eyes.
+
+“About--about our not _needing_ you. So we know, now, why you left; and
+we _sha'n't stand_ it.”
+
+“Pete? That? Oh, that--that's nonsense I--I'll settle with Pete.”
+
+Billy laughed softly.
+
+“Poor Pete! Don't. We simply dragged it out of him. And now we're here
+to tell you that we _do_ want you, and that you _must_ come back.”
+
+Again William shook his head. A swift shadow crossed his face.
+
+“Thank you, no, children,” he said dully.
+
+“You're very kind, but you don't need me. I should be just an
+interfering elder brother. I should spoil your young married life.”
+(William's voice now sounded as if he were reciting a well-learned
+lesson.) “If I went away and stayed two months, you'd never forget the
+utter freedom and joy of those two whole months with the house all to
+yourselves.”
+
+“Uncle William,” gasped Billy, “what _are_ you talking about?”
+
+“About--about my not going back, of course.”
+
+“But you are coming back,” cut in Bertram, almost angrily. “Oh, come,
+Will, this is utter nonsense, and you know it! Come, let's go home to
+dinner.”
+
+A stern look came to the corners of William's mouth--a look that Bertram
+understood well.
+
+“All right, I'll go to dinner, of course; but I sha'n't stay,” said
+William, firmly. “I've thought it all out. I know I'm right. Come, we'll
+go to dinner now, and say no more about it,” he finished with a cheery
+smile, as he rose to his feet. Then, to the bride, he added: “Did you
+have a nice trip, little girl?”
+
+Billy, too, had risen, now, but she did not seem to have heard his
+question. In the fast falling twilight her face looked a little white.
+
+“Uncle William,” she began very quietly, “do you think for a minute that
+just because I married your brother I am going to live in that house and
+turn you out of the home you've lived in all your life?”
+
+“Nonsense, dear! I'm not turned out. I just go,” corrected Uncle
+William, gayly.
+
+With superb disdain Billy brushed this aside.
+
+“Oh, no, you won't,” she declared; “but--_I shall_.”
+
+“Billy!” gasped Bertram.
+
+“My--my dear!” expostulated William, faintly.
+
+“Uncle William! Bertram! Listen,” panted Billy. “I never told you much
+before, but I'm going to, now. Long ago, when I went away with Aunt
+Hannah, your sister Kate showed me how dear the old home was to
+you--how much you thought of it. And she said--she said that I had
+upset everything.” (Bertram interjected a sharp word, but Billy paid
+no attention.) “That's why I went; and _I shall go again_--if you
+don't come home to-morrow to stay, Uncle William. Come, now let's go to
+dinner, please. Bertram's hungry,” she finished, with a bright smile.
+
+There was a tense moment of silence. William glanced at Bertram; Bertram
+returned the glance--with interest.
+
+“Er--ah--yes; well, we might go to dinner,” stammered William, after a
+minute.
+
+“Er--yes,” agreed Bertram. And the three fell into step together.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV. “JUST LIKE BILLY”
+
+
+Billy did not leave the Strata this time. Before twenty-four hours had
+passed, the last cherished fragment of Mr. William Henshaw's possessions
+had been carefully carried down the imposing steps of the Beacon
+Hill boarding-house under the disapproving eyes of its bugle-adorned
+mistress, who found herself now with a month's advance rent and two
+vacant “parlors” on her hands. Before another twenty-four hours had
+passed her quondam boarder, with a tired sigh, sank into his favorite
+morris chair in his old familiar rooms, and looked about him with
+contented eyes. Every treasure was in place, from the traditional four
+small stones of his babyhood days to the Batterseas Billy had just
+brought him. Pete, as of yore, was hovering near with a dust-cloth.
+Bertram's gay whistle sounded from the floor below. William Henshaw was
+at home again.
+
+This much accomplished, Billy went to see Aunt Hannah.
+
+Aunt Hannah greeted her affectionately, though with tearfully troubled
+eyes. She was wearing a gray shawl to-day topped with a black one--sure
+sign of unrest, either physical or mental, as all her friends knew.
+
+“I'd begun to think you'd forgotten--me,” she faltered, with a poor
+attempt at gayety.
+
+“You've been home three whole days.”
+
+“I know, dearie,” smiled Billy; “and 'twas a shame. But I have been so
+busy! My trunks came at last, and I've been helping Uncle William get
+settled, too.”
+
+Aunt Hannah looked puzzled.
+
+“Uncle William get settled? You mean--he's changed his room?”
+
+Billy laughed oddly, and threw a swift glance into Aunt Hannah's face.
+
+“Well, yes, he did change,” she murmured; “but he's moved back now into
+the old quarters. Er--you haven't heard from Uncle William then, lately,
+I take it.”
+
+“No.” Aunt Hannah shook her head abstractedly. “I did see him once,
+several weeks ago; but I haven't, since. We had quite a talk, then;
+and, Billy, I've been wanting to speak to you,” she hurried on, a little
+feverishly. “I didn't like to leave, of course, till you did come home,
+as long as you'd said nothing about your plans; but--”
+
+“Leave!” interposed Billy, dazedly. “Leave where? What do you mean?”
+
+“Why, leave here, of course, dear. I mean. I didn't like to get my room
+while you were away; but I shall now, of course, at once.”
+
+“Nonsense, Aunt Hannah! As if I'd let you do that,” laughed Billy.
+
+Aunt Hannah stiffened perceptibly. Her lips looked suddenly thin and
+determined. Even the soft little curls above her ears seemed actually to
+bristle with resolution.
+
+“Billy,” she began firmly, “we might as well understand each other at
+once. I know your good heart, and I appreciate your kindness. But I can
+not come to live with you. I shall not. It wouldn't be best. I should
+be like an interfering elder brother in your home. I should spoil your
+young married life; and if I went away for two months you'd never forget
+the utter joy and freedom of those two months with the whole house ali
+to yourselves.”
+
+At the beginning of this speech Billy's eyes had still carried their
+dancing smile, but as the peroration progressed on to the end, a dawning
+surprise, which soon became a puzzled questioning, drove the smile away.
+Then Billy sat suddenly erect.
+
+“Why, Aunt Hannah, that's exactly what Uncle William--” Billy stopped,
+and regarded Aunt Hannah with quick suspicion. The next moment she burst
+into gleeful laughter.
+
+Aunt Hannah looked grieved, and not a little surprised; but Billy did
+not seem to notice this.
+
+“Oh, oh, Aunt Hannah--you, too! How perfectly funny!” she gurgled. “To
+think you two old blesseds should get your heads together like this!”
+
+Aunt Hannah stirred restively, and pulled the black shawl more closely
+about her.
+
+“Indeed, Billy, I don't know what you mean by that,” she sighed, with a
+visible effort at self-control; “but I do know that I can not go to live
+with you.”
+
+“Bless your heart, dear, I don't want you to,” soothed Billy, with gay
+promptness.
+
+“Oh! O-h-h,” stammered Aunt Hannah, surprise, mortification, dismay, and
+a grieved hurt bringing a flood of color to her face. It is one thing to
+refuse a home, and quite another to have a home refused you.
+
+“Oh! O-h-h, Aunt Hannah,” cried Billy, turning very red in her turn.
+“Please, _please_ don't look like that. I didn't mean it that way. I do
+want you, dear, only--I want you somewhere else more. I want you--here.”
+
+“Here!” Aunt Hannah looked relieved, but unconvinced.
+
+“Yes. Don't you like it here?”
+
+“Like it! Why, I love it, dear. You know I do. But you don't need this
+house now, Billy.”
+
+“Oh, yes, I do,” retorted Billy, airily. “I'm going to keep it up, and I
+want you here.
+
+“Fiddlededee, Billy! As if I'd let you keep up this house just for me,”
+ scorned Aunt Hannah.
+
+“'Tisn't just for you. It's for--for lots of folks.”
+
+“My grief and conscience, Billy! What are you talking about?”
+
+Billy laughed, and settled herself more comfortably on the hassock at
+Aunt Hannah's feet.
+
+“Well, I'll tell you. Just now I want it for Tommy Dunn, and the
+Greggorys if I can get them, and maybe one or two others. There'll
+always be somebody. You see, I had thought I'd have them at the Strata.”
+
+“Tommy Dunn--at the Strata!”
+
+Billy laughed again ruefully.
+
+“O dear! You sound just like Bertram,” she pouted. “He didn't want
+Tommy, either, nor any of the rest of them.”
+
+“The rest of them!”
+
+“Well, I could have had a lot more, you know, the Strata is so big,
+especially now that Cyril has gone, and left all those empty rooms.
+_I_ got real enthusiastic, but Bertram didn't. He just laughed and said
+'nonsense!' until he found I was really in earnest; then he--well, he
+said 'nonsense,' then, too--only he didn't laugh,” finished Billy, with
+a sigh.
+
+Aunt Hannah regarded her with fond, though slightly exasperated eyes.
+
+“Billy, you are, indeed, a most extraordinary young woman--at times.
+Surely, with you, a body never knows what to expect--except the
+unexpected.”
+
+“Why, Aunt Hannah!--and from you, too!” reproached Billy, mischievously;
+but Aunt Hannah had yet more to say.
+
+“Of course Bertram thought it was nonsense. The idea of you, a bride,
+filling up your house with--with people like that! Tommy Dunn, indeed!”
+
+“Oh, Bertram said he liked Tommy all right,” sighed Billy; “but he said
+that that didn't mean he wanted him for three meals a day. One would
+think poor Tommy was a breakfast food! So that is when I thought of
+keeping up this house, you see, and that's why I want you here--to take
+charge of it. And you'll do that--for me, won't you?”
+
+Aunt Hannah fell back in her chair.
+
+“Why, y-yes, Billy, of course, if--if you want it. But what an
+extraordinary idea, child!”
+
+Billy shook her head. A deeper color came to her cheeks, and a softer
+glow to her eyes.
+
+“I don't think so, Aunt Hannah. It's only that I'm so happy that some
+of it has just got to overflow somewhere, and this is going to be the
+overflow house--a sort of safety valve for me, you see. I'm going to
+call it the Annex--it will be an annex to our home. And I want to keep
+it full, always, of people who--who can make the best use of all that
+extra happiness that I can't possibly use myself,” she finished a little
+tremulously. “Don't you see?”
+
+“Oh, yes, I _see_,” replied Aunt Hannah, with a fond shake of the head.
+
+“But, really, listen--it's sensible,” urged Billy. “First, there's
+Tommy. His mother died last month. He's at a neighbor's now, but they're
+going to send him to a Home for Crippled Children; and he's grieving his
+heart out over it. I'm going to bring him here to a real home--the kind
+that doesn't begin with a capital letter. He adores music, and he's got
+real talent, I think. Then there's the Greggorys.”
+
+Aunt Hannah looked dubious.
+
+“You can't get the Greggorys to--to use any of that happiness, Billy.
+They're too proud.”
+
+Billy smiled radiantly.
+
+“I know I can't get them to _use_ it, Aunt Hannah, but I believe I can
+get them to _give_ it,” she declared triumphantly. “I shall ask Alice
+Greggory to teach Tommy music, and I shall ask Mrs. Greggory to teach
+him books; and I shall tell them both that I positively need them to
+keep you company.”
+
+“Oh, but Billy,” bridled Aunt Hannah, with prompt objection.
+
+“Tut, tut!--I know you'll be willing to be thrown as a little bit of a
+sop to the Greggorys' pride,” coaxed Billy. “You just wait till I get
+the Overflow Annex in running order. Why, Aunt Hannah, you don't know
+how busy you're going to be handing out all that extra happiness that I
+can't use!”
+
+“You dear child!” Aunt Hannah smiled mistily. The black shawl had fallen
+unheeded to the floor now. “As if anybody ever had any more happiness
+than one's self could use!”
+
+“I have,” avowed Billy, promptly, “and it's going to keep growing and
+growing, I know.”
+
+“Oh, my grief and conscience, Billy, don't!” exclaimed Aunt Hannah,
+lifting shocked hands of remonstrance. “Rap on wood--do! How can you
+boast like that?”
+
+Billy dimpled roguishly and sprang to her feet.
+
+“Why, Aunt Hannah, I'm ashamed of you! To be superstitious like
+that--you, a good Presbyterian!”
+
+Aunt Hannah subsided shamefacedly.
+
+“Yes, I know, Billy, it is silly; but I just can't help it.”
+
+“Oh, but it's worse than silly, Aunt Hannah,” teased Billy, with a
+remorseless chuckle. “It's really _heathen!_ Bertram told me once that
+it dates 'way back to the time of the Druids--appealing to the god of
+trees, or something like that--when you rap on wood, you know.”
+
+“Ugh!” shuddered Aunt Hannah. “As if I would, Billy! How is Bertram, by
+the by?”
+
+A swift shadow crossed Billy's bright face.
+
+“He's lovely--only his arm.”
+
+“His arm! But I thought that was better.”
+
+“Oh, it is,” drooped Billy, “but it gets along so slowly, and it frets
+him dreadfully. You know he never can do anything with his left hand,
+he says, and he just hates to have things done for him--though Pete and
+Dong Ling are quarreling with each other all the time to do things for
+him, and I'm quarreling with both of them to do them for him myself! By
+the way, Dong Ling is going to leave us next week. Did you know it?”
+
+“Dong Ling--leave!”
+
+“Yes. Oh, he told Bertram long ago he should go when we were married;
+that he had plenty much money, and was going back to China, and not be
+Melican man any longer. But I don't think Bertram thought he'd do it.
+William says Dong Ling went to Pete, however, after we left, and told
+him he wanted to go; that he liked the little Missee plenty well, but
+that there'd be too much hen-talk when she got back, and--”
+
+“Why, the impudent creature!”
+
+Billy laughed merrily.
+
+“Yes; Pete was furious, William says, but Dong Ling didn't mean any
+disrespect, I'm sure. He just wasn't used to having petticoats around,
+and didn't want to take orders from them; that's all.”
+
+“But, Billy, what will you do?”
+
+“Oh, Pete's fixed all that lovely,” returned Billy, nonchalantly. “You
+know his niece lives over in South Boston, and it seems she's got a
+daughter who's a fine cook and will be glad to come. Mercy! Look at the
+time,” she broke off, glancing at the clock. “I shall be late to dinner,
+and Dong Ling loathes anybody who's late to his meals--as I found out to
+my sorrow the night we got home. Good-by, dear. I'll be out soon again
+and fix it all up--about the Annex, you know.” And with a bright smile
+she was gone.
+
+“Dear me,” sighed Aunt Hannah, stooping to pick up the black shawl;
+“dear me! Of course everything will be all right--there's a girl coming,
+even if Dong Ling is going. But--but--Oh, my grief and conscience, what
+an extraordinary child Billy is, to be sure--but what a dear one!” she
+added, wiping a quick tear from her eye. “An Overflow Annex, indeed, for
+her 'extra happiness'! Now isn't that just like Billy?”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V. TIGER SKINS
+
+
+September passed and October came, bringing with it cool days and clear,
+crisp evenings royally ruled over by a gorgeous harvest moon. According
+to Billy everything was just perfect--except, of course, poor Bertram's
+arm; and even the fact that that gained so slowly was not without its
+advantage (again according to Billy), for it gave Bertram more time to
+be with her.
+
+“You see, dear, as long as you _can't_ paint,” she told him earnestly,
+one day, “why, I'm not really hindering you by keeping you with me so
+much.”
+
+“You certainly are not,” he retorted, with a smile.
+
+“Then I may be just as happy as I like over it,” settled Billy,
+comfortably.
+
+“As if you ever could hinder me,” he ridiculed.
+
+“Oh, yes, I could,” nodded Billy, emphatically. “You forget, sir. That
+was what worried me so. Everybody, even the newspapers and magazines,
+said I _would_ do it, too. They said I'd slay your Art, stifle your
+Ambition, destroy your Inspiration, and be a nuisance generally. And
+Kate said--”
+
+“Yes. Well, never mind what Kate said,” interrupted the man, savagely.
+
+Billy laughed, and gave his ear a playful tweak.
+
+“All right; but I'm not going to do it, you know--spoil your career,
+sir. You just wait,” she continued dramatically. “The minute your arm
+gets so you can paint, I myself shall conduct you to your studio, thrust
+the brushes into your hand, fill your palette with all the colors of
+the rainbow, and order you to paint, my lord, paint! But--until then I'm
+going to have you all I like,” she finished, with a complete change of
+manner, nestling into the ready curve of his good left arm.
+
+“You witch!” laughed the man, fondly. “Why, Billy, you couldn't hinder
+me. You'll _be_ my inspiration, dear, instead of slaying it. You'll see.
+_This_ time Marguerite Winthrop's portrait is going to be a success.”
+
+Billy turned quickly.
+
+“Then you are--that is, you haven't--I mean, you're going to--paint it?”
+
+“I just am,” avowed the artist. “And this time it'll be a success, too,
+with you to help.”
+
+Billy drew in her breath tremulously.
+
+“I didn't know but you'd already started it,” she faltered.
+
+He shook his head.
+
+“No. After the other one failed, and Mr. Winthrop asked me to try again,
+I couldn't _then_. I was so troubled over you. That's the time you did
+hinder me,” he smiled. “Then came your note breaking the engagement. Of
+course I knew too much to attempt a thing like that portrait then. But
+now--_now_--!” The pause and the emphasis were eloquent.
+
+“Of course, _now_,” nodded Billy, brightly, but a little feverishly.
+“And when do you begin?”
+
+“Not till January. Miss Winthrop won't be back till then. I saw J. G.
+last week, and I told him I'd accept his offer to try again.”
+
+“What did he say?”
+
+“He gave my left hand a big grip and said: 'Good!--and you'll win out
+this time.'”
+
+“Of course you will,” nodded Billy, again, though still a little
+feverishly. “And this time I sha'n't mind a bit if you do stay to
+luncheon, and break engagements with me, sir,” she went on, tilting
+her chin archly, “for I shall know it's the portrait and not the sitter
+that's really keeping you. Oh, you'll see what a fine artist's wife I'll
+make!”
+
+“The very best,” declared Bertram so ardently that Billy blushed, and
+shook her head in reproof.
+
+“Nonsense! I wasn't fishing. I didn't mean it that way,” she protested.
+Then, as he tried to catch her, she laughed and danced teasingly out of
+his reach.
+
+Because Bertram could not paint, therefore, Billy had him quite to
+herself these October days; nor did she hesitate to appropriate him.
+Neither, on his part, was Bertram loath to be appropriated. Like two
+lovers they read and walked and talked together, and like two children,
+sometimes, they romped through the stately old rooms with Spunkie, or
+with Tommy Dunn, who was a frequent guest. Spunkie, be it known, was
+renewing her kittenhood, so potent was the influence of the dangling
+strings and rolling balls that she encountered everywhere; and Tommy
+Dunn, with Billy's help, was learning that not even a pair of crutches
+need keep a lonely little lad from a frolic. Even William, roused from
+his after-dinner doze by peals of laughter, was sometimes inveigled into
+activities that left him breathless, but curiously aglow. While Pete,
+polishing silver in the dining-room down-stairs, smiled indulgently at
+the merry clatter above--and forgot the teasing pain in his side.
+
+But it was not all nonsense with Billy, nor gay laughter. More often
+it was a tender glow in the eyes, a softness in the voice, a radiant
+something like an aura of joy all about her, that told how happy indeed
+were these days for her. There was proof by word of mouth, too--long
+talks with Bertram in the dancing firelight when they laid dear
+plans for the future, and when she tried so hard to make her husband
+understand what a good, good wife she intended to be, and how she meant
+never to let anything come between them.
+
+It was so earnest and serious a Billy by this time that Bertram would
+turn startled, dismayed eyes on his young wife; whereupon, with a very
+Billy-like change of mood, she would give him one of her rare caresses,
+and perhaps sigh:
+
+“Goosey--it's only because I'm so happy, happy, happy! Why, Bertram, if
+it weren't for that Overflow Annex I believe I--I just couldn't live!”
+
+It was Bertram who sighed then, and who prayed fervently in his heart
+that never might he see a real shadow cloud that dear face.
+
+Thus far, certainly, the cares of matrimony had rested anything but
+heavily upon the shapely young shoulders of the new wife. Domestic
+affairs at the Strata moved like a piece of well-oiled machinery.
+Dong Ling, to be sure, was not there; but in his place reigned Pete's
+grandniece, a fresh-faced, capable young woman who (Bertram declared)
+cooked like an angel and minded her own business like a man. Pete, as
+of yore, had full charge of the house; and a casual eye would see few
+changes. Even the brothers themselves saw few, for that matter.
+
+True, at the very first, Billy had donned a ruffled apron and a
+bewitching dust-cap, and had traversed the house from cellar to garret
+with a prettily important air of “managing things,” as she suggested
+changes right and left. She had summoned Pete, too, for three mornings
+in succession, and with great dignity had ordered the meals for the day.
+But when Bertram was discovered one evening tugging back his favorite
+chair, and when William had asked if Billy were through using his
+pipe-tray, the young wife had concluded to let things remain about as
+they were. And when William ate no breakfast one morning, and Bertram
+aggrievedly refused dessert that night at dinner, Billy--learning
+through an apologetic Pete that Master William always had to have eggs
+for breakfast no matter what else there was, and that Master Bertram
+never ate boiled rice--gave up planning the meals. True, for three more
+mornings she summoned Pete for “orders,” but the orders were nothing
+more nor less than a blithe “Well, Pete, what are we going to have for
+dinner to-day?” By the end of a week even this ceremony was given up,
+and before a month had passed, Billy was little more than a guest in her
+own home, so far as responsibility was concerned.
+
+Billy was not idle, however; far from it. First, there were the
+delightful hours with Bertram. Then there was her music: Billy was
+writing a new song--the best she had ever written, Billy declared.
+
+“Why, Bertram, it can't help being that,” she said to her husband, one
+day. “The words just sang themselves to me right out of my heart; and
+the melody just dropped down from the sky. And now, everywhere, I'm
+hearing the most wonderful harmonies. The whole universe is singing to
+me. If only now I can put it on paper what I hear! Then I can make the
+whole universe sing to some one else!”
+
+Even music, however, had to step one side for the wedding calls which
+were beginning to be received, and which must be returned, in spite
+of the occasional rebellion of the young husband. There were the more
+intimate friends to be seen, also, and Cyril and Marie to be visited.
+And always there was the Annex.
+
+The Annex was in fine running order now, and was a source of infinite
+satisfaction to its founder and great happiness to its beneficiaries.
+Tommy Dunn was there, learning wonderful things from books and still
+more wonderful things from the piano in the living-room. Alice Greggory
+and her mother were there, too--the result of much persuasion. Indeed,
+according to Bertram, Billy had been able to fill the Annex only
+by telling each prospective resident that he or she was absolutely
+necessary to the welfare and happiness of every other resident. Not that
+the house was full, either. There were still two unoccupied rooms.
+
+“But then, I'm glad there are,” Billy had declared, “for there's sure to
+be some one that I'll want to send there.”
+
+“Some _one_, did you say?” Bertram had retorted, meaningly; but his wife
+had disdained to answer this.
+
+Billy herself was frequently at the Annex. She told Aunt Hannah that
+she had to come often to bring the happiness--it accumulated so fast.
+Certainly she always found plenty to do there, whenever she came. There
+was Aunt Hannah to be read to, Mrs. Greggory to be sung to, and Tommy
+Dunn to be listened to; for Tommy Dunn was always quivering with
+eagerness to play her his latest “piece.”
+
+Billy knew that some day at the Annex she would meet Mr. M. J.
+Arkwright; and she told herself that she hoped she should.
+
+Billy had not seen Arkwright (except on the stage of the Boston Opera
+House) since the day he had left her presence in white-faced, stony-eyed
+misery after declaring his love for her, and learning of her engagement
+to Bertram. Since then, she knew, he had been much with his old friend,
+Alice Greggory. She did not believe, should she see him now, that he
+would be either white-faced, or stony-eyed. His heart, she was sure,
+had gone where it ought to have gone in the first place--to Alice. Such
+being, in her opinion, the case, she longed to get the embarrassment of
+a first meeting between themselves over with, for, after that, she
+was sure, their old friendship could be renewed, and she would be in a
+position to further this pretty love affair between him and Alice. Very
+decidedly, therefore, Billy wished to meet Arkwright. Very pleased,
+consequently, was she when, one day, coming into the living-room at the
+Annex, she found the man sitting by the fire.
+
+Arkwright was on his feet at once.
+
+“Miss--Mrs. H--Henshaw,” he stammered
+
+“Oh, Mr. Arkwright,” she cried, with just a shade of nervousness in her
+voice as she advanced, her hand outstretched. “I'm glad to see you.”
+
+“Thank you. I wanted to see Miss Greggory,” he murmured. Then, as
+the unconscious rudeness of his reply dawned on him, he made matters
+infinitely worse by an attempted apology. “That is, I mean--I didn't
+mean--” he began to stammer miserably.
+
+Some girls might have tossed the floundering man a straw in the shape of
+a light laugh intended to turn aside all embarrassment--but not Billy.
+Billy held out a frankly helping hand that was meant to set the man
+squarely on his feet at her side.
+
+“Mr. Arkwright, don't, please,” she begged earnestly. “You and I don't
+need to beat about the bush. I _am_ glad to see you, and I hope you're
+glad to see me. We're going to be the best of friends from now on, I'm
+sure; and some day, soon, you're going to bring Alice to see me, and
+we'll have some music. I left her up-stairs. She'll be down at once,
+I dare say--I met Rosa going up with your card. Good-by,” she finished
+with a bright smile, as she turned and walked rapidly from the room.
+
+Outside, on the steps, Billy drew a long breath.
+
+“There,” she whispered; “that's over--and well over!” The next minute
+she frowned vexedly. She had missed her glove. “Never mind! I sha'n't go
+back in there for it now, anyway,” she decided.
+
+In the living-room, five minutes later, Alice Greggory found only a
+hastily scrawled note waiting for her.
+
+
+“If you'll forgive the unforgivable,” she read “you'll forgive me for
+not being here when you come down. 'Circumstances over which I have no
+control have called me away.' May we let it go at that?
+
+“M. J. ARKWRIGHT.”
+
+
+As Alice Greggory's amazed, questioning eyes left the note they fell
+upon the long white glove on the floor by the door. Half mechanically
+she crossed the room and picked it up; but almost at once she dropped it
+with a low cry.
+
+“Billy! He--saw--Billy!” Then a flood of understanding dyed her face
+scarlet as she turned and fled to the blessedly unseeing walls of her
+own room.
+
+Not ten minutes later Rosa tapped at her door with a note.
+
+“It's from Mr. Arkwright, Miss. He's downstairs.” Rosa's eyes were
+puzzled, and a bit startled.
+
+“Mr. Arkwright!”
+
+“Yes, Miss. He's come again. That is, I didn't know he'd went--but he
+must have, for he's come again now. He wrote something in a little book;
+then he tore it out and gave it to me. He said he'd wait, please, for an
+answer.”
+
+“Oh, very well, Rosa.”
+
+Miss Greggory took the note and spoke with an elaborate air of
+indifference that was meant to express a calm ignoring of the puzzled
+questioning in the other's eyes. The next moment she read this in
+Arkwright's peculiar scrawl:
+
+
+“If you've already forgiven the unforgivable, you'll do it again, I
+know, and come down-stairs. Won't you, please? I want to see you.”
+
+
+Miss Greggory lifted her head with a jerk. Her face was a painful red.
+
+“Tell Mr. Arkwright I can't possibly--” She came to an abrupt pause. Her
+eyes had encountered Rosa's, and in Rosa's eyes the puzzled questioning
+was plainly fast becoming a shrewd suspicion.
+
+There was the briefest of hesitations; then, lightly, Miss Greggory
+tossed the note aside.
+
+“Tell Mr. Arkwright I'll be down at once, please,” she directed
+carelessly, as she turned back into the room.
+
+But she was not down at once. She was not down until she had taken time
+to bathe her red eyes, powder her telltale nose, smoothe her ruffled
+hair, and whip herself into the calm, steady-eyed, self-controlled young
+woman that Arkwright finally rose to meet when she came into the room.
+
+“I thought it was only women who were privileged to change their mind,”
+she began brightly; but Arkwright ignored her attempt to conventionalize
+the situation.
+
+“Thank you for coming down,” he said, with a weariness that instantly
+drove the forced smile from the girl's lips. “I--I wanted to--to talk to
+you.”
+
+“Yes?” She seated herself and motioned him to a chair near her. He took
+the seat, and then fell silent, his eyes out the window.
+
+“I thought you said you--you wanted to talk, she reminded him nervously,
+after a minute.
+
+“I did.” He turned with disconcerting abruptness. “Alice, I'm going to
+tell you a story.”
+
+“I shall be glad to listen. People always like stories, don't they?”
+
+“Do they?” The somber pain in Arkwright's eyes deepened. Alice Greggory
+did not know it, but he was thinking of another story he had once told
+in that same room. Billy was his listener then, while now--A little
+precipitately he began to speak.
+
+“When I was a very small boy I went to visit my uncle, who, in his young
+days, had been quite a hunter. Before the fireplace in his library was a
+huge tiger skin with a particularly lifelike head. The first time I saw
+it I screamed, and ran and hid. I refused then even to go into the room
+again. My cousins urged, scolded, pleaded, and laughed at me by turns,
+but I was obdurate. I would not go where I could see the fearsome thing
+again, even though it was, as they said, 'nothing but a dead old rug!'
+
+“Finally, one day, my uncle took a hand in the matter. By sheer
+will-power he forced me to go with him straight up to the dreaded
+creature, and stand by its side. He laid one of my shrinking hands on
+the beast's smooth head, and thrust the other one quite into the open
+red mouth with its gleaming teeth.
+
+“'You see,' he said, 'there's absolutely nothing to fear. He can't
+possibly hurt you. Just as if you weren't bigger and finer and stronger
+in every way than that dead thing on the floor!'
+
+“Then, when he had got me to the point where of my own free will I would
+walk up and touch the thing, he drew a lesson for me.
+
+“'Now remember,' he charged me. 'Never run and hide again. Only cowards
+do that. Walk straight up and face the thing. Ten to one you'll find
+it's nothing but a dead skin masquerading as the real thing. Even if it
+isn't if it's alive--face it. Find a weapon and fight it. Know that you
+are going to conquer it and you'll conquer. Never run. Be a man. Men
+don't run, my boy!'”
+
+Arkwright paused, and drew a long breath. He did not look at the girl
+in the opposite chair. If he had looked he would have seen a face
+transfigured.
+
+“Well,” he resumed, “I never forgot that tiger skin, nor what it stood
+for, after that day when Uncle Ben thrust my hand into its hideous, but
+harmless, red mouth. Even as a kid I began, then, to try--not to run.
+I've tried ever since But to-day--I did run.”
+
+Arkwright's voice had been getting lower and lower. The last three words
+would have been almost inaudible to ears less sensitively alert than
+were Alice Greggory's. For a moment after the words were uttered, only
+the clock's ticking broke the silence; then, with an obvious effort, the
+man roused himself, as if breaking away from some benumbing force that
+held him.
+
+“Alice, I don't need to tell you, after what I said the other night,
+that I loved Billy Neilson. That was bad enough, for I found she was
+pledged to another man. But to-day I discovered something worse: I
+discovered that I loved Billy _Henshaw_--another man's wife. And--I ran.
+But I've come back. I'm going to face the thing. Oh, I'm not deceiving
+myself! This love of mine is no dead tiger skin. It's a beast, alive and
+alert--God pity me!--to destroy my very soul. But I'm going to fight it;
+and--I want you to help me.”
+
+The girl gave a half-smothered cry. The man turned, but he could not
+see her face distinctly. Twilight had come, and the room was full of
+shadows. He hesitated, then went on, a little more quietly.
+
+“That's why I've told you all this--so you would help me. And you will,
+won't you?”
+
+There was no answer. Once again he tried to see her face, but it was
+turned now quite away from him.
+
+“You've been a big help already, little girl. Your friendship, your
+comradeship--they've been everything to me. You're not going to make me
+do without them--now?”
+
+“No--oh, no!” The answer was low and a little breathless; but he heard
+it.
+
+“Thank you. I knew you wouldn't.” He paused, then rose to his feet. When
+he spoke again his voice carried a note of whimsical lightness that was
+a little forced. “But I must go--else you _will_ take them from me,
+and with good reason. And please don't let your kind heart grieve too
+much--over me. I'm no deep-dyed villain in a melodrama, nor wicked lover
+in a ten-penny novel, you know. I'm just an everyday man in real life;
+and we're going to fight this thing out in everyday living. That's where
+your help is coming in. We'll go together to see Mrs. Bertram Henshaw.
+She's asked us to, and you'll do it, I know. We'll have music and
+everyday talk. We'll see Mrs. Bertram Henshaw in her own home with her
+husband, where she belongs; and--I'm not going to run again. But--I'm
+counting on your help, you know,” he smiled a little wistfully, as he
+held out his hand in good-by.
+
+One minute later Alice Greggory, alone, was hurrying up-stairs.
+
+“I can't--I can't--I know I can't,” she was whispering wildly. Then,
+in her own room, she faced herself in the mirror. “Yes--you--can, Alice
+Greggory,” she asserted, with swift change of voice and manner. “This
+is _your_ tiger skin, and you're going to fight it. Do you
+understand?--fight it! And you're going to win, too. Do you want that
+man to know you--_care_?”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI. “THE PAINTING LOOK”
+
+
+It was toward the last of October that Billy began to notice her
+husband's growing restlessness. Twice, when she had been playing to
+him, she turned to find him testing the suppleness of his injured arm.
+Several times, failing to receive an answer to her questions, she had
+looked up to discover him gazing abstractedly at nothing in particular.
+
+They read and walked and talked together, to be sure, and Bertram's
+devotion to her lightest wish was beyond question; but more and more
+frequently these days Billy found him hovering over his sketches in his
+studio; and once, when he failed to respond to the dinner-bell,
+search revealed him buried in a profound treatise on “The Art of
+Foreshortening.”
+
+Then came the day when Billy, after an hour's vain effort to imprison
+within notes a tantalizing melody, captured the truant and rain down to
+the studio to tell Bertram of her victory.
+
+But Bertram did not seem even to hear her. True, he leaped to his feet
+and hurried to meet her, his face radiantly aglow; but she had not
+ceased to speak before he himself was talking.
+
+“Billy, Billy, I've been sketching,” he cried. “My hand is almost
+steady. See, some of those lines are all right! I just picked up a
+crayon and--” He stopped abruptly, his eyes on Billy's face. A vaguely
+troubled shadow crossed his own. “Did--did you--were you saying anything
+in--in particular, when you came in?” he stammered.
+
+For a short half-minute Billy looked at her husband without speaking.
+Then, a little queerly, she laughed.
+
+“Oh, no, nothing at all in _particular_,” she retorted airily. The next
+moment, with one of her unexpected changes of manner, she darted across
+the room, picked up a palette, and a handful of brushes from the
+long box near it. Advancing toward her husband she held them out
+dramatically. “And now paint, my lord, paint!” she commanded him, with
+stern insistence, as she thrust them into his hands.
+
+Bertram laughed shamefacedly.
+
+“Oh, I say, Billy,” he began; but Billy had gone.
+
+Out in the hall Billy was speeding up-stairs, talking fiercely to
+herself.
+
+“We'll, Billy Neilson Henshaw, it's come! Now behave yourself. _That was
+the painting look!_ You know what that means. Remember, he belongs to
+his Art before he does to you. Kate and everybody says so. And you--you
+expected him to tend to you and your silly little songs. Do you want to
+ruin his career? As if now he could spend all his time and give all his
+thoughts to you! But I--I just hate that Art!”
+
+“What did you say, Billy?” asked William, in mild surprise, coming
+around the turn of the balustrade in the hall above. “Were you speaking
+to me, my dear?”
+
+Billy looked up. Her face cleared suddenly, and she laughed--though a
+little ruefully.
+
+“No, Uncle William, I wasn't talking to you,” she sighed. “I was
+just--just administering first aid to the injured,” she finished, as she
+whisked into her own room.
+
+“Well, well, bless the child! What can she mean by that?” puzzled Uncle
+William, turning to go down the stairway.
+
+Bertram began to paint a very little the next day. He painted still more
+the next, and yet more again the day following. He was like a bird let
+out of a cage, so joyously alive was he. The old sparkle came back to
+his eye, the old gay smile to his lips. Now that they had come back
+Billy realized what she had not been conscious of before: that for
+several weeks past they had not been there; and she wondered which hurt
+the more--that they had not been there before, or that they were there
+now. Then she scolded herself roundly for asking the question at all.
+
+They were not easy--those days for Billy, though always to Bertram she
+managed to show a cheerfully serene face. To Uncle William, also, and to
+Aunt Hannah she showed a smiling countenance; and because she could
+not talk to anybody else of her feelings, she talked to herself. This,
+however, was no new thing for Billy to do From earliest childhood she
+had fought things out in like manner.
+
+“But it's so absurd of you, Billy Henshaw,” she berated herself one day,
+when Bertram had become so absorbed in his work that he had forgotten to
+keep his appointment with her for a walk. “Just because you have had his
+constant attention almost every hour since you were married is no reason
+why you should have it every hour now, when his arm is better! Besides,
+it's exactly what you said you wouldn't do--object--to his giving proper
+time to his work.”
+
+“But I'm not objecting,” stormed the other half of herself. “I'm
+_telling_ him to do it. It's only that he's so--so _pleased_ to do it.
+He doesn't seem to mind a bit being away from me. He's actually happy!”
+
+“Well, don't you want him to be happy in his work? Fie! For shame! A
+fine artist's wife you are. It seems Kate was right, then; you _are_
+going to spoil his career!”
+
+“Ho!” quoth Billy, and tossed her head. Forthwith she crossed the room
+to her piano and plumped herself down hard on to the stool. Then, from
+under her fingers there fell a rollicking melody that seemed to fill the
+room with little dancing feet. Faster and faster sped Billy's fingers;
+swifter and swifter twinkled the little dancing feet. Then a door was
+jerked open, and Bertram's voice called:
+
+“Billy!”
+
+The music stopped instantly. Billy sprang from her seat, her
+eyes eagerly seeking the direction from which had come the voice.
+Perhaps--_perhaps_ Bertram wanted her. Perhaps he was not going to paint
+any longer that morning, after all. “Billy!” called the voice again.
+“Please, do you mind stopping that playing just for a little while? I'm
+a brute, I know, dear, but my brush _will_ try to keep time with that
+crazy little tune of yours, and you know my hand is none too steady,
+anyhow, and when it tries to keep up with that jiggety, jig, jig,
+jiggety, jig, jig--! _Do_ you mind, darling, just--just sewing, or
+doing something still for a while?”
+
+All the light fled from Billy's face, but her voice, when she spoke, was
+the quintessence of cheery indifference.
+
+“Why, no, of course not, dear.”
+
+“Thank you. I knew you wouldn't,” sighed Bertram. Then the door shut.
+
+For a long minute Billy stood motionless before she glanced at her watch
+and sped to the telephone.
+
+“Is Miss Greggory there, Rosa?” she called when the operator's ring was
+answered.
+
+“Mis' Greggory, the lame one?”
+
+“No; _Miss_ Greggory--Miss Alice.”
+
+“Oh! Yes'm.”
+
+“Then won't you ask her to come to the telephone, please.”
+
+There was a moment's wait, during which Billy's small, well-shod foot
+beat a nervous tattoo on the floor.
+
+“Oh, is that you, Alice?” she called then. “Are you going to be home for
+an hour or two?”
+
+“Why, y-yes; yes, indeed.”
+
+“Then I'm coming over. We'll play duets, sing--anything. I want some
+music.”
+
+“Do! And--Mr. Arkwright is here. He'll help.”
+
+“Mr. Arkwright? You say he's there? Then I won't--Yes, I will, too.”
+ Billy spoke with renewed firmness. “I'll be there right away. Good-by.”
+ And she hung up the receiver, and went to tell Pete to order John and
+Peggy at once.
+
+“I suppose I ought to have left Alice and Mr. Arkwright alone together,”
+ muttered the young wife feverishly, as she hurriedly prepared for
+departure. “But I'll make it up to them later. I'm going to give them
+lots of chances. But to-day--to-day I just had to go--somewhere!”
+
+At the Annex, with Alice Greggory and Arkwright, Billy sang duets and
+trios, and reveled in a sonorous wilderness of new music to her heart's
+content. Then, rested, refreshed, and at peace with all the world, she
+hurried home to dinner and to Bertram.
+
+“There! I feel better,” she sighed, as she took off her hat in her
+own room; “and now I'll go find Bertram. Bless his heart--of course he
+didn't want me to play when he was so busy!”
+
+Billy went straight to the studio, but Bertram was not there. Neither
+was he in William's room, nor anywhere in the house. Down-stairs in
+the dining-room Pete was found looking rather white, leaning back in
+a chair. He struggled at once to his feet, however, as his mistress
+entered the room.
+
+Billy hurried forward with a startled exclamation.
+
+“Why, Pete, what is it? Are you sick?” she cried, her glance
+encompassing the half-set table.
+
+“No, ma'am; oh, no, ma'am!” The old man stumbled forward and began
+to arrange the knives and forks. “It's just a pesky pain--beggin' yer
+pardon--in my side. But I ain't sick. No, Miss--ma'am.”
+
+Billy frowned and shook her head. Her eyes were on Pete's palpably
+trembling hands.
+
+“But, Pete, you are sick,” she protested. “Let Eliza do that.”
+
+Pete drew himself stiffly erect. The color had begun to come back to his
+face.
+
+“There hain't no one set this table much but me for more'n fifty years,
+an' I've got a sort of notion that nobody can do it just ter suit me.
+Besides, I'm better now. It's gone--that pain.”
+
+“But, Pete, what is it? How long have you had it?”
+
+“I hain't had it any time, steady. It's the comin' an' goin' kind. It
+seems silly ter mind it at all; only, when it does come, it sort o'
+takes the backbone right out o' my knees, and they double up so's I
+have ter set down. There, ye see? I'm pert as a sparrer, now!” And, with
+stiff celerity, Pete resumed his task.
+
+His mistress still frowned.
+
+“That isn't right, Pete,” she demurred, with a slow shake of her head.
+“You should see a doctor.”
+
+The old man paled a little. He had seen a doctor, and he had not liked
+what the doctor had told him. In fact, he stubbornly refused to
+believe what the doctor had said. He straightened himself now a little
+aggressively.
+
+“Humph! Beggin' yer pardon, Miss--ma'am, but I don't think much o' them
+doctor chaps.”
+
+Billy shook her head again as she smiled and turned away. Then, as if
+casually, she asked:
+
+“Oh, did Mr. Bertram go out, Pete?”
+
+“Yes, Miss; about five o'clock. He said he'd be back to dinner.”
+
+“Oh! All right.”
+
+From the hall the telephone jangled sharply.
+
+“I'll go,” said Pete's mistress, as she turned and hurried up-stairs.
+
+It was Bertram's voice that answered her opening “Hullo.”
+
+“Oh, Billy, is that you, dear? Well, you're just the one I wanted. I
+wanted to say--that is, I wanted to ask you--” The speaker cleared
+his throat a little nervously, and began all over again. “The fact is,
+Billy, I've run across a couple of old classmates on from New York, and
+they are very anxious I should stay down to dinner with them. Would you
+mind--very much if I did?”
+
+A cold hand seemed to clutch Billy's heart. She caught her breath with
+a little gasp and tried to speak; but she had to try twice before the
+words came.
+
+“Why, no--no, of course not!” Billy's voice was very high-pitched and a
+little shaky, but it was surpassingly cheerful.
+
+“You sure you won't be--lonesome?” Bertram's voice was vaguely troubled.
+
+“Of course not!”
+
+“You've only to say the word, little girl,” came Bertram's anxious tones
+again, “and I won't stay.”
+
+Billy swallowed convulsively. If only, only he would _stop_ and leave
+her to herself! As if she were going to own up that _she_ was lonesome
+for _him_--if _he_ was not lonesome for _her!_
+
+“Nonsense! of course you'll stay,” called Billy, still in that
+high-pitched, shaky treble. Then, before Bertram could answer, she
+uttered a gay “Good-by!” and hung up the receiver.
+
+Billy had ten whole minutes in which to cry before Pete's gong sounded
+for dinner; but she had only one minute in which to try to efface the
+woefully visible effects of those ten minutes before William tapped at
+her door, and called:
+
+“Gone to sleep, my dear? Dinner's ready. Didn't you hear the gong?”
+
+“Yes, I'm coming, Uncle William.” Billy spoke with breezy gayety, and
+threw open the door; but she did not meet Uncle William's eyes. Her head
+was turned away. Her hands were fussing with the hang of her skirt.
+
+“Bertram's dining out, Pete tells me,” observed William, with cheerful
+nonchalance, as they went down-stairs together.
+
+Billy bit her lip and looked up sharply. She had been bracing herself to
+meet with disdainful indifference this man's pity--the pity due a poor
+neglected wife whose husband _preferred_ to dine with old classmates
+rather than with herself. Now she found in William's face, not pity, but
+a calm, even jovial, acceptance of the situation as a matter of course.
+She had known she was going to hate that pity; but now, curiously
+enough, she was conscious only of anger that the pity was not
+there--that she might hate it.
+
+She tossed her head a little. So even William--Uncle William--regarded
+this monstrous thing as an insignificant matter of everyday experience.
+Maybe he expected it to occur frequently--every night, or so. Doubtless
+he did expect it to occur every night, or so. Indeed! Very well. As if
+she were going to show _now_ that she cared whether Bertram were there
+or not! They should see.
+
+So with head held high and eyes asparkle, Billy marched into the
+dining-room and took her accustomed place.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII. THE BIG BAD QUARREL
+
+
+It was a brilliant dinner--because Billy made it so. At first William
+met her sallies of wit with mild surprise; but it was not long before
+he rose gallantly to the occasion, and gave back full measure of retort.
+Even Pete twice had to turn his back to hide a smile, and once his hand
+shook so that the tea he was carrying almost spilled. This threatened
+catastrophe, however, seemed to frighten him so much that his face was
+very grave throughout the rest of the dinner.
+
+Still laughing and talking gayly, Billy and Uncle William, after the
+meal was over, ascended to the drawing-room. There, however, the man, in
+spite of the young woman's gay badinage, fell to dozing in the big chair
+before the fire, leaving Billy with only Spunkie for company--Spunkie,
+who, disdaining every effort to entice her into a romp, only winked and
+blinked stupid eyes, and finally curled herself on the rug for a nap.
+
+Billy, left to her own devices, glanced at her watch.
+
+Half-past seven! Time, almost, for Bertram to be coming. He had said
+“dinner”; and, of course, after dinner was over he would be coming
+home--to her. Very well; she would show him that she had at least got
+along without him as well as he had without her. At all events he
+would not find her forlornly sitting with her nose pressed against the
+window-pane! And forthwith Billy established herself in a big chair
+(with its back carefully turned toward the door by which Bertram would
+enter), and opened a book.
+
+Five, ten, fifteen minutes passed. Billy fidgeted in her chair, twisted
+her neck to look out into the hall--and dropped her book with a bang.
+
+Uncle William jerked himself awake, and Spunkie opened sleepy eyes. Then
+both settled themselves for another nap. Billy sighed, picked up
+her book, and flounced back into her chair. But she did not read.
+Disconsolately she sat staring straight ahead--until a quick step on
+the sidewalk outside stirred her into instant action. Assuming a look
+of absorbed interest she twitched the book open and held it before her
+face.... But the step passed by the door: and Billy saw then that her
+book was upside down.
+
+Five, ten, fifteen more minutes passed. Billy still sat, apparently
+reading, though she had not turned a page. The book now, however, was
+right side up. One by one other minutes passed till the great clock in
+the hall struck nine long strokes.
+
+“Well, well, bless my soul!” mumbled Uncle William, resolutely forcing
+himself to wake up. “What time was that?”
+
+“Nine o'clock.” Billy spoke with tragic distinctness, yet very
+cheerfully.
+
+“Eh? Only nine?” blinked Uncle William. “I thought it must be ten. Well,
+anyhow, I believe I'll go up-stairs. I seem to be unusually sleepy.”
+
+Billy said nothing. “'Only nine,' indeed!” she was thinking wrathfully.
+
+At the door Uncle William turned.
+
+“You're not going to sit up, my dear, of course,” he remarked.
+
+For the second time that evening a cold hand seemed to clutch Billy's
+heart.
+
+_Sit up!_ Had it come already to that? Was she even now a wife who had
+need to _sit up_ for her husband?
+
+“I really wouldn't, my dear,” advised Uncle William again. “Good night.”
+
+“Oh, but I'm not sleepy at all, yet,” Billy managed to declare brightly.
+“Good night.”
+
+Then Uncle William went up-stairs.
+
+Billy turned to her book, which happened to be one of William's on “Fake
+Antiques.”
+
+“'To collect anything, these days, requires expert knowledge, and the
+utmost care and discrimination,'” read Billy's eyes. “So Uncle William
+_expected_ Bertram was going to spend the whole evening as well as stay
+to dinner!” ran Billy's thoughts. “'The enormous quantity of bijouterie,
+Dresden and Battersea enamel ware that is now flooding the market,
+is made on the Continent--and made chiefly for the American trade,'”
+ continued the book.
+
+“Well, who cares if it is,” snapped Billy, springing to her feet and
+tossing the volume aside. “Spunkie, come here! You've simply got to play
+with me. Do you hear? I want to be gay--_gay_--GAY! He's gay. He's down
+there with those men, where he wants to be. Where he'd _rather_ be than
+be with me! Do you think I want him to come home and find me moping over
+a stupid old book? Not much! I'm going to have him find me gay, too.
+Now, come, Spunkie; hurry--wake up! He'll be here right away, I'm sure.”
+ And Billy shook a pair of worsted reins, hung with little soft balls,
+full in Spunkie's face.
+
+But Spunkie would not wake up, and Spunkie would not play. She pretended
+to. She bit at the reins, and sank her sharp claws into the dangling
+balls. For a fleeting instant, even, something like mischief gleamed in
+her big yellow eyes. Then the jaws relaxed, the paws turned to velvet,
+and Spunkie's sleek gray head settled slowly back into lazy comfort.
+Spunkie was asleep.
+
+Billy gazed at the cat with reproachful eyes.
+
+“And you, too, Spunkie,” she murmured. Then she got to her feet and went
+back to her chair. This time she picked up a magazine and began to turn
+the leaves very fast, one after another.
+
+Half-past nine came, then ten. Pete appeared at the door to get Spunkie,
+and to see that everything was all right for the night.
+
+“Mr. Bertram is not in yet?” he began doubtfully.
+
+Billy shook her head with a bright smile.
+
+“No, Pete. Go to bed. I expect him every minute. Good night.”
+
+“Thank you, ma'am. Good night.”
+
+The old man picked up the sleepy cat and went down-stairs. A little
+later Billy heard his quiet steps coming back through the hall and
+ascending the stairs. She listened until from away at the top of the
+house she heard his door close. Then she drew a long breath.
+
+Ten o'clock--after ten o'clock, and Bertram not there yet! And was this
+what he called dinner? Did one eat, then, till ten o'clock, when one
+dined with one's friends?
+
+Billy was angry now--very angry. She was too angry to be reasonable.
+This thing that her husband had done seemed monstrous to her, smarting,
+as she was, under the sting of hurt pride and grieved loneliness--the
+state of mind into which she had worked herself. No longer now did she
+wish to be gay when her husband came. No longer did she even pretend to
+assume indifference. Bertram had done wrong. He had been unkind, cruel,
+thoughtless, inconsiderate of her comfort and happiness. Furthermore he
+_did not_ love her as well as she did him or he never, never could have
+done it! She would let him see, when he came, just how hurt and grieved
+she was--and how disappointed, too.
+
+Billy was walking the floor now, back and forth, back and forth.
+
+Half-past ten came, then eleven. As the eleven long strokes reverberated
+through the silent house Billy drew in her breath and held it suspended.
+A new look came to her eyes. A growing terror crept into them and
+culminated in a frightened stare at the clock.
+
+Billy ran then to the great outer door and pulled it open. A cold wind
+stung her face, and caused her to shut the door quickly. Back and forth
+she began to pace the floor again; but in five minutes she had run to
+the door once more. This time she wore a heavy coat of Bertram's which
+she caught up as she passed the hall-rack.
+
+Out on to the broad top step Billy hurried, and peered down the street.
+As far as she could see not a person was in sight. Across the street in
+the Public Garden the wind stirred the gray tree-branches and set them
+to casting weird shadows on the bare, frozen ground. A warning something
+behind her sent Billy scurrying into the house just in time to prevent
+the heavy door's closing and shutting her out, keyless, in the cold.
+
+Half-past eleven came, and again Billy ran to the door. This time she
+put the floor-mat against the casing so that the door could not close.
+Once more she peered wildly up and down the street, and across into the
+deserted, wind-swept Garden.
+
+There was only terror now in Billy's face. The anger was all gone. In
+Billy's mind there was not a shadow of doubt--something had happened to
+Bertram.
+
+Bertram was ill--hurt--dead! And he was so good, so kind, so noble; such
+a dear, dear husband! If only she could see him once. If only she could
+ask his forgiveness for those wicked, unkind, accusing thoughts. If only
+she could tell him again that she did love him. If only--
+
+Far down the street a step rang sharply on the frosty air. A masculine
+figure was hurrying toward the house. Retreating well into the shadow
+of the doorway, Billy watched it, her heart pounding against her side
+in great suffocating throbs. Nearer and nearer strode the approaching
+figure until Billy had almost sprung to meet it with a glad cry--almost,
+but not quite; for the figure neither turned nor paused, but marched
+straight on--and Billy saw then, under the arc light, a brown-bearded
+man who was not Bertram at all.
+
+Three times during the next few minutes did the waiting little bride
+on the doorstep watch with palpitating yearning a shadowy form appear,
+approach--and pass by. At the third heart-breaking disappointment, Billy
+wrung her hands helplessly.
+
+“I don't see how there can be--so many--utterly _useless_ people in the
+world!” she choked. Then, thoroughly chilled and sick at heart, she went
+into the house and closed the door.
+
+Once again, back and forth, back and forth, Billy took up her weary
+vigil. She still wore the heavy coat. She had forgotten to take it off.
+Her face was pitifully white and drawn. Her eyes were wild. One of her
+hands was nervously caressing the rough sleeve of the coat as it hung
+from her shoulder.
+
+
+One--two--three--
+
+Billy gave a sharp cry and ran into the hall.
+
+Yes, it was twelve o'clock. And now, always, all the rest of the
+dreary, useless hours that that clock would tick away through an endless
+existence, she would have to live--without Bertram. If only she could
+see him once more! But she could not. He was dead. He must be dead, now.
+Here it was twelve o'clock, and--
+
+There came a quick step, the click of a key in the lock, then the door
+swung back and Bertram, big, strong, and merry-eyed, stood before her.
+
+“Well, well, hullo,” he called jovially. “Why, Billy, what's the
+matter?” he broke off, in quite a different tone of voice.
+
+And then a curious thing happened. Billy, who, a minute before, had been
+seeing only a dear, noble, adorable, _lost_ Bertram, saw now suddenly
+only the man that had stayed _happily_ till midnight with two friends,
+while she--she--
+
+“Matter! Matter!” exclaimed Billy sharply, then. “Is this what you call
+staying to dinner, Bertram Henshaw?”
+
+Bertram stared. A slow red stole to his forehead. It was his first
+experience of coming home to meet angry eyes that questioned his
+behavior--and he did not like it. He had been, perhaps, a little
+conscience-smitten when he saw how late he had stayed; and he had
+intended to say he was sorry, of course. But to be thus sharply
+called to account for a perfectly innocent good time with a couple of
+friends--! To come home and find Billy making a ridiculous scene like
+this--! He--he would not stand for it! He--
+
+Bertram's lips snapped open. The angry retort was almost spoken when
+something in the piteously quivering chin and white, drawn face opposite
+stopped it just in time.
+
+“Why, Billy--darling!” he murmured instead.
+
+It was Billy's turn to change. All the anger melted away before the
+dismayed tenderness in those dear eyes and the grieved hurt in that dear
+voice.
+
+“Well, you--you--I--” Billy began to cry.
+
+It was all right then, of course, for the next minute she was crying on
+Bertram's big, broad shoulder; and in the midst of broken words, kisses,
+gentle pats, and inarticulate croonings, the Big, Bad Quarrel, that had
+been all ready to materialize, faded quite away into nothingness.
+
+“I didn't have such an awfully good time, anyhow,” avowed Bertram, when
+speech became rational. “I'd rather have been home with you.”
+
+“Nonsense!” blinked Billy, valiantly. “Of course you had a good time;
+and it was perfectly right you should have it, too! And I--I hope you'll
+have it again.”
+
+“I sha'n't,” emphasized Bertram, promptly, “--not and leave you!”
+
+Billy regarded him with adoring eyes.
+
+“I'll tell you; we'll have 'em come here,” she proposed gayly.
+
+“Sure we will,” agreed Bertram.
+
+“Yes; sure we will,” echoed Billy, with a contented sigh. Then, a little
+breathlessly, she added: “Anyhow, I'll know--where you are. I won't
+think you're--dead!”
+
+“You--blessed--little-goose!” scolded Bertram, punctuating each word
+with a kiss.
+
+Billy drew a long sigh.
+
+“If this is a quarrel I'm going to have them often,” she announced
+placidly.
+
+“Billy!” The young husband was plainly aghast.
+
+“Well, I am--because I like the making-up,” dimpled Billy, with a
+mischievous twinkle as she broke from his clasp and skipped ahead up the
+stairway.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII. BILLY CULTIVATES A “COMFORTABLE INDIFFERENCE”
+
+
+The next morning, under the uncompromising challenge of a bright sun,
+Billy began to be uneasily suspicious that she had been just a bit
+unreasonable and exacting the night before. To make matters worse she
+chanced to run across a newspaper criticism of a new book bearing the
+ominous title: “When the Honeymoon Wanes A Talk to Young Wives.”
+
+Such a title, of course, attracted her supersensitive attention at once;
+and, with a curiously faint feeling, she picked up the paper and began
+to read.
+
+As the most of the criticism was taken up with quotations from the book,
+it was such sentences as these that met her startled eyes:
+
+“Perhaps the first test comes when the young wife awakes to the
+realization that while her husband loves her very much, he can still
+make plans with his old friends which do not include herself.... Then is
+when the foolish wife lets her husband see how hurt she is that he can
+want to be with any one but herself.... Then is when the husband--used
+all his life to independence, perhaps--begins to chafe under these new
+bonds that hold him so fast.... No man likes to be held up at the end of
+a threatened scene and made to give an account of himself.... Before
+a woman has learned to cultivate a comfortable indifference to her
+husband's comings and goings, she is apt to be tyrannical and exacting.”
+
+“'Comfortable indifference,' indeed!” stormed Billy to herself. “As if I
+ever could be comfortably indifferent to anything Bertram did!”
+
+She dropped the paper; but there were still other quotations from the
+book there, she knew; and in a moment she was back at the table reading
+them.
+
+“No man, however fondly he loves his wife, likes to feel that she is
+everlastingly peering into the recesses of his mind, and weighing his
+every act to find out if he does or does not love her to-day as well as
+he did yesterday at this time.... Then, when spontaneity is dead, she
+is the chief mourner at its funeral.... A few couples never leave the
+Garden of Eden. They grow old hand in hand. They are the ones who bear
+and forbear; who have learned to adjust themselves to the intimate
+relationship of living together.... A certain amount of liberty, both of
+action and thought, must be allowed on each side.... The family shut in
+upon itself grows so narrow that all interest in the outside world
+is lost.... No two people are ever fitted to fill each other's lives
+entirely. They ought not to try to do it. If they do try, the process is
+belittling to each, and the result, if it is successful, is nothing less
+than a tragedy; for it could not mean the highest ideals, nor the truest
+devotion.... Brushing up against other interests and other personalities
+is good for both husband and wife. Then to each other they bring the
+best of what they have found, and each to the other continues to be new
+and interesting.... The young wife, however, is apt to be jealous of
+everything that turns her husband's attention for one moment away from
+herself. She is jealous of his thoughts, his words, his friends, even
+his business.... But the wife who has learned to be the clinging vine
+when her husband wishes her to cling, and to be the sturdy oak when
+clinging vines would be tiresome, has solved a tremendous problem.”
+
+At this point Billy dropped the paper. She flung it down, indeed, a bit
+angrily. There were still a few more words in the criticism, mostly the
+critic's own opinion of the book; but Billy did not care for this. She
+had read quite enough--too much, in fact. All that sort of talk might
+be very well, even necessary, perhaps (she told herself), for ordinary
+husbands and wives! but for her and Bertram--
+
+Then vividly before her rose those initial quoted words:
+
+“Perhaps the first test comes when the young wife awakes to the
+realization that while her husband loves her very much, he can still
+make plans with his old friends which do not include herself.”
+
+Billy frowned, and put her finger to her lips. Was that then, last
+night, a “test”? Had she been “tyrannical and exacting”? Was she
+“everlastingly peering into the recesses” of Bertram's mind and
+“weighing his every act”? Was Bertram already beginning to “chafe” under
+these new bonds that held him?
+
+No, no, never that! She could not believe that. But what if he should
+sometime begin to chafe? What if they two should, in days to come,
+degenerate into just the ordinary, everyday married folk, whom she saw
+about her everywhere, and for whom just such horrid books as this must
+be written? It was unbelievable, unthinkable. And yet, that man had
+said--
+
+With a despairing sigh Billy picked up the paper once more and read
+carefully every word again. When she had finished she stood soberly
+thoughtful, her eyes out of the window.
+
+After all, it was nothing but the same old story. She was exacting.
+She did want her husband's every thought. She _gloried_ in peering into
+every last recess of his mind if she had half a chance. She was jealous
+of his work. She had almost hated his painting--at times. She had held
+him up with a threatened scene only the night before and demanded that
+he should give an account of himself. She had, very likely, been the
+clinging vine when she should have been the sturdy oak.
+
+Very well, then. (Billy lifted her head and threw back her shoulders.)
+He should have no further cause for complaint. She would be an oak. She
+would cultivate that comfortable indifference to his comings and goings.
+She would brush up against other interests and personalities so as to
+be “new” and “interesting” to her husband. She would not be tyrannical,
+exacting, or jealous. She would not threaten scenes, nor peer into
+recesses. Whatever happened, she would not let Bertram begin to chafe
+against those bonds!
+
+Having arrived at this heroic and (to her) eminently satisfactory state
+of mind, Billy turned from the window and fell to work on a piece of
+manuscript music.
+
+“'Brush up against other interests,'” she admonished herself sternly, as
+she reached for her pen.
+
+Theoretically it was beautiful; but practically--
+
+Billy began at once to be that oak. Not an hour after she had first seen
+the fateful notice of “When the Honeymoon Wanes,” Bertram's ring sounded
+at the door down-stairs.
+
+Bertram always let himself in with his latchkey; but, from the first
+of Billy's being there, he had given a peculiar ring at the bell which
+would bring his wife flying to welcome him if she were anywhere in the
+house. To-day, when the bell sounded, Billy sprang as usual to her feet,
+with a joyous “There's Bertram!” But the next moment she fell back.
+
+“Tut, tut, Billy Neilson Henshaw! Learn to cultivate a comfortable
+indifference to your husband's comings and goings,” she whispered
+fiercely. Then she sat down and fell to work again.
+
+A moment later she heard her husband's voice talking to some one--Pete,
+she surmised. “Here? You say she's here?” Then she heard Bertram's quick
+step on the stairs. The next minute, very quietly, he came to her door.
+
+“Ho!” he ejaculated gayly, as she rose to receive his kiss. “I thought
+I'd find you asleep, when you didn't hear my ring.”
+
+Billy reddened a little.
+
+“Oh, no, I wasn't asleep.”
+
+“But you didn't hear--” Bertram stopped abruptly, an odd look in his
+eyes. “Maybe you did hear it, though,” he corrected.
+
+Billy colored more confusedly. The fact that she looked so distressed
+did not tend to clear Bertram's face.
+
+“Why, of course, Billy, I didn't mean to insist on your coming to meet
+me,” he began a little stiffly; but Billy interrupted him.
+
+“Why, Bertram, I just love to go to meet you,” she maintained
+indignantly. Then, remembering just in time, she amended: “That is,
+I did love to meet you, until--” With a sudden realization that she
+certainly had not helped matters any, she came to an embarrassed pause.
+
+A puzzled frown showed on Bertram's face.
+
+“You did love to meet me until--” he repeated after her; then his face
+changed. “Billy, you aren't--you _can't_ be laying up last night against
+me!” he reproached her a little irritably.
+
+“Last night? Why, of course not,” retorted Billy, in a panic at the
+bare mention of the “test” which--according to “When the Honeymoon
+Wanes”--was at the root of all her misery. Already she thought she
+detected in Bertram's voice signs that he was beginning to chafe against
+those “bonds.” “It is a matter of--of the utmost indifference to me what
+time you come home at night, my dear,” she finished airily, as she sat
+down to her work again.
+
+Bertram stared; then he frowned, turned on his heel and left the room.
+Bertram, who knew nothing of the “Talk to Young Wives” in the newspaper
+at Billy's feet, was surprised, puzzled, and just a bit angry.
+
+Billy, left alone, jabbed her pen with such force against her paper that
+the note she was making became an unsightly blot.
+
+“Well, if this is what that man calls being 'comfortably indifferent,'
+I'd hate to try the _un_comfortable kind,” she muttered with emphasis.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX. THE DINNER BILLY TRIED TO GET
+
+
+Notwithstanding what Billy was disposed to regard as the non-success
+of her first attempt to profit by the “Talk to Young Wives;” she still
+frantically tried to avert the waning of her honeymoon. Assiduously she
+cultivated the prescribed “indifference,” and with at least apparent
+enthusiasm she sought the much-to-be-desired “outside interests.” That
+is, she did all this when she thought of it when something reminded her
+of the sword of destruction hanging over her happiness. At other times,
+when she was just being happy without question, she was her old self
+impulsive, affectionate, and altogether adorable.
+
+Naturally, under these circumstances, her conduct was somewhat erratic.
+For three days, perhaps, she would fly to the door at her husband's
+ring, and hang upon his every movement. Then, for the next three,
+she would be a veritable will-o'-the-wisp for elusiveness, caring,
+apparently, not one whit whether her husband came or went until poor
+Bertram, at his wit's end, scourged himself with a merciless catechism
+as to what he had done to vex her. Then, perhaps, just when he had
+nerved himself almost to the point of asking her what was the trouble,
+there would come another change, bringing back to him the old Billy,
+joyous, winsome, and devoted, plainly caring nothing for anybody or
+anything but himself. Scarcely, however, would he become sure that it
+was his Billy back again before she was off once more, quite beyond his
+reach, singing with Arkwright and Alice Greggory, playing with Tommy
+Dunn, plunging into some club or church work--anything but being with
+him.
+
+That all this was puzzling and disquieting to Bertram, Billy not once
+suspected. Billy, so far as she was concerned, was but cultivating a
+comfortable indifference, brushing up against outside interests, and
+being an oak.
+
+December passed, and January came, bringing Miss Marguerite Winthrop to
+her Boston home. Bertram's arm was “as good as ever” now, according to
+its owner; and the sittings for the new portrait began at once. This
+left Billy even more to her own devices, for Bertram entered into his
+new work with an enthusiasm born of a glad relief from forced idleness,
+and a consuming eagerness to prove that even though he had failed the
+first time, he could paint a portrait of Marguerite Winthrop that would
+be a credit to himself, a conclusive retort to his critics, and a source
+of pride to his once mortified friends. With his whole heart, therefore,
+he threw himself into the work before him, staying sometimes well into
+the afternoon on the days Miss Winthrop could find time between her
+social engagements to give him a sitting.
+
+It was on such a day, toward the middle of the month, that Billy was
+called to the telephone at half-past twelve o'clock to speak to her
+husband.
+
+“Billy, dear,” began Bertram at once, “if you don't mind I'm staying
+to luncheon at Miss Winthrop's kind request. We've changed the
+pose--neither of us was satisfied, you know--but we haven't quite
+settled on the new one. Miss Winthrop has two whole hours this
+afternoon that she can give me if I'll stay; and, of course, under the
+circumstances, I want to do it.”
+
+“Of course,” echoed Billy. Billy's voice was indomitably cheerful.
+
+“Thank you, dear. I knew you'd understand,” sighed Bertram, contentedly.
+“You see, really, two whole hours, so--it's a chance I can't afford to
+lose.”
+
+“Of course you can't,” echoed Billy, again.
+
+“All right then. Good-by till to-night,” called the man.
+
+“Good-by,” answered Billy, still cheerfully. As she turned away,
+however, she tossed her head. “A new pose, indeed!” she muttered, with
+some asperity. “Just as if there could be a _new_ pose after all those
+she tried last year!”
+
+Immediately after luncheon Pete and Eliza started for South Boston to
+pay a visit to Eliza's mother, and it was soon after they left the house
+that Bertram called his wife up again.
+
+“Say, dearie, I forgot to tell you,” he began, “but I met an old friend
+in the subway this morning, and I--well, I remembered what you said
+about bringing 'em home to dinner next time, so I asked him for
+to-night. Do you mind? It's--”
+
+“Mind? Of course not! I'm glad you did,” plunged in Billy, with feverish
+eagerness. (Even now, just the bare mention of anything connected with
+that awful “test” night was enough to set Billy's nerves to tingling.)
+“I want you to always bring them home, Bertram.”
+
+“All right, dear. We'll be there at six o'clock then. It's--it's
+Calderwell, this time. You remember Calderwell, of course.”
+
+“Not--_Hugh_ Calderwell?” Billy's question was a little faint.
+
+“Sure!” Bertram laughed oddly, and lowered his voice. “I suspect
+_once_ I wouldn't have brought him home to you. I was too jealous. But
+now--well, now maybe I want him to see what he's lost.”
+
+“_Bertram!_”
+
+But Bertram only laughed mischievously, and called a gay “Good-by till
+to-night, then!”
+
+Billy, at her end of the wires, hung up the receiver and backed against
+the wall a little palpitatingly.
+
+Calderwell! To dinner--Calderwell! Did she remember Calderwell? Did she,
+indeed! As if one could easily forget the man that, for a year or two,
+had proposed marriage as regularly (and almost as lightly!) as he had
+torn a monthly leaf from his calendar! Besides, was it not he, too, who
+had said that Bertram would never love any girl, _really_; that it would
+be only the tilt of her chin or the turn of her head that he loved--to
+paint? And now he was coming to dinner--and with Bertram.
+
+Very well, he should see! He should see that Bertram _did_ love her;
+_her_--not the tilt of her chin nor the turn of her head. He should
+see how happy they were, what a good wife she made, and how devoted and
+_satisfied_ Bertram was in his home. He should see! And forthwith Billy
+picked up her skirts and tripped up-stairs to select her very prettiest
+house-gown to do honor to the occasion. Up-stairs, however, one thing
+and another delayed her, so that it was four o'clock when she turned her
+attention to her toilet; and it was while she was hesitating whether to
+be stately and impressive in royally sumptuous blue velvet and ermine,
+or cozy and tantalizingly homy{sic} in bronze-gold crêpe de Chine and
+swan's-down, that the telephone bell rang again.
+
+Eliza and Pete had not yet returned; so, as before, Billy answered it.
+This time Eliza's shaking voice came to her.
+
+“Is that you, ma'am?”
+
+“Why, yes, Eliza?”
+
+“Yes'm, it's me, ma'am. It's about Uncle Pete. He's give us a turn
+that's 'most scared us out of our wits.”
+
+“Pete! You mean he's sick?”
+
+“Yes, ma'am, he was. That is, he is, too--only he's better, now, thank
+goodness,” panted Eliza. “But he ain't hisself yet. He's that white and
+shaky! Would you--could you--that is, would you mind if we didn't come
+back till into the evenin', maybe?”
+
+“Why, of course not,” cried Pete's mistress, quickly. “Don't come a
+minute before he's able, Eliza. Don't come until to-morrow.”
+
+Eliza gave a trembling little laugh.
+
+“Thank you, ma'am; but there wouldn't be no keepin' of Uncle Pete here
+till then. If he could take five steps alone he'd start now. But he
+can't. He says he'll be all right pretty quick, though. He's had 'em
+before--these spells--but never quite so bad as this, I guess; an' he's
+worryin' somethin' turrible 'cause he can't start for home right away.”
+
+“Nonsense!” cut in Mrs. Bertram Henshaw.
+
+“Yes'm. I knew you'd feel that way,” stammered Eliza, gratefully. “You
+see, I couldn't leave him to come alone, and besides, anyhow, I'd have
+to stay, for mother ain't no more use than a wet dish-rag at such times,
+she's that scared herself. And she ain't very well, too. So if--if you
+_could_ get along--”
+
+“Of course we can! And tell Pete not to worry one bit. I'm so sorry he's
+sick!”
+
+“Thank you, ma'am. Then we'll be there some time this evenin',” sighed
+Eliza.
+
+From the telephone Billy turned away with a troubled face.
+
+“Pete _is_ ill,” she was saying to herself. “I don't like the looks of
+it; and he's so faithful he'd come if--” With a little cry Billy
+stopped short. Then, tremblingly, she sank into the nearest chair.
+“Calderwell--and he's coming to _dinner!_” she moaned.
+
+For two benumbed minutes Billy sat staring at nothing. Then she ran to
+the telephone and called the Annex.
+
+Aunt Hannah answered.
+
+“Aunt Hannah, for heaven's sake, if you love me,” pleaded Billy, “send
+Rosa down instanter! Pete is sick over to South Boston, and Eliza is
+with him; and Bertram is bringing Hugh Calderwell home to dinner. _Can_
+you spare Rosa?”
+
+“Oh, my grief and conscience, Billy! Of course I can--I mean I
+could--but Rosa isn't here, dear child! It's her day out, you know.”
+
+“O dear, of course it is! I might have known, if I'd thought; but Pete
+and Eliza have spoiled me. They never take days out at meal time--both
+together, I mean--until to-night.”
+
+“But, my dear child, what will you do?”
+
+“I don't know. I've got to think. I _must_ do something!”
+
+“Of course you must! I'd come over myself if it wasn't for my cold.”
+
+“As if I'd let you!”
+
+“There isn't anybody here, only Tommy. Even Alice is gone. Oh, Billy,
+Billy, this only goes to prove what I've always said, that _no_ woman
+_ought_ to be a wife until she's an efficient housekeeper; and--”
+
+“Yes, yes, Aunt Hannah, I know,” moaned Billy, frenziedly. “But I am a
+wife, and I'm not an efficient housekeeper; and Hugh Calderwell won't
+wait for me to learn. He's coming to-night. _To-night!_ And I've got to
+do something. Never mind. I'll fix it some way. Good-by!”
+
+“But, Billy, Billy! Oh, my grief and conscience,” fluttered Aunt
+Hannah's voice across the wires as Billy snapped the receiver into
+place.
+
+For the second time that day Billy backed palpitatingly against the
+wall. Her eyes sought the clock fearfully.
+
+Fifteen minutes past four. She had an hour and three quarters. She
+could, of course, telephone Bertram to dine Calderwell at a club or some
+hotel. But to do this now, the very first time, when it had been her
+own suggestion that he “bring them home”--no, no, she could not do that!
+Anything but that! Besides, very likely she could not reach Bertram,
+anyway. Doubtless he had left the Winthrops' by this time.
+
+There was Marie. She could telephone Marie. But Marie could not very
+well come just now, she knew; and then, too, there was Cyril to be taken
+into consideration. How Cyril would gibe at the wife who had to call in
+all the neighbors just because her husband was bringing home a friend to
+dinner! How he would--Well, he shouldn't! He should not have the chance.
+So, there!
+
+With a jerk Mrs. Bertram Henshaw pulled herself away from the wall and
+stood erect. Her eyes snapped, and the very poise of her chin spelled
+determination.
+
+Very well, she would show them. Was not Bertram bringing this man home
+because he was proud of her? Mighty proud he would be if she had to call
+in half of Boston to get his dinner for him! Nonsense! She would get
+it herself. Was not this the time, if ever, to be an oak? A vine,
+doubtless, would lean and cling and telephone, and whine “I can't!” But
+not an oak. An oak would hold up its head and say “I can!” An oak would
+go ahead and get that dinner. She would be an oak. She would get that
+dinner.
+
+What if she didn't know how to cook bread and cake and pies and
+things? One did not have to cook bread and cake and pies just to get
+a dinner--meat and potatoes and vegetables! Besides, she _could_ make
+peach fritters. She knew she could. She would show them!
+
+And with actually a bit of song on her lips, Billy skipped up-stairs
+for her ruffled apron and dust-cap--two necessary accompaniments to this
+dinner-getting, in her opinion.
+
+Billy found the apron and dust-cap with no difficulty; but it took fully
+ten of her precious minutes to unearth from its obscure hiding-place the
+blue-and-gold “Bride's Helper” cookbook, one of Aunt Hannah's wedding
+gifts.
+
+On the way to the kitchen, Billy planned her dinner. As was natural,
+perhaps, she chose the things she herself would like to eat.
+
+“I won't attempt anything very elaborate,” she said to herself. “It
+would be wiser to have something simple, like chicken pie, perhaps. I
+love chicken pie! And I'll have oyster stew first--that is, after the
+grapefruit. Just oysters boiled in milk must be easier than soup to
+make. I'll begin with grapefruit with a cherry in it, like Pete fixes
+it. Those don't have to be cooked, anyhow. I'll have fish--Bertram loves
+the fish course. Let me see, halibut, I guess, with egg sauce. I won't
+have any roast; nothing but the chicken pie. And I'll have squash and
+onions. I can have a salad, easy--just lettuce and stuff. That doesn't
+have to be cooked. Oh, and the peach fritters, if I get time to make
+them. For dessert--well, maybe I can find a new pie or pudding in the
+cookbook. I want to use that cookbook for something, after hunting all
+this time for it!”
+
+In the kitchen Billy found exquisite neatness, and silence. The first
+brought an approving light to her eyes; but the second, for some
+unapparent reason, filled her heart with vague misgiving. This feeling,
+however, Billy resolutely cast from her as she crossed the room, dropped
+her book on to the table, and turned toward the shining black stove.
+
+There was an excellent fire. Glowing points of light showed that only
+a good draft was needed to make the whole mass of coal red-hot. Billy,
+however, did not know this. Her experience of fires was confined to
+burning wood in open grates--and wood in open grates had to be poked to
+make it red and glowing. With confident alacrity now, therefore, Billy
+caught up the poker, thrust it into the mass of coals and gave them a
+fine stirring up. Then she set back the lid of the stove and went to
+hunt up the ingredients for her dinner.
+
+By the time Billy had searched five minutes and found no chicken, no
+oysters, and no halibut, it occurred to her that her larder was not,
+after all, an open market, and that one's provisions must be especially
+ordered to fit one's needs. As to ordering them now--Billy glanced at
+the clock and shook her head.
+
+“It's almost five, already, and they'd never get here in time,” she
+sighed regretfully. “I'll have to have something else.”
+
+Billy looked now, not for what she wanted, but for what she could find.
+And she found: some cold roast lamb, at which she turned up her nose; an
+uncooked beefsteak, which she appropriated doubtfully; a raw turnip and
+a head of lettuce, which she hailed with glee; and some beets, potatoes,
+onions, and grapefruit, from all of which she took a generous supply.
+Thus laden she went back to the kitchen.
+
+Spread upon the table they made a brave show.
+
+“Oh, well, I'll have quite a dinner, after all,” she triumphed, cocking
+her head happily. “And now for the dessert,” she finished, pouncing on
+the cookbook.
+
+It was while she was turning the leaves to find the pies and puddings
+that she ran across the vegetables and found the word “beets” staring
+her in the face. Mechanically she read the line below.
+
+“Winter beets will require three hours to cook. Use hot water.”
+
+Billy's startled eyes sought the clock.
+
+Three hours--and it was five, now!
+
+Frenziedly, then, she ran her finger down the page.
+
+“Onions, one and one-half hours. Use hot water. Turnips require a long
+time, but if cut thin they will cook in an hour and a quarter.”
+
+“An hour and a quarter, indeed!” she moaned.
+
+“Isn't there anything anywhere that doesn't take forever to cook?”
+
+“Early peas--... green corn--... summer squash--...” mumbled Billy's dry
+lips. “But what do folks eat in January--_January_?”
+
+It was the apparently inoffensive sentence, “New potatoes will boil in
+thirty minutes,” that brought fresh terror to Billy's soul, and set her
+to fluttering the cookbook leaves with renewed haste. If it took _new_
+potatoes thirty minutes to cook, how long did it take old ones? In vain
+she searched for the answer. There were plenty of potatoes. They were
+mashed, whipped, scalloped, creamed, fried, and broiled; they were made
+into puffs, croquettes, potato border, and potato snow. For many of
+these they were boiled first--“until tender,” one rule said.
+
+“But that doesn't tell me how long it takes to get 'em tender,” fumed
+Billy, despairingly. “I suppose they think anybody ought to know
+that--but I don't!” Suddenly her eyes fell once more on the instructions
+for boiling turnips, and her face cleared. “If it helps to cut turnips
+thin, why not potatoes?” she cried. “I _can_ do that, anyhow; and I
+will,” she finished, with a sigh of relief, as she caught up half a
+dozen potatoes and hurried into the pantry for a knife. A few minutes
+later, the potatoes, peeled, and cut almost to wafer thinness, were
+dumped into a basin of cold water.
+
+“There! now I guess you'll cook,” nodded Billy to the dish in her hand
+as she hurried to the stove.
+
+Chilled by an ominous unresponsiveness, Billy lifted the stove lid and
+peered inside. Only a mass of black and graying coals greeted her. The
+fire was out.
+
+“To think that even you had to go back on me like this!” upbraided
+Billy, eyeing the dismal mass with reproachful gaze.
+
+This disaster, however, as Billy knew, was not so great as it seemed,
+for there was still the gas stove. In the old days, under Dong Ling's
+rule, there had been no gas stove. Dong Ling disapproved of “devil
+stoves” that had “no coalee, no woodee, but burned like hellee.” Eliza,
+however, did approve of them; and not long after her arrival, a fine one
+had been put in for her use. So now Billy soon had her potatoes with a
+brisk blaze under them.
+
+In frantic earnest, then, Billy went to work. Brushing the discarded
+onions, turnip, and beets into a pail under the table, she was still
+confronted with the beefsteak, lettuce, and grapefruit. All but the
+beefsteak she pushed to one side with gentle pats.
+
+“You're all right,” she nodded to them. “I can use you. You don't have
+to be cooked, bless your hearts! But _you_--!” Billy scowled at
+the beefsteak and ran her finger down the index of the “Bride's
+Helper”--Billy knew how to handle that book now.
+
+“No, you don't--not for me!” she muttered, after a minute, shaking her
+finger at the tenderloin on the table. “I haven't got any 'hot coals,'
+and I thought a 'gridiron' was where they played football; though it
+seems it's some sort of a dish to cook you in, here--but I shouldn't
+know it from a teaspoon, probably, if I should see it. No, sir! It's
+back to the refrigerator for you, and a nice cold sensible roast leg of
+lamb for me, that doesn't have to be cooked. Understand? _Cooked_,” she
+finished, as she carried the beefsteak away and took possession of the
+hitherto despised cold lamb.
+
+Once more Billy made a mad search through cupboards and shelves. This
+time she bore back in triumph a can of corn, another of tomatoes, and
+a glass jar of preserved peaches. In the kitchen a cheery bubbling from
+the potatoes on the stove greeted her. Billy's spirits rose with the
+steam.
+
+“There, Spunkie,” she said gayly to the cat, who had just uncurled from
+a nap behind the stove. “Tell me I can't get up a dinner! And maybe
+we'll have the peach fritters, too,” she chirped. “I've got the
+peach-part, anyway.”
+
+But Billy did not have the peach fritters, after all. She got out the
+sugar and the flour, to be sure, and she made a great ado looking up the
+rule; but a hurried glance at the clock sent her into the dining-room to
+set the table, and all thought of the peach fritters was given up.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X. THE DINNER BILLY GOT
+
+
+At five minutes of six Bertram and Calderwell came. Bertram gave his
+peculiar ring and let himself in with his latchkey; but Billy did not
+meet him in the hall, nor in the drawing-room. Excusing himself, Bertram
+hurried up-stairs. Billy was not in her room, nor anywhere on that
+floor. She was not in William's room. Coming down-stairs to the hall
+again, Bertram confronted William, who had just come in.
+
+“Where's Billy?” demanded the young husband, with just a touch of
+irritation, as if he suspected William of having Billy in his pocket.
+
+William stared slightly.
+
+“Why, I don't know. Isn't she here?”
+
+“I'll ask Pete,” frowned Bertram.
+
+In the dining-room Bertram found no one, though the table was prettily
+set, and showed half a grapefruit at each place. In the kitchen--in the
+kitchen Bertram found a din of rattling tin, an odor of burned food--, a
+confusion of scattered pots and pans, a frightened cat who peered at him
+from under a littered stove, and a flushed, disheveled young woman in a
+blue dust-cap and ruffled apron, whom he finally recognized as his wife.
+
+“Why, Billy!” he gasped.
+
+Billy, who was struggling with something at the sink, turned sharply.
+
+“Bertram Henshaw,” she panted, “I used to think you were wonderful
+because you could paint a picture. I even used to think I was a little
+wonderful because I could write a song. Well, I don't any more! But I'll
+tell you who _is_ wonderful. It's Eliza and Rosa, and all the rest of
+those women who can get a meal on to the table all at once, so it's fit
+to eat!”
+
+“Why, Billy!” gasped Bertram again, falling back to the door he had
+closed behind him. “What in the world does this mean?”
+
+“Mean? It means I'm getting dinner,” choked Billy. “Can't you see?”
+
+“But--Pete! Eliza!”
+
+“They're sick--I mean he's sick; and I said I'd do it. I'd be an oak.
+But how did I know there wasn't anything in the house except stuff that
+took hours to cook--only potatoes? And how did I know that _they_ cooked
+in no time, and then got all smushy and wet staying in the water? And
+how did I know that everything else would stick on and burn on till
+you'd used every dish there was in the house to cook 'em in?”
+
+“Why, Billy!” gasped Bertram, for the third time. And then, because
+he had been married only six months instead of six years, he made the
+mistake of trying to argue with a woman whose nerves were already at the
+snapping point. “But, dear, it was so foolish of you to do all this! Why
+didn't you telephone? Why didn't you get somebody?”
+
+Like an irate little tigress, Billy turned at bay.
+
+“Bertram Henshaw,” she flamed angrily, “if you don't go up-stairs and
+tend to that man up there, I shall _scream_. Now go! I'll be up when I
+can.”
+
+And Bertram went.
+
+It was not so very long, after all, before Billy came in to greet her
+guest. She was not stately and imposing in royally sumptuous blue velvet
+and ermine; nor yet was she cozy and homy in bronze-gold crêpe de
+Chine and swan's-down. She was just herself in a pretty little morning
+house gown of blue gingham. She was minus the dust-cap and the ruffled
+apron, but she had a dab of flour on the left cheek, and a smutch of
+crock on her forehead. She had, too, a cut finger on her right hand,
+and a burned thumb on her left. But she was Billy--and being Billy,
+she advanced with a bright smile and held out a cordial hand--not even
+wincing when the cut finger came under Calderwell's hearty clasp.
+
+“I'm glad to see you,” she welcomed him. “You'll excuse my not appearing
+sooner, I'm sure, for--didn't Bertram tell you?--I'm playing Bridget
+to-night. But dinner is ready now, and we'll go down, please,” she
+smiled, as she laid a light hand on her guest's arm.
+
+Behind her, Bertram, remembering the scene in the kitchen, stared in
+sheer amazement. Bertram, it might be mentioned again, had been married
+six months, not six years.
+
+What Billy had intended to serve for a “simple dinner” that night was:
+grapefruit with cherries, oyster stew, boiled halibut with egg sauce,
+chicken pie, squash, onions, and potatoes, peach fritters, a “lettuce
+and stuff” salad, and some new pie or pudding. What she did serve was:
+grapefruit (without the cherries), cold roast lamb, potatoes (a mush of
+sogginess), tomatoes (canned, and slightly burned), corn (canned, and
+very much burned), lettuce (plain); and for dessert, preserved peaches
+and cake (the latter rather dry and stale). Such was Billy's dinner.
+
+The grapefruit everybody ate. The cold lamb too, met with a hearty
+reception, especially after the potatoes, corn, and tomatoes were
+served--and tasted. Outwardly, through it all, Billy was gayety itself.
+Inwardly she was burning up with anger and mortification. And because
+she was all this, there was, apparently, no limit to her laughter and
+sparkling repartee as she talked with Calderwell, her guest--the guest
+who, according to her original plans, was to be shown how happy she and
+Bertram were, what a good wife she made, and how devoted and _satisfied_
+Bertram was in his home.
+
+William, picking at his dinner--as only a hungry man can pick at a
+dinner that is uneatable--watched Billy with a puzzled, uneasy frown.
+Bertram, choking over the few mouthfuls he ate, marked his wife's
+animated face and Calderwell's absorbed attention, and settled into
+gloomy silence.
+
+But it could not continue forever. The preserved peaches were eaten at
+last, and the stale cake left. (Billy had forgotten the coffee--which
+was just as well, perhaps.) Then the four trailed up-stairs to the
+drawing-room.
+
+At nine o'clock an anxious Eliza and a remorseful, apologetic Pete
+came home and descended to the horror the once orderly kitchen
+and dining-room had become. At ten, Calderwell, with very evident
+reluctance, tore himself away from Billy's gay badinage, and said good
+night. At two minutes past ten, an exhausted, nerve-racked Billy was
+trying to cry on the shoulders of both Uncle William and Bertram at
+once.
+
+“There, there, child, don't! It went off all right,” patted Uncle
+William.
+
+“Billy, darling,” pleaded Bertram, “please don't cry so! As if I'd ever
+let you step foot in that kitchen again!”
+
+At this Billy raised a tear-wet face, aflame with indignant
+determination.
+
+“As if I'd ever let you keep me _from_ it, Bertram Henshaw, after this!”
+ she contested. “I'm not going to do another thing in all my life but
+_cook!_ When I think of the stuff we had to eat, after all the time I
+took to get it, I'm simply crazy! Do you think I'd run the risk of such
+a thing as this ever happening again?”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI. CALDERWELL DOES SOME QUESTIONING
+
+
+On the day after his dinner with Mr. and Mrs. Bertram Henshaw, Hugh
+Calderwell left Boston and did not return until more than a month had
+passed. One of his first acts, when he did come, was to look up Mr. M.
+J. Arkwright at the address which Billy had given him.
+
+Calderwell had not seen Arkwright since they parted in Paris some
+two years before, after a six-months tramp through Europe together.
+Calderwell liked Arkwright then, greatly, and he lost no time now in
+renewing the acquaintance.
+
+The address, as given by Billy, proved to be an attractive but modest
+apartment hotel near the Conservatory of Music; and Calderwell was
+delighted to find Arkwright at home in his comfortable little bachelor
+suite.
+
+Arkwright greeted him most cordially.
+
+“Well, well,” he cried, “if it isn't Calderwell! And how's Mont Blanc?
+Or is it the Killarney Lakes this time, or maybe the Sphinx that I
+should inquire for, eh?”
+
+“Guess again,” laughed Calderwell, throwing off his heavy coat and
+settling himself comfortably in the inviting-looking morris chair his
+friend pulled forward.
+
+“Sha'n't do it,” retorted Arkwright, with a smile. “I never gamble on
+palpable uncertainties, except for a chance throw or two, as I gave
+a minute ago. Your movements are altogether too erratic, and too
+far-reaching, for ordinary mortals to keep track of.”
+
+“Well, maybe you're right,” grinned Calderwell, appreciatively. “Anyhow,
+you would have lost this time, sure thing, for I've been working.”
+
+“Seen the doctor yet?” queried Arkwright, coolly, pushing the cigars
+across the table.
+
+“Thanks--for both,” sniffed Calderwell, with a reproachful glance,
+helping himself. “Your good judgment in some matters is still
+unimpaired, I see,” he observed, tapping the little gilded band which
+had told him the cigar was an old favorite. “As to other matters,
+however,--you're wrong again, my friend, in your surmise. I am not sick,
+and I have been working.”
+
+“So? Well, I'm told they have very good specialists here. Some one
+of them ought to hit your case. Still--how long has it been running?”
+ Arkwright's face showed only grave concern.
+
+“Oh, come, let up, Arkwright,” snapped Calderwell, striking his match
+alight with a vigorous jerk. “I'll admit I haven't ever given any
+_special_ indication of an absorbing passion for work. But what can you
+expect of a fellow born with a whole dozen silver spoons in his mouth?
+And that's what I was, according to Bertram Henshaw. According to him
+again, it's a wonder I ever tried to feed myself; and perhaps he's
+right--with my mouth already so full.”
+
+“I should say so,” laughed Arkwright.
+
+“Well, be that as it may. I'm going to feed myself, and I'm going to
+earn my feed, too. I haven't climbed a mountain or paddled a canoe, for
+a year. I've been in Chicago cultivating the acquaintance of John Doe
+and Richard Roe.”
+
+“You mean--law?”
+
+“Sure. I studied it here for a while, before that bout of ours a couple
+of years ago. Billy drove me away, then.”
+
+“Billy!--er--Mrs. Henshaw?”
+
+“Yes. I thought I told you. She turned down my tenth-dozen proposal so
+emphatically that I lost all interest in Boston and took to the tall
+timber again. But I've come back. A friend of my father's wrote me to
+come on and consider a good opening there was in his law office. I came
+on a month ago, and considered. Then I went back to pack up. Now I've
+come for good, and here I am. You have my history to date. Now tell me
+of yourself. You're looking as fit as a penny from the mint, even though
+you have discarded that 'lovely' brown beard. Was that a concession
+to--er--_Mary Jane_?”
+
+Arkwright lifted a quick hand of protest.
+
+“'Michael Jeremiah,' please. There is no 'Mary Jane,' now,” he said a
+bit stiffly.
+
+The other stared a little. Then he gave a low chuckle.
+
+“'Michael Jeremiah,'” he repeated musingly, eyeing the glowing tip of
+his cigar. “And to think how that mysterious 'M. J.' used to tantalize
+me! Do you mean,” he added, turning slowly, “that no one calls you 'Mary
+Jane' now?”
+
+“Not if they know what is best for them.”
+
+“Oh!” Calderwell noted the smouldering fire in the other's eyes a little
+curiously. “Very well. I'll take the hint--Michael Jeremiah.”
+
+“Thanks.” Arkwright relaxed a little. “To tell the truth, I've had quite
+enough now--of Mary Jane.”
+
+“Very good. So be it,” nodded the other, still regarding his friend
+thoughtfully. “But tell me--what of yourself?”
+
+Arkwright shrugged his shoulders.
+
+“There's nothing to tell. You've seen. I'm here.”
+
+“Humph! Very pretty,” scoffed Calderwell. “Then if _you_ won't tell, I
+_will_. I saw Billy a month ago, you see. It seems you've hit the trail
+for Grand Opera, as you threatened to that night in Paris; but you
+_haven't_ brought up in vaudeville, as you prophesied you would
+do--though, for that matter, judging from the plums some of the stars
+are picking on the vaudeville stage, nowadays, that isn't to be sneezed
+at. But Billy says you've made two or three appearances already on the
+sacred boards themselves--one of them a subscription performance--and
+that you created no end of a sensation.”
+
+“Nonsense! I'm merely a student at the Opera School here,” scowled
+Arkwright.
+
+“Oh, yes, Billy said you were that, but she also said you wouldn't
+be, long. That you'd already had one good offer--I'm not speaking of
+marriage--and that you were going abroad next summer, and that they were
+all insufferably proud of you.”
+
+“Nonsense!” scowled Arkwright, again, coloring like a girl. “That is
+only some of--of Mrs. Henshaw's kind flattery.”
+
+Calderwell jerked the cigar from between his lips, and sat suddenly
+forward in his chair.
+
+“Arkwright, tell me about them. How are they making it go?”
+
+Arkwright frowned.
+
+“Who? Make what go?” he asked.
+
+“The Henshaws. Is she happy? Is he--on the square?”
+
+Arkwright's face darkened.
+
+“Well, really,” he began; but Calderwell interrupted.
+
+“Oh, come; don't be squeamish. You think I'm butting into what doesn't
+concern me; but I'm not. What concerns Billy does concern me. And if he
+doesn't make her happy, I'll--I'll kill him.”
+
+In spite of himself Arkwright laughed. The vehemence of the other's
+words, and the fierceness with which he puffed at his cigar as he fell
+back in his chair were most expressive.
+
+“Well, I don't think you need to load revolvers nor sharpen daggers,
+just yet,” he observed grimly.
+
+Calderwell laughed this time, though without much mirth.
+
+“Oh, I'm not in love with Billy, now,” he explained. “Please don't think
+I am. I shouldn't see her if I was, of course.”
+
+Arkwright changed his position suddenly, bringing his face into the
+shadow. Calderwell talked on without pausing.
+
+“No, I'm not in love with Billy. But Billy's a trump. You know that.”
+
+“I do.” The words were low, but steadily spoken.
+
+“Of course you do! We all do. And we want her happy. But as for her
+marrying Bertram--you could have bowled me over with a soap bubble when
+I heard she'd done it. Now understand: Bertram is a good fellow, and I
+like him. I've known him all his life, and he's all right. Oh, six or
+eight years ago, to be sure, he got in with a set of fellows--Bob Seaver
+and his clique--that were no good. Went in for Bohemianism, and all that
+rot. It wasn't good for Bertram. He's got the confounded temperament
+that goes with his talent, I suppose--though why a man can't paint a
+picture, or sing a song, and keep his temper and a level head I don't
+see!”
+
+“He can,” cut in Arkwright, with curt emphasis.
+
+“Humph! Well, that's what I think. But, about this marriage business.
+Bertram admires a pretty face wherever he sees it--_to paint_, and
+always has. Not but that he's straight as a string with women--I don't
+mean that; but girls are always just so many pictures to be picked up
+on his brushes and transferred to his canvases. And as for his settling
+down and marrying anybody for keeps, right along--Great Scott! imagine
+Bertram Henshaw as a _domestic_ man!”
+
+Arkwright stirred restlessly as he spoke up in quick defense:
+
+“Oh, but he is, I assure you. I--I've seen them in their home
+together--many times. I think they are--very happy.” Arkwright spoke
+with decision, though still a little diffidently.
+
+Calderwell was silent. He had picked up the little gilt band he had torn
+from his cigar and was fingering it musingly.
+
+“Yes; I've seen them--once,” he said, after a minute. “I took dinner
+with them when I was on, a month ago.”
+
+“I heard you did.”
+
+At something in Arkwright's voice, Calderwell turned quickly.
+
+“What do you mean? Why do you say it like that?”
+
+Arkwright laughed. The constraint fled from his manner.
+
+“Well, I may as well tell you. You'll hear of it. It's no secret.
+Mrs. Henshaw herself tells of it everywhere. It was her friend, Alice
+Greggory, who told me of it first, however. It seems the cook was gone,
+and the mistress had to get the dinner herself.”
+
+“Yes, I know that.”
+
+“But you should hear Mrs. Henshaw tell the story now, or Bertram.
+It seems she knew nothing whatever about cooking, and her trials and
+tribulations in getting that dinner on to the table were only one
+degree worse than the dinner itself, according to her story. Didn't
+you--er--notice anything?”
+
+“Notice anything!” exploded Calderwell. “I noticed that Billy was so
+brilliant she fairly radiated sparks; and I noticed that Bertram was so
+glum he--he almost radiated thunderclaps. Then I saw that Billy's high
+spirits were all assumed to cover a threatened burst of tears, and I
+laid it all to him. I thought he'd said something to hurt her; and I
+could have punched him. Great Scott! Was _that_ what ailed them?”
+
+“I reckon it was. Alice says that since then Mrs. Henshaw has fairly
+haunted the kitchen, begging Eliza to teach her everything, _every
+single thing_ she knows!”
+
+Calderwell chuckled.
+
+“If that isn't just like Billy! She never does anything by halves. By
+George, but she was game over that dinner! I can see it all now.”
+
+“Alice says she's really learning to cook, in spite of old Pete's
+horror, and Eliza's pleadings not to spoil her pretty hands.”
+
+“Then Pete is back all right? What a faithful old soul he is!”
+
+Arkwright frowned slightly.
+
+“Yes, he's faithful, but he isn't all right, by any means. I think he's
+a sick man, myself.”
+
+“What makes Billy let him work, then?”
+
+“Let him!” sniffed Arkwright. “I'd like to see you try to stop him! Mrs.
+Henshaw begs and pleads with him to stop, but he scouts the idea. Pete
+is thoroughly and unalterably convinced that the family would starve to
+death if it weren't for him; and Mrs. Henshaw says that she'll admit he
+has some grounds for his opinion when one remembers the condition of the
+kitchen and dining-room the night she presided over them.”
+
+“Poor Billy!” chuckled Calderwell. “I'd have gone down into the kitchen
+myself if I'd suspected what was going on.”
+
+Arkwright raised his eyebrows.
+
+“Perhaps it's well you didn't--if Bertram's picture of what he found
+there when he went down is a true one. Mrs. Henshaw acknowledges that
+even the cat sought refuge under the stove.”
+
+“As if the veriest worm that crawls ever needed to seek refuge from
+Billy!” scoffed Calderwell. “By the way, what's this Annex I hear of?
+Bertram mentioned it, but I couldn't get either of them to tell what
+it was. Billy wouldn't, and Bertram said he couldn't--not with Billy
+shaking her head at him like that. So I had my suspicions. One of
+Billy's pet charities?”
+
+“She doesn't call it that.” Arkwright's face and voice softened. “It is
+Hillside. She still keeps it open. She calls it the Annex to her home.
+She's filled it with a crippled woman, a poor little music teacher, a
+lame boy, and Aunt Hannah.”
+
+“But how--extraordinary!”
+
+“She doesn't think so. She says it's just an overflow house for the
+extra happiness she can't use.”
+
+There was a moment's silence. Calderwell laid down his cigar, pulled out
+his handkerchief, and blew his nose furiously. Then he got to his feet
+and walked to the fireplace. After a minute he turned.
+
+“Well, if she isn't the beat 'em!” he spluttered. “And I had the gall to
+ask you if Henshaw made her--happy! Overflow house, indeed!”
+
+“The best of it is, the way she does it,” smiled Arkwright. “They're all
+the sort of people ordinary charity could never reach; and the only way
+she got them there at all was to make each one think that he or she was
+absolutely necessary to the rest of them. Even as it is, they all pay a
+little something toward the running expenses of the house. They
+insisted on that, and Mrs. Henshaw had to let them. I believe her chief
+difficulty now is that she has not less than six people whom she wishes
+to put into the two extra rooms still unoccupied, and she can't make up
+her mind which to take. Her husband says he expects to hear any day of
+an Annexette to the Annex.”
+
+“Humph!” grunted Calderwell, as he turned and began to walk up and down
+the room. “Bertram is still painting, I suppose.”
+
+“Oh, yes.”
+
+“What's he doing now?”
+
+“Several things. He's up to his eyes in work. As you probably have
+heard, he met with a severe accident last summer, and lost the use of
+his right arm for many months. I believe they thought at one time he had
+lost it forever. But it's all right now, and he has several commissions
+for portraits. Alice says he's doing ideal heads again, too.”
+
+“Same old 'Face of a Girl'?”
+
+“I suppose so, though Alice didn't say. Of course his special work just
+now is painting the portrait of Miss Marguerite Winthrop. You may have
+heard that he tried it last year and--and didn't make quite a success of
+it.”
+
+“Yes. My sister Belle told me. She hears from Billy once in a while.
+Will it be a go, this time?”
+
+“We'll hope so--for everybody's sake. I imagine no one has seen it
+yet--it's not finished; but Alice says--”
+
+Calderwell turned abruptly, a quizzical smile on his face.
+
+“See here, my son,” he interposed, “it strikes me that this Alice is
+saying a good deal--to you! Who is she?”
+
+Arkwright gave a light laugh.
+
+“Why, I told you. She is Miss Alice Greggory, Mrs. Henshaw's friend--and
+mine. I have known her for years.”
+
+“Hm-m; what is she like?”
+
+“Like? Why, she's like--like herself, of course. You'll have to know
+Alice. She's the salt of the earth--Alice is,” smiled Arkwright, rising
+to his feet with a remonstrative gesture, as he saw Calderwell pick up
+his coat. “What's your hurry?”
+
+“Hm-m,” commented Calderwell again, ignoring the question. “And when,
+may I ask, do you intend to appropriate this--er--salt--to--er--ah,
+season your own life with, as I might say--eh?”
+
+Arkwright laughed. There was not the slightest trace of embarrassment in
+his face.
+
+“Never. _You're_ on the wrong track, this time. Alice and I are good
+friends--always have been, and always will be, I hope.”
+
+“Nothing more?”
+
+“Nothing more. I see her frequently. She is musical, and the Henshaws
+are good enough to ask us there often together. You will meet her,
+doubtless, now, yourself. She is frequently at the Henshaw home.”
+
+“Hm-m.” Calderwell still eyed his host shrewdly. “Then you'll give me a
+clear field, eh?”
+
+“Certainly.” Arkwright's eyes met his friend's gaze without swerving.
+
+“All right. However, I suppose you'll tell me, as I did you, once, that
+a right of way in such a case doesn't mean a thoroughfare for the party
+interested. If my memory serves me, I gave you right of way in Paris to
+win the affections of a certain elusive Miss Billy here in Boston, if
+you could. But I see you didn't seem to improve your opportunities,” he
+finished teasingly.
+
+Arkwright stooped, of a sudden, to pick up a bit of paper from the
+floor.
+
+“No,” he said quietly. “I didn't seem to improve my opportunities.” This
+time he did not meet Calderwell's eyes.
+
+The good-byes had been said when Calderwell turned abruptly at the door.
+
+“Oh, I say, I suppose you're going to that devil's carnival at Jordan
+Hall to-morrow night.”
+
+“Devil's carnival! You don't mean--Cyril Henshaw's piano recital!”
+
+“Sure I do,” grinned Calderwell, unabashed. “And I'll warrant it'll be
+a devil's carnival, too. Isn't Mr. Cyril Henshaw going to play his own
+music? Oh, I know I'm hopeless, from your standpoint, but I can't help
+it. I like mine with some go in it, and a tune that you can find without
+hunting for it. And I don't like lost spirits gone mad that wail and
+shriek through ten perfectly good minutes, and then die with a gasping
+moan whose home is the tombs. However, you're going, I take it.”
+
+“Of course I am,” laughed the other. “You couldn't hire Alice to miss
+one shriek of those spirits. Besides, I rather like them myself, you
+know.”
+
+“Yes, I suppose you do. You're brought up on it--in your business. But
+me for the 'Merry Widow' and even the hoary 'Jingle Bells' every time!
+However, I'm going to be there--out of respect to the poor fellow's
+family. And, by the way, that's another thing that bowled me
+over--Cyril's marriage. Why, Cyril hates women!”
+
+“Not all women--we'll hope,” smiled Arkwright. “Do you know his wife?”
+
+“Not much. I used to see her a little at Billy's. Music teacher, wasn't
+she? Then she's the same sort, I suppose.”
+
+“But she isn't,” laughed Arkwright. “Oh, she taught music, but that
+was only because of necessity, I take it. She's domestic through and
+through, with an overwhelming passion for making puddings and darning
+socks, I hear. Alice says she believes Mrs. Cyril knows every dish and
+spoon by its Christian name, and that there's never so much as a spool
+of thread out of order in the house.”
+
+“But how does Cyril stand it--the trials and tribulations of domestic
+life? Bertram used to declare that the whole Strata was aquiver with
+fear when Cyril was composing, and I remember him as a perfect bear if
+anybody so much as whispered when he was in one of his moods. I never
+forgot the night Bertram and I were up in William's room trying to sing
+'When Johnnie comes marching home,' to the accompaniment of a banjo
+in Bertram's hands, and a guitar in mine. Gorry! it was Hugh that went
+marching home that night.”
+
+“Oh, well, from reports I reckon Mrs. Cyril doesn't play either a banjo
+or a guitar,” smiled Arkwright. “Alice says she wears rubber heels on
+her shoes, and has put hushers on all the chair-legs, and felt-mats
+between all the plates and saucers. Anyhow, Cyril is building a new
+house, and he looks as if he were in a pretty healthy condition, as
+you'll see to-morrow night.”
+
+“Humph! I wish he'd make his music healthy, then,” grumbled Calderwell,
+as he opened the door.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII. FOR BILLY--SOME ADVICE
+
+
+February brought busy days. The public opening of the Bohemian Ten Club
+Exhibition was to take place the sixth of March, with a private view
+for invited guests the night before; and it was at this exhibition that
+Bertram planned to show his portrait of Marguerite Winthrop. He also, if
+possible, wished to enter two or three other canvases, upon which he was
+spending all the time he could get.
+
+Bertram felt that he was doing very good work now. The portrait of
+Marguerite Winthrop was coming on finely. The spoiled idol of society
+had at last found a pose and a costume that suited her, and she was
+graciously pleased to give the artist almost as many sittings as he
+wanted. The “elusive something” in her face, which had previously been
+so baffling, was now already caught and held bewitchingly on his canvas.
+He was confident that the portrait would be a success. He was also much
+interested in another piece of work which he intended to show called
+“The Rose.” The model for this was a beautiful young girl he had found
+selling flowers with her father in a street booth at the North End.
+
+On the whole, Bertram was very happy these days. He could not, to
+be sure, spend quite so much time with Billy as he wished; but she
+understood, of course, as did he, that his work must come first. He knew
+that she tried to show him that she understood it. At the same time, he
+could not help thinking, occasionally, that Billy did sometimes mind his
+necessary absorption in his painting.
+
+To himself Bertram owned that Billy was, in some ways, a puzzle to him.
+Her conduct was still erratic at times. One day he would seem to be
+everything to her; the next--almost nothing, judging by the ease with
+which she relinquished his society and substituted that of some one
+else: Arkwright, or Calderwell, for instance.
+
+And that was another thing. Bertram was ashamed to hint even to himself
+that he was jealous of either of those men. Surely, after what had
+happened, after Billy's emphatic assertion that she had never loved any
+one but himself, it would seem not only absurd, but disloyal, that
+he should doubt for an instant Billy's entire devotion to him, and
+yet--there were times when he wished he _could_ come home and not
+always find Alice Greggory, Calderwell, Arkwright, or all three of them
+strumming the piano in the drawing-room! At such times, always, though,
+if he did feel impatient, he immediately demanded of himself: “Are you,
+then, the kind of husband that begrudges your wife young companions of
+her own age and tastes to help her while away the hours that you cannot
+possibly spend with her yourself?”
+
+This question, and the answer that his better self always gave to it,
+were usually sufficient to send him into some florists for a bunch of
+violets for Billy, or into a candy shop on a like atoning errand.
+
+As to Billy--Billy, too, was busy these days chief of her concerns
+being, perhaps, attention to that honeymoon of hers, to see that it did
+not wane. At least, the most of her thoughts, and many of her actions,
+centered about that object.
+
+Billy had the book, now--the “Talk to Young Wives.” For a time she had
+worked with only the newspaper criticism to guide her; but, coming at
+last to the conclusion that if a little was good, more must be better,
+she had shyly gone into a bookstore one day and, with a pink blush, had
+asked for the book. Since bringing it home she had studied assiduously
+(though never if Bertram was near), keeping it well-hidden, when not in
+use, in a remote corner of her desk.
+
+There was a good deal in the book that Billy did not like, and there
+were some statements that worried her; but yet there was much that she
+tried earnestly to follow. She was still striving to be the oak, and
+she was still eagerly endeavoring to brush up against those necessary
+outside interests. She was so thankful, in this connection, for Alice
+Greggory, and for Arkwright and Hugh Calderwell. It was such a help that
+she had them! They were not only very pleasant and entertaining outside
+interests, but one or another of them was almost always conveniently
+within reach.
+
+Then, too, it pleased her to think that she was furthering the pretty
+love story between Alice and Mr. Arkwright. And she _was_ furthering it.
+She was sure of that. Already she could see how dependent the man was on
+Alice, how he looked to her for approbation, and appealed to her on all
+occasions, exactly as if there was not a move that he wanted to make
+without her presence near him. Billy was very sure, now, of Arkwright.
+She only wished she were as much so of Alice. But Alice troubled her.
+Not but that Alice was kindness itself to the man, either. It was only
+a peculiar something almost like fear, or constraint, that Billy thought
+she saw in Alice's eyes, sometimes, when Arkwright made a particularly
+intimate appeal. There was Calderwell, too. He, also, worried Billy. She
+feared he was going to complicate matters still more by falling in love
+with Alice, himself; and this, certainly, Billy did not want at all. As
+this phase of the matter presented itself, indeed, Billy determined to
+appropriate Calderwell a little more exclusively to herself, when the
+four were together, thus leaving Alice for Arkwright. After all, it was
+rather entertaining--this playing at Cupid's assistant. If she _could_
+not have Bertram all the time, it was fortunate that these outside
+interests were so pleasurable.
+
+Most of the mornings Billy spent in the kitchen, despite the
+remonstrances of both Pete and Eliza. Almost every meal, now, was graced
+with a palatable cake, pudding, or muffin that Billy would proudly claim
+as her handiwork. Pete still served at table, and made strenuous efforts
+to keep up all his old duties; but he was obviously growing weaker, and
+really serious blunders were beginning to be noticeable. Bertram even
+hinted once or twice that perhaps it would be just as well to insist on
+his going; but to this Billy would not give her consent. Even when one
+night his poor old trembling hands spilled half the contents of a soup
+plate over a new and costly evening gown of Billy's own, she still
+refused to have him dismissed.
+
+“Why, Bertram, I wouldn't do it,” she declared hotly; “and you wouldn't,
+either. He's been here more than fifty years. It would break his heart.
+He's really too ill to work, and I wish he would go of his own accord,
+of course; but I sha'n't ever tell him to go--not if he spills soup on
+every dress I've got. I'll buy more--and more, if it's necessary. Bless
+his dear old heart! He thinks he's really serving us--and he is, too.”
+
+“Oh, yes, you're right, he _is!_” sighed Bertram, with meaning emphasis,
+as he abandoned the argument.
+
+In addition to her “Talk to Young Wives,” Billy found herself
+encountering advice and comment on the marriage question from still
+other quarters--from her acquaintances (mostly the feminine ones) right
+and left. Continually she was hearing such words as these:
+
+“Oh, well, what can you expect, Billy? You're an old married woman,
+now.”
+
+“Never mind, you'll find he's like all the rest of the husbands. You
+just wait and see!”
+
+“Better begin with a high hand, Billy. Don't let him fool you!”
+
+“Mercy! If I had a husband whose business it was to look at women's
+beautiful eyes, peachy cheeks, and luxurious tresses, I should go
+crazy! It's hard enough to keep a man's eyes on yourself when his daily
+interests are supposed to be just lumps of coal and chunks of ice,
+without flinging him into the very jaws of temptation like asking him to
+paint a pretty girl's picture!”
+
+In response to all this, of course, Billy could but laugh, and blush,
+and toss back some gay reply, with a careless unconcern. But in her
+heart she did not like it. Sometimes she told herself that if there were
+not any advice or comment from anybody--either book or woman--if there
+were not anybody but just Bertram and herself, life would be just one
+long honeymoon forever and forever.
+
+Once or twice Billy was tempted to go to Marie with this honeymoon
+question; but Marie was very busy these days, and very preoccupied. The
+new house that Cyril was building on Corey Hill, not far from the
+Annex, was almost finished, and Marie was immersed in the subject of
+house-furnishings and interior decoration. She was, too, still more
+deeply engrossed in the fashioning of tiny garments of the softest
+linen, lace, and woolen; and there was on her face such a look of
+beatific wonder and joy that Billy did not like to so much as hint that
+there was in the world such a book as “When the Honeymoon Wanes: A Talk
+to Young Wives.”
+
+Billy tried valiantly these days not to mind that Bertram's work was so
+absorbing. She tried not to mind that his business dealt, not with lumps
+of coal and chunks of ice, but with beautiful women like Marguerite
+Winthrop who asked him to luncheon, and lovely girls like his model for
+“The Rose” who came freely to his studio and spent hours in the beloved
+presence, being studied for what Bertram declared was absolutely the
+most wonderful poise of head and shoulders that he had ever seen.
+
+Billy tried, also, these days, to so conduct herself that not by any
+chance could Calderwell suspect that sometimes she was jealous of
+Bertram's art. Not for worlds would she have had Calderwell begin to get
+the notion into his head that his old-time prophecy concerning Bertram's
+caring only for the turn of a girl's head or the tilt of her chin--to
+paint, was being fulfilled. Hence, particularly gay and cheerful was
+Billy when Calderwell was near. Nor could it be said that Billy was
+really unhappy at any time. It was only that, on occasion, the very
+depth of her happiness in Bertram's love frightened her, lest it bring
+disaster to herself or Bertram.
+
+Billy still went frequently to the Annex. There were yet two unfilled
+rooms in the house. Billy was hesitating which two of six new friends
+of hers to choose as occupants; and it was one day early in March, after
+she had been talking the matter over with Aunt Hannah, that Aunt Hannah
+said:
+
+“Dear me, Billy, if you had your way I believe you'd open another whole
+house!”
+
+“Do you know?--that's just what I'm thinking of,” retorted Billy,
+gravely. Then she laughed at Aunt Hannah's shocked gesture of protest.
+“Oh, well, I don't expect to,” she added. “I haven't lived very long,
+but I've lived long enough to know that you can't always do what you
+want to.”
+
+“Just as if there were anything _you_ wanted to do that you don't do, my
+dear,” reproved Aunt Hannah, mildly.
+
+“Yes, I know.” Billy drew in her breath with a little catch. “I have so
+much that is lovely; and that's why I need this house, you know, for the
+overflow,” she nodded brightly. Then, with a characteristic change of
+subject, she added: “My, but you should have tasted of the popovers I
+made for breakfast this morning!”
+
+“I should like to,” smiled Aunt Hannah. “William says you're getting to
+be quite a cook.”
+
+“Well, maybe,” conceded Billy, doubtfully. “Oh, I can do some things
+all right; but just wait till Pete and Eliza go away again, and Bertram
+brings home a friend to dinner. That'll tell the tale. I think now I
+could have something besides potato-mush and burned corn--but maybe I
+wouldn't, when the time came. If only I could buy everything I needed to
+cook with, I'd be all right. But I can't, I find.”
+
+“Can't buy what you need! What do you mean?”
+
+Billy laughed ruefully.
+
+“Well, every other question I ask Eliza, she says: 'Why, I don't know;
+you have to use your judgment.' Just as if I had any judgment about how
+much salt to use, or what dish to take! Dear me, Aunt Hannah, the man
+that will grow judgment and can it as you would a mess of peas, has got
+his fortune made!”
+
+“What an absurd child you are, Billy,” laughed Aunt Hannah. “I used to
+tell Marie--By the way, how is Marie? Have you seen her lately?”
+
+“Oh, yes, I saw her yesterday,” twinkled Billy. “She had a book of
+wall-paper samples spread over the back of a chair, two bunches of
+samples of different colored damasks on the table before her, a 'Young
+Mother's Guide' propped open in another chair, and a pair of baby's
+socks in her lap with a roll each of pink, and white, and blue ribbon.
+She spent most of the time, after I had helped her choose the ribbon, in
+asking me if I thought she ought to let the baby cry and bother Cyril,
+or stop its crying and hurt the baby, because her 'Mother's Guide' says
+a certain amount of crying is needed to develop a baby's lungs.”
+
+Aunt Hannah laughed, but she frowned, too.
+
+“The idea! I guess Cyril can stand proper crying--and laughing,
+too--from his own child!” she said then, crisply.
+
+“Oh, but Marie is afraid he can't,” smiled Billy. “And that's the
+trouble. She says that's the only thing that worries her--Cyril.”
+
+“Nonsense!” ejaculated Aunt Hannah.
+
+“Oh, but it isn't nonsense to Marie,” retorted Billy. “You should see
+the preparations she's made and the precautions she's taken. Actually,
+when I saw those baby's socks in her lap, I didn't know but she was
+going to put rubber heels on them! They've built the new house with
+deadening felt in all the walls, and Marie's planned the nursery and
+Cyril's den at opposite ends of the house; and she says she shall keep
+the baby there _all_ the time--the nursery, I mean, not the den. She
+says she's going to teach it to be a quiet baby and hate noise. She says
+she thinks she can do it, too.”
+
+“Humph!” sniffed Aunt Hannah, scornfully.
+
+“You should have seen Marie's disgust the other day,” went on Billy, a
+bit mischievously. “Her Cousin Jane sent on a rattle she'd made herself,
+all soft worsted, with bells inside. It was a dear; but Marie was
+horror-stricken. 'My baby have a rattle?' she cried. 'Why, what would
+Cyril say? As if he could stand a rattle in the house!' And if she
+didn't give that rattle to the janitor's wife that very day, while I was
+there!”
+
+“Humph!” sniffed Aunt Hannah again, as Billy rose to go. “Well, I'm
+thinking Marie has still some things to learn in this world--and Cyril,
+too, for that matter.”
+
+“I wouldn't wonder,” laughed Billy, giving Aunt Hannah a good-by kiss.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII. PETE
+
+
+Bertram Henshaw had no disquieting forebodings this time concerning his
+portrait of Marguerite Winthrop when the doors of the Bohemian Ten Club
+Exhibition were thrown open to members and invited guests. Just how
+great a popular success it was destined to be, he could not know, of
+course, though he might have suspected it when he began to receive the
+admiring and hearty congratulations of his friends and fellow-artists on
+that first evening.
+
+Nor was the Winthrop portrait the only jewel in his crown on that
+occasion. His marvelously exquisite “The Rose,” and his smaller ideal
+picture, “Expectation,” came in for scarcely less commendation. There
+was no doubt now. The originator of the famous “Face of a Girl” had come
+into his own again. On all sides this was the verdict, one long-haired
+critic of international fame even claiming openly that Henshaw had
+not only equaled his former best work, but had gone beyond it, in both
+artistry and technique.
+
+It was a brilliant gathering. Society, as usual, in costly evening gowns
+and correct swallow-tails rubbed elbows with names famous in the world
+of Art and Letters. Everywhere were gay laughter and sparkling repartee.
+Even the austere-faced J. G. Winthrop unbent to the extent of grim
+smiles in response to the laudatory comments bestowed upon the pictured
+image of his idol, his beautiful daughter.
+
+As to the great financier's own opinion of the work, no one heard him
+express it except, perhaps, the artist; and all that he got was a grip
+of the hand and a “Good! I knew you'd fetch it this time, my boy!” But
+that was enough. And, indeed, no one who knew the stern old man needed
+to more than look into his face that evening to know of his entire
+satisfaction in this portrait soon to be the most recent, and the most
+cherished addition to his far-famed art collection.
+
+As to Bertram--Bertram was pleased and happy and gratified, of course,
+as was natural; but he was not one whit more so than was Bertram's wife.
+Billy fairly radiated happiness and proud joy. She told Bertram, indeed,
+that if he did anything to make her any prouder, it would take an Annex
+the size of the Boston Opera House to hold her extra happiness.
+
+“Sh-h, Billy! Some one will hear you,” protested Bertram, tragically;
+but, in spite of his horrified voice, he did not look displeased.
+
+For the first time Billy met Marguerite Winthrop that evening. At the
+outset there was just a bit of shyness and constraint in the young
+wife's manner. Billy could not forget her old insane jealousy of this
+beautiful girl with the envied name of Marguerite. But it was for only a
+moment, and soon she was her natural, charming self.
+
+Miss Winthrop was fascinated, and she made no pretense of hiding it. She
+even turned to Bertram at last, and cried:
+
+“Surely, now, Mr. Henshaw, you need never go far for a model! Why don't
+you paint your wife?”
+
+Billy colored. Bertram smiled.
+
+“I have,” he said. “I have painted her many times. In fact, I have
+painted her so often that she once declared it was only the tilt of her
+chin and the turn of her head that I loved--to paint,” he said merrily,
+enjoying Billy's pretty confusion, and not realizing that his words
+really distressed her. “I have a whole studio full of 'Billys' at home.”
+
+“Oh, have you, really?” questioned Miss Winthrop, eagerly. “Then mayn't
+I see them? Mayn't I, please, Mrs. Henshaw? I'd so love to!”
+
+“Why, of course you may,” murmured both the artist and his wife.
+
+“Thank you. Then I'm coming right away. May I? I'm going to Washington
+next week, you see. Will you let me come to-morrow at--at half-past
+three, then? Will it be quite convenient for you, Mrs. Henshaw?”
+
+“Quite convenient. I shall be glad to see you,” smiled Billy. And
+Bertram echoed his wife's cordial permission.
+
+“Thank you. Then I'll be there at half-past three,” nodded Miss
+Winthrop, with a smile, as she turned to give place to an admiring
+group, who were waiting to pay their respects to the artist and his
+wife.
+
+There was, after all, that evening, one fly in Billy's ointment.
+
+It fluttered in at the behest of an old acquaintance--one of the “advice
+women,” as Billy termed some of her too interested friends.
+
+“Well, they're lovely, perfectly lovely, of course, Mrs. Henshaw,” said
+this lady, coming up to say good-night. “But, all the same, I'm
+glad my husband is just a plain lawyer. Look out, my dear, that while
+Mr. Henshaw is stealing all those pretty faces for his canvases--just
+look out that the fair ladies don't turn around and steal his heart
+before you know it. Dear me, but you must be so proud of him!”
+
+“I am,” smiled Billy, serenely; and only the jagged split that rent the
+glove on her hand, at that moment, told of the fierce anger behind that
+smile.
+
+“As if I couldn't trust Bertram!” raged Billy passionately to herself,
+stealing a surreptitious glance at her ruined glove. “And as if there
+weren't ever any perfectly happy marriages--even if you don't ever hear
+of them, or read of them!”
+
+Bertram was not home to luncheon on the day following the opening night
+of the Bohemian Ten Club. A matter of business called him away from the
+house early in the morning; but he told his wife that he surely would
+be on hand for Miss Winthrop's call at half-past three o'clock that
+afternoon.
+
+“Yes, do,” Billy had urged. “I think she's lovely, but you know her so
+much better than I do that I want you here. Besides, you needn't think
+_I'm_ going to show her all those Billys of yours. I may be vain, but
+I'm not quite vain enough for that, sir!”
+
+“Don't worry,” her husband had laughed. “I'll be here.”
+
+As it chanced, however, something occurred an hour before half-past
+three o'clock that drove every thought of Miss Winthrop's call from
+Billy's head.
+
+For three days, now, Pete had been at the home of his niece in South
+Boston. He had been forced, finally, to give up and go away. News from
+him the day before had been anything but reassuring, and to-day, Bertram
+being gone, Billy had suggested that Eliza serve a simple luncheon and
+go immediately afterward to South Boston to see how her uncle was. This
+suggestion Eliza had followed, leaving the house at one o'clock.
+
+Shortly after two Calderwell had dropped in to bring Bertram, as he
+expressed it, a bunch of bouquets he had gathered at the picture show
+the night before. He was still in the drawing-room, chatting with Billy,
+when the telephone bell rang.
+
+“If that's Bertram, tell him to come home; he's got company,” laughed
+Calderwell, as Billy passed into the hall.
+
+A moment later he heard Billy give a startled cry, followed by a few
+broken words at short intervals. Then, before he could surmise what
+had happened, she was back in the drawing-room again, her eyes full of
+tears.
+
+“It's Pete,” she choked. “Eliza says he can't live but a few minutes.
+He wants to see me once more. What shall I do? John's got Peggy out with
+Aunt Hannah and Mrs. Greggory. It was so nice to-day I made them go.
+But I must get there some way--Pete is calling for me. Uncle William is
+going, and I told Eliza where she might reach Bertram; but what shall
+_I_ do? How shall I go?”
+
+Calderwell was on his feet at once.
+
+“I'll get a taxi. Don't worry--we'll get there. Poor old soul--of course
+he wants to see you! Get on your things. I'll have it here in no time,”
+ he finished, hurrying to the telephone.
+
+“Oh, Hugh, I'm so glad I've got _you_ here,” sobbed Billy, stumbling
+blindly toward the stairway. “I'll be ready in two minutes.”
+
+And she was; but neither then, nor a little later when she and
+Calderwell drove hurriedly away from the house, did Billy once remember
+that Miss Marguerite Winthrop was coming to call that afternoon to see
+Mrs. Bertram Henshaw and a roomful of Billy pictures.
+
+Pete was still alive when Calderwell left Billy at the door of the
+modest little home where Eliza's mother lived.
+
+“Yes, you're in time, ma'am,” sobbed Eliza; “and, oh, I'm so glad you've
+come. He's been askin' and askin' for ye.”
+
+From Eliza Billy learned then that Mr. William was there, but not Mr.
+Bertram. They had not been able to reach Mr. Bertram, or Mr. Cyril.
+
+Billy never forgot the look of reverent adoration that came into Pete's
+eyes as she entered the room where he lay.
+
+“Miss Billy--my Miss Billy! You were so good-to come,” he whispered
+faintly.
+
+Billy choked back a sob.
+
+“Of course I'd come, Pete,” she said gently, taking one of the thin,
+worn hands into both her soft ones.
+
+It was more than a few minutes that Pete lived. Four o'clock came, and
+five, and he was still with them. Often he opened his eyes and smiled.
+Sometimes he spoke a low word to William or Billy, or to one of the
+weeping women at the foot of the bed. That the presence of his beloved
+master and mistress meant much to him was plain to be seen.
+
+“I'm so sorry,” he faltered once, “about that pretty dress--I spoiled,
+Miss Billy. But you know--my hands--”
+
+“I know, I know,” soothed Billy; “but don't worry. It wasn't spoiled,
+Pete. It's all fixed now.”
+
+“Oh, I'm so glad,” sighed the sick man. After another long interval of
+silence he turned to William.
+
+“Them socks--the medium thin ones--you'd oughter be puttin' 'em on soon,
+sir, now. They're in the right-hand corner of the bottom drawer--you
+know.”
+
+“Yes, Pete; I'll attend to it,” William managed to stammer, after he had
+cleared his throat.
+
+Eliza's turn came next.
+
+“Remember about the coffee,” Pete said to her, “--the way Mr. William
+likes it. And always eggs, you know, for--for--” His voice trailed into
+an indistinct murmur, and his eyelids drooped wearily.
+
+One by one the minutes passed. The doctor came and went: there was
+nothing he could do. At half-past five the thin old face became again
+alight with consciousness. There was a good-by message for Bertram, and
+one for Cyril. Aunt Hannah was remembered, and even little Tommy Dunn.
+Then, gradually, a gray shadow crept over the wasted features. The words
+came more brokenly. The mind, plainly, was wandering, for old Pete was
+young again, and around him were the lads he loved, William, Cyril, and
+Bertram. And then, very quietly, soon after the clock struck six, Pete
+fell into the beginning of his long sleep.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV. WHEN BERTRAM CAME HOME
+
+
+It was a little after half-past three o'clock that afternoon when
+Bertram Henshaw hurried up Beacon Street toward his home. He had been
+delayed, and he feared that Miss Winthrop would already have reached the
+house. Mindful of what Billy had said that morning, he knew how his wife
+would fret if he were not there when the guest arrived. The sight
+of what he surmised to be Miss Winthrop's limousine before his door
+hastened his steps still more. But as he reached the house, he was
+surprised to find Miss Winthrop herself turning away from the door.
+
+“Why, Miss Winthrop,” he cried, “you're not going _now!_ You can't have
+been here any--yet!”
+
+“Well, no, I--I haven't,” retorted the lady, with heightened color and a
+somewhat peculiar emphasis. “My ring wasn't answered.”
+
+“Wasn't answered!” Bertram reddened angrily. “Why, what can that mean?
+Where's the maid? Where's my wife? Mrs. Henshaw must be here! She was
+expecting you.”
+
+Bertram, in his annoyed amazement, spoke loudly, vehemently. Hence he
+was quite plainly heard by the group of small boys and girls who had
+been improving the mild weather for a frolic on the sidewalk, and who
+had been attracted to his door a moment before by the shining magnet
+of the Winthrop limousine with its resplendently liveried chauffeur. As
+Bertram spoke, one of the small girls, Bessie Bailey, stepped forward
+and piped up a shrill reply.
+
+“She ain't, Mr. Henshaw! She ain't here. I saw her go away just a little
+while ago.”
+
+Bertram turned sharply.
+
+“You saw her go away! What do you mean?”
+
+Small Bessie swelled with importance. Bessie was thirteen, in spite of
+her diminutive height. Bessie's mother was dead, and Bessie's caretakers
+were gossiping nurses and servants, who frequently left in her way books
+that were much too old for Bessie to read--but she read them.
+
+“I mean she ain't here--your wife, Mr. Henshaw. She went away. I saw
+her. I guess likely she's eloped, sir.”
+
+“Eloped!”
+
+Bessie swelled still more importantly. To her experienced eyes the
+situation contained all the necessary elements for the customary flight
+of the heroine in her story-books, as here, now, was the irate, deserted
+husband.
+
+“Sure! And 'twas just before you came--quite a while before. A big shiny
+black automobile like this drove up--only it wasn't quite such a nice
+one--an' Mrs. Henshaw an' a man came out of your house an' got in, an'
+drove right away _quick!_ They just ran to get into it, too--didn't
+they?” She appealed to her young mates grouped about her.
+
+A chorus of shrill exclamations brought Mr. Bertram Henshaw suddenly
+to his senses. By a desperate effort he hid his angry annoyance as
+he turned to the manifestly embarrassed young woman who was already
+descending the steps.
+
+“My dear Miss Winthrop,” he apologized contritely, “I'm sure
+you'll forgive this seeming great rudeness on the part of my wife.
+Notwithstanding the lurid tales of our young friends here, I suspect
+nothing more serious has happened than that my wife has been hastily
+summoned to Aunt Hannah, perhaps. Or, of course, she may not have
+understood that you were coming to-day at half-past three--though I
+thought she did. But I'm so sorry--when you were so kind as to come--”
+ Miss Winthrop interrupted with a quick gesture.
+
+“Say no more, I beg of you,” she entreated. “Mrs. Henshaw is quite
+excusable, I'm sure. Please don't give it another thought,” she
+finished, as with a hurried direction to the man who was holding open
+the door of her car, she stepped inside and bowed her good-byes.
+
+Bertram, with stern self-control, forced himself to walk nonchalantly
+up his steps, leisurely take out his key, and open his door, under the
+interested eyes of Bessie Bailey and her friends; but once beyond their
+hateful stare, his demeanor underwent a complete change. Throwing aside
+his hat and coat, he strode to the telephone.
+
+“Oh, is that you, Aunt Hannah?” he called crisply, a moment later.
+“Well, if Billy's there will you tell her I want to speak to her,
+please?”
+
+“Billy?” answered Aunt Hannah's slow, gentle tones. “Why, my dear boy,
+Billy isn't here!”
+
+“She isn't? Well, when did she leave? She's been there, hasn't she?”
+
+“Why, I don't think so, but I'll see, if you like. Mrs. Greggory and
+I have just this minute come in from an automobile ride. We would have
+stayed longer, but it began to get chilly, and I forgot to take one of
+the shawls that I'd laid out.”
+
+“Yes; well, if you will see, please, if Billy has been there, and when
+she left,” said Bertram, with grim self-control.
+
+“All right. I'll see,” murmured Aunt Hannah. In a few moments her voice
+again sounded across the wires. “Why, no, Bertram, Rosa says she hasn't
+been here since yesterday. Isn't she there somewhere about the house?
+Didn't you know where she was going?”
+
+“Well, no, I didn't--else I shouldn't have been asking you,” snapped
+the irate Bertram and hung up the receiver with most rude haste, thereby
+cutting off an astounded “Oh, my grief and conscience!” in the middle of
+it.
+
+The next ten minutes Bertram spent in going through the whole house,
+from garret to basement. Needless to say, he found nothing to enlighten
+him, or to soothe his temper. Four o'clock came, then half-past, and
+five. At five Bertram began to look for Eliza, but in vain. At half-past
+five he watched for William; but William, too, did not come.
+
+Bertram was pacing the floor now, nervously. He was a little frightened,
+but more mortified and angry. That Billy should have allowed Miss
+Winthrop to call by appointment only to find no hostess, no message,
+no maid, even, to answer her ring--it was inexcusable! Impulsiveness,
+unconventionality, and girlish irresponsibility were all very
+delightful, of course--at times; but not now, certainly. Billy was not
+a girl any longer. She was a married woman. _Something_ was due to him,
+her husband! A pretty picture he must have made on those steps, trying
+to apologize for a truant wife, and to laugh off that absurd Bessie
+Bailey's preposterous assertion at the same time! What would Miss
+Winthrop think? What could she think? Bertram fairly ground his teeth
+with chagrin, at the situation in which he found himself.
+
+Nor were matters helped any by the fact that Bertram was hungry.
+Bertram's luncheon had been meager and unsatisfying. That the kitchen
+down-stairs still remained in silent, spotless order instead of being
+astir with the sounds and smells of a good dinner (as it should have
+been) did not improve his temper. Where Billy was he could not imagine.
+He thought, once or twice, of calling up some of her friends; but
+something held him back from that--though he did try to get Marie,
+knowing very well that she was probably over to the new house and would
+not answer. He was not surprised, therefore, when he received no reply
+to his ring.
+
+That there was the slightest truth in Bessie Bailey's absurd “elopement”
+ idea, Bertram did not, of course, for an instant believe. The only
+thing that rankled about that was the fact that she had suggested such a
+thing, and that Miss Winthrop and those silly children had heard her. He
+recognized half of Bessie's friends as neighborhood youngsters, and he
+knew very well that there would be many a quiet laugh at his expense
+around various Beacon Street dinner-tables that night. At the thought
+of those dinner-tables, he scowled again. _He_ had no dinner-table--at
+least, he had no dinner on it!
+
+Who the man might be Bertram thought he could easily guess. It was
+either Arkwright or Calderwell, of course; and probably that tiresome
+Alice Greggory was mixed up in it somehow. He did wish Billy--
+
+Six o'clock came, then half-past. Bertram was indeed frightened now, but
+he was more angry, and still more hungry. He had, in fact, reached that
+state of blind unreasonableness said to be peculiar to hungry males from
+time immemorial.
+
+At ten minutes of seven a key clicked in the lock of the outer door, and
+William and Billy entered the hall.
+
+It was almost dark. Bertram could not see their faces. He had not
+lighted the hall at all.
+
+“Well,” he began sharply, “is this the way you receive your callers,
+Billy? I came home and found Miss Winthrop just leaving--no one here
+to receive her! Where've you been? Where's Eliza? Where's my dinner?
+Of course I don't mean to scold, Billy, but there is a limit to even
+my patience--and it's reached now. I can't help suggesting that if
+you would tend to your husband and your home a little more, and go
+gallivanting off with Calderwell and Arkwright and Alice Greggory a
+little less, that--Where is Eliza, anyway?” he finished irritably,
+switching on the lights with a snap.
+
+There was a moment of dead silence. At Bertram's first words Billy and
+William had stopped short. Neither had moved since. Now William turned
+and began to speak, but Billy interrupted. She met her husband's gaze
+steadily.
+
+“I will be down at once to get your dinner,” she said quietly. “Eliza
+will not come to-night. Pete is dead.”
+
+Bertram started forward with a quick cry.
+
+“Dead! Oh, Billy! Then you were--_there!_ Billy!”
+
+But his wife did not apparently hear him. She passed him without turning
+her head, and went on up the stairs, leaving him to meet the sorrowful,
+accusing eyes of William.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV. AFTER THE STORM
+
+
+The young husband's apologies were profuse and abject. Bertram was
+heartily ashamed of himself, and was man enough to acknowledge it.
+Almost on his knees he begged Billy to forgive him; and in a frenzy
+of self-denunciation he followed her down into the kitchen that night,
+piteously beseeching her to speak to him, to just _look_ at him, even,
+so that he might know he was not utterly despised--though he did,
+indeed, deserve to be more than despised, he moaned.
+
+At first Billy did not speak, or even vouchsafe a glance in his
+direction. Very quietly she went about her preparations for a simple
+meal, paying apparently no more attention to Bertram than as if he were
+not there. But that her ears were only seemingly, and not really deaf,
+was shown very clearly a little later, when, at a particularly abject
+wail on the part of the babbling shadow at her heels, Billy choked into
+a little gasp, half laughter, half sob. It was all over then. Bertram
+had her in his arms in a twinkling, while to the floor clattered and
+rolled a knife and a half-peeled baked potato.
+
+Naturally, after that, there could be no more dignified silences on the
+part of the injured wife. There were, instead, half-smiles, tears, sobs,
+a tremulous telling of Pete's going and his messages, followed by a
+tearful listening to Bertram's story of the torture he had endured at
+the hands of Miss Winthrop, Bessie Bailey, and an empty, dinnerless
+house. And thus, in one corner of the kitchen, some time later, a
+hungry, desperate William found them, the half-peeled, cold baked potato
+still at their feet.
+
+Torn between his craving for food and his desire not to interfere with
+any possible peace-making, William was obviously hesitating what to do,
+when Billy glanced up and saw him. She saw, too, at the same time, the
+empty, blazing gas-stove burner, and the pile of half-prepared potatoes,
+to warm which the burner had long since been lighted. With a little cry
+she broke away from her husband's arms.
+
+“Mercy! and here's poor Uncle William, bless his heart, with not a thing
+to eat yet!”
+
+They all got dinner then, together, with many a sigh and quick-coming
+tear as everywhere they met some sad reminder of the gentle old hands
+that would never again minister to their comfort.
+
+It was a silent meal, and little, after all, was eaten, though brave
+attempts at cheerfulness and naturalness were made by all three.
+Bertram, especially, talked, and tried to make sure that the shadow on
+Billy's face was at least not the one his own conduct had brought there.
+
+“For you do--you surely do forgive me, don't you?” he begged, as he
+followed her into the kitchen after the sorry meal was over.
+
+“Why, yes, dear, yes,” sighed Billy, trying to smile.
+
+“And you'll forget?”
+
+There was no answer.
+
+“Billy! And you'll forget?” Bertram's voice was insistent, reproachful.
+
+Billy changed color and bit her lip. She looked plainly distressed.
+
+“Billy!” cried the man, still more reproachfully.
+
+“But, Bertram, I can't forget--quite yet,” faltered Billy.
+
+Bertram frowned. For a minute he looked as if he were about to take
+up the matter seriously and argue it with her; but the next moment he
+smiled and tossed his head with jaunty playfulness--Bertram, to tell the
+truth, had now had quite enough of what he privately termed “scenes”
+ and “heroics”; and, manlike, he was very ardently longing for the old
+easy-going friendliness, with all unpleasantness banished to oblivion.
+
+“Oh, but you'll have to forget,” he claimed, with cheery insistence,
+“for you've promised to forgive me--and one can't forgive without
+forgetting. So, there!” he finished, with a smilingly determined
+“now-everything-is-just-as-it-was-before” air.
+
+Billy made no response. She turned hurriedly and began to busy herself
+with the dishes at the sink. In her heart she was wondering: could she
+ever forget what Bertram had said? Would anything ever blot out those
+awful words: “If you would tend to your husband and your home a little
+more, and go gallivanting off with Calderwell and Arkwright and Alice
+Greggory a little less--“? It seemed now that always, for evermore, they
+would ring in her ears; always, for evermore, they would burn deeper and
+deeper into her soul. And not once, in all Bertram's apologies, had he
+referred to them--those words he had uttered. He had not said he did not
+mean them. He had not said he was sorry he spoke them. He had ignored
+them; and he expected that now she, too, would ignore them. As if she
+could!” If you would tend to your husband and your home a little more,
+and go gallivanting off with Calderwell and Arkwright and Alice Greggory
+a little less--” Oh, if only she could, indeed,--forget!
+
+When Billy went up-stairs that night she ran across her “Talk to Young
+Wives” in her desk. With a half-stifled cry she thrust it far back out
+of sight.
+
+“I hate you, I hate you--with all your old talk about 'brushing up
+against outside interests'!” she whispered fiercely. “Well, I've
+'brushed'--and now see what I've got for it!”
+
+Later, however, after Bertram was asleep, Billy crept out of bed and
+got the book. Under the carefully shaded lamp in the adjoining room she
+turned the pages softly till she came to the sentence: “Perhaps it would
+be hard to find a more utterly unreasonable, irritable, irresponsible
+creature than a hungry man.” With a long sigh she began to read; and not
+until some minutes later did she close the book, turn off the light, and
+steal back to bed.
+
+During the next three days, until after the funeral at the shabby little
+South Boston house, Eliza spent only about half of each day at the
+Strata. This, much to her distress, left many of the household tasks for
+her young mistress to perform. Billy, however, attacked each new duty
+with a feverish eagerness that seemed to make the performance of it
+very like some glad penance done for past misdeeds. And when--on the
+day after they had laid the old servant in his last resting place--a
+despairing message came from Eliza to the effect that now her mother was
+very ill, and would need her care, Billy promptly told Eliza to stay as
+long as was necessary; that they could get along all right without her.
+
+“But, Billy, what _are_ we going to do?” Bertram demanded, when he heard
+the news. “We must have somebody!”
+
+“_I'm_ going to do it.”
+
+“Nonsense! As if you could!” scoffed Bertram.
+
+Billy lifted her chin.
+
+“Couldn't I, indeed,” she retorted. “Do you realize, young man, how
+much I've done the last three days? How about those muffins you had this
+morning for breakfast, and that cake last night? And didn't you yourself
+say that you never ate a better pudding than that date puff yesterday
+noon?”
+
+Bertram laughed and shrugged his shoulders.
+
+“My dear love, I'm not questioning your _ability_ to do it,” he soothed
+quickly. “Still,” he added, with a whimsical smile, “I must remind you
+that Eliza has been here half the time, and that muffins and date puffs,
+however delicious, aren't all there is to running a big house like this.
+Besides, just be sensible, Billy,” he went on more seriously, as he
+noted the rebellious gleam coming into his young wife's eyes; “you'd
+know you couldn't do it, if you'd just stop to think. There's the
+Carletons coming to dinner Monday, and my studio Tea to-morrow, to
+say nothing of the Symphony and the opera, and the concerts you'd lose
+because you were too dead tired to go to them. You know how it was with
+that concert yesterday afternoon which Alice Greggory wanted you to go
+to with her.”
+
+“I didn't--want--to go,” choked Billy, under her breath.
+
+“And there's your music. You haven't done a thing with that for days,
+yet only last week you told me the publishers were hurrying you for that
+last song to complete the group.”
+
+“I haven't felt like--writing,” stammered Billy, still half under her
+breath.
+
+“Of course you haven't,” triumphed Bertram. “You've been too dead tired.
+And that's just what I say. Billy, you _can't_ do it all yourself!”
+
+“But I want to. I want to--to tend to things,” faltered Billy, with a
+half-fearful glance into her husband's face.
+
+Billy was hearing very loudly now that accusing “If you'd tend to your
+husband and your home a little more--” Bertram, however, was not hearing
+it, evidently. Indeed, he seemed never to have heard it--much less to
+have spoken it.
+
+“'Tend to things,'” he laughed lightly. “Well, you'll have enough to do
+to tend to the maid, I fancy. Anyhow, we're going to have one. I'll just
+step into one of those--what do you call 'em?--intelligence offices on
+my way down and send one up,” he finished, as he gave his wife a good-by
+kiss.
+
+An hour later Billy, struggling with the broom and the drawing-room
+carpet, was called to the telephone. It was her husband's voice that
+came to her.
+
+“Billy, for heaven's sake, take pity on me. Won't you put on your duds
+and come and engage your maid yourself?”
+
+“Why, Bertram, what's the matter?”
+
+“Matter? Holy smoke! Well, I've been to three of those intelligence
+offices--though why they call them that I can't imagine. If ever
+there was a place utterly devoid of intelligence-but never mind! I've
+interviewed four fat ladies, two thin ones, and one medium with a wart.
+I've cheerfully divulged all our family secrets, promised every other
+half-hour out, and taken oath that our household numbers three
+adult members, and no more; but I simply _can't_ remember how many
+handkerchiefs we have in the wash each week. Billy, will you come? Maybe
+you can do something with them. I'm sure you can!”
+
+“Why, of course I'll come,” chirped Billy. “Where shall I meet you?”
+
+Bertram gave the street and number.
+
+“Good! I'll be there,” promised Billy, as she hung up the receiver.
+
+Quite forgetting the broom in the middle of the drawing-room floor,
+Billy tripped up-stairs to change her dress. On her lips was a gay
+little song. In her heart was joy.
+
+“I rather guess _now_ I'm tending to my husband and my home!” she was
+crowing to herself.
+
+Just as Billy was about to leave the house the telephone bell jangled
+again.
+
+It was Alice Greggory.
+
+“Billy, dear,” she called, “can't you come out? Mr. Arkwright and Mr.
+Calderwell are here, and they've brought some new music. We want you.
+Will you come?”
+
+“I can't, dear. Bertram wants me. He's sent for me. I've got some
+_housewifely_ duties to perform to-day,” returned Billy, in a voice so
+curiously triumphant that Alice, at her end of the wires, frowned in
+puzzled wonder as she turned away from the telephone.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI. INTO TRAINING FOR MARY ELLEN
+
+
+Bertram told a friend afterwards that he never knew the meaning of the
+word “chaos” until he had seen the Strata during the weeks immediately
+following the laying away of his old servant.
+
+“Every stratum was aquiver with apprehension,” he declared; “and there
+was never any telling when the next grand upheaval would rock the whole
+structure to its foundations.”
+
+Nor was Bertram so far from being right. It was, indeed, a chaos, as
+none knew better than did Bertram's wife.
+
+Poor Billy! Sorry indeed were these days for Billy; and, as if to make
+her cup of woe full to overflowing, there were Sister Kate's epistolary
+“I told you so,” and Aunt Hannah's ever recurring lament: “If only,
+Billy, you were a practical housekeeper yourself, they wouldn't impose
+on you so!”
+
+Aunt Hannah, to be sure, offered Rosa, and Kate, by letter, offered
+advice--plenty of it. But Billy, stung beyond all endurance, and fairly
+radiating hurt pride and dogged determination, disdained all assistance,
+and, with head held high, declared she was getting along very well, very
+well indeed!
+
+And this was the way she “got along.”
+
+First came Nora. Nora was a blue-eyed, black-haired Irish girl, the
+sixth that the despairing Billy had interviewed on that fateful morning
+when Bertram had summoned her to his aid. Nora stayed two days. During
+her reign the entire Strata echoed to banged doors, dropped china, and
+slammed furniture. At her departure the Henshaws' possessions were less
+by four cups, two saucers, one plate, one salad bowl, two cut glass
+tumblers, and a teapot--the latter William's choicest bit of Lowestoft.
+
+Olga came next. Olga was a Treasure. She was low-voiced, gentle-eyed,
+and a good cook. She stayed a week. By that time the growing frequency
+of the disappearance of sundry small articles of value and convenience
+led to Billy's making a reluctant search of Olga's room--and to Olga's
+departure; for the room was, indeed, a treasure house, the Treasure
+having gathered unto itself other treasures.
+
+Following Olga came a period of what Bertram called “one night stands,”
+ so frequently were the dramatis personæ below stairs changed.
+Gretchen drank. Christine knew only four words of English: salt,
+good-by, no, and yes; and Billy found need occasionally of using other
+words. Mary was impertinent and lazy. Jennie could not even boil a
+potato properly, much less cook a dinner. Sarah (colored) was willing
+and pleasant, but insufferably untidy. Bridget was neatness itself, but
+she had no conception of the value of time. Her meals were always from
+thirty to sixty minutes late, and half-cooked at that. Vera sang--when
+she wasn't whistling--and as she was generally off the key, and
+always off the tune, her almost frantic mistress dismissed her before
+twenty-four hours had passed. Then came Mary Ellen.
+
+Mary Ellen began well. She was neat, capable, and obliging; but it
+did not take her long to discover just how much--and how little--her
+mistress really knew of practical housekeeping. Matters and things were
+very different then. Mary Ellen became argumentative, impertinent, and
+domineering. She openly shirked her work, when it pleased her so to do,
+and demanded perquisites and privileges so insolently that even William
+asked Billy one day whether Mary Ellen or Billy herself were the
+mistress of the Strata: and Bertram, with mock humility, inquired how
+_soon_ Mary Ellen would be wanting the house. Billy, in weary despair,
+submitted to this bullying for almost a week; then, in a sudden
+accession of outraged dignity that left Mary Ellen gasping with
+surprise, she told the girl to go.
+
+And thus the days passed. The maids came and the maids went, and, to
+Billy, each one seemed a little worse than the one before. Nowhere
+was there comfort, rest, or peacefulness. The nights were a torture of
+apprehension, and the days an even greater torture of fulfilment. Noise,
+confusion, meals poorly cooked and worse served, dust, disorder, and
+uncertainty. And this was _home_, Billy told herself bitterly. No wonder
+that Bertram telephoned more and more frequently that he had met a
+friend, and was dining in town. No wonder that William pushed back
+his plate almost every meal with his food scarcely touched, and then
+wandered about the house with that hungry, homesick, homeless look that
+nearly broke her heart. No wonder, indeed!
+
+And so it had come. It was true. Aunt Hannah and Kate and the “Talk to
+Young Wives” were right. She had not been fit to marry Bertram. She had
+not been fit to marry anybody. Her honeymoon was not only waning, but
+going into a total eclipse. Had not Bertram already declared that if she
+would tend to her husband and her home a little more--
+
+Billy clenched her small hands and set her round chin squarely.
+
+Very well, she would show them. She would tend to her husband and her
+home. She fancied she could _learn_ to run that house, and run it well!
+And forthwith she descended to the kitchen and told the then reigning
+tormentor that her wages would be paid until the end of the week, but
+that her services would be immediately dispensed with.
+
+Billy was well aware now that housekeeping was a matter of more than
+muffins and date puffs. She could gauge, in a measure, the magnitude of
+the task to which she had set herself. But she did not falter; and very
+systematically she set about making her plans.
+
+With a good stout woman to come in twice a week for the heavier work,
+she believed she could manage by herself very well until Eliza could
+come back. At least she could serve more palatable meals than the most
+of those that had appeared lately; and at least she could try to make a
+home that would not drive Bertram to club dinners, and Uncle William to
+hungry wanderings from room to room. Meanwhile, all the time, she could
+be learning, and in due course she would reach that shining goal of
+Housekeeping Efficiency, short of which--according to Aunt Hannah and
+the “Talk to Young Wives”--no woman need hope for a waneless honeymoon.
+
+So chaotic and erratic had been the household service, and so quietly
+did Billy slip into her new role, that it was not until the second meal
+after the maid's departure that the master of the house discovered what
+had happened. Then, as his wife rose to get some forgotten article, he
+questioned, with uplifted eyebrows:
+
+“Too good to wait upon us, is my lady now, eh?”
+
+“My lady is waiting on you,” smiled Billy.
+
+“Yes, I see _this_ lady is,” retorted Bertram, grimly; “but I mean our
+real lady in the kitchen. Great Scott, Billy, how long are you going to
+stand this?”
+
+Billy tossed her head airily, though she shook in her shoes. Billy had
+been dreading this moment.
+
+“I'm not standing it. She's gone,” responded Billy, cheerfully, resuming
+her seat. “Uncle William, sha'n't I give you some more pudding?”
+
+“Gone, so soon?” groaned Bertram, as William passed his plate, with a
+smiling nod. “Oh, well,” went on Bertram, resignedly, “she stayed longer
+than the last one. When is the next one coming?”
+
+“She's already here.”
+
+Bertram frowned.
+
+“Here? But--you served the dessert, and--” At something in Billy's
+face, a quick suspicion came into his own. “Billy, you don't mean that
+you--_you_--”
+
+“Yes,” she nodded brightly, “that's just what I mean. I'm the next one.”
+
+“Nonsense!” exploded Bertram, wrathfully. “Oh, come, Billy, we've been
+all over this before. You know I can't have it.”
+
+“Yes, you can. You've got to have it,” retorted Billy, still with that
+disarming, airy cheerfulness. “Besides, 'twon't be half so bad as you
+think. Wasn't that a good pudding to-night? Didn't you both come back
+for more? Well, I made it.”
+
+“Puddings!” ejaculated Bertram, with an impatient gesture. “Billy,
+as I've said before, it takes something besides puddings to run this
+house.”
+
+“Yes, I know it does,” dimpled Billy, “and I've got Mrs. Durgin for that
+part. She's coming twice a week, and more, if I need her. Why, dearie,
+you don't know anything about how comfortable you're going to be! I'll
+leave it to Uncle William if--”
+
+But Uncle William had gone. Silently he had slipped from his chair and
+disappeared. Uncle William, it might be mentioned in passing, had never
+quite forgotten Aunt Hannah's fateful call with its dire revelations
+concerning a certain unwanted, superfluous, third-party husband's
+brother. Remembering this, there were times when he thought absence was
+both safest and best. This was one of the times.
+
+“But, Billy, dear,” still argued Bertram, irritably, “how can you? You
+don't know how. You've had no experience.”
+
+Billy threw back her shoulders. An ominous light came to her eyes. She
+was no longer airily playful.
+
+“That's exactly it, Bertram. I don't know how--but I'm going to learn. I
+haven't had experience--but I'm going to get it. I _can't_ make a worse
+mess of it than we've had ever since Eliza went, anyway!”
+
+“But if you'd get a maid--a good maid,” persisted Bertram, feebly.
+
+“I had _one_--Mary Ellen. She was a good maid--until she found out how
+little her mistress knew; then--well, you know what it was then. Do you
+think I'd let that thing happen to me again? No, sir! I'm going into
+training for--my next Mary Ellen!” And with a very majestic air Billy
+rose from the table and began to clear away the dishes.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII. THE EFFICIENCY STAR--AND BILLY
+
+
+Billy was not a young woman that did things by halves. Long ago, in
+the days of her childhood, her Aunt Ella had once said of her: “If only
+Billy didn't go into things all over, so; but whether it's measles or
+mud pies, I always know that she'll be the measliest or the muddiest
+of any child in town!” It could not be expected, therefore, that Billy
+would begin to play her new rôle now with any lack of enthusiasm. But
+even had she needed any incentive, there was still ever ringing in her
+ears Bertram's accusing: “If you'd tend to your husband and your home
+a little more--” Billy still declared very emphatically that she
+had forgiven Bertram; but she knew, in her heart, that she had not
+forgotten.
+
+Certainly, as the days passed, it could not be said that Billy was not
+tending to her husband and her home. From morning till night, now,
+she tended to nothing else. She seldom touched her piano--save to dust
+it--and she never touched her half-finished song-manuscript, long since
+banished to the oblivion of the music cabinet. She made no calls except
+occasional flying visits to the Annex, or to the pretty new home
+where Marie and Cyril were now delightfully settled. The opera and the
+Symphony were over for the season, but even had they not been, Billy
+could not have attended them. She had no time. Surely she was not
+doing any “gallivanting” now, she told herself sometimes, a little
+aggrievedly.
+
+There was, indeed, no time. From morning until night Billy was busy,
+flying from one task to another. Her ambition to have everything just
+right was equalled only by her dogged determination to “just show them”
+ that she could do this thing. At first, of course, hampered as she was
+by ignorance and inexperience, each task consumed about twice as much
+time as was necessary. Yet afterwards, when accustomedness had brought
+its reward of speed, there was still for Billy no time; for increased
+knowledge had only opened the way to other paths, untrodden and
+alluring. Study of cookbooks had led to the study of food values. Billy
+discovered suddenly that potatoes, beef, onions, oranges, and puddings
+were something besides vegetables, meat, fruit, and dessert. They
+possessed attributes known as proteids, fats, and carbohydrates. Faint
+memories of long forgotten school days hinted that these terms had been
+heard before; but never, Billy was sure, had she fully realized what
+they meant.
+
+It was at this juncture that Billy ran across a book entitled “Correct
+Eating for Efficiency.” She bought it at once, and carried it home
+in triumph. It proved to be a marvelous book. Billy had not read two
+chapters before she began to wonder how the family had managed to live
+thus far with any sort of success, in the face of their dense ignorance
+and her own criminal carelessness concerning their daily bill of fare.
+
+At dinner that night Billy told Bertram and William of her discovery,
+and, with growing excitement, dilated on the wonderful good that it was
+to bring to them.
+
+“Why, you don't know, you can't imagine what a treasure it is!” she
+exclaimed. “It gives a complete table for the exact balancing of food.”
+
+“For what?” demanded Bertram, glancing up.
+
+“The exact balancing of food; and this book says that's the biggest
+problem that modern scientists have to solve.”
+
+“Humph!” shrugged Bertram. “Well, you just balance my food to my hunger,
+and I'll agree not to complain.”
+
+“Oh, but, Bertram, it's serious, really,” urged Billy, looking genuinely
+distressed. “Why, it says that what you eat goes to make up what you
+are. It makes your vital energies. Your brain power and your body
+power come from what you eat. Don't you see? If you're going to paint
+a picture you need something different from what you would if you were
+going to--to saw wood; and what this book tells is--is what I ought to
+give you to make you do each one, I should think, from what I've read
+so far. Now don't you see how important it is? What if I should give you
+the saw-wood kind of a breakfast when you were just going up-stairs to
+paint all day? And what if I should give Uncle William a--a soldier's
+breakfast when all he is going to do is to go down on State Street and
+sit still all day?”
+
+“But--but, my dear,” began Uncle William, looking slightly worried,
+“there's my eggs that I _always_ have, you know.”
+
+“For heaven's sake, Billy, what _have_ you got hold of now?” demanded
+Bertram, with just a touch of irritation.
+
+Billy laughed merrily.
+
+“Well, I suppose I didn't sound very logical,” she admitted. “But the
+book--you just wait. It's in the kitchen. I'm going to get it.” And with
+laughing eagerness she ran from the room.
+
+In a moment she had returned, book in hand.
+
+“Now listen. _This_ is the real thing--not my garbled inaccuracies. 'The
+food which we eat serves three purposes: it builds the body substance,
+bone, muscle, etc., it produces heat in the body, and it generates vital
+energy. Nitrogen in different chemical combinations contributes largely
+to the manufacture of body substances; the fats produce heat; and the
+starches and sugars go to make the vital energy. The nitrogenous food
+elements we call proteins; the fats and oils, fats; and the starches and
+sugars (because of the predominance of carbon), we call carbohydrates.
+Now in selecting the diet for the day you should take care to choose
+those foods which give the proteins, fats, and carbohydrates in just the
+right proportion.'”
+
+“Oh, Billy!” groaned Bertram.
+
+“But it's so, Bertram,” maintained Billy, anxiously. “And it's every bit
+here. I don't have to guess at it at all. They even give the quantities
+of calories of energy required for different sized men. I'm going
+to measure you both to-morrow; and you must be weighed, too,” she
+continued, ignoring the sniffs of remonstrance from her two listeners.
+“Then I'll know just how many calories to give each of you. They say a
+man of average size and weight, and sedentary occupation, should have
+at least 2,000 calories--and some authorities say 3,000--in this
+proportion: proteins, 300 calories, fats, 350 calories, carbohydrates,
+1,350 calories. But you both are taller than five feet five inches, and
+I should think you weighed more than 145 pounds; so I can't tell just
+yet how many calories you will need.”
+
+“How many we will need, indeed!” ejaculated Bertram.
+
+“But, my dear, you know I have to have my eggs,” began Uncle William
+again, in a worried voice.
+
+“Of course you do, dear; and you shall have them,” soothed Billy,
+brightly. “It's only that I'll have to be careful and balance up the
+other things for the day accordingly. Don't you see? Now listen. We'll
+see what eggs are.” She turned the leaves rapidly. “Here's the food
+table. It's lovely. It tells everything. I never saw anything so
+wonderful. A--b--c--d--e--here we are. 'Eggs, scrambled or boiled, fats
+and proteins, one egg, 100.' If it's poached it's only 50; but you like
+yours boiled, so we'll have to reckon on the 100. And you always have
+two, so that means 200 calories in fats and proteins. Now, don't you
+see? If you can't have but 300 proteins and 350 fats all day, and you've
+already eaten 200 in your two eggs, that'll leave just--er--450 for all
+the rest of the day,--of fats and proteins, you understand. And you've
+no idea how fast that'll count up. Why, just one serving of butter is
+100 of fats, and eight almonds is another, while a serving of lentils is
+100 of proteins. So you see how it'll go.”
+
+“Yes, I see,” murmured Uncle William, casting a mournful glance about
+the generously laden table, much as if he were bidding farewell to
+a departing friend. “But if I should want more to eat--” He stopped
+helplessly, and Bertram's aggrieved voice filled the pause.
+
+“Look here, Billy, if you think I'm going to be measured for an egg and
+weighed for an almond, you're much mistaken; because I'm not. I want to
+eat what I like, and as much as I like, whether it's six calories or six
+thousand!”
+
+Billy chuckled, but she raised her hands in pretended shocked protest.
+
+“Six thousand! Mercy! Bertram, I don't know what would happen if you ate
+that quantity; but I'm sure you couldn't paint. You'd just have to saw
+wood and dig ditches to use up all that vital energy.”
+
+“Humph!” scoffed Bertram.
+
+“Besides, this is for _efficiency_,” went on Billy, with an earnest
+air. “This man owns up that some may think a 2,000 calory ration is
+altogether too small, and he advises such to begin with 3,000 or
+even 3,500--graded, of course, according to a man's size, weight, and
+occupation. But he says one famous man does splendid work on only
+1,800 calories, and another on even 1,600. But that is just a matter of
+chewing. Why, Bertram, you have no idea what perfectly wonderful things
+chewing does.”
+
+“Yes, I've heard of that,” grunted Bertram; “ten chews to a cherry, and
+sixty to a spoonful of soup. There's an old metronome up-stairs that
+Cyril left. You might bring it down and set it going on the table--so
+many ticks to a mouthful, I suppose. I reckon, with an incentive like
+that to eat, just about two calories would do me. Eh, William?”
+
+“Bertram! Now you're only making fun,” chided Billy; “and when it's
+really serious, too. Now listen,” she admonished, picking up the
+book again. “'If a man consumes a large amount of meat, and very few
+vegetables, his diet will be too rich in protein, and too lacking in
+carbohydrates. On the other hand, if he consumes great quantities of
+pastry, bread, butter, and tea, his meals will furnish too much energy,
+and not enough building material.' There, Bertram, don't you see?”
+
+“Oh, yes, I see,” teased Bertram. “William, better eat what you can
+to-night. I foresee it's the last meal of just _food_ we'll get for some
+time. Hereafter we'll have proteins, fats, and carbohydrates made into
+calory croquettes, and--”
+
+“Bertram!” scolded Billy.
+
+But Bertram would not be silenced.
+
+“Here, just let me take that book,” he insisted, dragging the volume
+from Billy's reluctant fingers. “Now, William, listen. Here's your
+breakfast to-morrow morning: strawberries, 100 calories; whole-wheat
+bread, 75 calories; butter, 100 calories (no second helping, mind you,
+or you'd ruin the balance and something would topple); boiled eggs, 200
+calories; cocoa, 100 calories--which all comes to 570 calories. Sounds
+like an English bill of fare with a new kind of foreign money, but
+'tisn't, really, you know. Now for luncheon you can have tomato soup, 50
+calories; potato salad--that's cheap, only 30 calories, and--” But Billy
+pulled the book away then, and in righteous indignation carried it to
+the kitchen.
+
+“You don't deserve anything to eat,” she declared with dignity, as she
+returned to the dining-room.
+
+“No?” queried Bertram, his eyebrows uplifted. “Well, as near as I can
+make out we aren't going to get--much.”
+
+But Billy did not deign to answer this.
+
+In spite of Bertram's tormenting gibes, Billy did, for some days,
+arrange her meals in accordance with the wonderful table of food given
+in “Correct Eating for Efficiency.” To be sure, Bertram, whatever he
+found before him during those days, anxiously asked whether he were
+eating fats, proteins, or carbohydrates; and he worried openly as to the
+possibility of his meal's producing one calory too much or too little,
+thus endangering his “balance.”
+
+Billy alternately laughed and scolded, to the unvarying good nature of
+her husband. As it happened, however, even this was not for long, for
+Billy ran across a magazine article on food adulteration; and this so
+filled her with terror lest, in the food served, she were killing her
+family by slow poison, that she forgot all about the proteins, fats,
+and carbohydrates. Her talk these days was of formaldehyde, benzoate of
+soda, and salicylic acid.
+
+Very soon, too, Billy discovered an exclusive Back Bay school for
+instruction in household economics and domestic hygiene. Billy
+investigated it at once, and was immediately aflame with enthusiasm. She
+told Bertram that it taught everything, _everything_ she wanted to know;
+and forthwith she enrolled herself as one of its most devoted pupils, in
+spite of her husband's protests that she knew enough, more than enough,
+already. This school attendance, to her consternation, Billy discovered
+took added time; but in some way she contrived to find it to take.
+
+And so the days passed. Eliza's mother, though better, was still too ill
+for her daughter to leave her. Billy, as the warm weather approached,
+began to look pale and thin. Billy, to tell the truth, was working
+altogether too hard; but she would not admit it, even to herself. At
+first the novelty of the work, and her determination to conquer at all
+costs, had given a fictitious strength to her endurance. Now that the
+novelty had become accustomedness, and the conquering a surety, Billy
+discovered that she had a back that could ache, and limbs that, at
+times, could almost refuse to move from weariness. There was still,
+however, one spur that never failed to urge her to fresh endeavor, and
+to make her, at least temporarily, forget both ache and weariness;
+and that was the comforting thought that now, certainly, even Bertram
+himself must admit that she was tending to her home and her husband.
+
+As to Bertram--Bertram, it is true, had at first uttered frequent and
+vehement protests against his wife's absorption of both mind and body
+in “that plaguy housework,” as he termed it. But as the days passed, and
+blessed order superseded chaos, peace followed discord, and delicious,
+well-served meals took the place of the horrors that had been called
+meals in the past, he gradually accepted the change with tranquil
+satisfaction, and forgot to question how it was brought about; though he
+did still, sometimes, rebel because Billy was always too tired, or too
+busy, to go out with him. Of late, however, he had not done even this so
+frequently, for a new “Face of a Girl” had possessed his soul; and all
+his thoughts and most of his time had gone to putting on canvas the
+vision of loveliness that his mind's eye saw.
+
+By June fifteenth the picture was finished. Bertram awoke then to his
+surroundings. He found summer was upon him with no plans made for its
+enjoyment. He found William had started West for a two weeks' business
+trip. But what he did not find one day--at least at first--was his wife,
+when he came home unexpectedly at four o'clock. And Bertram especially
+wanted to find his wife that day, for he had met three people whose
+words had disquieted him not a little. First, Aunt Hannah. She had said:
+
+“Bertram, where is Billy? She hasn't been out to the Annex for a week;
+and the last time she was there she looked sick. I was real worried
+about her.”
+
+Cyril had been next.
+
+“Where's Billy?” he had asked abruptly. “Marie says she hasn't seen her
+for two weeks. Marie's afraid she's sick. She says Billy didn't look
+well a bit, when she did see her.”
+
+Calderwell had capped the climax. He had said:
+
+“Great Scott, Henshaw, where have you been keeping yourself? And where's
+your wife? Not one of us has caught more than a glimpse of her for
+weeks. She hasn't sung with us, nor played for us, nor let us take her
+anywhere for a month of Sundays. Even Miss Greggory says _she_ hasn't
+seen much of her, and that Billy always says she's too busy to go
+anywhere. But Miss Greggory says she looks pale and thin, and that _she_
+thinks she's worrying too much over running the house. I hope she isn't
+sick!”
+
+“Why, no, Billy isn't sick. Billy's all right,” Bertram had answered. He
+had spoken lightly, nonchalantly, with an elaborate air of carelessness;
+but after he had left Calderwell, he had turned his steps abruptly and a
+little hastily toward home.
+
+And he had not found Billy--at least, not at once. He had gone first
+down into the kitchen and dining-room. He remembered then, uneasily,
+that he had always looked for Billy in the kitchen and dining-room, of
+late. To-day, however, she was not there.
+
+On the kitchen table Bertram did see a book wide open, and,
+mechanically, he picked it up. It was a much-thumbed cookbook, and it
+was open where two once-blank pages bore his wife's handwriting. On
+the first page, under the printed heading “Things to Remember,” he read
+these sentences:
+
+“That rice swells till every dish in the house is full, and that spinach
+shrinks till you can't find it.
+
+“That beets boil dry if you look out the window.
+
+“That biscuits which look as if they'd been mixed up with a rusty stove
+poker haven't really been so, but have only got too much undissolved
+soda in them.”
+
+There were other sentences, but Bertram's eyes chanced to fall on the
+opposite page where the “Things to Remember” had been changed to “Things
+to Forget”; and here Billy had written just four words: “Burns,” “cuts,”
+ and “yesterday's failures.”
+
+Bertram dropped the book then with a spasmodic clearing of his throat,
+and hurriedly resumed his search. When he did find his wife, at last, he
+gave a cry of dismay--she was on her own bed, huddled in a little heap,
+and shaking with sobs.
+
+“Billy! Why, Billy!” he gasped, striding to the bedside.
+
+Billy sat up at once, and hastily wiped her eyes.
+
+“Oh, is it you, B-Bertram? I didn't hear you come in. You--you s-said
+you weren't coming till six o'clock!” she choked.
+
+“Billy, what is the meaning of this?”
+
+“N-nothing. I--I guess I'm just tired.”
+
+“What have you been doing?” Bertram spoke sternly, almost sharply. He
+was wondering why he had not noticed before the little hollows in his
+wife's cheeks. “Billy, what have you been doing?”
+
+“Why, n-nothing extra, only some sweeping, and cleaning out the
+refrigerator.”
+
+“Sweeping! Cleaning! _You!_ I thought Mrs. Durgin did that.”
+
+“She does. I mean she did. But she couldn't come. She broke her
+leg--fell off the stepladder where she was three days ago. So I _had_
+to do it. And to-day, someway, everything went wrong. I burned me, and I
+cut me, and I used two sodas with not any cream of tartar, and I should
+think I didn't know anything, not anything!” And down went Billy's head
+into the pillows again in another burst of sobs.
+
+With gentle yet uncompromising determination, Bertram gathered his
+wife into his arms and carried her to the big chair. There, for a few
+minutes, he soothed and petted her as if she were a tired child--which,
+indeed, she was.
+
+“Billy, this thing has got to stop,” he said then. There was a very
+inexorable ring of decision in his voice.
+
+“What thing?”
+
+“This housework business.”
+
+Billy sat up with a jerk.
+
+“But, Bertram, it isn't fair. You can't--you mustn't--just because of
+to-day! I _can_ do it. I have done it. I've done it days and days, and
+it's gone beautifully--even if they did say I couldn't!”
+
+“Couldn't what?”
+
+“Be an e-efficient housekeeper.”
+
+“Who said you couldn't?”
+
+“Aunt Hannah and K-Kate.”
+
+Bertram said a savage word under his breath.
+
+“Holy smoke, Billy! I didn't marry you for a cook or a scrub-lady. If
+you _had_ to do it, that would be another matter, of course; and if we
+did have to do it, we wouldn't have a big house like this for you to do
+it in. But I didn't marry for a cook, and I knew I wasn't getting one
+when I married you.”
+
+Billy bridled into instant wrath.
+
+“Well, I like that, Bertram Henshaw! Can't I cook? Haven't I proved that
+I can cook?”
+
+Bertram laughed, and kissed the indignant lips till they quivered into
+an unwilling smile.
+
+“Bless your spunky little heart, of course you have! But that doesn't
+mean that I want you to do it. You see, it so happens that you can do
+other things, too; and I'd rather you did those. Billy, you haven't
+played to me for a week, nor sung to me for a month. You're too tired
+every night to talk, or read together, or go anywhere with me. I married
+for companionship--not cooking and sweeping!”
+
+Billy shook her head stubbornly. Her mouth settled into determined
+lines.
+
+“That's all very well to say. You aren't hungry now, Bertram. But it's
+different when you are, and they said 'twould be.”
+
+“Humph! 'They' are Aunt Hannah and Kate, I suppose.”
+
+“Yes--and the 'Talk to Young Wives.'”
+
+“The w-what?”
+
+Billy choked a little. She had forgotten that Bertram did not know about
+the “Talk to Young Wives.” She wished that she had not mentioned the
+book, but now that she had, she would make the best of it. She drew
+herself up with dignity.
+
+“It's a book; a very nice book. It says lots of things--that have come
+true.”
+
+“Where is that book? Let me see it, please.”
+
+With visible reluctance Billy got down from her perch on Bertram's knee,
+went to her desk and brought back the book.
+
+Bertram regarded it frowningly, so frowningly that Billy hastened to its
+defense.
+
+“And it's true--what it says in there, and what Aunt Hannah and Kate
+said. It _is_ different when they're hungry! You said yourself if I'd
+tend to my husband and my home a little more, and--”
+
+Bertram looked up with unfeigned amazement.
+
+“I said what?” he demanded.
+
+In a voice shaken with emotion, Billy repeated the fateful words.
+
+“I never--when did I say that?”
+
+“The night Uncle William and I came home from--Pete's.”
+
+For a moment Bertram stared dumbly; then a shamed red swept to his
+forehead.
+
+“Billy, _did_ I say that? I ought to be shot if I did. But, Billy, you
+said you'd forgiven me!”
+
+“I did, dear--truly I did; but, don't you see?--it was true. I _hadn't_
+tended to things. So I've been doing it since.”
+
+A sudden comprehension illuminated Bertram's face.
+
+“Heavens, Billy! And is that why you haven't been anywhere, or done
+anything? Is that why Calderwell said to-day that you hadn't been with
+them anywhere, and that--Great Scott, Billy! Did you think I was such a
+selfish brute as that?”
+
+“Oh, but when I was going with them I _was_ following the book--I
+thought,” quavered Billy; and hurriedly she turned the leaves to a
+carefully marked passage. “It's there--about the outside interests. See?
+I _was_ trying to brush up against them, so that I wouldn't interfere
+with your Art. Then, when you accused me of gallivanting off with--” But
+Bertram swept her back into his arms, and not for some minutes could
+Billy make a coherent speech again.
+
+Then Bertram spoke.
+
+“See here, Billy,” he exploded, a little shakily, “if I could get you
+off somewhere on a desert island, where there weren't any Aunt Hannahs
+or Kates, or Talks to Young Wives, I think there'd be a chance to make
+you happy; but--”
+
+“Oh, but there was truth in it,” interrupted Billy, sitting erect again.
+“I _didn't_ know how to run a house, and it was perfectly awful while we
+were having all those dreadful maids, one after the other; and no woman
+should be a wife who doesn't know--”
+
+“All right, all right, dear,” interrupted Bertram, in his turn. “We'll
+concede that point, if you like. But you _do_ know now. You've got the
+efficient housewife racket down pat even to the last calory your husband
+should be fed; and I'll warrant there isn't a Mary Ellen in Christendom
+who can find a spot of ignorance on you as big as a pinhead! So we'll
+call that settled. What you need now is a good rest; and you're going to
+have it, too. I'm going to have six Mary Ellens here to-morrow morning.
+Six! Do you hear? And all you've got to do is to get your gladdest rags
+together for a trip to Europe with me next month. Because we're going. I
+shall get the tickets to-morrow, _after_ I send the six Mary Ellens
+packing up here. Now come, put on your bonnet. We're going down town to
+dinner.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII. BILLY TRIES HER HAND AT “MANAGING”
+
+
+Bertram did not engage six Mary Ellens the next morning, nor even one,
+as it happened; for that evening, Eliza--who had not been unaware of
+conditions at the Strata--telephoned to say that her mother was so much
+better now she believed she could be spared to come to the Strata for
+several hours each day, if Mrs. Henshaw would like to have her begin in
+that way.
+
+Billy agreed promptly, and declared herself as more than willing to put
+up with such an arrangement. Bertram, it is true, when he heard of
+the plan, rebelled, and asserted that what Billy needed was a rest, an
+entire rest from care and labor. In fact, what he wanted her to do, he
+said, was to gallivant--to gallivant all day long.
+
+“Nonsense!” Billy had laughed, coloring to the tips of her ears.
+“Besides, as for the work, Bertram, with just you and me here, and with
+all my vast experience now, and Eliza here for several hours every day,
+it'll be nothing but play for this little time before we go away. You'll
+see!”
+
+“All right, I'll _see_, then,” Bertram had nodded meaningly. “But just
+make sure that it _is_ play for you!”
+
+“I will,” laughed Billy; and there the matter had ended.
+
+Eliza began work the next day, and Billy did indeed soon find herself
+“playing” under Bertram's watchful insistence. She resumed her music,
+and brought out of exile the unfinished song. With Bertram she took
+drives and walks; and every two or three days she went to see Aunt
+Hannah and Marie. She was pleasantly busy, too, with plans for her
+coming trip; and it was not long before even the remorseful Bertram had
+to admit that Billy was looking and appearing quite like her old self.
+
+At the Annex Billy found Calderwell and Arkwright, one day. They greeted
+her as if she had just returned from a far country.
+
+“Well, if you aren't the stranger lady,” began Calderwell, looking
+frankly pleased to see her. “We'd thought of advertising in the daily
+press somewhat after this fashion: 'Lost, strayed, or stolen, one
+Billy; comrade, good friend, and kind cheerer-up of lonely hearts. Any
+information thankfully received by her bereft, sorrowing friends.'”
+
+Billy joined in the laugh that greeted this sally, but Arkwright
+noticed that she tried to change the subject from her own affairs to
+a discussion of the new song on Alice Greggory's piano. Calderwell,
+however, was not to be silenced.
+
+“The last I heard of this elusive Billy,” he resumed, with teasing
+cheerfulness, “she was running down a certain lost calory that had
+slipped away from her husband's breakfast, and--”
+
+Billy wheeled sharply.
+
+“Where did you get hold of that?” she demanded.
+
+“Oh, I didn't,” returned the man, defensively. “I never got hold of it
+at all. I never even saw the calory--though, for that matter, I don't
+think I should know one if I did see it! What we feared was, that, in
+hunting the lost calory, you had lost yourself, and--” But Billy would
+hear no more. With her disdainful nose in the air she walked to the
+piano.
+
+“Come, Mr. Arkwright,” she said with dignity. “Let's try this song.”
+
+Arkwright rose at once and accompanied her to the piano.
+
+They had sung the song through twice when Billy became uneasily aware
+that, on the other side of the room, Calderwell and Alice Greggory were
+softly chuckling over something they had found in a magazine. Billy
+frowned, and twitched the corners of a pile of music, with restless
+fingers.
+
+“I wonder if Alice hasn't got some quartets here somewhere,” she
+murmured, her disapproving eyes still bent on the absorbed couple across
+the room.
+
+Arkwright was silent. Billy, throwing a hurried glance into his face,
+thought she detected a somber shadow in his eyes. She thought, too, she
+knew why it was there. So possessed had Billy been, during the early
+winter, of the idea that her special mission in life was to inaugurate
+and foster a love affair between disappointed Mr. Arkwright and lonely
+Alice Greggory, that now she forgot, for a moment, that Arkwright
+himself was quite unaware of her efforts. She thought only that the
+present shadow on his face must be caused by the same thing that brought
+worry to her own heart--the manifest devotion of Calderwell to Alice
+Greggory just now across the room. Instinctively, therefore, as to a
+coworker in a common cause, she turned a disturbed face to the man at
+her side.
+
+“It is, indeed, high time that I looked after something besides lost
+calories,” she said significantly. Then, at the evident uncomprehension
+in Arkwright's face, she added: “Has it been going on like this--very
+long?”
+
+Arkwright still, apparently, did not understand.
+
+“Has--what been going on?” he questioned.
+
+“That--over there,” answered Billy, impatiently, scarcely knowing
+whether to be more irritated at the threatened miscarriage of her
+cherished plans, or at Arkwright's (to her) wilfully blind insistence
+on her making her meaning more plain. “Has it been going on long--such
+utter devotion?”
+
+As she asked the question Billy turned and looked squarely into
+Arkwright's face. She saw, therefore, the great change that came to it,
+as her meaning became clear to him. Her first feeling was one of
+shocked realization that Arkwright had, indeed, been really blind. Her
+second--she turned away her eyes hurriedly from what she thought she saw
+in the man's countenance.
+
+With an assumedly gay little cry she sprang to her feet.
+
+“Come, come, what are you two children chuckling over?” she demanded,
+crossing the room abruptly. “Didn't you hear me say I wanted you to come
+and sing a quartet?”
+
+Billy blamed herself very much for what she called her stupidity in so
+baldly summoning Arkwright's attention to Calderwell's devotion to Alice
+Greggory. She declared that she ought to have known better, and she
+asked herself if this were the way she was “furthering matters” between
+Alice Greggory and Arkwright.
+
+Billy was really seriously disturbed. She had never quite forgiven
+herself for being so blind to Arkwright's feeling for herself during
+those days when he had not known of her engagement to Bertram. She had
+never forgotten, either, the painful scene when he had hopefully told
+of his love, only to be met with her own shocked repudiation. For long
+weeks after that, his face had haunted her. She had wished, oh,
+so ardently, that she could do something in some way to bring him
+happiness. When, therefore, it had come to her knowledge afterward that
+he was frequently with his old friend, Alice Greggory, she had been so
+glad. It was very easy then to fan hope into conviction that here, in
+this old friend, he had found sweet balm for his wounded heart; and she
+determined at once to do all that she could do to help. So very glowing,
+indeed, was her eagerness in the matter, that it looked suspiciously as
+if she thought, could she but bring this thing about, that old scores
+against herself would be erased.
+
+Billy told herself, virtuously, however, that not only for Arkwright did
+she desire this marriage to take place, but for Alice Greggory. In the
+very nature of things Alice would one day be left alone. She was poor,
+and not very strong. She sorely needed the shielding love and care of
+a good husband. What more natural than that her old-time friend and
+almost-sweetheart, M. J. Arkwright, should be that good husband?
+
+That really it was more Arkwright and less Alice that was being
+considered, however, was proved when the devotion of Calderwell began to
+be first suspected, then known for a fact. Billy's distress at this turn
+of affairs indicated very plainly that it was not just a husband, but a
+certain one particular husband that she desired for Alice Greggory. All
+the more disturbed was she, therefore, when to-day, seeing her three
+friends together again for the first time for some weeks, she discovered
+increased evidence that her worst fears were to be realized. It was to
+be Alice and Calderwell, not Alice and Arkwright. Arkwright was again to
+be disappointed in his dearest hopes.
+
+Telling herself indignantly that it could not be, it _should_ not be,
+Billy determined to remain after the men had gone, and speak to Alice.
+Just what she would say she did not know. Even what she could say, she
+was not sure. But certainly there must be something, some little thing
+that she could say, which would open Alice's eyes to what she was doing,
+and what she ought to do.
+
+It was in this frame of mind, therefore, that Billy, after Arkwright
+and Calderwell had gone, spoke to Alice. She began warily, with assumed
+nonchalance.
+
+“I believe Mr. Arkwright sings better every time I hear him.”
+
+There was no answer. Alice was sorting music at the piano.
+
+“Don't you think so?” Billy raised her voice a little.
+
+Alice turned almost with a start.
+
+“What's that? Oh, yes. Well, I don't know; maybe I do.”
+
+“You would--if you didn't hear him any oftener than I do,” laughed
+Billy. “But then, of course you do hear him oftener.”
+
+“I? Oh, no, indeed. Not so very much oftener.” Alice had turned back
+to her music. There was a slight embarrassment in her manner. “I
+wonder--where--that new song--is,” she murmured.
+
+Billy, who knew very well where the song lay, was not to be diverted.
+
+“Nonsense! As if Mr. Arkwright wasn't always telling how Alice liked
+this song, and didn't like that one, and thought the other the best yet!
+I don't believe he sings a thing that he doesn't first sing to you. For
+that matter, I fancy he asks your opinion of everything, anyway.”
+
+“Why, Billy, he doesn't!” exclaimed Alice, a deep red flaming into her
+cheeks. “You know he doesn't.”
+
+Billy laughed gleefully. She had not been slow to note the color in her
+friend's face, or to ascribe to it the one meaning she wished to ascribe
+to it. So sure, indeed, was she now that her fears had been groundless,
+that she flung caution to the winds.
+
+“Ho! My dear Alice, you can't expect us all to be blind,” she teased.
+“Besides, we all think it's such a lovely arrangement that we're just
+glad to see it. He's such a fine fellow, and we like him so much! We
+couldn't ask for a better husband for you than Mr. Arkwright, and--”
+ From sheer amazement at the sudden white horror in Alice Greggory's
+face, Billy stopped short. “Why, Alice!” she faltered then.
+
+With a visible effort Alice forced her trembling lips to speak.
+
+“My husband--_Mr. Arkwright!_ Why, Billy, you couldn't have seen--you
+haven't seen--there's nothing you _could_ see! He isn't--he wasn't--he
+can't be! We--we're nothing but friends, Billy, just good friends!”
+
+Billy, though dismayed, was still not quite convinced.
+
+“Friends! Nonsense! When--”
+
+But Alice interrupted feverishly. Alice, in an agony of fear lest the
+true state of affairs should be suspected, was hiding behind a bulwark
+of pride.
+
+“Now, Billy, please! Say no more. You're quite wrong, entirely. You'll
+never, never hear of my marrying Mr. Arkwright. As I said before, we're
+friends--the best of friends; that is all. We couldn't be anything else,
+possibly!”
+
+Billy, plainly discomfited, fell back; but she threw a sharp glance into
+her friend's flushed countenance.
+
+“You mean--because of--Hugh Calderwell?” she demanded. Then, for the
+second time that afternoon throwing discretion to the winds, she went on
+plaintively: “You won't listen, of course. Girls in love never do. Hugh
+is all right, and I like him; but there's more real solid worth in Mr.
+Arkwright's little finger than there is in Hugh's whole self. And--” But
+a merry peal of laughter from Alice Greggory interrupted.
+
+“And, pray, do you think I'm in love with Hugh Calderwell?” she
+demanded. There was a curious note of something very like relief in her
+voice.
+
+“Well, I didn't know,” began Billy, uncertainly.
+
+“Then I'll tell you now,” smiled Alice. “I'm not. Furthermore, perhaps
+it's just as well that you should know right now that I don't intend to
+marry--ever.”
+
+“Oh, Alice!”
+
+“No.” There was determination, and there was still that curious note of
+relief in the girl's voice. It was as if, somewhere, a great danger had
+been avoided. “I have my music. That is enough. I'm not intending to
+marry.”
+
+“Oh, but Alice, while I will own up I'm glad it isn't Hugh Calderwell,
+there _is_ Mr. Arkwright, and I did hope--” But Alice shook her head and
+turned resolutely away. At that moment, too, Aunt Hannah came in from
+the street, so Billy could say no more.
+
+Aunt Hannah dropped herself a little wearily into a chair.
+
+“I've just come from Marie's,” she said.
+
+“How is she?” asked Billy.
+
+Aunt Hannah smiled, and raised her eyebrows.
+
+“Well, just now she's quite exercised over another rattle--from her
+cousin out West, this time. There were four little silver bells on it,
+and she hasn't got any janitor's wife now to give it to.”
+
+Billy laughed softly, but Aunt Hannah had more to say.
+
+“You know she isn't going to allow any toys but Teddy bears and woolly
+lambs, of which, I believe, she has already bought quite an assortment.
+She says they don't rattle or squeak. I declare, when I see the woolen
+pads and rubber hushers that that child has put everywhere all over the
+house, I don't know whether to laugh or cry. And she's so worried! It
+seems Cyril must needs take just this time to start composing a new
+opera or symphony, or something; and never before has she allowed him to
+be interrupted by anything on such an occasion. But what he'll do when
+the baby comes she says she doesn't know, for she says she can't--she
+just can't keep it from bothering him some, she's afraid. As if any
+opera or symphony that ever lived was of more consequence than a man's
+own child!” finished Aunt Hannah, with an indignant sniff, as she
+reached for her shawl.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX. A TOUGH NUT TO CRACK FOR CYRIL
+
+
+It was early in the forenoon of the first day of July that Eliza told
+her mistress that Mrs. Stetson was asking for her at the telephone.
+Eliza's face was not a little troubled.
+
+“I'm afraid, maybe, it isn't good news,” she stammered, as her mistress
+hurriedly arose. “She's at Mr. Cyril Henshaw's--Mrs. Stetson is--and she
+seemed so terribly upset about something that there was no making real
+sense out of what she said. But she asked for you, and said to have you
+come quick.”
+
+Billy, her own face paling, was already at the telephone.
+
+“Yes, Aunt Hannah. What is it?”
+
+“Oh, my grief and conscience, Billy, if you _can_, come up here, please.
+You must come! _Can't_ you come?”
+
+“Why, yes, of course. But--but--_Marie!_ The--the _baby!_”
+
+A faint groan came across the wires.
+
+“Oh, my grief and conscience, Billy! It isn't _the_ baby. It's _babies!_
+It's twins--boys. Cyril has them now--the nurse hasn't got here yet.”
+
+“Twins! _Cyril_ has them!” broke in Billy, hysterically.
+
+“Yes, and they're crying something terrible. We've sent for a second
+nurse to come, too, of course, but she hasn't got here yet, either. And
+those babies--if you could hear them! That's what we want you for, to--”
+
+But Billy was almost laughing now.
+
+“All right, I'll come out--and hear them,” she called a bit wildly, as
+she hung up the receiver.
+
+Some little time later, a palpably nervous maid admitted Billy to the
+home of Mr. and Mrs. Cyril Henshaw. Even as the door was opened, Billy
+heard faintly, but unmistakably, the moaning wails of two infants.
+
+“Mrs. Stetson says if you will please to help Mr. Henshaw with the
+babies,” stammered the maid, after the preliminary questions and
+answers. “I've been in when I could, and they're all right, only
+they're crying. They're in his den. We had to put them as far away as
+possible--their crying worried Mrs. Henshaw so.”
+
+“Yes, I see,” murmured Billy. “I'll go to them at once. No, don't
+trouble to come. I know the way. Just tell Mrs. Stetson I'm here,
+please,” she finished, as she tossed her hat and gloves on to the hall
+table, and turned to go upstairs.
+
+Billy's feet made no sound on the soft rugs. The crying, however, grew
+louder and louder as she approached the den. Softly she turned the knob
+and pushed open the door. She stopped short, then, at what she saw.
+
+Cyril had not heard her, nor seen her. His back was partly toward the
+door. His coat was off, and his hair stood fiercely on end as if a
+nervous hand had ruffled it. His usually pale face was very red, and
+his forehead showed great drops of perspiration. He was on his feet,
+hovering over the couch, at each end of which lay a rumpled roll of
+linen, lace, and flannel, from which emerged a prodigiously puckered
+little face, two uncertainly waving rose-leaf fists, and a wail of
+protesting rage that was not uncertain in the least.
+
+In one hand Cyril held a Teddy bear, in the other his watch, dangling
+from its fob chain. Both of these he shook feebly, one after the other,
+above the tiny faces.
+
+“Oh, come, come, pretty baby, good baby, hush, hush,” he begged
+agitatedly.
+
+In the doorway Billy clapped her hands to her lips and stifled a laugh.
+Billy knew, of course, that what she should do was to go forward at
+once, and help this poor, distracted man; but Billy, just then, was not
+doing what she knew she ought to do.
+
+With a muttered ejaculation (which Billy, to her sorrow, could not
+catch) Cyril laid down the watch and flung the Teddy bear aside. Then,
+in very evident despair, he gingerly picked up one of the rumpled rolls
+of flannel, lace, and linen, and held it straight out before him. After
+a moment's indecision he began awkwardly to jounce it, teeter it, rock
+it back and forth, and to pat it jerkily.
+
+“Oh, come, come, pretty baby, good baby, hush, hush,” he begged again,
+frantically.
+
+Perhaps it was the change of position; perhaps it was the novelty of the
+motion, perhaps it was only utter weariness, or lack of breath. Whatever
+the cause, the wailing sobs from the bundle in his arms dwindled
+suddenly to a gentle whisper, then ceased altogether.
+
+With a ray of hope illuminating his drawn countenance, Cyril carefully
+laid the baby down and picked up the other. Almost confidently now he
+began the jouncing and teetering and rocking as before.
+
+“There, there! Oh, come, come, pretty baby, good baby, hush, hush,” he
+chanted again.
+
+This time he was not so successful. Perhaps he had lost his skill.
+Perhaps it was merely the world-old difference in babies. At all events,
+this infant did not care for jerks and jounces, and showed it plainly by
+emitting loud and yet louder wails of rage--wails in which his brother
+on the couch speedily joined.
+
+“Oh, come, come, pretty baby, good baby, hush, hush--_confound it_,
+HUSH, I say!” exploded the frightened, weary, baffled, distracted man,
+picking up the other baby, and trying to hold both his sons at once.
+
+Billy hurried forward then, tearfully, remorsefully, her face all
+sympathy, her arms all tenderness.
+
+“Here, Cyril, let me help you,” she cried.
+
+Cyril turned abruptly.
+
+“Thank God, _some_ one's come,” he groaned, holding out both the babies,
+with an exuberance of generosity. “Billy, you've saved my life!”
+
+Billy laughed tremulously.
+
+“Yes, I've come, Cyril, and I'll help every bit I can; but I don't know
+a thing--not a single thing about them myself. Dear me, aren't they
+cunning? But, Cyril, do they always cry so?”
+
+The father-of-an-hour drew himself stiffly erect.
+
+“Cry? What do you mean? Why shouldn't they cry?” he demanded
+indignantly. “I want you to understand that Doctor Brown said those were
+A number I fine boys! Anyhow, I guess there's no doubt they've got
+lungs all right,” he added, with a grim smile, as he pulled out his
+handkerchief and drew it across his perspiring brow.
+
+Billy did not have an opportunity to show Cyril how much or how little
+she knew about babies, for in another minute the maid had appeared with
+the extra nurse; and that young woman, with trained celerity and easy
+confidence, assumed instant command, and speedily had peace and order
+restored.
+
+Cyril, freed from responsibility, cast longing eyes, for a moment, upon
+his work; but the next minute, with a despairing glance about him, he
+turned and fled precipitately.
+
+Billy, following the direction of his eyes, suppressed a smile. On the
+top of Cyril's manuscript music on the table lay a hot-water bottle.
+Draped over the back of his favorite chair was a pink-bordered baby
+blanket. On the piano-stool rested a beribboned and beruffled baby's
+toilet basket. From behind the sofa pillow leered ridiculously the Teddy
+bear, just as it had left Cyril's desperate hand.
+
+No wonder, indeed, that Billy smiled. Billy was thinking of what Marie
+had said not a week before:
+
+“I shall keep the baby, of course, in the nursery. I've been in homes
+where they've had baby things strewn from one end of the house to
+the other; but it won't be that way here. In the first place, I don't
+believe in it; but, even if I did, I'd have to be careful on account
+of Cyril. Imagine Cyril's trying to write his music with a baby in
+the room! No! I shall keep the baby in the nursery, if possible; but
+wherever it is, it won't be anywhere near Cyril's den, anyway.”
+
+Billy suppressed many a smile during the days that immediately followed
+the coming of the twins. Some of the smiles, however, refused to be
+suppressed. They became, indeed, shamelessly audible chuckles.
+
+Billy was to sail the tenth, and, naturally, during those early July
+days, her time was pretty much occupied with her preparations for
+departure; but nothing could keep her from frequent, though short,
+visits to the home of her brother-in-law.
+
+The twins were proving themselves to be fine, healthy boys. Two trained
+maids, and two trained nurses ruled the household with a rod of iron. As
+to Cyril--Billy declared that Cyril was learning something every day of
+his life now.
+
+“Oh, yes, he's learning things,” she said to Aunt Hannah, one morning;
+“lots of things. For instance: he has his breakfast now, not when he
+wants it, but when the maid wants to give it to him--which is precisely
+at eight o'clock every morning. So he's learning punctuality. And for
+the first time in his life he has discovered the astounding fact that
+there are several things more important in the world than is the special
+piece of music he happens to be composing--chiefly the twins' bath, the
+twins' nap, the twins' airing, and the twins' colic.”
+
+Aunt Hannah laughed, though she frowned, too.
+
+“But, surely, Billy, with two nurses and the maids, Cyril doesn't have
+to--to--” She came to a helpless pause.
+
+“Oh, no,” laughed Billy; “Cyril doesn't have to really attend to any of
+those things--though I have seen each of the nurses, at different times,
+unhesitatingly thrust a twin into his arms and bid him hold the child
+till she comes back. But it's this way. You see, Marie must be kept
+quiet, and the nursery is very near her room. It worries her terribly
+when either of the children cries. Besides, the little rascals have
+apparently fixed up some sort of labor-union compact with each other, so
+that if one cries for something or nothing, the other promptly joins in
+and helps. So the nurses have got into the habit of picking up the first
+disturber of the peace, and hurrying him to quarters remote; and Cyril's
+den being the most remote of all, they usually fetch up there.”
+
+“You mean--they take those babies into Cyril's den--_now_?” Even Aunt
+Hannah was plainly aghast.
+
+“Yes,” twinkled Billy. “I fancy their Hygienic Immaculacies approved
+of Cyril's bare floors, undraped windows, and generally knick-knackless
+condition. Anyhow, they've made his den a sort of--of annex to the
+nursery.”
+
+“But--but Cyril! What does he say?” stammered the dumfounded Aunt
+Hannah. “Think of Cyril's standing a thing like that! Doesn't he do
+anything--or say anything?”
+
+Billy smiled, and lifted her brows quizzically.
+
+“My dear Aunt Hannah, did you ever know _many_ people to have the
+courage to 'say things' to one of those becapped, beaproned, bespotless
+creatures of loftily superb superiority known as trained nurses?
+Besides, you wouldn't recognize Cyril now. Nobody would. He's as meek
+as Moses, and has been ever since his two young sons were laid in his
+reluctant, trembling arms. He breaks into a cold sweat at nothing, and
+moves about his own home as if he were a stranger and an interloper,
+endured merely on sufferance in this abode of strange women and strange
+babies.”
+
+“Nonsense!” scoffed Aunt Hannah.
+
+“But it's so,” maintained Billy, merrily. “Now, for instance. You know
+Cyril always has been in the habit of venting his moods on the piano
+(just as I do, only more so) by playing exactly as he feels. Well, as
+near as I can gather, he was at his usual trick the next day after the
+twins arrived; and you can imagine about what sort of music it would be,
+after what he had been through the preceding forty-eight hours.
+
+“Of course I don't know exactly what happened, but Julia--Marie's second
+maid, you know--tells the story. She's been with them long enough to
+know something of the way the whole household always turns on the pivot
+of the master's whims; so she fully appreciated the situation. She
+says she heard him begin to play, and that she never heard such queer,
+creepy, shivery music in her life; but that he hadn't been playing five
+minutes before one of the nurses came into the living-room where Julia
+was dusting, and told her to tell whoever was playing to stop that
+dreadful noise, as they wanted to take the twins in there for their nap.
+
+“'But I didn't do it, ma'am,' Julia says. 'I wa'n't lookin' for losin'
+my place, an' I let the young woman do the job herself. An' she done
+it, pert as you please. An' jest as I was seekin' a hidin'-place for the
+explosion, if Mr. Henshaw didn't come out lookin' a little wild, but as
+meek as a lamb; an' when he sees me he asked wouldn't I please get him a
+cup of coffee, good an' strong. An' I got it.'
+
+“So you see,” finished Billy, “Cyril is learning things--lots of
+things.”
+
+“Oh, my grief and conscience! I should say he was,” half-shivered Aunt
+Hannah. “_Cyril_ looking meek as a lamb, indeed!”
+
+Billy laughed merrily.
+
+“Well, it must be a new experience--for Cyril. For a man whose daily
+existence for years has been rubber-heeled and woolen-padded, and whose
+family from boyhood has stood at attention and saluted if he so much as
+looked at them, it must be quite a change, as things are now. However,
+it'll be different, of course, when Marie is on her feet again.”
+
+“Does she know at all how things are going?”
+
+“Not very much, as yet, though I believe she has begun to worry some.
+She confided to me one day that she was glad, of course, that she had
+two darling babies, instead of one; but that she was afraid it might be
+hard, just at first, to teach them both at once to be quiet; for she was
+afraid that while she was teaching one, the other would be sure to cry,
+or do something noisy.”
+
+“Do something noisy, indeed!” ejaculated Aunt Hannah.
+
+“As for the real state of affairs, Marie doesn't dream that Cyril's
+sacred den is given over to Teddy bears and baby blankets. All is, I
+hope she'll be measurably strong before she does find it out,” laughed
+Billy, as she rose to go.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX. ARKWRIGHT'S EYES ARE OPENED
+
+
+William came back from his business trip the eighth of July, and on the
+ninth Billy and Bertram went to New York. Eliza's mother was so well
+now that Eliza had taken up her old quarters in the Strata, and the
+household affairs were once more running like clockwork. Later in the
+season William would go away for a month's fishing trip, and the house
+would be closed.
+
+Mr. and Mrs. Bertram Henshaw were not expected to return until the first
+of October; but with Eliza to look after the comfort of William, the
+mistress of the house did no worrying. Ever since Pete's going, Eliza
+had said that she preferred to be the only maid, with a charwoman to
+come in for the heavier work; and to this arrangement her mistress had
+willingly consented, for the present.
+
+Marie and the babies were doing finely, and Aunt Hannah's health, and
+affairs at the Annex, were all that could be desired. As Billy, indeed,
+saw it, there was only one flaw to mar her perfect content on this
+holiday trip with Bertram, and that was her disappointment over the very
+evident disaster that had come to her cherished matrimonial plans for
+Arkwright and Alice Greggory. She could not forget Arkwright's face
+that day at the Annex, when she had so foolishly called his attention
+to Calderwell's devotion; and she could not forget, either, Alice
+Greggory's very obvious perturbation a little later, and her
+suspiciously emphatic assertion that she had no intention of marrying
+any one, certainly not Arkwright. As Billy thought of all this now, she
+could not but admit that it did look dark for Arkwright--poor Arkwright,
+whom she, more than any one else in the world, perhaps, had a special
+reason for wishing to see happily married.
+
+There was, then, this one cloud on Billy's horizon as the big boat that
+was to bear her across the water steamed down the harbor that beautiful
+July day.
+
+As it chanced, naturally, perhaps, not only was Billy thinking of
+Arkwright that morning, but Arkwright was thinking of Billy.
+
+Arkwright had thought frequently of Billy during the last few days,
+particularly since that afternoon meeting at the Annex when the four had
+renewed their old good times together. Up to that day Arkwright had been
+trying not to think of Billy. He had been “fighting his tiger skin.”
+ Sternly he had been forcing himself to meet her, to see her, to talk
+with her, to sing with her, or to pass her by--all with the indifference
+properly expected to be shown in association with Mrs. Bertram Henshaw,
+another man's wife. He had known, of course, that deep down in his
+heart he loved her, always had loved her, and always would love her.
+Hopelessly and drearily he accepted this as a fact even while with all
+his might fighting that tiger skin. So sure was he, indeed, of this, so
+implicitly had he accepted it as an unalterable certainty, that in time
+even his efforts to fight it became almost mechanical and unconscious in
+their stern round of forced indifference.
+
+Then came that day at the Annex--and the discovery: the discovery which
+he had made when Billy called his attention to Calderwell and Alice
+Greggory across the room in the corner; the discovery which had come
+with so blinding a force, and which even now he was tempted to question
+as to its reality; the discovery that not Billy Neilson, nor Mrs.
+Bertram Henshaw, nor even the tender ghost of a lost love held the
+center of his heart--but Alice Greggory.
+
+The first intimation of all this had come with his curious feeling of
+unreasoning hatred and blind indignation toward Calderwell as,
+through Billy's eyes, he had seen the two together. Then had come
+the overwhelming longing to pick up Alice Greggory and run off with
+her--somewhere, anywhere, so that Calderwell could not follow.
+
+At once, however, he had pulled himself up short with the mental cry of
+“Absurd!” What was it to him if Calderwell did care for Alice Greggory?
+Surely he himself was not in love with the girl. He was in love with
+Billy; that is--
+
+It was all confusion then, in his mind, and he was glad indeed when he
+could leave the house. He wanted to be alone. He wanted to think. He
+must, in some way, thrash out this astounding thing that had come to
+him.
+
+Arkwright did not visit the Annex again for some days. Until he was more
+nearly sure of himself and of his feelings, he did not wish to see Alice
+Greggory. It was then that he began to think of Billy, deliberately,
+purposefully, for it must be, of course, that he had made a mistake,
+he told himself. It must be that he did, really, still care for
+Billy--though of course he ought not to.
+
+Arkwright made another discovery then. He learned that, however
+deliberately he started in to think of Billy, he ended every time in
+thinking of Alice. He thought of how good she had been to him, and of
+how faithful she had been in helping him to fight his love for Billy.
+Just here he decided, for a moment, that probably, after all, his
+feeling of anger against Calderwell was merely the fear of losing this
+helpful comradeship that he so needed. Even with himself, however,
+Arkwright could not keep up this farce long, and very soon he admitted
+miserably that it was not the comradeship of Alice Greggory that he
+wanted or needed, but the love.
+
+He knew it now. No longer was there any use in beating about the bush.
+He did love Alice Greggory; but so curiously and unbelievably stupid had
+he been that he had not found it out until now. And now it was too late.
+Had not even Billy called his attention to the fact of Calderwell's
+devotion? Besides, had not he himself, at the very first, told
+Calderwell that he might have a clear field?
+
+Fool that he had been to let another thus lightly step in and win from
+under his very nose what might have been his if he had but known his own
+mind before it was too late!
+
+But was it, after all, quite too late? He and Alice were old friends.
+Away back in their young days in their native town they had been,
+indeed, almost sweethearts, in a boy-and-girl fashion. It would not have
+taken much in those days, he believed, to have made the relationship
+more interesting. But changes had come. Alice had left town, and for
+years they had drifted apart. Then had come Billy, and Billy had found
+Alice, thus bringing about the odd circumstance of their renewing of
+acquaintanceship. Perhaps, at that time, if he had not already
+thought he cared for Billy, there would have been something more than
+acquaintanceship.
+
+But he _had_ thought he cared for Billy all these years; and now, at
+this late day, to wake up and find that he cared for Alice! A pretty
+mess he had made of things! Was he so inconstant then, so fickle? Did he
+not know his own mind five minutes at a time? What would Alice Greggory
+think, even if he found the courage to tell her? What could she think?
+What could anybody think?
+
+Arkwright fairly ground his teeth in impotent wrath--and he did not know
+whether he were the most angry that he did not love Billy, or that he
+had loved Billy, or that he loved somebody else now.
+
+It was while he was in this unenviable frame of mind that he went to
+see Alice. Not that he had planned definitely to speak to her of his
+discovery, nor yet that he had planned not to. He had, indeed, planned
+nothing. For a man usually so decided as to purpose and energetic as
+to action, he was in a most unhappy state of uncertainty and
+changeableness. One thing only was unmistakably clear to him, and that
+was that he must see Alice.
+
+For months, now, he had taken to Alice all his hopes and griefs,
+perplexities and problems; and never had he failed to find comfort
+in the shape of sympathetic understanding and wise counsel. To Alice,
+therefore, now he turned as a matter of course, telling himself vaguely
+that, perhaps, after he had seen Alice, he would feel better.
+
+Just how intimately this particular problem of his concerned Alice
+herself, he did not stop to realize. He did not, indeed, think of it at
+all from Alice's standpoint--until he came face to face with the girl in
+the living-room at the Annex. Then, suddenly, he did. His manner became
+at once, consequently, full of embarrassment and quite devoid of its
+usual frank friendliness.
+
+As it happened, this was perhaps the most unfortunate thing that could
+have occurred, so far as it concerned the attitude of Alice Greggory,
+for thereby innumerable tiny sparks of suspicion that had been
+tormenting the girl for days were instantly fanned into consuming flames
+of conviction.
+
+Alice had not been slow to note Arkwright's prolonged absence from the
+Annex. Coming as it did so soon after her most disconcerting talk with
+Billy in regard to her own relations with him, it had filled her with
+frightened questionings.
+
+If Billy had seen things to make her think of linking their names
+together, perhaps Arkwright himself had heard some such idea put forth
+somewhere, and that was why he was staying away--to show the world that
+there was no foundation for such rumors. Perhaps he was even doing it to
+show _her_ that--
+
+Even in her thoughts Alice could scarcely bring herself to finish the
+sentence. That Arkwright should ever suspect for a moment that she cared
+for him was intolerable. Painfully conscious as she was that she did
+care for him, it was easy to fear that others must be conscious of it,
+too. Had she not already proof that Billy suspected it? Why, then, might
+not it be quite possible, even probable, that Arkwright suspected it,
+also; and, because he did suspect it, had decided that it would be just
+as well, perhaps, if he did not call so often.
+
+In spite of Alice's angry insistence to herself that, after all, this
+could not be the case--that the man _knew_ she understood he still loved
+Billy--she could not help fearing, in the face of Arkwright's unusual
+absence, that it might yet be true. When, therefore, he finally did
+appear, only to become at once obviously embarrassed in her presence,
+her fears instantly became convictions. It was true, then. The man did
+believe she cared for him, and he had been trying to teach her--to save
+her.
+
+To teach her! To save her, indeed! Very well, he should see! And
+forthwith, from that moment, Alice Greggory's chief reason for living
+became to prove to Mr. M. J. Arkwright that he needed not to teach her,
+to save her, nor yet to sympathize with her.
+
+“How do you do?” she greeted him, with a particularly bright smile. “I'm
+sure I _hope_ you are well, such a beautiful day as this.”
+
+“Oh, yes, I'm well, I suppose. Still, I have felt better in my life,”
+ smiled Arkwright, with some constraint.
+
+“Oh, I'm sorry,” murmured the girl, striving so hard to speak with
+impersonal unconcern that she did not notice the inaptness of her reply.
+
+“Eh? Sorry I've felt better, are you?” retorted Arkwright, with nervous
+humor. Then, because he was embarrassed, he said the one thing he had
+meant not to say: “Don't you think I'm quite a stranger? It's been some
+time since I've been here.”
+
+Alice, smarting under the sting of what she judged to be the only
+possible cause for his embarrassment, leaped to this new opportunity to
+show her lack of interest.
+
+“Oh, has it?” she murmured carelessly. “Well, I don't know but it has,
+now that I come to think of it.”
+
+Arkwright frowned gloomily. A week ago he would have tossed back a
+laughingly aggrieved remark as to her unflattering indifference to his
+presence. Now he was in no mood for such joking. It was too serious a
+matter with him.
+
+“You've been busy, no doubt, with--other matters,” he presumed
+forlornly, thinking of Calderwell.
+
+“Yes, I have been busy,” assented the girl. “One is always happier,
+I think, to be busy. Not that I meant that I needed the work to _be_
+happy,” she added hastily, in a panic lest he think she had a consuming
+sorrow to kill.
+
+“No, of course not,” he murmured abstractedly, rising to his feet and
+crossing the room to the piano. Then, with an elaborate air of trying to
+appear very natural, he asked jovially: “Anything new to play to me?”
+
+Alice arose at once.
+
+“Yes. I have a little nocturne that I was playing to Mr. Calderwell last
+night.”
+
+“Oh, to Calderwell!” Arkwright had stiffened perceptibly.
+
+“Yes. _He_ didn't like it. I'll play it to you and see what you say,”
+ she smiled, seating herself at the piano.
+
+“Well, if he had liked it, it's safe to say I shouldn't,” shrugged
+Arkwright.
+
+“Nonsense!” laughed the girl, beginning to appear more like her natural
+self. “I should think you were Mr. Cyril Henshaw! Mr. Calderwell _is_
+partial to ragtime, I'll admit. But there are some good things he
+likes.”
+
+“There are, indeed, _some_ good things he likes,” returned Arkwright,
+with grim emphasis, his somber eyes fixed on what he believed to be the
+one especial object of Calderwell's affections at the moment.
+
+Alice, unaware both of the melancholy gaze bent upon herself and of the
+cause thereof, laughed again merrily.
+
+“Poor Mr. Calderwell,” she cried, as she let her fingers slide into
+soft, introductory chords. “He isn't to blame for not liking what he
+calls our lost spirits that wail. It's just the way he's made.”
+
+Arkwright vouchsafed no reply. With an abrupt gesture he turned and
+began to pace the room moodily. At the piano Alice slipped from the
+chords into the nocturne. She played it straight through, then, with a
+charm and skill that brought Arkwright's feet to a pause before it was
+half finished.
+
+“By George, that's great!” he breathed, when the last tone had quivered
+into silence.
+
+“Yes, isn't it--beautiful?” she murmured.
+
+The room was very quiet, and in semi-darkness. The last rays of a late
+June sunset had been filling the room with golden light, but it was gone
+now. Even at the piano by the window, Alice had barely been able to see
+clearly enough to read the notes of her nocturne.
+
+To Arkwright the air still trembled with the exquisite melody that had
+but just left her fingers. A quick fire came to his eyes. He forgot
+everything but that it was Alice there in the half-light by the
+window--Alice, whom he loved. With a low cry he took a swift step toward
+her.
+
+“Alice!”
+
+Instantly the girl was on her feet. But it was not toward him that she
+turned. It was away--resolutely, and with a haste that was strangely
+like terror.
+
+Alice, too, had forgotten, for just a moment. She had let herself drift
+into a dream world where there was nothing but the music she was playing
+and the man she loved. Then the music had stopped, and the man had
+spoken her name.
+
+Alice remembered then. She remembered Billy, whom this man loved. She
+remembered the long days just passed when this man had stayed away,
+presumably to teach _her_--to save _her_. And now, at the sound of his
+voice speaking her name, she had almost bared her heart to him.
+
+No wonder that Alice, with a haste that looked like terror, crossed the
+floor and flooded the room with light.
+
+“Dear me!” she shivered, carefully avoiding Arkwright's eyes. “If Mr.
+Calderwell were here now he'd have some excuse to talk about our lost
+spirits that wail. That _is_ a creepy piece of music when you play it
+in the dark!” And, for fear that he should suspect how her heart was
+aching, she gave a particularly brilliant and joyous smile.
+
+Once again at the mention of Calderwell's name Arkwright stiffened
+perceptibly. The fire left his eyes. For a moment he did not speak;
+then, gravely, he said:
+
+“Calderwell? Yes, perhaps he would; and--you ought to be a judge, I
+should think. You see him quite frequently, don't you?”
+
+“Why, yes, of course. He often comes out here, you know.”
+
+“Yes; I had heard that he did--since _you_ came.”
+
+His meaning was unmistakable. Alice looked up quickly. A prompt denial
+of his implication was on her lips when the thought came to her that
+perhaps just here lay a sure way to prove to this man before her that
+there was, indeed, no need for him to teach her, to save her, or yet to
+sympathize with her. She could not affirm, of course; but she need not
+deny--yet.
+
+“Nonsense!” she laughed lightly, pleased that she could feel what she
+hoped would pass for a telltale color burning her cheeks. “Come, let
+us try some duets,” she proposed, leading the way to the piano. And
+Arkwright, interpreting the apparently embarrassed change of subject
+exactly as she had hoped that he would interpret it, followed her, sick
+at heart.
+
+“'O wert thou in the cauld blast,'” sang Arkwright's lips a few moments
+later.
+
+“I can't tell her now--when I _know_ she cares for Calderwell,” gloomily
+ran his thoughts, the while. “It would do no possible good, and would
+only make her unhappy to grieve me.”
+
+“'O wert thou in the cauld blast,'” chimed in Alice's alto, low and
+sweet.
+
+“I reckon now he won't be staying away from here any more just to _save_
+me!” ran Alice's thoughts, palpitatingly triumphant.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI. BILLY TAKES HER TURN AT QUESTIONING
+
+
+Arkwright did not call to see Alice Greggory for some days. He did not
+want to see Alice now. He told himself wearily that she could not help
+him fight this tiger skin that lay across his path, The very fact of her
+presence by his side would, indeed, incapacitate himself for fighting.
+So he deliberately stayed away from the Annex until the day before he
+sailed for Germany. Then he went out to say good-by.
+
+Chagrined as he was at what he termed his imbecile stupidity in not
+knowing his own heart all these past months, and convinced, as he also
+was, that Alice and Calderwell cared for each other, he could see no way
+for him but to play the part of a man of kindliness and honor, leaving a
+clear field for his preferred rival, and bringing no shadow of regret to
+mar the happiness of the girl he loved.
+
+As for being his old easy, frank self on this last call, however, that
+was impossible; so Alice found plenty of fuel for her still burning
+fires of suspicion--fires which had, indeed, blazed up anew at this
+second long period of absence on the part of Arkwright. Naturally,
+therefore, the call was anything but a joy and comfort to either one.
+Arkwright was nervous, gloomy, and abnormally gay by turns. Alice was
+nervous and abnormally gay all the time. Then they said good-by and
+Arkwright went away. He sailed the next day, and Alice settled down to
+the summer of study and hard work she had laid out for herself.
+
+
+On the tenth of September Billy came home. She was brown, plump-cheeked,
+and smiling. She declared that she had had a perfectly beautiful time,
+and that there couldn't be anything in the world nicer than the trip
+she and Bertram had taken--just they two together. In answer to Aunt
+Hannah's solicitous inquiries, she asserted that she was all well and
+rested now. But there was a vaguely troubled questioning in her eyes
+that Aunt Hannah did not quite like. Aunt Hannah, however, said nothing
+even to Billy herself about this.
+
+One of the first friends Billy saw after her return was Hugh Calderwell.
+As it happened Bertram was out when he came, so Billy had the first
+half-hour of the call to herself. She was not sorry for this, as it
+gave her a chance to question Calderwell a little concerning Alice
+Greggory--something she had long ago determined to do at the first
+opportunity.
+
+“Now tell me everything--everything about everybody,” she began
+diplomatically, settling herself comfortably for a good visit.
+
+“Thank you, I'm well, and have had a passably agreeable summer,
+barring the heat, sundry persistent mosquitoes, several grievous
+disappointments, and a felon on my thumb,” he began, with shameless
+imperturbability. “I have been to Revere once, to the circus once,
+to Nantasket three times, and to Keith's and the 'movies' ten times,
+perhaps--to be accurate. I have also--But perhaps there was some one
+else you desired to inquire for,” he broke off, turning upon his hostess
+a bland but unsmiling countenance.
+
+“Oh, no, how could there be?” twinkled Billy. “Really, Hugh, I always
+knew you had a pretty good opinion of yourself, but I didn't credit you
+with thinking you were _everybody_. Go on. I'm so interested!”
+
+Hugh chuckled softly; but there was a plaintive tone in his voice as he
+answered.
+
+“Thanks, no. I've rather lost my interest now. Lack of appreciation
+always did discourage me. We'll talk of something else, please. You
+enjoyed your trip?”
+
+“Very much. It just couldn't have been nicer!”
+
+“You were lucky. The heat here has been something fierce!”
+
+“What made you stay?”
+
+“Reasons too numerous, and one too heart-breaking, to mention. Besides,
+you forget,” with dignity. “There is my profession. I have joined the
+workers of the world now, you know.”
+
+“Oh, fudge, Hugh!” laughed Billy. “You know very well you're as likely
+as not to start for the ends of the earth to-morrow morning!”
+
+Hugh drew himself up.
+
+“I don't seem to succeed in making people understand that I'm serious,”
+ he began aggrievedly. “I--” With an expressive flourish of his hands he
+relaxed suddenly, and fell back in his chair. A slow smile came to
+his lips. “Well, Billy, I'll give up. You've hit it,” he confessed. “I
+_have_ thought seriously of starting to-morrow morning for _half-way_ to
+the ends of the earth--Panama.”
+
+“Hugh!”
+
+“Well, I have. Even this call was to be a good-by--if I went.”
+
+“Oh, Hugh! But I really thought--in spite of my teasing--that you had
+settled down, this time.”
+
+“Yes, so did I,” sighed the man, a little soberly. “But I guess it's
+no use, Billy. Oh, I'm coming back, of course, and link arms again with
+their worthy Highnesses, John Doe and Richard Roe; but just now I've got
+a restless fit on me. I want to see the wheels go 'round. Of course, if
+I had my bread and butter and cigars to earn, 'twould be different. But
+I haven't, and I know I haven't; and I suspect that's where the trouble
+lies. If it wasn't for those natal silver spoons of mine that Bertram
+is always talking about, things might be different. But the spoons are
+there, and always have been; and I know they're all ready to dish out
+mountains to climb and lakes to paddle in, any time I've a mind to say
+the word. So--I just say the word. That's all.”
+
+“And you've said it now?”
+
+“Yes, I think so; for a while.”
+
+“And--those reasons that _have_ kept you here all summer,” ventured
+Billy, “they aren't in--er--commission any longer?”
+
+“No.”
+
+Billy hesitated, regarding her companion meditatively. Then, with the
+feeling that she had followed a blind alley to its termination, she
+retreated and made a fresh start.
+
+“Well, you haven't yet told me everything about everybody, you know,”
+ she hinted smilingly. “You might begin that--I mean the less important
+everybodies, of course, now that I've heard about you.”
+
+“Meaning--”
+
+“Oh, Aunt Hannah, and the Greggorys, and Cyril and Marie, and the twins,
+and Mr. Arkwright, and all the rest.”
+
+“But you've had letters, surely.”
+
+“Yes, I've had letters from some of them, and I've seen most of them
+since I came back. It's just that I wanted to know _your_ viewpoint of
+what's happened through the summer.”
+
+“Very well. Aunt Hannah is as dear as ever, wears just as many shawls,
+and still keeps her clock striking twelve when it's half-past eleven.
+Mrs. Greggory is just as sweet as ever--and a little more frail, I
+fear,--bless her heart! Mr. Arkwright is still abroad, as I presume
+you know. I hear he is doing great stunts over there, and will sing in
+Berlin and Paris this winter. I'm thinking of going across from Panama
+later. If I do I shall look him up. Mr. and Mrs. Cyril are as well as
+could be expected when you realize that they haven't yet settled on a
+pair of names for the twins.”
+
+“I know it--and the poor little things three months old, too! I think
+it's a shame. You've heard the reason, I suppose. Cyril declares that
+naming babies is one of the most serious and delicate operations in the
+world, and that, for his part, he thinks people ought to select their
+own names when they've arrived at years of discretion. He wants to
+wait till the twins are eighteen, and then make each of them a birthday
+present of the name of their own choosing.”
+
+“Well, if that isn't the limit!” laughed Calderwell. “I'd heard some
+such thing before, but I hadn't supposed it was really so.”
+
+“Well, it is. He says he knows more tomboys and enormous fat women named
+'Grace' and 'Lily,' and sweet little mouse-like ladies staggering along
+under a sonorous 'Jerusha Theodosia' or 'Zenobia Jane'; and that if he
+should name the boys 'Franz' and 'Felix' after Schubert and Mendelssohn
+as Marie wants to, they'd as likely as not turn out to be men who hated
+the sound of music and doted on stocks and dry goods.”
+
+“Humph!” grunted Calderwell. “I saw Cyril last week, and he said he
+hadn't named the twins yet, but he didn't tell me why. I offered him two
+perfectly good names myself, but he didn't seem interested.”
+
+“What were they?”
+
+“Eldad and Bildad.”
+
+“Hugh!” protested Billy.
+
+“Well, why not?” bridled the man. “I'm sure those are new and unique,
+and really musical, too--'way ahead of your Franz and Felix.”
+
+“But those aren't really names!”
+
+“Indeed they are.”
+
+“Where did you get them?”
+
+“Off our family tree, though they're Bible names, Belle says. Perhaps
+you didn't know, but Sister Belle has been making the dirt fly quite
+lively of late around that family tree of ours, and she wrote me some
+of her discoveries. It seems two of the roots, or branches--say, are
+ancestors roots, or branches?--were called Eldad and Bildad. Now I
+thought those names were good enough to pass along, but, as I said
+before, Cyril wasn't interested.”
+
+“I should say not,” laughed Billy. “But, honestly, Hugh, it's really
+serious. Marie wants them named _something_, but she doesn't say much
+to Cyril. Marie wouldn't really breathe, you know, if she thought Cyril
+disapproved of breathing. And in this case Cyril does not hesitate to
+declare that the boys shall name themselves.”
+
+“What a situation!” laughed Calderwell.
+
+“Isn't it? But, do you know, I can sympathize with it, in a way, for
+I've always mourned so over _my_ name. 'Billy' was always such a trial
+to me! Poor Uncle William wasn't the only one that prepared guns and
+fishing rods to entertain the expected boy. I don't know, though, I'm
+afraid if I'd been allowed to select my name I should have been a 'Helen
+Clarabella' all my days, for that was the name I gave all my dolls, with
+'first,' 'second,' 'third,' and so on, added to them for distinction.
+Evidently I thought that 'Helen Clarabella' was the most feminine
+appellation possible, and the most foreign to the despised 'Billy.' So
+you see I can sympathize with Cyril to a certain extent.”
+
+“But they must call the little chaps _something_, now,” argued Hugh.
+
+Billy gave a sudden merry laugh.
+
+“They do,” she gurgled, “and that's the funniest part of it. Oh, Cyril
+doesn't. He always calls them impersonally 'they' or 'it.' He doesn't
+see much of them anyway, now, I understand. Marie was horrified when she
+realized how the nurses had been using his den as a nursery annex and
+she changed all that instanter, when she took charge of things again.
+The twins stay in the nursery now, I'm told. But about the names--the
+nurses, it seems, have got into the way of calling them 'Dot' and
+'Dimple.' One has a dimple in his cheek, and the other is a little
+smaller of the two. Marie is no end distressed, particularly as she
+finds that she herself calls them that; and she says the idea of boys
+being 'Dot' and 'Dimple'!”
+
+“I should say so,” laughed Calderwell. “Not I regard that as worse than
+my 'Eldad' and 'Bildad.'”
+
+“I know it, and Alice says--By the way, you haven't mentioned Alice, but
+I suppose you see her occasionally.”
+
+Billy paused in evident expectation of a reply. Billy was, in fact,
+quite pluming herself on the adroit casualness with which she had
+introduced the subject nearest her heart.
+
+Calderwell raised his eyebrows.
+
+“Oh, yes, I see her.”
+
+“But you hadn't mentioned her.”
+
+There was the briefest of pauses; then with a half-quizzical dejection,
+there came the remark:
+
+“You seem to forget. I told you that I stayed here this summer for
+reasons too numerous, and one too heart-breaking, to mention. She was
+the _one_.”
+
+“You mean--”
+
+“Yes. The usual thing. She turned me down. Oh, I haven't asked her yet
+as many times as I did you, but--”
+
+“_Hugh!_”
+
+Hugh tossed her a grim smile and went on imperturbably.
+
+“I'm older now, of course, and know more, perhaps. Besides, the finality
+of her remarks was not to be mistaken.”
+
+Billy, in spite of her sympathy for Calderwell, was conscious of a throb
+of relief that at least one stumbling-block was removed from Arkwright's
+possible pathway to Alice's heart.
+
+“Did she give any special reason?” hazarded Billy, a shade too
+anxiously.
+
+“Oh, yes. She said she wasn't going to marry anybody--only her music.”
+
+“Nonsense!” ejaculated Billy, falling back in her chair a little.
+
+“Yes, I said that, too,” gloomed the man; “but it didn't do any good.
+You see, I had known another girl who'd said the same thing once.” (He
+did not look up, but a vivid red flamed suddenly into Billy's cheeks.)
+“And she--when the right one came--forgot all about the music, and
+married the man. So I naturally suspected that Alice would do the same
+thing. In fact, I said so to her. I was bold enough to even call the man
+by name--I hadn't been jealous of Arkwright for nothing, you see--but
+she denied it, and flew into such an indignant allegation that there
+wasn't a word of truth in it, that I had to sue for pardon before I got
+anything like peace.”
+
+“Oh-h!” said Billy, in a disappointed voice, falling quite back in her
+chair this time.
+
+“And so that's why I'm wanting especially just now to see the wheels go
+'round,” smiled Calderwell, a little wistfully. “Oh, I shall get over
+it, I suppose. It isn't the first time, I'll own--but some day I take it
+there will be a last time. Enough of this, however! You haven't told me
+a thing about yourself. How about it? When I come back, are you going
+to give me a dinner cooked by your own fair hands? Going to still play
+Bridget?”
+
+Billy laughed and shook her head.
+
+“No; far from it. Eliza has come back, and her cousin from Vermont is
+coming as second girl to help her. But I _could_ cook a dinner for you
+if I had to now, sir, and it wouldn't be potato-mush and cold lamb,” she
+bragged shamelessly, as there sounded Bertram's peculiar ring, and the
+click of his key in the lock.
+
+
+It was the next afternoon that Billy called on Marie. From Marie's,
+Billy went to the Annex, which was very near Cyril's new house; and
+there, in Aunt Hannah's room, she had what she told Bertram afterwards
+was a perfectly lovely visit.
+
+Aunt Hannah, too, enjoyed the visit very much, though yet there was one
+thing that disturbed her--the vaguely troubled look in Billy's eyes,
+which to-day was more apparent than ever. Not until just before Billy
+went home did something occur to give Aunt Hannah a possible clue as to
+what was the meaning of it. That something was a question from Billy.
+
+“Aunt Hannah, why don't I feel like Marie did? why don't I feel like
+everybody does in books and stories? Marie went around with such a
+detached, heavenly, absorbed look in her eyes, before the twins came to
+her home. But I don't. I don't find anything like that in my face,
+when I look in the glass. And I don't feel detached and absorbed and
+heavenly. I'm happy, of course; but I can't help thinking of the dear,
+dear times Bertram and I have together, just we two, and I can't seem to
+imagine it at all with a third person around.”
+
+“Billy! _Third person_, indeed!”
+
+“There! I knew 'twould shock you,” mourned Billy. “It shocks me. I
+_want_ to feel detached and heavenly and absorbed.”
+
+“But Billy, dear, think of it--calling your own baby a third person!”
+
+Billy sighed despairingly.
+
+“Yes, I know. And I suppose I might as well own up to the rest of it
+too. I--I'm actually afraid of babies, Aunt Hannah! Well, I am,” she
+reiterated, in answer to Aunt Hannah's gasp of disapproval. “I'm not
+used to them at all. I never had any little brothers and sisters, and I
+don't know how to treat babies. I--I'm always afraid they'll break, or
+something. I'm just as afraid of the twins as I can be. How Marie can
+handle them, and toss them about as she does, I don't see.”
+
+“Toss them about, indeed!”
+
+“Well, it looks that way to me,” sighed Billy. “Anyhow, I know I can
+never get to handle them like that--and that's no way to feel! And
+I'm ashamed of myself because I _can't_ be detached and heavenly and
+absorbed,” she added, rising to go. “Everybody always is, it seems, but
+just me.”
+
+“Fiddlededee, my dear!” scoffed Aunt Hannah, patting Billy's downcast
+face. “Wait till a year from now, and we'll see about that third-person
+bugaboo you're worrying about. _I'm_ not worrying now; so you'd better
+not!”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII. A DOT AND A DIMPLE
+
+
+On the day Cyril Henshaw's twins were six months old, a momentous
+occurrence marked the date with a flaming red letter of remembrance;
+and it all began with a baby's smile.
+
+Cyril, in quest of his wife at about ten o'clock that morning, and not
+finding her, pursued his search even to the nursery--a room he very
+seldom entered. Cyril did not like to go into the nursery. He felt ill
+at ease, and as if he were away from home--and Cyril was known to abhor
+being away from home since he was married. Now that Marie had taken over
+the reins of government again, he had been obliged to see very little
+of those strange women and babies. Not but that he liked the babies, of
+course. They were his sons, and he was proud of them. They should have
+every advantage that college, special training, and travel could give
+them. He quite anticipated what they would be to him--when they really
+knew anything. But, of course, _now_, when they could do nothing but
+cry and wave their absurd little fists, and wobble their heads in so
+fearsome a manner, as if they simply did not know the meaning of the
+word backbone--and, for that matter, of course they didn't--why, he
+could not be expected to be anything but relieved when he had his den to
+himself again, with a reasonable chance of finding his manuscript as
+he had left it, and not cut up into a ridiculous string of paper dolls
+holding hands, as he had once found it, after a visit from a woman with
+a small girl.
+
+Since Marie had been at the helm, however, he had not been troubled in
+such a way. He had, indeed, known almost his old customary peace and
+freedom from interruption, with only an occasional flitting across his
+path of the strange women and babies--though he had realized, of course,
+that they were in the house, especially in the nursery. For that reason,
+therefore, he always avoided the nursery when possible. But to-day he
+wanted his wife, and his wife was not to be found anywhere else in the
+house. So, reluctantly, he turned his steps toward the nursery, and,
+with a frown, knocked and pushed open the door.
+
+“Is Mrs. Henshaw here?” he demanded, not over gently.
+
+Absolute silence greeted his question. The man saw then that there was
+no one in the room save a baby sitting on a mat in the middle of the
+floor, barricaded on all sides with pillows.
+
+With a deeper frown the man turned to go, when a gleeful “Ah--goo!”
+ halted his steps midway. He wheeled sharply.
+
+“Er--eh?” he queried, uncertainly eyeing his small son on the floor.
+
+“Ah--goo!” observed the infant (who had been very lonesome), with
+greater emphasis; and this time he sent into his father's eyes the most
+bewitching of smiles.
+
+“Well, by George!” murmured the man, weakly, a dawning amazement driving
+the frown from his face.
+
+“Spgggh--oo--wah!” gurgled the boy, holding out two tiny fists.
+
+A slow smile came to the man's face.
+
+“Well, I'll--be--darned,” he muttered half-shamefacedly, wholly
+delightedly. “If the rascal doesn't act as if he--knew me!”
+
+“Ah--goo--spggghh!” grinned the infant, toothlessly, but entrancingly.
+
+With almost a stealthy touch Cyril closed the door back of him, and
+advanced a little dubiously toward his son. His countenance carried a
+mixture of guilt, curiosity, and dogged determination so ludicrous that
+it was a pity none but baby eyes could see it. As if to meet more
+nearly on a level this baffling new acquaintance, Cyril got to his
+knees--somewhat stiffly, it must be confessed--and faced his son.
+
+“Goo--eee--ooo--yah!” crowed the baby now, thrashing legs and arms about
+in a transport of joy at the acquisition of this new playmate.
+
+“Well, well, young man, you--you don't say so!” stammered the
+growingly-proud father, thrusting a plainly timid and unaccustomed
+finger toward his offspring. “So you do know me, eh? Well, who am I?”
+
+“Da--da!” gurgled the boy, triumphantly clutching the outstretched
+finger, and holding on with a tenacity that brought a gleeful chuckle to
+the lips of the man.
+
+“Jove! but aren't you the strong little beggar, though! Needn't tell me
+you don't know a good thing when you see it! So I'm 'da-da,' am I?”
+ he went on, unhesitatingly accepting as the pure gold of knowledge the
+shameless imitation vocabulary his son was foisting upon him. “Well, I
+expect I am, and--”
+
+“Oh, Cyril!” The door had opened, and Marie was in the room. If she gave
+a start of surprise at her husband's unaccustomed attitude, she quickly
+controlled herself. “Julia said you wanted me. I must have been going
+down the back stairs when you came up the front, and--”
+
+“Please, Mrs. Henshaw, is it Dot you have in here, or Dimple?” asked a
+new voice, as the second nurse entered by another door.
+
+Before Mrs. Henshaw could answer, Cyril, who had got to his feet, turned
+sharply.
+
+“Is it--_who_?” he demanded.
+
+“Oh! Oh, Mr. Henshaw,” stammered the girl. “I beg your pardon. I didn't
+know you were here. It was only that I wanted to know which baby it was.
+We thought we had Dot with us, until--”
+
+“Dot! Dimple!” exploded the man. “Do you mean to say you have given my
+_sons_ the ridiculous names of '_Dot_' and '_Dimple_'?”
+
+“Why, no--yes--well, that is--we had to call them something,” faltered
+the nurse, as with a despairing glance at her mistress, she plunged
+through the doorway.
+
+Cyril turned to his wife.
+
+“Marie, what is the meaning of this?” he demanded.
+
+“Why, Cyril, dear, don't--don't get so wrought up,” she begged. “It's
+only as Mary said, we _had_ to call them something, and--”
+
+“Wrought up, indeed!” interrupted Cyril, savagely. “Who wouldn't be?
+'Dot' and 'Dimple'! Great Scott! One would think those boys were a
+couple of kittens or puppies; that they didn't know anything--didn't
+have any brains! But they have--if the other is anything like this one,
+at least,” he declared, pointing to his son on the floor, who, at
+this opportune moment joined in the conversation to the extent of an
+appropriate “Ah--goo--da--da!”
+
+“There, hear that, will you?” triumphed the father. “What did I tell
+you? That's the way he's been going on ever since I came into the room;
+The little rascal knows me--so soon!”
+
+Marie clapped her fingers to her lips and turned her back suddenly,
+with a spasmodic little cough; but her husband, if he noticed the
+interruption, paid no heed.
+
+“Dot and Dimple, indeed!” he went on wrathfully. “That settles it. We'll
+name those boys to-day, Marie, _to-day!_ Not once again will I let the
+sun go down on a Dot and a Dimple under my roof.”
+
+Marie turned with a quick little cry of happiness.
+
+“Oh, Cyril, I'm so glad! I've so wanted to have them named, you know!
+And shall we call them Franz and Felix, as we'd talked?”
+
+“Franz, Felix, John, James, Paul, Charles--anything, so it's sane and
+sensible! I'd even adopt Calderwell's absurd Bildad and--er--Tomdad, or
+whatever it was, rather than have those poor little chaps insulted a
+day longer with a 'Dot' and a 'Dimple.' Great Scott!” And, entirely
+forgetting what he had come to the nursery for, Cyril strode from the
+room.
+
+“Ah--goo--spggggh!” commented baby from the middle of the floor.
+
+
+It was on a very windy March day that Bertram Henshaw's son, Bertram,
+Jr., arrived at the Strata. Billy went so far into the Valley of the
+Shadow of Death for her baby that it was some days before she realized
+in all its importance the presence of the new member of her family. Even
+when the days had become weeks, and Bertram, Jr., was a month and a
+half old, the extreme lassitude and weariness of his young mother was a
+source of ever-growing anxiety to her family and friends. Billy was so
+unlike herself, they all said.
+
+“If something could only rouse her,” suggested the Henshaw's old
+family physician one day. “A certain sort of mental shock--if not too
+severe--would do the deed, I think, and with no injury--only benefit.
+Her physical condition is in just the state that needs a stimulus to
+stir it into new life and vigor.”
+
+As it happened, this was said on a certain Monday. Two days later
+Bertram's sister Kate, on her way with her husband to Mr. Hartwell's old
+home in Vermont, stopped over in Boston for a two days' visit. She made
+her headquarters at Cyril's home, but very naturally she went, without
+much delay, to pay her respects to Bertram, Jr.
+
+“Mr. Hartwell's brother isn't well,” she explained to Billy, after
+the greetings were over. “You know he's the only one left there, since
+Mother and Father Hartwell came West. We shall go right on up to Vermont
+in a couple of days, but we just had to stay over long enough to see the
+baby; and we hadn't ever seen the twins, either, you know. By the way,
+how perfectly ridiculous Cyril is over those boys!”
+
+“Is he?” smiled Billy, faintly.
+
+“Yes. One would think there were never any babies born before, to hear
+him talk. He thinks they're the most wonderful things in the world--and
+they are cunning little fellows, I'll admit. But Cyril thinks they
+_know_ so much,” went on Kate, laughingly. “He's always bragging of
+something one or the other of them has done. Think of it--_Cyril!_ Marie
+says it all started from the time last January when he discovered the
+nurses had been calling them Dot and Dimple.”
+
+“Yes, I know,” smiled Billy again, faintly, lifting a thin, white, very
+un-Billy-like hand to her head.
+
+Kate frowned, and regarded her sister-in-law thoughtfully.
+
+“Mercy! how you look, Billy!” she exclaimed, with cheerful tactlessness.
+“They said you did, but, I declare, you look worse than I thought.”
+
+Billy's pale face reddened perceptibly.
+
+“Nonsense! It's just that I'm so--so tired,” she insisted. “I shall be
+all right soon. How did you leave the children?”
+
+“Well, and happy--'specially little Kate, because mother was going away.
+Kate is mistress, you know, when I'm gone, and she takes herself very
+seriously.”
+
+“Mistress! A little thing like her! Why, she can't be more than ten or
+eleven,” murmured Billy.
+
+“She isn't. She was ten last month. But you'd think she was forty, the
+airs she gives herself, sometimes. Oh, of course there's Nora, and the
+cook, and Miss Winton, the governess, there to really manage things,
+and Mother Hartwell is just around the corner; but little Kate _thinks_
+she's managing, so she's happy.”
+
+Billy suppressed a smile. Billy was thinking that little Kate came
+naturally by at least one of her traits.
+
+“Really, that child is impossible, sometimes,” resumed Mrs. Hartwell,
+with a sigh. “You know the absurd things she was always saying two or
+three years ago, when we came on to Cyril's wedding.”
+
+“Yes, I remember.”
+
+“Well, I thought she would get over it. But she doesn't. She's worse, if
+anything; and sometimes her insight, or intuition, or whatever you may
+call it, is positively uncanny. I never know what she's going to remark
+next, when I take her anywhere; but it's safe to say, whatever it is,
+it'll be unexpected and _usually_ embarrassing to somebody. And--is
+that the baby?” broke off Mrs. Hartwell, as a cooing laugh and a woman's
+voice came from the next room.
+
+“Yes. The nurse has just brought him in, I think,” said Billy.
+
+“Then I'll go right now and see him,” rejoined Kate, rising to her feet
+and hurrying into the next room.
+
+Left alone, Billy lay back wearily in her reclining-chair. She wondered
+why Kate always tired her so. She wished she had had on her blue kimono,
+then perhaps Kate would not have thought she looked so badly. Blue was
+always more becoming to her than--
+
+Billy turned her head suddenly. From the next room had come Kate's
+clear-cut, decisive voice.
+
+“Oh, no, I don't think he looks a bit like his father. That little
+snubby nose was never the Henshaw nose.”
+
+Billy drew in her breath sharply, and pulled herself half erect in her
+chair. From the next room came Kate's voice again, after a low murmur
+from the nurse.
+
+“Oh, but he isn't, I tell you. He isn't one bit of a Henshaw baby! The
+Henshaw babies are always _pretty_ ones. They have more hair, and they
+look--well, different.”
+
+Billy gave a low cry, and struggled to her feet.
+
+“Oh, no,” spoke up Kate, in answer to another indistinct something from
+the nurse. “I don't think he's near as pretty as the twins. Of
+course the twins are a good deal older, but they have such a _bright_
+look,--and they did have, from the very first. I saw it in their tiniest
+baby pictures. But this baby--”
+
+“_This_ baby is _mine_, please,” cut in a tremulous, but resolute voice;
+and Mrs. Hartwell turned to confront Bertram, Jr.'s mother, manifestly
+weak and trembling, but no less manifestly blazing-eyed and determined.
+
+“Why, Billy!” expostulated Mrs. Hartwell, as Billy stumbled forward and
+snatched the child into her arms.
+
+“Perhaps he doesn't look like the Henshaw babies. Perhaps he isn't as
+pretty as the twins. Perhaps he hasn't much hair, and does have a snub
+nose. He's my baby just the same, and I shall not stay calmly by and see
+him abused! Besides, _I_ think he's prettier than the twins ever thought
+of being; and he's got all the hair I want him to have, and his nose
+is just exactly what a baby's nose ought to be!” And, with a superb
+gesture, Billy turned and bore the baby away.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII. BILLY AND THE ENORMOUS RESPONSIBILITY
+
+
+When the doctor heard from the nurse of Mrs. Hartwell's visit and what
+had come of it, he only gave a discreet smile, as befitted himself and
+the occasion; but to his wife privately, that night, the doctor said,
+when he had finished telling the story:
+
+“And I couldn't have prescribed a better pill if I'd tried!”
+
+“_Pill_--Mrs. Hartwell! Oh, Harold,” reproved the doctor's wife, mildly.
+
+But the doctor only chuckled the more, and said:
+
+“You wait and see.”
+
+If Billy's friends were worried before because of her lassitude and lack
+of ambition, they were almost as worried now over her amazing alertness
+and insistent activity. Day by day, almost hour by hour, she seemed to
+gain in strength; and every bit she acquired she promptly tested almost
+to the breaking point, so plainly eager was she to be well and strong.
+And always, from morning until night, and again from night until
+morning, the pivot of her existence, around which swung all thoughts,
+words, actions, and plans, was the sturdy little plump-cheeked,
+firm-fleshed atom of humanity known as Bertram, Jr. Even Aunt Hannah
+remonstrated with her at last.
+
+“But, Billy, dear,” she exclaimed, “one would almost get the idea that
+you thought there wasn't a thing in the world but that baby!”
+
+Billy laughed.
+
+“Well, do you know, sometimes I 'most think there isn't,” she retorted
+unblushingly.
+
+“Billy!” protested Aunt Hannah; then, a little severely, she demanded:
+“And who was it that just last September was calling this same
+only-object-in-the-world a third person in your home?”
+
+“Third person, indeed! Aunt Hannah, did I? Did I really say such a
+dreadful thing as that? But I didn't know, then, of course. I couldn't
+know how perfectly wonderful a baby is, especially such a baby as
+Bertram, Jr., is. Why, Aunt Hannah, that little thing knows a whole lot
+already. He's known me for weeks; I know he has. And ages and ages ago
+he began to give me little smiles when he saw me. They were smiles--real
+smiles! Oh, yes, I know nurse said they weren't smiles at the first,”
+ admitted Billy, in answer to Aunt Hannah's doubting expression. “I know
+nurse said it was only wind on his stomach. Think of it--wind on his
+stomach! Just as if I didn't know the difference between my own baby's
+smile and wind on his stomach! And you don't know how soon he began to
+follow my moving finger with his eyes!”
+
+“Yes, I tried that one day, I remember,” observed Aunt Hannah demurely.
+“I moved my finger. He looked at the ceiling--_fixedly_.”
+
+“Well, probably he _wanted_ to look at the ceiling, then,” defended the
+young mother, promptly. “I'm sure I wouldn't give a snap for a baby if
+he didn't sometimes have a mind of his own, and exercise it!”
+
+“Oh, Billy, Billy,” laughed Aunt Hannah, with a shake of her head as
+Billy turned away, chin uptilted.
+
+By the time Bertram, Jr., was three months old, Billy was unmistakably
+her old happy, merry self, strong and well. Affairs at the Strata once
+more were moving as by clockwork--only this time it was a baby's hand
+that set the clock, and that wound it, too.
+
+Billy told her husband very earnestly that now they had entered upon a
+period of Enormous Responsibility. The Life, Character, and Destiny of a
+Human Soul was intrusted to their care, and they must be Wise, Faithful,
+and Efficient. They must be at once Proud and Humble at this their Great
+Opportunity. They must Observe, Learn, and Practice. First and foremost
+in their eyes must always be this wonderful Important Trust.
+
+Bertram laughed at first very heartily at Billy's instructions, which,
+he declared, were so bristling with capitals that he could fairly see
+them drop from her lips. Then, when he found how really very much in
+earnest she was, and how hurt she was at his levity, he managed to pull
+his face into something like sobriety while she talked to him, though he
+did persist in dropping kisses on her cheeks, her chin, her finger-tips,
+her hair, and the little pink lobes of her ears--“just by way of
+punctuation” to her sentences, he said. And he told her that he wasn't
+really slighting her lips, only that they moved so fast he could not
+catch them. Whereat Billy pouted, and told him severely that he was a
+bad, naughty boy, and that he did not deserve to be the father of the
+dearest, most wonderful baby in the world.
+
+“No, I know I don't,” beamed Bertram, with cheerful unrepentance; “but I
+am, just the same,” he finished triumphantly. And this time he contrived
+to find his wife's lips.
+
+“Oh, Bertram,” sighed Billy, despairingly.
+
+“You're an old dear, of course, and one just can't be cross with you;
+but you don't, you just _don't_ realize your Immense Responsibility.”
+
+“Oh, yes, I do,” maintained Bertram so seriously that even Billy herself
+almost believed him.
+
+In spite of his assertions, however, it must be confessed that Bertram
+was much more inclined to regard the new member of his family as just
+his son rather than as an Important Trust; and there is little doubt
+that he liked to toss him in the air and hear his gleeful crows of
+delight, without any bother of Observing him at all. As to the Life and
+Character and Destiny intrusted to his care, it is to be feared that
+Bertram just plain gloried in his son, poked him in the ribs, and
+chuckled him under the chin whenever he pleased, and gave never so much
+as a thought to Character and Destiny. It is to be feared, too, that he
+was Proud without being Humble, and that the only Opportunity he really
+appreciated was the chance to show off his wife and baby to some less
+fortunate fellow-man.
+
+But not so Billy. Billy joined a Mothers' Club and entered a class in
+Child Training with an elaborate system of Charts, Rules, and Tests. She
+subscribed to each new “Mothers' Helper,” and the like, that she came
+across, devouring each and every one with an eagerness that was tempered
+only by a vague uneasiness at finding so many differences of opinion
+among Those Who Knew.
+
+Undeniably Billy, if not Bertram, was indeed realizing the Enormous
+Responsibility, and was keeping ever before her the Important Trust.
+
+In June Bertram took a cottage at the South Shore, and by the time the
+really hot weather arrived the family were well settled. It was only an
+hour away from Boston, and easy of access, but William said he guessed
+he would not go; he would stay in Boston, sleeping at the house, and
+getting his meals at the club, until the middle of July, when he was
+going down in Maine for his usual fishing trip, which he had planned to
+take a little earlier than usual this year.
+
+“But you'll be so lonesome, Uncle William,” Billy demurred, “in this
+great house all alone!”
+
+“Oh, no, I sha'n't,” rejoined Uncle William. “I shall only be sleeping
+here, you know,” he finished, with a slightly peculiar smile.
+
+It was well, perhaps, that Billy did not exactly realize the
+significance of that smile, nor the unconscious emphasis on the word
+“sleeping,” for it would have troubled her not a little.
+
+William, to tell the truth, was quite anticipating that sleeping.
+William's nights had not been exactly restful since the baby came. His
+evenings, too, had not been the peaceful things they were wont to be.
+
+Some of Billy's Rules and Tests were strenuously objected to on the part
+of her small son, and the young man did not hesitate to show it. Billy
+said that it was good for the baby to cry, that it developed his lungs;
+but William was very sure that it was not good for _him_. Certainly,
+when the baby did cry, William never could help hovering near the center
+of disturbance, and he always _had_ to remind Billy that it might be a
+pin, you know, or some cruel thing that was hurting. As if he, William,
+a great strong man, could sit calmly by and smoke a pipe, or lie in his
+comfortable bed and sleep, while that blessed little baby was crying
+his heart out like that! Of course, if one did not _know_ he was
+crying--Hence William's anticipation of those quiet, restful nights when
+he could not know it.
+
+Very soon after Billy's arrival at the cottage, Aunt Hannah and Alice
+Greggory came down for a day's visit. Aunt Hannah had been away from
+Boston for several weeks, so it was some time since she had seen the
+baby.
+
+“My, but hasn't he grown!” she exclaimed, picking the baby up and
+stooping to give him a snuggling kiss. The next instant she almost
+dropped the little fellow, so startling had been Billy's cry.
+
+“No, no, wait, Aunt Hannah, please,” Billy was entreating, hurrying to
+the little corner cupboard. In a moment she was back with a small bottle
+and a bit of antiseptic cotton. “We always sterilize our lips now before
+we kiss him--it's so much safer, you know.”
+
+Aunt Hannah sat down limply, the baby still in her arms.
+
+“Fiddlededee, Billy! What an absurd idea! What have you got in that
+bottle?”
+
+“Why, Aunt Hannah, it's just a little simple listerine,” bridled Billy,
+“and it isn't absurd at all. It's very sensible. My 'Hygienic Guide for
+Mothers' says--”
+
+“Well, I suppose I may kiss his hand,” interposed Aunt Hannah, just a
+little curtly, “without subjecting myself to a City Hospital treatment!”
+
+Billy laughed shamefacedly, but she still held her ground.
+
+“No, you can't--nor even his foot. He might get them in his mouth. Aunt
+Hannah, why does a baby think that everything, from his own toes to his
+father's watch fob and the plush balls on a caller's wrist-bag, is made
+to eat? As if I could sterilize everything, and keep him from getting
+hold of germs somewhere!”
+
+“You'll have to have a germ-proof room for him,” laughed Alice Greggory,
+playfully snapping her fingers at the baby in Aunt Hannah's lap.
+
+Billy turned eagerly.
+
+“Oh, did you read about that, too?” she cried. “I thought it was _so_
+interesting, and I wondered if I could do it.”
+
+Alice stared frankly.
+
+“You don't mean to say they actually _have_ such things,” she
+challenged.
+
+“Well, I read about them in a magazine,” asserted Billy, “--how you
+could have a germ-proof room. They said it was very simple, too. Just
+pasteurize the air, you know, by heating it to one hundred and ten
+and one-half degrees Fahrenheit for seventeen and one-half minutes. I
+remember just the figures.”
+
+“Simple, indeed! It sounds so,” scoffed Aunt Hannah, with uplifted
+eyebrows.
+
+“Oh, well, I couldn't do it, of course,” admitted Billy, regretfully.
+“Bertram never'd stand for that in the world. He's always rushing in to
+show the baby off to every Tom, Dick and Harry and his wife that comes;
+and of course if you opened the nursery door, that would let in those
+germ things, and you _couldn't_ very well pasteurize your callers by
+heating them to one hundred and ten and one-half degrees for seventeen
+and one-half minutes! I don't see how you could manage such a room,
+anyway, unless you had a system of--of rooms like locks, same as they do
+for water in canals.”
+
+“Oh, my grief and conscience--locks, indeed!” almost groaned Aunt
+Hannah. “Here, Alice, will you please take this child--that is, if you
+have a germ-proof certificate about you to show to his mother. I want to
+take off my bonnet and gloves.”
+
+“Take him? Of course I'll take him,” laughed Alice; “and right under his
+mother's nose, too,” she added, with a playful grimace at Billy. “And
+we'll make pat-a-cakes, and send the little pigs to market, and have
+such a beautiful time that we'll forget there ever was such a thing in
+the world as an old germ. Eh, babykins?”
+
+“Babykins” cooed his unqualified approval of this plan; but his mother
+looked troubled.
+
+“That's all right, Alice. You may play with him,” she frowned
+doubtfully; “but you mustn't do it long, you know--not over five
+minutes.”
+
+“Five minutes! Well, I like that, when I've come all the way from Boston
+purposely to see him,” pouted Alice. “What's the matter now? Time for
+his nap?”
+
+“Oh, no, not for--thirteen minutes,” replied Billy, consulting the watch
+at her belt. “But we never play with Baby more than five minutes at a
+time. My 'Scientific Care of Infants' says it isn't wise; that with some
+babies it's positively dangerous, until after they're six months old.
+It makes them nervous, and forces their mind, you know,” she explained
+anxiously. “So of course we'd want to be careful. Bertram, Jr., isn't
+quite four, yet.”
+
+“Why, yes, of course,” murmured Alice, politely, stopping a pat-a-cake
+before it was half baked.
+
+The infant, as if suspecting that he was being deprived of his lawful
+baby rights, began to fret and whimper.
+
+“Poor itty sing,” crooned Aunt Hannah, who, having divested herself of
+bonnet and gloves, came hurriedly forward with outstretched hands. “Do
+they just 'buse 'em? Come here to your old auntie, sweetems, and we'll
+go walkee. I saw a bow-wow--such a tunnin' ickey wickey bow-wow on the
+steps when I came in. Come, we go see ickey wickey bow-wow?”
+
+“Aunt Hannah, _please!_” protested Billy, both hands upraised in horror.
+“_Won't_ you say 'dog,' and leave out that dreadful 'ickey wickey'? Of
+course he can't understand things now, really, but we never know when
+he'll begin to, and we aren't ever going to let him hear baby-talk at
+all, if we can help it. And truly, when you come to think of it, it is
+absurd to expect a child to talk sensibly and rationally on the mental
+diet of 'moo-moos' and 'choo-choos' served out to them. Our Professor of
+Metaphysics and Ideology in our Child Study Course says that nothing is
+so receptive and plastic as the Mind of a Little Child, and that it is
+perfectly appalling how we fill it with trivial absurdities that haven't
+even the virtue of being accurate. So that's why we're trying to be so
+careful with Baby. You didn't mind my speaking, I know, Aunt Hannah.”
+
+“Oh, no, of course not, Billy,” retorted Aunt Hannah, a little tartly,
+and with a touch of sarcasm most unlike her gentle self. “I'm sure
+I shouldn't wish to fill this infant's plastic mind with anything so
+appalling as trivial inaccuracies. May I be pardoned for suggesting,
+however,” she went on as the baby's whimper threatened to become a lusty
+wail, “that this young gentleman cries as if he were sleepy and hungry?”
+
+“Yes, he is,” admitted Billy.
+
+“Well, doesn't your system of scientific training allow him to be given
+such trivial absurdities as food and naps?” inquired the lady, mildly.
+
+“Of course it does, Aunt Hannah,” retorted Billy, laughing in spite of
+herself. “And it's almost time now. There are only a few more minutes to
+wait.”
+
+“Few more minutes to wait, indeed!” scorned Aunt Hannah. “I suppose the
+poor little fellow might cry and cry, and you wouldn't set that clock
+ahead by a teeny weeny minute!”
+
+“Certainly not,” said the young mother, decisively. “My 'Daily Guide for
+Mothers' says that a time for everything and everything in its time, is
+the very A B C and whole alphabet of Right Training. He does everything
+by the clock, and to the minute,” declared Billy, proudly.
+
+Aunt Hannah sniffed, obviously skeptical and rebellious. Alice Greggory
+laughed.
+
+“Aunt Hannah looks as if she'd like to bring down her clock that strikes
+half an hour ahead,” she said mischievously; but Aunt Hannah did not
+deign to answer this.
+
+“How long do you rock him?” she demanded of Billy. “I suppose I may do
+that, mayn't I?”
+
+“Mercy, I don't rock him at all, Aunt Hannah,” exclaimed Billy.
+
+“Nor sing to him?”
+
+“Certainly not.”
+
+“But you did--before I went away. I remember that you did.”
+
+“Yes, I know I did,” admitted Billy, “and I had an awful time, too.
+Some evenings, every single one of us, even to Uncle William, had to
+try before we could get him off to sleep. But that was before I got my
+'Efficiency of Mother and Child,' or my 'Scientific Training,' and, oh,
+lots of others. You see, I didn't know a thing then, and I loved to rock
+him, so I did it--though the nurse said it wasn't good for him; but I
+didn't believe _her_. I've had an awful time changing; but I've done it.
+I just put him in his little crib, or his carriage, and after a while
+he goes to sleep. Sometimes, now, he doesn't cry hardly any. I'm afraid,
+to-day, though, he will,” she worried.
+
+“Yes, I'm afraid he will,” almost screamed Aunt Hannah, in order to make
+herself heard above Bertram, Jr., who, by this time, was voicing his
+opinion of matters and things in no uncertain manner.
+
+It was not, after all, so very long before peace and order reigned; and,
+in due course, Bertram, Jr., in his carriage, lay fast asleep. Then,
+while Aunt Hannah went to Billy's room for a short rest, Billy and Alice
+went out on to the wide veranda which faced the wonderful expanse of sky
+and sea.
+
+“Now tell me of yourself,” commanded Billy, almost at once. “It's been
+ages since I've heard or seen a thing of you.”
+
+“There's nothing to tell.”
+
+“Nonsense! But there must be,” insisted Billy. “You know it's months
+since I've seen anything of you, hardly.”
+
+“I know. We feel quite neglected at the Annex,” said Alice.
+
+“But I don't go anywhere,” defended Billy. “I can't. There isn't time.”
+
+“Even to bring us the extra happiness?” smiled Alice.
+
+A quick change came to Billy's face. Her eyes glowed deeply.
+
+“No; though I've had so much that ought to have gone--such loads
+and loads of extra happiness, which I couldn't possibly use myself!
+Sometimes I'm so happy, Alice, that--that I'm just frightened. It
+doesn't seem as if anybody ought to be so happy.”
+
+“Oh, Billy, dear,” demurred Alice, her eyes filling suddenly with tears.
+
+“Well, I've got the Annex. I'm glad I've got that for the overflow,
+anyway,” resumed Billy, trying to steady her voice. “I've sent a whole
+lot of happiness up there mentally, if I haven't actually carried it; so
+I'm sure you must have got it. Now tell me of yourself.”
+
+“There's nothing to tell,” insisted Alice, as before.
+
+“You're working as hard as ever?”
+
+“Yes--harder.”
+
+“New pupils?”
+
+“Yes, and some concert engagements--good ones, for next season.
+Accompaniments, you know.”
+
+Billy nodded.
+
+“Yes; I've heard of you already twice, lately, in that line, and very
+flatteringly, too.”
+
+“Have you? Well, that's good.”
+
+“Hm-m.” There was a moment's silence, then, abruptly, Billy changed the
+subject. “I had a letter from Belle Calderwell, yesterday.” She paused
+expectantly, but there was no comment.
+
+“You don't seem interested,” she frowned, after a minute.
+
+Alice laughed.
+
+“Pardon me, but--I don't know the Lady, you see. Was it a good letter?”
+
+“You know her brother.”
+
+“Very true.” Alice's cheeks showed a deeper color. “Did she say anything
+of him?”
+
+“Yes. She said he was coming back to Boston next winter.”
+
+“Indeed!”
+
+“Yes. She says that this time he declares he really _is_ going to settle
+down to work,” murmured Billy, demurely, with a sidelong glance at her
+companion. “She says he's engaged to be married--one of her friends over
+there.”
+
+There was no reply. Alice appeared to be absorbed in watching a tiny
+white sail far out at sea.
+
+Again Billy was silent. Then, with studied carelessness, she said:
+
+“Yes, and you know Mr. Arkwright, too. She told of him.”
+
+“Yes? Well, what of him?” Alice's voice was studiedly indifferent.
+
+“Oh, there was quite a lot of him. Belle had just been to hear him
+sing, and then her brother had introduced him to her. She thinks he's
+perfectly wonderful, in every way, I should judge. In fact, she simply
+raved over him. It seems that while we've been hearing nothing from him
+all winter, he's been winning no end of laurels for himself in Paris and
+Berlin. He's been studying, too, of course, as well as singing; and
+now he's got a chance to sing somewhere--create a rôle, or
+something--Belle said she wasn't quite clear on the matter herself, but
+it was a perfectly splendid chance, and one that was a fine feather in
+his cap.”
+
+“Then he won't be coming home--that is, to Boston--at all this winter,
+probably,” said Alice, with a cheerfulness that sounded just a little
+forced.
+
+“Not until February. But he is coming then. He's been engaged for six
+performances with the Boston Opera Company--as a star tenor, mind you!
+Isn't that splendid?”
+
+“Indeed it is,” murmured Alice.
+
+“Belle writes that Hugh says he's improved wonderfully, and that even he
+can see that his singing is marvelous. He says Paris is wild over him;
+but--for my part, I wish he'd come home and stay here where he belongs,”
+ finished Billy, a bit petulantly.
+
+“Why, why, Billy!” murmured her friend, a curiously startled look coming
+into her eyes.
+
+“Well, I do,” maintained Billy; then, recklessly, she added: “I had such
+beautiful plans for him, once, Alice. Oh, if you only could have cared
+for him, you'd have made such a splendid couple!”
+
+A vivid scarlet flew to Alice's face.
+
+“Nonsense!” she cried, getting quickly to her feet and bending over
+one of the flower boxes along the veranda railing. “Mr. Arkwright
+never thought of marrying me--and I'm not going to marry anybody but my
+music.”
+
+Billy sighed despairingly.
+
+“I know that's what you say now; but if--” She stopped abruptly. Around
+the turn of the veranda had appeared Aunt Hannah, wheeling Bertram, Jr.,
+still asleep in his carriage.
+
+“I came out the other door,” she explained softly. “And it was so lovely
+I just had to go in and get the baby. I thought it would be so nice for
+him to finish his nap out here.”
+
+Billy arose with a troubled frown.
+
+“But, Aunt Hannah, he mustn't--he can't stay out here. I'm sorry, but
+we'll have to take him back.”
+
+Aunt Hannah's eyes grew mutinous.
+
+“But I thought the outdoor air was just the thing for him. I'm sure your
+scientific hygienic nonsense says _that!_”
+
+“They do--they did--that is, some of them do,” acknowledged Billy,
+worriedly; “but they differ, so! And the one I'm going by now says that
+Baby should always sleep in an _even_ temperature--seventy degrees, if
+possible; and that's exactly what the room in there was, when I left
+him. It's not the same out here, I'm sure. In fact I looked at the
+thermometer to see, just before I came out myself. So, Aunt Hannah, I'm
+afraid I'll have to take him back.”
+
+“But you used to have him sleep out of doors all the time, on that
+little balcony out of your room,” argued Aunt Hannah, still plainly
+unconvinced.
+
+“Yes, I know I did. I was following the other man's rules, then. As I
+said, if only they wouldn't differ so! Of course I want the best; but
+it's so hard to always know the best, and--”
+
+At this very inopportune moment Master Bertram took occasion to wake
+up, which brought even a deeper wrinkle of worry to his fond mother's
+forehead; for she said that, according to the clock, he should have been
+sleeping exactly ten and one-half more minutes, and that of course he
+couldn't commence the next thing until those ten and one-half minutes
+were up, or else his entire schedule for the day would be shattered.
+So what she should do with him for those should-have-been-sleeping ten
+minutes and a half, she did not know. All of which drew from Aunt Hannah
+the astounding exclamation of:
+
+“Oh, my grief and conscience, Billy, if you aren't the--the limit!”
+ Which, indeed, she must have been, to have brought circumspect Aunt
+Hannah to the point of actually using slang.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV. A NIGHT OFF
+
+
+The Henshaw family did not return to the Strata until late in September.
+Billy said that the sea air seemed to agree so well with the baby it
+would be a pity to change until the weather became really too cool at
+the shore to be comfortable.
+
+William came back from his fishing trip in August, and resumed his old
+habit of sleeping at the house and taking his meals at the club. To be
+sure, for a week he went back and forth between the city and the beach
+house; but it happened to be a time when Bertram, Jr., was cutting a
+tooth, and this so wore upon William's sympathy--William still could not
+help insisting it _might_ be a pin--that he concluded peace lay only in
+flight. So he went back to the Strata.
+
+Bertram had stayed at the cottage all summer, painting industriously.
+Heretofore he had taken more of a vacation through the summer months,
+but this year there seemed to be nothing for him to do but to paint. He
+did not like to go away on a trip and leave Billy, and she declared she
+could not take the baby nor leave him, and that she did not need any
+trip, anyway.
+
+“All right, then, we'll just stay at the beach, and have a fine vacation
+together,” he had answered her.
+
+As Bertram saw it, however, he could detect very little “vacation”
+ to it. Billy had no time for anything but the baby. When she was not
+actually engaged in caring for it, she was studying how to care for it.
+Never had she been sweeter or dearer, and never had Bertram loved her
+half so well. He was proud, too, of her devotion, and of her triumphant
+success as a mother; but he did wish that sometimes, just once in a
+while, she would remember she was a wife, and pay a little attention to
+him, her husband.
+
+Bertram was ashamed to own it, even to himself, but he was feeling just
+a little abused that summer; and he knew that, in his heart, he was
+actually getting jealous of his own son, in spite of his adoration of
+the little fellow. He told himself defensively that it was not to be
+expected that he should not want the love of his wife, the attentions of
+his wife, and the companionship of his wife--a part of the time. It was
+nothing more than natural that occasionally he should like to see her
+show some interest in subjects not mentioned in Mothers' Guides and
+Scientific Trainings of Infants; and he did not believe he could be
+blamed for wanting his residence to be a home for himself as well as a
+nursery for his offspring.
+
+Even while he thus discontentedly argued with himself, however, Bertram
+called himself a selfish brute just to think such things when he had
+so dear and loving a wife as Billy, and so fine and splendid a baby as
+Bertram, Jr. He told himself, too, that very likely when they were back
+in their own house again, and when motherhood was not so new to her,
+Billy would not be so absorbed in the baby. She would return to her old
+interest in her husband, her music, her friends, and her own personal
+appearance. Meanwhile there was always, of course, for him, his
+painting. So he would paint, accepting gladly what crumbs of attention
+fell from the baby's table, and trust to the future to make Billy none
+the less a mother, perhaps, but a little more the wife.
+
+Just how confidently he was counting on this coming change, Bertram
+hardly realized himself; but certainly the family was scarcely settled
+at the Strata before the husband gayly proposed one evening that he and
+Billy should go to the theater to see “Romeo and Juliet.”
+
+Billy was clearly both surprised and shocked.
+
+“Why, Bertram, I can't--you know I can't!” she exclaimed reprovingly.
+
+Bertram's heart sank; but he kept a brave front.
+
+“Why not?”
+
+“What a question! As if I'd leave Baby!”
+
+“But, Billy, dear, you'd be gone less than three hours, and you say
+Delia's the most careful of nurses.”
+
+Billy's forehead puckered into an anxious frown.
+
+“I can't help it. Something might happen to him, Bertram. I couldn't be
+happy a minute.”
+
+“But, dearest, aren't you _ever_ going to leave him?” demanded the young
+husband, forlornly.
+
+“Why, yes, of course, when it's reasonable and necessary. I went out to
+the Annex yesterday afternoon. I was gone almost two whole hours.”
+
+“Well, did anything happen?”
+
+“N-no; but then I telephoned, you see, several times, so I _knew_
+everything was all right.”
+
+“Oh, well, if that's all you want, I could telephone, you know, between
+every act,” suggested Bertram, with a sarcasm that was quite lost on the
+earnest young mother.
+
+“Y-yes, you could do that, couldn't you?” conceded Billy; “and, of
+course, I _haven't_ been anywhere much, lately.”
+
+“Indeed I could,” agreed Bertram, with a promptness that carefully hid
+his surprise at her literal acceptance of what he had proposed as a huge
+joke. “Come, is it a go? Shall I telephone to see if I can get seats?”
+
+“You think Baby'll surely be all right?”
+
+“I certainly do.”
+
+“And you'll telephone home between every act?”
+
+“I will.” Bertram's voice sounded almost as if he were repeating the
+marriage service.
+
+“And we'll come straight home afterwards as fast as John and Peggy can
+bring us?”
+
+“Certainly.”
+
+“Then I think--I'll--go,” breathed Billy, tremulously, plainly showing
+what a momentous concession she thought she was making. “I do love
+'Romeo and Juliet,' and I haven't seen it for ages!”
+
+“Good! Then I'll find out about the tickets,” cried Bertram, so elated
+at the prospect of having an old-time evening out with his wife that
+even the half-hourly telephones did not seem too great a price to pay.
+
+When the time came, they were a little late in starting. Baby
+was fretful, and though Billy usually laid him in his crib and
+unhesitatingly left the room, insisting that he should go to sleep by
+himself in accordance with the most approved rules in her Scientific
+Training; yet to-night she could not bring herself to the point of
+leaving the house until he was quiet. Hurried as they were when they
+did start, Billy was conscious of Bertram's frowning disapproval of her
+frock.
+
+“You don't like it, of course, dear, and I don't blame you,” she smiled
+remorsefully.
+
+“Oh, I like it--that is, I did, when it was new,” rejoined her husband,
+with apologetic frankness. “But, dear, didn't you have anything else?
+This looks almost--well, mussy, you know.”
+
+“No--well, yes, maybe there were others,” admitted Billy; “but this
+was the quickest and easiest to get into, and it all came just as I
+was getting Baby ready for bed, you know. I am a fright, though, I'll
+acknowledge, so far as clothes go. I haven't had time to get a thing
+since Baby came. I must get something right away, I suppose.”
+
+“Yes, indeed,” declared Bertram, with emphasis, hurrying his wife into
+the waiting automobile.
+
+Billy had to apologize again at the theater, for the curtain had already
+risen on the ancient quarrel between the houses of Capulet and Montague,
+and Billy knew her husband's special abhorrence of tardy arrivals.
+Later, though, when well established in their seats, Billy's mind was
+plainly not with the players on the stage.
+
+“Do you suppose Baby _is_ all right?” she whispered, after a time.
+
+“Sh-h! Of course he is, dear!”
+
+There was a brief silence, during which Billy peered at her program in
+the semi-darkness. Then she nudged her husband's arm ecstatically.
+
+“Bertram, I couldn't have chosen a better play if I'd tried. There
+are _five_ acts! I'd forgotten there were so many. That means you can
+telephone four times!”
+
+“Yes, dear.” Bertram's voice was sternly cheerful.
+
+“You must be sure they tell you exactly how Baby is.”
+
+“All right, dear. Sh-h! Here's Romeo.”
+
+Billy subsided. She even clapped a little in spasmodic enthusiasm.
+Presently she peered at her program again.
+
+“There wouldn't be time, I suppose, to telephone between the scenes,”
+ she hazarded wistfully. “There are sixteen of those!”
+
+“Well, hardly! Billy, you aren't paying one bit of attention to the
+play!”
+
+“Why, of course I am,” whispered Billy, indignantly. “I think it's
+perfectly lovely, and I'm perfectly contented, too--since I found
+out about those five acts, and as long as I _can't_ have the sixteen
+scenes,” she added, settling back in her seat.
+
+As if to prove that she was interested in the play, her next whisper,
+some time later, had to do with one of the characters on the stage.
+
+“Who's that--the nurse? Mercy! We wouldn't want her for Baby, would we?”
+
+In spite of himself Bertram chuckled this time. Billy, too, laughed at
+herself. Then, resolutely, she settled into her seat again.
+
+The curtain was not fairly down on the first act before Billy had laid
+an urgent hand on her husband's arm.
+
+“Now, remember; ask if he's waked up, or anything,” she directed. “And
+be sure to say I'll come right home if they need me. Now hurry.”
+
+“Yes, dear.” Bertram rose with alacrity. “I'll be back right away.”
+
+“Oh, but I don't want you to hurry _too_ much,” she called after him,
+softly. “I want you to take plenty of time to ask questions.”
+
+“All right,” nodded Bertram, with a quizzical smile, as he turned away.
+
+Obediently Bertram asked all the question she could think of, then came
+back to his wife. There was nothing in his report that even Billy could
+disapprove of, or worry about; and with almost a contented look on her
+face she turned toward the stage as the curtain went up on the second
+act.
+
+“I love this balcony scene,” she sighed happily.
+
+Romeo, however, had not half finished his impassioned love-making when
+Billy clutched her husband's arm almost fiercely.
+
+“Bertram,” she fairly hissed in a tragic whisper, “I've just happened
+to think! Won't it be awful when Baby falls in love? I know I shall just
+hate that girl for taking him away from me!”
+
+“Sh-h! _Billy!_” expostulated her husband, choking with half-stifled
+laughter. “That woman in front heard you, I know she did!”
+
+“Well, I shall,” sighed Billy, mournfully, turning back to the stage.
+
+   “'Good night, good night! parting is such sweet sorrow,
+     That I shall say good night, till it be morrow,”'
+
+sighed Juliet passionately to her Romeo.
+
+“Mercy! I hope not,” whispered Billy flippantly in Bertram's ear. “I'm
+sure I don't want to stay here till to-morrow! I want to go home and see
+Baby.”
+
+“_Billy!_” pleaded Bertram so despairingly, that Billy, really
+conscience-smitten, sat back in her seat and remained, for the rest of
+the act, very quiet indeed.
+
+Deceived by her apparent tranquillity, Bertram turned as the curtain
+went down.
+
+“Now, Billy, surely you don't think it'll be necessary to telephone so
+soon as this again,” he ventured.
+
+Billy's countenance fell.
+
+“But, Bertram, you _said_ you would! Of course if you aren't willing
+to--but I've been counting on hearing all through this horrid long act,
+and--”
+
+“Goodness me, Billy, I'll telephone every minute for you, of course, if
+you want me to,” cried Bertram, springing to his feet, and trying not to
+show his impatience.
+
+He was back more promptly this time.
+
+“Everything O. K.,” he smiled reassuringly into Billy's anxious eyes.
+“Delia said she'd just been up, and the little chap was sound asleep.”
+
+To the man's unbounded surprise, his wife grew actually white.
+
+“Up! Up!” she exclaimed. “Do you mean that Delia went down-stairs to
+_stay_, and left my baby up there alone?”
+
+“But, Billy, she said he was all right,” murmured Bertram, softly,
+casting uneasy sidelong glances at his too interested neighbors.
+
+“'All right'! Perhaps he was, _then_--but he may not be, later. Delia
+should stay in the next room all the time, where she could hear the
+least thing.”
+
+“Yes, dear, she will, I'm sure, if you tell her to,” soothed Bertram,
+quickly. “It'll be all right next time.”
+
+Billy shook her head. She was obviously near to crying.
+
+“But, Bertram, I can't stand it to sit here enjoying myself all safe and
+comfortable, and know that Baby is _alone_ up there in that great big
+room! Please, _please_ won't you go and telephone Delia to go up _now_
+and stay there?”
+
+Bertram, weary, sorely tried, and increasingly aware of those annoyingly
+interested neighbors, was on the point of saying a very decided no; but
+a glance into Billy's pleading eyes settled it. Without a word he went
+back to the telephone.
+
+The curtain was up when he slipped into his seat, very red of face. In
+answer to Billy's hurried whisper he shook his head; but in the short
+pause between the first and second scenes he said, in a low voice:
+
+“I'm sorry, Billy, but I couldn't get the house at all.”
+
+“Couldn't get them! But you'd just been talking with them!”
+
+“That's exactly it, probably. I had just telephoned, so they weren't
+watching for the bell. Anyhow, I couldn't get them.”
+
+“Then you didn't get Delia at all!”
+
+“Of course not.”
+
+“And Baby is still--all alone!”
+
+“But he's all right, dear. Delia's keeping watch of him.”
+
+For a moment there was silence; then, with clear decisiveness came
+Billy's voice.
+
+“Bertram, I am going home.”
+
+“Billy!”
+
+“I am.”
+
+“Billy, for heaven's sake don't be a silly goose! The play's half over
+already. We'll soon be going, anyway.”
+
+Billy's lips came together in a thin little determined line.
+
+“Bertram, I am going home now, please,” she said. “You needn't come with
+me; I can go alone.”
+
+Bertram said two words under his breath which it was just as well,
+perhaps, that Billy--and the neighbors--did not hear; then he gathered
+up their wraps and, with Billy, stalked out of the theater.
+
+At home everything was found to be absolutely as it should be.
+Bertram, Jr., was peacefully sleeping, and Delia, who had come up from
+downstairs, was sewing in the next room.
+
+“There, you see,” observed Bertram, a little sourly.
+
+Billy drew a long, contented sigh.
+
+“Yes, I see; everything is all right. But that's exactly what I wanted
+to do, Bertram, you know--to _see for myself_,” she finished happily.
+
+And Bertram, looking at her rapt face as she hovered over the baby's
+crib, called himself a brute and a beast to mind _anything_ that could
+make Billy look like that.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV. “SHOULD AULD ACQUAINTANCE BE FORGOT”
+
+
+Bertram did not ask Billy very soon again to go to the theater. For some
+days, indeed, he did not ask her to do anything. Then, one evening, he
+did beg for some music.
+
+“Billy, you haven't played to me or sung to me since I could remember,”
+ he complained. “I want some music.”
+
+Billy gave a merry laugh and wriggled her fingers experimentally.
+
+“Mercy, Bertram! I don't believe I could play a note. You know I'm all
+out of practice.”
+
+“But why _don't_ you practice?”
+
+“Why, Bertram, I can't. In the first place I don't seem to have any time
+except when Baby's asleep; and I can't play then-I'd wake him up.”
+
+Bertram sighed irritably, rose to his feet, and began to walk up and
+down the room. He came to a pause at last, his eyes bent a trifle
+disapprovingly on his wife.
+
+“Billy, dear, _don't_ you wear anything but those wrapper things
+nowadays?” he asked plaintively.
+
+Again Billy laughed. But this time a troubled frown followed the laugh.
+
+“I know, Bertram, I suppose they do look dowdy, sometimes,” she
+confessed; “but, you see, I hate to wear a really good dress--Baby
+rumples them up so; and I'm usually in a hurry to get to him mornings,
+and these are so easy to slip into, and so much more comfortable for me
+to handle him in!”
+
+“Yes, of course, of course; I see,” mumbled Bertram, listlessly taking
+up his walk again.
+
+Billy, after a moment's silence, began to talk animatedly. Baby had done
+a wonderfully cunning thing that morning, and Billy had not had a chance
+yet to tell Bertram. Baby was growing more and more cunning anyway,
+these days, and there were several things she believed she had not told
+him; so she told them now.
+
+Bertram listened politely, interestedly. He told himself that he _was_
+interested, too. Of course he was interested in the doings of his own
+child! But he still walked up and down the room a little restlessly,
+coming to a halt at last by the window, across which the shade had not
+been drawn.
+
+“Billy,” he cried suddenly, with his old boyish eagerness, “there's
+a glorious moon. Come on! Let's take a little walk--a real
+fellow-and-his-best-girl walk! Will you?”
+
+“Mercy! dear, I couldn't,” cried Billy springing to her feet. “I'd love
+to, though, if I could,” she added hastily, as she saw disappointment
+cloud her husband's face. “But I told Delia she might go out. It isn't
+her regular evening, of course, but I told her I didn't mind staying
+with Baby a bit. So I'll have to go right up now. She'll be going soon.
+But, dear, you go and take your walk. It'll do you good. Then you can
+come back and tell me all about it--only you must come in quietly, so
+not to wake the baby,” she finished, giving her husband an affectionate
+kiss, as she left the room.
+
+After a disconsolate five minutes of solitude, Bertram got his hat and
+coat and went out for his walk--but he told himself he did not expect to
+enjoy it.
+
+Bertram Henshaw knew that the old rebellious jealousy of the summer had
+him fast in its grip. He was heartily ashamed of himself, but he could
+not help it. He wanted Billy, and he wanted her then. He wanted to talk
+to her. He wanted to tell her about a new portrait commission he had
+just obtained; and he wanted to ask her what she thought of the idea of
+a brand-new “Face of a Girl” for the Bohemian Ten Exhibition next March.
+He wanted--but then, what would be the use? She would listen, of course,
+but he would know by the very looks of her face that she would not be
+really thinking of what he was saying; and he would be willing to wager
+his best canvas that in the very first pause she would tell about the
+baby's newest tooth or latest toy. Not but that he liked to hear about
+the little fellow, of course; and not but that he was proud as Punch
+of him, too; but that he would like sometimes to hear Billy talk of
+something else. The sweetest melody in the world, if dinned into one's
+ears day and night, became something to be fled from.
+
+And Billy ought to talk of something else, too! Bertram, Jr., wonderful
+as he was, really was not the only thing in the world, or even the only
+baby; and other people--outsiders, their friends--had a right to
+expect that sometimes other matters might be considered--their own, for
+instance. But Billy seemed to have forgotten this. No matter whether
+the subject of conversation had to do with the latest novel or a trip
+to Europe, under Billy's guidance it invariably led straight to Baby's
+Jack-and-Jill book, or to a perambulator journey in the Public Garden.
+If it had not been so serious, it would have been really funny the way
+all roads led straight to one goal. He himself, when alone with Billy,
+had started the most unusual and foreign subjects, sometimes, just to
+see if there were not somewhere a little bypath that did not bring up in
+his own nursery. He never, however, found one.
+
+But it was not funny; it was serious. Was this glorious gift on
+parenthood to which he had looked forward as the crowning joy of his
+existence, to be nothing but a tragedy that would finally wreck his
+domestic happiness? It could not be. It must not be. He must be patient,
+and wait. Billy loved him. He was sure she did. By and by this obsession
+of motherhood, which had her so fast in its grasp, would relax. She
+would remember that her husband had rights as well as her child. Once
+again she would give him the companionship, love, and sympathetic
+interest so dear to him. Meanwhile there was his work. He must bury
+himself in that. And fortunate, indeed, he was, he told himself, that he
+had something so absorbing.
+
+It was at this point in his meditations that Bertram rounded a corner
+and came face to face with a man who stopped him short with a jovial:
+
+“Isn't it--by George, it is Bertie Henshaw! Well, what do you think of
+that for luck?--and me only two days home from 'Gay Paree'!”
+
+“Oh, Seaver! How are you? You _are_ a stranger!” Bertram's voice and
+handshake were a bit more cordial than they would have been had he not
+at the moment been feeling so abused and forlorn. In the old days he had
+liked this Bob Seaver well. Seaver was an artist like himself, and was
+good company always. But Seaver and his crowd were a little too Bohemian
+for William's taste; and after Billy came, she, too, had objected to
+what she called “that horrid Seaver man.” In his heart, Bertram knew
+that there was good foundation for their objections, so he had avoided
+Seaver for a time; and for some years, now, the man had been abroad,
+somewhat to Bertram's relief. To-night, however, Seaver's genial smile
+and hearty friendliness were like a sudden burst of sunshine on a rainy
+day--and Bertram detested rainy days. He was feeling now, too, as if he
+had just had a whole week of them.
+
+“Yes, I am something of a stranger here,” nodded Seaver. “But I tell you
+what, little old Boston looks mighty good to me, all the same. Come on!
+You're just the fellow we want. I'm on my way now to the old stamping
+ground. Come--right about face, old chap, and come with me!”
+
+Bertram shook his head.
+
+“Sorry--but I guess I can't, to-night,” he sighed. Both gesture and
+words were unhesitating, but the voice carried the discontent of a small
+boy, who, while the sun is still shining, has been told to come into the
+house.
+
+“Oh, rats! Yes, you can, too. Come on! Lots of the old crowd will be
+there--Griggs, Beebe, Jack Jenkins, and Tully. We need you to complete
+the show.”
+
+“Jack Jenkins? Is he here?” A new eagerness had come into Bertram's
+voice.
+
+“Sure! He came on from New York last night. Great boy, Jenkins! Just
+back from Paris fairly covered with medals, you know.”
+
+“Yes, so I hear. I haven't seen him for four years.”
+
+“Better come to-night then.”
+
+“No-o,” began Bertram, with obvious reluctance. “It's already nine
+o'clock, and--”
+
+“Nine o'clock!” cut in Seaver, with a broad grin. “Since when has your
+limit been nine o'clock? I've seen the time when you didn't mind nine
+o'clock in the morning, Bertie! What's got--Oh, I remember. I met
+another friend of yours in Berlin; chap named Arkwright--and say, he's
+some singer, you bet! You're going to hear of him one of these days.
+Well, he told me all about how you'd settled down now--son and heir,
+fireside bliss, pretty wife, and all the fixings. But, I say, Bertie,
+doesn't she let you out--_any_?”
+
+“Nonsense, Seaver!” flared Bertram in annoyed wrath.
+
+“Well, then, why don't you come to-night? If you want to see Jenkins
+you'll have to; he's going back to New York to-morrow.”
+
+For only a brief minute longer did Bertram hesitate; then he turned
+squarely about with an air of finality.
+
+“Is he? Well, then, perhaps I will,” he said. “I'd hate to miss Jenkins
+entirely.”
+
+“Good!” exclaimed his companion, as they fell into step. “Have a cigar?”
+
+“Thanks. Don't mind if I do.”
+
+If Bertram's chin was a little higher and his step a little more decided
+than usual, it was all merely by way of accompaniment to his thoughts.
+
+Certainly it was right that he should go, and it was sensible. Indeed,
+it was really almost imperative--due to Billy, as it were--after that
+disagreeable taunt of Seaver's. As if she did not want him to go when
+and where he pleased! As if she would consent for a moment to figure
+in the eyes of his friends as a tyrannical wife who objected to her
+husband's passing a social evening with his friends! To be sure, in this
+particular case, she might not favor Seaver's presence, but even she
+would not mind this once--and, anyhow, it was Jenkins that was the
+attraction, not Seaver. Besides, he himself was no undeveloped boy now.
+He was a man, presumedly able to take care of himself. Besides, again,
+had not Billy herself told him to go out and enjoy the evening without
+her, as she had to stay with the baby? He would telephone her, of
+course, that he had met some old friends, and that he might be late;
+then she would not worry.
+
+And forthwith, having settled the matter in his mind, and to his
+complete satisfaction, Bertram gave his undivided attention to Seaver,
+who had already plunged into an account of a recent Art Exhibition he
+had attended in Paris.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI. GHOSTS THAT WALKED FOR BERTRAM
+
+
+October proved to be unusually mild, and about the middle of the month,
+Bertram, after much unselfish urging on the part of Billy, went to a
+friend's camp in the Adirondacks for a week's stay. He came back with an
+angry, lugubrious face--and a broken arm.
+
+“Oh, Bertram! And your right one, too--the same one you broke before!”
+ mourned Billy, tearfully.
+
+“Of course,” retorted Bertram, trying in vain to give an air of
+jauntiness to his reply. “Didn't want to be too changeable, you know!”
+
+“But how did you do it, dear?”
+
+“Fell into a silly little hole covered with underbrush. But--oh, Billy,
+what's the use? I did it, and I can't undo it--more's the pity!”
+
+“Of course you can't, you poor boy,” sympathized Billy; “and you sha'n't
+be tormented with questions. We'll just be thankful 'twas no worse. You
+can't paint for a while, of course; but we won't mind that. It'll just
+give Baby and me a chance to have you all to ourselves for a time, and
+we'll love that!'
+
+“Yes, of course,” sighed Bertram, so abstractedly that Billy bridled
+with pretty resentment.
+
+“Well, I like your enthusiasm, sir,” she frowned. “I'm afraid you don't
+appreciate the blessings you do have, young man! Did you realize what
+I said? I remarked that you could be with _Baby_ and _me_,” she
+emphasized.
+
+Bertram laughed, and gave his wife an affectionate kiss.
+
+“Indeed I do appreciate my blessings, dear--when those blessings are
+such treasures as you and Baby, but--” Only his doleful eyes fixed on
+his injured arm finished his sentence.
+
+“I know, dear, of course, and I understand,” murmured Billy, all
+tenderness at once.
+
+
+They were not easy for Bertram--those following days. Once again he
+was obliged to accept the little intimate personal services that he
+so disliked. Once again he could do nothing but read, or wander
+disconsolately into his studio and gaze at his half-finished “Face of
+a Girl.” Occasionally, it is true, driven nearly to desperation by the
+haunting vision in his mind's eye, he picked up a brush and attempted
+to make his left hand serve his will; but a bare half-dozen irritating,
+ineffectual strokes were usually enough to make him throw down his
+brush in disgust. He never could do anything with his left hand, he told
+himself dejectedly.
+
+Many of his hours, of course, he spent with Billy and his son, and they
+were happy hours, too; but they always came to be restless ones before
+the day was half over. Billy was always devotion itself to him--when she
+was not attending to the baby; he had no fault to find with Billy. And
+the baby was delightful--he could find no fault with the baby. But the
+baby _was_ fretful--he was teething, Billy said--and he needed a great
+deal of attention; so, naturally, Bertram drifted out of the nursery,
+after a time, and went down into his studio, where were his dear, empty
+palette, his orderly brushes, and his tantalizing “Face of a Girl.” From
+the studio, generally, Bertram went out on to the street.
+
+Sometimes he dropped into a fellow-artist's studio. Sometimes he
+strolled into a club or café where he knew he would be likely to find
+some friend who would help him while away a tiresome hour. Bertram's
+friends quite vied with each other in rendering this sort of aid, so
+much so, indeed, that--naturally, perhaps--Bertram came to call on their
+services more and more frequently.
+
+Particularly was this the case when, after the splints were removed,
+Bertram found, as the days passed, that his arm was not improving as it
+should improve. This not only disappointed and annoyed him, but worried
+him. He remembered sundry disquieting warnings given by the physician
+at the time of the former break--warnings concerning the probable
+seriousness of a repetition of the injury. To Billy, of course, Bertram
+said nothing of all this; but just before Christmas he went to see a
+noted specialist.
+
+An hour later, almost in front of the learned surgeon's door, Bertram
+met Bob Seaver.
+
+“Great Scott, Bertie, what's up?” ejaculated Seaver. “You look as if
+you'd seen a ghost.”
+
+“I have,” answered Bertram, with grim bitterness. “I've seen the ghost
+of--of every 'Face of a Girl' I ever painted.”
+
+“Gorry! So bad as that? No wonder you look as if you'd been disporting
+in graveyards,” chuckled Seaver, laughing at his own joke “What's the
+matter--arm on a rampage to day?”
+
+He paused for reply, but as Bertram did not answer at once, he resumed,
+with gay insistence: “Come on! You need cheering up. Suppose we go down
+to Trentini's and see who's there.”
+
+“All right,” agreed Bertram, dully. “Suit yourself.”
+
+Bertram was not thinking of Seaver, Trentini's, or whom he might find
+there. Bertram was thinking of certain words he had heard less than
+half an hour ago. He was wondering, too, if ever again he could think of
+anything but those words.
+
+“The truth?” the great surgeon had said. “Well, the truth is--I'm sorry
+to tell you the truth, Mr. Henshaw, but if you will have it--you've
+painted the last picture you'll ever paint with your right hand, I fear.
+It's a bad case. This break, coming as it did on top of the serious
+injury of two or three years ago, was bad enough; but, to make matters
+worse, the bone was imperfectly set and wrongly treated, which could not
+be helped, of course, as you were miles away from skilled surgeons at
+the time of the injury. We'll do the best we can, of course; but--well,
+you asked for the truth, you remember; so I had to give it to you.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII. THE MOTHER--THE WIFE
+
+
+Bertram made up his mind at once that, for the present, at least,
+he would tell no one what the surgeon had said to him. He had placed
+himself under the man's care, and there was nothing to do but to take
+the prescribed treatment and await results as patiently as he could.
+Meanwhile there was no need to worry Billy, or William, or anybody else
+with the matter.
+
+Billy was so busy with her holiday plans that she was only vaguely aware
+of what seemed to be an increase of restlessness on the part of her
+husband during those days just before Christmas.
+
+“Poor dear, is the arm feeling horrid to-day?” she asked one morning,
+when the gloom on her husband's face was deeper than usual.
+
+Bertram frowned and did not answer directly.
+
+“Lots of good I am these days!” he exclaimed, his moody eyes on the
+armful of many-shaped, many-sized packages she carried. “What are those
+for-the tree?”
+
+“Yes; and it's going to be so pretty, Bertram,” exulted Billy. “And, do
+you know, Baby positively acts as if he suspected things--little as he
+is,” she went on eagerly. “He's as nervous as a witch. I can't keep him
+still a minute!”
+
+“How about his mother?” hinted Bertram, with a faint smile.
+
+Billy laughed.
+
+“Well, I'm afraid she isn't exactly calm herself,” she confessed, as she
+hurried out of the room with her parcels.
+
+Bertram looked after her longingly, despondently.
+
+“I wonder what she'd say if she--knew,” he muttered. “But she sha'n't
+know--till she just has to,” he vowed suddenly, under his breath,
+striding into the hall for his hat and coat.
+
+Never had the Strata known such a Christmas as this was planned to be.
+Cyril, Marie, and the twins were to be there, also Kate, her husband
+and three children, Paul, Egbert, and little Kate, from the West. On
+Christmas Day there was to be a big family dinner, with Aunt Hannah down
+from the Annex. Then, in concession to the extreme youth of the young
+host and his twin cousins, there was to be an afternoon tree. The shades
+were to be drawn and the candles lighted, however, so that there might
+be no loss of effect. In the evening the tree was to be once more loaded
+with fascinating packages and candy-bags, and this time the Greggorys,
+Tommy Dunn, and all the rest from the Annex were to have the fun all
+over again.
+
+From garret to basement the Strata was aflame with holly, and aglitter
+with tinsel. Nowhere did there seem to be a spot that did not have its
+bit of tissue paper or its trail of red ribbon. And everything--holly,
+ribbon, tissue, and tinsel--led to the mysteriously closed doors of the
+great front drawing-room, past which none but Billy and her accredited
+messengers might venture. No wonder, indeed, that even Baby scented
+excitement, and that Baby's mother was not exactly calm. No wonder, too,
+that Bertram, with his helpless right arm, and his heavy heart, felt
+peculiarly forlorn and “out of it.” No wonder, also, that he took
+himself literally out of it with growing frequency.
+
+Mr. and Mrs. Hartwell and little Kate were to stay at the Strata. The
+boys, Paul and Egbert, were to go to Cyril's. Promptly at the appointed
+time, two days before Christmas, they arrived. And from that hour until
+two days after Christmas, when the last bit of holly, ribbon, tissue,
+and tinsel disappeared from the floor, Billy moved in a whirl of anxious
+responsibility that was yet filled with fun, frolic, and laughter.
+
+It was a great success, the whole affair. Everybody seemed pleased and
+happy--that is, everybody but Bertram; and he very plainly tried to seem
+pleased and happy. Even Cyril unbent to the extent of not appearing to
+mind the noise one bit; and Sister Kate (Bertram said) found only
+the extraordinarily small number of four details to change in the
+arrangements. Baby obligingly let his teeth-getting go, for the
+occasion, and he and the twins, Franz and Felix, were the admiration and
+delight of all. Little Kate, to be sure, was a trifle disconcerting once
+or twice, but everybody was too absorbed to pay much attention to her.
+Billy did, however, remember her opening remarks.
+
+“Well, little Kate, do you remember me?” Billy had greeted her
+pleasantly.
+
+“Oh, yes,” little Kate had answered, with a winning smile. “You're my
+Aunt Billy what married my Uncle Bertram instead of Uncle William as you
+said you would first.”
+
+Everybody laughed, and Billy colored, of course; but little Kate went on
+eagerly:
+
+“And I've been wanting just awfully to see you,” she announced.
+
+“Have you? I'm glad, I'm sure. I feel highly flattered,” smiled Billy.
+
+“Well, I have. You see, I wanted to ask you something. Have you ever
+wished that you _had_ married Uncle William instead of Uncle Bertram, or
+that you'd tried for Uncle Cyril before Aunty Marie got him?”
+
+“Kate!” gasped her horrified mother. “I told you--You see,” she broke
+off, turning to Billy despairingly. “She's been pestering me with
+questions like that ever since she knew she was coming. She never has
+forgotten the way you changed from one uncle to the other. You may
+remember; it made a great impression on her at the time.”
+
+“Yes, I--I remember,” stammered Billy, trying to laugh off her
+embarrassment.
+
+“But you haven't told me yet whether you did wish you'd married Uncle
+William, or Uncle Cyril,” interposed little Kate, persistently.
+
+“No, no, of course not!” exclaimed Billy, with a vivid blush, casting
+her eyes about for a door of escape, and rejoicing greatly when she
+spied Delia with the baby coming toward them. “There, look, my dear,
+here's your new cousin, little Bertram!” she exclaimed. “Don't you want
+to see him?”
+
+Little Kate turned dutifully.
+
+“Yes'm, Aunt Billy, but I'd rather see the twins. Mother says _they're_
+real pretty and cunning.”
+
+“Er--y-yes, they are,” murmured Billy, on whom the emphasis of the
+“they're” had not been lost.
+
+Naturally, as may be supposed, therefore, Billy had not forgotten little
+Kate's opening remarks.
+
+Immediately after Christmas Mr. Hartwell and the boys went back to their
+Western home, leaving Mrs. Hartwell and her daughter to make a round of
+visits to friends in the East. For almost a week after Christmas they
+remained at the Strata; and it was on the last day of their stay that
+little Kate asked the question that proved so momentous in results.
+
+Billy, almost unconsciously, had avoided tête-á-têtes with her
+small guest. But to-day they were alone together.
+
+“Aunt Billy,” began the little girl, after a meditative gaze into the
+other's face, “you _are_ married to Uncle Bertram, aren't you?”
+
+“I certainly am, my dear,” smiled Billy, trying to speak unconcernedly.
+
+“Well, then, what makes you forget it?”
+
+“What makes me forget--Why, child, what a question! What do you mean? I
+don't forget it!” exclaimed Billy, indignantly.
+
+“Then what _did_ mother mean? I heard her tell Uncle William myself--she
+didn't know I heard, though--that she did wish you'd remember you were
+Uncle Bertram's wife as well as Cousin Bertram's mother.”
+
+Billy flushed scarlet, then grew very white. At that moment Mrs.
+Hartwell came into the room. Little Kate turned triumphantly.
+
+“There, she hasn't forgotten, and I knew she hadn't, mother! I asked her
+just now, and she said she hadn't.”
+
+“Hadn't what?” questioned Mrs. Hartwell, looking a little apprehensively
+at her sister-in-law's white face and angry eyes.
+
+“Hadn't forgotten that she was Uncle Bertram's wife.”
+
+“Kate,” interposed Billy, steadily meeting her sister-in-law's gaze,
+“will you be good enough to tell me what this child is talking about?”
+
+Mrs. Hartwell sighed, and gave an impatient gesture.
+
+“Kate, I've a mind to take you home on the next train,” she said to her
+daughter. “Run away, now, down-stairs. Your Aunt Billy and I want to
+talk. Come, come, hurry! I mean what I say,” she added warningly, as she
+saw unmistakable signs of rebellion on the small young face.
+
+“I wish,” pouted little Kate, rising reluctantly, and moving toward the
+door, “that you didn't always send me away just when I wanted most to
+stay!”
+
+“Well, Kate?” prompted Billy, as the door closed behind the little girl.
+
+“Yes, I suppose I'll have to say it now, as long as that child has put
+her finger in the pie. But I hadn't intended to speak, no matter what I
+saw. I promised myself I wouldn't, before I came. I know, of course, how
+Bertram and Cyril, and William, too, say that I'm always interfering
+in affairs that don't concern me--though, for that matter, if my own
+brother's affairs don't concern me, I don't know whose should!
+
+“But, as I said, I wasn't going to speak this time, no matter what I
+saw. And I haven't--except to William, and Cyril, and Aunt Hannah; but
+I suppose somewhere little Kate got hold of it. It's simply this, Billy.
+It seems to me it's high time you began to realize that you're Bertram's
+wife as well as the baby's mother.”
+
+“That, I am--I don't think I quite understand,” said Billy, unsteadily.
+
+“No, I suppose you don't,” sighed Kate, “though where your eyes are, I
+don't see--or, rather, I do see: they're on the baby, _always_. It's all
+very well and lovely, Billy, to be a devoted mother, and you certainly
+are that. I'll say that much for you, and I'll admit I never thought you
+would be. But _can't_ you see what you're doing to Bertram?”
+
+“_Doing to Bertram!_--by being a devoted mother to his son!”
+
+“Yes, doing to Bertram. Can't you see what a change there is in the
+boy? He doesn't act like himself at all. He's restless and gloomy and
+entirely out of sorts.”
+
+“Yes, I know; but that's his arm,” pleaded Billy. “Poor boy--he's so
+tired of it!”
+
+Kate shook her head decisively.
+
+“It's more than his arm, Billy. You'd see it yourself if you weren't
+blinded by your absorption in that baby. Where is Bertram every evening?
+Where is he daytimes? Do you realize that he's been at home scarcely one
+evening since I came? And as for the days--he's almost never here.”
+
+“But, Kate, he can't paint now, you know, so of course he doesn't
+need to stay so closely at home,” defended Billy. “He goes out to find
+distraction from himself.”
+
+“Yes, 'distraction,' indeed,” sniffed Kate. “And where do you suppose
+he finds it? Do you _know_ where he finds it? I tell you, Billy, Bertram
+Henshaw is not the sort of man that should find too much 'distraction'
+outside his home. His tastes and his temperament are altogether too
+Bohemian, and--”
+
+Billy interrupted with a peremptorily upraised hand.
+
+“Please remember, Kate, you are speaking of my husband to his wife; and
+his wife has perfect confidence in him, and is just a little particular
+as to what you say.”
+
+“Yes; well, I'm speaking of my brother, too, whom I know very well,”
+ shrugged Kate. “All is, you may remember sometime that I warned
+you--that's all. This trusting business is all very pretty; but I think
+'twould be a lot prettier, and a vast deal more sensible, if you'd give
+him a little attention as well as trust, and see if you can't keep him
+at home a bit more. At least you'll know whom he's with, then. Cyril
+says he saw him last week with Bob Seaver.”
+
+“With--Bob--Seaver?” faltered Billy, changing color.
+
+“Yes. I see you remember him,” smiled Kate, not quite agreeably.
+“Perhaps now you'll take some stock in what I've said, and remember it.”
+
+“I'll remember it, certainly,” returned Billy, a little proudly. “You've
+said a good many things to me, in the past, Mrs. Hartwell, and I've
+remembered them all--every one.”
+
+It was Kate's turn to flush, and she did it.
+
+“Yes, I know. And I presume very likely sometimes there _hasn't_ been
+much foundation for what I've said. I think this time, however, you'll
+find there is,” she finished, with an air of hurt dignity.
+
+Billy made no reply, perhaps because Delia, at that moment, brought in
+the baby.
+
+Mrs. Hartwell and little Kate left the Strata the next morning. Until
+then Billy contrived to keep, before them, a countenance serene, and a
+manner free from unrest. Even when, after dinner that evening, Bertram
+put on his hat and coat and went out, Billy refused to meet her
+sister-in-law's meaning gaze. But in the morning, after they had left
+the house, Billy did not attempt to deceive herself. Determinedly, then,
+she set herself to going over in her mind the past months since the baby
+came; and she was appalled at what she found. Ever in her ears, too, was
+that feared name, “Bob Seaver”; and ever before her eyes was that night
+years ago when, as an eighteen-year-old girl, she had followed Bertram
+and Bob Seaver into a glittering café at eleven o'clock at night,
+because Bertram had been drinking and was not himself. She remembered
+Bertram's face when he had seen her, and what he had said when she
+begged him to come home. She remembered, too, what the family had said
+afterward. But she remembered, also, that years later Bertram had told
+her what that escapade of hers had really done for him, and that he
+believed he had actually loved her from that moment. After that night,
+at all events, he had had little to do with Bob Seaver.
+
+And now Seaver was back again, it seemed--and with Bertram. They had
+been seen together. But if they had, what could she do? Surely she could
+hardly now follow them into a public café and demand that Seaver let
+her husband come home! But she could keep him at home, perhaps. (Billy
+quite brightened at this thought.) Kate had said that she was so
+absorbed in Baby that her husband received no attention at all. Billy
+did not believe this was true; but if it were true, she could at least
+rectify that mistake. If it were attention that he wanted--he should
+want no more. Poor Bertram! No wonder that he had sought distraction
+outside! When one had a horrid broken arm that would not let one do
+anything, what else could one do?
+
+Just here Billy suddenly remembered the book, “A Talk to Young Wives.”
+ If she recollected rightly, there was a chapter that covered the very
+claim Kate had been making. Billy had not thought of the book for
+months, but she went at once to get it now. There might be, after all,
+something in it that would help her.
+
+“The Coming of the First Baby.” Billy found the chapter without
+difficulty and settled herself to read, her countenance alight with
+interest. In a surprisingly short time, however, a new expression came
+to her face; and at last a little gasp of dismay fell from her lips. She
+looked up then, with a startled gaze.
+
+_Had_ her walls possessed eyes and ears all these past months, only to
+give instructions to an unseen hand that it might write what the eyes
+and ears had learned? For it was such sentences as these that the
+conscience-smitten Billy read:
+
+“Maternity is apt to work a miracle in a woman's life, but sometimes it
+spells disaster so far as domestic bliss is concerned. The young mother,
+wrapped up in the delights and duties of motherhood, utterly forgets
+that she has a husband. She lives and moves and has her being in the
+nursery. She thinks baby, talks baby, knows only baby. She refuses to
+dress up, because it is easier to take care of baby in a frowzy wrapper.
+She will not go out with her husband for fear something might happen to
+the baby. She gives up her music because baby won't let her practice.
+In vain her husband tries to interest her in his own affairs. She has
+neither eyes nor ears for him, only for baby.
+
+“Now no man enjoys having his nose put out of joint, even by his own
+child. He loves his child devotedly, and is proud of him, of course;
+but that does not keep him from wanting the society of his wife
+occasionally, nor from longing for her old-time love and sympathetic
+interest. It is an admirable thing, certainly, for a woman to be a
+devoted mother; but maternal affection can be carried too far. Husbands
+have some rights as well as offspring; and the wife who neglects
+her husband for her babies does so at her peril. Home, with the wife
+eternally in the nursery, is apt to be a dull and lonely thing to the
+average husband, so he starts out to find amusement for himself--and he
+finds it. Then is the time when the new little life that is so precious,
+and that should have bound the two more closely together, becomes the
+wedge that drives them apart.”
+
+Billy did not read any more. With a little sobbing cry she flung the
+book back into her desk, and began to pull off her wrapper. Her fingers
+shook. Already she saw herself a Monster, a Wicked Destroyer of Domestic
+Bliss with her thoughtless absorption in Baby, until he had become that
+Awful Thing--a _Wedge_. And Bertram--poor Bertram, with his broken arm!
+She had not played to him, nor sung to him, nor gone out with him. And
+when had they had one of their good long talks about Bertram's work and
+plans?
+
+But it should all be changed now. She would play, and sing, and go out
+with him. She would dress up, too. He should see no more wrappers. She
+would ask about his work, and seem interested. She _was_ interested. She
+remembered now, that just before he was hurt, he had told her of a
+new portrait, and of a new “Face of a Girl” that he had planned to do.
+Lately he had said nothing about these. He had seemed discouraged--and
+no wonder, with his broken arm! But she would change all that. He should
+see! And forthwith Billy hurried to her closet to pick out her prettiest
+house frock.
+
+Long before dinner Billy was ready, waiting in the drawing-room. She had
+on a pretty little blue silk gown that she knew Bertram liked, and she
+watched very anxiously for Bertram to come up the steps. She remembered
+now, with a pang, that he had long since given up his peculiar ring; but
+she meant to meet him at the door just the same.
+
+Bertram, however, did not come. At a quarter before six he telephoned
+that he had met some friends, and would dine at the club.
+
+“My, my, how pretty we are!” exclaimed Uncle William, when they went
+down to dinner together. “New frock?”
+
+“Why, no, Uncle William,” laughed Billy, a little tremulously. “You've
+seen it dozens of times!”
+
+“Have I?” murmured the man. “I don't seem to remember it. Too bad
+Bertram isn't here to see you. Somehow, you look unusually pretty
+to-night.”
+
+And Billy's heart ached anew.
+
+Billy spent the evening practicing--softly, to be sure, so as not to
+wake Baby--but _practicing_.
+
+As the days passed Billy discovered that it was much easier to say she
+would “change things” than it was really to change them. She changed
+herself, it is true--her clothes, her habits, her words, and her
+thoughts; but it was more difficult to change Bertram. In the first
+place, he was there so little. She was dismayed when she saw how very
+little, indeed, he was at home--and she did not like to ask him outright
+to stay. That was not in accordance with her plans. Besides, the “Talk
+to Young Wives” said that indirect influence was much to be preferred,
+always, to direct persuasion--which last, indeed, usually failed to
+produce results.
+
+So Billy “dressed up,” and practiced, and talked (of anything but the
+baby), and even hinted shamelessly once or twice that she would like to
+go to the theater; but all to little avail. True, Bertram brightened
+up, for a minute, when he came home and found her in a new or a favorite
+dress, and he told her how pretty she looked. He appeared to like to
+have her play to him, too, even declaring once or twice that it was
+quite like old times, yes, it was. But he never noticed her hints about
+the theater, and he did not seem to like to talk about his work, even a
+little bit.
+
+Billy laid this last fact to his injured arm. She decided that he had
+become blue and discouraged, and that he needed cheering up, especially
+about his work; so she determinedly and systematically set herself to
+doing it.
+
+She talked of the fine work he had done, and of the still finer work he
+would yet do, when his arm was well. She told him how proud she was of
+him, and she let him see how dear his Art was to her, and how badly she
+would feel if she thought he had really lost all his interest in his
+work and would never paint again. She questioned him about the new
+portrait he was to begin as soon as his arm would let him; and she tried
+to arouse his enthusiasm in the picture he had planned to show in the
+March Exhibition of the Bohemian Ten, telling him that she was sure his
+arm would allow him to complete at least one canvas to hang.
+
+In none of this, however, did Bertram appear in the least interested.
+The one thing, indeed, which he seemed not to want to talk about, was
+his work; and he responded to her overtures on the subject with only
+moody silence, or else with almost irritable monosyllables; all of which
+not only grieved but surprised Billy very much. For, according to
+the “Talk to Young Wives,” she was doing exactly what the ideal,
+sympathetic, interested-in-her-husband's-work wife should do.
+
+When February came, bringing with it no change for the better, Billy was
+thoroughly frightened. Bertram's arm plainly was not improving. He was
+more gloomy and restless than ever. He seemed not to want to stay at
+home at all; and Billy knew now for a certainty that he was spending
+more and more time with Bob Seaver and “the boys.”
+
+Poor Billy! Nowhere could she look these days and see happiness. Even
+the adored baby seemed, at times, almost to give an added pang. Had he
+not become, according to the “Talk to Young Wives” that awful thing, a
+_Wedge_? The Annex, too, carried its sting; for where was the need of
+an overflow house for happiness now, when there was no happiness to
+overflow? Even the little jade idol on Billy's mantel Billy could not
+bear to see these days, for its once bland smile had become a hideous
+grin, demanding, “Where, now, is your heap plenty velly good luckee?”
+
+But, before Bertram, Billy still carried a bravely smiling face, and to
+him still she talked earnestly and enthusiastically of his work--which
+last, as it happened, was the worst course she could have pursued; for
+the one thing poor Bertram wished to forget, just now, was--his work.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVIII. CONSPIRATORS
+
+
+Early in February came Arkwright's appearance at the Boston Opera
+House--the first since he had sung there as a student a few years
+before. He was an immediate and an unquestioned success. His portrait
+adorned the front page of almost every Boston newspaper the next
+morning, and captious critics vied with each other to do him honor. His
+full history, from boyhood up, was featured, with special emphasis on
+his recent triumphs in New York and foreign capitals. He was interviewed
+as to his opinion on everything from vegetarianism to woman's suffrage;
+and his preferences as to pies and pastimes were given headline
+prominence. There was no doubt of it. Mr. M. J. Arkwright was a star.
+
+All Arkwright's old friends, including Billy, Bertram, Cyril, Marie,
+Calderwell, Alice Greggory, Aunt Hannah, and Tommy Dunn, went to hear
+him sing; and after the performance he held a miniature reception,
+with enough adulation to turn his head completely around, he declared
+deprecatingly. Not until the next evening, however, did he have an
+opportunity for what he called a real talk with any of his friends;
+then, in Calderwell's room, he settled back in his chair with a sigh of
+content.
+
+For a time his own and Calderwell's affairs occupied their attention;
+then, after a short pause, the tenor asked abruptly:
+
+“Is there anything--wrong with the Henshaws, Calderwell?”
+
+Calderwell came suddenly erect in his chair.
+
+“Thank you! I hoped you'd introduce that subject; though, for that
+matter, if you hadn't, I should. Yes, there is--and I'm looking to you,
+old man, to get them out of it.”
+
+“I?” Arkwright sat erect now.
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“What do you mean?”
+
+“In a way, the expected has happened--though I know now that I didn't
+really expect it to happen, in spite of my prophecies. You may remember
+I was always skeptical on the subject of Bertram's settling down to a
+domestic hearthstone. I insisted 'twould be the turn of a girl's head
+and the curve of her cheek that he wanted to paint.”
+
+Arkwright looked up with a quick frown.
+
+“You don't mean that Henshaw has been cad enough to find another--”
+
+Calderwell threw up his hand.
+
+“No, no, not that! We haven't that to deal with--yet, thank goodness!
+There's no woman in it. And, really, when you come right down to it, if
+ever a fellow had an excuse to seek diversion, Bertram Henshaw has--poor
+chap! It's just this. Bertram broke his arm again last October.”
+
+“Yes, so I hear, and I thought he was looking badly.”
+
+“He is. It's a bad business. 'Twas improperly set in the first place,
+and it's not doing well now. In fact, I'm told on pretty good authority
+that the doctor says he probably will never use it again.”
+
+“Oh, by George! Calderwell!”
+
+“Yes. Tough, isn't it? 'Specially when you think of his work, and
+know--as I happen to--that he's particularly dependent on his right hand
+for everything. He doesn't tell this generally, and I understand Billy
+and the family know nothing of it--how hopeless the case is, I mean.
+Well, naturally, the poor fellow has been pretty thoroughly discouraged,
+and to get away from himself he's gone back to his old Bohemian habits,
+spending much of his time with some of his old cronies that are none too
+good for him--Seaver, for instance.”
+
+“Bob Seaver? Yes, I know him.” Arkwright's lips snapped together
+crisply.
+
+“Yes. He said he knew you. That's why I'm counting on your help.”
+
+“What do you mean?”
+
+“I mean I want you to get Henshaw away from him, and keep him away.”
+
+Arkwright's face darkened with an angry flush.
+
+“Great Scott, Calderwell! What are you talking about? Henshaw is no kid
+to be toted home, and I'm no nursery governess to do the toting!”
+
+Calderwell laughed quietly.
+
+“No; I don't think any one would take you for a nursery governess,
+Arkwright, in spite of the fact that you are still known to some of
+your friends as 'Mary Jane.' But you can sing a song, man, which will
+promptly give you a through ticket to their innermost sacred circle.
+In fact, to my certain knowledge, Seaver is already planning a jamboree
+with you at the right hand of the toastmaster. There's your chance. Once
+in, stay in--long enough to get Henshaw out.”
+
+“But, good heavens, Calderwell, it's impossible! What can I do?”
+ demanded Arkwright, savagely. “I can't walk up to the man, take him by
+the ear, and say: 'Here, you, sir--march home!' Neither can I come
+the 'I-am-holier-than-thou' act, and hold up to him the mirror of his
+transgressions.”
+
+“No, but you can get him out of it _some_ way. You can find a way--for
+Billy's sake.”
+
+There was no answer, and, after a moment, Calderwell went on more
+quietly.
+
+“I haven't seen Billy but two or three times since I came back to
+Boston--but I don't need to, to know that she's breaking her heart over
+something. And of course that something is--Bertram.”
+
+There was still no answer. Arkwright got up suddenly, and walked to the
+window.
+
+“You see, I'm helpless,” resumed Calderwell. “I don't paint pictures,
+nor sing songs, nor write stories, nor dance jigs for a living--and you
+have to do one or another to be in with that set. And it's got to be a
+Johnny-on-the-spot with Bertram. All is, something will have to be done
+to get him out of the state of mind and body he's in now, or--”
+
+Arkwright wheeled sharply.
+
+“When did you say this jamboree was going to be?” he demanded.
+
+“Next week, some time. The date is not settled. They were going to
+consult you.”
+
+“Hm-m,” commented Arkwright. And, though his next remark was a complete
+change of subject, Calderwell gave a contented sigh.
+
+
+If, when the proposition was first made to him, Arkwright was doubtful
+of his ability to be a successful “Johnny-on-the-spot,” he was even more
+doubtful of it as the days passed, and he was attempting to carry out
+the suggestion.
+
+He had known that he was undertaking a most difficult and delicate task,
+and he soon began to fear that it was an impossible one, as well. With
+a dogged persistence, however, he adhered to his purpose, ever on the
+alert to be more watchful, more tactful, more efficient in emergencies.
+
+Disagreeable as was the task, in a way, in another way it was a great
+pleasure to him. He was glad of the opportunity to do anything for
+Billy; and then, too, he was glad of something absorbing enough to take
+his mind off his own affairs. He told himself, sometimes, that this
+helping another man to fight his tiger skin was assisting himself to
+fight his own.
+
+Arkwright was trying very hard not to think of Alice Greggory these
+days. He had come back hoping that he was in a measure “cured” of his
+“folly,” as he termed it; but the first look into Alice Greggory's
+blue-gray eyes had taught him the fallacy of that idea. In that very
+first meeting with Alice, he feared that he had revealed his secret, for
+she was plainly so nervously distant and ill at ease with him that he
+could but construe her embarrassment and chilly dignity as pity for him
+and a desire to show him that she had nothing but friendship for him.
+Since then he had seen but little of her, partly because he did not wish
+to see her, and partly because his time was so fully occupied. Then,
+too, in a round-about way he had heard a rumor that Calderwell was
+engaged to be married; and, though no feminine name had been mentioned
+in connection with the story, Arkwright had not hesitated to supply in
+his own mind that of Alice Greggory.
+
+Beginning with the “jamboree,” which came off quite in accordance with
+Calderwell's prophecies, Arkwright spent the most of such time as was
+not given to his professional duties in deliberately cultivating the
+society of Bertram and his friends. To this extent he met with no
+difficulty, for he found that M. J. Arkwright, the new star in the
+operatic firmament, was obviously a welcome comrade. Beyond this it was
+not so easy. Arkwright wondered, indeed, sometimes, if he were making
+any progress at all. But still he persevered.
+
+He walked with Bertram, he talked with Bertram, unobtrusively he
+contrived to be near Bertram almost always, when they were together with
+“the boys.” Gradually he won from him the story of what the surgeon had
+said to him, and of how black the future looked in consequence. This
+established a new bond between them, so potent that Arkwright ventured
+to test it one day by telling Bertram the story of the tiger skin--the
+first tiger skin in his uncle's library years ago, and of how, since
+then, any difficulty he had encountered he had tried to treat as a
+tiger skin. In telling the story he was careful to draw no moral for
+his listener, and to preach no sermon. He told the tale, too, with all
+possible whimsical lightness of touch, and immediately at its conclusion
+he changed the subject. But that he had not failed utterly in his design
+was evidenced a few days later when Bertram grimly declared that he
+guessed _his_ tiger skin was a lively beast, all right.
+
+The first time Arkwright went home with Bertram, his presence was almost
+a necessity. Bertram was not quite himself that night. Billy admitted
+them. She had plainly been watching and waiting. Arkwright never forgot
+the look on her face as her eyes met his. There was a curious mixture
+of terror, hurt pride, relief, and shame, overtopped by a fierce loyalty
+which almost seemed to say aloud the words: “Don't you dare to blame
+him!”
+
+Arkwright's heart ached with sympathy and admiration at the proudly
+courageous way in which Billy carried off the next few painful minutes.
+Even when he bade her good night a little later, only her eyes said
+“thank you.” Her lips were dumb.
+
+Arkwright often went home with Bertram after that. Not that it was
+always necessary--far from it. Some time, indeed, elapsed before he
+had quite the same excuse again for his presence. But he had found that
+occasionally he could get Bertram home earlier by adroit suggestions of
+one kind or another; and more and more frequently he was succeeding in
+getting him home for a game of chess.
+
+Bertram liked chess, and was a fine player. Since breaking his arm he
+had turned to games with the feverish eagerness of one who looks for
+something absorbing to fill an unrestful mind. It was Seaver's skill
+in chess that had at first attracted Bertram to the man long ago; but
+Bertram could beat him easily--too easily for much pleasure in it now.
+So they did not play chess often these days. Bertram had found that, in
+spite of his injury, he could still take part in other games, and some
+of them, if not so intricate as chess, were at least more apt to take
+his mind off himself, especially if there were a bit of money up to add
+zest and interest.
+
+As it happened, however, Bertram learned one day that Arkwright could
+play chess--and play well, too, as he discovered after their first
+game together. This fact contributed not a little to such success as
+Arkwright was having in his efforts to wean Bertram from his undesirable
+companions; for Bertram soon found out that Arkwright was more than a
+match for himself, and the occasional games he did succeed in winning
+only whetted his appetite for more. Many an evening now, therefore, was
+spent by the two men in Bertram's den, with Billy anxiously hovering
+near, her eyes longingly watching either her husband's absorbed face or
+the pretty little red and white ivory figures, which seemed to possess
+so wonderful a power to hold his attention. In spite of her joy at the
+chessmen's efficacy in keeping Bertram at home, however, she was almost
+jealous of them.
+
+“Mr. Arkwright, couldn't you show _me_ how to play, sometime?” she said
+wistfully, one evening, when the momentary absence of Bertram had left
+the two alone together. “I used to watch Bertram and Marie play years
+ago; but I never knew how to play myself. Not that I can see where the
+fun is in just sitting staring at a chessboard for half an hour at a
+time, though! But Bertram likes it, and so I--I want to learn to stare
+with him. Will you teach me?”
+
+“I should be glad to,” smiled Arkwright.
+
+“Then will you come, maybe, sometimes when Bertram is at the doctor's?
+He goes every Tuesday and Friday at three o'clock for treatment. I'd
+rather you came then for two reasons: first, because I don't want
+Bertram to know I'm learning, till I can play _some_; and, secondly,
+because--because I don't want to take you away--from him.”
+
+The last words were spoken very low, and were accompanied by a painful
+blush. It was the first time Billy had ever hinted to Arkwright, in
+words, that she understood what he was trying to do.
+
+“I'll come next Tuesday,” promised Arkwright, with a cheerfully
+unobservant air. Then Bertram came in, bringing the book of Chess
+Problems, for which he had gone up-stairs.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIX. CHESS
+
+
+Promptly at three o'clock Tuesday afternoon Arkwright appeared at the
+Strata, and for the next hour Billy did her best to learn the names and
+the moves of the pretty little ivory men. But at the end of the hour she
+was almost ready to give up in despair.
+
+“If there weren't so many kinds, and if they didn't all insist on doing
+something different, it wouldn't be so bad,” she sighed. “But how can
+you be expected to remember which goes diagonal, and which crisscross,
+and which can't go but one square, and which can skip 'way across the
+board, 'specially when that little pawn-thing can go straight ahead
+_two_ squares sometimes, and the next minute only one (except when
+it takes things, and then it goes crooked one square) and when that
+tiresome little horse tries to go all ways at once, and can jump 'round
+and hurdle over _anybody's_ head, even the king's--how can you expect
+folks to remember? But, then, Bertram remembers,” she added, resolutely,
+“so I guess I can.”
+
+Whenever possible, after that, Arkwright came on Tuesdays and Fridays,
+and, in spite of her doubts, Billy did very soon begin to “remember.”
+ Spurred by her great desire to play with Bertram and surprise him, Billy
+spared no pains to learn well her lessons. Even among the baby's books
+and playthings these days might be found a “Manual of Chess,” for Billy
+pursued her study at all hours; and some nights even her dreams were of
+ruined, castles where kings and queens and bishops disported themselves,
+with pawns for servants, and where a weird knight on horseback used the
+castle's highest tower for a hurdle, landing always a hundred yards to
+one side of where he would be expected to come down.
+
+It was not long, of course, before Billy could play a game of chess,
+after a fashion, but she knew just enough to realize that she actually
+knew nothing; and she knew, too, that until she could play a really good
+game, her moves would not hold Bertram's attention for one minute. Not
+at present, therefore, was she willing Bertram should know what she was
+attempting to do.
+
+Billy had not yet learned what the great surgeon had said to Bertram.
+She knew only that his arm was no better, and that he never voluntarily
+spoke of his painting. Over her now seemed to be hanging a vague horror.
+Something was the matter. She knew that. But what it was she could
+not fathom. She realized that Arkwright was trying to help, and her
+gratitude, though silent, knew no bounds. Not even to Aunt Hannah or
+Uncle William could she speak of this thing that was troubling her. That
+they, too, understood, in a measure, she realized. But still she said no
+word. Billy was wearing a proud little air of aloofness these days that
+was heart-breaking to those who saw it and read it aright for what it
+was: loyalty to Bertram, no matter what happened. And so Billy pored
+over her chessboard feverishly, tirelessly, having ever before her
+longing eyes the dear time when Bertram, across the table from her,
+should sit happily staring for half an hour at a move she had made.
+
+Whatever Billy's chess-playing was to signify, however, in her own life,
+it was destined to play a part in the lives of two friends of hers that
+was most unexpected.
+
+During Billy's very first lesson, as it chanced, Alice Greggory called
+and found Billy and Arkwright so absorbed in their game that they did
+not at first hear Eliza speak her name.
+
+The quick color that flew to Arkwright's face at sight of herself was
+construed at once by Alice as embarrassment on his part at being found
+tête-á-tête with Bertram Henshaw's wife. And she did not like
+it. She was not pleased that he was there. She was less pleased that he
+blushed for being there.
+
+It so happened that Alice found him there again several times. Alice
+gave a piano lesson at two o'clock every Tuesday and Friday afternoon to
+a little Beacon Street neighbor of Billy's, and she had fallen into the
+habit of stepping in to see Billy for a few minutes afterward, which
+brought her there at a little past three, just after the chess lesson
+was well started.
+
+If, the first time that Alice Greggory found Arkwright opposite Billy at
+the chess-table, she was surprised and displeased, the second and third
+times she was much more so. When it finally came to her one day with
+sickening illumination, that always the tête-á-têtes were
+during Bertram's hour at the doctor's, she was appalled.
+
+What could it mean? Had Arkwright given up his fight? Was he playing
+false to himself and to Bertram by trying thus, on the sly, to win the
+love of his friend's wife? Was this man, whom she had so admired for his
+brave stand, and to whom all unasked she had given her heart's best
+love (more the pity of it!)--was this idol of hers to show feet of clay,
+after all? She could not believe it. And yet--
+
+Sick at heart, but imbued with the determination of a righteous cause,
+Alice Greggory resolved, for Billy's sake, to watch and wait. If
+necessary she should speak to some one--though to whom she did not know.
+Billy's happiness should not be put in jeopardy if she could help it.
+Indeed, no!
+
+As the weeks passed, Alice came to be more and more uneasy, distressed,
+and grieved. Of Billy she could believe no evil; but of Arkwright
+she was beginning to think she could believe everything that was
+dishonorable and despicable. And to believe that of the man she still
+loved--no wonder that Alice did not look nor act like herself these
+days.
+
+Incensed at herself because she did love him, angry at him because he
+seemed to be proving himself so unworthy of that love, and genuinely
+frightened at what she thought was the fast-approaching wreck of all
+happiness for her dear friend, Billy, Alice did not know which way
+to turn. At the first she had told herself confidently that she would
+“speak to somebody.” But, as time passed, she saw the impracticability
+of that idea. Speak to somebody, indeed! To whom? When? Where? What
+should she say? Where was her right to say anything? She was not dealing
+with a parcel of naughty children who had pilfered the cake jar! She
+was dealing with grown men and women, who, presumedly, knew their own
+affairs, and who, certainly, would resent any interference from her. On
+the other hand, could she stand calmly by and see Bertram lose his wife,
+Arkwright his honor, Billy her happiness, and herself her faith in human
+nature, all because to do otherwise would be to meddle in other people's
+business? Apparently she could, and should. At least that seemed to be
+the rôle which she was expected to play.
+
+It was when Alice had reached this unhappy frame of mind that Arkwright
+himself unexpectedly opened the door for her.
+
+The two were alone together in Bertram Henshaw's den. It was Tuesday
+afternoon. Alice had called to find Billy and Arkwright deep in their
+usual game of chess. Then a matter of domestic affairs had taken Billy
+from the room.
+
+“I'm afraid I'll have to be gone ten minutes, or more,” she had said, as
+she rose from the table reluctantly. “But you might be showing Alice the
+moves, Mr. Arkwright,” she had added, with a laugh, as she disappeared.
+
+“Shall I teach you the moves?” he had smiled, when they were alone
+together.
+
+Alice's reply had been so indignantly short and sharp that Arkwright,
+after a moment's pause, had said, with a whimsical smile that yet
+carried a touch of sadness:
+
+“I am forced to surmise from your answer that you think it is _you_ who
+should be teaching _me_ moves. At all events, I seem to have been making
+some moves lately that have not suited you, judging by your actions.
+Have I offended you in any way, Alice?”
+
+The girl turned with a quick lifting of her head. Alice knew that if
+ever she were to speak, it must be now. Never again could she hope for
+such an opportunity as this. Suddenly throwing circumspect caution quite
+aside, she determined that she would speak. Springing to her feet she
+crossed the room and seated herself in Billy's chair at the chess-table.
+
+“Me! Offend me!” she exclaimed, in a low voice. “As if I were the one
+you were offending!”
+
+“Why, _Alice!_” murmured the man, in obvious stupefaction.
+
+Alice raised her hand, palm outward.
+
+“Now don't, _please_ don't pretend you don't know,” she begged, almost
+piteously. “Please don't add that to all the rest. Oh, I understand,
+of course, it's none of my affairs, and I wasn't going to speak,” she
+choked; “but, to-day, when you gave me this chance, I had to. At first
+I couldn't believe it,” she plunged on, plainly hurrying against Billy's
+return. “After all you'd told me of how you meant to fight it--your
+tiger skin. And I thought it merely _happened_ that you were here alone
+with her those days I came. Then, when I found out they were _always_
+the days Mr. Henshaw was away at the doctor's, I had to believe.”
+
+She stopped for breath. Arkwright, who, up to this moment had shown that
+he was completely mystified as to what she was talking about, suddenly
+flushed a painful red. He was obviously about to speak, but she
+prevented him with a quick gesture.
+
+“There's a little more I've got to say, please. As if it weren't bad
+enough to do what you're doing _at all_, but you must needs take it at
+such a time as this when--when her husband _isn't_ doing just what he
+ought to do, and we all know it--it's so unfair to take her now, and
+try to--to win--And you aren't even fair with him,” she protested
+tremulously. “You pretend to be his friend. You go with him everywhere.
+It's just as if you were _helping_ to--to pull him down. You're one with
+the whole bunch.” (The blood suddenly receded from Arkwright's
+face, leaving it very white; but if Alice saw it, she paid no heed.)
+“Everybody says you are. Then to come here like this, on the sly, when
+you know he can't be here, I--Oh, can't you see what you're doing?”
+
+There was a moment's pause, then Arkwright spoke. A deep pain looked
+from his eyes. He was still very pale, and his mouth had settled into
+sad lines.
+
+“I think, perhaps, it may be just as well if I tell you what I _am_
+doing--or, rather, trying to do,” he said quietly.
+
+Then he told her.
+
+“And so you see,” he added, when he had finished the tale, “I haven't
+really accomplished much, after all, and it seems the little I have
+accomplished has only led to my being misjudged by you, my best friend.”
+
+Alice gave a sobbing cry. Her face was scarlet. Horror, shame, and
+relief struggled for mastery in her countenance.
+
+“Oh, but I didn't know, I didn't know,” she moaned, twisting her hands
+nervously. “And now, when you've been so brave, so true--for me to
+accuse you of--Oh, can you _ever_ forgive me? But you see, knowing that
+you _did_ care for her, it did look--” She choked into silence, and
+turned away her head.
+
+He glanced at her tenderly, mournfully.
+
+“Yes,” he said, after a minute, in a low voice. “I can see how it did
+look; and so I'm going to tell you now something I had meant never to
+tell you. There really couldn't have been anything in that, you see,
+for I found out long ago that it was gone--whatever love there had been
+for--Billy.”
+
+“But your--tiger skin!”
+
+“Oh, yes, I thought it was alive,” smiled Arkwright, sadly, “when I
+asked you to help me fight it. But one day, very suddenly, I discovered
+that it was nothing but a dead skin of dreams and memories. But I made
+another discovery, too. I found that just beyond lay another one, and
+that was very much alive.”
+
+“Another one?” Alice turned to him in wonder. “But you never asked me to
+help you fight--that one!”
+
+He shook his head.
+
+“No; I couldn't, you see. You couldn't have helped me. You'd only have
+hindered me.”
+
+“Hindered you?”
+
+“Yes. You see, it was my love for--you, that I was fighting--then.”
+
+Alice gave a low cry and flushed vividly; but Arkwright hurried on, his
+eyes turned away.
+
+“Oh, I understand. I know. I'm not asking for--anything. I heard some
+time ago of your engagement to Calderwell. I've tried many times to
+say the proper, expected pretty speeches, but--I couldn't. I will
+now, though. I do. You have all my tenderest best wishes for your
+happiness--dear. If long ago I hadn't been such a blind fool as not to
+know my own heart--”
+
+“But--but there's some mistake,” interposed Alice, palpitatingly, with
+hanging head. “I--I'm not engaged to Mr. Calderwell.”
+
+Arkwright turned and sent a keen glance into her face.
+
+“You're--not?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“But I heard that Calderwell--” He stopped helplessly.
+
+“You heard that Mr. Calderwell was engaged, very likely. But--it so
+happens he isn't engaged--to me,” murmured Alice, faintly.
+
+“But, long ago you said--” Arkwright paused, his eyes still keenly
+searching her face.
+
+“Never mind what I said--long ago,” laughed Alice, trying unsuccessfully
+to meet his gaze. “One says lots of things, at times, you know.”
+
+Into Arkwright's eyes came a new light, a light that plainly needed but
+a breath to fan it into quick fire.
+
+“Alice,” he said softly, “do you mean that maybe now--I needn't try to
+fight--that other tiger skin?”
+
+There was no answer.
+
+Arkwright reached out a pleading hand.
+
+“Alice, dear, I've loved you so long,” he begged unsteadily. “Don't
+you think that sometime, if I was very, very patient, you could just
+_begin_--to care a little for me?”
+
+Still there was no answer. Then, slowly, Alice shook her head. Her face
+was turned quite away--which was a pity, for if Arkwright could have
+seen the sudden tender mischief in her eyes, his own would not have
+become so somber.
+
+“Not even a little bit?”
+
+“I couldn't ever--begin,” answered a half-smothered voice.
+
+“Alice!” cried the man, heart-brokenly.
+
+Alice turned now, and for a fleeting instant let him see her eyes,
+glowing with the love so long kept in relentless exile.
+
+“I couldn't, because, you see-I began--long ago,” she whispered.
+
+“Alice!” It was the same single word, but spoken with a world of
+difference, for into it now was crowded all the glory and the wonder of
+a great love. “Alice!” breathed the man again; and this time the word
+was, oh, so tenderly whispered into the little pink and white ear of the
+girl in his arms.
+
+“I got delayed,” began Billy, in the doorway.
+
+“Oh-h!” she broke off, beating a hushed, but precipitate, retreat.
+
+Fully thirty minutes later, Billy came to the door again. This time her
+approach was heralded by a snatch of song.
+
+“I hope you'll excuse my being gone so long,” she smiled, as she
+entered the room where her two guests sat decorously face to face at the
+chess-table.
+
+“Well, you know you said you'd be gone ten minutes,” Arkwright reminded
+her, politely.
+
+“Yes, I know I did.” And Billy, to her credit, did not even smile at the
+man who did not know ten minutes from fifty.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXX. BY A BABY'S HAND
+
+
+After all, it was the baby's hand that did it, as was proper, and
+perhaps to be expected; for surely, was it not Bertram, Jr.'s place to
+show his parents that he was, indeed, no Wedge, but a dear and precious
+Tie binding two loving, loyal hearts more and more closely together?
+It would seem, indeed, that Bertram, Jr., thought so, perhaps, and very
+bravely he set about it; though, to carry out his purpose, he had to
+turn his steps into an unfamiliar way--a way of pain, and weariness, and
+danger.
+
+It was Arkwright who told Bertram that the baby was very sick, and
+that Billy wanted him. Bertram went home at once to find a distracted,
+white-faced Billy, and a twisted, pain-racked little creature, who it
+was almost impossible to believe was the happy, laughing baby boy he had
+left that morning.
+
+For the next two weeks nothing was thought of in the silent old Beacon
+Street house but the tiny little life hovering so near Death's door
+that twice it appeared to have slipped quite across the threshold.
+All through those terrible weeks it seemed as if Billy neither ate
+nor slept; and always at her side, comforting, cheering, and helping
+wherever possible was Bertram, tender, loving, and marvelously
+thoughtful.
+
+Then came the turning point when the universe itself appeared to
+hang upon a baby's breath. Gradually, almost imperceptibly, came the
+fluttering back of the tiny spirit into the longing arms stretched so
+far, far out to meet and hold it. And the father and the mother, looking
+into each other's sleepless, dark-ringed eyes, knew that their son was
+once more theirs to love and cherish.
+
+When two have gone together with a dear one down into the Valley of the
+Shadow of Death, and have come back, either mourning or rejoicing, they
+find a different world from the one they had left. Things that were
+great before seem small, and some things that were small seem great.
+At least Bertram and Billy found their world thus changed when together
+they came back bringing their son with them.
+
+In the long weeks of convalescence, when the healthy rosiness stole
+bit by bit into the baby's waxen face, and the light of recognition and
+understanding crept day by day into the baby's eyes, there was many a
+quiet hour for heart-to-heart talks between the two who so anxiously and
+joyously hailed every rosy tint and fleeting sparkle. And there was
+so much to tell, so much to hear, so much to talk about! And always,
+running through everything, was that golden thread of joy, beside which
+all else paled--that they had Baby and each other. As if anything else
+mattered!
+
+To be sure, there was Bertram's arm. Very early in their talks Billy
+found out about that. But Billy, with Baby getting well, was not to be
+daunted, even by this.
+
+“Nonsense, darling--not paint again, indeed! Why, Bertram, of course you
+will,” she cried confidently.
+
+“But, Billy, the doctor said,” began Bertram; but Billy would not even
+listen.
+
+“Very well, what if he did, dear?” she interrupted. “What if he did
+say you couldn't use your right arm much again?” Billy's voice broke
+a little, then quickly steadied into something very much like triumph.
+“You've got your left one!”
+
+Bertram shook his head.
+
+“I can't paint with that.”
+
+“Yes, you can,” insisted Billy, firmly. “Why, Bertram, what do you
+suppose you were given two arms for if not to fight with both of them?
+And I'm going to be ever so much prouder of what you paint now, because
+I'll know how splendidly you worked to do it. Besides, there's Baby. As
+if you weren't ever going to paint for Baby! Why, Bertram, I'm going to
+have you paint Baby, one of these days. Think how pleased he'll be to
+see it when he grows up! He's nicer, anyhow, than any old 'Face of a
+Girl' you ever did. Paint? Why, Bertram, darling, of course you're going
+to paint, and better than you ever did before!”
+
+Bertram shook his head again; but this time he smiled, and patted
+Billy's cheek with the tip of his forefinger.
+
+“As if I could!” he disclaimed. But that afternoon he went into his
+long-deserted studio and hunted up his last unfinished picture. For
+some time he stood motionless before it; then, with a quick gesture of
+determination, he got out his palette, paints, and brushes. This time
+not until he had painted ten, a dozen, a score of strokes, did he drop
+his brush with a sigh and carefully erase the fresh paint on the canvas.
+The next day he worked longer, and this time he allowed a little, a very
+little, of what he had done to remain.
+
+The third day Billy herself found him at his easel.
+
+“I wonder--do you suppose I could?” he asked fearfully.
+
+“Why, dearest, of course you can! Haven't you noticed? Can't you see how
+much more you can do with your left hand now? You've _had_ to use it,
+you see. _I've_ seen you do a lot of things with it, lately, that you
+never used to do at all. And, of course, the more you do with it, the
+more you can!”
+
+“I know; but that doesn't mean that I can paint with it,” sighed
+Bertram, ruefully eyeing the tiny bit of fresh color his canvas showed
+for his long afternoon's work.
+
+“You wait and see,” nodded Billy, with so overwhelming a cheery
+confidence that Bertram, looking into her glowing face, was conscious
+of a curious throb of exultation, almost as if already the victory were
+his.
+
+But it was not always of Bertram's broken arm, nor even of his work that
+they talked. Bertram, hanging over the baby's crib to assure himself
+that the rosiness and the sparkle were really growing more apparent
+every day, used to wonder sometimes how ever in the world he could have
+been jealous of his son. He said as much one day to Billy.
+
+To Billy it was a most astounding idea.
+
+“You mean you were actually jealous of your own baby?” she gasped.
+“Why, Bertram, how could--And was that why you--you sought distraction
+and--Oh, but, Bertram, that was all my f-fault,” she quavered
+remorsefully. “I wouldn't play, nor sing, nor go to walk, nor anything;
+and I wore horrid frowzy wrappers all the time, and--”
+
+“Oh, come, come, Billy,” expostulated the man. “I'm not going to have
+you talk like that about _my wife!_”
+
+“But I did--the book said I did,” wailed Billy.
+
+“The book? Good heavens! Are there any books in this, too?” demanded
+Bertram.
+
+“Yes, the same one; the--the 'Talks to Young Wives,'” nodded Billy.
+And then, because some things had grown small to them, and some others
+great, they both laughed happily.
+
+But even this was not quite all; for one evening, very shyly, Billy
+brought out the chessboard.
+
+“Of course I can't play well,” she faltered; “and maybe you don't want
+to play with me at all.”
+
+But Bertram, when he found out why she had learned, was very sure he did
+want very much to play with her.
+
+Billy did not beat, of course. But she did several times experience--for
+a few blissful minutes--the pleasure of seeing Bertram sit motionless,
+studying the board, because of a move she had made. And though, in the
+end, her king was ignominiously trapped with not an unguarded square
+upon which to set his poor distracted foot, the memory of those blissful
+minutes when she had made Bertram “stare” more than paid for the final
+checkmate.
+
+By the middle of June the baby was well enough to be taken to the
+beach, and Bertram was so fortunate as to secure the same house they had
+occupied before. Once again William went down in Maine for his fishing
+trip, and the Strata was closed. In the beach house Bertram was painting
+industriously--with his left hand. Almost he was beginning to feel
+Billy's enthusiasm. Almost he was believing that he _was_ doing good
+work. It was not the “Face of a Girl,” now. It was the face of a baby:
+smiling, laughing, even crying, sometimes; at other times just gazing
+straight into your eyes with adorable soberness. Bertram still went
+into Boston twice a week for treatment, though the treatment itself had
+changed. The great surgeon had sent him to still another specialist.
+
+“There's a chance--though perhaps a small one,” he had said. “I'd like
+you to try it, anyway.”
+
+As the summer advanced, Bertram thought sometimes that he could see a
+slight improvement in his injured arm; but he tried not to think too
+much about this. He had thought the same thing before, only to be
+disappointed in the end. Besides, he was undeniably interested just now
+in seeing if he _could_ paint with his left hand. Billy was so sure,
+and she had said that she would be prouder than ever of him, if he
+could--and he would like to make Billy proud! Then, too, there was the
+baby--he had no idea a baby could be so interesting to paint. He was not
+sure but that he was going to like to paint babies even better than he
+had liked to paint his “Face of a Girl” that had brought him his first
+fame.
+
+In September the family returned to the Strata. The move was made a
+little earlier this year on account of Alice Greggory's wedding.
+
+Alice was to be married in the pretty living-room at the Annex, just
+where Billy herself had been married a few short years before; and Billy
+had great plans for the wedding--not all of which she was able to carry
+out, for Alice, like Marie before her, had very strong objections to
+being placed under too great obligations.
+
+“And you see, really, anyway,” she told Billy, “I owe the whole thing to
+you, to begin with--even my husband.”
+
+“Nonsense! Of course you don't,” disputed Billy.
+
+“But I do. If it hadn't been for you I should never have found him
+again, and of _course_ I shouldn't have had this dear little home to be
+married in. And I never could have left mother if she hadn't had
+Aunt Hannah and the Annex which means you. And if I hadn't found Mr.
+Arkwright, I might never have known how--how I could go back to my old
+home (as I am going on my honeymoon trip), and just know that every one
+of my old friends who shakes hands with me isn't pitying me now, because
+I'm my father's daughter. And that means you; for you see I never would
+have known that my father's name was cleared if it hadn't been for you.
+And--”
+
+“Oh, Alice, please, please,” begged Billy, laughingly raising two
+protesting hands. “Why don't you say that it's to me you owe just
+breathing, and be done with it?”
+
+“Well, I will, then,” avowed Alice, doggedly. “And it's true, too, for,
+honestly, my dear, I don't believe I would have been breathing to-day,
+nor mother, either, if you hadn't found us that morning, and taken us
+out of those awful rooms.”
+
+“I? Never! You wouldn't let me take you out,” laughed Billy. “You proud
+little thing! Maybe _you've_ forgotten how you turned poor Uncle William
+and me out into the cold, cold world that morning, just because we dared
+to aspire to your Lowestoft teapot; but I haven't!”
+
+“Oh, Billy, please, _don't_,” begged Alice, the painful color staining
+her face. “If you knew how I've hated myself since for the way I acted
+that day--and, really, you did take us away from there, you know.”
+
+“No, I didn't. I merely found two good tenants for Mr. and Mrs. Delano,”
+ corrected Billy, with a sober face.
+
+“Oh, yes, I know all about that,” smiled Alice, affectionately; “and you
+got mother and me here to keep Aunt Hannah company and teach Tommy Dunn;
+and you got Aunt Hannah here to keep us company and take care of Tommy
+Dunn; and you got Tommy Dunn here so Aunt Hannah and we could have
+somebody to teach and take care of; and, as for the others,--” But Billy
+put her hands to her ears and fled.
+
+The wedding was to be on the fifteenth. From the West Kate wrote that
+of course it was none of her affairs, particularly as neither of the
+interested parties was a relation, but still she should think that for
+a man in Mr. Arkwright's position, nothing but a church wedding would
+do at all, as, of course, he did, in a way, belong to the public. Alice,
+however, declared that perhaps he did belong to the public, when he was
+Don Somebody-or-other in doublet and hose; but when he was just plain
+Michael Jeremiah Arkwright in a frock coat he was hers, and she did not
+propose to make a Grand Opera show of her wedding. And as Arkwright,
+too, very much disapproved of the church-wedding idea, the two were
+married in the Annex living-room at noon on the fifteenth as originally
+planned, in spite of Mrs. Kate Hartwell's letter.
+
+It was soon after the wedding that Bertram told Billy he wished she
+would sit for him with Bertram, Jr.
+
+“I want to try my hand at you both together,” he coaxed.
+
+“Why, of course, if you like, dear,” agreed Billy, promptly, “though I
+think Baby is just as nice, and even nicer, alone.”
+
+Once again all over Bertram's studio began to appear sketches of Billy,
+this time a glorified, tender Billy, with the wonderful mother-love in
+her eyes. Then, after several sketches of trial poses, Bertram began his
+picture of Billy and the baby together.
+
+Even now Bertram was not sure of his work. He knew that he could not yet
+paint with his old freedom and ease; he knew that his stroke was not so
+sure, so untrammeled. But he knew, too, that he had gained wonderfully,
+during the summer, and that he was gaining now, every day. To Billy he
+said nothing of all this. Even to himself he scarcely put his hope into
+words; but in his heart he knew that what he was really painting his
+“Mother and Child” picture for was the Bohemian Ten Club Exhibition in
+March--if he could but put upon canvas the vision that was spurring him
+on.
+
+And so Bertram worked all through those short winter days, not always
+upon the one picture, of course, but upon some picture or sketch that
+would help to give his still uncertain left hand the skill that had
+belonged to its mate. And always, cheering, encouraging, insisting on
+victory, was Billy, so that even had Bertram been tempted, sometimes,
+to give up, he could not have done so--and faced Billy's grieved,
+disappointed eyes. And when at last his work was completed, and the
+pictured mother and child in all their marvelous life and beauty seemed
+ready to step from the canvas, Billy drew a long ecstatic breath.
+
+“Oh, Bertram, it _is_, it is the best work you have ever done.” Billy
+was looking at the baby. Always she had ignored herself as part of the
+picture. “And won't it be fine for the Exhibition!”
+
+Bertram's hand tightened on the chair-back in front of him. For a moment
+he could not speak. Then, a bit huskily, he asked:
+
+“Would you dare--risk it?”
+
+“Risk it! Why, Bertram Henshaw, I've meant that picture for the
+Exhibition from the very first--only I never dreamed you could get it so
+perfectly lovely. _Now_ what do you say about Baby being nicer than any
+old 'Face of a Girl' that you ever did?” she triumphed.
+
+And Bertram, who, even to himself, had not dared whisper the
+word exhibition, gave a tremulous laugh that was almost a sob, so
+overwhelming was his sudden realization of what faith and confidence had
+meant to Billy, his wife.
+
+If there was still a lingering doubt in Bertram's mind, it must
+have been dispelled in less than an hour after the Bohemian Ten Club
+Exhibition flung open its doors on its opening night. Once again Bertram
+found his picture the cynosure of all admiring eyes, and himself the
+center of an enthusiastic group of friends and fellow-artists who vied
+with each other in hearty words of congratulation. And when, later,
+the feared critics, whose names and opinions counted for so much in his
+world, had their say in the daily press and weekly reviews, Bertram
+knew how surely indeed he had won. And when he read that “Henshaw's
+work shows now a peculiar strength, a sort of reserve power, as it were,
+which, beautiful as was his former work, it never showed before,” he
+smiled grimly, and said to Billy:
+
+“I suppose, now, that was the fighting I did with my good left hand, eh,
+dear?”
+
+But there was yet one more drop that was to make Bertram's cup of joy
+brim to overflowing. It came just one month after the Exhibition in the
+shape of a terse dozen words from the doctor. Bertram fairly flew home
+that day. He had no consciousness of any means of locomotion. He thought
+he was going to tell his wife at once his great good news; but when he
+saw her, speech suddenly fled, and all that he could do was to draw her
+closely to him with his left arm and hide his face.
+
+“Why, Bertram, dearest, what--what is it?” stammered the thoroughly
+frightened Billy. “Has anything-happened?”
+
+“No, no--yes--yes, everything has happened. I mean, it's going to
+happen,” choked the man. “Billy, that old chap says that I'm going to
+have my arm again. Think of it--my good right arm that I've lost so
+long!”
+
+“_Oh, Bertram!_” breathed Billy. And she, too, fell to sobbing.
+
+Later, when speech was more coherent, she faltered:
+
+“Well, anyway, it doesn't make any difference _how_ many beautiful
+pictures you p-paint, after this, Bertram, I _can't_ be prouder of any
+than I am of the one your l--left hand did.”
+
+“Oh, but I have you to thank for all that, dear.”
+
+“No, you haven't,” disputed Billy, blinking teary eyes; “but--” she
+paused, then went on spiritedly, “but, anyhow, I--I don't believe any
+one--not even Kate--can say _now_ that--that I've been a hindrance to
+you in your c-career!”
+
+“Hindrance!” scoffed Bertram, in a tone that left no room for doubt, and
+with a kiss that left even less, if possible.
+
+Billy, for still another minute, was silent; then, with a wistfulness
+that was half playful, half serious, she sighed:
+
+“Bertram, I believe being married is something like clocks, you know,
+'specially at the first.”
+
+“Clocks, dear?”
+
+“Yes. I was out to Aunt Hannah's to-day. She was fussing with her
+clock--the one that strikes half an hour ahead--and I saw all those
+quantities of wheels, little and big, that have to go just so, with
+all the little cogs fitting into all the other little cogs just exactly
+right. Well, that's like marriage. See? There's such a lot of
+little cogs in everyday life that have to be fitted so they'll run
+smoothly--that have to be adjusted, 'specially at the first.”
+
+“Oh, Billy, what an idea!”
+
+“But it's so, really, Bertram. Anyhow, I know my cogs were always
+getting out of place at the first,” laughed Billy. “And I was like Aunt
+Hannah's clock, too, always going off half an hour ahead of time. And
+maybe I shall be so again, sometimes. But, Bertram,”--her voice shook a
+little--“if you'll just look at my face you'll see that I tell the right
+time there, just as Aunt Hannah's clock does. I'm sure, always, I'll
+tell the right time there, even if I do go off half an hour ahead!”
+
+“As if I didn't know that,” answered Bertram, very low and tenderly.
+“Besides, I reckon I have some cogs of my own that need adjusting!”
+
+
+
+
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MISS BILLY MARRIED ***
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+<!DOCTYPE html>
+<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en">
+<head>
+    <meta charset="UTF-8">
+    <title>
+      Miss Billy--Married | Project Gutenberg    </title>
+    <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover">
+<style> /* <![CDATA[ */
+
+
+    body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify}
+    P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; }
+    H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; }
+    hr  { width: 50%; text-align: center;}
+    blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;}
+    .toc       { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;}
+               .big {font-size: 1.5em;}
+    pre        { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;}
+
+</style>
+  </head>
+  <body>
+<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Miss Billy Married, by Eleanor H. Porter</div>
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
+most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
+whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
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+</div>
+<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Miss Billy Married</div>
+<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Eleanor H. Porter</div>
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: July 8, 2008 [EBook #361]<br>
+[Most recently updated: May 26, 2023]</div>
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div>
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div>
+<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Charles Keller, and David Widger</div>
+<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MISS BILLY MARRIED***</div>
+
+
+    <p>
+      <br><br>
+    </p>
+    <h1>
+      MISS BILLY&mdash;MARRIED
+    </h1>
+    <p>
+      <br>
+    </p>
+    <h2>
+      By Eleanor H. Porter
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      <br>
+    </p>
+    <h4>
+      Author Of Pollyanna, Etc.
+    </h4>
+    <p>
+      <br> <br>
+    </p>
+    <h4>
+      TO <br> My Cousin Maud
+    </h4>
+    <p>
+      <br> <br>
+    </p>
+    <hr>
+    <p>
+      <br> <br>
+    </p>
+    <blockquote>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <span class="big"><b>CONTENTS</b></span>
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        <br> <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>MISS BILLY&mdash;MARRIED</b></a>
+        <br> <br> <br> <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;SOME
+        OPINIONS AND A WEDDING <br><br> <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II.
+        </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;FOR WILLIAM&mdash;A HOME <br><br> <a
+        href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;BILLY SPEAKS HER MIND
+        <br><br> <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;"JUST
+        LIKE BILLY&rdquo; <br><br> <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;TIGER
+        SKINS <br><br> <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;"THE
+        PAINTING LOOK&rdquo; <br><br> <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE
+        BIG BAD QUARREL <br><br> <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;BILLY
+        CULTIVATES A &ldquo;COMFORTABLE INDIFFERENCE&rdquo; <br><br> <a
+        href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE DINNER BILLY TRIED
+        TO GET <br><br> <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE
+        DINNER BILLY GOT <br><br> <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;CALDERWELL
+        DOES SOME QUESTIONING <br><br> <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII.
+        </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;FOR BILLY&mdash;SOME ADVICE <br><br> <a
+        href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;PETE <br><br> <a
+        href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;WHEN BERTRAM CAME
+        HOME <br><br> <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;AFTER
+        THE STORM <br><br> <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;INTO
+        TRAINING FOR MARY ELLEN <br><br> <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER
+        XVII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE EFFICIENCY STAR&mdash;AND BILLY <br><br> <a
+        href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;BILLY TRIES HER
+        HAND AT &ldquo;MANAGING&rdquo; <br><br> <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;A
+        TOUGH NUT TO CRACK FOR CYRIL <br><br> <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER
+        XX. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;ARKWRIGHT'S EYES ARE OPENED <br><br> <a
+        href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XXI. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;BILLY TAKES HER TURN
+        AT QUESTIONING <br><br> <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER XXII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;A
+        DOT AND A DIMPLE <br><br> <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XXIII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;BILLY
+        AND THE ENORMOUS RESPONSIBILITY <br><br> <a href="#link2HCH0024">
+        CHAPTER XXIV. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;A NIGHT OFF <br><br> <a
+        href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER XXV. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;"SHOULD AULD
+        ACQUAINTANCE BE FORGOT&rdquo; <br><br> <a href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER
+        XXVI. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;GHOSTS THAT WALKED FOR BERTRAM <br><br> <a
+        href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER XXVII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE MOTHER&mdash;THE
+        WIFE <br><br> <a href="#link2HCH0028"> CHAPTER XXVIII. &nbsp;&nbsp;</a>&nbsp;&nbsp;CONSPIRATORS
+        <br><br> <a href="#link2HCH0029"> CHAPTER XXIX. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;CHESS
+        <br><br> <a href="#link2HCH0030"> CHAPTER XXX. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;BY A
+        BABY'S HAND <br><br>
+      </p>
+    </blockquote>
+    <p>
+      <br> <br>
+    </p>
+    <hr>
+    <p>
+      <br> <br> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="big">
+      MISS BILLY&mdash;MARRIED
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br><br><br><br>
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER I. SOME OPINIONS AND A WEDDING
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I, Bertram, take thee, Billy,&rdquo; chanted the white-robed clergyman.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'I, Bertram, take thee, Billy,'&rdquo; echoed the tall young bridegroom, his
+      eyes gravely tender.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To my wedded wife.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'To my wedded wife.'&rdquo; The bridegroom's voice shook a little.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To have and to hold from this day forward.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'To have and to hold from this day forward.'&rdquo; Now the young voice rang
+      with triumph. It had grown strong and steady.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;For better for worse.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'For better for worse.'&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;For richer for poorer,&rdquo; droned the clergyman, with the weariness of
+      uncounted repetitions.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'For richer for poorer,'&rdquo; avowed the bridegroom, with the decisive
+      emphasis of one to whom the words are new and significant.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In sickness and in health.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'In sickness and in health.'&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To love and to cherish.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'To love and to cherish.'&rdquo; The younger voice carried infinite tenderness
+      now.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Till death us do part.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Till death us do part,'&rdquo; repeated the bridegroom's lips; but everybody
+      knew that what his heart said was: &ldquo;Now, and through all eternity.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;According to God's holy ordinance.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'According to God's holy ordinance.'&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And thereto I plight thee my troth.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'And thereto I plight thee my troth.'&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a faint stir in the room. In one corner a white-haired woman
+      blinked tear-wet eyes and pulled a fleecy white shawl more closely about
+      her shoulders. Then the minister's voice sounded again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I, Billy, take thee, Bertram.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'I, Billy, take thee, Bertram.'&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This time the echoing voice was a feminine one, low and sweet, but clearly
+      distinct, and vibrant with joyous confidence, on through one after another
+      of the ever familiar, but ever impressive phrases of the service that
+      gives into the hands of one man and of one woman the future happiness,
+      each of the other.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The wedding was at noon. That evening Mrs. Kate Hartwell, sister of the
+      bridegroom, wrote the following letter:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      BOSTON, July 15th.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;MY DEAR HUSBAND:&mdash;Well, it's all over with, and they're married. I
+      couldn't do one thing to prevent it. Much as ever as they would even
+      listen to what I had to say&mdash;and when they knew how I had hurried
+      East to say it, too, with only two hours' notice!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But then, what can you expect? From time immemorial lovers never did have
+      any sense; and when those lovers are such irresponsible flutterbudgets as
+      Billy and Bertram&mdash;!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And such a wedding! I couldn't do anything with <i>that</i>, either,
+      though I tried hard. They had it in Billy's living-room at noon, with
+      nothing but the sun for light. There was no maid of honor, no bridesmaids,
+      no wedding cake, no wedding veil, no presents (except from the family, and
+      from that ridiculous Chinese cook of brother William's, Ding Dong, or
+      whatever his name is. He tore in just before the wedding ceremony, and
+      insisted upon seeing Billy to give her a wretched little green stone idol,
+      which he declared would bring her 'heap plenty velly good luckee' if she
+      received it before she 'got married.' I wouldn't have the hideous,
+      grinning thing around, but William says it's real jade, and very valuable,
+      and of course Billy was crazy over it&mdash;or pretended to be). There was
+      no trousseau, either, and no reception. There was no anything but the
+      bridegroom; and when I tell you that Billy actually declared that was all
+      she wanted, you will understand how absurdly in love she is&mdash;in spite
+      of all those weeks and weeks of broken engagement when I, at least,
+      supposed she had come to her senses, until I got that crazy note from
+      Bertram a week ago saying they were to be married today.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can't say that I've got any really satisfactory explanation of the
+      matter. Everything has been in such a hubbub, and those two ridiculous
+      children have been so afraid they wouldn't be together every minute
+      possible, that any really rational conversation with either of them was
+      out of the question. When Billy broke the engagement last spring none of
+      us knew why she had done it, as you know; and I fancy we shall be almost
+      as much in the dark as to why she has&mdash;er&mdash;mended it now, as you
+      might say. As near as I can make out, however, she thought he didn't want
+      her, and he thought she didn't want him. I believe matters were still
+      further complicated by a girl Bertram was painting, and a young fellow
+      that used to sing with Billy&mdash;a Mr. Arkwright.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Anyhow, things came to a head last spring, Billy broke the engagement and
+      fled to parts unknown with Aunt Hannah, leaving Bertram here in Boston to
+      alternate between stony despair and reckless gayety, according to William;
+      and it was while he was in the latter mood that he had that awful
+      automobile accident and broke his arm&mdash;and almost his neck. He was
+      wildly delirious, and called continually for Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, it seems Billy didn't know all this; but a week ago she came home,
+      and in some way found out about it, I think through Pete&mdash;William's
+      old butler, you know. Just exactly what happened I can't say, but I do
+      know that she dragged poor old Aunt Hannah down to Bertram's at some
+      unearthly hour, and in the rain; and Aunt Hannah couldn't do a thing with
+      her. All Billy would say, was, 'Bertram wants me.' And Aunt Hannah told me
+      that if I could have seen Billy's face I'd have known that she'd have gone
+      to Bertram then if he'd been at the top of the Himalaya Mountains, or at
+      the bottom of the China Sea. So perhaps it's just as well&mdash;for Aunt
+      Hannah's sake, at least&mdash;that he was in no worse place than on his
+      own couch at home. Anyhow, she went, and in half an hour they blandly
+      informed Aunt Hannah that they were going to be married to-day.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aunt Hannah said she tried to stop that, and get them to put it off till
+      October (the original date, you know), but Bertram was obdurate. And when
+      he declared he'd marry her the next day if it wasn't for the new license
+      law, Aunt Hannah said she gave up for fear he'd get a special
+      dispensation, or go to the Governor or the President, or do some other
+      dreadful thing. (What a funny old soul Aunt Hannah is!) Bertram told <i>me</i>
+      that he should never feel safe till Billy was really his; that she'd read
+      something, or hear something, or think something, or get a letter from me
+      (as if anything <i>I</i> could say would do any good-or harm!), and so
+      break the engagement again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, she's his now, so I suppose he's satisfied; though, for my part, I
+      haven't changed my mind at all. I still say that they are not one bit
+      suited to each other, and that matrimony will simply ruin his career.
+      Bertram never has loved and never will love any girl long&mdash;except to
+      paint. But if he simply <i>would</i> get married, why couldn't he have
+      taken a nice, sensible domestic girl that would have kept him fed and
+      mended?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not but that I'm very fond of Billy, as you know, dear; but imagine Billy
+      as a wife&mdash;worse yet, a mother! Billy's a dear girl, but she knows
+      about as much of real life and its problems as&mdash;as our little Kate. A
+      more impulsive, irresponsible, regardless-of-consequences young woman I
+      never saw. She can play divinely, and write delightful songs, I'll
+      acknowledge; but what is that when a man is hungry, or has lost a button?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy has had her own way, and had everything she wanted for years now&mdash;a
+      rather dangerous preparation for marriage, especially marriage to a fellow
+      like Bertram who has had <i>his</i> own way and everything <i>he's</i>
+      wanted for years. Pray, what's going to happen when those ways conflict,
+      and neither one gets the thing wanted?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And think of her ignorance of cooking&mdash;but, there! What's the use?
+      They're married now, and it can't be helped.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mercy, what a letter I've written! But I, had to talk to some one;
+      besides, I'd promised I to let you know how matters stood as soon as I
+      could. As you see, though, my trip East has been practically useless. I
+      saw the wedding, to be sure, but I didn't prevent it, or even postpone it&mdash;though
+      I meant to do one or the other, else I should never have made that
+      tiresome journey half across the continent at two hours' notice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;However, we shall see what we shall see. As for me, I'm dead tired. Good
+      night.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Affectionately yours,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;KATE.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Quite naturally, Mrs. Kate Hartwell was not the only one who was thinking
+      that evening of the wedding. In the home of Bertram's brother Cyril, Cyril
+      himself was at the piano, but where his thoughts were was plain to be seen&mdash;or
+      rather, heard; for from under his fingers there came the Lohengrin wedding
+      march until all the room seemed filled with the scent of orange blossoms,
+      the mistiness of floating veils, and the echoing peals of far-away organs
+      heralding the &ldquo;Fair Bride and Groom.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Over by the table in the glowing circle of the shaded lamp, sat Marie,
+      Cyril's wife, a dainty sewing-basket by her side. Her hands, however, lay
+      idly across the stocking in her lap.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As the music ceased, she drew a long sigh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What a perfectly beautiful wedding that was! she breathed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Cyril whirled about on the piano stool.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It was a very sensible wedding,&rdquo; he said with emphasis.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They looked so happy&mdash;both of them,&rdquo; went on Marie, dreamily; &ldquo;so&mdash;so
+      sort of above and beyond everything about them, as if nothing ever, ever
+      could trouble them&mdash;<i>now</i>.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Cyril lifted his eyebrows.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph! Well, as I said before, it was a very <i>sensible</i> wedding,&rdquo; he
+      declared.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This time Marie noticed the emphasis. She laughed, though her eyes looked
+      a little troubled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know, dear, of course, what you mean. <i>I</i> thought our wedding was
+      beautiful; but I would have made it simpler if I'd realized in time how
+      you&mdash;you&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How I abhorred pink teas and purple pageants,&rdquo; he finished for her, with
+      a frowning smile. &ldquo;Oh, well, I stood it&mdash;for the sake of what it
+      brought me.&rdquo; His face showed now only the smile; the frown had vanished.
+      For a man known for years to his friends as a &ldquo;hater of women and all
+      other confusion,&rdquo; Cyril Henshaw was looking remarkably well-pleased with
+      himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His wife of less than a year colored as she met his gaze. Hurriedly she
+      picked up her needle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The man laughed happily at her confusion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What are you doing? Is that my stocking?&rdquo; he demanded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A look, half pain, half reproach, crossed her face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Cyril, of course not! You&mdash;you told me not to, long ago. You
+      said my darns made&mdash;bunches.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ho! I meant I didn't want to <i>wear</i> them,&rdquo; retorted the man, upon
+      whom the tragic wretchedness of that half-sobbed &ldquo;bunches&rdquo; had been quite
+      lost. &ldquo;I love to see you <i>mending</i> them,&rdquo; he finished, with an
+      approving glance at the pretty little picture of domesticity before him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A peculiar expression came to Marie's eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Cyril, you mean you <i>like</i> to have me mend them just for&mdash;for
+      the sake of seeing me do it, when you <i>know</i> you won't ever wear
+      them?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sure!&rdquo; nodded the man, imperturbably. Then, with a sudden laugh, he
+      asked: &ldquo;I wonder now, does Billy love to mend socks?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Marie smiled, but she sighed, too, and shook her head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm afraid not, Cyril.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nor cook?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Marie laughed outright this time. The vaguely troubled look had fled from
+      her eyes
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Billy's helped me beat eggs and butter sometimes, but I never knew
+      her to cook a thing or want to cook a thing, but once; then she spent
+      nearly two weeks trying to learn to make puddings&mdash;for you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;For <i>me!</i>&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Marie puckered her lips queerly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I supposed they were for you at the time. At all events she was
+      trying to make them for some one of you boys; probably it was really for
+      Bertram, though.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph!&rdquo; grunted Cyril. Then, after a minute, he observed: &ldquo;I judge Kate
+      thinks Billy'll never make them&mdash;for anybody. I'm afraid Sister Kate
+      isn't pleased.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, but Mrs. Hartwell was&mdash;was disappointed in the wedding,&rdquo;
+       apologized Marie, quickly. &ldquo;You know she wanted it put off anyway, and she
+      didn't like such a simple one.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hm-m; as usual Sister Kate forgot it wasn't her funeral&mdash;I mean, her
+      wedding,&rdquo; retorted Cyril, dryly. &ldquo;Kate is never happy, you know, unless
+      she's managing things.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I know,&rdquo; nodded Marie, with a frowning smile of recollection at
+      certain features of her own wedding.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She doesn't approve of Billy's taste in guests, either,&rdquo; remarked Cyril,
+      after a moment's silence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I thought her guests were lovely,&rdquo; spoke up Marie, in quick defense. &ldquo;Of
+      course, most of her social friends are away&mdash;in July; but Billy is
+      never a society girl, you know, in spite of the way Society is always
+      trying to lionize her and Bertram.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, of course Kate knows that; but she says it seems as if Billy needn't
+      have gone out and gathered in the lame and the halt and the blind.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense!&rdquo; cried Marie, with unusual sharpness for her. &ldquo;I suppose she
+      said that just because of Mrs. Greggory's and Tommy Dunn's crutches.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, they didn't make a real festive-looking wedding party, you must
+      admit,&rdquo; laughed Cyril; &ldquo;what with the bridegroom's own arm in a sling,
+      too! But who were they all, anyway?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, you knew Mrs. Greggory and Alice, of course&mdash;and Pete,&rdquo; smiled
+      Marie. &ldquo;And wasn't Pete happy? Billy says she'd have had Pete if she had
+      no one else; that there wouldn't have been any wedding, anyway, if it
+      hadn't been for his telephoning Aunt Hannah that night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes; Will told me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As for Tommy and the others&mdash;most of them were those people that
+      Billy had at her home last summer for a two weeks' vacation&mdash;people,
+      you know, too poor to give themselves one, and too proud to accept one
+      from ordinary charity. Billy's been following them up and doing little
+      things for them ever since&mdash;sugarplums and frosting on their cake,
+      she calls it; and they adore her, of course. I think it was lovely of her
+      to have them, and they did have such a good time! You should have seen
+      Tommy when you played that wedding march for Billy to enter the room. His
+      poor little face was so transfigured with joy that I almost cried, just to
+      look at him. Billy says he loves music&mdash;poor little fellow!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I hope they'll be happy, in spite of Kate's doleful prophecies.
+      Certainly they looked happy enough to-day,&rdquo; declared Cyril, patting a yawn
+      as he rose to his feet. &ldquo;I fancy Will and Aunt Hannah are lonesome,
+      though, about now,&rdquo; he added.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; smiled Marie, mistily, as she gathered up her work. &ldquo;I know what
+      Aunt Hannah's doing. She's helping Rosa put the house to rights, and she's
+      stopping to cry over every slipper and handkerchief of Billy's she finds.
+      And she'll do that until that funny clock of hers strikes twelve, then
+      she'll say 'Oh, my grief and conscience&mdash;midnight!' But the next
+      minute she'll remember that it's only half-past eleven, after all, and
+      she'll send Rosa to bed and sit patting Billy's slipper in her lap till it
+      really is midnight by all the other clocks.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Cyril laughed appreciatively.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I know what Will is doing,&rdquo; he declared.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Will is in Bertram's den dozing before the fireplace with Spunkie curled
+      up in his lap.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      As it happened, both these surmises were not far from right. In the
+      Strata, the Henshaws' old Beacon Street home, William was sitting before
+      the fireplace with the cat in his lap, but he was not dozing. He was
+      talking.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Spunkie,&rdquo; he was saying, &ldquo;your master, Bertram, got married to-day&mdash;and
+      to Miss Billy. He'll be bringing her home one of these days&mdash;your new
+      mistress. And such a mistress! Never did cat or house have a better!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Just think; for the first time in years this old place is to know the
+      touch of a woman's hand&mdash;and that's what it hasn't known for almost
+      twenty years, except for those few short months six years ago when a
+      dark-eyed girl and a little gray kitten (that was Spunk, your predecessor,
+      you know) blew in and blew out again before we scarcely knew they were
+      here. That girl was Miss Billy, and she was a dear then, just as she is
+      now, only now she's coming here to stay. She's coming home, Spunkie; and
+      she'll make it a home for you, for me, and for all of us. Up to now, you
+      know, it hasn't really been a home, for years&mdash;just us men, so. It'll
+      be very different, Spunkie, as you'll soon find out. Now mind, madam! We
+      must show that we appreciate all this: no tempers, no tantrums, no showing
+      of claws, no leaving our coats&mdash;either yours or mine&mdash;on the
+      drawing-room chairs, no tracking in of mud on clean rugs and floors! For
+      we're going to have a home, Spunkie&mdash;a home!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At Hillside, Aunt Hannah was, indeed, helping Rosa to put the house to
+      rights, as Marie had said. She was crying, too, over a glove she had found
+      on Billy's piano; but she was crying over something else, also. Not only
+      had she lost Billy, but she had lost her home.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To be sure, nothing had been said during that nightmare of a week of hurry
+      and confusion about Aunt Hannah's future; but Aunt Hannah knew very well
+      how it must be. This dear little house on the side of Corey Hill was
+      Billy's home, and Billy would not need it any longer. It would be sold, of
+      course; and she, Aunt Hannah, would go back to a &ldquo;second-story front&rdquo; and
+      loneliness in some Back Bay boarding-house; and a second story front and
+      loneliness would not be easy now, after these years of home&mdash;and
+      Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      No wonder, indeed, that Aunt Hannah sat crying and patting the little
+      white glove in her hand. No wonder, too, that&mdash;being Aunt Hannah&mdash;she
+      reached for the shawl near by and put it on, shiveringly. Even July,
+      to-night, was cold&mdash;to Aunt Hannah.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In yet another home that evening was the wedding of Billy Neilson and
+      Bertram Henshaw uppermost in thought and speech. In a certain little
+      South-End flat where, in two rented rooms, lived Alice Greggory and her
+      crippled mother, Alice was talking to Mr. M. J. Arkwright, commonly known
+      to his friends as &ldquo;Mary Jane,&rdquo; owing to the mystery in which he had for so
+      long shrouded his name.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright to-night was plainly moody and ill at ease.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You're not listening. You're not listening at all,&rdquo; complained Alice
+      Greggory at last, reproachfully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With a visible effort the man roused himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Indeed I am,&rdquo; he maintained.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I thought you'd be interested in the wedding. You used to be friends&mdash;you
+      and Billy.&rdquo; The girl's voice still vibrated with reproach.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a moment's silence; then, a little harshly, the man said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps&mdash;because I wanted to be more than&mdash;a friend&mdash;is
+      why you're not satisfied with my interest now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A look that was almost terror came to Alice Greggory's eyes. She flushed
+      painfully, then grew very white.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You mean&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he nodded dully, without looking up. &ldquo;I cared too much for her. I
+      supposed Henshaw was just a friend&mdash;till too late.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a breathless hush before, a little unsteadily, the girl
+      stammered:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I'm so sorry&mdash;so very sorry! I&mdash;I didn't know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, of course you didn't. I've almost told you, though, lots of times;
+      you've been so good to me all these weeks.&rdquo; He raised his head now, and
+      looked at her, frank comradeship in his eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The girl stirred restlessly. Her eyes swerved a little under his level
+      gaze.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, but I've done nothing&mdash;n-nothing,&rdquo; she stammered. Then, at the
+      light tap of crutches on a bare floor she turned in obvious relief. &ldquo;Oh,
+      here's mother. She's been in visiting with Mrs. Delano, our landlady.
+      Mother, Mr. Arkwright is here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Meanwhile, speeding north as fast as steam could carry them, were the
+      bride and groom. The wondrousness of the first hour of their journey side
+      by side had become a joyous certitude that always it was to be like this
+      now.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bertram,&rdquo; began the bride, after a long minute of eloquent silence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, love.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You know our wedding was very different from most weddings.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course it was!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, but <i>really</i> it was. Now listen.&rdquo; The bride's voice grew
+      tenderly earnest. &ldquo;I think our marriage is going to be different, too.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Different?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo; Billy's tone was emphatic. &ldquo;There are so many common, everyday
+      marriages where&mdash;where&mdash;Why, Bertram, as if you could ever be to
+      me like&mdash;like Mr. Carleton is, for instance!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Like Mr. Carleton is&mdash;to you?&rdquo; Bertram's voice was frankly puzzled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, no! As Mr. Carleton is to Mrs. Carleton, I mean.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; Bertram subsided in relief.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And the Grahams and Whartons, and the Freddie Agnews, and&mdash;and a lot
+      of others. Why, Bertram, I've seen the Grahams and the Whartons not even
+      speak to each other a whole evening, when they've been at a dinner, or
+      something; and I've seen Mrs. Carleton not even seem to know her husband
+      came into the room. I don't mean quarrel, dear. Of course we'd never <i>quarrel!</i>
+      But I mean I'm sure we shall never get used to&mdash;to you being you, and
+      I being I.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Indeed we sha'n't,&rdquo; agreed Bertram, rapturously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ours is going to be such a beautiful marriage!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course it will be.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And we'll be so happy!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I shall be, and I shall try to make you so.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As if I could be anything else,&rdquo; sighed Billy, blissfully. &ldquo;And now we <i>can't</i>
+      have any misunderstandings, you see.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course not. Er&mdash;what's that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, I mean that&mdash;that we can't ever repeat hose miserable weeks of
+      misunderstanding. Everything is all explained up. I <i>know</i>, now, that
+      you don't love Miss Winthrop, or just girls&mdash;any girl&mdash;to paint.
+      You love me. Not the tilt of my chin, nor the turn of my head; but <i>me</i>.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I do&mdash;just you.&rdquo; Bertram's eyes gave the caress his lips would have
+      given had it not been for the presence of the man in the seat across the
+      aisle of the sleeping-car.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And you&mdash;you know now that I love you&mdash;just you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not even Arkwright?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not even Arkwright,&rdquo; smiled Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was the briefest of hesitations; then, a little constrainedly,
+      Bertram asked:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And you said you&mdash;you never <i>had</i> cared for Arkwright, didn't
+      you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      For the second time in her life Billy was thankful that Bertram's question
+      had turned upon <i>her</i> love for Arkwright, not Arkwright's love for
+      her. In Billy's opinion, a man's unrequited love for a girl was his
+      secret, not hers, and was certainly one that the girl had no right to
+      tell. Once before Bertram had asked her if she had ever cared for
+      Arkwright, and then she had answered emphatically, as she did now:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never, dear.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I thought you said so,&rdquo; murmured Bertram, relaxing a little.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I did; besides, didn't I tell you?&rdquo; she went on airily, &ldquo;I think he'll
+      marry Alice Greggory. Alice wrote me all the time I was away, and&mdash;oh,
+      she didn't say anything definite, I'll admit,&rdquo; confessed Billy, with an
+      arch smile; &ldquo;but she spoke of his being there lots, and they used to know
+      each other years ago, you see. There was almost a romance there, I think,
+      before the Greggorys lost their money and moved away from all their
+      friends.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, he may have her. She's a nice girl&mdash;a mighty nice girl,&rdquo;
+       answered Bertram, with the unmistakably satisfied air of the man who knows
+      he himself possesses the nicest girl of them all.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy, reading unerringly the triumph in his voice, grew suddenly grave.
+      She regarded her husband with a thoughtful frown; then she drew a profound
+      sigh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Whew!&rdquo; laughed Bertram, whimsically. &ldquo;So soon as this?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bertram!&rdquo; Billy's voice was tragic.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, my love.&rdquo; The bridegroom pulled his face into sobriety; then Billy
+      spoke, with solemn impressiveness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bertram, I don't know a thing about&mdash;cooking&mdash;except what I've
+      been learning in Rosa's cook-book this last week.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram laughed so loud that the man across the aisle glanced over the top
+      of his paper surreptitiously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Rosa's cook-book! Is that what you were doing all this week?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes; that is&mdash;I tried so hard to learn something,&rdquo; stammered Billy.
+      &ldquo;But I'm afraid I didn't&mdash;much; there were so many things for me to
+      think of, you know, with only a week. I believe I <i>could</i> make peach
+      fritters, though. They were the last thing I studied.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram laughed again, uproariously; but, at Billy's unchangingly tragic
+      face, he grew suddenly very grave and tender.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, dear, I didn't marry you to&mdash;to get a cook,&rdquo; he said gently.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy shook her head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know; but Aunt Hannah said that even if I never expected to cook,
+      myself, I ought to know how it was done, so to properly oversee it. She
+      said that&mdash;that no woman, who didn't know how to cook and keep house
+      properly, had any business to be a wife. And, Bertram, I did try,
+      honestly, all this week. I tried so hard to remember when you sponged
+      bread and when you kneaded it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't ever need&mdash;<i>yours</i>,&rdquo; cut in Bertram, shamelessly; but
+      he got only a deservedly stern glance in return.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And I repeated over and over again how many cupfuls of flour and pinches
+      of salt and spoonfuls of baking-powder went into things; but, Bertram, I
+      simply could not keep my mind on it. Everything, everywhere was singing to
+      me. And how do you suppose I could remember how many pinches of flour and
+      spoonfuls of salt and cupfuls of baking-powder went into a loaf of cake
+      when all the while the very teakettle on the stove was singing: 'It's all
+      right&mdash;Bertram loves me&mdash;I'm going to marry Bertram!'?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You darling!&rdquo; (In spite of the man across the aisle Bertram did almost
+      kiss her this time.) &ldquo;As if anybody cared how many cupfuls of
+      baking-powder went anywhere&mdash;with that in your heart!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aunt Hannah says you will&mdash;when you're hungry. And Kate said&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram uttered a sharp word behind his teeth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, for heaven's sake don't tell me what Kate said, if you want me to
+      stay sane, and not attempt to fight somebody&mdash;broken arm, and all.
+      Kate <i>thinks</i> she's kind, and I suppose she means well; but&mdash;well,
+      she's made trouble enough between us already. I've got you now,
+      sweetheart. You're mine&mdash;all mine&mdash;&rdquo; his voice shook, and
+      dropped to a tender whisper&mdash;&ldquo;'till death us do part.'&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes; 'till death us do part,'&rdquo; breathed Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And then, for a time, they fell silent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'I, Bertram, take thee, Billy,'&rdquo; sang the whirring wheels beneath them,
+      to one.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'I, Billy, take thee, Bertram,'&rdquo; sang the whirring wheels beneath them,
+      to the other. While straight ahead before them both, stretched fair and
+      beautiful in their eyes, the wondrous path of life which they were to
+      tread together.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br><br><br><br>
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER II. FOR WILLIAM&mdash;A HOME
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      On the first Sunday after the wedding Pete came up-stairs to tell his
+      master, William, that Mrs. Stetson wanted to see him in the drawing-room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      William went down at once.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, Aunt Hannah,&rdquo; he began, reaching out a cordial hand. &ldquo;Why, what's
+      the matter?&rdquo; he broke off concernedly, as he caught a clearer view of the
+      little old lady's drawn face and troubled eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;William, it's silly, of course,&rdquo; cried Aunt Hannah, tremulously, &ldquo;but I
+      simply had to go to some one. I&mdash;I feel so nervous and unsettled! Did&mdash;did
+      Billy say anything to you&mdash;what she was going to do?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What she was going to do? About what? What do you mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;About the house&mdash;selling it,&rdquo; faltered Aunt Hannah, sinking wearily
+      back into her chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      William frowned thoughtfully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, no,&rdquo; he answered. &ldquo;It was all so hurried at the last, you know.
+      There was really very little chance to make plans for anything&mdash;except
+      the wedding,&rdquo; he finished, with a smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I know,&rdquo; sighed Aunt Hannah. &ldquo;Everything was in such confusion!
+      Still, I didn't know but she might have said something&mdash;to you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, she didn't. But I imagine it won't be hard to guess what she'll do.
+      When they get back from their trip I fancy she won't lose much time in
+      having what things she wants brought down here. Then she'll sell the rest
+      and put the house on the market.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, of&mdash;of course,&rdquo; stammered Aunt Hannah, pulling herself hastily
+      to a more erect position. &ldquo;That's what I thought, too. Then don't you
+      think we'd better dismiss Rosa and close the house at once?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why&mdash;yes, perhaps so. Why not? Then you'd be all settled here when
+      she comes home. I'm sure, the sooner you come, the better I'll be
+      pleased,&rdquo; he smiled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah turned sharply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here!&rdquo; she ejaculated. &ldquo;William Henshaw, you didn't suppose I was coming
+      <i>here</i> to live, did you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was William's turn to look amazed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, of course you're coming here! Where else should you go, pray?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where I was before&mdash;before Billy came&mdash;to you,&rdquo; returned Aunt
+      Hannah a little tremulously, but with a certain dignity. &ldquo;I shall take a
+      room in some quiet boarding-house, of course.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense, Aunt Hannah! As if Billy would listen to that! You came before;
+      why not come now?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah lifted her chin the fraction of an inch.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You forget. I was needed before. Billy is a married woman now. She needs
+      no chaperon.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense!&rdquo; scowled William, again. &ldquo;Billy will always need you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah shook her head mournfully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I like to think&mdash;she wants me, William, but I know, in my heart, it
+      isn't best.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why not?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a moment's pause; then, decisively came the answer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because I think young married folks should not have outsiders in the
+      home.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      William laughed relievedly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, so that's it! Well, Aunt Hannah, you're no outsider. Come, run right
+      along home and pack your trunk.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah was plainly almost crying; but she held her ground.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;William, I can't,&rdquo; she reiterated.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But&mdash;Billy is such a child, and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      For once in her circumspect life Aunt Hannah was guilty of an
+      interruption.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pardon me, William, she is not a child. She is a woman now, and she has a
+      woman's problems to meet.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, then, why don't you help her meet them?&rdquo; retorted William, still
+      with a whimsical smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But Aunt Hannah did not smile. For a minute she did not speak; then, with
+      her eyes studiously averted, she said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;William, the first four years of my married life were&mdash;were spoiled
+      by an outsider in our home. I don't mean to spoil Billy's.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      William relaxed visibly. The smile fled from his face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why&mdash;Aunt&mdash;Hannah!&rdquo; he exclaimed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little old lady turned with a weary sigh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I know. You are shocked, of course. I shouldn't have told you.
+      Still, it is all past long ago, and&mdash;I wanted to make you understand
+      why I can't come. He was my husband's eldest brother&mdash;a bachelor. He
+      was good and kind, and meant well, I suppose; but&mdash;he interfered with
+      everything. I was young, and probably headstrong. At all events, there was
+      constant friction. He went away once and stayed two whole months. I shall
+      never forget the utter freedom and happiness of those months for us, with
+      the whole house to ourselves. No, William, I can't come.&rdquo; She rose
+      abruptly and turned toward the door. Her eyes were wistful, and her face
+      was still drawn with suffering; but her whole frail little self quivered
+      plainly with high resolve. &ldquo;John has Peggy outside. I must go.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But&mdash;but, Aunt Hannah,&rdquo; began William, helplessly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She lifted a protesting hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, don't urge me, please. I can't come here. But&mdash;I believe I won't
+      close the house till Billy gets home, after all,&rdquo; she declared. The next
+      moment she was gone, and William, dazedly, from the doorway, was watching
+      John help her into Billy's automobile, called by Billy and half her
+      friends, &ldquo;Peggy,&rdquo; short for &ldquo;Pegasus.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Still dazedly William turned back into the house and dropped himself into
+      the nearest chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What a curious call it had been! Aunt Hannah had not acted like herself at
+      all. Not once had she said &ldquo;Oh, my grief and conscience!&rdquo; while the things
+      she <i>had</i> said&mdash;! Someway, he had never thought of Aunt Hannah
+      as being young, and a bride. Still, of course she must have been&mdash;once.
+      And the reason she gave for not coming there to live&mdash;the pitiful
+      story of that outsider in her home! But she was no outsider! She was no
+      interfering brother of Billy's&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      William caught his breath suddenly, and held it suspended. Then he gave a
+      low ejaculation and half sprang from his chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Spunkie, disturbed from her doze by the fire, uttered a purring &ldquo;me-o-ow,&rdquo;
+       and looked up inquiringly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For a long minute William gazed dumbly into the cat's yellow, sleepily
+      contented eyes; then he said with tragic distinctness:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Spunkie, it's true: Aunt Hannah isn't Billy's husband's brother, but&mdash;I
+      am! Do you hear? I <i>am!</i>&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pur-r-me-ow!&rdquo; commented Spunkie; and curled herself for another nap.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was no peace for William after that. In vain he told himself that he
+      was no &ldquo;interfering&rdquo; brother, and that this was his home and had been all
+      his life; in vain did he declare emphatically that he could not go, he
+      would not go; that Billy would not wish him to go: always before his eyes
+      was the vision of that little bride of years long gone; always in his ears
+      was the echo of Aunt Hannah's &ldquo;I shall never forget the utter freedom and
+      happiness of those months for us, with the whole house to ourselves.&rdquo; Nor,
+      turn which way he would, could he find anything to comfort him. Simply
+      because he was so fearfully looking for it, he found it&mdash;the thing
+      that had for its theme the wretchedness that might be expected from the
+      presence of a third person in the new home.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Poor William! Everywhere he met it&mdash;the hint, the word, the story,
+      the song, even; and always it added its mite to the woeful whole. Even the
+      hoariest of mother-in-law jokes had its sting for him; and, to make his
+      cup quite full, he chanced to remember one day what Marie had said when he
+      had suggested that she and Cyril come to the Strata to live: &ldquo;No; I think
+      young folks should begin by themselves.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Unhappy, indeed, were these days for William. Like a lost spirit he
+      wandered from room to room, touching this, fingering that. For long
+      minutes he would stand before some picture, or some treasured bit of old
+      mahogany, as if to stamp indelibly upon his mind a thing that was soon to
+      be no more. At other times, like a man without a home, he would go out
+      into the Common or the Public Garden and sit for hours on some bench&mdash;thinking.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All this could have but one ending, of course. Before the middle of August
+      William summoned Pete to his rooms.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Pete, I'm going to move next week,&rdquo; he began nonchalantly. His voice
+      sounded as if moving were a pleasurable circumstance that occurred in his
+      life regularly once a month. &ldquo;I'd like you to begin to pack up these
+      things, please, to-morrow.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The old servant's mouth fell open.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You're goin' to&mdash;to what, sir?&rdquo; he stammered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Move&mdash;<i>move</i>, I said.&rdquo; William spoke with unusual harshness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Pete wet his lips.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You mean you've sold the old place, sir?&mdash;that we&mdash;we ain't
+      goin' to live here no longer?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sold? Of course not! <i>I'm</i> going to move away; not you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      If Pete could have known what caused the sharpness in his master's voice,
+      he would not have been so grieved&mdash;or, rather, he would have been
+      grieved for a different reason. As it was he could only falter miserably:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;<i>You</i> are goin' to move away from here!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, yes, man! Why, Pete, what ails you? One would think a body never
+      moved before.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They didn't&mdash;not you, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      William turned abruptly, so that his face could not be seen. With stern
+      deliberation he picked up an elaborately decorated teapot; but the
+      valuable bit of Lowestoft shook so in his hand that he set it down at
+      once. It clicked sharply against its neighbor, betraying his nervous hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Pete stirred.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, Mr. William,&rdquo; he stammered thickly; &ldquo;how are you&mdash;what'll you
+      do without&mdash;There doesn't nobody but me know so well about your tea,
+      and the two lumps in your coffee; and there's your flannels that you never
+      put on till I get 'em out, and the woolen socks that you'd wear all summer
+      if I didn't hide 'em. And&mdash;and who's goin' to take care of these?&rdquo; he
+      finished, with a glance that encompassed the overflowing cabinets and
+      shelves of curios all about him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His master smiled sadly. An affection that had its inception in his
+      boyhood days shone in his eyes. The hand in which the Lowestoft had shaken
+      rested now heavily on an old man's bent shoulder&mdash;a shoulder that
+      straightened itself in unconscious loyalty under the touch.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pete, you have spoiled me, and no mistake. I don't expect to find another
+      like you. But maybe if I wear the woolen socks too late you'll come and
+      hunt up the others for me. Eh?&rdquo; And, with a smile that was meant to be
+      quizzical, William turned and began to shift the teapots about again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, Mr. William, why&mdash;that is, what will Mr. Bertram and Miss Billy
+      do&mdash;without you?&rdquo; ventured the old man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a sudden tinkling crash. On the floor lay the fragments of a
+      silver-luster teapot.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The servant exclaimed aloud in dismay, but his master did not even glance
+      toward his once treasured possession on the floor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense, Pete!&rdquo; he was saying in a particularly cheery voice. &ldquo;Have you
+      lived all these years and not found out that newly-married folks don't <i>need</i>
+      any one else around? Come, do you suppose we could begin to pack these
+      teapots to-night?&rdquo; he added, a little feverishly. &ldquo;Aren't there some boxes
+      down cellar?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll see, sir,&rdquo; said Pete, respectfully; but the expression on his face
+      as he turned away showed that he was not thinking of teapots&mdash;nor of
+      boxes in which to pack them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br><br><br><br>
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER III. BILLY SPEAKS HER MIND
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Mr. and Mrs. Bertram Henshaw were expected home the first of September. By
+      the thirty-first of August the old Beacon Street homestead facing the
+      Public Garden was in spick-and-span order, with Dong Ling in the basement
+      hovering over a well-stocked larder, and Pete searching the rest of the
+      house for a chair awry, or a bit of dust undiscovered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Twice before had the Strata&mdash;as Bertram long ago dubbed the home of
+      his boyhood&mdash;been prepared for the coming of Billy, William's
+      namesake: once, when it had been decorated with guns and fishing-rods to
+      welcome the &ldquo;boy&rdquo; who turned out to be a girl; and again when with pink
+      roses and sewing-baskets the three brothers got joyously ready for a
+      feminine Billy who did not even come at all.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The house had been very different then. It had been, indeed, a &ldquo;strata,&rdquo;
+       with its distinctive layers of fads and pursuits as represented by Bertram
+      and his painting on one floor, William and his curios on another, and
+      Cyril with his music on a third. Cyril was gone now. Only Pete and his
+      humble belongings occupied the top floor. The floor below, too, was silent
+      now, and almost empty save for a rug or two, and a few pieces of heavy
+      furniture that William had not cared to take with him to his new quarters
+      on top of Beacon Hill. Below this, however, came Billy's old rooms, and on
+      these Pete had lavished all his skill and devotion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Freshly laundered curtains were at the windows, dustless rugs were on the
+      floor. The old work-basket had been brought down from the top-floor
+      storeroom, and the long-closed piano stood invitingly open. In a
+      conspicuous place, also, sat the little green god, upon whose exquisitely
+      carved shoulders was supposed to rest the &ldquo;heap plenty velly good luckee&rdquo;
+       of Dong Ling's prophecy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the first floor Bertram's old rooms and the drawing-room came in for
+      their share of the general overhauling. Even Spunkie did not escape, but
+      had to submit to the ignominy of a bath. And then dawned fair and clear
+      the first day of September, bringing at five o'clock the bride and groom.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Respectfully lined up in the hall to meet them were Pete and Dong Ling:
+      Pete with his wrinkled old face alight with joy and excitement; Dong Ling
+      grinning and kotowing, and chanting in a high-pitched treble:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Billee, Miss Billee&mdash;plenty much welcome, Miss Billee!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, welcome home, Mrs. <i>Henshaw!</i>&rdquo; bowed Bertram, turning at the
+      door, with an elaborate flourish that did not in the least hide his tender
+      pride in his new wife.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed and colored a pretty pink.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you&mdash;all of you,&rdquo; she cried a little unsteadily. &ldquo;And how
+      good, good everything does look to me! Why, where's Uncle William?&rdquo; she
+      broke off, casting hurriedly anxious eyes about her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I should say so,&rdquo; echoed Bertram. &ldquo;Where is he, Pete? He isn't
+      sick, is he?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A quick change crossed the old servant's face. He shook his head dumbly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy gave a gleeful laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know&mdash;he's asleep!&rdquo; she caroled, skipping to the bottom of the
+      stairway and looking up.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ho, Uncle William! Better wake up, sir. The folks have come!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Pete cleared his throat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. William isn't here, Miss&mdash;ma'am,&rdquo; he corrected miserably.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy smiled, but she frowned, too.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not here! Well, I like that,&rdquo; she pouted; &ldquo;&mdash;and when I've brought
+      him the most beautiful pair of mirror knobs he ever saw, and all the way
+      in my bag, too, so I could give them to him the very first thing,&rdquo; she
+      added, darting over to the small bag she had brought in with her. &ldquo;I'm
+      glad I did, too, for our trunks didn't come,&rdquo; she continued laughingly.
+      &ldquo;Still, if he isn't here to receive them&mdash;There, Pete, aren't they
+      beautiful?&rdquo; she cried, carefully taking from their wrappings two
+      exquisitely decorated porcelain discs mounted on two long spikes. &ldquo;They're
+      Batterseas&mdash;the real article. I know enough for that; and they're
+      finer than anything he's got. Won't he be pleased?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, Miss&mdash;ma'am, I mean,&rdquo; stammered the old man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;These new titles come hard, don't they, Pete?&rdquo; laughed Bertram.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Pete smiled faintly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never mind, Pete,&rdquo; soothed his new mistress. &ldquo;You shall call me 'Miss
+      Billy' all your life if you want to. Bertram,&rdquo; she added, turning to her
+      husband, &ldquo;I'm going to just run up-stairs and put these in Uncle William's
+      rooms so they'll be there when he comes in. We'll see how soon he
+      discovers them!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Before Pete could stop her she was half-way up the first flight of stairs.
+      Even then he tried to speak to his young master, to explain that Mr.
+      William was not living there; but the words refused to come. He could only
+      stand dumbly waiting.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In a minute it came&mdash;Billy's sharp, startled cry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bertram! Bertram!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram sprang for the stairway, but he had not reached the top when he
+      met his wife coming down. She was white-faced and trembling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bertram&mdash;those rooms&mdash;there's not so much as a teapot there!
+      Uncle William's&mdash;gone!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Gone!&rdquo; Bertram wheeled sharply. &ldquo;Pete, what is the meaning of this? Where
+      is my brother?&rdquo; To hear him, one would think he suspected the old servant
+      of having hidden his master.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Pete lifted a shaking hand and fumbled with his collar.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He's moved, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Moved! Oh, you mean to other rooms&mdash;to Cyril's.&rdquo; Bertram relaxed
+      visibly. &ldquo;He's upstairs, maybe.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Pete shook his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, sir. He's moved away&mdash;out of the house, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      For a brief moment Bertram stared as if he could not believe what his ears
+      had heard. Then, step by step, he began to descend the stairs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you mean&mdash;to say&mdash;that my brother&mdash;has moved-gone away&mdash;<i>left</i>&mdash;his
+      <i>home?</i>&rdquo; he demanded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy gave a low cry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But why&mdash;why?&rdquo; she choked, almost stumbling headlong down the
+      stairway in her effort to reach the two men at the bottom. &ldquo;Pete, why did
+      he go?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was no answer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pete,&rdquo;&mdash;Bertram's voice was very sharp&mdash;&ldquo;what is the meaning of
+      this? Do you know why my brother left his home?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The old man wet his lips and swallowed chokingly, but he did not speak.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm waiting, Pete.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laid one hand on the old servant's arm&mdash;in the other hand she
+      still tightly clutched the mirror knobs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pete, if you do know, won't you tell us, please?&rdquo; she begged.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Pete looked down at the hand, then up at the troubled young face with the
+      beseeching eyes. His own features worked convulsively. With a visible
+      effort he cleared his throat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know&mdash;what he said,&rdquo; he stammered, his eyes averted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What was it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was no answer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Look here, Pete, you'll have to tell us, you know,&rdquo; cut in Bertram,
+      decisively, &ldquo;so you might as well do it now as ever.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Once more Pete cleared his throat. This time the words came in a burst of
+      desperation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, sir. I understand, sir. It was only that he said&mdash;he said as
+      how young folks didn't <i>need</i> any one else around. So he was goin'.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Didn't <i>need</i> any one else!&rdquo; exclaimed Bertram, plainly not
+      comprehending.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, sir. You two bein' married so, now.&rdquo; Pete's eyes were still averted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy gave a low cry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You mean&mdash;because <i>I</i> came?&rdquo; she demanded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, yes, Miss&mdash;no&mdash;that is&mdash;&rdquo; Pete stopped with an
+      appealing glance at Bertram.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then it was&mdash;it <i>was</i>&mdash;on account of <i>me</i>,&rdquo; choked
+      Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Pete looked still more distressed
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, no!&rdquo; he faltered. &ldquo;It was only that he thought you wouldn't want him
+      here now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Want him here!&rdquo; ejaculated Bertram.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Want him here!&rdquo; echoed Billy, with a sob.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pete, where is he?&rdquo; As she asked the question she dropped the mirror
+      knobs into her open bag, and reached for her coat and gloves&mdash;she had
+      not removed her hat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Pete gave the address.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's just down the street a bit and up the hill,&rdquo; he added excitedly,
+      divining her purpose. &ldquo;It's a sort of a boarding-house, I reckon.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A <i>boarding-house</i>&mdash;for Uncle William!&rdquo; scorned Billy, her eyes
+      ablaze. &ldquo;Come, Bertram, we'll see about that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram reached out a detaining hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, dearest, you're so tired,&rdquo; he demurred. &ldquo;Hadn't we better wait till
+      after dinner, or till to-morrow?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;After dinner! To-morrow!&rdquo; Billy's eyes blazed anew. &ldquo;Why, Bertram
+      Henshaw, do you think I'd leave that dear man even one minute longer, if I
+      could help it, with a notion in his blessed old head that we didn't <i>want</i>
+      him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you said a little while ago you had a headache, dear,&rdquo; still objected
+      Bertram. &ldquo;If you'd just eat your dinner!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dinner!&rdquo; choked Billy. &ldquo;I wonder if you think I could eat any dinner with
+      Uncle William turned out of his home! I'm going to find Uncle William.&rdquo;
+       And she stumbled blindly toward the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram reached for his hat. He threw a despairing glance into Pete's
+      eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We'll be back&mdash;when we can,&rdquo; he said, with a frown.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, sir,&rdquo; answered Pete, respectfully. Then, as if impelled by some
+      hidden force, he touched his master's arm. &ldquo;It was that way she looked,
+      sir, when she came to <i>you</i>&mdash;that night last July&mdash;with her
+      eyes all shining,&rdquo; he whispered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A tender smile curved Bertram's lips. The frown vanished from his face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bless you, Pete&mdash;and bless her, too!&rdquo; he whispered back. The next
+      moment he had hurried after his wife.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The house that bore the number Pete had given proved to have a pretentious
+      doorway, and a landlady who, in response to the summons of the neat maid,
+      appeared with a most impressive rustle of black silk and jet bugles.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      No, Mr. William Henshaw was not in his rooms. In fact, he was very seldom
+      there. His business, she believed, called him to State Street through the
+      day. Outside of that, she had been told, he spent much time sitting on a
+      bench in the Common. Doubtless, if they cared to search, they could find
+      him there now.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A bench in the Common, indeed!&rdquo; stormed Billy, as she and Bertram hurried
+      down the wide stone steps. &ldquo;Uncle William&mdash;on a bench!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But surely now, dear,&rdquo; ventured her husband, &ldquo;you'll come home and get
+      your dinner!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy turned indignantly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And leave Uncle William on a bench in the Common? Indeed, no! Why,
+      Bertram, you wouldn't, either,&rdquo; she cried, as she turned resolutely toward
+      one of the entrances to the Common.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And Bertram, with the &ldquo;eyes all shining&rdquo; still before him, could only
+      murmur: &ldquo;No, of course not, dear!&rdquo; and follow obediently where she led.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Under ordinary circumstances it would have been a delightful hour for a
+      walk. The sun had almost set, and the shadows lay long across the grass.
+      The air was cool and unusually bracing for a day so early in September.
+      But all this was lost on Bertram. Bertram did not wish to take a walk. He
+      was hungry. He wanted his dinner; and he wanted, too, his old home with
+      his new wife flitting about the rooms as he had pictured this first
+      evening together. He wanted William, of course. Certainly he wanted
+      William; but if William would insist on running away and sitting on park
+      benches in this ridiculous fashion, he ought to take the consequences&mdash;until
+      to-morrow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Five, ten, fifteen minutes passed. Up one path and down another trudged
+      the anxious-eyed Billy and her increasingly impatient husband. Then when
+      the fifteen weary minutes had become a still more weary half-hour, the
+      bonds Bertram had set on his temper snapped.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy,&rdquo; he remonstrated despairingly, &ldquo;do, please, come home! Don't you
+      see how highly improbable it is that we should happen on William if we
+      walked like this all night? He might move&mdash;change his seat&mdash;go
+      home, even. He probably has gone home. And surely never before did a bride
+      insist on spending the first evening after her return tramping up and down
+      a public park for hour after hour like this, looking for any man. <i>Won't</i>
+      you come home?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But Billy had not even heard. With a glad little cry she had darted to the
+      side of the humped-up figure of a man alone on a park bench just ahead of
+      them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Uncle William! Oh, Uncle William, how could you?&rdquo; she cried, dropping
+      herself on to one end of the seat and catching the man's arm in both her
+      hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, how could you?&rdquo; demanded Bertram, with just a touch of irritation,
+      dropping himself on to the other end of the seat, and catching the man's
+      other arm in his one usable hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The bent shoulders and bowed head straightened up with a jerk.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, well, bless my soul! If it isn't our little bride,&rdquo; cried Uncle
+      William, fondly. &ldquo;And the happy bridegroom, too. When did you get home?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We haven't got home,&rdquo; retorted Bertram, promptly, before his wife could
+      speak. &ldquo;Oh, we looked in at the door an hour or so back; but we didn't
+      stay. We've been hunting for you ever since.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense, children!&rdquo; Uncle William spoke with gay cheeriness; but he
+      refused to meet either Billy's or Bertram's eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Uncle William, how could you do it?&rdquo; reproached Billy, again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do what?&rdquo; Uncle William was plainly fencing for time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Leave the house like that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ho! I wanted a change.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As if we'd believe that!&rdquo; scoffed Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right; let's call it you've had the change, then,&rdquo; laughed Bertram,
+      &ldquo;and we'll send over for your things to-morrow. Come&mdash;now let's go
+      home to dinner.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      William shook his head. He essayed a gay smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, I've only just begun. I'm going to stay&mdash;oh, I don't know how
+      long I'm going to stay,&rdquo; he finished blithely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy lifted her chin a little.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Uncle William, you aren't playing square. Pete told us what you said when
+      you left.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh? What?&rdquo; William looked up with startled eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;About&mdash;about our not <i>needing</i> you. So we know, now, why you
+      left; and we <i>sha'n't stand</i> it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pete? That? Oh, that&mdash;that's nonsense I&mdash;I'll settle with
+      Pete.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed softly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Poor Pete! Don't. We simply dragged it out of him. And now we're here to
+      tell you that we <i>do</i> want you, and that you <i>must</i> come back.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Again William shook his head. A swift shadow crossed his face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you, no, children,&rdquo; he said dully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You're very kind, but you don't need me. I should be just an interfering
+      elder brother. I should spoil your young married life.&rdquo; (William's voice
+      now sounded as if he were reciting a well-learned lesson.) &ldquo;If I went away
+      and stayed two months, you'd never forget the utter freedom and joy of
+      those two whole months with the house all to yourselves.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Uncle William,&rdquo; gasped Billy, &ldquo;what <i>are</i> you talking about?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;About&mdash;about my not going back, of course.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you are coming back,&rdquo; cut in Bertram, almost angrily. &ldquo;Oh, come,
+      Will, this is utter nonsense, and you know it! Come, let's go home to
+      dinner.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A stern look came to the corners of William's mouth&mdash;a look that
+      Bertram understood well.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right, I'll go to dinner, of course; but I sha'n't stay,&rdquo; said
+      William, firmly. &ldquo;I've thought it all out. I know I'm right. Come, we'll
+      go to dinner now, and say no more about it,&rdquo; he finished with a cheery
+      smile, as he rose to his feet. Then, to the bride, he added: &ldquo;Did you have
+      a nice trip, little girl?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy, too, had risen, now, but she did not seem to have heard his
+      question. In the fast falling twilight her face looked a little white.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Uncle William,&rdquo; she began very quietly, &ldquo;do you think for a minute that
+      just because I married your brother I am going to live in that house and
+      turn you out of the home you've lived in all your life?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense, dear! I'm not turned out. I just go,&rdquo; corrected Uncle William,
+      gayly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With superb disdain Billy brushed this aside.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no, you won't,&rdquo; she declared; &ldquo;but&mdash;<i>I shall</i>.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy!&rdquo; gasped Bertram.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My&mdash;my dear!&rdquo; expostulated William, faintly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Uncle William! Bertram! Listen,&rdquo; panted Billy. &ldquo;I never told you much
+      before, but I'm going to, now. Long ago, when I went away with Aunt
+      Hannah, your sister Kate showed me how dear the old home was to you&mdash;how
+      much you thought of it. And she said&mdash;she said that I had upset
+      everything.&rdquo; (Bertram interjected a sharp word, but Billy paid no
+      attention.) &ldquo;That's why I went; and <i>I shall go again</i>&mdash;if you
+      don't come home to-morrow to stay, Uncle William. Come, now let's go to
+      dinner, please. Bertram's hungry,&rdquo; she finished, with a bright smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a tense moment of silence. William glanced at Bertram; Bertram
+      returned the glance&mdash;with interest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Er&mdash;ah&mdash;yes; well, we might go to dinner,&rdquo; stammered William,
+      after a minute.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Er&mdash;yes,&rdquo; agreed Bertram. And the three fell into step together.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br><br><br><br>
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER IV. &ldquo;JUST LIKE BILLY&rdquo;
+     </h2>
+    <p>
+      Billy did not leave the Strata this time. Before twenty-four hours had
+      passed, the last cherished fragment of Mr. William Henshaw's possessions
+      had been carefully carried down the imposing steps of the Beacon Hill
+      boarding-house under the disapproving eyes of its bugle-adorned mistress,
+      who found herself now with a month's advance rent and two vacant &ldquo;parlors&rdquo;
+       on her hands. Before another twenty-four hours had passed her quondam
+      boarder, with a tired sigh, sank into his favorite morris chair in his old
+      familiar rooms, and looked about him with contented eyes. Every treasure
+      was in place, from the traditional four small stones of his babyhood days
+      to the Batterseas Billy had just brought him. Pete, as of yore, was
+      hovering near with a dust-cloth. Bertram's gay whistle sounded from the
+      floor below. William Henshaw was at home again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This much accomplished, Billy went to see Aunt Hannah.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah greeted her affectionately, though with tearfully troubled
+      eyes. She was wearing a gray shawl to-day topped with a black one&mdash;sure
+      sign of unrest, either physical or mental, as all her friends knew.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'd begun to think you'd forgotten&mdash;me,&rdquo; she faltered, with a poor
+      attempt at gayety.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You've been home three whole days.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know, dearie,&rdquo; smiled Billy; &ldquo;and 'twas a shame. But I have been so
+      busy! My trunks came at last, and I've been helping Uncle William get
+      settled, too.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah looked puzzled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Uncle William get settled? You mean&mdash;he's changed his room?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed oddly, and threw a swift glance into Aunt Hannah's face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, yes, he did change,&rdquo; she murmured; &ldquo;but he's moved back now into
+      the old quarters. Er&mdash;you haven't heard from Uncle William then,
+      lately, I take it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo; Aunt Hannah shook her head abstractedly. &ldquo;I did see him once,
+      several weeks ago; but I haven't, since. We had quite a talk, then; and,
+      Billy, I've been wanting to speak to you,&rdquo; she hurried on, a little
+      feverishly. &ldquo;I didn't like to leave, of course, till you did come home, as
+      long as you'd said nothing about your plans; but&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Leave!&rdquo; interposed Billy, dazedly. &ldquo;Leave where? What do you mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, leave here, of course, dear. I mean. I didn't like to get my room
+      while you were away; but I shall now, of course, at once.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense, Aunt Hannah! As if I'd let you do that,&rdquo; laughed Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah stiffened perceptibly. Her lips looked suddenly thin and
+      determined. Even the soft little curls above her ears seemed actually to
+      bristle with resolution.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy,&rdquo; she began firmly, &ldquo;we might as well understand each other at
+      once. I know your good heart, and I appreciate your kindness. But I can
+      not come to live with you. I shall not. It wouldn't be best. I should be
+      like an interfering elder brother in your home. I should spoil your young
+      married life; and if I went away for two months you'd never forget the
+      utter joy and freedom of those two months with the whole house ali to
+      yourselves.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At the beginning of this speech Billy's eyes had still carried their
+      dancing smile, but as the peroration progressed on to the end, a dawning
+      surprise, which soon became a puzzled questioning, drove the smile away.
+      Then Billy sat suddenly erect.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Aunt Hannah, that's exactly what Uncle William&mdash;&rdquo; Billy
+      stopped, and regarded Aunt Hannah with quick suspicion. The next moment
+      she burst into gleeful laughter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah looked grieved, and not a little surprised; but Billy did not
+      seem to notice this.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, oh, Aunt Hannah&mdash;you, too! How perfectly funny!&rdquo; she gurgled.
+      &ldquo;To think you two old blesseds should get your heads together like this!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah stirred restively, and pulled the black shawl more closely
+      about her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Indeed, Billy, I don't know what you mean by that,&rdquo; she sighed, with a
+      visible effort at self-control; &ldquo;but I do know that I can not go to live
+      with you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bless your heart, dear, I don't want you to,&rdquo; soothed Billy, with gay
+      promptness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! O-h-h,&rdquo; stammered Aunt Hannah, surprise, mortification, dismay, and a
+      grieved hurt bringing a flood of color to her face. It is one thing to
+      refuse a home, and quite another to have a home refused you.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! O-h-h, Aunt Hannah,&rdquo; cried Billy, turning very red in her turn.
+      &ldquo;Please, <i>please</i> don't look like that. I didn't mean it that way. I
+      do want you, dear, only&mdash;I want you somewhere else more. I want you&mdash;here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here!&rdquo; Aunt Hannah looked relieved, but unconvinced.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. Don't you like it here?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Like it! Why, I love it, dear. You know I do. But you don't need this
+      house now, Billy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes, I do,&rdquo; retorted Billy, airily. &ldquo;I'm going to keep it up, and I
+      want you here.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fiddlededee, Billy! As if I'd let you keep up this house just for me,&rdquo;
+       scorned Aunt Hannah.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Tisn't just for you. It's for&mdash;for lots of folks.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My grief and conscience, Billy! What are you talking about?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed, and settled herself more comfortably on the hassock at Aunt
+      Hannah's feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I'll tell you. Just now I want it for Tommy Dunn, and the Greggorys
+      if I can get them, and maybe one or two others. There'll always be
+      somebody. You see, I had thought I'd have them at the Strata.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tommy Dunn&mdash;at the Strata!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed again ruefully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;O dear! You sound just like Bertram,&rdquo; she pouted. &ldquo;He didn't want Tommy,
+      either, nor any of the rest of them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The rest of them!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I could have had a lot more, you know, the Strata is so big,
+      especially now that Cyril has gone, and left all those empty rooms. <i>I</i>
+      got real enthusiastic, but Bertram didn't. He just laughed and said
+      'nonsense!' until he found I was really in earnest; then he&mdash;well, he
+      said 'nonsense,' then, too&mdash;only he didn't laugh,&rdquo; finished Billy,
+      with a sigh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah regarded her with fond, though slightly exasperated eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, you are, indeed, a most extraordinary young woman&mdash;at times.
+      Surely, with you, a body never knows what to expect&mdash;except the
+      unexpected.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Aunt Hannah!&mdash;and from you, too!&rdquo; reproached Billy,
+      mischievously; but Aunt Hannah had yet more to say.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course Bertram thought it was nonsense. The idea of you, a bride,
+      filling up your house with&mdash;with people like that! Tommy Dunn,
+      indeed!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Bertram said he liked Tommy all right,&rdquo; sighed Billy; &ldquo;but he said
+      that that didn't mean he wanted him for three meals a day. One would think
+      poor Tommy was a breakfast food! So that is when I thought of keeping up
+      this house, you see, and that's why I want you here&mdash;to take charge
+      of it. And you'll do that&mdash;for me, won't you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah fell back in her chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, y-yes, Billy, of course, if&mdash;if you want it. But what an
+      extraordinary idea, child!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy shook her head. A deeper color came to her cheeks, and a softer glow
+      to her eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't think so, Aunt Hannah. It's only that I'm so happy that some of
+      it has just got to overflow somewhere, and this is going to be the
+      overflow house&mdash;a sort of safety valve for me, you see. I'm going to
+      call it the Annex&mdash;it will be an annex to our home. And I want to
+      keep it full, always, of people who&mdash;who can make the best use of all
+      that extra happiness that I can't possibly use myself,&rdquo; she finished a
+      little tremulously. &ldquo;Don't you see?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes, I <i>see</i>,&rdquo; replied Aunt Hannah, with a fond shake of the
+      head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, really, listen&mdash;it's sensible,&rdquo; urged Billy. &ldquo;First, there's
+      Tommy. His mother died last month. He's at a neighbor's now, but they're
+      going to send him to a Home for Crippled Children; and he's grieving his
+      heart out over it. I'm going to bring him here to a real home&mdash;the
+      kind that doesn't begin with a capital letter. He adores music, and he's
+      got real talent, I think. Then there's the Greggorys.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah looked dubious.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You can't get the Greggorys to&mdash;to use any of that happiness, Billy.
+      They're too proud.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy smiled radiantly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know I can't get them to <i>use</i> it, Aunt Hannah, but I believe I
+      can get them to <i>give</i> it,&rdquo; she declared triumphantly. &ldquo;I shall ask
+      Alice Greggory to teach Tommy music, and I shall ask Mrs. Greggory to
+      teach him books; and I shall tell them both that I positively need them to
+      keep you company.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, but Billy,&rdquo; bridled Aunt Hannah, with prompt objection.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tut, tut!&mdash;I know you'll be willing to be thrown as a little bit of
+      a sop to the Greggorys' pride,&rdquo; coaxed Billy. &ldquo;You just wait till I get
+      the Overflow Annex in running order. Why, Aunt Hannah, you don't know how
+      busy you're going to be handing out all that extra happiness that I can't
+      use!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You dear child!&rdquo; Aunt Hannah smiled mistily. The black shawl had fallen
+      unheeded to the floor now. &ldquo;As if anybody ever had any more happiness than
+      one's self could use!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have,&rdquo; avowed Billy, promptly, &ldquo;and it's going to keep growing and
+      growing, I know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, my grief and conscience, Billy, don't!&rdquo; exclaimed Aunt Hannah,
+      lifting shocked hands of remonstrance. &ldquo;Rap on wood&mdash;do! How can you
+      boast like that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy dimpled roguishly and sprang to her feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Aunt Hannah, I'm ashamed of you! To be superstitious like that&mdash;you,
+      a good Presbyterian!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah subsided shamefacedly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I know, Billy, it is silly; but I just can't help it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, but it's worse than silly, Aunt Hannah,&rdquo; teased Billy, with a
+      remorseless chuckle. &ldquo;It's really <i>heathen!</i> Bertram told me once
+      that it dates 'way back to the time of the Druids&mdash;appealing to the
+      god of trees, or something like that&mdash;when you rap on wood, you
+      know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ugh!&rdquo; shuddered Aunt Hannah. &ldquo;As if I would, Billy! How is Bertram, by
+      the by?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A swift shadow crossed Billy's bright face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He's lovely&mdash;only his arm.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;His arm! But I thought that was better.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, it is,&rdquo; drooped Billy, &ldquo;but it gets along so slowly, and it frets him
+      dreadfully. You know he never can do anything with his left hand, he says,
+      and he just hates to have things done for him&mdash;though Pete and Dong
+      Ling are quarreling with each other all the time to do things for him, and
+      I'm quarreling with both of them to do them for him myself! By the way,
+      Dong Ling is going to leave us next week. Did you know it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dong Ling&mdash;leave!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. Oh, he told Bertram long ago he should go when we were married; that
+      he had plenty much money, and was going back to China, and not be Melican
+      man any longer. But I don't think Bertram thought he'd do it. William says
+      Dong Ling went to Pete, however, after we left, and told him he wanted to
+      go; that he liked the little Missee plenty well, but that there'd be too
+      much hen-talk when she got back, and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, the impudent creature!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed merrily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes; Pete was furious, William says, but Dong Ling didn't mean any
+      disrespect, I'm sure. He just wasn't used to having petticoats around, and
+      didn't want to take orders from them; that's all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, Billy, what will you do?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Pete's fixed all that lovely,&rdquo; returned Billy, nonchalantly. &ldquo;You
+      know his niece lives over in South Boston, and it seems she's got a
+      daughter who's a fine cook and will be glad to come. Mercy! Look at the
+      time,&rdquo; she broke off, glancing at the clock. &ldquo;I shall be late to dinner,
+      and Dong Ling loathes anybody who's late to his meals&mdash;as I found out
+      to my sorrow the night we got home. Good-by, dear. I'll be out soon again
+      and fix it all up&mdash;about the Annex, you know.&rdquo; And with a bright
+      smile she was gone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dear me,&rdquo; sighed Aunt Hannah, stooping to pick up the black shawl; &ldquo;dear
+      me! Of course everything will be all right&mdash;there's a girl coming,
+      even if Dong Ling is going. But&mdash;but&mdash;Oh, my grief and
+      conscience, what an extraordinary child Billy is, to be sure&mdash;but
+      what a dear one!&rdquo; she added, wiping a quick tear from her eye. &ldquo;An
+      Overflow Annex, indeed, for her 'extra happiness'! Now isn't that just
+      like Billy?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br><br><br><br>
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER V. TIGER SKINS
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      September passed and October came, bringing with it cool days and clear,
+      crisp evenings royally ruled over by a gorgeous harvest moon. According to
+      Billy everything was just perfect&mdash;except, of course, poor Bertram's
+      arm; and even the fact that that gained so slowly was not without its
+      advantage (again according to Billy), for it gave Bertram more time to be
+      with her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You see, dear, as long as you <i>can't</i> paint,&rdquo; she told him
+      earnestly, one day, &ldquo;why, I'm not really hindering you by keeping you with
+      me so much.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You certainly are not,&rdquo; he retorted, with a smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then I may be just as happy as I like over it,&rdquo; settled Billy,
+      comfortably.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As if you ever could hinder me,&rdquo; he ridiculed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes, I could,&rdquo; nodded Billy, emphatically. &ldquo;You forget, sir. That was
+      what worried me so. Everybody, even the newspapers and magazines, said I
+      <i>would</i> do it, too. They said I'd slay your Art, stifle your
+      Ambition, destroy your Inspiration, and be a nuisance generally. And Kate
+      said&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. Well, never mind what Kate said,&rdquo; interrupted the man, savagely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed, and gave his ear a playful tweak.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right; but I'm not going to do it, you know&mdash;spoil your career,
+      sir. You just wait,&rdquo; she continued dramatically. &ldquo;The minute your arm gets
+      so you can paint, I myself shall conduct you to your studio, thrust the
+      brushes into your hand, fill your palette with all the colors of the
+      rainbow, and order you to paint, my lord, paint! But&mdash;until then I'm
+      going to have you all I like,&rdquo; she finished, with a complete change of
+      manner, nestling into the ready curve of his good left arm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You witch!&rdquo; laughed the man, fondly. &ldquo;Why, Billy, you couldn't hinder me.
+      You'll <i>be</i> my inspiration, dear, instead of slaying it. You'll see.
+      <i>This</i> time Marguerite Winthrop's portrait is going to be a success.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy turned quickly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then you are&mdash;that is, you haven't&mdash;I mean, you're going to&mdash;paint
+      it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I just am,&rdquo; avowed the artist. &ldquo;And this time it'll be a success, too,
+      with you to help.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy drew in her breath tremulously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I didn't know but you'd already started it,&rdquo; she faltered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He shook his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. After the other one failed, and Mr. Winthrop asked me to try again, I
+      couldn't <i>then</i>. I was so troubled over you. That's the time you did
+      hinder me,&rdquo; he smiled. &ldquo;Then came your note breaking the engagement. Of
+      course I knew too much to attempt a thing like that portrait then. But now&mdash;<i>now</i>&mdash;!&rdquo;
+       The pause and the emphasis were eloquent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course, <i>now</i>,&rdquo; nodded Billy, brightly, but a little feverishly.
+      &ldquo;And when do you begin?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not till January. Miss Winthrop won't be back till then. I saw J. G. last
+      week, and I told him I'd accept his offer to try again.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What did he say?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He gave my left hand a big grip and said: 'Good!&mdash;and you'll win out
+      this time.'&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course you will,&rdquo; nodded Billy, again, though still a little
+      feverishly. &ldquo;And this time I sha'n't mind a bit if you do stay to
+      luncheon, and break engagements with me, sir,&rdquo; she went on, tilting her
+      chin archly, &ldquo;for I shall know it's the portrait and not the sitter that's
+      really keeping you. Oh, you'll see what a fine artist's wife I'll make!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The very best,&rdquo; declared Bertram so ardently that Billy blushed, and
+      shook her head in reproof.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense! I wasn't fishing. I didn't mean it that way,&rdquo; she protested.
+      Then, as he tried to catch her, she laughed and danced teasingly out of
+      his reach.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Because Bertram could not paint, therefore, Billy had him quite to herself
+      these October days; nor did she hesitate to appropriate him. Neither, on
+      his part, was Bertram loath to be appropriated. Like two lovers they read
+      and walked and talked together, and like two children, sometimes, they
+      romped through the stately old rooms with Spunkie, or with Tommy Dunn, who
+      was a frequent guest. Spunkie, be it known, was renewing her kittenhood,
+      so potent was the influence of the dangling strings and rolling balls that
+      she encountered everywhere; and Tommy Dunn, with Billy's help, was
+      learning that not even a pair of crutches need keep a lonely little lad
+      from a frolic. Even William, roused from his after-dinner doze by peals of
+      laughter, was sometimes inveigled into activities that left him
+      breathless, but curiously aglow. While Pete, polishing silver in the
+      dining-room down-stairs, smiled indulgently at the merry clatter above&mdash;and
+      forgot the teasing pain in his side.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But it was not all nonsense with Billy, nor gay laughter. More often it
+      was a tender glow in the eyes, a softness in the voice, a radiant
+      something like an aura of joy all about her, that told how happy indeed
+      were these days for her. There was proof by word of mouth, too&mdash;long
+      talks with Bertram in the dancing firelight when they laid dear plans for
+      the future, and when she tried so hard to make her husband understand what
+      a good, good wife she intended to be, and how she meant never to let
+      anything come between them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was so earnest and serious a Billy by this time that Bertram would turn
+      startled, dismayed eyes on his young wife; whereupon, with a very
+      Billy-like change of mood, she would give him one of her rare caresses,
+      and perhaps sigh:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Goosey&mdash;it's only because I'm so happy, happy, happy! Why, Bertram,
+      if it weren't for that Overflow Annex I believe I&mdash;I just couldn't
+      live!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was Bertram who sighed then, and who prayed fervently in his heart that
+      never might he see a real shadow cloud that dear face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus far, certainly, the cares of matrimony had rested anything but
+      heavily upon the shapely young shoulders of the new wife. Domestic affairs
+      at the Strata moved like a piece of well-oiled machinery. Dong Ling, to be
+      sure, was not there; but in his place reigned Pete's grandniece, a
+      fresh-faced, capable young woman who (Bertram declared) cooked like an
+      angel and minded her own business like a man. Pete, as of yore, had full
+      charge of the house; and a casual eye would see few changes. Even the
+      brothers themselves saw few, for that matter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      True, at the very first, Billy had donned a ruffled apron and a bewitching
+      dust-cap, and had traversed the house from cellar to garret with a
+      prettily important air of &ldquo;managing things,&rdquo; as she suggested changes
+      right and left. She had summoned Pete, too, for three mornings in
+      succession, and with great dignity had ordered the meals for the day. But
+      when Bertram was discovered one evening tugging back his favorite chair,
+      and when William had asked if Billy were through using his pipe-tray, the
+      young wife had concluded to let things remain about as they were. And when
+      William ate no breakfast one morning, and Bertram aggrievedly refused
+      dessert that night at dinner, Billy&mdash;learning through an apologetic
+      Pete that Master William always had to have eggs for breakfast no matter
+      what else there was, and that Master Bertram never ate boiled rice&mdash;gave
+      up planning the meals. True, for three more mornings she summoned Pete for
+      &ldquo;orders,&rdquo; but the orders were nothing more nor less than a blithe &ldquo;Well,
+      Pete, what are we going to have for dinner to-day?&rdquo; By the end of a week
+      even this ceremony was given up, and before a month had passed, Billy was
+      little more than a guest in her own home, so far as responsibility was
+      concerned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy was not idle, however; far from it. First, there were the delightful
+      hours with Bertram. Then there was her music: Billy was writing a new song&mdash;the
+      best she had ever written, Billy declared.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Bertram, it can't help being that,&rdquo; she said to her husband, one
+      day. &ldquo;The words just sang themselves to me right out of my heart; and the
+      melody just dropped down from the sky. And now, everywhere, I'm hearing
+      the most wonderful harmonies. The whole universe is singing to me. If only
+      now I can put it on paper what I hear! Then I can make the whole universe
+      sing to some one else!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Even music, however, had to step one side for the wedding calls which were
+      beginning to be received, and which must be returned, in spite of the
+      occasional rebellion of the young husband. There were the more intimate
+      friends to be seen, also, and Cyril and Marie to be visited. And always
+      there was the Annex.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Annex was in fine running order now, and was a source of infinite
+      satisfaction to its founder and great happiness to its beneficiaries.
+      Tommy Dunn was there, learning wonderful things from books and still more
+      wonderful things from the piano in the living-room. Alice Greggory and her
+      mother were there, too&mdash;the result of much persuasion. Indeed,
+      according to Bertram, Billy had been able to fill the Annex only by
+      telling each prospective resident that he or she was absolutely necessary
+      to the welfare and happiness of every other resident. Not that the house
+      was full, either. There were still two unoccupied rooms.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But then, I'm glad there are,&rdquo; Billy had declared, &ldquo;for there's sure to
+      be some one that I'll want to send there.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Some <i>one</i>, did you say?&rdquo; Bertram had retorted, meaningly; but his
+      wife had disdained to answer this.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy herself was frequently at the Annex. She told Aunt Hannah that she
+      had to come often to bring the happiness&mdash;it accumulated so fast.
+      Certainly she always found plenty to do there, whenever she came. There
+      was Aunt Hannah to be read to, Mrs. Greggory to be sung to, and Tommy Dunn
+      to be listened to; for Tommy Dunn was always quivering with eagerness to
+      play her his latest &ldquo;piece.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy knew that some day at the Annex she would meet Mr. M. J. Arkwright;
+      and she told herself that she hoped she should.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy had not seen Arkwright (except on the stage of the Boston Opera
+      House) since the day he had left her presence in white-faced, stony-eyed
+      misery after declaring his love for her, and learning of her engagement to
+      Bertram. Since then, she knew, he had been much with his old friend, Alice
+      Greggory. She did not believe, should she see him now, that he would be
+      either white-faced, or stony-eyed. His heart, she was sure, had gone where
+      it ought to have gone in the first place&mdash;to Alice. Such being, in
+      her opinion, the case, she longed to get the embarrassment of a first
+      meeting between themselves over with, for, after that, she was sure, their
+      old friendship could be renewed, and she would be in a position to further
+      this pretty love affair between him and Alice. Very decidedly, therefore,
+      Billy wished to meet Arkwright. Very pleased, consequently, was she when,
+      one day, coming into the living-room at the Annex, she found the man
+      sitting by the fire.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright was on his feet at once.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss&mdash;Mrs. H&mdash;Henshaw,&rdquo; he stammered
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Mr. Arkwright,&rdquo; she cried, with just a shade of nervousness in her
+      voice as she advanced, her hand outstretched. &ldquo;I'm glad to see you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you. I wanted to see Miss Greggory,&rdquo; he murmured. Then, as the
+      unconscious rudeness of his reply dawned on him, he made matters
+      infinitely worse by an attempted apology. &ldquo;That is, I mean&mdash;I didn't
+      mean&mdash;&rdquo; he began to stammer miserably.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Some girls might have tossed the floundering man a straw in the shape of a
+      light laugh intended to turn aside all embarrassment&mdash;but not Billy.
+      Billy held out a frankly helping hand that was meant to set the man
+      squarely on his feet at her side.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Arkwright, don't, please,&rdquo; she begged earnestly. &ldquo;You and I don't
+      need to beat about the bush. I <i>am</i> glad to see you, and I hope
+      you're glad to see me. We're going to be the best of friends from now on,
+      I'm sure; and some day, soon, you're going to bring Alice to see me, and
+      we'll have some music. I left her up-stairs. She'll be down at once, I
+      dare say&mdash;I met Rosa going up with your card. Good-by,&rdquo; she finished
+      with a bright smile, as she turned and walked rapidly from the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Outside, on the steps, Billy drew a long breath.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There,&rdquo; she whispered; &ldquo;that's over&mdash;and well over!&rdquo; The next minute
+      she frowned vexedly. She had missed her glove. &ldquo;Never mind! I sha'n't go
+      back in there for it now, anyway,&rdquo; she decided.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the living-room, five minutes later, Alice Greggory found only a
+      hastily scrawled note waiting for her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you'll forgive the unforgivable,&rdquo; she read &ldquo;you'll forgive me for not
+      being here when you come down. 'Circumstances over which I have no control
+      have called me away.' May we let it go at that?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;M. J. ARKWRIGHT.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      As Alice Greggory's amazed, questioning eyes left the note they fell upon
+      the long white glove on the floor by the door. Half mechanically she
+      crossed the room and picked it up; but almost at once she dropped it with
+      a low cry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy! He&mdash;saw&mdash;Billy!&rdquo; Then a flood of understanding dyed her
+      face scarlet as she turned and fled to the blessedly unseeing walls of her
+      own room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Not ten minutes later Rosa tapped at her door with a note.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's from Mr. Arkwright, Miss. He's downstairs.&rdquo; Rosa's eyes were
+      puzzled, and a bit startled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Arkwright!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, Miss. He's come again. That is, I didn't know he'd went&mdash;but he
+      must have, for he's come again now. He wrote something in a little book;
+      then he tore it out and gave it to me. He said he'd wait, please, for an
+      answer.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, very well, Rosa.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Greggory took the note and spoke with an elaborate air of
+      indifference that was meant to express a calm ignoring of the puzzled
+      questioning in the other's eyes. The next moment she read this in
+      Arkwright's peculiar scrawl:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you've already forgiven the unforgivable, you'll do it again, I know,
+      and come down-stairs. Won't you, please? I want to see you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Greggory lifted her head with a jerk. Her face was a painful red.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tell Mr. Arkwright I can't possibly&mdash;&rdquo; She came to an abrupt pause.
+      Her eyes had encountered Rosa's, and in Rosa's eyes the puzzled
+      questioning was plainly fast becoming a shrewd suspicion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was the briefest of hesitations; then, lightly, Miss Greggory tossed
+      the note aside.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tell Mr. Arkwright I'll be down at once, please,&rdquo; she directed
+      carelessly, as she turned back into the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But she was not down at once. She was not down until she had taken time to
+      bathe her red eyes, powder her telltale nose, smoothe her ruffled hair,
+      and whip herself into the calm, steady-eyed, self-controlled young woman
+      that Arkwright finally rose to meet when she came into the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I thought it was only women who were privileged to change their mind,&rdquo;
+       she began brightly; but Arkwright ignored her attempt to conventionalize
+      the situation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you for coming down,&rdquo; he said, with a weariness that instantly
+      drove the forced smile from the girl's lips. &ldquo;I&mdash;I wanted to&mdash;to
+      talk to you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes?&rdquo; She seated herself and motioned him to a chair near her. He took
+      the seat, and then fell silent, his eyes out the window.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I thought you said you&mdash;you wanted to talk, she reminded him
+      nervously, after a minute.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I did.&rdquo; He turned with disconcerting abruptness. &ldquo;Alice, I'm going to
+      tell you a story.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I shall be glad to listen. People always like stories, don't they?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do they?&rdquo; The somber pain in Arkwright's eyes deepened. Alice Greggory
+      did not know it, but he was thinking of another story he had once told in
+      that same room. Billy was his listener then, while now&mdash;A little
+      precipitately he began to speak.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When I was a very small boy I went to visit my uncle, who, in his young
+      days, had been quite a hunter. Before the fireplace in his library was a
+      huge tiger skin with a particularly lifelike head. The first time I saw it
+      I screamed, and ran and hid. I refused then even to go into the room
+      again. My cousins urged, scolded, pleaded, and laughed at me by turns, but
+      I was obdurate. I would not go where I could see the fearsome thing again,
+      even though it was, as they said, 'nothing but a dead old rug!'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Finally, one day, my uncle took a hand in the matter. By sheer will-power
+      he forced me to go with him straight up to the dreaded creature, and stand
+      by its side. He laid one of my shrinking hands on the beast's smooth head,
+      and thrust the other one quite into the open red mouth with its gleaming
+      teeth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'You see,' he said, 'there's absolutely nothing to fear. He can't
+      possibly hurt you. Just as if you weren't bigger and finer and stronger in
+      every way than that dead thing on the floor!'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then, when he had got me to the point where of my own free will I would
+      walk up and touch the thing, he drew a lesson for me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Now remember,' he charged me. 'Never run and hide again. Only cowards do
+      that. Walk straight up and face the thing. Ten to one you'll find it's
+      nothing but a dead skin masquerading as the real thing. Even if it isn't
+      if it's alive&mdash;face it. Find a weapon and fight it. Know that you are
+      going to conquer it and you'll conquer. Never run. Be a man. Men don't
+      run, my boy!'&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright paused, and drew a long breath. He did not look at the girl in
+      the opposite chair. If he had looked he would have seen a face
+      transfigured.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; he resumed, &ldquo;I never forgot that tiger skin, nor what it stood
+      for, after that day when Uncle Ben thrust my hand into its hideous, but
+      harmless, red mouth. Even as a kid I began, then, to try&mdash;not to run.
+      I've tried ever since But to-day&mdash;I did run.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright's voice had been getting lower and lower. The last three words
+      would have been almost inaudible to ears less sensitively alert than were
+      Alice Greggory's. For a moment after the words were uttered, only the
+      clock's ticking broke the silence; then, with an obvious effort, the man
+      roused himself, as if breaking away from some benumbing force that held
+      him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Alice, I don't need to tell you, after what I said the other night, that
+      I loved Billy Neilson. That was bad enough, for I found she was pledged to
+      another man. But to-day I discovered something worse: I discovered that I
+      loved Billy <i>Henshaw</i>&mdash;another man's wife. And&mdash;I ran. But
+      I've come back. I'm going to face the thing. Oh, I'm not deceiving myself!
+      This love of mine is no dead tiger skin. It's a beast, alive and alert&mdash;God
+      pity me!&mdash;to destroy my very soul. But I'm going to fight it; and&mdash;I
+      want you to help me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The girl gave a half-smothered cry. The man turned, but he could not see
+      her face distinctly. Twilight had come, and the room was full of shadows.
+      He hesitated, then went on, a little more quietly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's why I've told you all this&mdash;so you would help me. And you
+      will, won't you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was no answer. Once again he tried to see her face, but it was
+      turned now quite away from him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You've been a big help already, little girl. Your friendship, your
+      comradeship&mdash;they've been everything to me. You're not going to make
+      me do without them&mdash;now?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No&mdash;oh, no!&rdquo; The answer was low and a little breathless; but he
+      heard it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you. I knew you wouldn't.&rdquo; He paused, then rose to his feet. When
+      he spoke again his voice carried a note of whimsical lightness that was a
+      little forced. &ldquo;But I must go&mdash;else you <i>will</i> take them from
+      me, and with good reason. And please don't let your kind heart grieve too
+      much&mdash;over me. I'm no deep-dyed villain in a melodrama, nor wicked
+      lover in a ten-penny novel, you know. I'm just an everyday man in real
+      life; and we're going to fight this thing out in everyday living. That's
+      where your help is coming in. We'll go together to see Mrs. Bertram
+      Henshaw. She's asked us to, and you'll do it, I know. We'll have music and
+      everyday talk. We'll see Mrs. Bertram Henshaw in her own home with her
+      husband, where she belongs; and&mdash;I'm not going to run again. But&mdash;I'm
+      counting on your help, you know,&rdquo; he smiled a little wistfully, as he held
+      out his hand in good-by.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One minute later Alice Greggory, alone, was hurrying up-stairs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can't&mdash;I can't&mdash;I know I can't,&rdquo; she was whispering wildly.
+      Then, in her own room, she faced herself in the mirror. &ldquo;Yes&mdash;you&mdash;can,
+      Alice Greggory,&rdquo; she asserted, with swift change of voice and manner.
+      &ldquo;This is <i>your</i> tiger skin, and you're going to fight it. Do you
+      understand?&mdash;fight it! And you're going to win, too. Do you want that
+      man to know you&mdash;<i>care</i>?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br><br><br><br>
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER VI. &ldquo;THE PAINTING LOOK&rdquo;
+     </h2>
+    <p>
+      It was toward the last of October that Billy began to notice her husband's
+      growing restlessness. Twice, when she had been playing to him, she turned
+      to find him testing the suppleness of his injured arm. Several times,
+      failing to receive an answer to her questions, she had looked up to
+      discover him gazing abstractedly at nothing in particular.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They read and walked and talked together, to be sure, and Bertram's
+      devotion to her lightest wish was beyond question; but more and more
+      frequently these days Billy found him hovering over his sketches in his
+      studio; and once, when he failed to respond to the dinner-bell, search
+      revealed him buried in a profound treatise on &ldquo;The Art of Foreshortening.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then came the day when Billy, after an hour's vain effort to imprison
+      within notes a tantalizing melody, captured the truant and rain down to
+      the studio to tell Bertram of her victory.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But Bertram did not seem even to hear her. True, he leaped to his feet and
+      hurried to meet her, his face radiantly aglow; but she had not ceased to
+      speak before he himself was talking.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, Billy, I've been sketching,&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;My hand is almost steady.
+      See, some of those lines are all right! I just picked up a crayon and&mdash;&rdquo;
+       He stopped abruptly, his eyes on Billy's face. A vaguely troubled shadow
+      crossed his own. &ldquo;Did&mdash;did you&mdash;were you saying anything in&mdash;in
+      particular, when you came in?&rdquo; he stammered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For a short half-minute Billy looked at her husband without speaking.
+      Then, a little queerly, she laughed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no, nothing at all in <i>particular</i>,&rdquo; she retorted airily. The
+      next moment, with one of her unexpected changes of manner, she darted
+      across the room, picked up a palette, and a handful of brushes from the
+      long box near it. Advancing toward her husband she held them out
+      dramatically. &ldquo;And now paint, my lord, paint!&rdquo; she commanded him, with
+      stern insistence, as she thrust them into his hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram laughed shamefacedly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I say, Billy,&rdquo; he began; but Billy had gone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Out in the hall Billy was speeding up-stairs, talking fiercely to herself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We'll, Billy Neilson Henshaw, it's come! Now behave yourself. <i>That was
+      the painting look!</i> You know what that means. Remember, he belongs to
+      his Art before he does to you. Kate and everybody says so. And you&mdash;you
+      expected him to tend to you and your silly little songs. Do you want to
+      ruin his career? As if now he could spend all his time and give all his
+      thoughts to you! But I&mdash;I just hate that Art!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What did you say, Billy?&rdquo; asked William, in mild surprise, coming around
+      the turn of the balustrade in the hall above. &ldquo;Were you speaking to me, my
+      dear?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy looked up. Her face cleared suddenly, and she laughed&mdash;though a
+      little ruefully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, Uncle William, I wasn't talking to you,&rdquo; she sighed. &ldquo;I was just&mdash;just
+      administering first aid to the injured,&rdquo; she finished, as she whisked into
+      her own room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, well, bless the child! What can she mean by that?&rdquo; puzzled Uncle
+      William, turning to go down the stairway.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram began to paint a very little the next day. He painted still more
+      the next, and yet more again the day following. He was like a bird let out
+      of a cage, so joyously alive was he. The old sparkle came back to his eye,
+      the old gay smile to his lips. Now that they had come back Billy realized
+      what she had not been conscious of before: that for several weeks past
+      they had not been there; and she wondered which hurt the more&mdash;that
+      they had not been there before, or that they were there now. Then she
+      scolded herself roundly for asking the question at all.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They were not easy&mdash;those days for Billy, though always to Bertram
+      she managed to show a cheerfully serene face. To Uncle William, also, and
+      to Aunt Hannah she showed a smiling countenance; and because she could not
+      talk to anybody else of her feelings, she talked to herself. This,
+      however, was no new thing for Billy to do From earliest childhood she had
+      fought things out in like manner.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But it's so absurd of you, Billy Henshaw,&rdquo; she berated herself one day,
+      when Bertram had become so absorbed in his work that he had forgotten to
+      keep his appointment with her for a walk. &ldquo;Just because you have had his
+      constant attention almost every hour since you were married is no reason
+      why you should have it every hour now, when his arm is better! Besides,
+      it's exactly what you said you wouldn't do&mdash;object&mdash;to his
+      giving proper time to his work.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I'm not objecting,&rdquo; stormed the other half of herself. &ldquo;I'm <i>telling</i>
+      him to do it. It's only that he's so&mdash;so <i>pleased</i> to do it. He
+      doesn't seem to mind a bit being away from me. He's actually happy!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, don't you want him to be happy in his work? Fie! For shame! A fine
+      artist's wife you are. It seems Kate was right, then; you <i>are</i> going
+      to spoil his career!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ho!&rdquo; quoth Billy, and tossed her head. Forthwith she crossed the room to
+      her piano and plumped herself down hard on to the stool. Then, from under
+      her fingers there fell a rollicking melody that seemed to fill the room
+      with little dancing feet. Faster and faster sped Billy's fingers; swifter
+      and swifter twinkled the little dancing feet. Then a door was jerked open,
+      and Bertram's voice called:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The music stopped instantly. Billy sprang from her seat, her eyes eagerly
+      seeking the direction from which had come the voice. Perhaps&mdash;<i>perhaps</i>
+      Bertram wanted her. Perhaps he was not going to paint any longer that
+      morning, after all. &ldquo;Billy!&rdquo; called the voice again. &ldquo;Please, do you mind
+      stopping that playing just for a little while? I'm a brute, I know, dear,
+      but my brush <i>will</i> try to keep time with that crazy little tune of
+      yours, and you know my hand is none too steady, anyhow, and when it tries
+      to keep up with that jiggety, jig, jig, jiggety, jig, jig&mdash;! <i>Do</i>
+      you mind, darling, just&mdash;just sewing, or doing something still for a
+      while?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      All the light fled from Billy's face, but her voice, when she spoke, was
+      the quintessence of cheery indifference.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, no, of course not, dear.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you. I knew you wouldn't,&rdquo; sighed Bertram. Then the door shut.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For a long minute Billy stood motionless before she glanced at her watch
+      and sped to the telephone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is Miss Greggory there, Rosa?&rdquo; she called when the operator's ring was
+      answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mis' Greggory, the lame one?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No; <i>Miss</i> Greggory&mdash;Miss Alice.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! Yes'm.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then won't you ask her to come to the telephone, please.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a moment's wait, during which Billy's small, well-shod foot beat
+      a nervous tattoo on the floor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, is that you, Alice?&rdquo; she called then. &ldquo;Are you going to be home for
+      an hour or two?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, y-yes; yes, indeed.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then I'm coming over. We'll play duets, sing&mdash;anything. I want some
+      music.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do! And&mdash;Mr. Arkwright is here. He'll help.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Arkwright? You say he's there? Then I won't&mdash;Yes, I will, too.&rdquo;
+       Billy spoke with renewed firmness. &ldquo;I'll be there right away. Good-by.&rdquo;
+       And she hung up the receiver, and went to tell Pete to order John and
+      Peggy at once.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I suppose I ought to have left Alice and Mr. Arkwright alone together,&rdquo;
+       muttered the young wife feverishly, as she hurriedly prepared for
+      departure. &ldquo;But I'll make it up to them later. I'm going to give them lots
+      of chances. But to-day&mdash;to-day I just had to go&mdash;somewhere!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At the Annex, with Alice Greggory and Arkwright, Billy sang duets and
+      trios, and reveled in a sonorous wilderness of new music to her heart's
+      content. Then, rested, refreshed, and at peace with all the world, she
+      hurried home to dinner and to Bertram.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There! I feel better,&rdquo; she sighed, as she took off her hat in her own
+      room; &ldquo;and now I'll go find Bertram. Bless his heart&mdash;of course he
+      didn't want me to play when he was so busy!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy went straight to the studio, but Bertram was not there. Neither was
+      he in William's room, nor anywhere in the house. Down-stairs in the
+      dining-room Pete was found looking rather white, leaning back in a chair.
+      He struggled at once to his feet, however, as his mistress entered the
+      room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy hurried forward with a startled exclamation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Pete, what is it? Are you sick?&rdquo; she cried, her glance encompassing
+      the half-set table.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, ma'am; oh, no, ma'am!&rdquo; The old man stumbled forward and began to
+      arrange the knives and forks. &ldquo;It's just a pesky pain&mdash;beggin' yer
+      pardon&mdash;in my side. But I ain't sick. No, Miss&mdash;ma'am.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy frowned and shook her head. Her eyes were on Pete's palpably
+      trembling hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, Pete, you are sick,&rdquo; she protested. &ldquo;Let Eliza do that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Pete drew himself stiffly erect. The color had begun to come back to his
+      face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There hain't no one set this table much but me for more'n fifty years,
+      an' I've got a sort of notion that nobody can do it just ter suit me.
+      Besides, I'm better now. It's gone&mdash;that pain.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, Pete, what is it? How long have you had it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I hain't had it any time, steady. It's the comin' an' goin' kind. It
+      seems silly ter mind it at all; only, when it does come, it sort o' takes
+      the backbone right out o' my knees, and they double up so's I have ter set
+      down. There, ye see? I'm pert as a sparrer, now!&rdquo; And, with stiff
+      celerity, Pete resumed his task.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His mistress still frowned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That isn't right, Pete,&rdquo; she demurred, with a slow shake of her head.
+      &ldquo;You should see a doctor.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The old man paled a little. He had seen a doctor, and he had not liked
+      what the doctor had told him. In fact, he stubbornly refused to believe
+      what the doctor had said. He straightened himself now a little
+      aggressively.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph! Beggin' yer pardon, Miss&mdash;ma'am, but I don't think much o'
+      them doctor chaps.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy shook her head again as she smiled and turned away. Then, as if
+      casually, she asked:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, did Mr. Bertram go out, Pete?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, Miss; about five o'clock. He said he'd be back to dinner.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! All right.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      From the hall the telephone jangled sharply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll go,&rdquo; said Pete's mistress, as she turned and hurried up-stairs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was Bertram's voice that answered her opening &ldquo;Hullo.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Billy, is that you, dear? Well, you're just the one I wanted. I
+      wanted to say&mdash;that is, I wanted to ask you&mdash;&rdquo; The speaker
+      cleared his throat a little nervously, and began all over again. &ldquo;The fact
+      is, Billy, I've run across a couple of old classmates on from New York,
+      and they are very anxious I should stay down to dinner with them. Would
+      you mind&mdash;very much if I did?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A cold hand seemed to clutch Billy's heart. She caught her breath with a
+      little gasp and tried to speak; but she had to try twice before the words
+      came.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, no&mdash;no, of course not!&rdquo; Billy's voice was very high-pitched and
+      a little shaky, but it was surpassingly cheerful.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You sure you won't be&mdash;lonesome?&rdquo; Bertram's voice was vaguely
+      troubled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course not!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You've only to say the word, little girl,&rdquo; came Bertram's anxious tones
+      again, &ldquo;and I won't stay.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy swallowed convulsively. If only, only he would <i>stop</i> and leave
+      her to herself! As if she were going to own up that <i>she</i> was
+      lonesome for <i>him</i>&mdash;if <i>he</i> was not lonesome for <i>her!</i>
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense! of course you'll stay,&rdquo; called Billy, still in that
+      high-pitched, shaky treble. Then, before Bertram could answer, she uttered
+      a gay &ldquo;Good-by!&rdquo; and hung up the receiver.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy had ten whole minutes in which to cry before Pete's gong sounded for
+      dinner; but she had only one minute in which to try to efface the woefully
+      visible effects of those ten minutes before William tapped at her door,
+      and called:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Gone to sleep, my dear? Dinner's ready. Didn't you hear the gong?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I'm coming, Uncle William.&rdquo; Billy spoke with breezy gayety, and
+      threw open the door; but she did not meet Uncle William's eyes. Her head
+      was turned away. Her hands were fussing with the hang of her skirt.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bertram's dining out, Pete tells me,&rdquo; observed William, with cheerful
+      nonchalance, as they went down-stairs together.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy bit her lip and looked up sharply. She had been bracing herself to
+      meet with disdainful indifference this man's pity&mdash;the pity due a
+      poor neglected wife whose husband <i>preferred</i> to dine with old
+      classmates rather than with herself. Now she found in William's face, not
+      pity, but a calm, even jovial, acceptance of the situation as a matter of
+      course. She had known she was going to hate that pity; but now, curiously
+      enough, she was conscious only of anger that the pity was not there&mdash;that
+      she might hate it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She tossed her head a little. So even William&mdash;Uncle William&mdash;regarded
+      this monstrous thing as an insignificant matter of everyday experience.
+      Maybe he expected it to occur frequently&mdash;every night, or so.
+      Doubtless he did expect it to occur every night, or so. Indeed! Very well.
+      As if she were going to show <i>now</i> that she cared whether Bertram
+      were there or not! They should see.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So with head held high and eyes asparkle, Billy marched into the
+      dining-room and took her accustomed place.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br><br><br><br>
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER VII. THE BIG BAD QUARREL
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      It was a brilliant dinner&mdash;because Billy made it so. At first William
+      met her sallies of wit with mild surprise; but it was not long before he
+      rose gallantly to the occasion, and gave back full measure of retort. Even
+      Pete twice had to turn his back to hide a smile, and once his hand shook
+      so that the tea he was carrying almost spilled. This threatened
+      catastrophe, however, seemed to frighten him so much that his face was
+      very grave throughout the rest of the dinner.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Still laughing and talking gayly, Billy and Uncle William, after the meal
+      was over, ascended to the drawing-room. There, however, the man, in spite
+      of the young woman's gay badinage, fell to dozing in the big chair before
+      the fire, leaving Billy with only Spunkie for company&mdash;Spunkie, who,
+      disdaining every effort to entice her into a romp, only winked and blinked
+      stupid eyes, and finally curled herself on the rug for a nap.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy, left to her own devices, glanced at her watch.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Half-past seven! Time, almost, for Bertram to be coming. He had said
+      &ldquo;dinner&rdquo;; and, of course, after dinner was over he would be coming home&mdash;to
+      her. Very well; she would show him that she had at least got along without
+      him as well as he had without her. At all events he would not find her
+      forlornly sitting with her nose pressed against the window-pane! And
+      forthwith Billy established herself in a big chair (with its back
+      carefully turned toward the door by which Bertram would enter), and opened
+      a book.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Five, ten, fifteen minutes passed. Billy fidgeted in her chair, twisted
+      her neck to look out into the hall&mdash;and dropped her book with a bang.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Uncle William jerked himself awake, and Spunkie opened sleepy eyes. Then
+      both settled themselves for another nap. Billy sighed, picked up her book,
+      and flounced back into her chair. But she did not read. Disconsolately she
+      sat staring straight ahead&mdash;until a quick step on the sidewalk
+      outside stirred her into instant action. Assuming a look of absorbed
+      interest she twitched the book open and held it before her face.... But
+      the step passed by the door: and Billy saw then that her book was upside
+      down.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Five, ten, fifteen more minutes passed. Billy still sat, apparently
+      reading, though she had not turned a page. The book now, however, was
+      right side up. One by one other minutes passed till the great clock in the
+      hall struck nine long strokes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, well, bless my soul!&rdquo; mumbled Uncle William, resolutely forcing
+      himself to wake up. &ldquo;What time was that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nine o'clock.&rdquo; Billy spoke with tragic distinctness, yet very cheerfully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh? Only nine?&rdquo; blinked Uncle William. &ldquo;I thought it must be ten. Well,
+      anyhow, I believe I'll go up-stairs. I seem to be unusually sleepy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy said nothing. &ldquo;'Only nine,' indeed!&rdquo; she was thinking wrathfully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the door Uncle William turned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You're not going to sit up, my dear, of course,&rdquo; he remarked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For the second time that evening a cold hand seemed to clutch Billy's
+      heart.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <i>Sit up!</i> Had it come already to that? Was she even now a wife who
+      had need to <i>sit up</i> for her husband?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I really wouldn't, my dear,&rdquo; advised Uncle William again. &ldquo;Good night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, but I'm not sleepy at all, yet,&rdquo; Billy managed to declare brightly.
+      &ldquo;Good night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then Uncle William went up-stairs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy turned to her book, which happened to be one of William's on &ldquo;Fake
+      Antiques.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'To collect anything, these days, requires expert knowledge, and the
+      utmost care and discrimination,'&rdquo; read Billy's eyes. &ldquo;So Uncle William <i>expected</i>
+      Bertram was going to spend the whole evening as well as stay to dinner!&rdquo;
+       ran Billy's thoughts. &ldquo;'The enormous quantity of bijouterie, Dresden and
+      Battersea enamel ware that is now flooding the market, is made on the
+      Continent&mdash;and made chiefly for the American trade,'&rdquo; continued the
+      book.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, who cares if it is,&rdquo; snapped Billy, springing to her feet and
+      tossing the volume aside. &ldquo;Spunkie, come here! You've simply got to play
+      with me. Do you hear? I want to be gay&mdash;<i>gay</i>&mdash;GAY! He's
+      gay. He's down there with those men, where he wants to be. Where he'd <i>rather</i>
+      be than be with me! Do you think I want him to come home and find me
+      moping over a stupid old book? Not much! I'm going to have him find me
+      gay, too. Now, come, Spunkie; hurry&mdash;wake up! He'll be here right
+      away, I'm sure.&rdquo; And Billy shook a pair of worsted reins, hung with little
+      soft balls, full in Spunkie's face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But Spunkie would not wake up, and Spunkie would not play. She pretended
+      to. She bit at the reins, and sank her sharp claws into the dangling
+      balls. For a fleeting instant, even, something like mischief gleamed in
+      her big yellow eyes. Then the jaws relaxed, the paws turned to velvet, and
+      Spunkie's sleek gray head settled slowly back into lazy comfort. Spunkie
+      was asleep.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy gazed at the cat with reproachful eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And you, too, Spunkie,&rdquo; she murmured. Then she got to her feet and went
+      back to her chair. This time she picked up a magazine and began to turn
+      the leaves very fast, one after another.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Half-past nine came, then ten. Pete appeared at the door to get Spunkie,
+      and to see that everything was all right for the night.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Bertram is not in yet?&rdquo; he began doubtfully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy shook her head with a bright smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, Pete. Go to bed. I expect him every minute. Good night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you, ma'am. Good night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The old man picked up the sleepy cat and went down-stairs. A little later
+      Billy heard his quiet steps coming back through the hall and ascending the
+      stairs. She listened until from away at the top of the house she heard his
+      door close. Then she drew a long breath.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ten o'clock&mdash;after ten o'clock, and Bertram not there yet! And was
+      this what he called dinner? Did one eat, then, till ten o'clock, when one
+      dined with one's friends?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy was angry now&mdash;very angry. She was too angry to be reasonable.
+      This thing that her husband had done seemed monstrous to her, smarting, as
+      she was, under the sting of hurt pride and grieved loneliness&mdash;the
+      state of mind into which she had worked herself. No longer now did she
+      wish to be gay when her husband came. No longer did she even pretend to
+      assume indifference. Bertram had done wrong. He had been unkind, cruel,
+      thoughtless, inconsiderate of her comfort and happiness. Furthermore he <i>did
+      not</i> love her as well as she did him or he never, never could have done
+      it! She would let him see, when he came, just how hurt and grieved she was&mdash;and
+      how disappointed, too.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy was walking the floor now, back and forth, back and forth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Half-past ten came, then eleven. As the eleven long strokes reverberated
+      through the silent house Billy drew in her breath and held it suspended. A
+      new look came to her eyes. A growing terror crept into them and culminated
+      in a frightened stare at the clock.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy ran then to the great outer door and pulled it open. A cold wind
+      stung her face, and caused her to shut the door quickly. Back and forth
+      she began to pace the floor again; but in five minutes she had run to the
+      door once more. This time she wore a heavy coat of Bertram's which she
+      caught up as she passed the hall-rack.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Out on to the broad top step Billy hurried, and peered down the street. As
+      far as she could see not a person was in sight. Across the street in the
+      Public Garden the wind stirred the gray tree-branches and set them to
+      casting weird shadows on the bare, frozen ground. A warning something
+      behind her sent Billy scurrying into the house just in time to prevent the
+      heavy door's closing and shutting her out, keyless, in the cold.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Half-past eleven came, and again Billy ran to the door. This time she put
+      the floor-mat against the casing so that the door could not close. Once
+      more she peered wildly up and down the street, and across into the
+      deserted, wind-swept Garden.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was only terror now in Billy's face. The anger was all gone. In
+      Billy's mind there was not a shadow of doubt&mdash;something had happened
+      to Bertram.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram was ill&mdash;hurt&mdash;dead! And he was so good, so kind, so
+      noble; such a dear, dear husband! If only she could see him once. If only
+      she could ask his forgiveness for those wicked, unkind, accusing thoughts.
+      If only she could tell him again that she did love him. If only&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Far down the street a step rang sharply on the frosty air. A masculine
+      figure was hurrying toward the house. Retreating well into the shadow of
+      the doorway, Billy watched it, her heart pounding against her side in
+      great suffocating throbs. Nearer and nearer strode the approaching figure
+      until Billy had almost sprung to meet it with a glad cry&mdash;almost, but
+      not quite; for the figure neither turned nor paused, but marched straight
+      on&mdash;and Billy saw then, under the arc light, a brown-bearded man who
+      was not Bertram at all.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Three times during the next few minutes did the waiting little bride on
+      the doorstep watch with palpitating yearning a shadowy form appear,
+      approach&mdash;and pass by. At the third heart-breaking disappointment,
+      Billy wrung her hands helplessly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't see how there can be&mdash;so many&mdash;utterly <i>useless</i>
+      people in the world!&rdquo; she choked. Then, thoroughly chilled and sick at
+      heart, she went into the house and closed the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Once again, back and forth, back and forth, Billy took up her weary vigil.
+      She still wore the heavy coat. She had forgotten to take it off. Her face
+      was pitifully white and drawn. Her eyes were wild. One of her hands was
+      nervously caressing the rough sleeve of the coat as it hung from her
+      shoulder.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One&mdash;two&mdash;three&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy gave a sharp cry and ran into the hall.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Yes, it was twelve o'clock. And now, always, all the rest of the dreary,
+      useless hours that that clock would tick away through an endless
+      existence, she would have to live&mdash;without Bertram. If only she could
+      see him once more! But she could not. He was dead. He must be dead, now.
+      Here it was twelve o'clock, and&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There came a quick step, the click of a key in the lock, then the door
+      swung back and Bertram, big, strong, and merry-eyed, stood before her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, well, hullo,&rdquo; he called jovially. &ldquo;Why, Billy, what's the matter?&rdquo;
+       he broke off, in quite a different tone of voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And then a curious thing happened. Billy, who, a minute before, had been
+      seeing only a dear, noble, adorable, <i>lost</i> Bertram, saw now suddenly
+      only the man that had stayed <i>happily</i> till midnight with two
+      friends, while she&mdash;she&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Matter! Matter!&rdquo; exclaimed Billy sharply, then. &ldquo;Is this what you call
+      staying to dinner, Bertram Henshaw?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram stared. A slow red stole to his forehead. It was his first
+      experience of coming home to meet angry eyes that questioned his behavior&mdash;and
+      he did not like it. He had been, perhaps, a little conscience-smitten when
+      he saw how late he had stayed; and he had intended to say he was sorry, of
+      course. But to be thus sharply called to account for a perfectly innocent
+      good time with a couple of friends&mdash;! To come home and find Billy
+      making a ridiculous scene like this&mdash;! He&mdash;he would not stand
+      for it! He&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram's lips snapped open. The angry retort was almost spoken when
+      something in the piteously quivering chin and white, drawn face opposite
+      stopped it just in time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Billy&mdash;darling!&rdquo; he murmured instead.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was Billy's turn to change. All the anger melted away before the
+      dismayed tenderness in those dear eyes and the grieved hurt in that dear
+      voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, you&mdash;you&mdash;I&mdash;&rdquo; Billy began to cry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was all right then, of course, for the next minute she was crying on
+      Bertram's big, broad shoulder; and in the midst of broken words, kisses,
+      gentle pats, and inarticulate croonings, the Big, Bad Quarrel, that had
+      been all ready to materialize, faded quite away into nothingness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I didn't have such an awfully good time, anyhow,&rdquo; avowed Bertram, when
+      speech became rational. &ldquo;I'd rather have been home with you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense!&rdquo; blinked Billy, valiantly. &ldquo;Of course you had a good time; and
+      it was perfectly right you should have it, too! And I&mdash;I hope you'll
+      have it again.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I sha'n't,&rdquo; emphasized Bertram, promptly, &ldquo;&mdash;not and leave you!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy regarded him with adoring eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll tell you; we'll have 'em come here,&rdquo; she proposed gayly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sure we will,&rdquo; agreed Bertram.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes; sure we will,&rdquo; echoed Billy, with a contented sigh. Then, a little
+      breathlessly, she added: &ldquo;Anyhow, I'll know&mdash;where you are. I won't
+      think you're&mdash;dead!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You&mdash;blessed&mdash;little-goose!&rdquo; scolded Bertram, punctuating each
+      word with a kiss.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy drew a long sigh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If this is a quarrel I'm going to have them often,&rdquo; she announced
+      placidly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy!&rdquo; The young husband was plainly aghast.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I am&mdash;because I like the making-up,&rdquo; dimpled Billy, with a
+      mischievous twinkle as she broke from his clasp and skipped ahead up the
+      stairway.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br><br><br><br>
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER VIII. BILLY CULTIVATES A &ldquo;COMFORTABLE INDIFFERENCE&rdquo;
+     </h2>
+    <p>
+      The next morning, under the uncompromising challenge of a bright sun,
+      Billy began to be uneasily suspicious that she had been just a bit
+      unreasonable and exacting the night before. To make matters worse she
+      chanced to run across a newspaper criticism of a new book bearing the
+      ominous title: &ldquo;When the Honeymoon Wanes A Talk to Young Wives.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Such a title, of course, attracted her supersensitive attention at once;
+      and, with a curiously faint feeling, she picked up the paper and began to
+      read.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As the most of the criticism was taken up with quotations from the book,
+      it was such sentences as these that met her startled eyes:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps the first test comes when the young wife awakes to the
+      realization that while her husband loves her very much, he can still make
+      plans with his old friends which do not include herself.... Then is when
+      the foolish wife lets her husband see how hurt she is that he can want to
+      be with any one but herself.... Then is when the husband&mdash;used all
+      his life to independence, perhaps&mdash;begins to chafe under these new
+      bonds that hold him so fast.... No man likes to be held up at the end of a
+      threatened scene and made to give an account of himself.... Before a woman
+      has learned to cultivate a comfortable indifference to her husband's
+      comings and goings, she is apt to be tyrannical and exacting.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Comfortable indifference,' indeed!&rdquo; stormed Billy to herself. &ldquo;As if I
+      ever could be comfortably indifferent to anything Bertram did!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She dropped the paper; but there were still other quotations from the book
+      there, she knew; and in a moment she was back at the table reading them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No man, however fondly he loves his wife, likes to feel that she is
+      everlastingly peering into the recesses of his mind, and weighing his
+      every act to find out if he does or does not love her to-day as well as he
+      did yesterday at this time.... Then, when spontaneity is dead, she is the
+      chief mourner at its funeral.... A few couples never leave the Garden of
+      Eden. They grow old hand in hand. They are the ones who bear and forbear;
+      who have learned to adjust themselves to the intimate relationship of
+      living together.... A certain amount of liberty, both of action and
+      thought, must be allowed on each side.... The family shut in upon itself
+      grows so narrow that all interest in the outside world is lost.... No two
+      people are ever fitted to fill each other's lives entirely. They ought not
+      to try to do it. If they do try, the process is belittling to each, and
+      the result, if it is successful, is nothing less than a tragedy; for it
+      could not mean the highest ideals, nor the truest devotion.... Brushing up
+      against other interests and other personalities is good for both husband
+      and wife. Then to each other they bring the best of what they have found,
+      and each to the other continues to be new and interesting.... The young
+      wife, however, is apt to be jealous of everything that turns her husband's
+      attention for one moment away from herself. She is jealous of his
+      thoughts, his words, his friends, even his business.... But the wife who
+      has learned to be the clinging vine when her husband wishes her to cling,
+      and to be the sturdy oak when clinging vines would be tiresome, has solved
+      a tremendous problem.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At this point Billy dropped the paper. She flung it down, indeed, a bit
+      angrily. There were still a few more words in the criticism, mostly the
+      critic's own opinion of the book; but Billy did not care for this. She had
+      read quite enough&mdash;too much, in fact. All that sort of talk might be
+      very well, even necessary, perhaps (she told herself), for ordinary
+      husbands and wives! but for her and Bertram&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then vividly before her rose those initial quoted words:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps the first test comes when the young wife awakes to the
+      realization that while her husband loves her very much, he can still make
+      plans with his old friends which do not include herself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy frowned, and put her finger to her lips. Was that then, last night,
+      a &ldquo;test&rdquo;? Had she been &ldquo;tyrannical and exacting&rdquo;? Was she &ldquo;everlastingly
+      peering into the recesses&rdquo; of Bertram's mind and &ldquo;weighing his every act&rdquo;?
+      Was Bertram already beginning to &ldquo;chafe&rdquo; under these new bonds that held
+      him?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      No, no, never that! She could not believe that. But what if he should
+      sometime begin to chafe? What if they two should, in days to come,
+      degenerate into just the ordinary, everyday married folk, whom she saw
+      about her everywhere, and for whom just such horrid books as this must be
+      written? It was unbelievable, unthinkable. And yet, that man had said&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With a despairing sigh Billy picked up the paper once more and read
+      carefully every word again. When she had finished she stood soberly
+      thoughtful, her eyes out of the window.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After all, it was nothing but the same old story. She was exacting. She
+      did want her husband's every thought. She <i>gloried</i> in peering into
+      every last recess of his mind if she had half a chance. She was jealous of
+      his work. She had almost hated his painting&mdash;at times. She had held
+      him up with a threatened scene only the night before and demanded that he
+      should give an account of himself. She had, very likely, been the clinging
+      vine when she should have been the sturdy oak.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Very well, then. (Billy lifted her head and threw back her shoulders.) He
+      should have no further cause for complaint. She would be an oak. She would
+      cultivate that comfortable indifference to his comings and goings. She
+      would brush up against other interests and personalities so as to be &ldquo;new&rdquo;
+       and &ldquo;interesting&rdquo; to her husband. She would not be tyrannical, exacting,
+      or jealous. She would not threaten scenes, nor peer into recesses.
+      Whatever happened, she would not let Bertram begin to chafe against those
+      bonds!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Having arrived at this heroic and (to her) eminently satisfactory state of
+      mind, Billy turned from the window and fell to work on a piece of
+      manuscript music.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Brush up against other interests,'&rdquo; she admonished herself sternly, as
+      she reached for her pen.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Theoretically it was beautiful; but practically&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy began at once to be that oak. Not an hour after she had first seen
+      the fateful notice of &ldquo;When the Honeymoon Wanes,&rdquo; Bertram's ring sounded
+      at the door down-stairs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram always let himself in with his latchkey; but, from the first of
+      Billy's being there, he had given a peculiar ring at the bell which would
+      bring his wife flying to welcome him if she were anywhere in the house.
+      To-day, when the bell sounded, Billy sprang as usual to her feet, with a
+      joyous &ldquo;There's Bertram!&rdquo; But the next moment she fell back.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tut, tut, Billy Neilson Henshaw! Learn to cultivate a comfortable
+      indifference to your husband's comings and goings,&rdquo; she whispered
+      fiercely. Then she sat down and fell to work again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A moment later she heard her husband's voice talking to some one&mdash;Pete,
+      she surmised. &ldquo;Here? You say she's here?&rdquo; Then she heard Bertram's quick
+      step on the stairs. The next minute, very quietly, he came to her door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ho!&rdquo; he ejaculated gayly, as she rose to receive his kiss. &ldquo;I thought I'd
+      find you asleep, when you didn't hear my ring.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy reddened a little.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no, I wasn't asleep.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you didn't hear&mdash;&rdquo; Bertram stopped abruptly, an odd look in his
+      eyes. &ldquo;Maybe you did hear it, though,&rdquo; he corrected.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy colored more confusedly. The fact that she looked so distressed did
+      not tend to clear Bertram's face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, of course, Billy, I didn't mean to insist on your coming to meet
+      me,&rdquo; he began a little stiffly; but Billy interrupted him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Bertram, I just love to go to meet you,&rdquo; she maintained indignantly.
+      Then, remembering just in time, she amended: &ldquo;That is, I did love to meet
+      you, until&mdash;&rdquo; With a sudden realization that she certainly had not
+      helped matters any, she came to an embarrassed pause.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A puzzled frown showed on Bertram's face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You did love to meet me until&mdash;&rdquo; he repeated after her; then his
+      face changed. &ldquo;Billy, you aren't&mdash;you <i>can't</i> be laying up last
+      night against me!&rdquo; he reproached her a little irritably.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Last night? Why, of course not,&rdquo; retorted Billy, in a panic at the bare
+      mention of the &ldquo;test&rdquo; which&mdash;according to &ldquo;When the Honeymoon Wanes&rdquo;&mdash;was
+      at the root of all her misery. Already she thought she detected in
+      Bertram's voice signs that he was beginning to chafe against those
+      &ldquo;bonds.&rdquo; &ldquo;It is a matter of&mdash;of the utmost indifference to me what
+      time you come home at night, my dear,&rdquo; she finished airily, as she sat
+      down to her work again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram stared; then he frowned, turned on his heel and left the room.
+      Bertram, who knew nothing of the &ldquo;Talk to Young Wives&rdquo; in the newspaper at
+      Billy's feet, was surprised, puzzled, and just a bit angry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy, left alone, jabbed her pen with such force against her paper that
+      the note she was making became an unsightly blot.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, if this is what that man calls being 'comfortably indifferent,' I'd
+      hate to try the <i>un</i>comfortable kind,&rdquo; she muttered with emphasis.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br><br><br><br>
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER IX. THE DINNER BILLY TRIED TO GET
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Notwithstanding what Billy was disposed to regard as the non-success of
+      her first attempt to profit by the &ldquo;Talk to Young Wives;&rdquo; she still
+      frantically tried to avert the waning of her honeymoon. Assiduously she
+      cultivated the prescribed &ldquo;indifference,&rdquo; and with at least apparent
+      enthusiasm she sought the much-to-be-desired &ldquo;outside interests.&rdquo; That is,
+      she did all this when she thought of it when something reminded her of the
+      sword of destruction hanging over her happiness. At other times, when she
+      was just being happy without question, she was her old self impulsive,
+      affectionate, and altogether adorable.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Naturally, under these circumstances, her conduct was somewhat erratic.
+      For three days, perhaps, she would fly to the door at her husband's ring,
+      and hang upon his every movement. Then, for the next three, she would be a
+      veritable will-o'-the-wisp for elusiveness, caring, apparently, not one
+      whit whether her husband came or went until poor Bertram, at his wit's
+      end, scourged himself with a merciless catechism as to what he had done to
+      vex her. Then, perhaps, just when he had nerved himself almost to the
+      point of asking her what was the trouble, there would come another change,
+      bringing back to him the old Billy, joyous, winsome, and devoted, plainly
+      caring nothing for anybody or anything but himself. Scarcely, however,
+      would he become sure that it was his Billy back again before she was off
+      once more, quite beyond his reach, singing with Arkwright and Alice
+      Greggory, playing with Tommy Dunn, plunging into some club or church work&mdash;anything
+      but being with him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That all this was puzzling and disquieting to Bertram, Billy not once
+      suspected. Billy, so far as she was concerned, was but cultivating a
+      comfortable indifference, brushing up against outside interests, and being
+      an oak.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      December passed, and January came, bringing Miss Marguerite Winthrop to
+      her Boston home. Bertram's arm was &ldquo;as good as ever&rdquo; now, according to its
+      owner; and the sittings for the new portrait began at once. This left
+      Billy even more to her own devices, for Bertram entered into his new work
+      with an enthusiasm born of a glad relief from forced idleness, and a
+      consuming eagerness to prove that even though he had failed the first
+      time, he could paint a portrait of Marguerite Winthrop that would be a
+      credit to himself, a conclusive retort to his critics, and a source of
+      pride to his once mortified friends. With his whole heart, therefore, he
+      threw himself into the work before him, staying sometimes well into the
+      afternoon on the days Miss Winthrop could find time between her social
+      engagements to give him a sitting.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was on such a day, toward the middle of the month, that Billy was
+      called to the telephone at half-past twelve o'clock to speak to her
+      husband.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, dear,&rdquo; began Bertram at once, &ldquo;if you don't mind I'm staying to
+      luncheon at Miss Winthrop's kind request. We've changed the pose&mdash;neither
+      of us was satisfied, you know&mdash;but we haven't quite settled on the
+      new one. Miss Winthrop has two whole hours this afternoon that she can
+      give me if I'll stay; and, of course, under the circumstances, I want to
+      do it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course,&rdquo; echoed Billy. Billy's voice was indomitably cheerful.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you, dear. I knew you'd understand,&rdquo; sighed Bertram, contentedly.
+      &ldquo;You see, really, two whole hours, so&mdash;it's a chance I can't afford
+      to lose.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course you can't,&rdquo; echoed Billy, again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right then. Good-by till to-night,&rdquo; called the man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good-by,&rdquo; answered Billy, still cheerfully. As she turned away, however,
+      she tossed her head. &ldquo;A new pose, indeed!&rdquo; she muttered, with some
+      asperity. &ldquo;Just as if there could be a <i>new</i> pose after all those she
+      tried last year!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Immediately after luncheon Pete and Eliza started for South Boston to pay
+      a visit to Eliza's mother, and it was soon after they left the house that
+      Bertram called his wife up again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Say, dearie, I forgot to tell you,&rdquo; he began, &ldquo;but I met an old friend in
+      the subway this morning, and I&mdash;well, I remembered what you said
+      about bringing 'em home to dinner next time, so I asked him for to-night.
+      Do you mind? It's&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mind? Of course not! I'm glad you did,&rdquo; plunged in Billy, with feverish
+      eagerness. (Even now, just the bare mention of anything connected with
+      that awful &ldquo;test&rdquo; night was enough to set Billy's nerves to tingling.) &ldquo;I
+      want you to always bring them home, Bertram.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right, dear. We'll be there at six o'clock then. It's&mdash;it's
+      Calderwell, this time. You remember Calderwell, of course.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not&mdash;<i>Hugh</i> Calderwell?&rdquo; Billy's question was a little faint.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sure!&rdquo; Bertram laughed oddly, and lowered his voice. &ldquo;I suspect <i>once</i>
+      I wouldn't have brought him home to you. I was too jealous. But now&mdash;well,
+      now maybe I want him to see what he's lost.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;<i>Bertram!</i>&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But Bertram only laughed mischievously, and called a gay &ldquo;Good-by till
+      to-night, then!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy, at her end of the wires, hung up the receiver and backed against
+      the wall a little palpitatingly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Calderwell! To dinner&mdash;Calderwell! Did she remember Calderwell? Did
+      she, indeed! As if one could easily forget the man that, for a year or
+      two, had proposed marriage as regularly (and almost as lightly!) as he had
+      torn a monthly leaf from his calendar! Besides, was it not he, too, who
+      had said that Bertram would never love any girl, <i>really</i>; that it
+      would be only the tilt of her chin or the turn of her head that he loved&mdash;to
+      paint? And now he was coming to dinner&mdash;and with Bertram.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Very well, he should see! He should see that Bertram <i>did</i> love her;
+      <i>her</i>&mdash;not the tilt of her chin nor the turn of her head. He
+      should see how happy they were, what a good wife she made, and how devoted
+      and <i>satisfied</i> Bertram was in his home. He should see! And forthwith
+      Billy picked up her skirts and tripped up-stairs to select her very
+      prettiest house-gown to do honor to the occasion. Up-stairs, however, one
+      thing and another delayed her, so that it was four o'clock when she turned
+      her attention to her toilet; and it was while she was hesitating whether
+      to be stately and impressive in royally sumptuous blue velvet and ermine,
+      or cozy and tantalizingly homy{sic} in bronze-gold crêpe de Chine and
+      swan's-down, that the telephone bell rang again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Eliza and Pete had not yet returned; so, as before, Billy answered it.
+      This time Eliza's shaking voice came to her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is that you, ma'am?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, yes, Eliza?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes'm, it's me, ma'am. It's about Uncle Pete. He's give us a turn that's
+      'most scared us out of our wits.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pete! You mean he's sick?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, ma'am, he was. That is, he is, too&mdash;only he's better, now,
+      thank goodness,&rdquo; panted Eliza. &ldquo;But he ain't hisself yet. He's that white
+      and shaky! Would you&mdash;could you&mdash;that is, would you mind if we
+      didn't come back till into the evenin', maybe?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, of course not,&rdquo; cried Pete's mistress, quickly. &ldquo;Don't come a minute
+      before he's able, Eliza. Don't come until to-morrow.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Eliza gave a trembling little laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you, ma'am; but there wouldn't be no keepin' of Uncle Pete here
+      till then. If he could take five steps alone he'd start now. But he can't.
+      He says he'll be all right pretty quick, though. He's had 'em before&mdash;these
+      spells&mdash;but never quite so bad as this, I guess; an' he's worryin'
+      somethin' turrible 'cause he can't start for home right away.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense!&rdquo; cut in Mrs. Bertram Henshaw.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes'm. I knew you'd feel that way,&rdquo; stammered Eliza, gratefully. &ldquo;You
+      see, I couldn't leave him to come alone, and besides, anyhow, I'd have to
+      stay, for mother ain't no more use than a wet dish-rag at such times,
+      she's that scared herself. And she ain't very well, too. So if&mdash;if
+      you <i>could</i> get along&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course we can! And tell Pete not to worry one bit. I'm so sorry he's
+      sick!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you, ma'am. Then we'll be there some time this evenin',&rdquo; sighed
+      Eliza.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      From the telephone Billy turned away with a troubled face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pete <i>is</i> ill,&rdquo; she was saying to herself. &ldquo;I don't like the looks
+      of it; and he's so faithful he'd come if&mdash;&rdquo; With a little cry Billy
+      stopped short. Then, tremblingly, she sank into the nearest chair.
+      &ldquo;Calderwell&mdash;and he's coming to <i>dinner!</i>&rdquo; she moaned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For two benumbed minutes Billy sat staring at nothing. Then she ran to the
+      telephone and called the Annex.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aunt Hannah, for heaven's sake, if you love me,&rdquo; pleaded Billy, &ldquo;send
+      Rosa down instanter! Pete is sick over to South Boston, and Eliza is with
+      him; and Bertram is bringing Hugh Calderwell home to dinner. <i>Can</i>
+      you spare Rosa?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, my grief and conscience, Billy! Of course I can&mdash;I mean I could&mdash;but
+      Rosa isn't here, dear child! It's her day out, you know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;O dear, of course it is! I might have known, if I'd thought; but Pete and
+      Eliza have spoiled me. They never take days out at meal time&mdash;both
+      together, I mean&mdash;until to-night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, my dear child, what will you do?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know. I've got to think. I <i>must</i> do something!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course you must! I'd come over myself if it wasn't for my cold.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As if I'd let you!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There isn't anybody here, only Tommy. Even Alice is gone. Oh, Billy,
+      Billy, this only goes to prove what I've always said, that <i>no</i> woman
+      <i>ought</i> to be a wife until she's an efficient housekeeper; and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, yes, Aunt Hannah, I know,&rdquo; moaned Billy, frenziedly. &ldquo;But I am a
+      wife, and I'm not an efficient housekeeper; and Hugh Calderwell won't wait
+      for me to learn. He's coming to-night. <i>To-night!</i> And I've got to do
+      something. Never mind. I'll fix it some way. Good-by!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, Billy, Billy! Oh, my grief and conscience,&rdquo; fluttered Aunt Hannah's
+      voice across the wires as Billy snapped the receiver into place.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For the second time that day Billy backed palpitatingly against the wall.
+      Her eyes sought the clock fearfully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Fifteen minutes past four. She had an hour and three quarters. She could,
+      of course, telephone Bertram to dine Calderwell at a club or some hotel.
+      But to do this now, the very first time, when it had been her own
+      suggestion that he &ldquo;bring them home&rdquo;&mdash;no, no, she could not do that!
+      Anything but that! Besides, very likely she could not reach Bertram,
+      anyway. Doubtless he had left the Winthrops' by this time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was Marie. She could telephone Marie. But Marie could not very well
+      come just now, she knew; and then, too, there was Cyril to be taken into
+      consideration. How Cyril would gibe at the wife who had to call in all the
+      neighbors just because her husband was bringing home a friend to dinner!
+      How he would&mdash;Well, he shouldn't! He should not have the chance. So,
+      there!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With a jerk Mrs. Bertram Henshaw pulled herself away from the wall and
+      stood erect. Her eyes snapped, and the very poise of her chin spelled
+      determination.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Very well, she would show them. Was not Bertram bringing this man home
+      because he was proud of her? Mighty proud he would be if she had to call
+      in half of Boston to get his dinner for him! Nonsense! She would get it
+      herself. Was not this the time, if ever, to be an oak? A vine, doubtless,
+      would lean and cling and telephone, and whine &ldquo;I can't!&rdquo; But not an oak.
+      An oak would hold up its head and say &ldquo;I can!&rdquo; An oak would go ahead and
+      get that dinner. She would be an oak. She would get that dinner.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What if she didn't know how to cook bread and cake and pies and things?
+      One did not have to cook bread and cake and pies just to get a dinner&mdash;meat
+      and potatoes and vegetables! Besides, she <i>could</i> make peach
+      fritters. She knew she could. She would show them!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And with actually a bit of song on her lips, Billy skipped up-stairs for
+      her ruffled apron and dust-cap&mdash;two necessary accompaniments to this
+      dinner-getting, in her opinion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy found the apron and dust-cap with no difficulty; but it took fully
+      ten of her precious minutes to unearth from its obscure hiding-place the
+      blue-and-gold &ldquo;Bride's Helper&rdquo; cookbook, one of Aunt Hannah's wedding
+      gifts.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the way to the kitchen, Billy planned her dinner. As was natural,
+      perhaps, she chose the things she herself would like to eat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I won't attempt anything very elaborate,&rdquo; she said to herself. &ldquo;It would
+      be wiser to have something simple, like chicken pie, perhaps. I love
+      chicken pie! And I'll have oyster stew first&mdash;that is, after the
+      grapefruit. Just oysters boiled in milk must be easier than soup to make.
+      I'll begin with grapefruit with a cherry in it, like Pete fixes it. Those
+      don't have to be cooked, anyhow. I'll have fish&mdash;Bertram loves the
+      fish course. Let me see, halibut, I guess, with egg sauce. I won't have
+      any roast; nothing but the chicken pie. And I'll have squash and onions. I
+      can have a salad, easy&mdash;just lettuce and stuff. That doesn't have to
+      be cooked. Oh, and the peach fritters, if I get time to make them. For
+      dessert&mdash;well, maybe I can find a new pie or pudding in the cookbook.
+      I want to use that cookbook for something, after hunting all this time for
+      it!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In the kitchen Billy found exquisite neatness, and silence. The first
+      brought an approving light to her eyes; but the second, for some
+      unapparent reason, filled her heart with vague misgiving. This feeling,
+      however, Billy resolutely cast from her as she crossed the room, dropped
+      her book on to the table, and turned toward the shining black stove.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was an excellent fire. Glowing points of light showed that only a
+      good draft was needed to make the whole mass of coal red-hot. Billy,
+      however, did not know this. Her experience of fires was confined to
+      burning wood in open grates&mdash;and wood in open grates had to be poked
+      to make it red and glowing. With confident alacrity now, therefore, Billy
+      caught up the poker, thrust it into the mass of coals and gave them a fine
+      stirring up. Then she set back the lid of the stove and went to hunt up
+      the ingredients for her dinner.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      By the time Billy had searched five minutes and found no chicken, no
+      oysters, and no halibut, it occurred to her that her larder was not, after
+      all, an open market, and that one's provisions must be especially ordered
+      to fit one's needs. As to ordering them now&mdash;Billy glanced at the
+      clock and shook her head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's almost five, already, and they'd never get here in time,&rdquo; she sighed
+      regretfully. &ldquo;I'll have to have something else.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy looked now, not for what she wanted, but for what she could find.
+      And she found: some cold roast lamb, at which she turned up her nose; an
+      uncooked beefsteak, which she appropriated doubtfully; a raw turnip and a
+      head of lettuce, which she hailed with glee; and some beets, potatoes,
+      onions, and grapefruit, from all of which she took a generous supply. Thus
+      laden she went back to the kitchen.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Spread upon the table they made a brave show.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, well, I'll have quite a dinner, after all,&rdquo; she triumphed, cocking
+      her head happily. &ldquo;And now for the dessert,&rdquo; she finished, pouncing on the
+      cookbook.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was while she was turning the leaves to find the pies and puddings that
+      she ran across the vegetables and found the word &ldquo;beets&rdquo; staring her in
+      the face. Mechanically she read the line below.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Winter beets will require three hours to cook. Use hot water.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy's startled eyes sought the clock.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Three hours&mdash;and it was five, now!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Frenziedly, then, she ran her finger down the page.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Onions, one and one-half hours. Use hot water. Turnips require a long
+      time, but if cut thin they will cook in an hour and a quarter.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;An hour and a quarter, indeed!&rdquo; she moaned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Isn't there anything anywhere that doesn't take forever to cook?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Early peas&mdash;... green corn&mdash;... summer squash&mdash;...&rdquo;
+       mumbled Billy's dry lips. &ldquo;But what do folks eat in January&mdash;<i>January</i>?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was the apparently inoffensive sentence, &ldquo;New potatoes will boil in
+      thirty minutes,&rdquo; that brought fresh terror to Billy's soul, and set her to
+      fluttering the cookbook leaves with renewed haste. If it took <i>new</i>
+      potatoes thirty minutes to cook, how long did it take old ones? In vain
+      she searched for the answer. There were plenty of potatoes. They were
+      mashed, whipped, scalloped, creamed, fried, and broiled; they were made
+      into puffs, croquettes, potato border, and potato snow. For many of these
+      they were boiled first&mdash;&ldquo;until tender,&rdquo; one rule said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But that doesn't tell me how long it takes to get 'em tender,&rdquo; fumed
+      Billy, despairingly. &ldquo;I suppose they think anybody ought to know that&mdash;but
+      I don't!&rdquo; Suddenly her eyes fell once more on the instructions for boiling
+      turnips, and her face cleared. &ldquo;If it helps to cut turnips thin, why not
+      potatoes?&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;I <i>can</i> do that, anyhow; and I will,&rdquo; she
+      finished, with a sigh of relief, as she caught up half a dozen potatoes
+      and hurried into the pantry for a knife. A few minutes later, the
+      potatoes, peeled, and cut almost to wafer thinness, were dumped into a
+      basin of cold water.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There! now I guess you'll cook,&rdquo; nodded Billy to the dish in her hand as
+      she hurried to the stove.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Chilled by an ominous unresponsiveness, Billy lifted the stove lid and
+      peered inside. Only a mass of black and graying coals greeted her. The
+      fire was out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To think that even you had to go back on me like this!&rdquo; upbraided Billy,
+      eyeing the dismal mass with reproachful gaze.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This disaster, however, as Billy knew, was not so great as it seemed, for
+      there was still the gas stove. In the old days, under Dong Ling's rule,
+      there had been no gas stove. Dong Ling disapproved of &ldquo;devil stoves&rdquo; that
+      had &ldquo;no coalee, no woodee, but burned like hellee.&rdquo; Eliza, however, did
+      approve of them; and not long after her arrival, a fine one had been put
+      in for her use. So now Billy soon had her potatoes with a brisk blaze
+      under them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In frantic earnest, then, Billy went to work. Brushing the discarded
+      onions, turnip, and beets into a pail under the table, she was still
+      confronted with the beefsteak, lettuce, and grapefruit. All but the
+      beefsteak she pushed to one side with gentle pats.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You're all right,&rdquo; she nodded to them. &ldquo;I can use you. You don't have to
+      be cooked, bless your hearts! But <i>you</i>&mdash;!&rdquo; Billy scowled at the
+      beefsteak and ran her finger down the index of the &ldquo;Bride's Helper&rdquo;&mdash;Billy
+      knew how to handle that book now.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, you don't&mdash;not for me!&rdquo; she muttered, after a minute, shaking
+      her finger at the tenderloin on the table. &ldquo;I haven't got any 'hot coals,'
+      and I thought a 'gridiron' was where they played football; though it seems
+      it's some sort of a dish to cook you in, here&mdash;but I shouldn't know
+      it from a teaspoon, probably, if I should see it. No, sir! It's back to
+      the refrigerator for you, and a nice cold sensible roast leg of lamb for
+      me, that doesn't have to be cooked. Understand? <i>Cooked</i>,&rdquo; she
+      finished, as she carried the beefsteak away and took possession of the
+      hitherto despised cold lamb.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Once more Billy made a mad search through cupboards and shelves. This time
+      she bore back in triumph a can of corn, another of tomatoes, and a glass
+      jar of preserved peaches. In the kitchen a cheery bubbling from the
+      potatoes on the stove greeted her. Billy's spirits rose with the steam.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There, Spunkie,&rdquo; she said gayly to the cat, who had just uncurled from a
+      nap behind the stove. &ldquo;Tell me I can't get up a dinner! And maybe we'll
+      have the peach fritters, too,&rdquo; she chirped. &ldquo;I've got the peach-part,
+      anyway.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But Billy did not have the peach fritters, after all. She got out the
+      sugar and the flour, to be sure, and she made a great ado looking up the
+      rule; but a hurried glance at the clock sent her into the dining-room to
+      set the table, and all thought of the peach fritters was given up.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br><br><br><br>
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER X. THE DINNER BILLY GOT
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      At five minutes of six Bertram and Calderwell came. Bertram gave his
+      peculiar ring and let himself in with his latchkey; but Billy did not meet
+      him in the hall, nor in the drawing-room. Excusing himself, Bertram
+      hurried up-stairs. Billy was not in her room, nor anywhere on that floor.
+      She was not in William's room. Coming down-stairs to the hall again,
+      Bertram confronted William, who had just come in.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where's Billy?&rdquo; demanded the young husband, with just a touch of
+      irritation, as if he suspected William of having Billy in his pocket.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      William stared slightly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, I don't know. Isn't she here?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll ask Pete,&rdquo; frowned Bertram.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the dining-room Bertram found no one, though the table was prettily
+      set, and showed half a grapefruit at each place. In the kitchen&mdash;in
+      the kitchen Bertram found a din of rattling tin, an odor of burned food&mdash;,
+      a confusion of scattered pots and pans, a frightened cat who peered at him
+      from under a littered stove, and a flushed, disheveled young woman in a
+      blue dust-cap and ruffled apron, whom he finally recognized as his wife.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Billy!&rdquo; he gasped.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy, who was struggling with something at the sink, turned sharply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bertram Henshaw,&rdquo; she panted, &ldquo;I used to think you were wonderful because
+      you could paint a picture. I even used to think I was a little wonderful
+      because I could write a song. Well, I don't any more! But I'll tell you
+      who <i>is</i> wonderful. It's Eliza and Rosa, and all the rest of those
+      women who can get a meal on to the table all at once, so it's fit to eat!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Billy!&rdquo; gasped Bertram again, falling back to the door he had closed
+      behind him. &ldquo;What in the world does this mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mean? It means I'm getting dinner,&rdquo; choked Billy. &ldquo;Can't you see?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But&mdash;Pete! Eliza!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They're sick&mdash;I mean he's sick; and I said I'd do it. I'd be an oak.
+      But how did I know there wasn't anything in the house except stuff that
+      took hours to cook&mdash;only potatoes? And how did I know that <i>they</i>
+      cooked in no time, and then got all smushy and wet staying in the water?
+      And how did I know that everything else would stick on and burn on till
+      you'd used every dish there was in the house to cook 'em in?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Billy!&rdquo; gasped Bertram, for the third time. And then, because he had
+      been married only six months instead of six years, he made the mistake of
+      trying to argue with a woman whose nerves were already at the snapping
+      point. &ldquo;But, dear, it was so foolish of you to do all this! Why didn't you
+      telephone? Why didn't you get somebody?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Like an irate little tigress, Billy turned at bay.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bertram Henshaw,&rdquo; she flamed angrily, &ldquo;if you don't go up-stairs and tend
+      to that man up there, I shall <i>scream</i>. Now go! I'll be up when I
+      can.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And Bertram went.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was not so very long, after all, before Billy came in to greet her
+      guest. She was not stately and imposing in royally sumptuous blue velvet
+      and ermine; nor yet was she cozy and homy in bronze-gold crêpe de Chine
+      and swan's-down. She was just herself in a pretty little morning house
+      gown of blue gingham. She was minus the dust-cap and the ruffled apron,
+      but she had a dab of flour on the left cheek, and a smutch of crock on her
+      forehead. She had, too, a cut finger on her right hand, and a burned thumb
+      on her left. But she was Billy&mdash;and being Billy, she advanced with a
+      bright smile and held out a cordial hand&mdash;not even wincing when the
+      cut finger came under Calderwell's hearty clasp.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm glad to see you,&rdquo; she welcomed him. &ldquo;You'll excuse my not appearing
+      sooner, I'm sure, for&mdash;didn't Bertram tell you?&mdash;I'm playing
+      Bridget to-night. But dinner is ready now, and we'll go down, please,&rdquo; she
+      smiled, as she laid a light hand on her guest's arm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Behind her, Bertram, remembering the scene in the kitchen, stared in sheer
+      amazement. Bertram, it might be mentioned again, had been married six
+      months, not six years.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What Billy had intended to serve for a &ldquo;simple dinner&rdquo; that night was:
+      grapefruit with cherries, oyster stew, boiled halibut with egg sauce,
+      chicken pie, squash, onions, and potatoes, peach fritters, a &ldquo;lettuce and
+      stuff&rdquo; salad, and some new pie or pudding. What she did serve was:
+      grapefruit (without the cherries), cold roast lamb, potatoes (a mush of
+      sogginess), tomatoes (canned, and slightly burned), corn (canned, and very
+      much burned), lettuce (plain); and for dessert, preserved peaches and cake
+      (the latter rather dry and stale). Such was Billy's dinner.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The grapefruit everybody ate. The cold lamb too, met with a hearty
+      reception, especially after the potatoes, corn, and tomatoes were served&mdash;and
+      tasted. Outwardly, through it all, Billy was gayety itself. Inwardly she
+      was burning up with anger and mortification. And because she was all this,
+      there was, apparently, no limit to her laughter and sparkling repartee as
+      she talked with Calderwell, her guest&mdash;the guest who, according to
+      her original plans, was to be shown how happy she and Bertram were, what a
+      good wife she made, and how devoted and <i>satisfied</i> Bertram was in
+      his home.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      William, picking at his dinner&mdash;as only a hungry man can pick at a
+      dinner that is uneatable&mdash;watched Billy with a puzzled, uneasy frown.
+      Bertram, choking over the few mouthfuls he ate, marked his wife's animated
+      face and Calderwell's absorbed attention, and settled into gloomy silence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But it could not continue forever. The preserved peaches were eaten at
+      last, and the stale cake left. (Billy had forgotten the coffee&mdash;which
+      was just as well, perhaps.) Then the four trailed up-stairs to the
+      drawing-room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At nine o'clock an anxious Eliza and a remorseful, apologetic Pete came
+      home and descended to the horror the once orderly kitchen and dining-room
+      had become. At ten, Calderwell, with very evident reluctance, tore himself
+      away from Billy's gay badinage, and said good night. At two minutes past
+      ten, an exhausted, nerve-racked Billy was trying to cry on the shoulders
+      of both Uncle William and Bertram at once.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There, there, child, don't! It went off all right,&rdquo; patted Uncle William.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, darling,&rdquo; pleaded Bertram, &ldquo;please don't cry so! As if I'd ever
+      let you step foot in that kitchen again!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At this Billy raised a tear-wet face, aflame with indignant determination.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As if I'd ever let you keep me <i>from</i> it, Bertram Henshaw, after
+      this!&rdquo; she contested. &ldquo;I'm not going to do another thing in all my life
+      but <i>cook!</i> When I think of the stuff we had to eat, after all the
+      time I took to get it, I'm simply crazy! Do you think I'd run the risk of
+      such a thing as this ever happening again?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br><br><br><br>
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XI. CALDERWELL DOES SOME QUESTIONING
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      On the day after his dinner with Mr. and Mrs. Bertram Henshaw, Hugh
+      Calderwell left Boston and did not return until more than a month had
+      passed. One of his first acts, when he did come, was to look up Mr. M. J.
+      Arkwright at the address which Billy had given him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Calderwell had not seen Arkwright since they parted in Paris some two
+      years before, after a six-months tramp through Europe together. Calderwell
+      liked Arkwright then, greatly, and he lost no time now in renewing the
+      acquaintance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The address, as given by Billy, proved to be an attractive but modest
+      apartment hotel near the Conservatory of Music; and Calderwell was
+      delighted to find Arkwright at home in his comfortable little bachelor
+      suite.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright greeted him most cordially.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, well,&rdquo; he cried, &ldquo;if it isn't Calderwell! And how's Mont Blanc? Or
+      is it the Killarney Lakes this time, or maybe the Sphinx that I should
+      inquire for, eh?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Guess again,&rdquo; laughed Calderwell, throwing off his heavy coat and
+      settling himself comfortably in the inviting-looking morris chair his
+      friend pulled forward.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sha'n't do it,&rdquo; retorted Arkwright, with a smile. &ldquo;I never gamble on
+      palpable uncertainties, except for a chance throw or two, as I gave a
+      minute ago. Your movements are altogether too erratic, and too
+      far-reaching, for ordinary mortals to keep track of.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, maybe you're right,&rdquo; grinned Calderwell, appreciatively. &ldquo;Anyhow,
+      you would have lost this time, sure thing, for I've been working.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Seen the doctor yet?&rdquo; queried Arkwright, coolly, pushing the cigars
+      across the table.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thanks&mdash;for both,&rdquo; sniffed Calderwell, with a reproachful glance,
+      helping himself. &ldquo;Your good judgment in some matters is still unimpaired,
+      I see,&rdquo; he observed, tapping the little gilded band which had told him the
+      cigar was an old favorite. &ldquo;As to other matters, however,&mdash;you're
+      wrong again, my friend, in your surmise. I am not sick, and I have been
+      working.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So? Well, I'm told they have very good specialists here. Some one of them
+      ought to hit your case. Still&mdash;how long has it been running?&rdquo;
+       Arkwright's face showed only grave concern.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, come, let up, Arkwright,&rdquo; snapped Calderwell, striking his match
+      alight with a vigorous jerk. &ldquo;I'll admit I haven't ever given any <i>special</i>
+      indication of an absorbing passion for work. But what can you expect of a
+      fellow born with a whole dozen silver spoons in his mouth? And that's what
+      I was, according to Bertram Henshaw. According to him again, it's a wonder
+      I ever tried to feed myself; and perhaps he's right&mdash;with my mouth
+      already so full.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I should say so,&rdquo; laughed Arkwright.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, be that as it may. I'm going to feed myself, and I'm going to earn
+      my feed, too. I haven't climbed a mountain or paddled a canoe, for a year.
+      I've been in Chicago cultivating the acquaintance of John Doe and Richard
+      Roe.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You mean&mdash;law?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sure. I studied it here for a while, before that bout of ours a couple of
+      years ago. Billy drove me away, then.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy!&mdash;er&mdash;Mrs. Henshaw?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. I thought I told you. She turned down my tenth-dozen proposal so
+      emphatically that I lost all interest in Boston and took to the tall
+      timber again. But I've come back. A friend of my father's wrote me to come
+      on and consider a good opening there was in his law office. I came on a
+      month ago, and considered. Then I went back to pack up. Now I've come for
+      good, and here I am. You have my history to date. Now tell me of yourself.
+      You're looking as fit as a penny from the mint, even though you have
+      discarded that 'lovely' brown beard. Was that a concession to&mdash;er&mdash;<i>Mary
+      Jane</i>?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright lifted a quick hand of protest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Michael Jeremiah,' please. There is no 'Mary Jane,' now,&rdquo; he said a bit
+      stiffly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The other stared a little. Then he gave a low chuckle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Michael Jeremiah,'&rdquo; he repeated musingly, eyeing the glowing tip of his
+      cigar. &ldquo;And to think how that mysterious 'M. J.' used to tantalize me! Do
+      you mean,&rdquo; he added, turning slowly, &ldquo;that no one calls you 'Mary Jane'
+      now?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not if they know what is best for them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; Calderwell noted the smouldering fire in the other's eyes a little
+      curiously. &ldquo;Very well. I'll take the hint&mdash;Michael Jeremiah.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thanks.&rdquo; Arkwright relaxed a little. &ldquo;To tell the truth, I've had quite
+      enough now&mdash;of Mary Jane.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very good. So be it,&rdquo; nodded the other, still regarding his friend
+      thoughtfully. &ldquo;But tell me&mdash;what of yourself?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright shrugged his shoulders.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There's nothing to tell. You've seen. I'm here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph! Very pretty,&rdquo; scoffed Calderwell. &ldquo;Then if <i>you</i> won't tell,
+      I <i>will</i>. I saw Billy a month ago, you see. It seems you've hit the
+      trail for Grand Opera, as you threatened to that night in Paris; but you
+      <i>haven't</i> brought up in vaudeville, as you prophesied you would do&mdash;though,
+      for that matter, judging from the plums some of the stars are picking on
+      the vaudeville stage, nowadays, that isn't to be sneezed at. But Billy
+      says you've made two or three appearances already on the sacred boards
+      themselves&mdash;one of them a subscription performance&mdash;and that you
+      created no end of a sensation.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense! I'm merely a student at the Opera School here,&rdquo; scowled
+      Arkwright.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes, Billy said you were that, but she also said you wouldn't be,
+      long. That you'd already had one good offer&mdash;I'm not speaking of
+      marriage&mdash;and that you were going abroad next summer, and that they
+      were all insufferably proud of you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense!&rdquo; scowled Arkwright, again, coloring like a girl. &ldquo;That is only
+      some of&mdash;of Mrs. Henshaw's kind flattery.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Calderwell jerked the cigar from between his lips, and sat suddenly
+      forward in his chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Arkwright, tell me about them. How are they making it go?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright frowned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who? Make what go?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Henshaws. Is she happy? Is he&mdash;on the square?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright's face darkened.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, really,&rdquo; he began; but Calderwell interrupted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, come; don't be squeamish. You think I'm butting into what doesn't
+      concern me; but I'm not. What concerns Billy does concern me. And if he
+      doesn't make her happy, I'll&mdash;I'll kill him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In spite of himself Arkwright laughed. The vehemence of the other's words,
+      and the fierceness with which he puffed at his cigar as he fell back in
+      his chair were most expressive.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I don't think you need to load revolvers nor sharpen daggers, just
+      yet,&rdquo; he observed grimly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Calderwell laughed this time, though without much mirth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I'm not in love with Billy, now,&rdquo; he explained. &ldquo;Please don't think I
+      am. I shouldn't see her if I was, of course.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright changed his position suddenly, bringing his face into the
+      shadow. Calderwell talked on without pausing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I'm not in love with Billy. But Billy's a trump. You know that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I do.&rdquo; The words were low, but steadily spoken.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course you do! We all do. And we want her happy. But as for her
+      marrying Bertram&mdash;you could have bowled me over with a soap bubble
+      when I heard she'd done it. Now understand: Bertram is a good fellow, and
+      I like him. I've known him all his life, and he's all right. Oh, six or
+      eight years ago, to be sure, he got in with a set of fellows&mdash;Bob
+      Seaver and his clique&mdash;that were no good. Went in for Bohemianism,
+      and all that rot. It wasn't good for Bertram. He's got the confounded
+      temperament that goes with his talent, I suppose&mdash;though why a man
+      can't paint a picture, or sing a song, and keep his temper and a level
+      head I don't see!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He can,&rdquo; cut in Arkwright, with curt emphasis.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph! Well, that's what I think. But, about this marriage business.
+      Bertram admires a pretty face wherever he sees it&mdash;<i>to paint</i>,
+      and always has. Not but that he's straight as a string with women&mdash;I
+      don't mean that; but girls are always just so many pictures to be picked
+      up on his brushes and transferred to his canvases. And as for his settling
+      down and marrying anybody for keeps, right along&mdash;Great Scott!
+      imagine Bertram Henshaw as a <i>domestic</i> man!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright stirred restlessly as he spoke up in quick defense:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, but he is, I assure you. I&mdash;I've seen them in their home
+      together&mdash;many times. I think they are&mdash;very happy.&rdquo; Arkwright
+      spoke with decision, though still a little diffidently.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Calderwell was silent. He had picked up the little gilt band he had torn
+      from his cigar and was fingering it musingly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes; I've seen them&mdash;once,&rdquo; he said, after a minute. &ldquo;I took dinner
+      with them when I was on, a month ago.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I heard you did.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At something in Arkwright's voice, Calderwell turned quickly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you mean? Why do you say it like that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright laughed. The constraint fled from his manner.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I may as well tell you. You'll hear of it. It's no secret. Mrs.
+      Henshaw herself tells of it everywhere. It was her friend, Alice Greggory,
+      who told me of it first, however. It seems the cook was gone, and the
+      mistress had to get the dinner herself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I know that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you should hear Mrs. Henshaw tell the story now, or Bertram. It seems
+      she knew nothing whatever about cooking, and her trials and tribulations
+      in getting that dinner on to the table were only one degree worse than the
+      dinner itself, according to her story. Didn't you&mdash;er&mdash;notice
+      anything?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Notice anything!&rdquo; exploded Calderwell. &ldquo;I noticed that Billy was so
+      brilliant she fairly radiated sparks; and I noticed that Bertram was so
+      glum he&mdash;he almost radiated thunderclaps. Then I saw that Billy's
+      high spirits were all assumed to cover a threatened burst of tears, and I
+      laid it all to him. I thought he'd said something to hurt her; and I could
+      have punched him. Great Scott! Was <i>that</i> what ailed them?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I reckon it was. Alice says that since then Mrs. Henshaw has fairly
+      haunted the kitchen, begging Eliza to teach her everything, <i>every
+      single thing</i> she knows!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Calderwell chuckled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If that isn't just like Billy! She never does anything by halves. By
+      George, but she was game over that dinner! I can see it all now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Alice says she's really learning to cook, in spite of old Pete's horror,
+      and Eliza's pleadings not to spoil her pretty hands.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then Pete is back all right? What a faithful old soul he is!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright frowned slightly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, he's faithful, but he isn't all right, by any means. I think he's a
+      sick man, myself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What makes Billy let him work, then?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let him!&rdquo; sniffed Arkwright. &ldquo;I'd like to see you try to stop him! Mrs.
+      Henshaw begs and pleads with him to stop, but he scouts the idea. Pete is
+      thoroughly and unalterably convinced that the family would starve to death
+      if it weren't for him; and Mrs. Henshaw says that she'll admit he has some
+      grounds for his opinion when one remembers the condition of the kitchen
+      and dining-room the night she presided over them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Poor Billy!&rdquo; chuckled Calderwell. &ldquo;I'd have gone down into the kitchen
+      myself if I'd suspected what was going on.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright raised his eyebrows.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps it's well you didn't&mdash;if Bertram's picture of what he found
+      there when he went down is a true one. Mrs. Henshaw acknowledges that even
+      the cat sought refuge under the stove.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As if the veriest worm that crawls ever needed to seek refuge from
+      Billy!&rdquo; scoffed Calderwell. &ldquo;By the way, what's this Annex I hear of?
+      Bertram mentioned it, but I couldn't get either of them to tell what it
+      was. Billy wouldn't, and Bertram said he couldn't&mdash;not with Billy
+      shaking her head at him like that. So I had my suspicions. One of Billy's
+      pet charities?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She doesn't call it that.&rdquo; Arkwright's face and voice softened. &ldquo;It is
+      Hillside. She still keeps it open. She calls it the Annex to her home.
+      She's filled it with a crippled woman, a poor little music teacher, a lame
+      boy, and Aunt Hannah.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But how&mdash;extraordinary!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She doesn't think so. She says it's just an overflow house for the extra
+      happiness she can't use.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a moment's silence. Calderwell laid down his cigar, pulled out
+      his handkerchief, and blew his nose furiously. Then he got to his feet and
+      walked to the fireplace. After a minute he turned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, if she isn't the beat 'em!&rdquo; he spluttered. &ldquo;And I had the gall to
+      ask you if Henshaw made her&mdash;happy! Overflow house, indeed!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The best of it is, the way she does it,&rdquo; smiled Arkwright. &ldquo;They're all
+      the sort of people ordinary charity could never reach; and the only way
+      she got them there at all was to make each one think that he or she was
+      absolutely necessary to the rest of them. Even as it is, they all pay a
+      little something toward the running expenses of the house. They insisted
+      on that, and Mrs. Henshaw had to let them. I believe her chief difficulty
+      now is that she has not less than six people whom she wishes to put into
+      the two extra rooms still unoccupied, and she can't make up her mind which
+      to take. Her husband says he expects to hear any day of an Annexette to
+      the Annex.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph!&rdquo; grunted Calderwell, as he turned and began to walk up and down
+      the room. &ldquo;Bertram is still painting, I suppose.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What's he doing now?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Several things. He's up to his eyes in work. As you probably have heard,
+      he met with a severe accident last summer, and lost the use of his right
+      arm for many months. I believe they thought at one time he had lost it
+      forever. But it's all right now, and he has several commissions for
+      portraits. Alice says he's doing ideal heads again, too.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Same old 'Face of a Girl'?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I suppose so, though Alice didn't say. Of course his special work just
+      now is painting the portrait of Miss Marguerite Winthrop. You may have
+      heard that he tried it last year and&mdash;and didn't make quite a success
+      of it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. My sister Belle told me. She hears from Billy once in a while. Will
+      it be a go, this time?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We'll hope so&mdash;for everybody's sake. I imagine no one has seen it
+      yet&mdash;it's not finished; but Alice says&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Calderwell turned abruptly, a quizzical smile on his face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;See here, my son,&rdquo; he interposed, &ldquo;it strikes me that this Alice is
+      saying a good deal&mdash;to you! Who is she?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright gave a light laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, I told you. She is Miss Alice Greggory, Mrs. Henshaw's friend&mdash;and
+      mine. I have known her for years.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hm-m; what is she like?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Like? Why, she's like&mdash;like herself, of course. You'll have to know
+      Alice. She's the salt of the earth&mdash;Alice is,&rdquo; smiled Arkwright,
+      rising to his feet with a remonstrative gesture, as he saw Calderwell pick
+      up his coat. &ldquo;What's your hurry?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hm-m,&rdquo; commented Calderwell again, ignoring the question. &ldquo;And when, may
+      I ask, do you intend to appropriate this&mdash;er&mdash;salt&mdash;to&mdash;er&mdash;ah,
+      season your own life with, as I might say&mdash;eh?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright laughed. There was not the slightest trace of embarrassment in
+      his face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never. <i>You're</i> on the wrong track, this time. Alice and I are good
+      friends&mdash;always have been, and always will be, I hope.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nothing more?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nothing more. I see her frequently. She is musical, and the Henshaws are
+      good enough to ask us there often together. You will meet her, doubtless,
+      now, yourself. She is frequently at the Henshaw home.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hm-m.&rdquo; Calderwell still eyed his host shrewdly. &ldquo;Then you'll give me a
+      clear field, eh?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Certainly.&rdquo; Arkwright's eyes met his friend's gaze without swerving.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right. However, I suppose you'll tell me, as I did you, once, that a
+      right of way in such a case doesn't mean a thoroughfare for the party
+      interested. If my memory serves me, I gave you right of way in Paris to
+      win the affections of a certain elusive Miss Billy here in Boston, if you
+      could. But I see you didn't seem to improve your opportunities,&rdquo; he
+      finished teasingly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright stooped, of a sudden, to pick up a bit of paper from the floor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; he said quietly. &ldquo;I didn't seem to improve my opportunities.&rdquo; This
+      time he did not meet Calderwell's eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The good-byes had been said when Calderwell turned abruptly at the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I say, I suppose you're going to that devil's carnival at Jordan Hall
+      to-morrow night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Devil's carnival! You don't mean&mdash;Cyril Henshaw's piano recital!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sure I do,&rdquo; grinned Calderwell, unabashed. &ldquo;And I'll warrant it'll be a
+      devil's carnival, too. Isn't Mr. Cyril Henshaw going to play his own
+      music? Oh, I know I'm hopeless, from your standpoint, but I can't help it.
+      I like mine with some go in it, and a tune that you can find without
+      hunting for it. And I don't like lost spirits gone mad that wail and
+      shriek through ten perfectly good minutes, and then die with a gasping
+      moan whose home is the tombs. However, you're going, I take it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course I am,&rdquo; laughed the other. &ldquo;You couldn't hire Alice to miss one
+      shriek of those spirits. Besides, I rather like them myself, you know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I suppose you do. You're brought up on it&mdash;in your business.
+      But me for the 'Merry Widow' and even the hoary 'Jingle Bells' every time!
+      However, I'm going to be there&mdash;out of respect to the poor fellow's
+      family. And, by the way, that's another thing that bowled me over&mdash;Cyril's
+      marriage. Why, Cyril hates women!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not all women&mdash;we'll hope,&rdquo; smiled Arkwright. &ldquo;Do you know his
+      wife?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not much. I used to see her a little at Billy's. Music teacher, wasn't
+      she? Then she's the same sort, I suppose.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But she isn't,&rdquo; laughed Arkwright. &ldquo;Oh, she taught music, but that was
+      only because of necessity, I take it. She's domestic through and through,
+      with an overwhelming passion for making puddings and darning socks, I
+      hear. Alice says she believes Mrs. Cyril knows every dish and spoon by its
+      Christian name, and that there's never so much as a spool of thread out of
+      order in the house.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But how does Cyril stand it&mdash;the trials and tribulations of domestic
+      life? Bertram used to declare that the whole Strata was aquiver with fear
+      when Cyril was composing, and I remember him as a perfect bear if anybody
+      so much as whispered when he was in one of his moods. I never forgot the
+      night Bertram and I were up in William's room trying to sing 'When Johnnie
+      comes marching home,' to the accompaniment of a banjo in Bertram's hands,
+      and a guitar in mine. Gorry! it was Hugh that went marching home that
+      night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, well, from reports I reckon Mrs. Cyril doesn't play either a banjo or
+      a guitar,&rdquo; smiled Arkwright. &ldquo;Alice says she wears rubber heels on her
+      shoes, and has put hushers on all the chair-legs, and felt-mats between
+      all the plates and saucers. Anyhow, Cyril is building a new house, and he
+      looks as if he were in a pretty healthy condition, as you'll see to-morrow
+      night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph! I wish he'd make his music healthy, then,&rdquo; grumbled Calderwell, as
+      he opened the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br><br><br><br>
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XII. FOR BILLY&mdash;SOME ADVICE
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      February brought busy days. The public opening of the Bohemian Ten Club
+      Exhibition was to take place the sixth of March, with a private view for
+      invited guests the night before; and it was at this exhibition that
+      Bertram planned to show his portrait of Marguerite Winthrop. He also, if
+      possible, wished to enter two or three other canvases, upon which he was
+      spending all the time he could get.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram felt that he was doing very good work now. The portrait of
+      Marguerite Winthrop was coming on finely. The spoiled idol of society had
+      at last found a pose and a costume that suited her, and she was graciously
+      pleased to give the artist almost as many sittings as he wanted. The
+      &ldquo;elusive something&rdquo; in her face, which had previously been so baffling,
+      was now already caught and held bewitchingly on his canvas. He was
+      confident that the portrait would be a success. He was also much
+      interested in another piece of work which he intended to show called &ldquo;The
+      Rose.&rdquo; The model for this was a beautiful young girl he had found selling
+      flowers with her father in a street booth at the North End.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the whole, Bertram was very happy these days. He could not, to be sure,
+      spend quite so much time with Billy as he wished; but she understood, of
+      course, as did he, that his work must come first. He knew that she tried
+      to show him that she understood it. At the same time, he could not help
+      thinking, occasionally, that Billy did sometimes mind his necessary
+      absorption in his painting.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To himself Bertram owned that Billy was, in some ways, a puzzle to him.
+      Her conduct was still erratic at times. One day he would seem to be
+      everything to her; the next&mdash;almost nothing, judging by the ease with
+      which she relinquished his society and substituted that of some one else:
+      Arkwright, or Calderwell, for instance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And that was another thing. Bertram was ashamed to hint even to himself
+      that he was jealous of either of those men. Surely, after what had
+      happened, after Billy's emphatic assertion that she had never loved any
+      one but himself, it would seem not only absurd, but disloyal, that he
+      should doubt for an instant Billy's entire devotion to him, and yet&mdash;there
+      were times when he wished he <i>could</i> come home and not always find
+      Alice Greggory, Calderwell, Arkwright, or all three of them strumming the
+      piano in the drawing-room! At such times, always, though, if he did feel
+      impatient, he immediately demanded of himself: &ldquo;Are you, then, the kind of
+      husband that begrudges your wife young companions of her own age and
+      tastes to help her while away the hours that you cannot possibly spend
+      with her yourself?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This question, and the answer that his better self always gave to it, were
+      usually sufficient to send him into some florists for a bunch of violets
+      for Billy, or into a candy shop on a like atoning errand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As to Billy&mdash;Billy, too, was busy these days chief of her concerns
+      being, perhaps, attention to that honeymoon of hers, to see that it did
+      not wane. At least, the most of her thoughts, and many of her actions,
+      centered about that object.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy had the book, now&mdash;the &ldquo;Talk to Young Wives.&rdquo; For a time she
+      had worked with only the newspaper criticism to guide her; but, coming at
+      last to the conclusion that if a little was good, more must be better, she
+      had shyly gone into a bookstore one day and, with a pink blush, had asked
+      for the book. Since bringing it home she had studied assiduously (though
+      never if Bertram was near), keeping it well-hidden, when not in use, in a
+      remote corner of her desk.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a good deal in the book that Billy did not like, and there were
+      some statements that worried her; but yet there was much that she tried
+      earnestly to follow. She was still striving to be the oak, and she was
+      still eagerly endeavoring to brush up against those necessary outside
+      interests. She was so thankful, in this connection, for Alice Greggory,
+      and for Arkwright and Hugh Calderwell. It was such a help that she had
+      them! They were not only very pleasant and entertaining outside interests,
+      but one or another of them was almost always conveniently within reach.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then, too, it pleased her to think that she was furthering the pretty love
+      story between Alice and Mr. Arkwright. And she <i>was</i> furthering it.
+      She was sure of that. Already she could see how dependent the man was on
+      Alice, how he looked to her for approbation, and appealed to her on all
+      occasions, exactly as if there was not a move that he wanted to make
+      without her presence near him. Billy was very sure, now, of Arkwright. She
+      only wished she were as much so of Alice. But Alice troubled her. Not but
+      that Alice was kindness itself to the man, either. It was only a peculiar
+      something almost like fear, or constraint, that Billy thought she saw in
+      Alice's eyes, sometimes, when Arkwright made a particularly intimate
+      appeal. There was Calderwell, too. He, also, worried Billy. She feared he
+      was going to complicate matters still more by falling in love with Alice,
+      himself; and this, certainly, Billy did not want at all. As this phase of
+      the matter presented itself, indeed, Billy determined to appropriate
+      Calderwell a little more exclusively to herself, when the four were
+      together, thus leaving Alice for Arkwright. After all, it was rather
+      entertaining&mdash;this playing at Cupid's assistant. If she <i>could</i>
+      not have Bertram all the time, it was fortunate that these outside
+      interests were so pleasurable.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Most of the mornings Billy spent in the kitchen, despite the remonstrances
+      of both Pete and Eliza. Almost every meal, now, was graced with a
+      palatable cake, pudding, or muffin that Billy would proudly claim as her
+      handiwork. Pete still served at table, and made strenuous efforts to keep
+      up all his old duties; but he was obviously growing weaker, and really
+      serious blunders were beginning to be noticeable. Bertram even hinted once
+      or twice that perhaps it would be just as well to insist on his going; but
+      to this Billy would not give her consent. Even when one night his poor old
+      trembling hands spilled half the contents of a soup plate over a new and
+      costly evening gown of Billy's own, she still refused to have him
+      dismissed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Bertram, I wouldn't do it,&rdquo; she declared hotly; &ldquo;and you wouldn't,
+      either. He's been here more than fifty years. It would break his heart.
+      He's really too ill to work, and I wish he would go of his own accord, of
+      course; but I sha'n't ever tell him to go&mdash;not if he spills soup on
+      every dress I've got. I'll buy more&mdash;and more, if it's necessary.
+      Bless his dear old heart! He thinks he's really serving us&mdash;and he
+      is, too.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes, you're right, he <i>is!</i>&rdquo; sighed Bertram, with meaning
+      emphasis, as he abandoned the argument.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In addition to her &ldquo;Talk to Young Wives,&rdquo; Billy found herself encountering
+      advice and comment on the marriage question from still other quarters&mdash;from
+      her acquaintances (mostly the feminine ones) right and left. Continually
+      she was hearing such words as these:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, well, what can you expect, Billy? You're an old married woman, now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never mind, you'll find he's like all the rest of the husbands. You just
+      wait and see!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Better begin with a high hand, Billy. Don't let him fool you!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mercy! If I had a husband whose business it was to look at women's
+      beautiful eyes, peachy cheeks, and luxurious tresses, I should go crazy!
+      It's hard enough to keep a man's eyes on yourself when his daily interests
+      are supposed to be just lumps of coal and chunks of ice, without flinging
+      him into the very jaws of temptation like asking him to paint a pretty
+      girl's picture!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In response to all this, of course, Billy could but laugh, and blush, and
+      toss back some gay reply, with a careless unconcern. But in her heart she
+      did not like it. Sometimes she told herself that if there were not any
+      advice or comment from anybody&mdash;either book or woman&mdash;if there
+      were not anybody but just Bertram and herself, life would be just one long
+      honeymoon forever and forever.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Once or twice Billy was tempted to go to Marie with this honeymoon
+      question; but Marie was very busy these days, and very preoccupied. The
+      new house that Cyril was building on Corey Hill, not far from the Annex,
+      was almost finished, and Marie was immersed in the subject of
+      house-furnishings and interior decoration. She was, too, still more deeply
+      engrossed in the fashioning of tiny garments of the softest linen, lace,
+      and woolen; and there was on her face such a look of beatific wonder and
+      joy that Billy did not like to so much as hint that there was in the world
+      such a book as &ldquo;When the Honeymoon Wanes: A Talk to Young Wives.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy tried valiantly these days not to mind that Bertram's work was so
+      absorbing. She tried not to mind that his business dealt, not with lumps
+      of coal and chunks of ice, but with beautiful women like Marguerite
+      Winthrop who asked him to luncheon, and lovely girls like his model for
+      &ldquo;The Rose&rdquo; who came freely to his studio and spent hours in the beloved
+      presence, being studied for what Bertram declared was absolutely the most
+      wonderful poise of head and shoulders that he had ever seen.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy tried, also, these days, to so conduct herself that not by any
+      chance could Calderwell suspect that sometimes she was jealous of
+      Bertram's art. Not for worlds would she have had Calderwell begin to get
+      the notion into his head that his old-time prophecy concerning Bertram's
+      caring only for the turn of a girl's head or the tilt of her chin&mdash;to
+      paint, was being fulfilled. Hence, particularly gay and cheerful was Billy
+      when Calderwell was near. Nor could it be said that Billy was really
+      unhappy at any time. It was only that, on occasion, the very depth of her
+      happiness in Bertram's love frightened her, lest it bring disaster to
+      herself or Bertram.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy still went frequently to the Annex. There were yet two unfilled
+      rooms in the house. Billy was hesitating which two of six new friends of
+      hers to choose as occupants; and it was one day early in March, after she
+      had been talking the matter over with Aunt Hannah, that Aunt Hannah said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dear me, Billy, if you had your way I believe you'd open another whole
+      house!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you know?&mdash;that's just what I'm thinking of,&rdquo; retorted Billy,
+      gravely. Then she laughed at Aunt Hannah's shocked gesture of protest.
+      &ldquo;Oh, well, I don't expect to,&rdquo; she added. &ldquo;I haven't lived very long, but
+      I've lived long enough to know that you can't always do what you want to.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Just as if there were anything <i>you</i> wanted to do that you don't do,
+      my dear,&rdquo; reproved Aunt Hannah, mildly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I know.&rdquo; Billy drew in her breath with a little catch. &ldquo;I have so
+      much that is lovely; and that's why I need this house, you know, for the
+      overflow,&rdquo; she nodded brightly. Then, with a characteristic change of
+      subject, she added: &ldquo;My, but you should have tasted of the popovers I made
+      for breakfast this morning!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I should like to,&rdquo; smiled Aunt Hannah. &ldquo;William says you're getting to be
+      quite a cook.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, maybe,&rdquo; conceded Billy, doubtfully. &ldquo;Oh, I can do some things all
+      right; but just wait till Pete and Eliza go away again, and Bertram brings
+      home a friend to dinner. That'll tell the tale. I think now I could have
+      something besides potato-mush and burned corn&mdash;but maybe I wouldn't,
+      when the time came. If only I could buy everything I needed to cook with,
+      I'd be all right. But I can't, I find.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Can't buy what you need! What do you mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed ruefully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, every other question I ask Eliza, she says: 'Why, I don't know; you
+      have to use your judgment.' Just as if I had any judgment about how much
+      salt to use, or what dish to take! Dear me, Aunt Hannah, the man that will
+      grow judgment and can it as you would a mess of peas, has got his fortune
+      made!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What an absurd child you are, Billy,&rdquo; laughed Aunt Hannah. &ldquo;I used to
+      tell Marie&mdash;By the way, how is Marie? Have you seen her lately?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes, I saw her yesterday,&rdquo; twinkled Billy. &ldquo;She had a book of
+      wall-paper samples spread over the back of a chair, two bunches of samples
+      of different colored damasks on the table before her, a 'Young Mother's
+      Guide' propped open in another chair, and a pair of baby's socks in her
+      lap with a roll each of pink, and white, and blue ribbon. She spent most
+      of the time, after I had helped her choose the ribbon, in asking me if I
+      thought she ought to let the baby cry and bother Cyril, or stop its crying
+      and hurt the baby, because her 'Mother's Guide' says a certain amount of
+      crying is needed to develop a baby's lungs.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah laughed, but she frowned, too.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The idea! I guess Cyril can stand proper crying&mdash;and laughing, too&mdash;from
+      his own child!&rdquo; she said then, crisply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, but Marie is afraid he can't,&rdquo; smiled Billy. &ldquo;And that's the trouble.
+      She says that's the only thing that worries her&mdash;Cyril.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense!&rdquo; ejaculated Aunt Hannah.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, but it isn't nonsense to Marie,&rdquo; retorted Billy. &ldquo;You should see the
+      preparations she's made and the precautions she's taken. Actually, when I
+      saw those baby's socks in her lap, I didn't know but she was going to put
+      rubber heels on them! They've built the new house with deadening felt in
+      all the walls, and Marie's planned the nursery and Cyril's den at opposite
+      ends of the house; and she says she shall keep the baby there <i>all</i>
+      the time&mdash;the nursery, I mean, not the den. She says she's going to
+      teach it to be a quiet baby and hate noise. She says she thinks she can do
+      it, too.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph!&rdquo; sniffed Aunt Hannah, scornfully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You should have seen Marie's disgust the other day,&rdquo; went on Billy, a bit
+      mischievously. &ldquo;Her Cousin Jane sent on a rattle she'd made herself, all
+      soft worsted, with bells inside. It was a dear; but Marie was
+      horror-stricken. 'My baby have a rattle?' she cried. 'Why, what would
+      Cyril say? As if he could stand a rattle in the house!' And if she didn't
+      give that rattle to the janitor's wife that very day, while I was there!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph!&rdquo; sniffed Aunt Hannah again, as Billy rose to go. &ldquo;Well, I'm
+      thinking Marie has still some things to learn in this world&mdash;and
+      Cyril, too, for that matter.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wouldn't wonder,&rdquo; laughed Billy, giving Aunt Hannah a good-by kiss.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br><br><br><br>
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XIII. PETE
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Bertram Henshaw had no disquieting forebodings this time concerning his
+      portrait of Marguerite Winthrop when the doors of the Bohemian Ten Club
+      Exhibition were thrown open to members and invited guests. Just how great
+      a popular success it was destined to be, he could not know, of course,
+      though he might have suspected it when he began to receive the admiring
+      and hearty congratulations of his friends and fellow-artists on that first
+      evening.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Nor was the Winthrop portrait the only jewel in his crown on that
+      occasion. His marvelously exquisite &ldquo;The Rose,&rdquo; and his smaller ideal
+      picture, &ldquo;Expectation,&rdquo; came in for scarcely less commendation. There was
+      no doubt now. The originator of the famous &ldquo;Face of a Girl&rdquo; had come into
+      his own again. On all sides this was the verdict, one long-haired critic
+      of international fame even claiming openly that Henshaw had not only
+      equaled his former best work, but had gone beyond it, in both artistry and
+      technique.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a brilliant gathering. Society, as usual, in costly evening gowns
+      and correct swallow-tails rubbed elbows with names famous in the world of
+      Art and Letters. Everywhere were gay laughter and sparkling repartee. Even
+      the austere-faced J. G. Winthrop unbent to the extent of grim smiles in
+      response to the laudatory comments bestowed upon the pictured image of his
+      idol, his beautiful daughter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As to the great financier's own opinion of the work, no one heard him
+      express it except, perhaps, the artist; and all that he got was a grip of
+      the hand and a &ldquo;Good! I knew you'd fetch it this time, my boy!&rdquo; But that
+      was enough. And, indeed, no one who knew the stern old man needed to more
+      than look into his face that evening to know of his entire satisfaction in
+      this portrait soon to be the most recent, and the most cherished addition
+      to his far-famed art collection.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As to Bertram&mdash;Bertram was pleased and happy and gratified, of
+      course, as was natural; but he was not one whit more so than was Bertram's
+      wife. Billy fairly radiated happiness and proud joy. She told Bertram,
+      indeed, that if he did anything to make her any prouder, it would take an
+      Annex the size of the Boston Opera House to hold her extra happiness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sh-h, Billy! Some one will hear you,&rdquo; protested Bertram, tragically; but,
+      in spite of his horrified voice, he did not look displeased.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For the first time Billy met Marguerite Winthrop that evening. At the
+      outset there was just a bit of shyness and constraint in the young wife's
+      manner. Billy could not forget her old insane jealousy of this beautiful
+      girl with the envied name of Marguerite. But it was for only a moment, and
+      soon she was her natural, charming self.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Winthrop was fascinated, and she made no pretense of hiding it. She
+      even turned to Bertram at last, and cried:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Surely, now, Mr. Henshaw, you need never go far for a model! Why don't
+      you paint your wife?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy colored. Bertram smiled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I have painted her many times. In fact, I have painted
+      her so often that she once declared it was only the tilt of her chin and
+      the turn of her head that I loved&mdash;to paint,&rdquo; he said merrily,
+      enjoying Billy's pretty confusion, and not realizing that his words really
+      distressed her. &ldquo;I have a whole studio full of 'Billys' at home.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, have you, really?&rdquo; questioned Miss Winthrop, eagerly. &ldquo;Then mayn't I
+      see them? Mayn't I, please, Mrs. Henshaw? I'd so love to!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, of course you may,&rdquo; murmured both the artist and his wife.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you. Then I'm coming right away. May I? I'm going to Washington
+      next week, you see. Will you let me come to-morrow at&mdash;at half-past
+      three, then? Will it be quite convenient for you, Mrs. Henshaw?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Quite convenient. I shall be glad to see you,&rdquo; smiled Billy. And Bertram
+      echoed his wife's cordial permission.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you. Then I'll be there at half-past three,&rdquo; nodded Miss Winthrop,
+      with a smile, as she turned to give place to an admiring group, who were
+      waiting to pay their respects to the artist and his wife.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was, after all, that evening, one fly in Billy's ointment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It fluttered in at the behest of an old acquaintance&mdash;one of the
+      &ldquo;advice women,&rdquo; as Billy termed some of her too interested friends.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, they're lovely, perfectly lovely, of course, Mrs. Henshaw,&rdquo; said
+      this lady, coming up to say good-night. &ldquo;But, all the same, I'm glad my
+      husband is just a plain lawyer. Look out, my dear, that while Mr. Henshaw
+      is stealing all those pretty faces for his canvases&mdash;just look out
+      that the fair ladies don't turn around and steal his heart before you know
+      it. Dear me, but you must be so proud of him!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am,&rdquo; smiled Billy, serenely; and only the jagged split that rent the
+      glove on her hand, at that moment, told of the fierce anger behind that
+      smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As if I couldn't trust Bertram!&rdquo; raged Billy passionately to herself,
+      stealing a surreptitious glance at her ruined glove. &ldquo;And as if there
+      weren't ever any perfectly happy marriages&mdash;even if you don't ever
+      hear of them, or read of them!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram was not home to luncheon on the day following the opening night of
+      the Bohemian Ten Club. A matter of business called him away from the house
+      early in the morning; but he told his wife that he surely would be on hand
+      for Miss Winthrop's call at half-past three o'clock that afternoon.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, do,&rdquo; Billy had urged. &ldquo;I think she's lovely, but you know her so
+      much better than I do that I want you here. Besides, you needn't think <i>I'm</i>
+      going to show her all those Billys of yours. I may be vain, but I'm not
+      quite vain enough for that, sir!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't worry,&rdquo; her husband had laughed. &ldquo;I'll be here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      As it chanced, however, something occurred an hour before half-past three
+      o'clock that drove every thought of Miss Winthrop's call from Billy's
+      head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For three days, now, Pete had been at the home of his niece in South
+      Boston. He had been forced, finally, to give up and go away. News from him
+      the day before had been anything but reassuring, and to-day, Bertram being
+      gone, Billy had suggested that Eliza serve a simple luncheon and go
+      immediately afterward to South Boston to see how her uncle was. This
+      suggestion Eliza had followed, leaving the house at one o'clock.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Shortly after two Calderwell had dropped in to bring Bertram, as he
+      expressed it, a bunch of bouquets he had gathered at the picture show the
+      night before. He was still in the drawing-room, chatting with Billy, when
+      the telephone bell rang.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If that's Bertram, tell him to come home; he's got company,&rdquo; laughed
+      Calderwell, as Billy passed into the hall.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A moment later he heard Billy give a startled cry, followed by a few
+      broken words at short intervals. Then, before he could surmise what had
+      happened, she was back in the drawing-room again, her eyes full of tears.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's Pete,&rdquo; she choked. &ldquo;Eliza says he can't live but a few minutes. He
+      wants to see me once more. What shall I do? John's got Peggy out with Aunt
+      Hannah and Mrs. Greggory. It was so nice to-day I made them go. But I must
+      get there some way&mdash;Pete is calling for me. Uncle William is going,
+      and I told Eliza where she might reach Bertram; but what shall <i>I</i>
+      do? How shall I go?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Calderwell was on his feet at once.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll get a taxi. Don't worry&mdash;we'll get there. Poor old soul&mdash;of
+      course he wants to see you! Get on your things. I'll have it here in no
+      time,&rdquo; he finished, hurrying to the telephone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Hugh, I'm so glad I've got <i>you</i> here,&rdquo; sobbed Billy, stumbling
+      blindly toward the stairway. &ldquo;I'll be ready in two minutes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And she was; but neither then, nor a little later when she and Calderwell
+      drove hurriedly away from the house, did Billy once remember that Miss
+      Marguerite Winthrop was coming to call that afternoon to see Mrs. Bertram
+      Henshaw and a roomful of Billy pictures.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Pete was still alive when Calderwell left Billy at the door of the modest
+      little home where Eliza's mother lived.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, you're in time, ma'am,&rdquo; sobbed Eliza; &ldquo;and, oh, I'm so glad you've
+      come. He's been askin' and askin' for ye.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      From Eliza Billy learned then that Mr. William was there, but not Mr.
+      Bertram. They had not been able to reach Mr. Bertram, or Mr. Cyril.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy never forgot the look of reverent adoration that came into Pete's
+      eyes as she entered the room where he lay.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Billy&mdash;my Miss Billy! You were so good-to come,&rdquo; he whispered
+      faintly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy choked back a sob.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course I'd come, Pete,&rdquo; she said gently, taking one of the thin, worn
+      hands into both her soft ones.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was more than a few minutes that Pete lived. Four o'clock came, and
+      five, and he was still with them. Often he opened his eyes and smiled.
+      Sometimes he spoke a low word to William or Billy, or to one of the
+      weeping women at the foot of the bed. That the presence of his beloved
+      master and mistress meant much to him was plain to be seen.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm so sorry,&rdquo; he faltered once, &ldquo;about that pretty dress&mdash;I
+      spoiled, Miss Billy. But you know&mdash;my hands&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know, I know,&rdquo; soothed Billy; &ldquo;but don't worry. It wasn't spoiled,
+      Pete. It's all fixed now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I'm so glad,&rdquo; sighed the sick man. After another long interval of
+      silence he turned to William.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Them socks&mdash;the medium thin ones&mdash;you'd oughter be puttin' 'em
+      on soon, sir, now. They're in the right-hand corner of the bottom drawer&mdash;you
+      know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, Pete; I'll attend to it,&rdquo; William managed to stammer, after he had
+      cleared his throat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Eliza's turn came next.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Remember about the coffee,&rdquo; Pete said to her, &ldquo;&mdash;the way Mr. William
+      likes it. And always eggs, you know, for&mdash;for&mdash;&rdquo; His voice
+      trailed into an indistinct murmur, and his eyelids drooped wearily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One by one the minutes passed. The doctor came and went: there was nothing
+      he could do. At half-past five the thin old face became again alight with
+      consciousness. There was a good-by message for Bertram, and one for Cyril.
+      Aunt Hannah was remembered, and even little Tommy Dunn. Then, gradually, a
+      gray shadow crept over the wasted features. The words came more brokenly.
+      The mind, plainly, was wandering, for old Pete was young again, and around
+      him were the lads he loved, William, Cyril, and Bertram. And then, very
+      quietly, soon after the clock struck six, Pete fell into the beginning of
+      his long sleep.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br><br><br><br>
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XIV. WHEN BERTRAM CAME HOME
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      It was a little after half-past three o'clock that afternoon when Bertram
+      Henshaw hurried up Beacon Street toward his home. He had been delayed, and
+      he feared that Miss Winthrop would already have reached the house. Mindful
+      of what Billy had said that morning, he knew how his wife would fret if he
+      were not there when the guest arrived. The sight of what he surmised to be
+      Miss Winthrop's limousine before his door hastened his steps still more.
+      But as he reached the house, he was surprised to find Miss Winthrop
+      herself turning away from the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Miss Winthrop,&rdquo; he cried, &ldquo;you're not going <i>now!</i> You can't
+      have been here any&mdash;yet!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, no, I&mdash;I haven't,&rdquo; retorted the lady, with heightened color
+      and a somewhat peculiar emphasis. &ldquo;My ring wasn't answered.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wasn't answered!&rdquo; Bertram reddened angrily. &ldquo;Why, what can that mean?
+      Where's the maid? Where's my wife? Mrs. Henshaw must be here! She was
+      expecting you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram, in his annoyed amazement, spoke loudly, vehemently. Hence he was
+      quite plainly heard by the group of small boys and girls who had been
+      improving the mild weather for a frolic on the sidewalk, and who had been
+      attracted to his door a moment before by the shining magnet of the
+      Winthrop limousine with its resplendently liveried chauffeur. As Bertram
+      spoke, one of the small girls, Bessie Bailey, stepped forward and piped up
+      a shrill reply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She ain't, Mr. Henshaw! She ain't here. I saw her go away just a little
+      while ago.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram turned sharply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You saw her go away! What do you mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Small Bessie swelled with importance. Bessie was thirteen, in spite of her
+      diminutive height. Bessie's mother was dead, and Bessie's caretakers were
+      gossiping nurses and servants, who frequently left in her way books that
+      were much too old for Bessie to read&mdash;but she read them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I mean she ain't here&mdash;your wife, Mr. Henshaw. She went away. I saw
+      her. I guess likely she's eloped, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eloped!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bessie swelled still more importantly. To her experienced eyes the
+      situation contained all the necessary elements for the customary flight of
+      the heroine in her story-books, as here, now, was the irate, deserted
+      husband.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sure! And 'twas just before you came&mdash;quite a while before. A big
+      shiny black automobile like this drove up&mdash;only it wasn't quite such
+      a nice one&mdash;an' Mrs. Henshaw an' a man came out of your house an' got
+      in, an' drove right away <i>quick!</i> They just ran to get into it, too&mdash;didn't
+      they?&rdquo; She appealed to her young mates grouped about her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A chorus of shrill exclamations brought Mr. Bertram Henshaw suddenly to
+      his senses. By a desperate effort he hid his angry annoyance as he turned
+      to the manifestly embarrassed young woman who was already descending the
+      steps.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My dear Miss Winthrop,&rdquo; he apologized contritely, &ldquo;I'm sure you'll
+      forgive this seeming great rudeness on the part of my wife.
+      Notwithstanding the lurid tales of our young friends here, I suspect
+      nothing more serious has happened than that my wife has been hastily
+      summoned to Aunt Hannah, perhaps. Or, of course, she may not have
+      understood that you were coming to-day at half-past three&mdash;though I
+      thought she did. But I'm so sorry&mdash;when you were so kind as to come&mdash;&rdquo;
+       Miss Winthrop interrupted with a quick gesture.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Say no more, I beg of you,&rdquo; she entreated. &ldquo;Mrs. Henshaw is quite
+      excusable, I'm sure. Please don't give it another thought,&rdquo; she finished,
+      as with a hurried direction to the man who was holding open the door of
+      her car, she stepped inside and bowed her good-byes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram, with stern self-control, forced himself to walk nonchalantly up
+      his steps, leisurely take out his key, and open his door, under the
+      interested eyes of Bessie Bailey and her friends; but once beyond their
+      hateful stare, his demeanor underwent a complete change. Throwing aside
+      his hat and coat, he strode to the telephone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, is that you, Aunt Hannah?&rdquo; he called crisply, a moment later. &ldquo;Well,
+      if Billy's there will you tell her I want to speak to her, please?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy?&rdquo; answered Aunt Hannah's slow, gentle tones. &ldquo;Why, my dear boy,
+      Billy isn't here!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She isn't? Well, when did she leave? She's been there, hasn't she?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, I don't think so, but I'll see, if you like. Mrs. Greggory and I
+      have just this minute come in from an automobile ride. We would have
+      stayed longer, but it began to get chilly, and I forgot to take one of the
+      shawls that I'd laid out.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes; well, if you will see, please, if Billy has been there, and when she
+      left,&rdquo; said Bertram, with grim self-control.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right. I'll see,&rdquo; murmured Aunt Hannah. In a few moments her voice
+      again sounded across the wires. &ldquo;Why, no, Bertram, Rosa says she hasn't
+      been here since yesterday. Isn't she there somewhere about the house?
+      Didn't you know where she was going?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, no, I didn't&mdash;else I shouldn't have been asking you,&rdquo; snapped
+      the irate Bertram and hung up the receiver with most rude haste, thereby
+      cutting off an astounded &ldquo;Oh, my grief and conscience!&rdquo; in the middle of
+      it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The next ten minutes Bertram spent in going through the whole house, from
+      garret to basement. Needless to say, he found nothing to enlighten him, or
+      to soothe his temper. Four o'clock came, then half-past, and five. At five
+      Bertram began to look for Eliza, but in vain. At half-past five he watched
+      for William; but William, too, did not come.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram was pacing the floor now, nervously. He was a little frightened,
+      but more mortified and angry. That Billy should have allowed Miss Winthrop
+      to call by appointment only to find no hostess, no message, no maid, even,
+      to answer her ring&mdash;it was inexcusable! Impulsiveness,
+      unconventionality, and girlish irresponsibility were all very delightful,
+      of course&mdash;at times; but not now, certainly. Billy was not a girl any
+      longer. She was a married woman. <i>Something</i> was due to him, her
+      husband! A pretty picture he must have made on those steps, trying to
+      apologize for a truant wife, and to laugh off that absurd Bessie Bailey's
+      preposterous assertion at the same time! What would Miss Winthrop think?
+      What could she think? Bertram fairly ground his teeth with chagrin, at the
+      situation in which he found himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Nor were matters helped any by the fact that Bertram was hungry. Bertram's
+      luncheon had been meager and unsatisfying. That the kitchen down-stairs
+      still remained in silent, spotless order instead of being astir with the
+      sounds and smells of a good dinner (as it should have been) did not
+      improve his temper. Where Billy was he could not imagine. He thought, once
+      or twice, of calling up some of her friends; but something held him back
+      from that&mdash;though he did try to get Marie, knowing very well that she
+      was probably over to the new house and would not answer. He was not
+      surprised, therefore, when he received no reply to his ring.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That there was the slightest truth in Bessie Bailey's absurd &ldquo;elopement&rdquo;
+       idea, Bertram did not, of course, for an instant believe. The only thing
+      that rankled about that was the fact that she had suggested such a thing,
+      and that Miss Winthrop and those silly children had heard her. He
+      recognized half of Bessie's friends as neighborhood youngsters, and he
+      knew very well that there would be many a quiet laugh at his expense
+      around various Beacon Street dinner-tables that night. At the thought of
+      those dinner-tables, he scowled again. <i>He</i> had no dinner-table&mdash;at
+      least, he had no dinner on it!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Who the man might be Bertram thought he could easily guess. It was either
+      Arkwright or Calderwell, of course; and probably that tiresome Alice
+      Greggory was mixed up in it somehow. He did wish Billy&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Six o'clock came, then half-past. Bertram was indeed frightened now, but
+      he was more angry, and still more hungry. He had, in fact, reached that
+      state of blind unreasonableness said to be peculiar to hungry males from
+      time immemorial.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At ten minutes of seven a key clicked in the lock of the outer door, and
+      William and Billy entered the hall.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was almost dark. Bertram could not see their faces. He had not lighted
+      the hall at all.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; he began sharply, &ldquo;is this the way you receive your callers,
+      Billy? I came home and found Miss Winthrop just leaving&mdash;no one here
+      to receive her! Where've you been? Where's Eliza? Where's my dinner? Of
+      course I don't mean to scold, Billy, but there is a limit to even my
+      patience&mdash;and it's reached now. I can't help suggesting that if you
+      would tend to your husband and your home a little more, and go
+      gallivanting off with Calderwell and Arkwright and Alice Greggory a little
+      less, that&mdash;Where is Eliza, anyway?&rdquo; he finished irritably, switching
+      on the lights with a snap.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a moment of dead silence. At Bertram's first words Billy and
+      William had stopped short. Neither had moved since. Now William turned and
+      began to speak, but Billy interrupted. She met her husband's gaze
+      steadily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I will be down at once to get your dinner,&rdquo; she said quietly. &ldquo;Eliza will
+      not come to-night. Pete is dead.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram started forward with a quick cry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dead! Oh, Billy! Then you were&mdash;<i>there!</i> Billy!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But his wife did not apparently hear him. She passed him without turning
+      her head, and went on up the stairs, leaving him to meet the sorrowful,
+      accusing eyes of William.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br><br><br><br>
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XV. AFTER THE STORM
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      The young husband's apologies were profuse and abject. Bertram was
+      heartily ashamed of himself, and was man enough to acknowledge it. Almost
+      on his knees he begged Billy to forgive him; and in a frenzy of
+      self-denunciation he followed her down into the kitchen that night,
+      piteously beseeching her to speak to him, to just <i>look</i> at him,
+      even, so that he might know he was not utterly despised&mdash;though he
+      did, indeed, deserve to be more than despised, he moaned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At first Billy did not speak, or even vouchsafe a glance in his direction.
+      Very quietly she went about her preparations for a simple meal, paying
+      apparently no more attention to Bertram than as if he were not there. But
+      that her ears were only seemingly, and not really deaf, was shown very
+      clearly a little later, when, at a particularly abject wail on the part of
+      the babbling shadow at her heels, Billy choked into a little gasp, half
+      laughter, half sob. It was all over then. Bertram had her in his arms in a
+      twinkling, while to the floor clattered and rolled a knife and a
+      half-peeled baked potato.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Naturally, after that, there could be no more dignified silences on the
+      part of the injured wife. There were, instead, half-smiles, tears, sobs, a
+      tremulous telling of Pete's going and his messages, followed by a tearful
+      listening to Bertram's story of the torture he had endured at the hands of
+      Miss Winthrop, Bessie Bailey, and an empty, dinnerless house. And thus, in
+      one corner of the kitchen, some time later, a hungry, desperate William
+      found them, the half-peeled, cold baked potato still at their feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Torn between his craving for food and his desire not to interfere with any
+      possible peace-making, William was obviously hesitating what to do, when
+      Billy glanced up and saw him. She saw, too, at the same time, the empty,
+      blazing gas-stove burner, and the pile of half-prepared potatoes, to warm
+      which the burner had long since been lighted. With a little cry she broke
+      away from her husband's arms.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mercy! and here's poor Uncle William, bless his heart, with not a thing
+      to eat yet!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They all got dinner then, together, with many a sigh and quick-coming tear
+      as everywhere they met some sad reminder of the gentle old hands that
+      would never again minister to their comfort.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a silent meal, and little, after all, was eaten, though brave
+      attempts at cheerfulness and naturalness were made by all three. Bertram,
+      especially, talked, and tried to make sure that the shadow on Billy's face
+      was at least not the one his own conduct had brought there.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;For you do&mdash;you surely do forgive me, don't you?&rdquo; he begged, as he
+      followed her into the kitchen after the sorry meal was over.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, yes, dear, yes,&rdquo; sighed Billy, trying to smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And you'll forget?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was no answer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy! And you'll forget?&rdquo; Bertram's voice was insistent, reproachful.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy changed color and bit her lip. She looked plainly distressed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy!&rdquo; cried the man, still more reproachfully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, Bertram, I can't forget&mdash;quite yet,&rdquo; faltered Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram frowned. For a minute he looked as if he were about to take up the
+      matter seriously and argue it with her; but the next moment he smiled and
+      tossed his head with jaunty playfulness&mdash;Bertram, to tell the truth,
+      had now had quite enough of what he privately termed &ldquo;scenes&rdquo; and
+      &ldquo;heroics&rdquo;; and, manlike, he was very ardently longing for the old
+      easy-going friendliness, with all unpleasantness banished to oblivion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, but you'll have to forget,&rdquo; he claimed, with cheery insistence, &ldquo;for
+      you've promised to forgive me&mdash;and one can't forgive without
+      forgetting. So, there!&rdquo; he finished, with a smilingly determined
+      &ldquo;now-everything-is-just-as-it-was-before&rdquo; air.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy made no response. She turned hurriedly and began to busy herself
+      with the dishes at the sink. In her heart she was wondering: could she
+      ever forget what Bertram had said? Would anything ever blot out those
+      awful words: &ldquo;If you would tend to your husband and your home a little
+      more, and go gallivanting off with Calderwell and Arkwright and Alice
+      Greggory a little less&mdash;&ldquo;? It seemed now that always, for evermore,
+      they would ring in her ears; always, for evermore, they would burn deeper
+      and deeper into her soul. And not once, in all Bertram's apologies, had he
+      referred to them&mdash;those words he had uttered. He had not said he did
+      not mean them. He had not said he was sorry he spoke them. He had ignored
+      them; and he expected that now she, too, would ignore them. As if she
+      could!&rdquo; If you would tend to your husband and your home a little more, and
+      go gallivanting off with Calderwell and Arkwright and Alice Greggory a
+      little less&mdash;&rdquo; Oh, if only she could, indeed,&mdash;forget!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When Billy went up-stairs that night she ran across her &ldquo;Talk to Young
+      Wives&rdquo; in her desk. With a half-stifled cry she thrust it far back out of
+      sight.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I hate you, I hate you&mdash;with all your old talk about 'brushing up
+      against outside interests'!&rdquo; she whispered fiercely. &ldquo;Well, I've 'brushed'&mdash;and
+      now see what I've got for it!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Later, however, after Bertram was asleep, Billy crept out of bed and got
+      the book. Under the carefully shaded lamp in the adjoining room she turned
+      the pages softly till she came to the sentence: &ldquo;Perhaps it would be hard
+      to find a more utterly unreasonable, irritable, irresponsible creature
+      than a hungry man.&rdquo; With a long sigh she began to read; and not until some
+      minutes later did she close the book, turn off the light, and steal back
+      to bed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      During the next three days, until after the funeral at the shabby little
+      South Boston house, Eliza spent only about half of each day at the Strata.
+      This, much to her distress, left many of the household tasks for her young
+      mistress to perform. Billy, however, attacked each new duty with a
+      feverish eagerness that seemed to make the performance of it very like
+      some glad penance done for past misdeeds. And when&mdash;on the day after
+      they had laid the old servant in his last resting place&mdash;a despairing
+      message came from Eliza to the effect that now her mother was very ill,
+      and would need her care, Billy promptly told Eliza to stay as long as was
+      necessary; that they could get along all right without her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, Billy, what <i>are</i> we going to do?&rdquo; Bertram demanded, when he
+      heard the news. &ldquo;We must have somebody!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;<i>I'm</i> going to do it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense! As if you could!&rdquo; scoffed Bertram.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy lifted her chin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Couldn't I, indeed,&rdquo; she retorted. &ldquo;Do you realize, young man, how much
+      I've done the last three days? How about those muffins you had this
+      morning for breakfast, and that cake last night? And didn't you yourself
+      say that you never ate a better pudding than that date puff yesterday
+      noon?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram laughed and shrugged his shoulders.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My dear love, I'm not questioning your <i>ability</i> to do it,&rdquo; he
+      soothed quickly. &ldquo;Still,&rdquo; he added, with a whimsical smile, &ldquo;I must remind
+      you that Eliza has been here half the time, and that muffins and date
+      puffs, however delicious, aren't all there is to running a big house like
+      this. Besides, just be sensible, Billy,&rdquo; he went on more seriously, as he
+      noted the rebellious gleam coming into his young wife's eyes; &ldquo;you'd know
+      you couldn't do it, if you'd just stop to think. There's the Carletons
+      coming to dinner Monday, and my studio Tea to-morrow, to say nothing of
+      the Symphony and the opera, and the concerts you'd lose because you were
+      too dead tired to go to them. You know how it was with that concert
+      yesterday afternoon which Alice Greggory wanted you to go to with her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I didn't&mdash;want&mdash;to go,&rdquo; choked Billy, under her breath.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And there's your music. You haven't done a thing with that for days, yet
+      only last week you told me the publishers were hurrying you for that last
+      song to complete the group.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I haven't felt like&mdash;writing,&rdquo; stammered Billy, still half under her
+      breath.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course you haven't,&rdquo; triumphed Bertram. &ldquo;You've been too dead tired.
+      And that's just what I say. Billy, you <i>can't</i> do it all yourself!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I want to. I want to&mdash;to tend to things,&rdquo; faltered Billy, with a
+      half-fearful glance into her husband's face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy was hearing very loudly now that accusing &ldquo;If you'd tend to your
+      husband and your home a little more&mdash;&rdquo; Bertram, however, was not
+      hearing it, evidently. Indeed, he seemed never to have heard it&mdash;much
+      less to have spoken it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Tend to things,'&rdquo; he laughed lightly. &ldquo;Well, you'll have enough to do to
+      tend to the maid, I fancy. Anyhow, we're going to have one. I'll just step
+      into one of those&mdash;what do you call 'em?&mdash;intelligence offices
+      on my way down and send one up,&rdquo; he finished, as he gave his wife a
+      good-by kiss.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      An hour later Billy, struggling with the broom and the drawing-room
+      carpet, was called to the telephone. It was her husband's voice that came
+      to her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, for heaven's sake, take pity on me. Won't you put on your duds and
+      come and engage your maid yourself?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Bertram, what's the matter?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Matter? Holy smoke! Well, I've been to three of those intelligence
+      offices&mdash;though why they call them that I can't imagine. If ever
+      there was a place utterly devoid of intelligence-but never mind! I've
+      interviewed four fat ladies, two thin ones, and one medium with a wart.
+      I've cheerfully divulged all our family secrets, promised every other
+      half-hour out, and taken oath that our household numbers three adult
+      members, and no more; but I simply <i>can't</i> remember how many
+      handkerchiefs we have in the wash each week. Billy, will you come? Maybe
+      you can do something with them. I'm sure you can!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, of course I'll come,&rdquo; chirped Billy. &ldquo;Where shall I meet you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram gave the street and number.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good! I'll be there,&rdquo; promised Billy, as she hung up the receiver.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Quite forgetting the broom in the middle of the drawing-room floor, Billy
+      tripped up-stairs to change her dress. On her lips was a gay little song.
+      In her heart was joy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I rather guess <i>now</i> I'm tending to my husband and my home!&rdquo; she was
+      crowing to herself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Just as Billy was about to leave the house the telephone bell jangled
+      again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was Alice Greggory.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, dear,&rdquo; she called, &ldquo;can't you come out? Mr. Arkwright and Mr.
+      Calderwell are here, and they've brought some new music. We want you. Will
+      you come?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can't, dear. Bertram wants me. He's sent for me. I've got some <i>housewifely</i>
+      duties to perform to-day,&rdquo; returned Billy, in a voice so curiously
+      triumphant that Alice, at her end of the wires, frowned in puzzled wonder
+      as she turned away from the telephone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br><br><br><br>
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XVI. INTO TRAINING FOR MARY ELLEN
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Bertram told a friend afterwards that he never knew the meaning of the
+      word &ldquo;chaos&rdquo; until he had seen the Strata during the weeks immediately
+      following the laying away of his old servant.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Every stratum was aquiver with apprehension,&rdquo; he declared; &ldquo;and there was
+      never any telling when the next grand upheaval would rock the whole
+      structure to its foundations.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Nor was Bertram so far from being right. It was, indeed, a chaos, as none
+      knew better than did Bertram's wife.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Poor Billy! Sorry indeed were these days for Billy; and, as if to make her
+      cup of woe full to overflowing, there were Sister Kate's epistolary &ldquo;I
+      told you so,&rdquo; and Aunt Hannah's ever recurring lament: &ldquo;If only, Billy,
+      you were a practical housekeeper yourself, they wouldn't impose on you
+      so!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah, to be sure, offered Rosa, and Kate, by letter, offered advice&mdash;plenty
+      of it. But Billy, stung beyond all endurance, and fairly radiating hurt
+      pride and dogged determination, disdained all assistance, and, with head
+      held high, declared she was getting along very well, very well indeed!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And this was the way she &ldquo;got along.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      First came Nora. Nora was a blue-eyed, black-haired Irish girl, the sixth
+      that the despairing Billy had interviewed on that fateful morning when
+      Bertram had summoned her to his aid. Nora stayed two days. During her
+      reign the entire Strata echoed to banged doors, dropped china, and slammed
+      furniture. At her departure the Henshaws' possessions were less by four
+      cups, two saucers, one plate, one salad bowl, two cut glass tumblers, and
+      a teapot&mdash;the latter William's choicest bit of Lowestoft.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Olga came next. Olga was a Treasure. She was low-voiced, gentle-eyed, and
+      a good cook. She stayed a week. By that time the growing frequency of the
+      disappearance of sundry small articles of value and convenience led to
+      Billy's making a reluctant search of Olga's room&mdash;and to Olga's
+      departure; for the room was, indeed, a treasure house, the Treasure having
+      gathered unto itself other treasures.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Following Olga came a period of what Bertram called &ldquo;one night stands,&rdquo; so
+      frequently were the dramatis personæ below stairs changed. Gretchen drank.
+      Christine knew only four words of English: salt, good-by, no, and yes; and
+      Billy found need occasionally of using other words. Mary was impertinent
+      and lazy. Jennie could not even boil a potato properly, much less cook a
+      dinner. Sarah (colored) was willing and pleasant, but insufferably untidy.
+      Bridget was neatness itself, but she had no conception of the value of
+      time. Her meals were always from thirty to sixty minutes late, and
+      half-cooked at that. Vera sang&mdash;when she wasn't whistling&mdash;and
+      as she was generally off the key, and always off the tune, her almost
+      frantic mistress dismissed her before twenty-four hours had passed. Then
+      came Mary Ellen.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mary Ellen began well. She was neat, capable, and obliging; but it did not
+      take her long to discover just how much&mdash;and how little&mdash;her
+      mistress really knew of practical housekeeping. Matters and things were
+      very different then. Mary Ellen became argumentative, impertinent, and
+      domineering. She openly shirked her work, when it pleased her so to do,
+      and demanded perquisites and privileges so insolently that even William
+      asked Billy one day whether Mary Ellen or Billy herself were the mistress
+      of the Strata: and Bertram, with mock humility, inquired how <i>soon</i>
+      Mary Ellen would be wanting the house. Billy, in weary despair, submitted
+      to this bullying for almost a week; then, in a sudden accession of
+      outraged dignity that left Mary Ellen gasping with surprise, she told the
+      girl to go.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And thus the days passed. The maids came and the maids went, and, to
+      Billy, each one seemed a little worse than the one before. Nowhere was
+      there comfort, rest, or peacefulness. The nights were a torture of
+      apprehension, and the days an even greater torture of fulfilment. Noise,
+      confusion, meals poorly cooked and worse served, dust, disorder, and
+      uncertainty. And this was <i>home</i>, Billy told herself bitterly. No
+      wonder that Bertram telephoned more and more frequently that he had met a
+      friend, and was dining in town. No wonder that William pushed back his
+      plate almost every meal with his food scarcely touched, and then wandered
+      about the house with that hungry, homesick, homeless look that nearly
+      broke her heart. No wonder, indeed!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And so it had come. It was true. Aunt Hannah and Kate and the &ldquo;Talk to
+      Young Wives&rdquo; were right. She had not been fit to marry Bertram. She had
+      not been fit to marry anybody. Her honeymoon was not only waning, but
+      going into a total eclipse. Had not Bertram already declared that if she
+      would tend to her husband and her home a little more&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy clenched her small hands and set her round chin squarely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Very well, she would show them. She would tend to her husband and her
+      home. She fancied she could <i>learn</i> to run that house, and run it
+      well! And forthwith she descended to the kitchen and told the then
+      reigning tormentor that her wages would be paid until the end of the week,
+      but that her services would be immediately dispensed with.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy was well aware now that housekeeping was a matter of more than
+      muffins and date puffs. She could gauge, in a measure, the magnitude of
+      the task to which she had set herself. But she did not falter; and very
+      systematically she set about making her plans.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With a good stout woman to come in twice a week for the heavier work, she
+      believed she could manage by herself very well until Eliza could come
+      back. At least she could serve more palatable meals than the most of those
+      that had appeared lately; and at least she could try to make a home that
+      would not drive Bertram to club dinners, and Uncle William to hungry
+      wanderings from room to room. Meanwhile, all the time, she could be
+      learning, and in due course she would reach that shining goal of
+      Housekeeping Efficiency, short of which&mdash;according to Aunt Hannah and
+      the &ldquo;Talk to Young Wives&rdquo;&mdash;no woman need hope for a waneless
+      honeymoon.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So chaotic and erratic had been the household service, and so quietly did
+      Billy slip into her new role, that it was not until the second meal after
+      the maid's departure that the master of the house discovered what had
+      happened. Then, as his wife rose to get some forgotten article, he
+      questioned, with uplifted eyebrows:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Too good to wait upon us, is my lady now, eh?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My lady is waiting on you,&rdquo; smiled Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I see <i>this</i> lady is,&rdquo; retorted Bertram, grimly; &ldquo;but I mean
+      our real lady in the kitchen. Great Scott, Billy, how long are you going
+      to stand this?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy tossed her head airily, though she shook in her shoes. Billy had
+      been dreading this moment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm not standing it. She's gone,&rdquo; responded Billy, cheerfully, resuming
+      her seat. &ldquo;Uncle William, sha'n't I give you some more pudding?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Gone, so soon?&rdquo; groaned Bertram, as William passed his plate, with a
+      smiling nod. &ldquo;Oh, well,&rdquo; went on Bertram, resignedly, &ldquo;she stayed longer
+      than the last one. When is the next one coming?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She's already here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram frowned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here? But&mdash;you served the dessert, and&mdash;&rdquo; At something in
+      Billy's face, a quick suspicion came into his own. &ldquo;Billy, you don't mean
+      that you&mdash;<i>you</i>&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; she nodded brightly, &ldquo;that's just what I mean. I'm the next one.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense!&rdquo; exploded Bertram, wrathfully. &ldquo;Oh, come, Billy, we've been all
+      over this before. You know I can't have it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, you can. You've got to have it,&rdquo; retorted Billy, still with that
+      disarming, airy cheerfulness. &ldquo;Besides, 'twon't be half so bad as you
+      think. Wasn't that a good pudding to-night? Didn't you both come back for
+      more? Well, I made it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Puddings!&rdquo; ejaculated Bertram, with an impatient gesture. &ldquo;Billy, as I've
+      said before, it takes something besides puddings to run this house.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I know it does,&rdquo; dimpled Billy, &ldquo;and I've got Mrs. Durgin for that
+      part. She's coming twice a week, and more, if I need her. Why, dearie, you
+      don't know anything about how comfortable you're going to be! I'll leave
+      it to Uncle William if&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But Uncle William had gone. Silently he had slipped from his chair and
+      disappeared. Uncle William, it might be mentioned in passing, had never
+      quite forgotten Aunt Hannah's fateful call with its dire revelations
+      concerning a certain unwanted, superfluous, third-party husband's brother.
+      Remembering this, there were times when he thought absence was both safest
+      and best. This was one of the times.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, Billy, dear,&rdquo; still argued Bertram, irritably, &ldquo;how can you? You
+      don't know how. You've had no experience.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy threw back her shoulders. An ominous light came to her eyes. She was
+      no longer airily playful.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's exactly it, Bertram. I don't know how&mdash;but I'm going to
+      learn. I haven't had experience&mdash;but I'm going to get it. I <i>can't</i>
+      make a worse mess of it than we've had ever since Eliza went, anyway!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But if you'd get a maid&mdash;a good maid,&rdquo; persisted Bertram, feebly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I had <i>one</i>&mdash;Mary Ellen. She was a good maid&mdash;until she
+      found out how little her mistress knew; then&mdash;well, you know what it
+      was then. Do you think I'd let that thing happen to me again? No, sir! I'm
+      going into training for&mdash;my next Mary Ellen!&rdquo; And with a very
+      majestic air Billy rose from the table and began to clear away the dishes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br><br><br><br>
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XVII. THE EFFICIENCY STAR&mdash;AND BILLY
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Billy was not a young woman that did things by halves. Long ago, in the
+      days of her childhood, her Aunt Ella had once said of her: &ldquo;If only Billy
+      didn't go into things all over, so; but whether it's measles or mud pies,
+      I always know that she'll be the measliest or the muddiest of any child in
+      town!&rdquo; It could not be expected, therefore, that Billy would begin to play
+      her new rôle now with any lack of enthusiasm. But even had she needed any
+      incentive, there was still ever ringing in her ears Bertram's accusing:
+      &ldquo;If you'd tend to your husband and your home a little more&mdash;&rdquo; Billy
+      still declared very emphatically that she had forgiven Bertram; but she
+      knew, in her heart, that she had not forgotten.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Certainly, as the days passed, it could not be said that Billy was not
+      tending to her husband and her home. From morning till night, now, she
+      tended to nothing else. She seldom touched her piano&mdash;save to dust it&mdash;and
+      she never touched her half-finished song-manuscript, long since banished
+      to the oblivion of the music cabinet. She made no calls except occasional
+      flying visits to the Annex, or to the pretty new home where Marie and
+      Cyril were now delightfully settled. The opera and the Symphony were over
+      for the season, but even had they not been, Billy could not have attended
+      them. She had no time. Surely she was not doing any &ldquo;gallivanting&rdquo; now,
+      she told herself sometimes, a little aggrievedly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was, indeed, no time. From morning until night Billy was busy,
+      flying from one task to another. Her ambition to have everything just
+      right was equalled only by her dogged determination to &ldquo;just show them&rdquo;
+       that she could do this thing. At first, of course, hampered as she was by
+      ignorance and inexperience, each task consumed about twice as much time as
+      was necessary. Yet afterwards, when accustomedness had brought its reward
+      of speed, there was still for Billy no time; for increased knowledge had
+      only opened the way to other paths, untrodden and alluring. Study of
+      cookbooks had led to the study of food values. Billy discovered suddenly
+      that potatoes, beef, onions, oranges, and puddings were something besides
+      vegetables, meat, fruit, and dessert. They possessed attributes known as
+      proteids, fats, and carbohydrates. Faint memories of long forgotten school
+      days hinted that these terms had been heard before; but never, Billy was
+      sure, had she fully realized what they meant.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was at this juncture that Billy ran across a book entitled &ldquo;Correct
+      Eating for Efficiency.&rdquo; She bought it at once, and carried it home in
+      triumph. It proved to be a marvelous book. Billy had not read two chapters
+      before she began to wonder how the family had managed to live thus far
+      with any sort of success, in the face of their dense ignorance and her own
+      criminal carelessness concerning their daily bill of fare.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At dinner that night Billy told Bertram and William of her discovery, and,
+      with growing excitement, dilated on the wonderful good that it was to
+      bring to them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, you don't know, you can't imagine what a treasure it is!&rdquo; she
+      exclaimed. &ldquo;It gives a complete table for the exact balancing of food.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;For what?&rdquo; demanded Bertram, glancing up.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The exact balancing of food; and this book says that's the biggest
+      problem that modern scientists have to solve.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph!&rdquo; shrugged Bertram. &ldquo;Well, you just balance my food to my hunger,
+      and I'll agree not to complain.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, but, Bertram, it's serious, really,&rdquo; urged Billy, looking genuinely
+      distressed. &ldquo;Why, it says that what you eat goes to make up what you are.
+      It makes your vital energies. Your brain power and your body power come
+      from what you eat. Don't you see? If you're going to paint a picture you
+      need something different from what you would if you were going to&mdash;to
+      saw wood; and what this book tells is&mdash;is what I ought to give you to
+      make you do each one, I should think, from what I've read so far. Now
+      don't you see how important it is? What if I should give you the saw-wood
+      kind of a breakfast when you were just going up-stairs to paint all day?
+      And what if I should give Uncle William a&mdash;a soldier's breakfast when
+      all he is going to do is to go down on State Street and sit still all
+      day?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But&mdash;but, my dear,&rdquo; began Uncle William, looking slightly worried,
+      &ldquo;there's my eggs that I <i>always</i> have, you know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;For heaven's sake, Billy, what <i>have</i> you got hold of now?&rdquo; demanded
+      Bertram, with just a touch of irritation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed merrily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I suppose I didn't sound very logical,&rdquo; she admitted. &ldquo;But the book&mdash;you
+      just wait. It's in the kitchen. I'm going to get it.&rdquo; And with laughing
+      eagerness she ran from the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In a moment she had returned, book in hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now listen. <i>This</i> is the real thing&mdash;not my garbled
+      inaccuracies. 'The food which we eat serves three purposes: it builds the
+      body substance, bone, muscle, etc., it produces heat in the body, and it
+      generates vital energy. Nitrogen in different chemical combinations
+      contributes largely to the manufacture of body substances; the fats
+      produce heat; and the starches and sugars go to make the vital energy. The
+      nitrogenous food elements we call proteins; the fats and oils, fats; and
+      the starches and sugars (because of the predominance of carbon), we call
+      carbohydrates. Now in selecting the diet for the day you should take care
+      to choose those foods which give the proteins, fats, and carbohydrates in
+      just the right proportion.'&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Billy!&rdquo; groaned Bertram.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But it's so, Bertram,&rdquo; maintained Billy, anxiously. &ldquo;And it's every bit
+      here. I don't have to guess at it at all. They even give the quantities of
+      calories of energy required for different sized men. I'm going to measure
+      you both to-morrow; and you must be weighed, too,&rdquo; she continued, ignoring
+      the sniffs of remonstrance from her two listeners. &ldquo;Then I'll know just
+      how many calories to give each of you. They say a man of average size and
+      weight, and sedentary occupation, should have at least 2,000 calories&mdash;and
+      some authorities say 3,000&mdash;in this proportion: proteins, 300
+      calories, fats, 350 calories, carbohydrates, 1,350 calories. But you both
+      are taller than five feet five inches, and I should think you weighed more
+      than 145 pounds; so I can't tell just yet how many calories you will
+      need.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How many we will need, indeed!&rdquo; ejaculated Bertram.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, my dear, you know I have to have my eggs,&rdquo; began Uncle William
+      again, in a worried voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course you do, dear; and you shall have them,&rdquo; soothed Billy,
+      brightly. &ldquo;It's only that I'll have to be careful and balance up the other
+      things for the day accordingly. Don't you see? Now listen. We'll see what
+      eggs are.&rdquo; She turned the leaves rapidly. &ldquo;Here's the food table. It's
+      lovely. It tells everything. I never saw anything so wonderful. A&mdash;b&mdash;c&mdash;d&mdash;e&mdash;here
+      we are. 'Eggs, scrambled or boiled, fats and proteins, one egg, 100.' If
+      it's poached it's only 50; but you like yours boiled, so we'll have to
+      reckon on the 100. And you always have two, so that means 200 calories in
+      fats and proteins. Now, don't you see? If you can't have but 300 proteins
+      and 350 fats all day, and you've already eaten 200 in your two eggs,
+      that'll leave just&mdash;er&mdash;450 for all the rest of the day,&mdash;of
+      fats and proteins, you understand. And you've no idea how fast that'll
+      count up. Why, just one serving of butter is 100 of fats, and eight
+      almonds is another, while a serving of lentils is 100 of proteins. So you
+      see how it'll go.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I see,&rdquo; murmured Uncle William, casting a mournful glance about the
+      generously laden table, much as if he were bidding farewell to a departing
+      friend. &ldquo;But if I should want more to eat&mdash;&rdquo; He stopped helplessly,
+      and Bertram's aggrieved voice filled the pause.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Look here, Billy, if you think I'm going to be measured for an egg and
+      weighed for an almond, you're much mistaken; because I'm not. I want to
+      eat what I like, and as much as I like, whether it's six calories or six
+      thousand!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy chuckled, but she raised her hands in pretended shocked protest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Six thousand! Mercy! Bertram, I don't know what would happen if you ate
+      that quantity; but I'm sure you couldn't paint. You'd just have to saw
+      wood and dig ditches to use up all that vital energy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph!&rdquo; scoffed Bertram.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Besides, this is for <i>efficiency</i>,&rdquo; went on Billy, with an earnest
+      air. &ldquo;This man owns up that some may think a 2,000 calory ration is
+      altogether too small, and he advises such to begin with 3,000 or even
+      3,500&mdash;graded, of course, according to a man's size, weight, and
+      occupation. But he says one famous man does splendid work on only 1,800
+      calories, and another on even 1,600. But that is just a matter of chewing.
+      Why, Bertram, you have no idea what perfectly wonderful things chewing
+      does.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I've heard of that,&rdquo; grunted Bertram; &ldquo;ten chews to a cherry, and
+      sixty to a spoonful of soup. There's an old metronome up-stairs that Cyril
+      left. You might bring it down and set it going on the table&mdash;so many
+      ticks to a mouthful, I suppose. I reckon, with an incentive like that to
+      eat, just about two calories would do me. Eh, William?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bertram! Now you're only making fun,&rdquo; chided Billy; &ldquo;and when it's really
+      serious, too. Now listen,&rdquo; she admonished, picking up the book again. &ldquo;'If
+      a man consumes a large amount of meat, and very few vegetables, his diet
+      will be too rich in protein, and too lacking in carbohydrates. On the
+      other hand, if he consumes great quantities of pastry, bread, butter, and
+      tea, his meals will furnish too much energy, and not enough building
+      material.' There, Bertram, don't you see?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes, I see,&rdquo; teased Bertram. &ldquo;William, better eat what you can
+      to-night. I foresee it's the last meal of just <i>food</i> we'll get for
+      some time. Hereafter we'll have proteins, fats, and carbohydrates made
+      into calory croquettes, and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bertram!&rdquo; scolded Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But Bertram would not be silenced.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here, just let me take that book,&rdquo; he insisted, dragging the volume from
+      Billy's reluctant fingers. &ldquo;Now, William, listen. Here's your breakfast
+      to-morrow morning: strawberries, 100 calories; whole-wheat bread, 75
+      calories; butter, 100 calories (no second helping, mind you, or you'd ruin
+      the balance and something would topple); boiled eggs, 200 calories; cocoa,
+      100 calories&mdash;which all comes to 570 calories. Sounds like an English
+      bill of fare with a new kind of foreign money, but 'tisn't, really, you
+      know. Now for luncheon you can have tomato soup, 50 calories; potato salad&mdash;that's
+      cheap, only 30 calories, and&mdash;&rdquo; But Billy pulled the book away then,
+      and in righteous indignation carried it to the kitchen.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You don't deserve anything to eat,&rdquo; she declared with dignity, as she
+      returned to the dining-room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No?&rdquo; queried Bertram, his eyebrows uplifted. &ldquo;Well, as near as I can make
+      out we aren't going to get&mdash;much.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But Billy did not deign to answer this.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In spite of Bertram's tormenting gibes, Billy did, for some days, arrange
+      her meals in accordance with the wonderful table of food given in &ldquo;Correct
+      Eating for Efficiency.&rdquo; To be sure, Bertram, whatever he found before him
+      during those days, anxiously asked whether he were eating fats, proteins,
+      or carbohydrates; and he worried openly as to the possibility of his
+      meal's producing one calory too much or too little, thus endangering his
+      &ldquo;balance.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy alternately laughed and scolded, to the unvarying good nature of her
+      husband. As it happened, however, even this was not for long, for Billy
+      ran across a magazine article on food adulteration; and this so filled her
+      with terror lest, in the food served, she were killing her family by slow
+      poison, that she forgot all about the proteins, fats, and carbohydrates.
+      Her talk these days was of formaldehyde, benzoate of soda, and salicylic
+      acid.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Very soon, too, Billy discovered an exclusive Back Bay school for
+      instruction in household economics and domestic hygiene. Billy
+      investigated it at once, and was immediately aflame with enthusiasm. She
+      told Bertram that it taught everything, <i>everything</i> she wanted to
+      know; and forthwith she enrolled herself as one of its most devoted
+      pupils, in spite of her husband's protests that she knew enough, more than
+      enough, already. This school attendance, to her consternation, Billy
+      discovered took added time; but in some way she contrived to find it to
+      take.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And so the days passed. Eliza's mother, though better, was still too ill
+      for her daughter to leave her. Billy, as the warm weather approached,
+      began to look pale and thin. Billy, to tell the truth, was working
+      altogether too hard; but she would not admit it, even to herself. At first
+      the novelty of the work, and her determination to conquer at all costs,
+      had given a fictitious strength to her endurance. Now that the novelty had
+      become accustomedness, and the conquering a surety, Billy discovered that
+      she had a back that could ache, and limbs that, at times, could almost
+      refuse to move from weariness. There was still, however, one spur that
+      never failed to urge her to fresh endeavor, and to make her, at least
+      temporarily, forget both ache and weariness; and that was the comforting
+      thought that now, certainly, even Bertram himself must admit that she was
+      tending to her home and her husband.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As to Bertram&mdash;Bertram, it is true, had at first uttered frequent and
+      vehement protests against his wife's absorption of both mind and body in
+      &ldquo;that plaguy housework,&rdquo; as he termed it. But as the days passed, and
+      blessed order superseded chaos, peace followed discord, and delicious,
+      well-served meals took the place of the horrors that had been called meals
+      in the past, he gradually accepted the change with tranquil satisfaction,
+      and forgot to question how it was brought about; though he did still,
+      sometimes, rebel because Billy was always too tired, or too busy, to go
+      out with him. Of late, however, he had not done even this so frequently,
+      for a new &ldquo;Face of a Girl&rdquo; had possessed his soul; and all his thoughts
+      and most of his time had gone to putting on canvas the vision of
+      loveliness that his mind's eye saw.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      By June fifteenth the picture was finished. Bertram awoke then to his
+      surroundings. He found summer was upon him with no plans made for its
+      enjoyment. He found William had started West for a two weeks' business
+      trip. But what he did not find one day&mdash;at least at first&mdash;was
+      his wife, when he came home unexpectedly at four o'clock. And Bertram
+      especially wanted to find his wife that day, for he had met three people
+      whose words had disquieted him not a little. First, Aunt Hannah. She had
+      said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bertram, where is Billy? She hasn't been out to the Annex for a week; and
+      the last time she was there she looked sick. I was real worried about
+      her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Cyril had been next.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where's Billy?&rdquo; he had asked abruptly. &ldquo;Marie says she hasn't seen her
+      for two weeks. Marie's afraid she's sick. She says Billy didn't look well
+      a bit, when she did see her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Calderwell had capped the climax. He had said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Great Scott, Henshaw, where have you been keeping yourself? And where's
+      your wife? Not one of us has caught more than a glimpse of her for weeks.
+      She hasn't sung with us, nor played for us, nor let us take her anywhere
+      for a month of Sundays. Even Miss Greggory says <i>she</i> hasn't seen
+      much of her, and that Billy always says she's too busy to go anywhere. But
+      Miss Greggory says she looks pale and thin, and that <i>she</i> thinks
+      she's worrying too much over running the house. I hope she isn't sick!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, no, Billy isn't sick. Billy's all right,&rdquo; Bertram had answered. He
+      had spoken lightly, nonchalantly, with an elaborate air of carelessness;
+      but after he had left Calderwell, he had turned his steps abruptly and a
+      little hastily toward home.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And he had not found Billy&mdash;at least, not at once. He had gone first
+      down into the kitchen and dining-room. He remembered then, uneasily, that
+      he had always looked for Billy in the kitchen and dining-room, of late.
+      To-day, however, she was not there.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the kitchen table Bertram did see a book wide open, and, mechanically,
+      he picked it up. It was a much-thumbed cookbook, and it was open where two
+      once-blank pages bore his wife's handwriting. On the first page, under the
+      printed heading &ldquo;Things to Remember,&rdquo; he read these sentences:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That rice swells till every dish in the house is full, and that spinach
+      shrinks till you can't find it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That beets boil dry if you look out the window.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That biscuits which look as if they'd been mixed up with a rusty stove
+      poker haven't really been so, but have only got too much undissolved soda
+      in them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There were other sentences, but Bertram's eyes chanced to fall on the
+      opposite page where the &ldquo;Things to Remember&rdquo; had been changed to &ldquo;Things
+      to Forget&rdquo;; and here Billy had written just four words: &ldquo;Burns,&rdquo; &ldquo;cuts,&rdquo;
+       and &ldquo;yesterday's failures.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram dropped the book then with a spasmodic clearing of his throat, and
+      hurriedly resumed his search. When he did find his wife, at last, he gave
+      a cry of dismay&mdash;she was on her own bed, huddled in a little heap,
+      and shaking with sobs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy! Why, Billy!&rdquo; he gasped, striding to the bedside.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy sat up at once, and hastily wiped her eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, is it you, B-Bertram? I didn't hear you come in. You&mdash;you s-said
+      you weren't coming till six o'clock!&rdquo; she choked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, what is the meaning of this?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;N-nothing. I&mdash;I guess I'm just tired.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What have you been doing?&rdquo; Bertram spoke sternly, almost sharply. He was
+      wondering why he had not noticed before the little hollows in his wife's
+      cheeks. &ldquo;Billy, what have you been doing?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, n-nothing extra, only some sweeping, and cleaning out the
+      refrigerator.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sweeping! Cleaning! <i>You!</i> I thought Mrs. Durgin did that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She does. I mean she did. But she couldn't come. She broke her leg&mdash;fell
+      off the stepladder where she was three days ago. So I <i>had</i> to do it.
+      And to-day, someway, everything went wrong. I burned me, and I cut me, and
+      I used two sodas with not any cream of tartar, and I should think I didn't
+      know anything, not anything!&rdquo; And down went Billy's head into the pillows
+      again in another burst of sobs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With gentle yet uncompromising determination, Bertram gathered his wife
+      into his arms and carried her to the big chair. There, for a few minutes,
+      he soothed and petted her as if she were a tired child&mdash;which,
+      indeed, she was.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, this thing has got to stop,&rdquo; he said then. There was a very
+      inexorable ring of decision in his voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What thing?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This housework business.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy sat up with a jerk.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, Bertram, it isn't fair. You can't&mdash;you mustn't&mdash;just
+      because of to-day! I <i>can</i> do it. I have done it. I've done it days
+      and days, and it's gone beautifully&mdash;even if they did say I
+      couldn't!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Couldn't what?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Be an e-efficient housekeeper.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who said you couldn't?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aunt Hannah and K-Kate.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram said a savage word under his breath.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Holy smoke, Billy! I didn't marry you for a cook or a scrub-lady. If you
+      <i>had</i> to do it, that would be another matter, of course; and if we
+      did have to do it, we wouldn't have a big house like this for you to do it
+      in. But I didn't marry for a cook, and I knew I wasn't getting one when I
+      married you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy bridled into instant wrath.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I like that, Bertram Henshaw! Can't I cook? Haven't I proved that I
+      can cook?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram laughed, and kissed the indignant lips till they quivered into an
+      unwilling smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bless your spunky little heart, of course you have! But that doesn't mean
+      that I want you to do it. You see, it so happens that you can do other
+      things, too; and I'd rather you did those. Billy, you haven't played to me
+      for a week, nor sung to me for a month. You're too tired every night to
+      talk, or read together, or go anywhere with me. I married for
+      companionship&mdash;not cooking and sweeping!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy shook her head stubbornly. Her mouth settled into determined lines.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's all very well to say. You aren't hungry now, Bertram. But it's
+      different when you are, and they said 'twould be.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph! 'They' are Aunt Hannah and Kate, I suppose.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes&mdash;and the 'Talk to Young Wives.'&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The w-what?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy choked a little. She had forgotten that Bertram did not know about
+      the &ldquo;Talk to Young Wives.&rdquo; She wished that she had not mentioned the book,
+      but now that she had, she would make the best of it. She drew herself up
+      with dignity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's a book; a very nice book. It says lots of things&mdash;that have
+      come true.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where is that book? Let me see it, please.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      With visible reluctance Billy got down from her perch on Bertram's knee,
+      went to her desk and brought back the book.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram regarded it frowningly, so frowningly that Billy hastened to its
+      defense.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And it's true&mdash;what it says in there, and what Aunt Hannah and Kate
+      said. It <i>is</i> different when they're hungry! You said yourself if I'd
+      tend to my husband and my home a little more, and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram looked up with unfeigned amazement.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I said what?&rdquo; he demanded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In a voice shaken with emotion, Billy repeated the fateful words.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I never&mdash;when did I say that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The night Uncle William and I came home from&mdash;Pete's.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      For a moment Bertram stared dumbly; then a shamed red swept to his
+      forehead.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, <i>did</i> I say that? I ought to be shot if I did. But, Billy,
+      you said you'd forgiven me!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I did, dear&mdash;truly I did; but, don't you see?&mdash;it was true. I
+      <i>hadn't</i> tended to things. So I've been doing it since.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A sudden comprehension illuminated Bertram's face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Heavens, Billy! And is that why you haven't been anywhere, or done
+      anything? Is that why Calderwell said to-day that you hadn't been with
+      them anywhere, and that&mdash;Great Scott, Billy! Did you think I was such
+      a selfish brute as that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, but when I was going with them I <i>was</i> following the book&mdash;I
+      thought,&rdquo; quavered Billy; and hurriedly she turned the leaves to a
+      carefully marked passage. &ldquo;It's there&mdash;about the outside interests.
+      See? I <i>was</i> trying to brush up against them, so that I wouldn't
+      interfere with your Art. Then, when you accused me of gallivanting off
+      with&mdash;&rdquo; But Bertram swept her back into his arms, and not for some
+      minutes could Billy make a coherent speech again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then Bertram spoke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;See here, Billy,&rdquo; he exploded, a little shakily, &ldquo;if I could get you off
+      somewhere on a desert island, where there weren't any Aunt Hannahs or
+      Kates, or Talks to Young Wives, I think there'd be a chance to make you
+      happy; but&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, but there was truth in it,&rdquo; interrupted Billy, sitting erect again.
+      &ldquo;I <i>didn't</i> know how to run a house, and it was perfectly awful while
+      we were having all those dreadful maids, one after the other; and no woman
+      should be a wife who doesn't know&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right, all right, dear,&rdquo; interrupted Bertram, in his turn. &ldquo;We'll
+      concede that point, if you like. But you <i>do</i> know now. You've got
+      the efficient housewife racket down pat even to the last calory your
+      husband should be fed; and I'll warrant there isn't a Mary Ellen in
+      Christendom who can find a spot of ignorance on you as big as a pinhead!
+      So we'll call that settled. What you need now is a good rest; and you're
+      going to have it, too. I'm going to have six Mary Ellens here to-morrow
+      morning. Six! Do you hear? And all you've got to do is to get your
+      gladdest rags together for a trip to Europe with me next month. Because
+      we're going. I shall get the tickets to-morrow, <i>after</i> I send the
+      six Mary Ellens packing up here. Now come, put on your bonnet. We're going
+      down town to dinner.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br><br><br><br>
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XVIII. BILLY TRIES HER HAND AT &ldquo;MANAGING&rdquo;
+     </h2>
+    <p>
+      Bertram did not engage six Mary Ellens the next morning, nor even one, as
+      it happened; for that evening, Eliza&mdash;who had not been unaware of
+      conditions at the Strata&mdash;telephoned to say that her mother was so
+      much better now she believed she could be spared to come to the Strata for
+      several hours each day, if Mrs. Henshaw would like to have her begin in
+      that way.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy agreed promptly, and declared herself as more than willing to put up
+      with such an arrangement. Bertram, it is true, when he heard of the plan,
+      rebelled, and asserted that what Billy needed was a rest, an entire rest
+      from care and labor. In fact, what he wanted her to do, he said, was to
+      gallivant&mdash;to gallivant all day long.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense!&rdquo; Billy had laughed, coloring to the tips of her ears. &ldquo;Besides,
+      as for the work, Bertram, with just you and me here, and with all my vast
+      experience now, and Eliza here for several hours every day, it'll be
+      nothing but play for this little time before we go away. You'll see!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right, I'll <i>see</i>, then,&rdquo; Bertram had nodded meaningly. &ldquo;But
+      just make sure that it <i>is</i> play for you!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I will,&rdquo; laughed Billy; and there the matter had ended.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Eliza began work the next day, and Billy did indeed soon find herself
+      &ldquo;playing&rdquo; under Bertram's watchful insistence. She resumed her music, and
+      brought out of exile the unfinished song. With Bertram she took drives and
+      walks; and every two or three days she went to see Aunt Hannah and Marie.
+      She was pleasantly busy, too, with plans for her coming trip; and it was
+      not long before even the remorseful Bertram had to admit that Billy was
+      looking and appearing quite like her old self.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the Annex Billy found Calderwell and Arkwright, one day. They greeted
+      her as if she had just returned from a far country.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, if you aren't the stranger lady,&rdquo; began Calderwell, looking frankly
+      pleased to see her. &ldquo;We'd thought of advertising in the daily press
+      somewhat after this fashion: 'Lost, strayed, or stolen, one Billy;
+      comrade, good friend, and kind cheerer-up of lonely hearts. Any
+      information thankfully received by her bereft, sorrowing friends.'&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy joined in the laugh that greeted this sally, but Arkwright noticed
+      that she tried to change the subject from her own affairs to a discussion
+      of the new song on Alice Greggory's piano. Calderwell, however, was not to
+      be silenced.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The last I heard of this elusive Billy,&rdquo; he resumed, with teasing
+      cheerfulness, &ldquo;she was running down a certain lost calory that had slipped
+      away from her husband's breakfast, and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy wheeled sharply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where did you get hold of that?&rdquo; she demanded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I didn't,&rdquo; returned the man, defensively. &ldquo;I never got hold of it at
+      all. I never even saw the calory&mdash;though, for that matter, I don't
+      think I should know one if I did see it! What we feared was, that, in
+      hunting the lost calory, you had lost yourself, and&mdash;&rdquo; But Billy
+      would hear no more. With her disdainful nose in the air she walked to the
+      piano.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come, Mr. Arkwright,&rdquo; she said with dignity. &ldquo;Let's try this song.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright rose at once and accompanied her to the piano.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They had sung the song through twice when Billy became uneasily aware
+      that, on the other side of the room, Calderwell and Alice Greggory were
+      softly chuckling over something they had found in a magazine. Billy
+      frowned, and twitched the corners of a pile of music, with restless
+      fingers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wonder if Alice hasn't got some quartets here somewhere,&rdquo; she murmured,
+      her disapproving eyes still bent on the absorbed couple across the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright was silent. Billy, throwing a hurried glance into his face,
+      thought she detected a somber shadow in his eyes. She thought, too, she
+      knew why it was there. So possessed had Billy been, during the early
+      winter, of the idea that her special mission in life was to inaugurate and
+      foster a love affair between disappointed Mr. Arkwright and lonely Alice
+      Greggory, that now she forgot, for a moment, that Arkwright himself was
+      quite unaware of her efforts. She thought only that the present shadow on
+      his face must be caused by the same thing that brought worry to her own
+      heart&mdash;the manifest devotion of Calderwell to Alice Greggory just now
+      across the room. Instinctively, therefore, as to a coworker in a common
+      cause, she turned a disturbed face to the man at her side.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is, indeed, high time that I looked after something besides lost
+      calories,&rdquo; she said significantly. Then, at the evident uncomprehension in
+      Arkwright's face, she added: &ldquo;Has it been going on like this&mdash;very
+      long?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright still, apparently, did not understand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Has&mdash;what been going on?&rdquo; he questioned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That&mdash;over there,&rdquo; answered Billy, impatiently, scarcely knowing
+      whether to be more irritated at the threatened miscarriage of her
+      cherished plans, or at Arkwright's (to her) wilfully blind insistence on
+      her making her meaning more plain. &ldquo;Has it been going on long&mdash;such
+      utter devotion?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      As she asked the question Billy turned and looked squarely into
+      Arkwright's face. She saw, therefore, the great change that came to it, as
+      her meaning became clear to him. Her first feeling was one of shocked
+      realization that Arkwright had, indeed, been really blind. Her second&mdash;she
+      turned away her eyes hurriedly from what she thought she saw in the man's
+      countenance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With an assumedly gay little cry she sprang to her feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come, come, what are you two children chuckling over?&rdquo; she demanded,
+      crossing the room abruptly. &ldquo;Didn't you hear me say I wanted you to come
+      and sing a quartet?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy blamed herself very much for what she called her stupidity in so
+      baldly summoning Arkwright's attention to Calderwell's devotion to Alice
+      Greggory. She declared that she ought to have known better, and she asked
+      herself if this were the way she was &ldquo;furthering matters&rdquo; between Alice
+      Greggory and Arkwright.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy was really seriously disturbed. She had never quite forgiven herself
+      for being so blind to Arkwright's feeling for herself during those days
+      when he had not known of her engagement to Bertram. She had never
+      forgotten, either, the painful scene when he had hopefully told of his
+      love, only to be met with her own shocked repudiation. For long weeks
+      after that, his face had haunted her. She had wished, oh, so ardently,
+      that she could do something in some way to bring him happiness. When,
+      therefore, it had come to her knowledge afterward that he was frequently
+      with his old friend, Alice Greggory, she had been so glad. It was very
+      easy then to fan hope into conviction that here, in this old friend, he
+      had found sweet balm for his wounded heart; and she determined at once to
+      do all that she could do to help. So very glowing, indeed, was her
+      eagerness in the matter, that it looked suspiciously as if she thought,
+      could she but bring this thing about, that old scores against herself
+      would be erased.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy told herself, virtuously, however, that not only for Arkwright did
+      she desire this marriage to take place, but for Alice Greggory. In the
+      very nature of things Alice would one day be left alone. She was poor, and
+      not very strong. She sorely needed the shielding love and care of a good
+      husband. What more natural than that her old-time friend and
+      almost-sweetheart, M. J. Arkwright, should be that good husband?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That really it was more Arkwright and less Alice that was being
+      considered, however, was proved when the devotion of Calderwell began to
+      be first suspected, then known for a fact. Billy's distress at this turn
+      of affairs indicated very plainly that it was not just a husband, but a
+      certain one particular husband that she desired for Alice Greggory. All
+      the more disturbed was she, therefore, when to-day, seeing her three
+      friends together again for the first time for some weeks, she discovered
+      increased evidence that her worst fears were to be realized. It was to be
+      Alice and Calderwell, not Alice and Arkwright. Arkwright was again to be
+      disappointed in his dearest hopes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Telling herself indignantly that it could not be, it <i>should</i> not be,
+      Billy determined to remain after the men had gone, and speak to Alice.
+      Just what she would say she did not know. Even what she could say, she was
+      not sure. But certainly there must be something, some little thing that
+      she could say, which would open Alice's eyes to what she was doing, and
+      what she ought to do.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was in this frame of mind, therefore, that Billy, after Arkwright and
+      Calderwell had gone, spoke to Alice. She began warily, with assumed
+      nonchalance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I believe Mr. Arkwright sings better every time I hear him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was no answer. Alice was sorting music at the piano.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't you think so?&rdquo; Billy raised her voice a little.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Alice turned almost with a start.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What's that? Oh, yes. Well, I don't know; maybe I do.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You would&mdash;if you didn't hear him any oftener than I do,&rdquo; laughed
+      Billy. &ldquo;But then, of course you do hear him oftener.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I? Oh, no, indeed. Not so very much oftener.&rdquo; Alice had turned back to
+      her music. There was a slight embarrassment in her manner. &ldquo;I wonder&mdash;where&mdash;that
+      new song&mdash;is,&rdquo; she murmured.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy, who knew very well where the song lay, was not to be diverted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense! As if Mr. Arkwright wasn't always telling how Alice liked this
+      song, and didn't like that one, and thought the other the best yet! I
+      don't believe he sings a thing that he doesn't first sing to you. For that
+      matter, I fancy he asks your opinion of everything, anyway.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Billy, he doesn't!&rdquo; exclaimed Alice, a deep red flaming into her
+      cheeks. &ldquo;You know he doesn't.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed gleefully. She had not been slow to note the color in her
+      friend's face, or to ascribe to it the one meaning she wished to ascribe
+      to it. So sure, indeed, was she now that her fears had been groundless,
+      that she flung caution to the winds.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ho! My dear Alice, you can't expect us all to be blind,&rdquo; she teased.
+      &ldquo;Besides, we all think it's such a lovely arrangement that we're just glad
+      to see it. He's such a fine fellow, and we like him so much! We couldn't
+      ask for a better husband for you than Mr. Arkwright, and&mdash;&rdquo; From
+      sheer amazement at the sudden white horror in Alice Greggory's face, Billy
+      stopped short. &ldquo;Why, Alice!&rdquo; she faltered then.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With a visible effort Alice forced her trembling lips to speak.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My husband&mdash;<i>Mr. Arkwright!</i> Why, Billy, you couldn't have seen&mdash;you
+      haven't seen&mdash;there's nothing you <i>could</i> see! He isn't&mdash;he
+      wasn't&mdash;he can't be! We&mdash;we're nothing but friends, Billy, just
+      good friends!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy, though dismayed, was still not quite convinced.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Friends! Nonsense! When&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But Alice interrupted feverishly. Alice, in an agony of fear lest the true
+      state of affairs should be suspected, was hiding behind a bulwark of
+      pride.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now, Billy, please! Say no more. You're quite wrong, entirely. You'll
+      never, never hear of my marrying Mr. Arkwright. As I said before, we're
+      friends&mdash;the best of friends; that is all. We couldn't be anything
+      else, possibly!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy, plainly discomfited, fell back; but she threw a sharp glance into
+      her friend's flushed countenance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You mean&mdash;because of&mdash;Hugh Calderwell?&rdquo; she demanded. Then, for
+      the second time that afternoon throwing discretion to the winds, she went
+      on plaintively: &ldquo;You won't listen, of course. Girls in love never do. Hugh
+      is all right, and I like him; but there's more real solid worth in Mr.
+      Arkwright's little finger than there is in Hugh's whole self. And&mdash;&rdquo;
+       But a merry peal of laughter from Alice Greggory interrupted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And, pray, do you think I'm in love with Hugh Calderwell?&rdquo; she demanded.
+      There was a curious note of something very like relief in her voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I didn't know,&rdquo; began Billy, uncertainly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then I'll tell you now,&rdquo; smiled Alice. &ldquo;I'm not. Furthermore, perhaps
+      it's just as well that you should know right now that I don't intend to
+      marry&mdash;ever.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Alice!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo; There was determination, and there was still that curious note of
+      relief in the girl's voice. It was as if, somewhere, a great danger had
+      been avoided. &ldquo;I have my music. That is enough. I'm not intending to
+      marry.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, but Alice, while I will own up I'm glad it isn't Hugh Calderwell,
+      there <i>is</i> Mr. Arkwright, and I did hope&mdash;&rdquo; But Alice shook her
+      head and turned resolutely away. At that moment, too, Aunt Hannah came in
+      from the street, so Billy could say no more.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah dropped herself a little wearily into a chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I've just come from Marie's,&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How is she?&rdquo; asked Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah smiled, and raised her eyebrows.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, just now she's quite exercised over another rattle&mdash;from her
+      cousin out West, this time. There were four little silver bells on it, and
+      she hasn't got any janitor's wife now to give it to.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed softly, but Aunt Hannah had more to say.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You know she isn't going to allow any toys but Teddy bears and woolly
+      lambs, of which, I believe, she has already bought quite an assortment.
+      She says they don't rattle or squeak. I declare, when I see the woolen
+      pads and rubber hushers that that child has put everywhere all over the
+      house, I don't know whether to laugh or cry. And she's so worried! It
+      seems Cyril must needs take just this time to start composing a new opera
+      or symphony, or something; and never before has she allowed him to be
+      interrupted by anything on such an occasion. But what he'll do when the
+      baby comes she says she doesn't know, for she says she can't&mdash;she
+      just can't keep it from bothering him some, she's afraid. As if any opera
+      or symphony that ever lived was of more consequence than a man's own
+      child!&rdquo; finished Aunt Hannah, with an indignant sniff, as she reached for
+      her shawl.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br><br><br><br>
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XIX. A TOUGH NUT TO CRACK FOR CYRIL
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      It was early in the forenoon of the first day of July that Eliza told her
+      mistress that Mrs. Stetson was asking for her at the telephone. Eliza's
+      face was not a little troubled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm afraid, maybe, it isn't good news,&rdquo; she stammered, as her mistress
+      hurriedly arose. &ldquo;She's at Mr. Cyril Henshaw's&mdash;Mrs. Stetson is&mdash;and
+      she seemed so terribly upset about something that there was no making real
+      sense out of what she said. But she asked for you, and said to have you
+      come quick.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy, her own face paling, was already at the telephone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, Aunt Hannah. What is it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, my grief and conscience, Billy, if you <i>can</i>, come up here,
+      please. You must come! <i>Can't</i> you come?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, yes, of course. But&mdash;but&mdash;<i>Marie!</i> The&mdash;the <i>baby!</i>&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A faint groan came across the wires.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, my grief and conscience, Billy! It isn't <i>the</i> baby. It's <i>babies!</i>
+      It's twins&mdash;boys. Cyril has them now&mdash;the nurse hasn't got here
+      yet.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Twins! <i>Cyril</i> has them!&rdquo; broke in Billy, hysterically.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, and they're crying something terrible. We've sent for a second nurse
+      to come, too, of course, but she hasn't got here yet, either. And those
+      babies&mdash;if you could hear them! That's what we want you for, to&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But Billy was almost laughing now.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right, I'll come out&mdash;and hear them,&rdquo; she called a bit wildly,
+      as she hung up the receiver.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Some little time later, a palpably nervous maid admitted Billy to the home
+      of Mr. and Mrs. Cyril Henshaw. Even as the door was opened, Billy heard
+      faintly, but unmistakably, the moaning wails of two infants.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mrs. Stetson says if you will please to help Mr. Henshaw with the
+      babies,&rdquo; stammered the maid, after the preliminary questions and answers.
+      &ldquo;I've been in when I could, and they're all right, only they're crying.
+      They're in his den. We had to put them as far away as possible&mdash;their
+      crying worried Mrs. Henshaw so.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I see,&rdquo; murmured Billy. &ldquo;I'll go to them at once. No, don't trouble
+      to come. I know the way. Just tell Mrs. Stetson I'm here, please,&rdquo; she
+      finished, as she tossed her hat and gloves on to the hall table, and
+      turned to go upstairs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy's feet made no sound on the soft rugs. The crying, however, grew
+      louder and louder as she approached the den. Softly she turned the knob
+      and pushed open the door. She stopped short, then, at what she saw.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Cyril had not heard her, nor seen her. His back was partly toward the
+      door. His coat was off, and his hair stood fiercely on end as if a nervous
+      hand had ruffled it. His usually pale face was very red, and his forehead
+      showed great drops of perspiration. He was on his feet, hovering over the
+      couch, at each end of which lay a rumpled roll of linen, lace, and
+      flannel, from which emerged a prodigiously puckered little face, two
+      uncertainly waving rose-leaf fists, and a wail of protesting rage that was
+      not uncertain in the least.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In one hand Cyril held a Teddy bear, in the other his watch, dangling from
+      its fob chain. Both of these he shook feebly, one after the other, above
+      the tiny faces.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, come, come, pretty baby, good baby, hush, hush,&rdquo; he begged
+      agitatedly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the doorway Billy clapped her hands to her lips and stifled a laugh.
+      Billy knew, of course, that what she should do was to go forward at once,
+      and help this poor, distracted man; but Billy, just then, was not doing
+      what she knew she ought to do.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With a muttered ejaculation (which Billy, to her sorrow, could not catch)
+      Cyril laid down the watch and flung the Teddy bear aside. Then, in very
+      evident despair, he gingerly picked up one of the rumpled rolls of
+      flannel, lace, and linen, and held it straight out before him. After a
+      moment's indecision he began awkwardly to jounce it, teeter it, rock it
+      back and forth, and to pat it jerkily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, come, come, pretty baby, good baby, hush, hush,&rdquo; he begged again,
+      frantically.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Perhaps it was the change of position; perhaps it was the novelty of the
+      motion, perhaps it was only utter weariness, or lack of breath. Whatever
+      the cause, the wailing sobs from the bundle in his arms dwindled suddenly
+      to a gentle whisper, then ceased altogether.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With a ray of hope illuminating his drawn countenance, Cyril carefully
+      laid the baby down and picked up the other. Almost confidently now he
+      began the jouncing and teetering and rocking as before.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There, there! Oh, come, come, pretty baby, good baby, hush, hush,&rdquo; he
+      chanted again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This time he was not so successful. Perhaps he had lost his skill. Perhaps
+      it was merely the world-old difference in babies. At all events, this
+      infant did not care for jerks and jounces, and showed it plainly by
+      emitting loud and yet louder wails of rage&mdash;wails in which his
+      brother on the couch speedily joined.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, come, come, pretty baby, good baby, hush, hush&mdash;<i>confound it</i>,
+      HUSH, I say!&rdquo; exploded the frightened, weary, baffled, distracted man,
+      picking up the other baby, and trying to hold both his sons at once.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy hurried forward then, tearfully, remorsefully, her face all
+      sympathy, her arms all tenderness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here, Cyril, let me help you,&rdquo; she cried.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Cyril turned abruptly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank God, <i>some</i> one's come,&rdquo; he groaned, holding out both the
+      babies, with an exuberance of generosity. &ldquo;Billy, you've saved my life!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed tremulously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I've come, Cyril, and I'll help every bit I can; but I don't know a
+      thing&mdash;not a single thing about them myself. Dear me, aren't they
+      cunning? But, Cyril, do they always cry so?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The father-of-an-hour drew himself stiffly erect.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Cry? What do you mean? Why shouldn't they cry?&rdquo; he demanded indignantly.
+      &ldquo;I want you to understand that Doctor Brown said those were A number I
+      fine boys! Anyhow, I guess there's no doubt they've got lungs all right,&rdquo;
+       he added, with a grim smile, as he pulled out his handkerchief and drew it
+      across his perspiring brow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy did not have an opportunity to show Cyril how much or how little she
+      knew about babies, for in another minute the maid had appeared with the
+      extra nurse; and that young woman, with trained celerity and easy
+      confidence, assumed instant command, and speedily had peace and order
+      restored.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Cyril, freed from responsibility, cast longing eyes, for a moment, upon
+      his work; but the next minute, with a despairing glance about him, he
+      turned and fled precipitately.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy, following the direction of his eyes, suppressed a smile. On the top
+      of Cyril's manuscript music on the table lay a hot-water bottle. Draped
+      over the back of his favorite chair was a pink-bordered baby blanket. On
+      the piano-stool rested a beribboned and beruffled baby's toilet basket.
+      From behind the sofa pillow leered ridiculously the Teddy bear, just as it
+      had left Cyril's desperate hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      No wonder, indeed, that Billy smiled. Billy was thinking of what Marie had
+      said not a week before:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I shall keep the baby, of course, in the nursery. I've been in homes
+      where they've had baby things strewn from one end of the house to the
+      other; but it won't be that way here. In the first place, I don't believe
+      in it; but, even if I did, I'd have to be careful on account of Cyril.
+      Imagine Cyril's trying to write his music with a baby in the room! No! I
+      shall keep the baby in the nursery, if possible; but wherever it is, it
+      won't be anywhere near Cyril's den, anyway.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy suppressed many a smile during the days that immediately followed
+      the coming of the twins. Some of the smiles, however, refused to be
+      suppressed. They became, indeed, shamelessly audible chuckles.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy was to sail the tenth, and, naturally, during those early July days,
+      her time was pretty much occupied with her preparations for departure; but
+      nothing could keep her from frequent, though short, visits to the home of
+      her brother-in-law.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The twins were proving themselves to be fine, healthy boys. Two trained
+      maids, and two trained nurses ruled the household with a rod of iron. As
+      to Cyril&mdash;Billy declared that Cyril was learning something every day
+      of his life now.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes, he's learning things,&rdquo; she said to Aunt Hannah, one morning;
+      &ldquo;lots of things. For instance: he has his breakfast now, not when he wants
+      it, but when the maid wants to give it to him&mdash;which is precisely at
+      eight o'clock every morning. So he's learning punctuality. And for the
+      first time in his life he has discovered the astounding fact that there
+      are several things more important in the world than is the special piece
+      of music he happens to be composing&mdash;chiefly the twins' bath, the
+      twins' nap, the twins' airing, and the twins' colic.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah laughed, though she frowned, too.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, surely, Billy, with two nurses and the maids, Cyril doesn't have to&mdash;to&mdash;&rdquo;
+       She came to a helpless pause.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no,&rdquo; laughed Billy; &ldquo;Cyril doesn't have to really attend to any of
+      those things&mdash;though I have seen each of the nurses, at different
+      times, unhesitatingly thrust a twin into his arms and bid him hold the
+      child till she comes back. But it's this way. You see, Marie must be kept
+      quiet, and the nursery is very near her room. It worries her terribly when
+      either of the children cries. Besides, the little rascals have apparently
+      fixed up some sort of labor-union compact with each other, so that if one
+      cries for something or nothing, the other promptly joins in and helps. So
+      the nurses have got into the habit of picking up the first disturber of
+      the peace, and hurrying him to quarters remote; and Cyril's den being the
+      most remote of all, they usually fetch up there.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You mean&mdash;they take those babies into Cyril's den&mdash;<i>now</i>?&rdquo;
+       Even Aunt Hannah was plainly aghast.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; twinkled Billy. &ldquo;I fancy their Hygienic Immaculacies approved of
+      Cyril's bare floors, undraped windows, and generally knick-knackless
+      condition. Anyhow, they've made his den a sort of&mdash;of annex to the
+      nursery.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But&mdash;but Cyril! What does he say?&rdquo; stammered the dumfounded Aunt
+      Hannah. &ldquo;Think of Cyril's standing a thing like that! Doesn't he do
+      anything&mdash;or say anything?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy smiled, and lifted her brows quizzically.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My dear Aunt Hannah, did you ever know <i>many</i> people to have the
+      courage to 'say things' to one of those becapped, beaproned, bespotless
+      creatures of loftily superb superiority known as trained nurses? Besides,
+      you wouldn't recognize Cyril now. Nobody would. He's as meek as Moses, and
+      has been ever since his two young sons were laid in his reluctant,
+      trembling arms. He breaks into a cold sweat at nothing, and moves about
+      his own home as if he were a stranger and an interloper, endured merely on
+      sufferance in this abode of strange women and strange babies.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense!&rdquo; scoffed Aunt Hannah.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But it's so,&rdquo; maintained Billy, merrily. &ldquo;Now, for instance. You know
+      Cyril always has been in the habit of venting his moods on the piano (just
+      as I do, only more so) by playing exactly as he feels. Well, as near as I
+      can gather, he was at his usual trick the next day after the twins
+      arrived; and you can imagine about what sort of music it would be, after
+      what he had been through the preceding forty-eight hours.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course I don't know exactly what happened, but Julia&mdash;Marie's
+      second maid, you know&mdash;tells the story. She's been with them long
+      enough to know something of the way the whole household always turns on
+      the pivot of the master's whims; so she fully appreciated the situation.
+      She says she heard him begin to play, and that she never heard such queer,
+      creepy, shivery music in her life; but that he hadn't been playing five
+      minutes before one of the nurses came into the living-room where Julia was
+      dusting, and told her to tell whoever was playing to stop that dreadful
+      noise, as they wanted to take the twins in there for their nap.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'But I didn't do it, ma'am,' Julia says. 'I wa'n't lookin' for losin' my
+      place, an' I let the young woman do the job herself. An' she done it, pert
+      as you please. An' jest as I was seekin' a hidin'-place for the explosion,
+      if Mr. Henshaw didn't come out lookin' a little wild, but as meek as a
+      lamb; an' when he sees me he asked wouldn't I please get him a cup of
+      coffee, good an' strong. An' I got it.'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So you see,&rdquo; finished Billy, &ldquo;Cyril is learning things&mdash;lots of
+      things.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, my grief and conscience! I should say he was,&rdquo; half-shivered Aunt
+      Hannah. &ldquo;<i>Cyril</i> looking meek as a lamb, indeed!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed merrily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, it must be a new experience&mdash;for Cyril. For a man whose daily
+      existence for years has been rubber-heeled and woolen-padded, and whose
+      family from boyhood has stood at attention and saluted if he so much as
+      looked at them, it must be quite a change, as things are now. However,
+      it'll be different, of course, when Marie is on her feet again.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Does she know at all how things are going?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not very much, as yet, though I believe she has begun to worry some. She
+      confided to me one day that she was glad, of course, that she had two
+      darling babies, instead of one; but that she was afraid it might be hard,
+      just at first, to teach them both at once to be quiet; for she was afraid
+      that while she was teaching one, the other would be sure to cry, or do
+      something noisy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do something noisy, indeed!&rdquo; ejaculated Aunt Hannah.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As for the real state of affairs, Marie doesn't dream that Cyril's sacred
+      den is given over to Teddy bears and baby blankets. All is, I hope she'll
+      be measurably strong before she does find it out,&rdquo; laughed Billy, as she
+      rose to go.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br><br><br><br>
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XX. ARKWRIGHT'S EYES ARE OPENED
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      William came back from his business trip the eighth of July, and on the
+      ninth Billy and Bertram went to New York. Eliza's mother was so well now
+      that Eliza had taken up her old quarters in the Strata, and the household
+      affairs were once more running like clockwork. Later in the season William
+      would go away for a month's fishing trip, and the house would be closed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. and Mrs. Bertram Henshaw were not expected to return until the first
+      of October; but with Eliza to look after the comfort of William, the
+      mistress of the house did no worrying. Ever since Pete's going, Eliza had
+      said that she preferred to be the only maid, with a charwoman to come in
+      for the heavier work; and to this arrangement her mistress had willingly
+      consented, for the present.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Marie and the babies were doing finely, and Aunt Hannah's health, and
+      affairs at the Annex, were all that could be desired. As Billy, indeed,
+      saw it, there was only one flaw to mar her perfect content on this holiday
+      trip with Bertram, and that was her disappointment over the very evident
+      disaster that had come to her cherished matrimonial plans for Arkwright
+      and Alice Greggory. She could not forget Arkwright's face that day at the
+      Annex, when she had so foolishly called his attention to Calderwell's
+      devotion; and she could not forget, either, Alice Greggory's very obvious
+      perturbation a little later, and her suspiciously emphatic assertion that
+      she had no intention of marrying any one, certainly not Arkwright. As
+      Billy thought of all this now, she could not but admit that it did look
+      dark for Arkwright&mdash;poor Arkwright, whom she, more than any one else
+      in the world, perhaps, had a special reason for wishing to see happily
+      married.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was, then, this one cloud on Billy's horizon as the big boat that
+      was to bear her across the water steamed down the harbor that beautiful
+      July day.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As it chanced, naturally, perhaps, not only was Billy thinking of
+      Arkwright that morning, but Arkwright was thinking of Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright had thought frequently of Billy during the last few days,
+      particularly since that afternoon meeting at the Annex when the four had
+      renewed their old good times together. Up to that day Arkwright had been
+      trying not to think of Billy. He had been &ldquo;fighting his tiger skin.&rdquo;
+       Sternly he had been forcing himself to meet her, to see her, to talk with
+      her, to sing with her, or to pass her by&mdash;all with the indifference
+      properly expected to be shown in association with Mrs. Bertram Henshaw,
+      another man's wife. He had known, of course, that deep down in his heart
+      he loved her, always had loved her, and always would love her. Hopelessly
+      and drearily he accepted this as a fact even while with all his might
+      fighting that tiger skin. So sure was he, indeed, of this, so implicitly
+      had he accepted it as an unalterable certainty, that in time even his
+      efforts to fight it became almost mechanical and unconscious in their
+      stern round of forced indifference.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then came that day at the Annex&mdash;and the discovery: the discovery
+      which he had made when Billy called his attention to Calderwell and Alice
+      Greggory across the room in the corner; the discovery which had come with
+      so blinding a force, and which even now he was tempted to question as to
+      its reality; the discovery that not Billy Neilson, nor Mrs. Bertram
+      Henshaw, nor even the tender ghost of a lost love held the center of his
+      heart&mdash;but Alice Greggory.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The first intimation of all this had come with his curious feeling of
+      unreasoning hatred and blind indignation toward Calderwell as, through
+      Billy's eyes, he had seen the two together. Then had come the overwhelming
+      longing to pick up Alice Greggory and run off with her&mdash;somewhere,
+      anywhere, so that Calderwell could not follow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At once, however, he had pulled himself up short with the mental cry of
+      &ldquo;Absurd!&rdquo; What was it to him if Calderwell did care for Alice Greggory?
+      Surely he himself was not in love with the girl. He was in love with
+      Billy; that is&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was all confusion then, in his mind, and he was glad indeed when he
+      could leave the house. He wanted to be alone. He wanted to think. He must,
+      in some way, thrash out this astounding thing that had come to him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright did not visit the Annex again for some days. Until he was more
+      nearly sure of himself and of his feelings, he did not wish to see Alice
+      Greggory. It was then that he began to think of Billy, deliberately,
+      purposefully, for it must be, of course, that he had made a mistake, he
+      told himself. It must be that he did, really, still care for Billy&mdash;though
+      of course he ought not to.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright made another discovery then. He learned that, however
+      deliberately he started in to think of Billy, he ended every time in
+      thinking of Alice. He thought of how good she had been to him, and of how
+      faithful she had been in helping him to fight his love for Billy. Just
+      here he decided, for a moment, that probably, after all, his feeling of
+      anger against Calderwell was merely the fear of losing this helpful
+      comradeship that he so needed. Even with himself, however, Arkwright could
+      not keep up this farce long, and very soon he admitted miserably that it
+      was not the comradeship of Alice Greggory that he wanted or needed, but
+      the love.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He knew it now. No longer was there any use in beating about the bush. He
+      did love Alice Greggory; but so curiously and unbelievably stupid had he
+      been that he had not found it out until now. And now it was too late. Had
+      not even Billy called his attention to the fact of Calderwell's devotion?
+      Besides, had not he himself, at the very first, told Calderwell that he
+      might have a clear field?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Fool that he had been to let another thus lightly step in and win from
+      under his very nose what might have been his if he had but known his own
+      mind before it was too late!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But was it, after all, quite too late? He and Alice were old friends. Away
+      back in their young days in their native town they had been, indeed,
+      almost sweethearts, in a boy-and-girl fashion. It would not have taken
+      much in those days, he believed, to have made the relationship more
+      interesting. But changes had come. Alice had left town, and for years they
+      had drifted apart. Then had come Billy, and Billy had found Alice, thus
+      bringing about the odd circumstance of their renewing of acquaintanceship.
+      Perhaps, at that time, if he had not already thought he cared for Billy,
+      there would have been something more than acquaintanceship.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But he <i>had</i> thought he cared for Billy all these years; and now, at
+      this late day, to wake up and find that he cared for Alice! A pretty mess
+      he had made of things! Was he so inconstant then, so fickle? Did he not
+      know his own mind five minutes at a time? What would Alice Greggory think,
+      even if he found the courage to tell her? What could she think? What could
+      anybody think?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright fairly ground his teeth in impotent wrath&mdash;and he did not
+      know whether he were the most angry that he did not love Billy, or that he
+      had loved Billy, or that he loved somebody else now.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was while he was in this unenviable frame of mind that he went to see
+      Alice. Not that he had planned definitely to speak to her of his
+      discovery, nor yet that he had planned not to. He had, indeed, planned
+      nothing. For a man usually so decided as to purpose and energetic as to
+      action, he was in a most unhappy state of uncertainty and changeableness.
+      One thing only was unmistakably clear to him, and that was that he must
+      see Alice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For months, now, he had taken to Alice all his hopes and griefs,
+      perplexities and problems; and never had he failed to find comfort in the
+      shape of sympathetic understanding and wise counsel. To Alice, therefore,
+      now he turned as a matter of course, telling himself vaguely that,
+      perhaps, after he had seen Alice, he would feel better.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Just how intimately this particular problem of his concerned Alice
+      herself, he did not stop to realize. He did not, indeed, think of it at
+      all from Alice's standpoint&mdash;until he came face to face with the girl
+      in the living-room at the Annex. Then, suddenly, he did. His manner became
+      at once, consequently, full of embarrassment and quite devoid of its usual
+      frank friendliness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As it happened, this was perhaps the most unfortunate thing that could
+      have occurred, so far as it concerned the attitude of Alice Greggory, for
+      thereby innumerable tiny sparks of suspicion that had been tormenting the
+      girl for days were instantly fanned into consuming flames of conviction.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Alice had not been slow to note Arkwright's prolonged absence from the
+      Annex. Coming as it did so soon after her most disconcerting talk with
+      Billy in regard to her own relations with him, it had filled her with
+      frightened questionings.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      If Billy had seen things to make her think of linking their names
+      together, perhaps Arkwright himself had heard some such idea put forth
+      somewhere, and that was why he was staying away&mdash;to show the world
+      that there was no foundation for such rumors. Perhaps he was even doing it
+      to show <i>her</i> that&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Even in her thoughts Alice could scarcely bring herself to finish the
+      sentence. That Arkwright should ever suspect for a moment that she cared
+      for him was intolerable. Painfully conscious as she was that she did care
+      for him, it was easy to fear that others must be conscious of it, too. Had
+      she not already proof that Billy suspected it? Why, then, might not it be
+      quite possible, even probable, that Arkwright suspected it, also; and,
+      because he did suspect it, had decided that it would be just as well,
+      perhaps, if he did not call so often.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In spite of Alice's angry insistence to herself that, after all, this
+      could not be the case&mdash;that the man <i>knew</i> she understood he
+      still loved Billy&mdash;she could not help fearing, in the face of
+      Arkwright's unusual absence, that it might yet be true. When, therefore,
+      he finally did appear, only to become at once obviously embarrassed in her
+      presence, her fears instantly became convictions. It was true, then. The
+      man did believe she cared for him, and he had been trying to teach her&mdash;to
+      save her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To teach her! To save her, indeed! Very well, he should see! And
+      forthwith, from that moment, Alice Greggory's chief reason for living
+      became to prove to Mr. M. J. Arkwright that he needed not to teach her, to
+      save her, nor yet to sympathize with her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How do you do?&rdquo; she greeted him, with a particularly bright smile. &ldquo;I'm
+      sure I <i>hope</i> you are well, such a beautiful day as this.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes, I'm well, I suppose. Still, I have felt better in my life,&rdquo;
+       smiled Arkwright, with some constraint.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I'm sorry,&rdquo; murmured the girl, striving so hard to speak with
+      impersonal unconcern that she did not notice the inaptness of her reply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh? Sorry I've felt better, are you?&rdquo; retorted Arkwright, with nervous
+      humor. Then, because he was embarrassed, he said the one thing he had
+      meant not to say: &ldquo;Don't you think I'm quite a stranger? It's been some
+      time since I've been here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Alice, smarting under the sting of what she judged to be the only possible
+      cause for his embarrassment, leaped to this new opportunity to show her
+      lack of interest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, has it?&rdquo; she murmured carelessly. &ldquo;Well, I don't know but it has, now
+      that I come to think of it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright frowned gloomily. A week ago he would have tossed back a
+      laughingly aggrieved remark as to her unflattering indifference to his
+      presence. Now he was in no mood for such joking. It was too serious a
+      matter with him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You've been busy, no doubt, with&mdash;other matters,&rdquo; he presumed
+      forlornly, thinking of Calderwell.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I have been busy,&rdquo; assented the girl. &ldquo;One is always happier, I
+      think, to be busy. Not that I meant that I needed the work to <i>be</i>
+      happy,&rdquo; she added hastily, in a panic lest he think she had a consuming
+      sorrow to kill.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, of course not,&rdquo; he murmured abstractedly, rising to his feet and
+      crossing the room to the piano. Then, with an elaborate air of trying to
+      appear very natural, he asked jovially: &ldquo;Anything new to play to me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Alice arose at once.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. I have a little nocturne that I was playing to Mr. Calderwell last
+      night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, to Calderwell!&rdquo; Arkwright had stiffened perceptibly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. <i>He</i> didn't like it. I'll play it to you and see what you say,&rdquo;
+       she smiled, seating herself at the piano.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, if he had liked it, it's safe to say I shouldn't,&rdquo; shrugged
+      Arkwright.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense!&rdquo; laughed the girl, beginning to appear more like her natural
+      self. &ldquo;I should think you were Mr. Cyril Henshaw! Mr. Calderwell <i>is</i>
+      partial to ragtime, I'll admit. But there are some good things he likes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There are, indeed, <i>some</i> good things he likes,&rdquo; returned Arkwright,
+      with grim emphasis, his somber eyes fixed on what he believed to be the
+      one especial object of Calderwell's affections at the moment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Alice, unaware both of the melancholy gaze bent upon herself and of the
+      cause thereof, laughed again merrily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Poor Mr. Calderwell,&rdquo; she cried, as she let her fingers slide into soft,
+      introductory chords. &ldquo;He isn't to blame for not liking what he calls our
+      lost spirits that wail. It's just the way he's made.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright vouchsafed no reply. With an abrupt gesture he turned and began
+      to pace the room moodily. At the piano Alice slipped from the chords into
+      the nocturne. She played it straight through, then, with a charm and skill
+      that brought Arkwright's feet to a pause before it was half finished.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By George, that's great!&rdquo; he breathed, when the last tone had quivered
+      into silence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, isn't it&mdash;beautiful?&rdquo; she murmured.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The room was very quiet, and in semi-darkness. The last rays of a late
+      June sunset had been filling the room with golden light, but it was gone
+      now. Even at the piano by the window, Alice had barely been able to see
+      clearly enough to read the notes of her nocturne.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To Arkwright the air still trembled with the exquisite melody that had but
+      just left her fingers. A quick fire came to his eyes. He forgot everything
+      but that it was Alice there in the half-light by the window&mdash;Alice,
+      whom he loved. With a low cry he took a swift step toward her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Alice!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Instantly the girl was on her feet. But it was not toward him that she
+      turned. It was away&mdash;resolutely, and with a haste that was strangely
+      like terror.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Alice, too, had forgotten, for just a moment. She had let herself drift
+      into a dream world where there was nothing but the music she was playing
+      and the man she loved. Then the music had stopped, and the man had spoken
+      her name.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Alice remembered then. She remembered Billy, whom this man loved. She
+      remembered the long days just passed when this man had stayed away,
+      presumably to teach <i>her</i>&mdash;to save <i>her</i>. And now, at the
+      sound of his voice speaking her name, she had almost bared her heart to
+      him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      No wonder that Alice, with a haste that looked like terror, crossed the
+      floor and flooded the room with light.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dear me!&rdquo; she shivered, carefully avoiding Arkwright's eyes. &ldquo;If Mr.
+      Calderwell were here now he'd have some excuse to talk about our lost
+      spirits that wail. That <i>is</i> a creepy piece of music when you play it
+      in the dark!&rdquo; And, for fear that he should suspect how her heart was
+      aching, she gave a particularly brilliant and joyous smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Once again at the mention of Calderwell's name Arkwright stiffened
+      perceptibly. The fire left his eyes. For a moment he did not speak; then,
+      gravely, he said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Calderwell? Yes, perhaps he would; and&mdash;you ought to be a judge, I
+      should think. You see him quite frequently, don't you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, yes, of course. He often comes out here, you know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes; I had heard that he did&mdash;since <i>you</i> came.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His meaning was unmistakable. Alice looked up quickly. A prompt denial of
+      his implication was on her lips when the thought came to her that perhaps
+      just here lay a sure way to prove to this man before her that there was,
+      indeed, no need for him to teach her, to save her, or yet to sympathize
+      with her. She could not affirm, of course; but she need not deny&mdash;yet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense!&rdquo; she laughed lightly, pleased that she could feel what she
+      hoped would pass for a telltale color burning her cheeks. &ldquo;Come, let us
+      try some duets,&rdquo; she proposed, leading the way to the piano. And
+      Arkwright, interpreting the apparently embarrassed change of subject
+      exactly as she had hoped that he would interpret it, followed her, sick at
+      heart.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'O wert thou in the cauld blast,'&rdquo; sang Arkwright's lips a few moments
+      later.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can't tell her now&mdash;when I <i>know</i> she cares for Calderwell,&rdquo;
+       gloomily ran his thoughts, the while. &ldquo;It would do no possible good, and
+      would only make her unhappy to grieve me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'O wert thou in the cauld blast,'&rdquo; chimed in Alice's alto, low and sweet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I reckon now he won't be staying away from here any more just to <i>save</i>
+      me!&rdquo; ran Alice's thoughts, palpitatingly triumphant.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br><br><br><br>
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXI. BILLY TAKES HER TURN AT QUESTIONING
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright did not call to see Alice Greggory for some days. He did not
+      want to see Alice now. He told himself wearily that she could not help him
+      fight this tiger skin that lay across his path, The very fact of her
+      presence by his side would, indeed, incapacitate himself for fighting. So
+      he deliberately stayed away from the Annex until the day before he sailed
+      for Germany. Then he went out to say good-by.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Chagrined as he was at what he termed his imbecile stupidity in not
+      knowing his own heart all these past months, and convinced, as he also
+      was, that Alice and Calderwell cared for each other, he could see no way
+      for him but to play the part of a man of kindliness and honor, leaving a
+      clear field for his preferred rival, and bringing no shadow of regret to
+      mar the happiness of the girl he loved.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As for being his old easy, frank self on this last call, however, that was
+      impossible; so Alice found plenty of fuel for her still burning fires of
+      suspicion&mdash;fires which had, indeed, blazed up anew at this second
+      long period of absence on the part of Arkwright. Naturally, therefore, the
+      call was anything but a joy and comfort to either one. Arkwright was
+      nervous, gloomy, and abnormally gay by turns. Alice was nervous and
+      abnormally gay all the time. Then they said good-by and Arkwright went
+      away. He sailed the next day, and Alice settled down to the summer of
+      study and hard work she had laid out for herself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the tenth of September Billy came home. She was brown, plump-cheeked,
+      and smiling. She declared that she had had a perfectly beautiful time, and
+      that there couldn't be anything in the world nicer than the trip she and
+      Bertram had taken&mdash;just they two together. In answer to Aunt Hannah's
+      solicitous inquiries, she asserted that she was all well and rested now.
+      But there was a vaguely troubled questioning in her eyes that Aunt Hannah
+      did not quite like. Aunt Hannah, however, said nothing even to Billy
+      herself about this.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One of the first friends Billy saw after her return was Hugh Calderwell.
+      As it happened Bertram was out when he came, so Billy had the first
+      half-hour of the call to herself. She was not sorry for this, as it gave
+      her a chance to question Calderwell a little concerning Alice Greggory&mdash;something
+      she had long ago determined to do at the first opportunity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now tell me everything&mdash;everything about everybody,&rdquo; she began
+      diplomatically, settling herself comfortably for a good visit.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you, I'm well, and have had a passably agreeable summer, barring
+      the heat, sundry persistent mosquitoes, several grievous disappointments,
+      and a felon on my thumb,&rdquo; he began, with shameless imperturbability. &ldquo;I
+      have been to Revere once, to the circus once, to Nantasket three times,
+      and to Keith's and the 'movies' ten times, perhaps&mdash;to be accurate. I
+      have also&mdash;But perhaps there was some one else you desired to inquire
+      for,&rdquo; he broke off, turning upon his hostess a bland but unsmiling
+      countenance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no, how could there be?&rdquo; twinkled Billy. &ldquo;Really, Hugh, I always knew
+      you had a pretty good opinion of yourself, but I didn't credit you with
+      thinking you were <i>everybody</i>. Go on. I'm so interested!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Hugh chuckled softly; but there was a plaintive tone in his voice as he
+      answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thanks, no. I've rather lost my interest now. Lack of appreciation always
+      did discourage me. We'll talk of something else, please. You enjoyed your
+      trip?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very much. It just couldn't have been nicer!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You were lucky. The heat here has been something fierce!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What made you stay?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Reasons too numerous, and one too heart-breaking, to mention. Besides,
+      you forget,&rdquo; with dignity. &ldquo;There is my profession. I have joined the
+      workers of the world now, you know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, fudge, Hugh!&rdquo; laughed Billy. &ldquo;You know very well you're as likely as
+      not to start for the ends of the earth to-morrow morning!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Hugh drew himself up.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't seem to succeed in making people understand that I'm serious,&rdquo; he
+      began aggrievedly. &ldquo;I&mdash;&rdquo; With an expressive flourish of his hands he
+      relaxed suddenly, and fell back in his chair. A slow smile came to his
+      lips. &ldquo;Well, Billy, I'll give up. You've hit it,&rdquo; he confessed. &ldquo;I <i>have</i>
+      thought seriously of starting to-morrow morning for <i>half-way</i> to the
+      ends of the earth&mdash;Panama.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hugh!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I have. Even this call was to be a good-by&mdash;if I went.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Hugh! But I really thought&mdash;in spite of my teasing&mdash;that
+      you had settled down, this time.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, so did I,&rdquo; sighed the man, a little soberly. &ldquo;But I guess it's no
+      use, Billy. Oh, I'm coming back, of course, and link arms again with their
+      worthy Highnesses, John Doe and Richard Roe; but just now I've got a
+      restless fit on me. I want to see the wheels go 'round. Of course, if I
+      had my bread and butter and cigars to earn, 'twould be different. But I
+      haven't, and I know I haven't; and I suspect that's where the trouble
+      lies. If it wasn't for those natal silver spoons of mine that Bertram is
+      always talking about, things might be different. But the spoons are there,
+      and always have been; and I know they're all ready to dish out mountains
+      to climb and lakes to paddle in, any time I've a mind to say the word. So&mdash;I
+      just say the word. That's all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And you've said it now?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I think so; for a while.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And&mdash;those reasons that <i>have</i> kept you here all summer,&rdquo;
+       ventured Billy, &ldquo;they aren't in&mdash;er&mdash;commission any longer?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy hesitated, regarding her companion meditatively. Then, with the
+      feeling that she had followed a blind alley to its termination, she
+      retreated and made a fresh start.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, you haven't yet told me everything about everybody, you know,&rdquo; she
+      hinted smilingly. &ldquo;You might begin that&mdash;I mean the less important
+      everybodies, of course, now that I've heard about you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Meaning&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Aunt Hannah, and the Greggorys, and Cyril and Marie, and the twins,
+      and Mr. Arkwright, and all the rest.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you've had letters, surely.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I've had letters from some of them, and I've seen most of them since
+      I came back. It's just that I wanted to know <i>your</i> viewpoint of
+      what's happened through the summer.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very well. Aunt Hannah is as dear as ever, wears just as many shawls, and
+      still keeps her clock striking twelve when it's half-past eleven. Mrs.
+      Greggory is just as sweet as ever&mdash;and a little more frail, I fear,&mdash;bless
+      her heart! Mr. Arkwright is still abroad, as I presume you know. I hear he
+      is doing great stunts over there, and will sing in Berlin and Paris this
+      winter. I'm thinking of going across from Panama later. If I do I shall
+      look him up. Mr. and Mrs. Cyril are as well as could be expected when you
+      realize that they haven't yet settled on a pair of names for the twins.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know it&mdash;and the poor little things three months old, too! I think
+      it's a shame. You've heard the reason, I suppose. Cyril declares that
+      naming babies is one of the most serious and delicate operations in the
+      world, and that, for his part, he thinks people ought to select their own
+      names when they've arrived at years of discretion. He wants to wait till
+      the twins are eighteen, and then make each of them a birthday present of
+      the name of their own choosing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, if that isn't the limit!&rdquo; laughed Calderwell. &ldquo;I'd heard some such
+      thing before, but I hadn't supposed it was really so.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, it is. He says he knows more tomboys and enormous fat women named
+      'Grace' and 'Lily,' and sweet little mouse-like ladies staggering along
+      under a sonorous 'Jerusha Theodosia' or 'Zenobia Jane'; and that if he
+      should name the boys 'Franz' and 'Felix' after Schubert and Mendelssohn as
+      Marie wants to, they'd as likely as not turn out to be men who hated the
+      sound of music and doted on stocks and dry goods.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph!&rdquo; grunted Calderwell. &ldquo;I saw Cyril last week, and he said he hadn't
+      named the twins yet, but he didn't tell me why. I offered him two
+      perfectly good names myself, but he didn't seem interested.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What were they?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eldad and Bildad.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hugh!&rdquo; protested Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, why not?&rdquo; bridled the man. &ldquo;I'm sure those are new and unique, and
+      really musical, too&mdash;'way ahead of your Franz and Felix.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But those aren't really names!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Indeed they are.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where did you get them?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Off our family tree, though they're Bible names, Belle says. Perhaps you
+      didn't know, but Sister Belle has been making the dirt fly quite lively of
+      late around that family tree of ours, and she wrote me some of her
+      discoveries. It seems two of the roots, or branches&mdash;say, are
+      ancestors roots, or branches?&mdash;were called Eldad and Bildad. Now I
+      thought those names were good enough to pass along, but, as I said before,
+      Cyril wasn't interested.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I should say not,&rdquo; laughed Billy. &ldquo;But, honestly, Hugh, it's really
+      serious. Marie wants them named <i>something</i>, but she doesn't say much
+      to Cyril. Marie wouldn't really breathe, you know, if she thought Cyril
+      disapproved of breathing. And in this case Cyril does not hesitate to
+      declare that the boys shall name themselves.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What a situation!&rdquo; laughed Calderwell.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Isn't it? But, do you know, I can sympathize with it, in a way, for I've
+      always mourned so over <i>my</i> name. 'Billy' was always such a trial to
+      me! Poor Uncle William wasn't the only one that prepared guns and fishing
+      rods to entertain the expected boy. I don't know, though, I'm afraid if
+      I'd been allowed to select my name I should have been a 'Helen Clarabella'
+      all my days, for that was the name I gave all my dolls, with 'first,'
+      'second,' 'third,' and so on, added to them for distinction. Evidently I
+      thought that 'Helen Clarabella' was the most feminine appellation
+      possible, and the most foreign to the despised 'Billy.' So you see I can
+      sympathize with Cyril to a certain extent.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But they must call the little chaps <i>something</i>, now,&rdquo; argued Hugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy gave a sudden merry laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They do,&rdquo; she gurgled, &ldquo;and that's the funniest part of it. Oh, Cyril
+      doesn't. He always calls them impersonally 'they' or 'it.' He doesn't see
+      much of them anyway, now, I understand. Marie was horrified when she
+      realized how the nurses had been using his den as a nursery annex and she
+      changed all that instanter, when she took charge of things again. The
+      twins stay in the nursery now, I'm told. But about the names&mdash;the
+      nurses, it seems, have got into the way of calling them 'Dot' and
+      'Dimple.' One has a dimple in his cheek, and the other is a little smaller
+      of the two. Marie is no end distressed, particularly as she finds that she
+      herself calls them that; and she says the idea of boys being 'Dot' and
+      'Dimple'!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I should say so,&rdquo; laughed Calderwell. &ldquo;Not I regard that as worse than my
+      'Eldad' and 'Bildad.'&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know it, and Alice says&mdash;By the way, you haven't mentioned Alice,
+      but I suppose you see her occasionally.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy paused in evident expectation of a reply. Billy was, in fact, quite
+      pluming herself on the adroit casualness with which she had introduced the
+      subject nearest her heart.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Calderwell raised his eyebrows.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes, I see her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you hadn't mentioned her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was the briefest of pauses; then with a half-quizzical dejection,
+      there came the remark:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You seem to forget. I told you that I stayed here this summer for reasons
+      too numerous, and one too heart-breaking, to mention. She was the <i>one</i>.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You mean&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. The usual thing. She turned me down. Oh, I haven't asked her yet as
+      many times as I did you, but&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;<i>Hugh!</i>&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Hugh tossed her a grim smile and went on imperturbably.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm older now, of course, and know more, perhaps. Besides, the finality
+      of her remarks was not to be mistaken.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy, in spite of her sympathy for Calderwell, was conscious of a throb
+      of relief that at least one stumbling-block was removed from Arkwright's
+      possible pathway to Alice's heart.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did she give any special reason?&rdquo; hazarded Billy, a shade too anxiously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes. She said she wasn't going to marry anybody&mdash;only her
+      music.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense!&rdquo; ejaculated Billy, falling back in her chair a little.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I said that, too,&rdquo; gloomed the man; &ldquo;but it didn't do any good. You
+      see, I had known another girl who'd said the same thing once.&rdquo; (He did not
+      look up, but a vivid red flamed suddenly into Billy's cheeks.) &ldquo;And she&mdash;when
+      the right one came&mdash;forgot all about the music, and married the man.
+      So I naturally suspected that Alice would do the same thing. In fact, I
+      said so to her. I was bold enough to even call the man by name&mdash;I
+      hadn't been jealous of Arkwright for nothing, you see&mdash;but she denied
+      it, and flew into such an indignant allegation that there wasn't a word of
+      truth in it, that I had to sue for pardon before I got anything like
+      peace.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh-h!&rdquo; said Billy, in a disappointed voice, falling quite back in her
+      chair this time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And so that's why I'm wanting especially just now to see the wheels go
+      'round,&rdquo; smiled Calderwell, a little wistfully. &ldquo;Oh, I shall get over it,
+      I suppose. It isn't the first time, I'll own&mdash;but some day I take it
+      there will be a last time. Enough of this, however! You haven't told me a
+      thing about yourself. How about it? When I come back, are you going to
+      give me a dinner cooked by your own fair hands? Going to still play
+      Bridget?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed and shook her head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No; far from it. Eliza has come back, and her cousin from Vermont is
+      coming as second girl to help her. But I <i>could</i> cook a dinner for
+      you if I had to now, sir, and it wouldn't be potato-mush and cold lamb,&rdquo;
+       she bragged shamelessly, as there sounded Bertram's peculiar ring, and the
+      click of his key in the lock.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was the next afternoon that Billy called on Marie. From Marie's, Billy
+      went to the Annex, which was very near Cyril's new house; and there, in
+      Aunt Hannah's room, she had what she told Bertram afterwards was a
+      perfectly lovely visit.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah, too, enjoyed the visit very much, though yet there was one
+      thing that disturbed her&mdash;the vaguely troubled look in Billy's eyes,
+      which to-day was more apparent than ever. Not until just before Billy went
+      home did something occur to give Aunt Hannah a possible clue as to what
+      was the meaning of it. That something was a question from Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aunt Hannah, why don't I feel like Marie did? why don't I feel like
+      everybody does in books and stories? Marie went around with such a
+      detached, heavenly, absorbed look in her eyes, before the twins came to
+      her home. But I don't. I don't find anything like that in my face, when I
+      look in the glass. And I don't feel detached and absorbed and heavenly.
+      I'm happy, of course; but I can't help thinking of the dear, dear times
+      Bertram and I have together, just we two, and I can't seem to imagine it
+      at all with a third person around.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy! <i>Third person</i>, indeed!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There! I knew 'twould shock you,&rdquo; mourned Billy. &ldquo;It shocks me. I <i>want</i>
+      to feel detached and heavenly and absorbed.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But Billy, dear, think of it&mdash;calling your own baby a third person!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy sighed despairingly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I know. And I suppose I might as well own up to the rest of it too.
+      I&mdash;I'm actually afraid of babies, Aunt Hannah! Well, I am,&rdquo; she
+      reiterated, in answer to Aunt Hannah's gasp of disapproval. &ldquo;I'm not used
+      to them at all. I never had any little brothers and sisters, and I don't
+      know how to treat babies. I&mdash;I'm always afraid they'll break, or
+      something. I'm just as afraid of the twins as I can be. How Marie can
+      handle them, and toss them about as she does, I don't see.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Toss them about, indeed!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, it looks that way to me,&rdquo; sighed Billy. &ldquo;Anyhow, I know I can never
+      get to handle them like that&mdash;and that's no way to feel! And I'm
+      ashamed of myself because I <i>can't</i> be detached and heavenly and
+      absorbed,&rdquo; she added, rising to go. &ldquo;Everybody always is, it seems, but
+      just me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fiddlededee, my dear!&rdquo; scoffed Aunt Hannah, patting Billy's downcast
+      face. &ldquo;Wait till a year from now, and we'll see about that third-person
+      bugaboo you're worrying about. <i>I'm</i> not worrying now; so you'd
+      better not!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br><br><br><br>
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXII. A DOT AND A DIMPLE
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      On the day Cyril Henshaw's twins were six months old, a momentous
+      occurrence marked the date with a flaming red letter of remembrance; and
+      it all began with a baby's smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Cyril, in quest of his wife at about ten o'clock that morning, and not
+      finding her, pursued his search even to the nursery&mdash;a room he very
+      seldom entered. Cyril did not like to go into the nursery. He felt ill at
+      ease, and as if he were away from home&mdash;and Cyril was known to abhor
+      being away from home since he was married. Now that Marie had taken over
+      the reins of government again, he had been obliged to see very little of
+      those strange women and babies. Not but that he liked the babies, of
+      course. They were his sons, and he was proud of them. They should have
+      every advantage that college, special training, and travel could give
+      them. He quite anticipated what they would be to him&mdash;when they
+      really knew anything. But, of course, <i>now</i>, when they could do
+      nothing but cry and wave their absurd little fists, and wobble their heads
+      in so fearsome a manner, as if they simply did not know the meaning of the
+      word backbone&mdash;and, for that matter, of course they didn't&mdash;why,
+      he could not be expected to be anything but relieved when he had his den
+      to himself again, with a reasonable chance of finding his manuscript as he
+      had left it, and not cut up into a ridiculous string of paper dolls
+      holding hands, as he had once found it, after a visit from a woman with a
+      small girl.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Since Marie had been at the helm, however, he had not been troubled in
+      such a way. He had, indeed, known almost his old customary peace and
+      freedom from interruption, with only an occasional flitting across his
+      path of the strange women and babies&mdash;though he had realized, of
+      course, that they were in the house, especially in the nursery. For that
+      reason, therefore, he always avoided the nursery when possible. But to-day
+      he wanted his wife, and his wife was not to be found anywhere else in the
+      house. So, reluctantly, he turned his steps toward the nursery, and, with
+      a frown, knocked and pushed open the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is Mrs. Henshaw here?&rdquo; he demanded, not over gently.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Absolute silence greeted his question. The man saw then that there was no
+      one in the room save a baby sitting on a mat in the middle of the floor,
+      barricaded on all sides with pillows.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With a deeper frown the man turned to go, when a gleeful &ldquo;Ah&mdash;goo!&rdquo;
+       halted his steps midway. He wheeled sharply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Er&mdash;eh?&rdquo; he queried, uncertainly eyeing his small son on the floor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah&mdash;goo!&rdquo; observed the infant (who had been very lonesome), with
+      greater emphasis; and this time he sent into his father's eyes the most
+      bewitching of smiles.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, by George!&rdquo; murmured the man, weakly, a dawning amazement driving
+      the frown from his face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Spgggh&mdash;oo&mdash;wah!&rdquo; gurgled the boy, holding out two tiny fists.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A slow smile came to the man's face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I'll&mdash;be&mdash;darned,&rdquo; he muttered half-shamefacedly, wholly
+      delightedly. &ldquo;If the rascal doesn't act as if he&mdash;knew me!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah&mdash;goo&mdash;spggghh!&rdquo; grinned the infant, toothlessly, but
+      entrancingly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With almost a stealthy touch Cyril closed the door back of him, and
+      advanced a little dubiously toward his son. His countenance carried a
+      mixture of guilt, curiosity, and dogged determination so ludicrous that it
+      was a pity none but baby eyes could see it. As if to meet more nearly on a
+      level this baffling new acquaintance, Cyril got to his knees&mdash;somewhat
+      stiffly, it must be confessed&mdash;and faced his son.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Goo&mdash;eee&mdash;ooo&mdash;yah!&rdquo; crowed the baby now, thrashing legs
+      and arms about in a transport of joy at the acquisition of this new
+      playmate.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, well, young man, you&mdash;you don't say so!&rdquo; stammered the
+      growingly-proud father, thrusting a plainly timid and unaccustomed finger
+      toward his offspring. &ldquo;So you do know me, eh? Well, who am I?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Da&mdash;da!&rdquo; gurgled the boy, triumphantly clutching the outstretched
+      finger, and holding on with a tenacity that brought a gleeful chuckle to
+      the lips of the man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jove! but aren't you the strong little beggar, though! Needn't tell me
+      you don't know a good thing when you see it! So I'm 'da-da,' am I?&rdquo; he
+      went on, unhesitatingly accepting as the pure gold of knowledge the
+      shameless imitation vocabulary his son was foisting upon him. &ldquo;Well, I
+      expect I am, and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Cyril!&rdquo; The door had opened, and Marie was in the room. If she gave a
+      start of surprise at her husband's unaccustomed attitude, she quickly
+      controlled herself. &ldquo;Julia said you wanted me. I must have been going down
+      the back stairs when you came up the front, and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Please, Mrs. Henshaw, is it Dot you have in here, or Dimple?&rdquo; asked a new
+      voice, as the second nurse entered by another door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Before Mrs. Henshaw could answer, Cyril, who had got to his feet, turned
+      sharply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is it&mdash;<i>who</i>?&rdquo; he demanded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! Oh, Mr. Henshaw,&rdquo; stammered the girl. &ldquo;I beg your pardon. I didn't
+      know you were here. It was only that I wanted to know which baby it was.
+      We thought we had Dot with us, until&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dot! Dimple!&rdquo; exploded the man. &ldquo;Do you mean to say you have given my <i>sons</i>
+      the ridiculous names of '<i>Dot</i>' and '<i>Dimple</i>'?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, no&mdash;yes&mdash;well, that is&mdash;we had to call them
+      something,&rdquo; faltered the nurse, as with a despairing glance at her
+      mistress, she plunged through the doorway.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Cyril turned to his wife.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Marie, what is the meaning of this?&rdquo; he demanded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Cyril, dear, don't&mdash;don't get so wrought up,&rdquo; she begged. &ldquo;It's
+      only as Mary said, we <i>had</i> to call them something, and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wrought up, indeed!&rdquo; interrupted Cyril, savagely. &ldquo;Who wouldn't be? 'Dot'
+      and 'Dimple'! Great Scott! One would think those boys were a couple of
+      kittens or puppies; that they didn't know anything&mdash;didn't have any
+      brains! But they have&mdash;if the other is anything like this one, at
+      least,&rdquo; he declared, pointing to his son on the floor, who, at this
+      opportune moment joined in the conversation to the extent of an
+      appropriate &ldquo;Ah&mdash;goo&mdash;da&mdash;da!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There, hear that, will you?&rdquo; triumphed the father. &ldquo;What did I tell you?
+      That's the way he's been going on ever since I came into the room; The
+      little rascal knows me&mdash;so soon!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Marie clapped her fingers to her lips and turned her back suddenly, with a
+      spasmodic little cough; but her husband, if he noticed the interruption,
+      paid no heed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dot and Dimple, indeed!&rdquo; he went on wrathfully. &ldquo;That settles it. We'll
+      name those boys to-day, Marie, <i>to-day!</i> Not once again will I let
+      the sun go down on a Dot and a Dimple under my roof.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Marie turned with a quick little cry of happiness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Cyril, I'm so glad! I've so wanted to have them named, you know! And
+      shall we call them Franz and Felix, as we'd talked?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Franz, Felix, John, James, Paul, Charles&mdash;anything, so it's sane and
+      sensible! I'd even adopt Calderwell's absurd Bildad and&mdash;er&mdash;Tomdad,
+      or whatever it was, rather than have those poor little chaps insulted a
+      day longer with a 'Dot' and a 'Dimple.' Great Scott!&rdquo; And, entirely
+      forgetting what he had come to the nursery for, Cyril strode from the
+      room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah&mdash;goo&mdash;spggggh!&rdquo; commented baby from the middle of the floor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was on a very windy March day that Bertram Henshaw's son, Bertram, Jr.,
+      arrived at the Strata. Billy went so far into the Valley of the Shadow of
+      Death for her baby that it was some days before she realized in all its
+      importance the presence of the new member of her family. Even when the
+      days had become weeks, and Bertram, Jr., was a month and a half old, the
+      extreme lassitude and weariness of his young mother was a source of
+      ever-growing anxiety to her family and friends. Billy was so unlike
+      herself, they all said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If something could only rouse her,&rdquo; suggested the Henshaw's old family
+      physician one day. &ldquo;A certain sort of mental shock&mdash;if not too severe&mdash;would
+      do the deed, I think, and with no injury&mdash;only benefit. Her physical
+      condition is in just the state that needs a stimulus to stir it into new
+      life and vigor.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      As it happened, this was said on a certain Monday. Two days later
+      Bertram's sister Kate, on her way with her husband to Mr. Hartwell's old
+      home in Vermont, stopped over in Boston for a two days' visit. She made
+      her headquarters at Cyril's home, but very naturally she went, without
+      much delay, to pay her respects to Bertram, Jr.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Hartwell's brother isn't well,&rdquo; she explained to Billy, after the
+      greetings were over. &ldquo;You know he's the only one left there, since Mother
+      and Father Hartwell came West. We shall go right on up to Vermont in a
+      couple of days, but we just had to stay over long enough to see the baby;
+      and we hadn't ever seen the twins, either, you know. By the way, how
+      perfectly ridiculous Cyril is over those boys!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is he?&rdquo; smiled Billy, faintly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. One would think there were never any babies born before, to hear him
+      talk. He thinks they're the most wonderful things in the world&mdash;and
+      they are cunning little fellows, I'll admit. But Cyril thinks they <i>know</i>
+      so much,&rdquo; went on Kate, laughingly. &ldquo;He's always bragging of something one
+      or the other of them has done. Think of it&mdash;<i>Cyril!</i> Marie says
+      it all started from the time last January when he discovered the nurses
+      had been calling them Dot and Dimple.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I know,&rdquo; smiled Billy again, faintly, lifting a thin, white, very
+      un-Billy-like hand to her head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Kate frowned, and regarded her sister-in-law thoughtfully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mercy! how you look, Billy!&rdquo; she exclaimed, with cheerful tactlessness.
+      &ldquo;They said you did, but, I declare, you look worse than I thought.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy's pale face reddened perceptibly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense! It's just that I'm so&mdash;so tired,&rdquo; she insisted. &ldquo;I shall
+      be all right soon. How did you leave the children?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, and happy&mdash;'specially little Kate, because mother was going
+      away. Kate is mistress, you know, when I'm gone, and she takes herself
+      very seriously.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mistress! A little thing like her! Why, she can't be more than ten or
+      eleven,&rdquo; murmured Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She isn't. She was ten last month. But you'd think she was forty, the
+      airs she gives herself, sometimes. Oh, of course there's Nora, and the
+      cook, and Miss Winton, the governess, there to really manage things, and
+      Mother Hartwell is just around the corner; but little Kate <i>thinks</i>
+      she's managing, so she's happy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy suppressed a smile. Billy was thinking that little Kate came
+      naturally by at least one of her traits.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Really, that child is impossible, sometimes,&rdquo; resumed Mrs. Hartwell, with
+      a sigh. &ldquo;You know the absurd things she was always saying two or three
+      years ago, when we came on to Cyril's wedding.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I remember.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I thought she would get over it. But she doesn't. She's worse, if
+      anything; and sometimes her insight, or intuition, or whatever you may
+      call it, is positively uncanny. I never know what she's going to remark
+      next, when I take her anywhere; but it's safe to say, whatever it is,
+      it'll be unexpected and <i>usually</i> embarrassing to somebody. And&mdash;is
+      that the baby?&rdquo; broke off Mrs. Hartwell, as a cooing laugh and a woman's
+      voice came from the next room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. The nurse has just brought him in, I think,&rdquo; said Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then I'll go right now and see him,&rdquo; rejoined Kate, rising to her feet
+      and hurrying into the next room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Left alone, Billy lay back wearily in her reclining-chair. She wondered
+      why Kate always tired her so. She wished she had had on her blue kimono,
+      then perhaps Kate would not have thought she looked so badly. Blue was
+      always more becoming to her than&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy turned her head suddenly. From the next room had come Kate's
+      clear-cut, decisive voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no, I don't think he looks a bit like his father. That little snubby
+      nose was never the Henshaw nose.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy drew in her breath sharply, and pulled herself half erect in her
+      chair. From the next room came Kate's voice again, after a low murmur from
+      the nurse.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, but he isn't, I tell you. He isn't one bit of a Henshaw baby! The
+      Henshaw babies are always <i>pretty</i> ones. They have more hair, and
+      they look&mdash;well, different.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy gave a low cry, and struggled to her feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no,&rdquo; spoke up Kate, in answer to another indistinct something from
+      the nurse. &ldquo;I don't think he's near as pretty as the twins. Of course the
+      twins are a good deal older, but they have such a <i>bright</i> look,&mdash;and
+      they did have, from the very first. I saw it in their tiniest baby
+      pictures. But this baby&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;<i>This</i> baby is <i>mine</i>, please,&rdquo; cut in a tremulous, but
+      resolute voice; and Mrs. Hartwell turned to confront Bertram, Jr.'s
+      mother, manifestly weak and trembling, but no less manifestly blazing-eyed
+      and determined.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Billy!&rdquo; expostulated Mrs. Hartwell, as Billy stumbled forward and
+      snatched the child into her arms.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps he doesn't look like the Henshaw babies. Perhaps he isn't as
+      pretty as the twins. Perhaps he hasn't much hair, and does have a snub
+      nose. He's my baby just the same, and I shall not stay calmly by and see
+      him abused! Besides, <i>I</i> think he's prettier than the twins ever
+      thought of being; and he's got all the hair I want him to have, and his
+      nose is just exactly what a baby's nose ought to be!&rdquo; And, with a superb
+      gesture, Billy turned and bore the baby away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br><br><br><br>
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXIII. BILLY AND THE ENORMOUS RESPONSIBILITY
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      When the doctor heard from the nurse of Mrs. Hartwell's visit and what had
+      come of it, he only gave a discreet smile, as befitted himself and the
+      occasion; but to his wife privately, that night, the doctor said, when he
+      had finished telling the story:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And I couldn't have prescribed a better pill if I'd tried!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;<i>Pill</i>&mdash;Mrs. Hartwell! Oh, Harold,&rdquo; reproved the doctor's wife,
+      mildly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But the doctor only chuckled the more, and said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You wait and see.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      If Billy's friends were worried before because of her lassitude and lack
+      of ambition, they were almost as worried now over her amazing alertness
+      and insistent activity. Day by day, almost hour by hour, she seemed to
+      gain in strength; and every bit she acquired she promptly tested almost to
+      the breaking point, so plainly eager was she to be well and strong. And
+      always, from morning until night, and again from night until morning, the
+      pivot of her existence, around which swung all thoughts, words, actions,
+      and plans, was the sturdy little plump-cheeked, firm-fleshed atom of
+      humanity known as Bertram, Jr. Even Aunt Hannah remonstrated with her at
+      last.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, Billy, dear,&rdquo; she exclaimed, &ldquo;one would almost get the idea that you
+      thought there wasn't a thing in the world but that baby!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, do you know, sometimes I 'most think there isn't,&rdquo; she retorted
+      unblushingly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy!&rdquo; protested Aunt Hannah; then, a little severely, she demanded:
+      &ldquo;And who was it that just last September was calling this same
+      only-object-in-the-world a third person in your home?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Third person, indeed! Aunt Hannah, did I? Did I really say such a
+      dreadful thing as that? But I didn't know, then, of course. I couldn't
+      know how perfectly wonderful a baby is, especially such a baby as Bertram,
+      Jr., is. Why, Aunt Hannah, that little thing knows a whole lot already.
+      He's known me for weeks; I know he has. And ages and ages ago he began to
+      give me little smiles when he saw me. They were smiles&mdash;real smiles!
+      Oh, yes, I know nurse said they weren't smiles at the first,&rdquo; admitted
+      Billy, in answer to Aunt Hannah's doubting expression. &ldquo;I know nurse said
+      it was only wind on his stomach. Think of it&mdash;wind on his stomach!
+      Just as if I didn't know the difference between my own baby's smile and
+      wind on his stomach! And you don't know how soon he began to follow my
+      moving finger with his eyes!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I tried that one day, I remember,&rdquo; observed Aunt Hannah demurely. &ldquo;I
+      moved my finger. He looked at the ceiling&mdash;<i>fixedly</i>.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, probably he <i>wanted</i> to look at the ceiling, then,&rdquo; defended
+      the young mother, promptly. &ldquo;I'm sure I wouldn't give a snap for a baby if
+      he didn't sometimes have a mind of his own, and exercise it!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Billy, Billy,&rdquo; laughed Aunt Hannah, with a shake of her head as Billy
+      turned away, chin uptilted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      By the time Bertram, Jr., was three months old, Billy was unmistakably her
+      old happy, merry self, strong and well. Affairs at the Strata once more
+      were moving as by clockwork&mdash;only this time it was a baby's hand that
+      set the clock, and that wound it, too.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy told her husband very earnestly that now they had entered upon a
+      period of Enormous Responsibility. The Life, Character, and Destiny of a
+      Human Soul was intrusted to their care, and they must be Wise, Faithful,
+      and Efficient. They must be at once Proud and Humble at this their Great
+      Opportunity. They must Observe, Learn, and Practice. First and foremost in
+      their eyes must always be this wonderful Important Trust.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram laughed at first very heartily at Billy's instructions, which, he
+      declared, were so bristling with capitals that he could fairly see them
+      drop from her lips. Then, when he found how really very much in earnest
+      she was, and how hurt she was at his levity, he managed to pull his face
+      into something like sobriety while she talked to him, though he did
+      persist in dropping kisses on her cheeks, her chin, her finger-tips, her
+      hair, and the little pink lobes of her ears&mdash;&ldquo;just by way of
+      punctuation&rdquo; to her sentences, he said. And he told her that he wasn't
+      really slighting her lips, only that they moved so fast he could not catch
+      them. Whereat Billy pouted, and told him severely that he was a bad,
+      naughty boy, and that he did not deserve to be the father of the dearest,
+      most wonderful baby in the world.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I know I don't,&rdquo; beamed Bertram, with cheerful unrepentance; &ldquo;but I
+      am, just the same,&rdquo; he finished triumphantly. And this time he contrived
+      to find his wife's lips.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Bertram,&rdquo; sighed Billy, despairingly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You're an old dear, of course, and one just can't be cross with you; but
+      you don't, you just <i>don't</i> realize your Immense Responsibility.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes, I do,&rdquo; maintained Bertram so seriously that even Billy herself
+      almost believed him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In spite of his assertions, however, it must be confessed that Bertram was
+      much more inclined to regard the new member of his family as just his son
+      rather than as an Important Trust; and there is little doubt that he liked
+      to toss him in the air and hear his gleeful crows of delight, without any
+      bother of Observing him at all. As to the Life and Character and Destiny
+      intrusted to his care, it is to be feared that Bertram just plain gloried
+      in his son, poked him in the ribs, and chuckled him under the chin
+      whenever he pleased, and gave never so much as a thought to Character and
+      Destiny. It is to be feared, too, that he was Proud without being Humble,
+      and that the only Opportunity he really appreciated was the chance to show
+      off his wife and baby to some less fortunate fellow-man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But not so Billy. Billy joined a Mothers' Club and entered a class in
+      Child Training with an elaborate system of Charts, Rules, and Tests. She
+      subscribed to each new &ldquo;Mothers' Helper,&rdquo; and the like, that she came
+      across, devouring each and every one with an eagerness that was tempered
+      only by a vague uneasiness at finding so many differences of opinion among
+      Those Who Knew.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Undeniably Billy, if not Bertram, was indeed realizing the Enormous
+      Responsibility, and was keeping ever before her the Important Trust.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In June Bertram took a cottage at the South Shore, and by the time the
+      really hot weather arrived the family were well settled. It was only an
+      hour away from Boston, and easy of access, but William said he guessed he
+      would not go; he would stay in Boston, sleeping at the house, and getting
+      his meals at the club, until the middle of July, when he was going down in
+      Maine for his usual fishing trip, which he had planned to take a little
+      earlier than usual this year.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you'll be so lonesome, Uncle William,&rdquo; Billy demurred, &ldquo;in this great
+      house all alone!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no, I sha'n't,&rdquo; rejoined Uncle William. &ldquo;I shall only be sleeping
+      here, you know,&rdquo; he finished, with a slightly peculiar smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was well, perhaps, that Billy did not exactly realize the significance
+      of that smile, nor the unconscious emphasis on the word &ldquo;sleeping,&rdquo; for it
+      would have troubled her not a little.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      William, to tell the truth, was quite anticipating that sleeping.
+      William's nights had not been exactly restful since the baby came. His
+      evenings, too, had not been the peaceful things they were wont to be.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Some of Billy's Rules and Tests were strenuously objected to on the part
+      of her small son, and the young man did not hesitate to show it. Billy
+      said that it was good for the baby to cry, that it developed his lungs;
+      but William was very sure that it was not good for <i>him</i>. Certainly,
+      when the baby did cry, William never could help hovering near the center
+      of disturbance, and he always <i>had</i> to remind Billy that it might be
+      a pin, you know, or some cruel thing that was hurting. As if he, William,
+      a great strong man, could sit calmly by and smoke a pipe, or lie in his
+      comfortable bed and sleep, while that blessed little baby was crying his
+      heart out like that! Of course, if one did not <i>know</i> he was crying&mdash;Hence
+      William's anticipation of those quiet, restful nights when he could not
+      know it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Very soon after Billy's arrival at the cottage, Aunt Hannah and Alice
+      Greggory came down for a day's visit. Aunt Hannah had been away from
+      Boston for several weeks, so it was some time since she had seen the baby.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My, but hasn't he grown!&rdquo; she exclaimed, picking the baby up and stooping
+      to give him a snuggling kiss. The next instant she almost dropped the
+      little fellow, so startling had been Billy's cry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, no, wait, Aunt Hannah, please,&rdquo; Billy was entreating, hurrying to the
+      little corner cupboard. In a moment she was back with a small bottle and a
+      bit of antiseptic cotton. &ldquo;We always sterilize our lips now before we kiss
+      him&mdash;it's so much safer, you know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah sat down limply, the baby still in her arms.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fiddlededee, Billy! What an absurd idea! What have you got in that
+      bottle?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Aunt Hannah, it's just a little simple listerine,&rdquo; bridled Billy,
+      &ldquo;and it isn't absurd at all. It's very sensible. My 'Hygienic Guide for
+      Mothers' says&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I suppose I may kiss his hand,&rdquo; interposed Aunt Hannah, just a
+      little curtly, &ldquo;without subjecting myself to a City Hospital treatment!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed shamefacedly, but she still held her ground.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, you can't&mdash;nor even his foot. He might get them in his mouth.
+      Aunt Hannah, why does a baby think that everything, from his own toes to
+      his father's watch fob and the plush balls on a caller's wrist-bag, is
+      made to eat? As if I could sterilize everything, and keep him from getting
+      hold of germs somewhere!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You'll have to have a germ-proof room for him,&rdquo; laughed Alice Greggory,
+      playfully snapping her fingers at the baby in Aunt Hannah's lap.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy turned eagerly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, did you read about that, too?&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;I thought it was <i>so</i>
+      interesting, and I wondered if I could do it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Alice stared frankly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You don't mean to say they actually <i>have</i> such things,&rdquo; she
+      challenged.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I read about them in a magazine,&rdquo; asserted Billy, &ldquo;&mdash;how you
+      could have a germ-proof room. They said it was very simple, too. Just
+      pasteurize the air, you know, by heating it to one hundred and ten and
+      one-half degrees Fahrenheit for seventeen and one-half minutes. I remember
+      just the figures.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Simple, indeed! It sounds so,&rdquo; scoffed Aunt Hannah, with uplifted
+      eyebrows.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, well, I couldn't do it, of course,&rdquo; admitted Billy, regretfully.
+      &ldquo;Bertram never'd stand for that in the world. He's always rushing in to
+      show the baby off to every Tom, Dick and Harry and his wife that comes;
+      and of course if you opened the nursery door, that would let in those germ
+      things, and you <i>couldn't</i> very well pasteurize your callers by
+      heating them to one hundred and ten and one-half degrees for seventeen and
+      one-half minutes! I don't see how you could manage such a room, anyway,
+      unless you had a system of&mdash;of rooms like locks, same as they do for
+      water in canals.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, my grief and conscience&mdash;locks, indeed!&rdquo; almost groaned Aunt
+      Hannah. &ldquo;Here, Alice, will you please take this child&mdash;that is, if
+      you have a germ-proof certificate about you to show to his mother. I want
+      to take off my bonnet and gloves.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Take him? Of course I'll take him,&rdquo; laughed Alice; &ldquo;and right under his
+      mother's nose, too,&rdquo; she added, with a playful grimace at Billy. &ldquo;And
+      we'll make pat-a-cakes, and send the little pigs to market, and have such
+      a beautiful time that we'll forget there ever was such a thing in the
+      world as an old germ. Eh, babykins?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Babykins&rdquo; cooed his unqualified approval of this plan; but his mother
+      looked troubled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's all right, Alice. You may play with him,&rdquo; she frowned doubtfully;
+      &ldquo;but you mustn't do it long, you know&mdash;not over five minutes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Five minutes! Well, I like that, when I've come all the way from Boston
+      purposely to see him,&rdquo; pouted Alice. &ldquo;What's the matter now? Time for his
+      nap?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no, not for&mdash;thirteen minutes,&rdquo; replied Billy, consulting the
+      watch at her belt. &ldquo;But we never play with Baby more than five minutes at
+      a time. My 'Scientific Care of Infants' says it isn't wise; that with some
+      babies it's positively dangerous, until after they're six months old. It
+      makes them nervous, and forces their mind, you know,&rdquo; she explained
+      anxiously. &ldquo;So of course we'd want to be careful. Bertram, Jr., isn't
+      quite four, yet.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, yes, of course,&rdquo; murmured Alice, politely, stopping a pat-a-cake
+      before it was half baked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The infant, as if suspecting that he was being deprived of his lawful baby
+      rights, began to fret and whimper.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Poor itty sing,&rdquo; crooned Aunt Hannah, who, having divested herself of
+      bonnet and gloves, came hurriedly forward with outstretched hands. &ldquo;Do
+      they just 'buse 'em? Come here to your old auntie, sweetems, and we'll go
+      walkee. I saw a bow-wow&mdash;such a tunnin' ickey wickey bow-wow on the
+      steps when I came in. Come, we go see ickey wickey bow-wow?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aunt Hannah, <i>please!</i>&rdquo; protested Billy, both hands upraised in
+      horror. &ldquo;<i>Won't</i> you say 'dog,' and leave out that dreadful 'ickey
+      wickey'? Of course he can't understand things now, really, but we never
+      know when he'll begin to, and we aren't ever going to let him hear
+      baby-talk at all, if we can help it. And truly, when you come to think of
+      it, it is absurd to expect a child to talk sensibly and rationally on the
+      mental diet of 'moo-moos' and 'choo-choos' served out to them. Our
+      Professor of Metaphysics and Ideology in our Child Study Course says that
+      nothing is so receptive and plastic as the Mind of a Little Child, and
+      that it is perfectly appalling how we fill it with trivial absurdities
+      that haven't even the virtue of being accurate. So that's why we're trying
+      to be so careful with Baby. You didn't mind my speaking, I know, Aunt
+      Hannah.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no, of course not, Billy,&rdquo; retorted Aunt Hannah, a little tartly, and
+      with a touch of sarcasm most unlike her gentle self. &ldquo;I'm sure I shouldn't
+      wish to fill this infant's plastic mind with anything so appalling as
+      trivial inaccuracies. May I be pardoned for suggesting, however,&rdquo; she went
+      on as the baby's whimper threatened to become a lusty wail, &ldquo;that this
+      young gentleman cries as if he were sleepy and hungry?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, he is,&rdquo; admitted Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, doesn't your system of scientific training allow him to be given
+      such trivial absurdities as food and naps?&rdquo; inquired the lady, mildly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course it does, Aunt Hannah,&rdquo; retorted Billy, laughing in spite of
+      herself. &ldquo;And it's almost time now. There are only a few more minutes to
+      wait.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Few more minutes to wait, indeed!&rdquo; scorned Aunt Hannah. &ldquo;I suppose the
+      poor little fellow might cry and cry, and you wouldn't set that clock
+      ahead by a teeny weeny minute!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Certainly not,&rdquo; said the young mother, decisively. &ldquo;My 'Daily Guide for
+      Mothers' says that a time for everything and everything in its time, is
+      the very A B C and whole alphabet of Right Training. He does everything by
+      the clock, and to the minute,&rdquo; declared Billy, proudly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah sniffed, obviously skeptical and rebellious. Alice Greggory
+      laughed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aunt Hannah looks as if she'd like to bring down her clock that strikes
+      half an hour ahead,&rdquo; she said mischievously; but Aunt Hannah did not deign
+      to answer this.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How long do you rock him?&rdquo; she demanded of Billy. &ldquo;I suppose I may do
+      that, mayn't I?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mercy, I don't rock him at all, Aunt Hannah,&rdquo; exclaimed Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nor sing to him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Certainly not.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you did&mdash;before I went away. I remember that you did.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I know I did,&rdquo; admitted Billy, &ldquo;and I had an awful time, too. Some
+      evenings, every single one of us, even to Uncle William, had to try before
+      we could get him off to sleep. But that was before I got my 'Efficiency of
+      Mother and Child,' or my 'Scientific Training,' and, oh, lots of others.
+      You see, I didn't know a thing then, and I loved to rock him, so I did it&mdash;though
+      the nurse said it wasn't good for him; but I didn't believe <i>her</i>.
+      I've had an awful time changing; but I've done it. I just put him in his
+      little crib, or his carriage, and after a while he goes to sleep.
+      Sometimes, now, he doesn't cry hardly any. I'm afraid, to-day, though, he
+      will,&rdquo; she worried.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I'm afraid he will,&rdquo; almost screamed Aunt Hannah, in order to make
+      herself heard above Bertram, Jr., who, by this time, was voicing his
+      opinion of matters and things in no uncertain manner.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was not, after all, so very long before peace and order reigned; and,
+      in due course, Bertram, Jr., in his carriage, lay fast asleep. Then, while
+      Aunt Hannah went to Billy's room for a short rest, Billy and Alice went
+      out on to the wide veranda which faced the wonderful expanse of sky and
+      sea.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now tell me of yourself,&rdquo; commanded Billy, almost at once. &ldquo;It's been
+      ages since I've heard or seen a thing of you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There's nothing to tell.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense! But there must be,&rdquo; insisted Billy. &ldquo;You know it's months since
+      I've seen anything of you, hardly.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know. We feel quite neglected at the Annex,&rdquo; said Alice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I don't go anywhere,&rdquo; defended Billy. &ldquo;I can't. There isn't time.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Even to bring us the extra happiness?&rdquo; smiled Alice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A quick change came to Billy's face. Her eyes glowed deeply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No; though I've had so much that ought to have gone&mdash;such loads and
+      loads of extra happiness, which I couldn't possibly use myself! Sometimes
+      I'm so happy, Alice, that&mdash;that I'm just frightened. It doesn't seem
+      as if anybody ought to be so happy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Billy, dear,&rdquo; demurred Alice, her eyes filling suddenly with tears.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I've got the Annex. I'm glad I've got that for the overflow,
+      anyway,&rdquo; resumed Billy, trying to steady her voice. &ldquo;I've sent a whole lot
+      of happiness up there mentally, if I haven't actually carried it; so I'm
+      sure you must have got it. Now tell me of yourself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There's nothing to tell,&rdquo; insisted Alice, as before.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You're working as hard as ever?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes&mdash;harder.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;New pupils?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, and some concert engagements&mdash;good ones, for next season.
+      Accompaniments, you know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy nodded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes; I've heard of you already twice, lately, in that line, and very
+      flatteringly, too.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you? Well, that's good.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hm-m.&rdquo; There was a moment's silence, then, abruptly, Billy changed the
+      subject. &ldquo;I had a letter from Belle Calderwell, yesterday.&rdquo; She paused
+      expectantly, but there was no comment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You don't seem interested,&rdquo; she frowned, after a minute.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Alice laughed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pardon me, but&mdash;I don't know the Lady, you see. Was it a good
+      letter?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You know her brother.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very true.&rdquo; Alice's cheeks showed a deeper color. &ldquo;Did she say anything
+      of him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. She said he was coming back to Boston next winter.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Indeed!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. She says that this time he declares he really <i>is</i> going to
+      settle down to work,&rdquo; murmured Billy, demurely, with a sidelong glance at
+      her companion. &ldquo;She says he's engaged to be married&mdash;one of her
+      friends over there.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was no reply. Alice appeared to be absorbed in watching a tiny white
+      sail far out at sea.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Again Billy was silent. Then, with studied carelessness, she said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, and you know Mr. Arkwright, too. She told of him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes? Well, what of him?&rdquo; Alice's voice was studiedly indifferent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, there was quite a lot of him. Belle had just been to hear him sing,
+      and then her brother had introduced him to her. She thinks he's perfectly
+      wonderful, in every way, I should judge. In fact, she simply raved over
+      him. It seems that while we've been hearing nothing from him all winter,
+      he's been winning no end of laurels for himself in Paris and Berlin. He's
+      been studying, too, of course, as well as singing; and now he's got a
+      chance to sing somewhere&mdash;create a rôle, or something&mdash;Belle
+      said she wasn't quite clear on the matter herself, but it was a perfectly
+      splendid chance, and one that was a fine feather in his cap.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then he won't be coming home&mdash;that is, to Boston&mdash;at all this
+      winter, probably,&rdquo; said Alice, with a cheerfulness that sounded just a
+      little forced.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not until February. But he is coming then. He's been engaged for six
+      performances with the Boston Opera Company&mdash;as a star tenor, mind
+      you! Isn't that splendid?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Indeed it is,&rdquo; murmured Alice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Belle writes that Hugh says he's improved wonderfully, and that even he
+      can see that his singing is marvelous. He says Paris is wild over him; but&mdash;for
+      my part, I wish he'd come home and stay here where he belongs,&rdquo; finished
+      Billy, a bit petulantly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, why, Billy!&rdquo; murmured her friend, a curiously startled look coming
+      into her eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I do,&rdquo; maintained Billy; then, recklessly, she added: &ldquo;I had such
+      beautiful plans for him, once, Alice. Oh, if you only could have cared for
+      him, you'd have made such a splendid couple!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A vivid scarlet flew to Alice's face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense!&rdquo; she cried, getting quickly to her feet and bending over one of
+      the flower boxes along the veranda railing. &ldquo;Mr. Arkwright never thought
+      of marrying me&mdash;and I'm not going to marry anybody but my music.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy sighed despairingly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know that's what you say now; but if&mdash;&rdquo; She stopped abruptly.
+      Around the turn of the veranda had appeared Aunt Hannah, wheeling Bertram,
+      Jr., still asleep in his carriage.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I came out the other door,&rdquo; she explained softly. &ldquo;And it was so lovely I
+      just had to go in and get the baby. I thought it would be so nice for him
+      to finish his nap out here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy arose with a troubled frown.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, Aunt Hannah, he mustn't&mdash;he can't stay out here. I'm sorry, but
+      we'll have to take him back.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah's eyes grew mutinous.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I thought the outdoor air was just the thing for him. I'm sure your
+      scientific hygienic nonsense says <i>that!</i>&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They do&mdash;they did&mdash;that is, some of them do,&rdquo; acknowledged
+      Billy, worriedly; &ldquo;but they differ, so! And the one I'm going by now says
+      that Baby should always sleep in an <i>even</i> temperature&mdash;seventy
+      degrees, if possible; and that's exactly what the room in there was, when
+      I left him. It's not the same out here, I'm sure. In fact I looked at the
+      thermometer to see, just before I came out myself. So, Aunt Hannah, I'm
+      afraid I'll have to take him back.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you used to have him sleep out of doors all the time, on that little
+      balcony out of your room,&rdquo; argued Aunt Hannah, still plainly unconvinced.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I know I did. I was following the other man's rules, then. As I
+      said, if only they wouldn't differ so! Of course I want the best; but it's
+      so hard to always know the best, and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At this very inopportune moment Master Bertram took occasion to wake up,
+      which brought even a deeper wrinkle of worry to his fond mother's
+      forehead; for she said that, according to the clock, he should have been
+      sleeping exactly ten and one-half more minutes, and that of course he
+      couldn't commence the next thing until those ten and one-half minutes were
+      up, or else his entire schedule for the day would be shattered. So what
+      she should do with him for those should-have-been-sleeping ten minutes and
+      a half, she did not know. All of which drew from Aunt Hannah the
+      astounding exclamation of:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, my grief and conscience, Billy, if you aren't the&mdash;the limit!&rdquo;
+       Which, indeed, she must have been, to have brought circumspect Aunt Hannah
+      to the point of actually using slang.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br><br><br><br>
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXIV. A NIGHT OFF
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      The Henshaw family did not return to the Strata until late in September.
+      Billy said that the sea air seemed to agree so well with the baby it would
+      be a pity to change until the weather became really too cool at the shore
+      to be comfortable.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      William came back from his fishing trip in August, and resumed his old
+      habit of sleeping at the house and taking his meals at the club. To be
+      sure, for a week he went back and forth between the city and the beach
+      house; but it happened to be a time when Bertram, Jr., was cutting a
+      tooth, and this so wore upon William's sympathy&mdash;William still could
+      not help insisting it <i>might</i> be a pin&mdash;that he concluded peace
+      lay only in flight. So he went back to the Strata.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram had stayed at the cottage all summer, painting industriously.
+      Heretofore he had taken more of a vacation through the summer months, but
+      this year there seemed to be nothing for him to do but to paint. He did
+      not like to go away on a trip and leave Billy, and she declared she could
+      not take the baby nor leave him, and that she did not need any trip,
+      anyway.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right, then, we'll just stay at the beach, and have a fine vacation
+      together,&rdquo; he had answered her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As Bertram saw it, however, he could detect very little &ldquo;vacation&rdquo; to it.
+      Billy had no time for anything but the baby. When she was not actually
+      engaged in caring for it, she was studying how to care for it. Never had
+      she been sweeter or dearer, and never had Bertram loved her half so well.
+      He was proud, too, of her devotion, and of her triumphant success as a
+      mother; but he did wish that sometimes, just once in a while, she would
+      remember she was a wife, and pay a little attention to him, her husband.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram was ashamed to own it, even to himself, but he was feeling just a
+      little abused that summer; and he knew that, in his heart, he was actually
+      getting jealous of his own son, in spite of his adoration of the little
+      fellow. He told himself defensively that it was not to be expected that he
+      should not want the love of his wife, the attentions of his wife, and the
+      companionship of his wife&mdash;a part of the time. It was nothing more
+      than natural that occasionally he should like to see her show some
+      interest in subjects not mentioned in Mothers' Guides and Scientific
+      Trainings of Infants; and he did not believe he could be blamed for
+      wanting his residence to be a home for himself as well as a nursery for
+      his offspring.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Even while he thus discontentedly argued with himself, however, Bertram
+      called himself a selfish brute just to think such things when he had so
+      dear and loving a wife as Billy, and so fine and splendid a baby as
+      Bertram, Jr. He told himself, too, that very likely when they were back in
+      their own house again, and when motherhood was not so new to her, Billy
+      would not be so absorbed in the baby. She would return to her old interest
+      in her husband, her music, her friends, and her own personal appearance.
+      Meanwhile there was always, of course, for him, his painting. So he would
+      paint, accepting gladly what crumbs of attention fell from the baby's
+      table, and trust to the future to make Billy none the less a mother,
+      perhaps, but a little more the wife.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Just how confidently he was counting on this coming change, Bertram hardly
+      realized himself; but certainly the family was scarcely settled at the
+      Strata before the husband gayly proposed one evening that he and Billy
+      should go to the theater to see &ldquo;Romeo and Juliet.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy was clearly both surprised and shocked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Bertram, I can't&mdash;you know I can't!&rdquo; she exclaimed reprovingly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram's heart sank; but he kept a brave front.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why not?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What a question! As if I'd leave Baby!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, Billy, dear, you'd be gone less than three hours, and you say
+      Delia's the most careful of nurses.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy's forehead puckered into an anxious frown.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can't help it. Something might happen to him, Bertram. I couldn't be
+      happy a minute.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, dearest, aren't you <i>ever</i> going to leave him?&rdquo; demanded the
+      young husband, forlornly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, yes, of course, when it's reasonable and necessary. I went out to
+      the Annex yesterday afternoon. I was gone almost two whole hours.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, did anything happen?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;N-no; but then I telephoned, you see, several times, so I <i>knew</i>
+      everything was all right.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, well, if that's all you want, I could telephone, you know, between
+      every act,&rdquo; suggested Bertram, with a sarcasm that was quite lost on the
+      earnest young mother.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Y-yes, you could do that, couldn't you?&rdquo; conceded Billy; &ldquo;and, of course,
+      I <i>haven't</i> been anywhere much, lately.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Indeed I could,&rdquo; agreed Bertram, with a promptness that carefully hid his
+      surprise at her literal acceptance of what he had proposed as a huge joke.
+      &ldquo;Come, is it a go? Shall I telephone to see if I can get seats?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You think Baby'll surely be all right?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I certainly do.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And you'll telephone home between every act?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I will.&rdquo; Bertram's voice sounded almost as if he were repeating the
+      marriage service.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And we'll come straight home afterwards as fast as John and Peggy can
+      bring us?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Certainly.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then I think&mdash;I'll&mdash;go,&rdquo; breathed Billy, tremulously, plainly
+      showing what a momentous concession she thought she was making. &ldquo;I do love
+      'Romeo and Juliet,' and I haven't seen it for ages!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good! Then I'll find out about the tickets,&rdquo; cried Bertram, so elated at
+      the prospect of having an old-time evening out with his wife that even the
+      half-hourly telephones did not seem too great a price to pay.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When the time came, they were a little late in starting. Baby was fretful,
+      and though Billy usually laid him in his crib and unhesitatingly left the
+      room, insisting that he should go to sleep by himself in accordance with
+      the most approved rules in her Scientific Training; yet to-night she could
+      not bring herself to the point of leaving the house until he was quiet.
+      Hurried as they were when they did start, Billy was conscious of Bertram's
+      frowning disapproval of her frock.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You don't like it, of course, dear, and I don't blame you,&rdquo; she smiled
+      remorsefully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I like it&mdash;that is, I did, when it was new,&rdquo; rejoined her
+      husband, with apologetic frankness. &ldquo;But, dear, didn't you have anything
+      else? This looks almost&mdash;well, mussy, you know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No&mdash;well, yes, maybe there were others,&rdquo; admitted Billy; &ldquo;but this
+      was the quickest and easiest to get into, and it all came just as I was
+      getting Baby ready for bed, you know. I am a fright, though, I'll
+      acknowledge, so far as clothes go. I haven't had time to get a thing since
+      Baby came. I must get something right away, I suppose.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, indeed,&rdquo; declared Bertram, with emphasis, hurrying his wife into the
+      waiting automobile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy had to apologize again at the theater, for the curtain had already
+      risen on the ancient quarrel between the houses of Capulet and Montague,
+      and Billy knew her husband's special abhorrence of tardy arrivals. Later,
+      though, when well established in their seats, Billy's mind was plainly not
+      with the players on the stage.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you suppose Baby <i>is</i> all right?&rdquo; she whispered, after a time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sh-h! Of course he is, dear!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a brief silence, during which Billy peered at her program in the
+      semi-darkness. Then she nudged her husband's arm ecstatically.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bertram, I couldn't have chosen a better play if I'd tried. There are <i>five</i>
+      acts! I'd forgotten there were so many. That means you can telephone four
+      times!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, dear.&rdquo; Bertram's voice was sternly cheerful.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You must be sure they tell you exactly how Baby is.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right, dear. Sh-h! Here's Romeo.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy subsided. She even clapped a little in spasmodic enthusiasm.
+      Presently she peered at her program again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There wouldn't be time, I suppose, to telephone between the scenes,&rdquo; she
+      hazarded wistfully. &ldquo;There are sixteen of those!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, hardly! Billy, you aren't paying one bit of attention to the play!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, of course I am,&rdquo; whispered Billy, indignantly. &ldquo;I think it's
+      perfectly lovely, and I'm perfectly contented, too&mdash;since I found out
+      about those five acts, and as long as I <i>can't</i> have the sixteen
+      scenes,&rdquo; she added, settling back in her seat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As if to prove that she was interested in the play, her next whisper, some
+      time later, had to do with one of the characters on the stage.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who's that&mdash;the nurse? Mercy! We wouldn't want her for Baby, would
+      we?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In spite of himself Bertram chuckled this time. Billy, too, laughed at
+      herself. Then, resolutely, she settled into her seat again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The curtain was not fairly down on the first act before Billy had laid an
+      urgent hand on her husband's arm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now, remember; ask if he's waked up, or anything,&rdquo; she directed. &ldquo;And be
+      sure to say I'll come right home if they need me. Now hurry.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, dear.&rdquo; Bertram rose with alacrity. &ldquo;I'll be back right away.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, but I don't want you to hurry <i>too</i> much,&rdquo; she called after him,
+      softly. &ldquo;I want you to take plenty of time to ask questions.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right,&rdquo; nodded Bertram, with a quizzical smile, as he turned away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Obediently Bertram asked all the question she could think of, then came
+      back to his wife. There was nothing in his report that even Billy could
+      disapprove of, or worry about; and with almost a contented look on her
+      face she turned toward the stage as the curtain went up on the second act.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I love this balcony scene,&rdquo; she sighed happily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Romeo, however, had not half finished his impassioned love-making when
+      Billy clutched her husband's arm almost fiercely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bertram,&rdquo; she fairly hissed in a tragic whisper, &ldquo;I've just happened to
+      think! Won't it be awful when Baby falls in love? I know I shall just hate
+      that girl for taking him away from me!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sh-h! <i>Billy!</i>&rdquo; expostulated her husband, choking with half-stifled
+      laughter. &ldquo;That woman in front heard you, I know she did!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I shall,&rdquo; sighed Billy, mournfully, turning back to the stage.
+    </p>
+<p style="margin-left:5%;">
+   &ldquo;'Good night, good night! parting is such sweet sorrow,<br>
+     That I shall say good night, till it be morrow,&rdquo;'
+</p>
+    <p>
+      sighed Juliet passionately to her Romeo.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mercy! I hope not,&rdquo; whispered Billy flippantly in Bertram's ear. &ldquo;I'm
+      sure I don't want to stay here till to-morrow! I want to go home and see
+      Baby.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;<i>Billy!</i>&rdquo; pleaded Bertram so despairingly, that Billy, really
+      conscience-smitten, sat back in her seat and remained, for the rest of the
+      act, very quiet indeed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Deceived by her apparent tranquillity, Bertram turned as the curtain went
+      down.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now, Billy, surely you don't think it'll be necessary to telephone so
+      soon as this again,&rdquo; he ventured.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy's countenance fell.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, Bertram, you <i>said</i> you would! Of course if you aren't willing
+      to&mdash;but I've been counting on hearing all through this horrid long
+      act, and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Goodness me, Billy, I'll telephone every minute for you, of course, if
+      you want me to,&rdquo; cried Bertram, springing to his feet, and trying not to
+      show his impatience.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was back more promptly this time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Everything O. K.,&rdquo; he smiled reassuringly into Billy's anxious eyes.
+      &ldquo;Delia said she'd just been up, and the little chap was sound asleep.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      To the man's unbounded surprise, his wife grew actually white.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Up! Up!&rdquo; she exclaimed. &ldquo;Do you mean that Delia went down-stairs to <i>stay</i>,
+      and left my baby up there alone?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, Billy, she said he was all right,&rdquo; murmured Bertram, softly, casting
+      uneasy sidelong glances at his too interested neighbors.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'All right'! Perhaps he was, <i>then</i>&mdash;but he may not be, later.
+      Delia should stay in the next room all the time, where she could hear the
+      least thing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, dear, she will, I'm sure, if you tell her to,&rdquo; soothed Bertram,
+      quickly. &ldquo;It'll be all right next time.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy shook her head. She was obviously near to crying.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, Bertram, I can't stand it to sit here enjoying myself all safe and
+      comfortable, and know that Baby is <i>alone</i> up there in that great big
+      room! Please, <i>please</i> won't you go and telephone Delia to go up <i>now</i>
+      and stay there?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram, weary, sorely tried, and increasingly aware of those annoyingly
+      interested neighbors, was on the point of saying a very decided no; but a
+      glance into Billy's pleading eyes settled it. Without a word he went back
+      to the telephone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The curtain was up when he slipped into his seat, very red of face. In
+      answer to Billy's hurried whisper he shook his head; but in the short
+      pause between the first and second scenes he said, in a low voice:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm sorry, Billy, but I couldn't get the house at all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Couldn't get them! But you'd just been talking with them!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's exactly it, probably. I had just telephoned, so they weren't
+      watching for the bell. Anyhow, I couldn't get them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then you didn't get Delia at all!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course not.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And Baby is still&mdash;all alone!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But he's all right, dear. Delia's keeping watch of him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      For a moment there was silence; then, with clear decisiveness came Billy's
+      voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bertram, I am going home.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, for heaven's sake don't be a silly goose! The play's half over
+      already. We'll soon be going, anyway.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy's lips came together in a thin little determined line.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bertram, I am going home now, please,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;You needn't come with
+      me; I can go alone.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram said two words under his breath which it was just as well,
+      perhaps, that Billy&mdash;and the neighbors&mdash;did not hear; then he
+      gathered up their wraps and, with Billy, stalked out of the theater.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At home everything was found to be absolutely as it should be. Bertram,
+      Jr., was peacefully sleeping, and Delia, who had come up from downstairs,
+      was sewing in the next room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There, you see,&rdquo; observed Bertram, a little sourly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy drew a long, contented sigh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I see; everything is all right. But that's exactly what I wanted to
+      do, Bertram, you know&mdash;to <i>see for myself</i>,&rdquo; she finished
+      happily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And Bertram, looking at her rapt face as she hovered over the baby's crib,
+      called himself a brute and a beast to mind <i>anything</i> that could make
+      Billy look like that.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br><br><br><br>
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXV. &ldquo;SHOULD AULD ACQUAINTANCE BE FORGOT&rdquo;
+     </h2>
+    <p>
+      Bertram did not ask Billy very soon again to go to the theater. For some
+      days, indeed, he did not ask her to do anything. Then, one evening, he did
+      beg for some music.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, you haven't played to me or sung to me since I could remember,&rdquo; he
+      complained. &ldquo;I want some music.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy gave a merry laugh and wriggled her fingers experimentally.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mercy, Bertram! I don't believe I could play a note. You know I'm all out
+      of practice.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But why <i>don't</i> you practice?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Bertram, I can't. In the first place I don't seem to have any time
+      except when Baby's asleep; and I can't play then-I'd wake him up.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram sighed irritably, rose to his feet, and began to walk up and down
+      the room. He came to a pause at last, his eyes bent a trifle
+      disapprovingly on his wife.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, dear, <i>don't</i> you wear anything but those wrapper things
+      nowadays?&rdquo; he asked plaintively.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Again Billy laughed. But this time a troubled frown followed the laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know, Bertram, I suppose they do look dowdy, sometimes,&rdquo; she confessed;
+      &ldquo;but, you see, I hate to wear a really good dress&mdash;Baby rumples them
+      up so; and I'm usually in a hurry to get to him mornings, and these are so
+      easy to slip into, and so much more comfortable for me to handle him in!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, of course, of course; I see,&rdquo; mumbled Bertram, listlessly taking up
+      his walk again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy, after a moment's silence, began to talk animatedly. Baby had done a
+      wonderfully cunning thing that morning, and Billy had not had a chance yet
+      to tell Bertram. Baby was growing more and more cunning anyway, these
+      days, and there were several things she believed she had not told him; so
+      she told them now.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram listened politely, interestedly. He told himself that he <i>was</i>
+      interested, too. Of course he was interested in the doings of his own
+      child! But he still walked up and down the room a little restlessly,
+      coming to a halt at last by the window, across which the shade had not
+      been drawn.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy,&rdquo; he cried suddenly, with his old boyish eagerness, &ldquo;there's a
+      glorious moon. Come on! Let's take a little walk&mdash;a real
+      fellow-and-his-best-girl walk! Will you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mercy! dear, I couldn't,&rdquo; cried Billy springing to her feet. &ldquo;I'd love
+      to, though, if I could,&rdquo; she added hastily, as she saw disappointment
+      cloud her husband's face. &ldquo;But I told Delia she might go out. It isn't her
+      regular evening, of course, but I told her I didn't mind staying with Baby
+      a bit. So I'll have to go right up now. She'll be going soon. But, dear,
+      you go and take your walk. It'll do you good. Then you can come back and
+      tell me all about it&mdash;only you must come in quietly, so not to wake
+      the baby,&rdquo; she finished, giving her husband an affectionate kiss, as she
+      left the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After a disconsolate five minutes of solitude, Bertram got his hat and
+      coat and went out for his walk&mdash;but he told himself he did not expect
+      to enjoy it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram Henshaw knew that the old rebellious jealousy of the summer had
+      him fast in its grip. He was heartily ashamed of himself, but he could not
+      help it. He wanted Billy, and he wanted her then. He wanted to talk to
+      her. He wanted to tell her about a new portrait commission he had just
+      obtained; and he wanted to ask her what she thought of the idea of a
+      brand-new &ldquo;Face of a Girl&rdquo; for the Bohemian Ten Exhibition next March. He
+      wanted&mdash;but then, what would be the use? She would listen, of course,
+      but he would know by the very looks of her face that she would not be
+      really thinking of what he was saying; and he would be willing to wager
+      his best canvas that in the very first pause she would tell about the
+      baby's newest tooth or latest toy. Not but that he liked to hear about the
+      little fellow, of course; and not but that he was proud as Punch of him,
+      too; but that he would like sometimes to hear Billy talk of something
+      else. The sweetest melody in the world, if dinned into one's ears day and
+      night, became something to be fled from.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And Billy ought to talk of something else, too! Bertram, Jr., wonderful as
+      he was, really was not the only thing in the world, or even the only baby;
+      and other people&mdash;outsiders, their friends&mdash;had a right to
+      expect that sometimes other matters might be considered&mdash;their own,
+      for instance. But Billy seemed to have forgotten this. No matter whether
+      the subject of conversation had to do with the latest novel or a trip to
+      Europe, under Billy's guidance it invariably led straight to Baby's
+      Jack-and-Jill book, or to a perambulator journey in the Public Garden. If
+      it had not been so serious, it would have been really funny the way all
+      roads led straight to one goal. He himself, when alone with Billy, had
+      started the most unusual and foreign subjects, sometimes, just to see if
+      there were not somewhere a little bypath that did not bring up in his own
+      nursery. He never, however, found one.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But it was not funny; it was serious. Was this glorious gift on parenthood
+      to which he had looked forward as the crowning joy of his existence, to be
+      nothing but a tragedy that would finally wreck his domestic happiness? It
+      could not be. It must not be. He must be patient, and wait. Billy loved
+      him. He was sure she did. By and by this obsession of motherhood, which
+      had her so fast in its grasp, would relax. She would remember that her
+      husband had rights as well as her child. Once again she would give him the
+      companionship, love, and sympathetic interest so dear to him. Meanwhile
+      there was his work. He must bury himself in that. And fortunate, indeed,
+      he was, he told himself, that he had something so absorbing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was at this point in his meditations that Bertram rounded a corner and
+      came face to face with a man who stopped him short with a jovial:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Isn't it&mdash;by George, it is Bertie Henshaw! Well, what do you think
+      of that for luck?&mdash;and me only two days home from 'Gay Paree'!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Seaver! How are you? You <i>are</i> a stranger!&rdquo; Bertram's voice and
+      handshake were a bit more cordial than they would have been had he not at
+      the moment been feeling so abused and forlorn. In the old days he had
+      liked this Bob Seaver well. Seaver was an artist like himself, and was
+      good company always. But Seaver and his crowd were a little too Bohemian
+      for William's taste; and after Billy came, she, too, had objected to what
+      she called &ldquo;that horrid Seaver man.&rdquo; In his heart, Bertram knew that there
+      was good foundation for their objections, so he had avoided Seaver for a
+      time; and for some years, now, the man had been abroad, somewhat to
+      Bertram's relief. To-night, however, Seaver's genial smile and hearty
+      friendliness were like a sudden burst of sunshine on a rainy day&mdash;and
+      Bertram detested rainy days. He was feeling now, too, as if he had just
+      had a whole week of them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I am something of a stranger here,&rdquo; nodded Seaver. &ldquo;But I tell you
+      what, little old Boston looks mighty good to me, all the same. Come on!
+      You're just the fellow we want. I'm on my way now to the old stamping
+      ground. Come&mdash;right about face, old chap, and come with me!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram shook his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sorry&mdash;but I guess I can't, to-night,&rdquo; he sighed. Both gesture and
+      words were unhesitating, but the voice carried the discontent of a small
+      boy, who, while the sun is still shining, has been told to come into the
+      house.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, rats! Yes, you can, too. Come on! Lots of the old crowd will be there&mdash;Griggs,
+      Beebe, Jack Jenkins, and Tully. We need you to complete the show.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jack Jenkins? Is he here?&rdquo; A new eagerness had come into Bertram's voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sure! He came on from New York last night. Great boy, Jenkins! Just back
+      from Paris fairly covered with medals, you know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, so I hear. I haven't seen him for four years.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Better come to-night then.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No-o,&rdquo; began Bertram, with obvious reluctance. &ldquo;It's already nine
+      o'clock, and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nine o'clock!&rdquo; cut in Seaver, with a broad grin. &ldquo;Since when has your
+      limit been nine o'clock? I've seen the time when you didn't mind nine
+      o'clock in the morning, Bertie! What's got&mdash;Oh, I remember. I met
+      another friend of yours in Berlin; chap named Arkwright&mdash;and say,
+      he's some singer, you bet! You're going to hear of him one of these days.
+      Well, he told me all about how you'd settled down now&mdash;son and heir,
+      fireside bliss, pretty wife, and all the fixings. But, I say, Bertie,
+      doesn't she let you out&mdash;<i>any</i>?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense, Seaver!&rdquo; flared Bertram in annoyed wrath.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, then, why don't you come to-night? If you want to see Jenkins
+      you'll have to; he's going back to New York to-morrow.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      For only a brief minute longer did Bertram hesitate; then he turned
+      squarely about with an air of finality.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is he? Well, then, perhaps I will,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I'd hate to miss Jenkins
+      entirely.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good!&rdquo; exclaimed his companion, as they fell into step. &ldquo;Have a cigar?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thanks. Don't mind if I do.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      If Bertram's chin was a little higher and his step a little more decided
+      than usual, it was all merely by way of accompaniment to his thoughts.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Certainly it was right that he should go, and it was sensible. Indeed, it
+      was really almost imperative&mdash;due to Billy, as it were&mdash;after
+      that disagreeable taunt of Seaver's. As if she did not want him to go when
+      and where he pleased! As if she would consent for a moment to figure in
+      the eyes of his friends as a tyrannical wife who objected to her husband's
+      passing a social evening with his friends! To be sure, in this particular
+      case, she might not favor Seaver's presence, but even she would not mind
+      this once&mdash;and, anyhow, it was Jenkins that was the attraction, not
+      Seaver. Besides, he himself was no undeveloped boy now. He was a man,
+      presumedly able to take care of himself. Besides, again, had not Billy
+      herself told him to go out and enjoy the evening without her, as she had
+      to stay with the baby? He would telephone her, of course, that he had met
+      some old friends, and that he might be late; then she would not worry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And forthwith, having settled the matter in his mind, and to his complete
+      satisfaction, Bertram gave his undivided attention to Seaver, who had
+      already plunged into an account of a recent Art Exhibition he had attended
+      in Paris.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br><br><br><br>
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXVI. GHOSTS THAT WALKED FOR BERTRAM
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      October proved to be unusually mild, and about the middle of the month,
+      Bertram, after much unselfish urging on the part of Billy, went to a
+      friend's camp in the Adirondacks for a week's stay. He came back with an
+      angry, lugubrious face&mdash;and a broken arm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Bertram! And your right one, too&mdash;the same one you broke
+      before!&rdquo; mourned Billy, tearfully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course,&rdquo; retorted Bertram, trying in vain to give an air of jauntiness
+      to his reply. &ldquo;Didn't want to be too changeable, you know!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But how did you do it, dear?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fell into a silly little hole covered with underbrush. But&mdash;oh,
+      Billy, what's the use? I did it, and I can't undo it&mdash;more's the
+      pity!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course you can't, you poor boy,&rdquo; sympathized Billy; &ldquo;and you sha'n't
+      be tormented with questions. We'll just be thankful 'twas no worse. You
+      can't paint for a while, of course; but we won't mind that. It'll just
+      give Baby and me a chance to have you all to ourselves for a time, and
+      we'll love that!'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, of course,&rdquo; sighed Bertram, so abstractedly that Billy bridled with
+      pretty resentment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I like your enthusiasm, sir,&rdquo; she frowned. &ldquo;I'm afraid you don't
+      appreciate the blessings you do have, young man! Did you realize what I
+      said? I remarked that you could be with <i>Baby</i> and <i>me</i>,&rdquo; she
+      emphasized.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram laughed, and gave his wife an affectionate kiss.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Indeed I do appreciate my blessings, dear&mdash;when those blessings are
+      such treasures as you and Baby, but&mdash;&rdquo; Only his doleful eyes fixed on
+      his injured arm finished his sentence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know, dear, of course, and I understand,&rdquo; murmured Billy, all
+      tenderness at once.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They were not easy for Bertram&mdash;those following days. Once again he
+      was obliged to accept the little intimate personal services that he so
+      disliked. Once again he could do nothing but read, or wander
+      disconsolately into his studio and gaze at his half-finished &ldquo;Face of a
+      Girl.&rdquo; Occasionally, it is true, driven nearly to desperation by the
+      haunting vision in his mind's eye, he picked up a brush and attempted to
+      make his left hand serve his will; but a bare half-dozen irritating,
+      ineffectual strokes were usually enough to make him throw down his brush
+      in disgust. He never could do anything with his left hand, he told himself
+      dejectedly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Many of his hours, of course, he spent with Billy and his son, and they
+      were happy hours, too; but they always came to be restless ones before the
+      day was half over. Billy was always devotion itself to him&mdash;when she
+      was not attending to the baby; he had no fault to find with Billy. And the
+      baby was delightful&mdash;he could find no fault with the baby. But the
+      baby <i>was</i> fretful&mdash;he was teething, Billy said&mdash;and he
+      needed a great deal of attention; so, naturally, Bertram drifted out of
+      the nursery, after a time, and went down into his studio, where were his
+      dear, empty palette, his orderly brushes, and his tantalizing &ldquo;Face of a
+      Girl.&rdquo; From the studio, generally, Bertram went out on to the street.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Sometimes he dropped into a fellow-artist's studio. Sometimes he strolled
+      into a club or café where he knew he would be likely to find some friend
+      who would help him while away a tiresome hour. Bertram's friends quite
+      vied with each other in rendering this sort of aid, so much so, indeed,
+      that&mdash;naturally, perhaps&mdash;Bertram came to call on their services
+      more and more frequently.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Particularly was this the case when, after the splints were removed,
+      Bertram found, as the days passed, that his arm was not improving as it
+      should improve. This not only disappointed and annoyed him, but worried
+      him. He remembered sundry disquieting warnings given by the physician at
+      the time of the former break&mdash;warnings concerning the probable
+      seriousness of a repetition of the injury. To Billy, of course, Bertram
+      said nothing of all this; but just before Christmas he went to see a noted
+      specialist.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      An hour later, almost in front of the learned surgeon's door, Bertram met
+      Bob Seaver.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Great Scott, Bertie, what's up?&rdquo; ejaculated Seaver. &ldquo;You look as if you'd
+      seen a ghost.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have,&rdquo; answered Bertram, with grim bitterness. &ldquo;I've seen the ghost of&mdash;of
+      every 'Face of a Girl' I ever painted.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Gorry! So bad as that? No wonder you look as if you'd been disporting in
+      graveyards,&rdquo; chuckled Seaver, laughing at his own joke &ldquo;What's the matter&mdash;arm
+      on a rampage to day?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He paused for reply, but as Bertram did not answer at once, he resumed,
+      with gay insistence: &ldquo;Come on! You need cheering up. Suppose we go down to
+      Trentini's and see who's there.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right,&rdquo; agreed Bertram, dully. &ldquo;Suit yourself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram was not thinking of Seaver, Trentini's, or whom he might find
+      there. Bertram was thinking of certain words he had heard less than half
+      an hour ago. He was wondering, too, if ever again he could think of
+      anything but those words.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The truth?&rdquo; the great surgeon had said. &ldquo;Well, the truth is&mdash;I'm
+      sorry to tell you the truth, Mr. Henshaw, but if you will have it&mdash;you've
+      painted the last picture you'll ever paint with your right hand, I fear.
+      It's a bad case. This break, coming as it did on top of the serious injury
+      of two or three years ago, was bad enough; but, to make matters worse, the
+      bone was imperfectly set and wrongly treated, which could not be helped,
+      of course, as you were miles away from skilled surgeons at the time of the
+      injury. We'll do the best we can, of course; but&mdash;well, you asked for
+      the truth, you remember; so I had to give it to you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br><br><br><br>
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXVII. THE MOTHER&mdash;THE WIFE
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Bertram made up his mind at once that, for the present, at least, he would
+      tell no one what the surgeon had said to him. He had placed himself under
+      the man's care, and there was nothing to do but to take the prescribed
+      treatment and await results as patiently as he could. Meanwhile there was
+      no need to worry Billy, or William, or anybody else with the matter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy was so busy with her holiday plans that she was only vaguely aware
+      of what seemed to be an increase of restlessness on the part of her
+      husband during those days just before Christmas.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Poor dear, is the arm feeling horrid to-day?&rdquo; she asked one morning, when
+      the gloom on her husband's face was deeper than usual.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram frowned and did not answer directly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Lots of good I am these days!&rdquo; he exclaimed, his moody eyes on the armful
+      of many-shaped, many-sized packages she carried. &ldquo;What are those for-the
+      tree?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes; and it's going to be so pretty, Bertram,&rdquo; exulted Billy. &ldquo;And, do
+      you know, Baby positively acts as if he suspected things&mdash;little as
+      he is,&rdquo; she went on eagerly. &ldquo;He's as nervous as a witch. I can't keep him
+      still a minute!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How about his mother?&rdquo; hinted Bertram, with a faint smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I'm afraid she isn't exactly calm herself,&rdquo; she confessed, as she
+      hurried out of the room with her parcels.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram looked after her longingly, despondently.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wonder what she'd say if she&mdash;knew,&rdquo; he muttered. &ldquo;But she sha'n't
+      know&mdash;till she just has to,&rdquo; he vowed suddenly, under his breath,
+      striding into the hall for his hat and coat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Never had the Strata known such a Christmas as this was planned to be.
+      Cyril, Marie, and the twins were to be there, also Kate, her husband and
+      three children, Paul, Egbert, and little Kate, from the West. On Christmas
+      Day there was to be a big family dinner, with Aunt Hannah down from the
+      Annex. Then, in concession to the extreme youth of the young host and his
+      twin cousins, there was to be an afternoon tree. The shades were to be
+      drawn and the candles lighted, however, so that there might be no loss of
+      effect. In the evening the tree was to be once more loaded with
+      fascinating packages and candy-bags, and this time the Greggorys, Tommy
+      Dunn, and all the rest from the Annex were to have the fun all over again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      From garret to basement the Strata was aflame with holly, and aglitter
+      with tinsel. Nowhere did there seem to be a spot that did not have its bit
+      of tissue paper or its trail of red ribbon. And everything&mdash;holly,
+      ribbon, tissue, and tinsel&mdash;led to the mysteriously closed doors of
+      the great front drawing-room, past which none but Billy and her accredited
+      messengers might venture. No wonder, indeed, that even Baby scented
+      excitement, and that Baby's mother was not exactly calm. No wonder, too,
+      that Bertram, with his helpless right arm, and his heavy heart, felt
+      peculiarly forlorn and &ldquo;out of it.&rdquo; No wonder, also, that he took himself
+      literally out of it with growing frequency.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. and Mrs. Hartwell and little Kate were to stay at the Strata. The
+      boys, Paul and Egbert, were to go to Cyril's. Promptly at the appointed
+      time, two days before Christmas, they arrived. And from that hour until
+      two days after Christmas, when the last bit of holly, ribbon, tissue, and
+      tinsel disappeared from the floor, Billy moved in a whirl of anxious
+      responsibility that was yet filled with fun, frolic, and laughter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a great success, the whole affair. Everybody seemed pleased and
+      happy&mdash;that is, everybody but Bertram; and he very plainly tried to
+      seem pleased and happy. Even Cyril unbent to the extent of not appearing
+      to mind the noise one bit; and Sister Kate (Bertram said) found only the
+      extraordinarily small number of four details to change in the
+      arrangements. Baby obligingly let his teeth-getting go, for the occasion,
+      and he and the twins, Franz and Felix, were the admiration and delight of
+      all. Little Kate, to be sure, was a trifle disconcerting once or twice,
+      but everybody was too absorbed to pay much attention to her. Billy did,
+      however, remember her opening remarks.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, little Kate, do you remember me?&rdquo; Billy had greeted her pleasantly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes,&rdquo; little Kate had answered, with a winning smile. &ldquo;You're my Aunt
+      Billy what married my Uncle Bertram instead of Uncle William as you said
+      you would first.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Everybody laughed, and Billy colored, of course; but little Kate went on
+      eagerly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And I've been wanting just awfully to see you,&rdquo; she announced.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you? I'm glad, I'm sure. I feel highly flattered,&rdquo; smiled Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I have. You see, I wanted to ask you something. Have you ever
+      wished that you <i>had</i> married Uncle William instead of Uncle Bertram,
+      or that you'd tried for Uncle Cyril before Aunty Marie got him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Kate!&rdquo; gasped her horrified mother. &ldquo;I told you&mdash;You see,&rdquo; she broke
+      off, turning to Billy despairingly. &ldquo;She's been pestering me with
+      questions like that ever since she knew she was coming. She never has
+      forgotten the way you changed from one uncle to the other. You may
+      remember; it made a great impression on her at the time.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I&mdash;I remember,&rdquo; stammered Billy, trying to laugh off her
+      embarrassment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you haven't told me yet whether you did wish you'd married Uncle
+      William, or Uncle Cyril,&rdquo; interposed little Kate, persistently.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, no, of course not!&rdquo; exclaimed Billy, with a vivid blush, casting her
+      eyes about for a door of escape, and rejoicing greatly when she spied
+      Delia with the baby coming toward them. &ldquo;There, look, my dear, here's your
+      new cousin, little Bertram!&rdquo; she exclaimed. &ldquo;Don't you want to see him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Little Kate turned dutifully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes'm, Aunt Billy, but I'd rather see the twins. Mother says <i>they're</i>
+      real pretty and cunning.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Er&mdash;y-yes, they are,&rdquo; murmured Billy, on whom the emphasis of the
+      &ldquo;they're&rdquo; had not been lost.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Naturally, as may be supposed, therefore, Billy had not forgotten little
+      Kate's opening remarks.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Immediately after Christmas Mr. Hartwell and the boys went back to their
+      Western home, leaving Mrs. Hartwell and her daughter to make a round of
+      visits to friends in the East. For almost a week after Christmas they
+      remained at the Strata; and it was on the last day of their stay that
+      little Kate asked the question that proved so momentous in results.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy, almost unconsciously, had avoided tête-á-têtes with her small
+      guest. But to-day they were alone together.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aunt Billy,&rdquo; began the little girl, after a meditative gaze into the
+      other's face, &ldquo;you <i>are</i> married to Uncle Bertram, aren't you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I certainly am, my dear,&rdquo; smiled Billy, trying to speak unconcernedly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, then, what makes you forget it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What makes me forget&mdash;Why, child, what a question! What do you mean?
+      I don't forget it!&rdquo; exclaimed Billy, indignantly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then what <i>did</i> mother mean? I heard her tell Uncle William myself&mdash;she
+      didn't know I heard, though&mdash;that she did wish you'd remember you
+      were Uncle Bertram's wife as well as Cousin Bertram's mother.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy flushed scarlet, then grew very white. At that moment Mrs. Hartwell
+      came into the room. Little Kate turned triumphantly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There, she hasn't forgotten, and I knew she hadn't, mother! I asked her
+      just now, and she said she hadn't.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hadn't what?&rdquo; questioned Mrs. Hartwell, looking a little apprehensively
+      at her sister-in-law's white face and angry eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hadn't forgotten that she was Uncle Bertram's wife.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Kate,&rdquo; interposed Billy, steadily meeting her sister-in-law's gaze, &ldquo;will
+      you be good enough to tell me what this child is talking about?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Hartwell sighed, and gave an impatient gesture.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Kate, I've a mind to take you home on the next train,&rdquo; she said to her
+      daughter. &ldquo;Run away, now, down-stairs. Your Aunt Billy and I want to talk.
+      Come, come, hurry! I mean what I say,&rdquo; she added warningly, as she saw
+      unmistakable signs of rebellion on the small young face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wish,&rdquo; pouted little Kate, rising reluctantly, and moving toward the
+      door, &ldquo;that you didn't always send me away just when I wanted most to
+      stay!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, Kate?&rdquo; prompted Billy, as the door closed behind the little girl.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I suppose I'll have to say it now, as long as that child has put her
+      finger in the pie. But I hadn't intended to speak, no matter what I saw. I
+      promised myself I wouldn't, before I came. I know, of course, how Bertram
+      and Cyril, and William, too, say that I'm always interfering in affairs
+      that don't concern me&mdash;though, for that matter, if my own brother's
+      affairs don't concern me, I don't know whose should!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, as I said, I wasn't going to speak this time, no matter what I saw.
+      And I haven't&mdash;except to William, and Cyril, and Aunt Hannah; but I
+      suppose somewhere little Kate got hold of it. It's simply this, Billy. It
+      seems to me it's high time you began to realize that you're Bertram's wife
+      as well as the baby's mother.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That, I am&mdash;I don't think I quite understand,&rdquo; said Billy,
+      unsteadily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I suppose you don't,&rdquo; sighed Kate, &ldquo;though where your eyes are, I
+      don't see&mdash;or, rather, I do see: they're on the baby, <i>always</i>.
+      It's all very well and lovely, Billy, to be a devoted mother, and you
+      certainly are that. I'll say that much for you, and I'll admit I never
+      thought you would be. But <i>can't</i> you see what you're doing to
+      Bertram?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;<i>Doing to Bertram!</i>&mdash;by being a devoted mother to his son!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, doing to Bertram. Can't you see what a change there is in the boy?
+      He doesn't act like himself at all. He's restless and gloomy and entirely
+      out of sorts.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I know; but that's his arm,&rdquo; pleaded Billy. &ldquo;Poor boy&mdash;he's so
+      tired of it!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Kate shook her head decisively.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's more than his arm, Billy. You'd see it yourself if you weren't
+      blinded by your absorption in that baby. Where is Bertram every evening?
+      Where is he daytimes? Do you realize that he's been at home scarcely one
+      evening since I came? And as for the days&mdash;he's almost never here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, Kate, he can't paint now, you know, so of course he doesn't need to
+      stay so closely at home,&rdquo; defended Billy. &ldquo;He goes out to find distraction
+      from himself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, 'distraction,' indeed,&rdquo; sniffed Kate. &ldquo;And where do you suppose he
+      finds it? Do you <i>know</i> where he finds it? I tell you, Billy, Bertram
+      Henshaw is not the sort of man that should find too much 'distraction'
+      outside his home. His tastes and his temperament are altogether too
+      Bohemian, and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy interrupted with a peremptorily upraised hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Please remember, Kate, you are speaking of my husband to his wife; and
+      his wife has perfect confidence in him, and is just a little particular as
+      to what you say.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes; well, I'm speaking of my brother, too, whom I know very well,&rdquo;
+       shrugged Kate. &ldquo;All is, you may remember sometime that I warned you&mdash;that's
+      all. This trusting business is all very pretty; but I think 'twould be a
+      lot prettier, and a vast deal more sensible, if you'd give him a little
+      attention as well as trust, and see if you can't keep him at home a bit
+      more. At least you'll know whom he's with, then. Cyril says he saw him
+      last week with Bob Seaver.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;With&mdash;Bob&mdash;Seaver?&rdquo; faltered Billy, changing color.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. I see you remember him,&rdquo; smiled Kate, not quite agreeably. &ldquo;Perhaps
+      now you'll take some stock in what I've said, and remember it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll remember it, certainly,&rdquo; returned Billy, a little proudly. &ldquo;You've
+      said a good many things to me, in the past, Mrs. Hartwell, and I've
+      remembered them all&mdash;every one.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was Kate's turn to flush, and she did it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I know. And I presume very likely sometimes there <i>hasn't</i> been
+      much foundation for what I've said. I think this time, however, you'll
+      find there is,&rdquo; she finished, with an air of hurt dignity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy made no reply, perhaps because Delia, at that moment, brought in the
+      baby.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Hartwell and little Kate left the Strata the next morning. Until then
+      Billy contrived to keep, before them, a countenance serene, and a manner
+      free from unrest. Even when, after dinner that evening, Bertram put on his
+      hat and coat and went out, Billy refused to meet her sister-in-law's
+      meaning gaze. But in the morning, after they had left the house, Billy did
+      not attempt to deceive herself. Determinedly, then, she set herself to
+      going over in her mind the past months since the baby came; and she was
+      appalled at what she found. Ever in her ears, too, was that feared name,
+      &ldquo;Bob Seaver&rdquo;; and ever before her eyes was that night years ago when, as
+      an eighteen-year-old girl, she had followed Bertram and Bob Seaver into a
+      glittering café at eleven o'clock at night, because Bertram had been
+      drinking and was not himself. She remembered Bertram's face when he had
+      seen her, and what he had said when she begged him to come home. She
+      remembered, too, what the family had said afterward. But she remembered,
+      also, that years later Bertram had told her what that escapade of hers had
+      really done for him, and that he believed he had actually loved her from
+      that moment. After that night, at all events, he had had little to do with
+      Bob Seaver.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And now Seaver was back again, it seemed&mdash;and with Bertram. They had
+      been seen together. But if they had, what could she do? Surely she could
+      hardly now follow them into a public café and demand that Seaver let her
+      husband come home! But she could keep him at home, perhaps. (Billy quite
+      brightened at this thought.) Kate had said that she was so absorbed in
+      Baby that her husband received no attention at all. Billy did not believe
+      this was true; but if it were true, she could at least rectify that
+      mistake. If it were attention that he wanted&mdash;he should want no more.
+      Poor Bertram! No wonder that he had sought distraction outside! When one
+      had a horrid broken arm that would not let one do anything, what else
+      could one do?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Just here Billy suddenly remembered the book, &ldquo;A Talk to Young Wives.&rdquo; If
+      she recollected rightly, there was a chapter that covered the very claim
+      Kate had been making. Billy had not thought of the book for months, but
+      she went at once to get it now. There might be, after all, something in it
+      that would help her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Coming of the First Baby.&rdquo; Billy found the chapter without difficulty
+      and settled herself to read, her countenance alight with interest. In a
+      surprisingly short time, however, a new expression came to her face; and
+      at last a little gasp of dismay fell from her lips. She looked up then,
+      with a startled gaze.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <i>Had</i> her walls possessed eyes and ears all these past months, only
+      to give instructions to an unseen hand that it might write what the eyes
+      and ears had learned? For it was such sentences as these that the
+      conscience-smitten Billy read:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Maternity is apt to work a miracle in a woman's life, but sometimes it
+      spells disaster so far as domestic bliss is concerned. The young mother,
+      wrapped up in the delights and duties of motherhood, utterly forgets that
+      she has a husband. She lives and moves and has her being in the nursery.
+      She thinks baby, talks baby, knows only baby. She refuses to dress up,
+      because it is easier to take care of baby in a frowzy wrapper. She will
+      not go out with her husband for fear something might happen to the baby.
+      She gives up her music because baby won't let her practice. In vain her
+      husband tries to interest her in his own affairs. She has neither eyes nor
+      ears for him, only for baby.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now no man enjoys having his nose put out of joint, even by his own
+      child. He loves his child devotedly, and is proud of him, of course; but
+      that does not keep him from wanting the society of his wife occasionally,
+      nor from longing for her old-time love and sympathetic interest. It is an
+      admirable thing, certainly, for a woman to be a devoted mother; but
+      maternal affection can be carried too far. Husbands have some rights as
+      well as offspring; and the wife who neglects her husband for her babies
+      does so at her peril. Home, with the wife eternally in the nursery, is apt
+      to be a dull and lonely thing to the average husband, so he starts out to
+      find amusement for himself&mdash;and he finds it. Then is the time when
+      the new little life that is so precious, and that should have bound the
+      two more closely together, becomes the wedge that drives them apart.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy did not read any more. With a little sobbing cry she flung the book
+      back into her desk, and began to pull off her wrapper. Her fingers shook.
+      Already she saw herself a Monster, a Wicked Destroyer of Domestic Bliss
+      with her thoughtless absorption in Baby, until he had become that Awful
+      Thing&mdash;a <i>Wedge</i>. And Bertram&mdash;poor Bertram, with his
+      broken arm! She had not played to him, nor sung to him, nor gone out with
+      him. And when had they had one of their good long talks about Bertram's
+      work and plans?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But it should all be changed now. She would play, and sing, and go out
+      with him. She would dress up, too. He should see no more wrappers. She
+      would ask about his work, and seem interested. She <i>was</i> interested.
+      She remembered now, that just before he was hurt, he had told her of a new
+      portrait, and of a new &ldquo;Face of a Girl&rdquo; that he had planned to do. Lately
+      he had said nothing about these. He had seemed discouraged&mdash;and no
+      wonder, with his broken arm! But she would change all that. He should see!
+      And forthwith Billy hurried to her closet to pick out her prettiest house
+      frock.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Long before dinner Billy was ready, waiting in the drawing-room. She had
+      on a pretty little blue silk gown that she knew Bertram liked, and she
+      watched very anxiously for Bertram to come up the steps. She remembered
+      now, with a pang, that he had long since given up his peculiar ring; but
+      she meant to meet him at the door just the same.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram, however, did not come. At a quarter before six he telephoned that
+      he had met some friends, and would dine at the club.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My, my, how pretty we are!&rdquo; exclaimed Uncle William, when they went down
+      to dinner together. &ldquo;New frock?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, no, Uncle William,&rdquo; laughed Billy, a little tremulously. &ldquo;You've
+      seen it dozens of times!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have I?&rdquo; murmured the man. &ldquo;I don't seem to remember it. Too bad Bertram
+      isn't here to see you. Somehow, you look unusually pretty to-night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And Billy's heart ached anew.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy spent the evening practicing&mdash;softly, to be sure, so as not to
+      wake Baby&mdash;but <i>practicing</i>.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As the days passed Billy discovered that it was much easier to say she
+      would &ldquo;change things&rdquo; than it was really to change them. She changed
+      herself, it is true&mdash;her clothes, her habits, her words, and her
+      thoughts; but it was more difficult to change Bertram. In the first place,
+      he was there so little. She was dismayed when she saw how very little,
+      indeed, he was at home&mdash;and she did not like to ask him outright to
+      stay. That was not in accordance with her plans. Besides, the &ldquo;Talk to
+      Young Wives&rdquo; said that indirect influence was much to be preferred,
+      always, to direct persuasion&mdash;which last, indeed, usually failed to
+      produce results.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So Billy &ldquo;dressed up,&rdquo; and practiced, and talked (of anything but the
+      baby), and even hinted shamelessly once or twice that she would like to go
+      to the theater; but all to little avail. True, Bertram brightened up, for
+      a minute, when he came home and found her in a new or a favorite dress,
+      and he told her how pretty she looked. He appeared to like to have her
+      play to him, too, even declaring once or twice that it was quite like old
+      times, yes, it was. But he never noticed her hints about the theater, and
+      he did not seem to like to talk about his work, even a little bit.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laid this last fact to his injured arm. She decided that he had
+      become blue and discouraged, and that he needed cheering up, especially
+      about his work; so she determinedly and systematically set herself to
+      doing it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She talked of the fine work he had done, and of the still finer work he
+      would yet do, when his arm was well. She told him how proud she was of
+      him, and she let him see how dear his Art was to her, and how badly she
+      would feel if she thought he had really lost all his interest in his work
+      and would never paint again. She questioned him about the new portrait he
+      was to begin as soon as his arm would let him; and she tried to arouse his
+      enthusiasm in the picture he had planned to show in the March Exhibition
+      of the Bohemian Ten, telling him that she was sure his arm would allow him
+      to complete at least one canvas to hang.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In none of this, however, did Bertram appear in the least interested. The
+      one thing, indeed, which he seemed not to want to talk about, was his
+      work; and he responded to her overtures on the subject with only moody
+      silence, or else with almost irritable monosyllables; all of which not
+      only grieved but surprised Billy very much. For, according to the &ldquo;Talk to
+      Young Wives,&rdquo; she was doing exactly what the ideal, sympathetic,
+      interested-in-her-husband's-work wife should do.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When February came, bringing with it no change for the better, Billy was
+      thoroughly frightened. Bertram's arm plainly was not improving. He was
+      more gloomy and restless than ever. He seemed not to want to stay at home
+      at all; and Billy knew now for a certainty that he was spending more and
+      more time with Bob Seaver and &ldquo;the boys.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Poor Billy! Nowhere could she look these days and see happiness. Even the
+      adored baby seemed, at times, almost to give an added pang. Had he not
+      become, according to the &ldquo;Talk to Young Wives&rdquo; that awful thing, a <i>Wedge</i>?
+      The Annex, too, carried its sting; for where was the need of an overflow
+      house for happiness now, when there was no happiness to overflow? Even the
+      little jade idol on Billy's mantel Billy could not bear to see these days,
+      for its once bland smile had become a hideous grin, demanding, &ldquo;Where,
+      now, is your heap plenty velly good luckee?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But, before Bertram, Billy still carried a bravely smiling face, and to
+      him still she talked earnestly and enthusiastically of his work&mdash;which
+      last, as it happened, was the worst course she could have pursued; for the
+      one thing poor Bertram wished to forget, just now, was&mdash;his work.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br><br><br><br>
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXVIII. CONSPIRATORS
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Early in February came Arkwright's appearance at the Boston Opera House&mdash;the
+      first since he had sung there as a student a few years before. He was an
+      immediate and an unquestioned success. His portrait adorned the front page
+      of almost every Boston newspaper the next morning, and captious critics
+      vied with each other to do him honor. His full history, from boyhood up,
+      was featured, with special emphasis on his recent triumphs in New York and
+      foreign capitals. He was interviewed as to his opinion on everything from
+      vegetarianism to woman's suffrage; and his preferences as to pies and
+      pastimes were given headline prominence. There was no doubt of it. Mr. M.
+      J. Arkwright was a star.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All Arkwright's old friends, including Billy, Bertram, Cyril, Marie,
+      Calderwell, Alice Greggory, Aunt Hannah, and Tommy Dunn, went to hear him
+      sing; and after the performance he held a miniature reception, with enough
+      adulation to turn his head completely around, he declared deprecatingly.
+      Not until the next evening, however, did he have an opportunity for what
+      he called a real talk with any of his friends; then, in Calderwell's room,
+      he settled back in his chair with a sigh of content.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For a time his own and Calderwell's affairs occupied their attention;
+      then, after a short pause, the tenor asked abruptly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is there anything&mdash;wrong with the Henshaws, Calderwell?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Calderwell came suddenly erect in his chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you! I hoped you'd introduce that subject; though, for that matter,
+      if you hadn't, I should. Yes, there is&mdash;and I'm looking to you, old
+      man, to get them out of it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I?&rdquo; Arkwright sat erect now.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In a way, the expected has happened&mdash;though I know now that I didn't
+      really expect it to happen, in spite of my prophecies. You may remember I
+      was always skeptical on the subject of Bertram's settling down to a
+      domestic hearthstone. I insisted 'twould be the turn of a girl's head and
+      the curve of her cheek that he wanted to paint.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright looked up with a quick frown.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You don't mean that Henshaw has been cad enough to find another&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Calderwell threw up his hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, no, not that! We haven't that to deal with&mdash;yet, thank goodness!
+      There's no woman in it. And, really, when you come right down to it, if
+      ever a fellow had an excuse to seek diversion, Bertram Henshaw has&mdash;poor
+      chap! It's just this. Bertram broke his arm again last October.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, so I hear, and I thought he was looking badly.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He is. It's a bad business. 'Twas improperly set in the first place, and
+      it's not doing well now. In fact, I'm told on pretty good authority that
+      the doctor says he probably will never use it again.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, by George! Calderwell!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. Tough, isn't it? 'Specially when you think of his work, and know&mdash;as
+      I happen to&mdash;that he's particularly dependent on his right hand for
+      everything. He doesn't tell this generally, and I understand Billy and the
+      family know nothing of it&mdash;how hopeless the case is, I mean. Well,
+      naturally, the poor fellow has been pretty thoroughly discouraged, and to
+      get away from himself he's gone back to his old Bohemian habits, spending
+      much of his time with some of his old cronies that are none too good for
+      him&mdash;Seaver, for instance.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bob Seaver? Yes, I know him.&rdquo; Arkwright's lips snapped together crisply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. He said he knew you. That's why I'm counting on your help.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I mean I want you to get Henshaw away from him, and keep him away.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright's face darkened with an angry flush.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Great Scott, Calderwell! What are you talking about? Henshaw is no kid to
+      be toted home, and I'm no nursery governess to do the toting!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Calderwell laughed quietly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No; I don't think any one would take you for a nursery governess,
+      Arkwright, in spite of the fact that you are still known to some of your
+      friends as 'Mary Jane.' But you can sing a song, man, which will promptly
+      give you a through ticket to their innermost sacred circle. In fact, to my
+      certain knowledge, Seaver is already planning a jamboree with you at the
+      right hand of the toastmaster. There's your chance. Once in, stay in&mdash;long
+      enough to get Henshaw out.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, good heavens, Calderwell, it's impossible! What can I do?&rdquo; demanded
+      Arkwright, savagely. &ldquo;I can't walk up to the man, take him by the ear, and
+      say: 'Here, you, sir&mdash;march home!' Neither can I come the
+      'I-am-holier-than-thou' act, and hold up to him the mirror of his
+      transgressions.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, but you can get him out of it <i>some</i> way. You can find a way&mdash;for
+      Billy's sake.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was no answer, and, after a moment, Calderwell went on more quietly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I haven't seen Billy but two or three times since I came back to Boston&mdash;but
+      I don't need to, to know that she's breaking her heart over something. And
+      of course that something is&mdash;Bertram.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was still no answer. Arkwright got up suddenly, and walked to the
+      window.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You see, I'm helpless,&rdquo; resumed Calderwell. &ldquo;I don't paint pictures, nor
+      sing songs, nor write stories, nor dance jigs for a living&mdash;and you
+      have to do one or another to be in with that set. And it's got to be a
+      Johnny-on-the-spot with Bertram. All is, something will have to be done to
+      get him out of the state of mind and body he's in now, or&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright wheeled sharply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When did you say this jamboree was going to be?&rdquo; he demanded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Next week, some time. The date is not settled. They were going to consult
+      you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hm-m,&rdquo; commented Arkwright. And, though his next remark was a complete
+      change of subject, Calderwell gave a contented sigh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      If, when the proposition was first made to him, Arkwright was doubtful of
+      his ability to be a successful &ldquo;Johnny-on-the-spot,&rdquo; he was even more
+      doubtful of it as the days passed, and he was attempting to carry out the
+      suggestion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He had known that he was undertaking a most difficult and delicate task,
+      and he soon began to fear that it was an impossible one, as well. With a
+      dogged persistence, however, he adhered to his purpose, ever on the alert
+      to be more watchful, more tactful, more efficient in emergencies.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Disagreeable as was the task, in a way, in another way it was a great
+      pleasure to him. He was glad of the opportunity to do anything for Billy;
+      and then, too, he was glad of something absorbing enough to take his mind
+      off his own affairs. He told himself, sometimes, that this helping another
+      man to fight his tiger skin was assisting himself to fight his own.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright was trying very hard not to think of Alice Greggory these days.
+      He had come back hoping that he was in a measure &ldquo;cured&rdquo; of his &ldquo;folly,&rdquo;
+       as he termed it; but the first look into Alice Greggory's blue-gray eyes
+      had taught him the fallacy of that idea. In that very first meeting with
+      Alice, he feared that he had revealed his secret, for she was plainly so
+      nervously distant and ill at ease with him that he could but construe her
+      embarrassment and chilly dignity as pity for him and a desire to show him
+      that she had nothing but friendship for him. Since then he had seen but
+      little of her, partly because he did not wish to see her, and partly
+      because his time was so fully occupied. Then, too, in a round-about way he
+      had heard a rumor that Calderwell was engaged to be married; and, though
+      no feminine name had been mentioned in connection with the story,
+      Arkwright had not hesitated to supply in his own mind that of Alice
+      Greggory.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Beginning with the &ldquo;jamboree,&rdquo; which came off quite in accordance with
+      Calderwell's prophecies, Arkwright spent the most of such time as was not
+      given to his professional duties in deliberately cultivating the society
+      of Bertram and his friends. To this extent he met with no difficulty, for
+      he found that M. J. Arkwright, the new star in the operatic firmament, was
+      obviously a welcome comrade. Beyond this it was not so easy. Arkwright
+      wondered, indeed, sometimes, if he were making any progress at all. But
+      still he persevered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He walked with Bertram, he talked with Bertram, unobtrusively he contrived
+      to be near Bertram almost always, when they were together with &ldquo;the boys.&rdquo;
+       Gradually he won from him the story of what the surgeon had said to him,
+      and of how black the future looked in consequence. This established a new
+      bond between them, so potent that Arkwright ventured to test it one day by
+      telling Bertram the story of the tiger skin&mdash;the first tiger skin in
+      his uncle's library years ago, and of how, since then, any difficulty he
+      had encountered he had tried to treat as a tiger skin. In telling the
+      story he was careful to draw no moral for his listener, and to preach no
+      sermon. He told the tale, too, with all possible whimsical lightness of
+      touch, and immediately at its conclusion he changed the subject. But that
+      he had not failed utterly in his design was evidenced a few days later
+      when Bertram grimly declared that he guessed <i>his</i> tiger skin was a
+      lively beast, all right.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The first time Arkwright went home with Bertram, his presence was almost a
+      necessity. Bertram was not quite himself that night. Billy admitted them.
+      She had plainly been watching and waiting. Arkwright never forgot the look
+      on her face as her eyes met his. There was a curious mixture of terror,
+      hurt pride, relief, and shame, overtopped by a fierce loyalty which almost
+      seemed to say aloud the words: &ldquo;Don't you dare to blame him!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright's heart ached with sympathy and admiration at the proudly
+      courageous way in which Billy carried off the next few painful minutes.
+      Even when he bade her good night a little later, only her eyes said &ldquo;thank
+      you.&rdquo; Her lips were dumb.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright often went home with Bertram after that. Not that it was always
+      necessary&mdash;far from it. Some time, indeed, elapsed before he had
+      quite the same excuse again for his presence. But he had found that
+      occasionally he could get Bertram home earlier by adroit suggestions of
+      one kind or another; and more and more frequently he was succeeding in
+      getting him home for a game of chess.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram liked chess, and was a fine player. Since breaking his arm he had
+      turned to games with the feverish eagerness of one who looks for something
+      absorbing to fill an unrestful mind. It was Seaver's skill in chess that
+      had at first attracted Bertram to the man long ago; but Bertram could beat
+      him easily&mdash;too easily for much pleasure in it now. So they did not
+      play chess often these days. Bertram had found that, in spite of his
+      injury, he could still take part in other games, and some of them, if not
+      so intricate as chess, were at least more apt to take his mind off
+      himself, especially if there were a bit of money up to add zest and
+      interest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As it happened, however, Bertram learned one day that Arkwright could play
+      chess&mdash;and play well, too, as he discovered after their first game
+      together. This fact contributed not a little to such success as Arkwright
+      was having in his efforts to wean Bertram from his undesirable companions;
+      for Bertram soon found out that Arkwright was more than a match for
+      himself, and the occasional games he did succeed in winning only whetted
+      his appetite for more. Many an evening now, therefore, was spent by the
+      two men in Bertram's den, with Billy anxiously hovering near, her eyes
+      longingly watching either her husband's absorbed face or the pretty little
+      red and white ivory figures, which seemed to possess so wonderful a power
+      to hold his attention. In spite of her joy at the chessmen's efficacy in
+      keeping Bertram at home, however, she was almost jealous of them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Arkwright, couldn't you show <i>me</i> how to play, sometime?&rdquo; she
+      said wistfully, one evening, when the momentary absence of Bertram had
+      left the two alone together. &ldquo;I used to watch Bertram and Marie play years
+      ago; but I never knew how to play myself. Not that I can see where the fun
+      is in just sitting staring at a chessboard for half an hour at a time,
+      though! But Bertram likes it, and so I&mdash;I want to learn to stare with
+      him. Will you teach me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I should be glad to,&rdquo; smiled Arkwright.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then will you come, maybe, sometimes when Bertram is at the doctor's? He
+      goes every Tuesday and Friday at three o'clock for treatment. I'd rather
+      you came then for two reasons: first, because I don't want Bertram to know
+      I'm learning, till I can play <i>some</i>; and, secondly, because&mdash;because
+      I don't want to take you away&mdash;from him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The last words were spoken very low, and were accompanied by a painful
+      blush. It was the first time Billy had ever hinted to Arkwright, in words,
+      that she understood what he was trying to do.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll come next Tuesday,&rdquo; promised Arkwright, with a cheerfully
+      unobservant air. Then Bertram came in, bringing the book of Chess
+      Problems, for which he had gone up-stairs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0029" id="link2HCH0029">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br><br><br><br>
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXIX. CHESS
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Promptly at three o'clock Tuesday afternoon Arkwright appeared at the
+      Strata, and for the next hour Billy did her best to learn the names and
+      the moves of the pretty little ivory men. But at the end of the hour she
+      was almost ready to give up in despair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If there weren't so many kinds, and if they didn't all insist on doing
+      something different, it wouldn't be so bad,&rdquo; she sighed. &ldquo;But how can you
+      be expected to remember which goes diagonal, and which crisscross, and
+      which can't go but one square, and which can skip 'way across the board,
+      'specially when that little pawn-thing can go straight ahead <i>two</i>
+      squares sometimes, and the next minute only one (except when it takes
+      things, and then it goes crooked one square) and when that tiresome little
+      horse tries to go all ways at once, and can jump 'round and hurdle over <i>anybody's</i>
+      head, even the king's&mdash;how can you expect folks to remember? But,
+      then, Bertram remembers,&rdquo; she added, resolutely, &ldquo;so I guess I can.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Whenever possible, after that, Arkwright came on Tuesdays and Fridays,
+      and, in spite of her doubts, Billy did very soon begin to &ldquo;remember.&rdquo;
+       Spurred by her great desire to play with Bertram and surprise him, Billy
+      spared no pains to learn well her lessons. Even among the baby's books and
+      playthings these days might be found a &ldquo;Manual of Chess,&rdquo; for Billy
+      pursued her study at all hours; and some nights even her dreams were of
+      ruined, castles where kings and queens and bishops disported themselves,
+      with pawns for servants, and where a weird knight on horseback used the
+      castle's highest tower for a hurdle, landing always a hundred yards to one
+      side of where he would be expected to come down.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was not long, of course, before Billy could play a game of chess, after
+      a fashion, but she knew just enough to realize that she actually knew
+      nothing; and she knew, too, that until she could play a really good game,
+      her moves would not hold Bertram's attention for one minute. Not at
+      present, therefore, was she willing Bertram should know what she was
+      attempting to do.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy had not yet learned what the great surgeon had said to Bertram. She
+      knew only that his arm was no better, and that he never voluntarily spoke
+      of his painting. Over her now seemed to be hanging a vague horror.
+      Something was the matter. She knew that. But what it was she could not
+      fathom. She realized that Arkwright was trying to help, and her gratitude,
+      though silent, knew no bounds. Not even to Aunt Hannah or Uncle William
+      could she speak of this thing that was troubling her. That they, too,
+      understood, in a measure, she realized. But still she said no word. Billy
+      was wearing a proud little air of aloofness these days that was
+      heart-breaking to those who saw it and read it aright for what it was:
+      loyalty to Bertram, no matter what happened. And so Billy pored over her
+      chessboard feverishly, tirelessly, having ever before her longing eyes the
+      dear time when Bertram, across the table from her, should sit happily
+      staring for half an hour at a move she had made.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Whatever Billy's chess-playing was to signify, however, in her own life,
+      it was destined to play a part in the lives of two friends of hers that
+      was most unexpected.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      During Billy's very first lesson, as it chanced, Alice Greggory called and
+      found Billy and Arkwright so absorbed in their game that they did not at
+      first hear Eliza speak her name.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The quick color that flew to Arkwright's face at sight of herself was
+      construed at once by Alice as embarrassment on his part at being found
+      tête-á-tête with Bertram Henshaw's wife. And she did not like it. She was
+      not pleased that he was there. She was less pleased that he blushed for
+      being there.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It so happened that Alice found him there again several times. Alice gave
+      a piano lesson at two o'clock every Tuesday and Friday afternoon to a
+      little Beacon Street neighbor of Billy's, and she had fallen into the
+      habit of stepping in to see Billy for a few minutes afterward, which
+      brought her there at a little past three, just after the chess lesson was
+      well started.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      If, the first time that Alice Greggory found Arkwright opposite Billy at
+      the chess-table, she was surprised and displeased, the second and third
+      times she was much more so. When it finally came to her one day with
+      sickening illumination, that always the tête-á-têtes were during Bertram's
+      hour at the doctor's, she was appalled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What could it mean? Had Arkwright given up his fight? Was he playing false
+      to himself and to Bertram by trying thus, on the sly, to win the love of
+      his friend's wife? Was this man, whom she had so admired for his brave
+      stand, and to whom all unasked she had given her heart's best love (more
+      the pity of it!)&mdash;was this idol of hers to show feet of clay, after
+      all? She could not believe it. And yet&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Sick at heart, but imbued with the determination of a righteous cause,
+      Alice Greggory resolved, for Billy's sake, to watch and wait. If necessary
+      she should speak to some one&mdash;though to whom she did not know.
+      Billy's happiness should not be put in jeopardy if she could help it.
+      Indeed, no!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As the weeks passed, Alice came to be more and more uneasy, distressed,
+      and grieved. Of Billy she could believe no evil; but of Arkwright she was
+      beginning to think she could believe everything that was dishonorable and
+      despicable. And to believe that of the man she still loved&mdash;no wonder
+      that Alice did not look nor act like herself these days.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Incensed at herself because she did love him, angry at him because he
+      seemed to be proving himself so unworthy of that love, and genuinely
+      frightened at what she thought was the fast-approaching wreck of all
+      happiness for her dear friend, Billy, Alice did not know which way to
+      turn. At the first she had told herself confidently that she would &ldquo;speak
+      to somebody.&rdquo; But, as time passed, she saw the impracticability of that
+      idea. Speak to somebody, indeed! To whom? When? Where? What should she
+      say? Where was her right to say anything? She was not dealing with a
+      parcel of naughty children who had pilfered the cake jar! She was dealing
+      with grown men and women, who, presumedly, knew their own affairs, and
+      who, certainly, would resent any interference from her. On the other hand,
+      could she stand calmly by and see Bertram lose his wife, Arkwright his
+      honor, Billy her happiness, and herself her faith in human nature, all
+      because to do otherwise would be to meddle in other people's business?
+      Apparently she could, and should. At least that seemed to be the rôle
+      which she was expected to play.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was when Alice had reached this unhappy frame of mind that Arkwright
+      himself unexpectedly opened the door for her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The two were alone together in Bertram Henshaw's den. It was Tuesday
+      afternoon. Alice had called to find Billy and Arkwright deep in their
+      usual game of chess. Then a matter of domestic affairs had taken Billy
+      from the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm afraid I'll have to be gone ten minutes, or more,&rdquo; she had said, as
+      she rose from the table reluctantly. &ldquo;But you might be showing Alice the
+      moves, Mr. Arkwright,&rdquo; she had added, with a laugh, as she disappeared.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Shall I teach you the moves?&rdquo; he had smiled, when they were alone
+      together.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Alice's reply had been so indignantly short and sharp that Arkwright,
+      after a moment's pause, had said, with a whimsical smile that yet carried
+      a touch of sadness:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am forced to surmise from your answer that you think it is <i>you</i>
+      who should be teaching <i>me</i> moves. At all events, I seem to have been
+      making some moves lately that have not suited you, judging by your
+      actions. Have I offended you in any way, Alice?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The girl turned with a quick lifting of her head. Alice knew that if ever
+      she were to speak, it must be now. Never again could she hope for such an
+      opportunity as this. Suddenly throwing circumspect caution quite aside,
+      she determined that she would speak. Springing to her feet she crossed the
+      room and seated herself in Billy's chair at the chess-table.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Me! Offend me!&rdquo; she exclaimed, in a low voice. &ldquo;As if I were the one you
+      were offending!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, <i>Alice!</i>&rdquo; murmured the man, in obvious stupefaction.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Alice raised her hand, palm outward.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now don't, <i>please</i> don't pretend you don't know,&rdquo; she begged,
+      almost piteously. &ldquo;Please don't add that to all the rest. Oh, I
+      understand, of course, it's none of my affairs, and I wasn't going to
+      speak,&rdquo; she choked; &ldquo;but, to-day, when you gave me this chance, I had to.
+      At first I couldn't believe it,&rdquo; she plunged on, plainly hurrying against
+      Billy's return. &ldquo;After all you'd told me of how you meant to fight it&mdash;your
+      tiger skin. And I thought it merely <i>happened</i> that you were here
+      alone with her those days I came. Then, when I found out they were <i>always</i>
+      the days Mr. Henshaw was away at the doctor's, I had to believe.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She stopped for breath. Arkwright, who, up to this moment had shown that
+      he was completely mystified as to what she was talking about, suddenly
+      flushed a painful red. He was obviously about to speak, but she prevented
+      him with a quick gesture.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There's a little more I've got to say, please. As if it weren't bad
+      enough to do what you're doing <i>at all</i>, but you must needs take it
+      at such a time as this when&mdash;when her husband <i>isn't</i> doing just
+      what he ought to do, and we all know it&mdash;it's so unfair to take her
+      now, and try to&mdash;to win&mdash;And you aren't even fair with him,&rdquo; she
+      protested tremulously. &ldquo;You pretend to be his friend. You go with him
+      everywhere. It's just as if you were <i>helping</i> to&mdash;to pull him
+      down. You're one with the whole bunch.&rdquo; (The blood suddenly receded from
+      Arkwright's face, leaving it very white; but if Alice saw it, she paid no
+      heed.) &ldquo;Everybody says you are. Then to come here like this, on the sly,
+      when you know he can't be here, I&mdash;Oh, can't you see what you're
+      doing?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a moment's pause, then Arkwright spoke. A deep pain looked from
+      his eyes. He was still very pale, and his mouth had settled into sad
+      lines.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think, perhaps, it may be just as well if I tell you what I <i>am</i>
+      doing&mdash;or, rather, trying to do,&rdquo; he said quietly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then he told her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And so you see,&rdquo; he added, when he had finished the tale, &ldquo;I haven't
+      really accomplished much, after all, and it seems the little I have
+      accomplished has only led to my being misjudged by you, my best friend.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Alice gave a sobbing cry. Her face was scarlet. Horror, shame, and relief
+      struggled for mastery in her countenance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, but I didn't know, I didn't know,&rdquo; she moaned, twisting her hands
+      nervously. &ldquo;And now, when you've been so brave, so true&mdash;for me to
+      accuse you of&mdash;Oh, can you <i>ever</i> forgive me? But you see,
+      knowing that you <i>did</i> care for her, it did look&mdash;&rdquo; She choked
+      into silence, and turned away her head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He glanced at her tenderly, mournfully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he said, after a minute, in a low voice. &ldquo;I can see how it did
+      look; and so I'm going to tell you now something I had meant never to tell
+      you. There really couldn't have been anything in that, you see, for I
+      found out long ago that it was gone&mdash;whatever love there had been for&mdash;Billy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But your&mdash;tiger skin!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes, I thought it was alive,&rdquo; smiled Arkwright, sadly, &ldquo;when I asked
+      you to help me fight it. But one day, very suddenly, I discovered that it
+      was nothing but a dead skin of dreams and memories. But I made another
+      discovery, too. I found that just beyond lay another one, and that was
+      very much alive.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Another one?&rdquo; Alice turned to him in wonder. &ldquo;But you never asked me to
+      help you fight&mdash;that one!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He shook his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No; I couldn't, you see. You couldn't have helped me. You'd only have
+      hindered me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hindered you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. You see, it was my love for&mdash;you, that I was fighting&mdash;then.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Alice gave a low cry and flushed vividly; but Arkwright hurried on, his
+      eyes turned away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I understand. I know. I'm not asking for&mdash;anything. I heard some
+      time ago of your engagement to Calderwell. I've tried many times to say
+      the proper, expected pretty speeches, but&mdash;I couldn't. I will now,
+      though. I do. You have all my tenderest best wishes for your happiness&mdash;dear.
+      If long ago I hadn't been such a blind fool as not to know my own heart&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But&mdash;but there's some mistake,&rdquo; interposed Alice, palpitatingly,
+      with hanging head. &ldquo;I&mdash;I'm not engaged to Mr. Calderwell.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright turned and sent a keen glance into her face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You're&mdash;not?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I heard that Calderwell&mdash;&rdquo; He stopped helplessly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You heard that Mr. Calderwell was engaged, very likely. But&mdash;it so
+      happens he isn't engaged&mdash;to me,&rdquo; murmured Alice, faintly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, long ago you said&mdash;&rdquo; Arkwright paused, his eyes still keenly
+      searching her face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never mind what I said&mdash;long ago,&rdquo; laughed Alice, trying
+      unsuccessfully to meet his gaze. &ldquo;One says lots of things, at times, you
+      know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Into Arkwright's eyes came a new light, a light that plainly needed but a
+      breath to fan it into quick fire.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Alice,&rdquo; he said softly, &ldquo;do you mean that maybe now&mdash;I needn't try
+      to fight&mdash;that other tiger skin?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was no answer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright reached out a pleading hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Alice, dear, I've loved you so long,&rdquo; he begged unsteadily. &ldquo;Don't you
+      think that sometime, if I was very, very patient, you could just <i>begin</i>&mdash;to
+      care a little for me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Still there was no answer. Then, slowly, Alice shook her head. Her face
+      was turned quite away&mdash;which was a pity, for if Arkwright could have
+      seen the sudden tender mischief in her eyes, his own would not have become
+      so somber.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not even a little bit?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I couldn't ever&mdash;begin,&rdquo; answered a half-smothered voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Alice!&rdquo; cried the man, heart-brokenly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Alice turned now, and for a fleeting instant let him see her eyes, glowing
+      with the love so long kept in relentless exile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I couldn't, because, you see-I began&mdash;long ago,&rdquo; she whispered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Alice!&rdquo; It was the same single word, but spoken with a world of
+      difference, for into it now was crowded all the glory and the wonder of a
+      great love. &ldquo;Alice!&rdquo; breathed the man again; and this time the word was,
+      oh, so tenderly whispered into the little pink and white ear of the girl
+      in his arms.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I got delayed,&rdquo; began Billy, in the doorway.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh-h!&rdquo; she broke off, beating a hushed, but precipitate, retreat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Fully thirty minutes later, Billy came to the door again. This time her
+      approach was heralded by a snatch of song.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I hope you'll excuse my being gone so long,&rdquo; she smiled, as she entered
+      the room where her two guests sat decorously face to face at the
+      chess-table.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, you know you said you'd be gone ten minutes,&rdquo; Arkwright reminded
+      her, politely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I know I did.&rdquo; And Billy, to her credit, did not even smile at the
+      man who did not know ten minutes from fifty.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0030" id="link2HCH0030">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br><br><br><br>
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXX. BY A BABY'S HAND
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      After all, it was the baby's hand that did it, as was proper, and perhaps
+      to be expected; for surely, was it not Bertram, Jr.'s place to show his
+      parents that he was, indeed, no Wedge, but a dear and precious Tie binding
+      two loving, loyal hearts more and more closely together? It would seem,
+      indeed, that Bertram, Jr., thought so, perhaps, and very bravely he set
+      about it; though, to carry out his purpose, he had to turn his steps into
+      an unfamiliar way&mdash;a way of pain, and weariness, and danger.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was Arkwright who told Bertram that the baby was very sick, and that
+      Billy wanted him. Bertram went home at once to find a distracted,
+      white-faced Billy, and a twisted, pain-racked little creature, who it was
+      almost impossible to believe was the happy, laughing baby boy he had left
+      that morning.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For the next two weeks nothing was thought of in the silent old Beacon
+      Street house but the tiny little life hovering so near Death's door that
+      twice it appeared to have slipped quite across the threshold. All through
+      those terrible weeks it seemed as if Billy neither ate nor slept; and
+      always at her side, comforting, cheering, and helping wherever possible
+      was Bertram, tender, loving, and marvelously thoughtful.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then came the turning point when the universe itself appeared to hang upon
+      a baby's breath. Gradually, almost imperceptibly, came the fluttering back
+      of the tiny spirit into the longing arms stretched so far, far out to meet
+      and hold it. And the father and the mother, looking into each other's
+      sleepless, dark-ringed eyes, knew that their son was once more theirs to
+      love and cherish.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When two have gone together with a dear one down into the Valley of the
+      Shadow of Death, and have come back, either mourning or rejoicing, they
+      find a different world from the one they had left. Things that were great
+      before seem small, and some things that were small seem great. At least
+      Bertram and Billy found their world thus changed when together they came
+      back bringing their son with them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the long weeks of convalescence, when the healthy rosiness stole bit by
+      bit into the baby's waxen face, and the light of recognition and
+      understanding crept day by day into the baby's eyes, there was many a
+      quiet hour for heart-to-heart talks between the two who so anxiously and
+      joyously hailed every rosy tint and fleeting sparkle. And there was so
+      much to tell, so much to hear, so much to talk about! And always, running
+      through everything, was that golden thread of joy, beside which all else
+      paled&mdash;that they had Baby and each other. As if anything else
+      mattered!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To be sure, there was Bertram's arm. Very early in their talks Billy found
+      out about that. But Billy, with Baby getting well, was not to be daunted,
+      even by this.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense, darling&mdash;not paint again, indeed! Why, Bertram, of course
+      you will,&rdquo; she cried confidently.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, Billy, the doctor said,&rdquo; began Bertram; but Billy would not even
+      listen.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very well, what if he did, dear?&rdquo; she interrupted. &ldquo;What if he did say
+      you couldn't use your right arm much again?&rdquo; Billy's voice broke a little,
+      then quickly steadied into something very much like triumph. &ldquo;You've got
+      your left one!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram shook his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can't paint with that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, you can,&rdquo; insisted Billy, firmly. &ldquo;Why, Bertram, what do you suppose
+      you were given two arms for if not to fight with both of them? And I'm
+      going to be ever so much prouder of what you paint now, because I'll know
+      how splendidly you worked to do it. Besides, there's Baby. As if you
+      weren't ever going to paint for Baby! Why, Bertram, I'm going to have you
+      paint Baby, one of these days. Think how pleased he'll be to see it when
+      he grows up! He's nicer, anyhow, than any old 'Face of a Girl' you ever
+      did. Paint? Why, Bertram, darling, of course you're going to paint, and
+      better than you ever did before!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram shook his head again; but this time he smiled, and patted Billy's
+      cheek with the tip of his forefinger.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As if I could!&rdquo; he disclaimed. But that afternoon he went into his
+      long-deserted studio and hunted up his last unfinished picture. For some
+      time he stood motionless before it; then, with a quick gesture of
+      determination, he got out his palette, paints, and brushes. This time not
+      until he had painted ten, a dozen, a score of strokes, did he drop his
+      brush with a sigh and carefully erase the fresh paint on the canvas. The
+      next day he worked longer, and this time he allowed a little, a very
+      little, of what he had done to remain.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The third day Billy herself found him at his easel.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wonder&mdash;do you suppose I could?&rdquo; he asked fearfully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, dearest, of course you can! Haven't you noticed? Can't you see how
+      much more you can do with your left hand now? You've <i>had</i> to use it,
+      you see. <i>I've</i> seen you do a lot of things with it, lately, that you
+      never used to do at all. And, of course, the more you do with it, the more
+      you can!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know; but that doesn't mean that I can paint with it,&rdquo; sighed Bertram,
+      ruefully eyeing the tiny bit of fresh color his canvas showed for his long
+      afternoon's work.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You wait and see,&rdquo; nodded Billy, with so overwhelming a cheery confidence
+      that Bertram, looking into her glowing face, was conscious of a curious
+      throb of exultation, almost as if already the victory were his.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But it was not always of Bertram's broken arm, nor even of his work that
+      they talked. Bertram, hanging over the baby's crib to assure himself that
+      the rosiness and the sparkle were really growing more apparent every day,
+      used to wonder sometimes how ever in the world he could have been jealous
+      of his son. He said as much one day to Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To Billy it was a most astounding idea.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You mean you were actually jealous of your own baby?&rdquo; she gasped. &ldquo;Why,
+      Bertram, how could&mdash;And was that why you&mdash;you sought distraction
+      and&mdash;Oh, but, Bertram, that was all my f-fault,&rdquo; she quavered
+      remorsefully. &ldquo;I wouldn't play, nor sing, nor go to walk, nor anything;
+      and I wore horrid frowzy wrappers all the time, and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, come, come, Billy,&rdquo; expostulated the man. &ldquo;I'm not going to have you
+      talk like that about <i>my wife!</i>&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I did&mdash;the book said I did,&rdquo; wailed Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The book? Good heavens! Are there any books in this, too?&rdquo; demanded
+      Bertram.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, the same one; the&mdash;the 'Talks to Young Wives,'&rdquo; nodded Billy.
+      And then, because some things had grown small to them, and some others
+      great, they both laughed happily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But even this was not quite all; for one evening, very shyly, Billy
+      brought out the chessboard.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course I can't play well,&rdquo; she faltered; &ldquo;and maybe you don't want to
+      play with me at all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But Bertram, when he found out why she had learned, was very sure he did
+      want very much to play with her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy did not beat, of course. But she did several times experience&mdash;for
+      a few blissful minutes&mdash;the pleasure of seeing Bertram sit
+      motionless, studying the board, because of a move she had made. And
+      though, in the end, her king was ignominiously trapped with not an
+      unguarded square upon which to set his poor distracted foot, the memory of
+      those blissful minutes when she had made Bertram &ldquo;stare&rdquo; more than paid
+      for the final checkmate.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      By the middle of June the baby was well enough to be taken to the beach,
+      and Bertram was so fortunate as to secure the same house they had occupied
+      before. Once again William went down in Maine for his fishing trip, and
+      the Strata was closed. In the beach house Bertram was painting
+      industriously&mdash;with his left hand. Almost he was beginning to feel
+      Billy's enthusiasm. Almost he was believing that he <i>was</i> doing good
+      work. It was not the &ldquo;Face of a Girl,&rdquo; now. It was the face of a baby:
+      smiling, laughing, even crying, sometimes; at other times just gazing
+      straight into your eyes with adorable soberness. Bertram still went into
+      Boston twice a week for treatment, though the treatment itself had
+      changed. The great surgeon had sent him to still another specialist.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There's a chance&mdash;though perhaps a small one,&rdquo; he had said. &ldquo;I'd
+      like you to try it, anyway.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      As the summer advanced, Bertram thought sometimes that he could see a
+      slight improvement in his injured arm; but he tried not to think too much
+      about this. He had thought the same thing before, only to be disappointed
+      in the end. Besides, he was undeniably interested just now in seeing if he
+      <i>could</i> paint with his left hand. Billy was so sure, and she had said
+      that she would be prouder than ever of him, if he could&mdash;and he would
+      like to make Billy proud! Then, too, there was the baby&mdash;he had no
+      idea a baby could be so interesting to paint. He was not sure but that he
+      was going to like to paint babies even better than he had liked to paint
+      his &ldquo;Face of a Girl&rdquo; that had brought him his first fame.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In September the family returned to the Strata. The move was made a little
+      earlier this year on account of Alice Greggory's wedding.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Alice was to be married in the pretty living-room at the Annex, just where
+      Billy herself had been married a few short years before; and Billy had
+      great plans for the wedding&mdash;not all of which she was able to carry
+      out, for Alice, like Marie before her, had very strong objections to being
+      placed under too great obligations.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And you see, really, anyway,&rdquo; she told Billy, &ldquo;I owe the whole thing to
+      you, to begin with&mdash;even my husband.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense! Of course you don't,&rdquo; disputed Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I do. If it hadn't been for you I should never have found him again,
+      and of <i>course</i> I shouldn't have had this dear little home to be
+      married in. And I never could have left mother if she hadn't had Aunt
+      Hannah and the Annex which means you. And if I hadn't found Mr. Arkwright,
+      I might never have known how&mdash;how I could go back to my old home (as
+      I am going on my honeymoon trip), and just know that every one of my old
+      friends who shakes hands with me isn't pitying me now, because I'm my
+      father's daughter. And that means you; for you see I never would have
+      known that my father's name was cleared if it hadn't been for you. And&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Alice, please, please,&rdquo; begged Billy, laughingly raising two
+      protesting hands. &ldquo;Why don't you say that it's to me you owe just
+      breathing, and be done with it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I will, then,&rdquo; avowed Alice, doggedly. &ldquo;And it's true, too, for,
+      honestly, my dear, I don't believe I would have been breathing to-day, nor
+      mother, either, if you hadn't found us that morning, and taken us out of
+      those awful rooms.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I? Never! You wouldn't let me take you out,&rdquo; laughed Billy. &ldquo;You proud
+      little thing! Maybe <i>you've</i> forgotten how you turned poor Uncle
+      William and me out into the cold, cold world that morning, just because we
+      dared to aspire to your Lowestoft teapot; but I haven't!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Billy, please, <i>don't</i>,&rdquo; begged Alice, the painful color
+      staining her face. &ldquo;If you knew how I've hated myself since for the way I
+      acted that day&mdash;and, really, you did take us away from there, you
+      know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I didn't. I merely found two good tenants for Mr. and Mrs. Delano,&rdquo;
+       corrected Billy, with a sober face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes, I know all about that,&rdquo; smiled Alice, affectionately; &ldquo;and you
+      got mother and me here to keep Aunt Hannah company and teach Tommy Dunn;
+      and you got Aunt Hannah here to keep us company and take care of Tommy
+      Dunn; and you got Tommy Dunn here so Aunt Hannah and we could have
+      somebody to teach and take care of; and, as for the others,&mdash;&rdquo; But
+      Billy put her hands to her ears and fled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The wedding was to be on the fifteenth. From the West Kate wrote that of
+      course it was none of her affairs, particularly as neither of the
+      interested parties was a relation, but still she should think that for a
+      man in Mr. Arkwright's position, nothing but a church wedding would do at
+      all, as, of course, he did, in a way, belong to the public. Alice,
+      however, declared that perhaps he did belong to the public, when he was
+      Don Somebody-or-other in doublet and hose; but when he was just plain
+      Michael Jeremiah Arkwright in a frock coat he was hers, and she did not
+      propose to make a Grand Opera show of her wedding. And as Arkwright, too,
+      very much disapproved of the church-wedding idea, the two were married in
+      the Annex living-room at noon on the fifteenth as originally planned, in
+      spite of Mrs. Kate Hartwell's letter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was soon after the wedding that Bertram told Billy he wished she would
+      sit for him with Bertram, Jr.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I want to try my hand at you both together,&rdquo; he coaxed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, of course, if you like, dear,&rdquo; agreed Billy, promptly, &ldquo;though I
+      think Baby is just as nice, and even nicer, alone.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Once again all over Bertram's studio began to appear sketches of Billy,
+      this time a glorified, tender Billy, with the wonderful mother-love in her
+      eyes. Then, after several sketches of trial poses, Bertram began his
+      picture of Billy and the baby together.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Even now Bertram was not sure of his work. He knew that he could not yet
+      paint with his old freedom and ease; he knew that his stroke was not so
+      sure, so untrammeled. But he knew, too, that he had gained wonderfully,
+      during the summer, and that he was gaining now, every day. To Billy he
+      said nothing of all this. Even to himself he scarcely put his hope into
+      words; but in his heart he knew that what he was really painting his
+      &ldquo;Mother and Child&rdquo; picture for was the Bohemian Ten Club Exhibition in
+      March&mdash;if he could but put upon canvas the vision that was spurring
+      him on.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And so Bertram worked all through those short winter days, not always upon
+      the one picture, of course, but upon some picture or sketch that would
+      help to give his still uncertain left hand the skill that had belonged to
+      its mate. And always, cheering, encouraging, insisting on victory, was
+      Billy, so that even had Bertram been tempted, sometimes, to give up, he
+      could not have done so&mdash;and faced Billy's grieved, disappointed eyes.
+      And when at last his work was completed, and the pictured mother and child
+      in all their marvelous life and beauty seemed ready to step from the
+      canvas, Billy drew a long ecstatic breath.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Bertram, it <i>is</i>, it is the best work you have ever done.&rdquo; Billy
+      was looking at the baby. Always she had ignored herself as part of the
+      picture. &ldquo;And won't it be fine for the Exhibition!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram's hand tightened on the chair-back in front of him. For a moment
+      he could not speak. Then, a bit huskily, he asked:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Would you dare&mdash;risk it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Risk it! Why, Bertram Henshaw, I've meant that picture for the Exhibition
+      from the very first&mdash;only I never dreamed you could get it so
+      perfectly lovely. <i>Now</i> what do you say about Baby being nicer than
+      any old 'Face of a Girl' that you ever did?&rdquo; she triumphed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And Bertram, who, even to himself, had not dared whisper the word
+      exhibition, gave a tremulous laugh that was almost a sob, so overwhelming
+      was his sudden realization of what faith and confidence had meant to
+      Billy, his wife.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      If there was still a lingering doubt in Bertram's mind, it must have been
+      dispelled in less than an hour after the Bohemian Ten Club Exhibition
+      flung open its doors on its opening night. Once again Bertram found his
+      picture the cynosure of all admiring eyes, and himself the center of an
+      enthusiastic group of friends and fellow-artists who vied with each other
+      in hearty words of congratulation. And when, later, the feared critics,
+      whose names and opinions counted for so much in his world, had their say
+      in the daily press and weekly reviews, Bertram knew how surely indeed he
+      had won. And when he read that &ldquo;Henshaw's work shows now a peculiar
+      strength, a sort of reserve power, as it were, which, beautiful as was his
+      former work, it never showed before,&rdquo; he smiled grimly, and said to Billy:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I suppose, now, that was the fighting I did with my good left hand, eh,
+      dear?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But there was yet one more drop that was to make Bertram's cup of joy brim
+      to overflowing. It came just one month after the Exhibition in the shape
+      of a terse dozen words from the doctor. Bertram fairly flew home that day.
+      He had no consciousness of any means of locomotion. He thought he was
+      going to tell his wife at once his great good news; but when he saw her,
+      speech suddenly fled, and all that he could do was to draw her closely to
+      him with his left arm and hide his face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Bertram, dearest, what&mdash;what is it?&rdquo; stammered the thoroughly
+      frightened Billy. &ldquo;Has anything-happened?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, no&mdash;yes&mdash;yes, everything has happened. I mean, it's going
+      to happen,&rdquo; choked the man. &ldquo;Billy, that old chap says that I'm going to
+      have my arm again. Think of it&mdash;my good right arm that I've lost so
+      long!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;<i>Oh, Bertram!</i>&rdquo; breathed Billy. And she, too, fell to sobbing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Later, when speech was more coherent, she faltered:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, anyway, it doesn't make any difference <i>how</i> many beautiful
+      pictures you p-paint, after this, Bertram, I <i>can't</i> be prouder of
+      any than I am of the one your l&mdash;left hand did.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, but I have you to thank for all that, dear.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, you haven't,&rdquo; disputed Billy, blinking teary eyes; &ldquo;but&mdash;&rdquo; she
+      paused, then went on spiritedly, &ldquo;but, anyhow, I&mdash;I don't believe any
+      one&mdash;not even Kate&mdash;can say <i>now</i> that&mdash;that I've been
+      a hindrance to you in your c-career!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hindrance!&rdquo; scoffed Bertram, in a tone that left no room for doubt, and
+      with a kiss that left even less, if possible.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy, for still another minute, was silent; then, with a wistfulness that
+      was half playful, half serious, she sighed:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bertram, I believe being married is something like clocks, you know,
+      'specially at the first.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Clocks, dear?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. I was out to Aunt Hannah's to-day. She was fussing with her clock&mdash;the
+      one that strikes half an hour ahead&mdash;and I saw all those quantities
+      of wheels, little and big, that have to go just so, with all the little
+      cogs fitting into all the other little cogs just exactly right. Well,
+      that's like marriage. See? There's such a lot of little cogs in everyday
+      life that have to be fitted so they'll run smoothly&mdash;that have to be
+      adjusted, 'specially at the first.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Billy, what an idea!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But it's so, really, Bertram. Anyhow, I know my cogs were always getting
+      out of place at the first,&rdquo; laughed Billy. &ldquo;And I was like Aunt Hannah's
+      clock, too, always going off half an hour ahead of time. And maybe I shall
+      be so again, sometimes. But, Bertram,&rdquo;&mdash;her voice shook a little&mdash;&ldquo;if
+      you'll just look at my face you'll see that I tell the right time there,
+      just as Aunt Hannah's clock does. I'm sure, always, I'll tell the right
+      time there, even if I do go off half an hour ahead!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As if I didn't know that,&rdquo; answered Bertram, very low and tenderly.
+      &ldquo;Besides, I reckon I have some cogs of my own that need adjusting!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <br><br>
+    </p>
+
+
+
+
+
+<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MISS BILLY MARRIED ***</div>
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+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for
+eBook #361 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/361)
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Miss Billy Married, by Eleanor H. Porter
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Miss Billy Married
+
+Author: Eleanor H. Porter
+
+Release Date: July 8, 2008 [EBook #361]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MISS BILLY MARRIED ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Charles Keller
+
+
+
+
+
+MISS BILLY--MARRIED
+
+By Eleanor H. Porter
+
+Author Of Pollyanna, Etc.
+
+
+
+TO My Cousin Maud
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+          CHAPTER
+          I.      SOME OPINIONS AND A WEDDING
+          II.     FOR WILLIAM--A HOME
+          III.    BILLY SPEAKS HER MIND
+          IV.     JUST LIKE BILLY
+          V.      TIGER SKINS
+          VI.     "THE PAINTING LOOK"
+          VII.    THE BIG BAD QUARREL
+          VIII.   BILLY CULTIVATES A COMFORTABLE INDIFFERENCE
+          IX.     THE DINNER BILLY TRIED TO GET
+          X.      THE DINNER BILLY GOT
+          XI.     CALDERWELL DOES SOME QUESTIONING
+          XII.    FOR BILLY--SOME ADVICE
+          XIII.   PETE
+          XIV.    WHEN BERTRAM CAME HOME
+          XV.     AFTER THE STORM
+          XVI.    INTO TRAINING FOR MARY ELLEN
+          XVII.   THE EFFICIENCY STAR--AND BILLY
+          XVIII.  BILLY TRIES HER HAND AT "MANAGING"
+          XIX.    A TOUGH NUT TO CRACK FOR CYRIL
+          XX.     ARKWRIGHT'S EYES ARE OPENED
+          XXI.    BILLY TAKES HER TURN AT QUESTIONING
+          XXII.   A DOT AND A DIMPLE
+          XXIII.  BILLY AND THE ENORMOUS RESPONSIBILITY
+          XXIV.   A NIGHT OFF
+          XXV.    "SHOULD AULD ACQUAINTANCE BE FORGOT"
+          XXVI.   GHOSTS THAT WALKED FOR BERTRAM
+          XXVII.  THE MOTHER--THE WIFE
+          XXVIII. CONSPIRATORS
+          XXIX.   CHESS
+          XXX.    BY A BABY'S HAND
+
+
+
+
+
+MISS BILLY--MARRIED
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I. SOME OPINIONS AND A WEDDING
+
+
+"I, Bertram, take thee, Billy," chanted the white-robed clergyman.
+
+"'I, Bertram, take thee, Billy,'" echoed the tall young bridegroom, his
+eyes gravely tender.
+
+"To my wedded wife."
+
+"'To my wedded wife.'" The bridegroom's voice shook a little.
+
+"To have and to hold from this day forward."
+
+"'To have and to hold from this day forward.'" Now the young voice rang
+with triumph. It had grown strong and steady.
+
+"For better for worse."
+
+"'For better for worse.'"
+
+"For richer for poorer," droned the clergyman, with the weariness of
+uncounted repetitions.
+
+"'For richer for poorer,'" avowed the bridegroom, with the decisive
+emphasis of one to whom the words are new and significant.
+
+"In sickness and in health."
+
+"'In sickness and in health.'"
+
+"To love and to cherish."
+
+"'To love and to cherish.'" The younger voice carried infinite
+tenderness now.
+
+"Till death us do part."
+
+"'Till death us do part,'" repeated the bridegroom's lips; but everybody
+knew that what his heart said was: "Now, and through all eternity."
+
+"According to God's holy ordinance."
+
+"'According to God's holy ordinance.'"
+
+"And thereto I plight thee my troth."
+
+"'And thereto I plight thee my troth.'"
+
+There was a faint stir in the room. In one corner a white-haired woman
+blinked tear-wet eyes and pulled a fleecy white shawl more closely about
+her shoulders. Then the minister's voice sounded again.
+
+"I, Billy, take thee, Bertram."
+
+"'I, Billy, take thee, Bertram.'"
+
+This time the echoing voice was a feminine one, low and sweet, but
+clearly distinct, and vibrant with joyous confidence, on through one
+after another of the ever familiar, but ever impressive phrases of the
+service that gives into the hands of one man and of one woman the future
+happiness, each of the other.
+
+
+The wedding was at noon. That evening Mrs. Kate Hartwell, sister of the
+bridegroom, wrote the following letter:
+
+
+BOSTON, July 15th.
+
+"MY DEAR HUSBAND:--Well, it's all over with, and they're married. I
+couldn't do one thing to prevent it. Much as ever as they would even
+listen to what I had to say--and when they knew how I had hurried East
+to say it, too, with only two hours' notice!
+
+"But then, what can you expect? From time immemorial lovers never
+did have any sense; and when those lovers are such irresponsible
+flutterbudgets as Billy and Bertram--!
+
+"And such a wedding! I couldn't do anything with _that_, either, though
+I tried hard. They had it in Billy's living-room at noon, with nothing
+but the sun for light. There was no maid of honor, no bridesmaids, no
+wedding cake, no wedding veil, no presents (except from the family, and
+from that ridiculous Chinese cook of brother William's, Ding Dong, or
+whatever his name is. He tore in just before the wedding ceremony, and
+insisted upon seeing Billy to give her a wretched little green stone
+idol, which he declared would bring her 'heap plenty velly good luckee'
+if she received it before she 'got married.' I wouldn't have the
+hideous, grinning thing around, but William says it's real jade, and
+very valuable, and of course Billy was crazy over it--or pretended to
+be). There was no trousseau, either, and no reception. There was no
+anything but the bridegroom; and when I tell you that Billy actually
+declared that was all she wanted, you will understand how absurdly in
+love she is--in spite of all those weeks and weeks of broken engagement
+when I, at least, supposed she had come to her senses, until I got that
+crazy note from Bertram a week ago saying they were to be married today.
+
+"I can't say that I've got any really satisfactory explanation of the
+matter. Everything has been in such a hubbub, and those two ridiculous
+children have been so afraid they wouldn't be together every minute
+possible, that any really rational conversation with either of them was
+out of the question. When Billy broke the engagement last spring none of
+us knew why she had done it, as you know; and I fancy we shall be almost
+as much in the dark as to why she has--er--mended it now, as you might
+say. As near as I can make out, however, she thought he didn't want her,
+and he thought she didn't want him. I believe matters were still further
+complicated by a girl Bertram was painting, and a young fellow that used
+to sing with Billy--a Mr. Arkwright.
+
+"Anyhow, things came to a head last spring, Billy broke the engagement
+and fled to parts unknown with Aunt Hannah, leaving Bertram here in
+Boston to alternate between stony despair and reckless gayety, according
+to William; and it was while he was in the latter mood that he had that
+awful automobile accident and broke his arm--and almost his neck. He was
+wildly delirious, and called continually for Billy.
+
+"Well, it seems Billy didn't know all this; but a week ago she
+came home, and in some way found out about it, I think through
+Pete--William's old butler, you know. Just exactly what happened I
+can't say, but I do know that she dragged poor old Aunt Hannah down
+to Bertram's at some unearthly hour, and in the rain; and Aunt Hannah
+couldn't do a thing with her. All Billy would say, was, 'Bertram wants
+me.' And Aunt Hannah told me that if I could have seen Billy's face I'd
+have known that she'd have gone to Bertram then if he'd been at the top
+of the Himalaya Mountains, or at the bottom of the China Sea. So perhaps
+it's just as well--for Aunt Hannah's sake, at least--that he was in no
+worse place than on his own couch at home. Anyhow, she went, and in half
+an hour they blandly informed Aunt Hannah that they were going to be
+married to-day.
+
+"Aunt Hannah said she tried to stop that, and get them to put it off
+till October (the original date, you know), but Bertram was obdurate.
+And when he declared he'd marry her the next day if it wasn't for
+the new license law, Aunt Hannah said she gave up for fear he'd get a
+special dispensation, or go to the Governor or the President, or do some
+other dreadful thing. (What a funny old soul Aunt Hannah is!) Bertram
+told _me_ that he should never feel safe till Billy was really his; that
+she'd read something, or hear something, or think something, or get
+a letter from me (as if anything _I_ could say would do any good-or
+harm!), and so break the engagement again.
+
+"Well, she's his now, so I suppose he's satisfied; though, for my part,
+I haven't changed my mind at all. I still say that they are not one bit
+suited to each other, and that matrimony will simply ruin his career.
+Bertram never has loved and never will love any girl long--except to
+paint. But if he simply _would_ get married, why couldn't he have taken
+a nice, sensible domestic girl that would have kept him fed and mended?
+
+"Not but that I'm very fond of Billy, as you know, dear; but imagine
+Billy as a wife--worse yet, a mother! Billy's a dear girl, but she knows
+about as much of real life and its problems as--as our little Kate. A
+more impulsive, irresponsible, regardless-of-consequences young woman
+I never saw. She can play divinely, and write delightful songs, I'll
+acknowledge; but what is that when a man is hungry, or has lost a
+button?
+
+"Billy has had her own way, and had everything she wanted for years
+now--a rather dangerous preparation for marriage, especially marriage
+to a fellow like Bertram who has had _his_ own way and everything _he's_
+wanted for years. Pray, what's going to happen when those ways conflict,
+and neither one gets the thing wanted?
+
+"And think of her ignorance of cooking--but, there! What's the use?
+They're married now, and it can't be helped.
+
+"Mercy, what a letter I've written! But I, had to talk to some one;
+besides, I'd promised I to let you know how matters stood as soon as I
+could. As you see, though, my trip East has been practically useless. I
+saw the wedding, to be sure, but I didn't prevent it, or even postpone
+it--though I meant to do one or the other, else I should never have made
+that tiresome journey half across the continent at two hours' notice.
+
+"However, we shall see what we shall see. As for me, I'm dead tired.
+Good night.
+
+"Affectionately yours,
+
+"KATE."
+
+
+Quite naturally, Mrs. Kate Hartwell was not the only one who was
+thinking that evening of the wedding. In the home of Bertram's brother
+Cyril, Cyril himself was at the piano, but where his thoughts were was
+plain to be seen--or rather, heard; for from under his fingers there
+came the Lohengrin wedding march until all the room seemed filled with
+the scent of orange blossoms, the mistiness of floating veils, and the
+echoing peals of far-away organs heralding the "Fair Bride and Groom."
+
+Over by the table in the glowing circle of the shaded lamp, sat Marie,
+Cyril's wife, a dainty sewing-basket by her side. Her hands, however,
+lay idly across the stocking in her lap.
+
+As the music ceased, she drew a long sigh.
+
+What a perfectly beautiful wedding that was! she breathed.
+
+Cyril whirled about on the piano stool.
+
+"It was a very sensible wedding," he said with emphasis.
+
+"They looked so happy--both of them," went on Marie, dreamily; "so--so
+sort of above and beyond everything about them, as if nothing ever, ever
+could trouble them--_now_."
+
+Cyril lifted his eyebrows.
+
+"Humph! Well, as I said before, it was a very _sensible_ wedding," he
+declared.
+
+This time Marie noticed the emphasis. She laughed, though her eyes
+looked a little troubled.
+
+"I know, dear, of course, what you mean. _I_ thought our wedding was
+beautiful; but I would have made it simpler if I'd realized in time how
+you--you--"
+
+"How I abhorred pink teas and purple pageants," he finished for her,
+with a frowning smile. "Oh, well, I stood it--for the sake of what it
+brought me." His face showed now only the smile; the frown had vanished.
+For a man known for years to his friends as a "hater of women and all
+other confusion," Cyril Henshaw was looking remarkably well-pleased with
+himself.
+
+His wife of less than a year colored as she met his gaze. Hurriedly she
+picked up her needle.
+
+The man laughed happily at her confusion.
+
+"What are you doing? Is that my stocking?" he demanded.
+
+A look, half pain, half reproach, crossed her face.
+
+"Why, Cyril, of course not! You--you told me not to, long ago. You said
+my darns made--bunches.
+
+"Ho! I meant I didn't want to _wear_ them," retorted the man, upon whom
+the tragic wretchedness of that half-sobbed "bunches" had been quite
+lost. "I love to see you _mending_ them," he finished, with an approving
+glance at the pretty little picture of domesticity before him.
+
+A peculiar expression came to Marie's eyes.
+
+"Why, Cyril, you mean you _like_ to have me mend them just for--for the
+sake of seeing me do it, when you _know_ you won't ever wear them?"
+
+"Sure!" nodded the man, imperturbably. Then, with a sudden laugh, he
+asked: "I wonder now, does Billy love to mend socks?"
+
+Marie smiled, but she sighed, too, and shook her head.
+
+"I'm afraid not, Cyril."
+
+"Nor cook?"
+
+Marie laughed outright this time. The vaguely troubled look had fled
+from her eyes
+
+"Oh, Billy's helped me beat eggs and butter sometimes, but I never knew
+her to cook a thing or want to cook a thing, but once; then she spent
+nearly two weeks trying to learn to make puddings--for you."
+
+"For _me!_"
+
+Marie puckered her lips queerly.
+
+"Well, I supposed they were for you at the time. At all events she was
+trying to make them for some one of you boys; probably it was really for
+Bertram, though."
+
+"Humph!" grunted Cyril. Then, after a minute, he observed: "I judge Kate
+thinks Billy'll never make them--for anybody. I'm afraid Sister Kate
+isn't pleased."
+
+"Oh, but Mrs. Hartwell was--was disappointed in the wedding," apologized
+Marie, quickly. "You know she wanted it put off anyway, and she didn't
+like such a simple one.
+
+"Hm-m; as usual Sister Kate forgot it wasn't her funeral--I mean, her
+wedding," retorted Cyril, dryly. "Kate is never happy, you know, unless
+she's managing things."
+
+"Yes, I know," nodded Marie, with a frowning smile of recollection at
+certain features of her own wedding.
+
+"She doesn't approve of Billy's taste in guests, either," remarked
+Cyril, after a moment's silence.
+
+"I thought her guests were lovely," spoke up Marie, in quick defense.
+"Of course, most of her social friends are away--in July; but Billy is
+never a society girl, you know, in spite of the way Society is always
+trying to lionize her and Bertram."
+
+"Oh, of course Kate knows that; but she says it seems as if Billy
+needn't have gone out and gathered in the lame and the halt and the
+blind."
+
+"Nonsense!" cried Marie, with unusual sharpness for her. "I suppose she
+said that just because of Mrs. Greggory's and Tommy Dunn's crutches."
+
+"Well, they didn't make a real festive-looking wedding party, you must
+admit," laughed Cyril; "what with the bridegroom's own arm in a sling,
+too! But who were they all, anyway?"
+
+"Why, you knew Mrs. Greggory and Alice, of course--and Pete," smiled
+Marie. "And wasn't Pete happy? Billy says she'd have had Pete if she had
+no one else; that there wouldn't have been any wedding, anyway, if it
+hadn't been for his telephoning Aunt Hannah that night."
+
+"Yes; Will told me."
+
+"As for Tommy and the others--most of them were those people that Billy
+had at her home last summer for a two weeks' vacation--people, you
+know, too poor to give themselves one, and too proud to accept one from
+ordinary charity. Billy's been following them up and doing little things
+for them ever since--sugarplums and frosting on their cake, she calls
+it; and they adore her, of course. I think it was lovely of her to have
+them, and they did have such a good time! You should have seen Tommy
+when you played that wedding march for Billy to enter the room. His poor
+little face was so transfigured with joy that I almost cried, just to
+look at him. Billy says he loves music--poor little fellow!"
+
+"Well, I hope they'll be happy, in spite of Kate's doleful prophecies.
+Certainly they looked happy enough to-day," declared Cyril, patting a
+yawn as he rose to his feet. "I fancy Will and Aunt Hannah are lonesome,
+though, about now," he added.
+
+"Yes," smiled Marie, mistily, as she gathered up her work. "I know what
+Aunt Hannah's doing. She's helping Rosa put the house to rights, and
+she's stopping to cry over every slipper and handkerchief of Billy's she
+finds. And she'll do that until that funny clock of hers strikes twelve,
+then she'll say 'Oh, my grief and conscience--midnight!' But the next
+minute she'll remember that it's only half-past eleven, after all, and
+she'll send Rosa to bed and sit patting Billy's slipper in her lap till
+it really is midnight by all the other clocks."
+
+Cyril laughed appreciatively.
+
+"Well, I know what Will is doing," he declared.
+
+"Will is in Bertram's den dozing before the fireplace with Spunkie
+curled up in his lap."
+
+As it happened, both these surmises were not far from right. In the
+Strata, the Henshaws' old Beacon Street home, William was sitting before
+the fireplace with the cat in his lap, but he was not dozing. He was
+talking.
+
+"Spunkie," he was saying, "your master, Bertram, got married to-day--and
+to Miss Billy. He'll be bringing her home one of these days--your new
+mistress. And such a mistress! Never did cat or house have a better!
+
+"Just think; for the first time in years this old place is to know the
+touch of a woman's hand--and that's what it hasn't known for almost
+twenty years, except for those few short months six years ago when
+a dark-eyed girl and a little gray kitten (that was Spunk, your
+predecessor, you know) blew in and blew out again before we scarcely
+knew they were here. That girl was Miss Billy, and she was a dear then,
+just as she is now, only now she's coming here to stay. She's coming
+home, Spunkie; and she'll make it a home for you, for me, and for all of
+us. Up to now, you know, it hasn't really been a home, for years--just
+us men, so. It'll be very different, Spunkie, as you'll soon find out.
+Now mind, madam! We must show that we appreciate all this: no tempers,
+no tantrums, no showing of claws, no leaving our coats--either yours or
+mine--on the drawing-room chairs, no tracking in of mud on clean rugs
+and floors! For we're going to have a home, Spunkie--a home!"
+
+At Hillside, Aunt Hannah was, indeed, helping Rosa to put the house to
+rights, as Marie had said. She was crying, too, over a glove she had
+found on Billy's piano; but she was crying over something else, also.
+Not only had she lost Billy, but she had lost her home.
+
+To be sure, nothing had been said during that nightmare of a week of
+hurry and confusion about Aunt Hannah's future; but Aunt Hannah knew
+very well how it must be. This dear little house on the side of Corey
+Hill was Billy's home, and Billy would not need it any longer. It
+would be sold, of course; and she, Aunt Hannah, would go back to a
+"second-story front" and loneliness in some Back Bay boarding-house; and
+a second story front and loneliness would not be easy now, after these
+years of home--and Billy.
+
+No wonder, indeed, that Aunt Hannah sat crying and patting the little
+white glove in her hand. No wonder, too, that--being Aunt Hannah--she
+reached for the shawl near by and put it on, shiveringly. Even July,
+to-night, was cold--to Aunt Hannah.
+
+In yet another home that evening was the wedding of Billy Neilson and
+Bertram Henshaw uppermost in thought and speech. In a certain little
+South-End flat where, in two rented rooms, lived Alice Greggory and
+her crippled mother, Alice was talking to Mr. M. J. Arkwright, commonly
+known to his friends as "Mary Jane," owing to the mystery in which he
+had for so long shrouded his name.
+
+Arkwright to-night was plainly moody and ill at ease.
+
+"You're not listening. You're not listening at all," complained Alice
+Greggory at last, reproachfully.
+
+With a visible effort the man roused himself.
+
+"Indeed I am," he maintained.
+
+"I thought you'd be interested in the wedding. You used to be
+friends--you and Billy." The girl's voice still vibrated with reproach.
+
+There was a moment's silence; then, a little harshly, the man said:
+
+"Perhaps--because I wanted to be more than--a friend--is why you're not
+satisfied with my interest now."
+
+A look that was almost terror came to Alice Greggory's eyes. She flushed
+painfully, then grew very white.
+
+"You mean--"
+
+"Yes," he nodded dully, without looking up. "I cared too much for her. I
+supposed Henshaw was just a friend--till too late."
+
+There was a breathless hush before, a little unsteadily, the girl
+stammered:
+
+"Oh, I'm so sorry--so very sorry! I--I didn't know."
+
+"No, of course you didn't. I've almost told you, though, lots of times;
+you've been so good to me all these weeks." He raised his head now, and
+looked at her, frank comradeship in his eyes.
+
+The girl stirred restlessly. Her eyes swerved a little under his level
+gaze.
+
+"Oh, but I've done nothing--n-nothing," she stammered. Then, at the
+light tap of crutches on a bare floor she turned in obvious relief. "Oh,
+here's mother. She's been in visiting with Mrs. Delano, our landlady.
+Mother, Mr. Arkwright is here."
+
+
+Meanwhile, speeding north as fast as steam could carry them, were the
+bride and groom. The wondrousness of the first hour of their journey
+side by side had become a joyous certitude that always it was to be like
+this now.
+
+"Bertram," began the bride, after a long minute of eloquent silence.
+
+"Yes, love."
+
+"You know our wedding was very different from most weddings."
+
+"Of course it was!"
+
+"Yes, but _really_ it was. Now listen." The bride's voice grew tenderly
+earnest. "I think our marriage is going to be different, too."
+
+"Different?"
+
+"Yes." Billy's tone was emphatic. "There are so many common, everyday
+marriages where--where--Why, Bertram, as if you could ever be to me
+like--like Mr. Carleton is, for instance!"
+
+"Like Mr. Carleton is--to you?" Bertram's voice was frankly puzzled.
+
+"No, no! As Mr. Carleton is to Mrs. Carleton, I mean."
+
+"Oh!" Bertram subsided in relief.
+
+"And the Grahams and Whartons, and the Freddie Agnews, and--and a lot
+of others. Why, Bertram, I've seen the Grahams and the Whartons not even
+speak to each other a whole evening, when they've been at a dinner, or
+something; and I've seen Mrs. Carleton not even seem to know her husband
+came into the room. I don't mean quarrel, dear. Of course we'd never
+_quarrel!_ But I mean I'm sure we shall never get used to--to you being
+you, and I being I."
+
+"Indeed we sha'n't," agreed Bertram, rapturously.
+
+"Ours is going to be such a beautiful marriage!"
+
+"Of course it will be."
+
+"And we'll be so happy!"
+
+"I shall be, and I shall try to make you so."
+
+"As if I could be anything else," sighed Billy, blissfully. "And now we
+_can't_ have any misunderstandings, you see."
+
+"Of course not. Er--what's that?"
+
+"Why, I mean that--that we can't ever repeat hose miserable weeks of
+misunderstanding. Everything is all explained up. I _know_, now, that
+you don't love Miss Winthrop, or just girls--any girl--to paint. You
+love me. Not the tilt of my chin, nor the turn of my head; but _me_."
+
+"I do--just you." Bertram's eyes gave the caress his lips would have
+given had it not been for the presence of the man in the seat across the
+aisle of the sleeping-car.
+
+"And you--you know now that I love you--just you?"
+
+"Not even Arkwright?"
+
+"Not even Arkwright," smiled Billy.
+
+There was the briefest of hesitations; then, a little constrainedly,
+Bertram asked:
+
+"And you said you--you never _had_ cared for Arkwright, didn't you?"
+
+For the second time in her life Billy was thankful that Bertram's
+question had turned upon _her_ love for Arkwright, not Arkwright's love
+for her. In Billy's opinion, a man's unrequited love for a girl was his
+secret, not hers, and was certainly one that the girl had no right
+to tell. Once before Bertram had asked her if she had ever cared for
+Arkwright, and then she had answered emphatically, as she did now:
+
+"Never, dear."
+
+"I thought you said so," murmured Bertram, relaxing a little.
+
+"I did; besides, didn't I tell you?" she went on airily, "I think he'll
+marry Alice Greggory. Alice wrote me all the time I was away, and--oh,
+she didn't say anything definite, I'll admit," confessed Billy, with
+an arch smile; "but she spoke of his being there lots, and they used to
+know each other years ago, you see. There was almost a romance there,
+I think, before the Greggorys lost their money and moved away from all
+their friends."
+
+"Well, he may have her. She's a nice girl--a mighty nice girl," answered
+Bertram, with the unmistakably satisfied air of the man who knows he
+himself possesses the nicest girl of them all.
+
+Billy, reading unerringly the triumph in his voice, grew suddenly
+grave. She regarded her husband with a thoughtful frown; then she drew a
+profound sigh.
+
+"Whew!" laughed Bertram, whimsically. "So soon as this?"
+
+"Bertram!" Billy's voice was tragic.
+
+"Yes, my love." The bridegroom pulled his face into sobriety; then Billy
+spoke, with solemn impressiveness.
+
+"Bertram, I don't know a thing about--cooking--except what I've been
+learning in Rosa's cook-book this last week."
+
+Bertram laughed so loud that the man across the aisle glanced over the
+top of his paper surreptitiously.
+
+"Rosa's cook-book! Is that what you were doing all this week?"
+
+"Yes; that is--I tried so hard to learn something," stammered Billy.
+"But I'm afraid I didn't--much; there were so many things for me to
+think of, you know, with only a week. I believe I _could_ make peach
+fritters, though. They were the last thing I studied."
+
+Bertram laughed again, uproariously; but, at Billy's unchangingly tragic
+face, he grew suddenly very grave and tender.
+
+"Billy, dear, I didn't marry you to--to get a cook," he said gently.
+
+Billy shook her head.
+
+"I know; but Aunt Hannah said that even if I never expected to cook,
+myself, I ought to know how it was done, so to properly oversee it. She
+said that--that no woman, who didn't know how to cook and keep house
+properly, had any business to be a wife. And, Bertram, I did try,
+honestly, all this week. I tried so hard to remember when you sponged
+bread and when you kneaded it."
+
+"I don't ever need--_yours_," cut in Bertram, shamelessly; but he got
+only a deservedly stern glance in return.
+
+"And I repeated over and over again how many cupfuls of flour and
+pinches of salt and spoonfuls of baking-powder went into things; but,
+Bertram, I simply could not keep my mind on it. Everything, everywhere
+was singing to me. And how do you suppose I could remember how many
+pinches of flour and spoonfuls of salt and cupfuls of baking-powder went
+into a loaf of cake when all the while the very teakettle on the stove
+was singing: 'It's all right--Bertram loves me--I'm going to marry
+Bertram!'?"
+
+"You darling!" (In spite of the man across the aisle Bertram did
+almost kiss her this time.) "As if anybody cared how many cupfuls of
+baking-powder went anywhere--with that in your heart!"
+
+"Aunt Hannah says you will--when you're hungry. And Kate said--"
+
+Bertram uttered a sharp word behind his teeth.
+
+"Billy, for heaven's sake don't tell me what Kate said, if you want me
+to stay sane, and not attempt to fight somebody--broken arm, and all.
+Kate _thinks_ she's kind, and I suppose she means well; but--well, she's
+made trouble enough between us already. I've got you now, sweetheart.
+You're mine--all mine--" his voice shook, and dropped to a tender
+whisper--"'till death us do part.'"
+
+"Yes; 'till death us do part,'" breathed Billy.
+
+And then, for a time, they fell silent.
+
+"'I, Bertram, take thee, Billy,'" sang the whirring wheels beneath them,
+to one.
+
+"'I, Billy, take thee, Bertram,'" sang the whirring wheels beneath them,
+to the other. While straight ahead before them both, stretched fair and
+beautiful in their eyes, the wondrous path of life which they were to
+tread together.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II. FOR WILLIAM--A HOME
+
+
+On the first Sunday after the wedding Pete came up-stairs to tell
+his master, William, that Mrs. Stetson wanted to see him in the
+drawing-room.
+
+William went down at once.
+
+"Well, Aunt Hannah," he began, reaching out a cordial hand. "Why, what's
+the matter?" he broke off concernedly, as he caught a clearer view of
+the little old lady's drawn face and troubled eyes.
+
+"William, it's silly, of course," cried Aunt Hannah, tremulously, "but
+I simply had to go to some one. I--I feel so nervous and unsettled!
+Did--did Billy say anything to you--what she was going to do?"
+
+"What she was going to do? About what? What do you mean?"
+
+"About the house--selling it," faltered Aunt Hannah, sinking wearily
+back into her chair.
+
+William frowned thoughtfully.
+
+"Why, no," he answered. "It was all so hurried at the last, you know.
+There was really very little chance to make plans for anything--except
+the wedding," he finished, with a smile.
+
+"Yes, I know," sighed Aunt Hannah. "Everything was in such confusion!
+Still, I didn't know but she might have said something--to you."
+
+"No, she didn't. But I imagine it won't be hard to guess what she'll do.
+When they get back from their trip I fancy she won't lose much time in
+having what things she wants brought down here. Then she'll sell the
+rest and put the house on the market."
+
+"Yes, of--of course," stammered Aunt Hannah, pulling herself hastily to
+a more erect position. "That's what I thought, too. Then don't you think
+we'd better dismiss Rosa and close the house at once?"
+
+"Why--yes, perhaps so. Why not? Then you'd be all settled here when she
+comes home. I'm sure, the sooner you come, the better I'll be pleased,"
+he smiled.
+
+Aunt Hannah turned sharply.
+
+"Here!" she ejaculated. "William Henshaw, you didn't suppose I was
+coming _here_ to live, did you?"
+
+It was William's turn to look amazed.
+
+"Why, of course you're coming here! Where else should you go, pray?"
+
+"Where I was before--before Billy came--to you," returned Aunt Hannah a
+little tremulously, but with a certain dignity. "I shall take a room in
+some quiet boarding-house, of course."
+
+"Nonsense, Aunt Hannah! As if Billy would listen to that! You came
+before; why not come now?"
+
+Aunt Hannah lifted her chin the fraction of an inch.
+
+"You forget. I was needed before. Billy is a married woman now. She
+needs no chaperon."
+
+"Nonsense!" scowled William, again. "Billy will always need you."
+
+Aunt Hannah shook her head mournfully.
+
+"I like to think--she wants me, William, but I know, in my heart, it
+isn't best."
+
+"Why not?"
+
+There was a moment's pause; then, decisively came the answer.
+
+"Because I think young married folks should not have outsiders in the
+home."
+
+William laughed relievedly.
+
+"Oh, so that's it! Well, Aunt Hannah, you're no outsider. Come, run
+right along home and pack your trunk."
+
+Aunt Hannah was plainly almost crying; but she held her ground.
+
+"William, I can't," she reiterated.
+
+"But--Billy is such a child, and--"
+
+For once in her circumspect life Aunt Hannah was guilty of an
+interruption.
+
+"Pardon me, William, she is not a child. She is a woman now, and she has
+a woman's problems to meet."
+
+"Well, then, why don't you help her meet them?" retorted William, still
+with a whimsical smile.
+
+But Aunt Hannah did not smile. For a minute she did not speak; then,
+with her eyes studiously averted, she said:
+
+"William, the first four years of my married life were--were spoiled by
+an outsider in our home. I don't mean to spoil Billy's."
+
+William relaxed visibly. The smile fled from his face.
+
+"Why--Aunt--Hannah!" he exclaimed.
+
+The little old lady turned with a weary sigh.
+
+"Yes, I know. You are shocked, of course. I shouldn't have told you.
+Still, it is all past long ago, and--I wanted to make you understand
+why I can't come. He was my husband's eldest brother--a bachelor. He
+was good and kind, and meant well, I suppose; but--he interfered with
+everything. I was young, and probably headstrong. At all events, there
+was constant friction. He went away once and stayed two whole months. I
+shall never forget the utter freedom and happiness of those months for
+us, with the whole house to ourselves. No, William, I can't come." She
+rose abruptly and turned toward the door. Her eyes were wistful, and
+her face was still drawn with suffering; but her whole frail little self
+quivered plainly with high resolve. "John has Peggy outside. I must go."
+
+"But--but, Aunt Hannah," began William, helplessly.
+
+She lifted a protesting hand.
+
+"No, don't urge me, please. I can't come here. But--I believe I won't
+close the house till Billy gets home, after all," she declared. The
+next moment she was gone, and William, dazedly, from the doorway, was
+watching John help her into Billy's automobile, called by Billy and half
+her friends, "Peggy," short for "Pegasus."
+
+Still dazedly William turned back into the house and dropped himself
+into the nearest chair.
+
+What a curious call it had been! Aunt Hannah had not acted like herself
+at all. Not once had she said "Oh, my grief and conscience!" while the
+things she _had_ said--! Someway, he had never thought of Aunt Hannah as
+being young, and a bride. Still, of course she must have been--once. And
+the reason she gave for not coming there to live--the pitiful story
+of that outsider in her home! But she was no outsider! She was no
+interfering brother of Billy's--
+
+William caught his breath suddenly, and held it suspended. Then he gave
+a low ejaculation and half sprang from his chair.
+
+Spunkie, disturbed from her doze by the fire, uttered a purring
+"me-o-ow," and looked up inquiringly.
+
+For a long minute William gazed dumbly into the cat's yellow, sleepily
+contented eyes; then he said with tragic distinctness:
+
+"Spunkie, it's true: Aunt Hannah isn't Billy's husband's brother, but--I
+am! Do you hear? I _am!_"
+
+"Pur-r-me-ow!" commented Spunkie; and curled herself for another nap.
+
+There was no peace for William after that. In vain he told himself that
+he was no "interfering" brother, and that this was his home and had been
+all his life; in vain did he declare emphatically that he could not go,
+he would not go; that Billy would not wish him to go: always before his
+eyes was the vision of that little bride of years long gone; always in
+his ears was the echo of Aunt Hannah's "I shall never forget the utter
+freedom and happiness of those months for us, with the whole house to
+ourselves." Nor, turn which way he would, could he find anything to
+comfort him. Simply because he was so fearfully looking for it, he found
+it--the thing that had for its theme the wretchedness that might be
+expected from the presence of a third person in the new home.
+
+Poor William! Everywhere he met it--the hint, the word, the story, the
+song, even; and always it added its mite to the woeful whole. Even the
+hoariest of mother-in-law jokes had its sting for him; and, to make his
+cup quite full, he chanced to remember one day what Marie had said when
+he had suggested that she and Cyril come to the Strata to live: "No; I
+think young folks should begin by themselves."
+
+Unhappy, indeed, were these days for William. Like a lost spirit he
+wandered from room to room, touching this, fingering that. For long
+minutes he would stand before some picture, or some treasured bit of old
+mahogany, as if to stamp indelibly upon his mind a thing that was soon
+to be no more. At other times, like a man without a home, he would
+go out into the Common or the Public Garden and sit for hours on some
+bench--thinking.
+
+All this could have but one ending, of course. Before the middle of
+August William summoned Pete to his rooms.
+
+"Oh, Pete, I'm going to move next week," he began nonchalantly. His
+voice sounded as if moving were a pleasurable circumstance that occurred
+in his life regularly once a month. "I'd like you to begin to pack up
+these things, please, to-morrow."
+
+The old servant's mouth fell open.
+
+"You're goin' to--to what, sir?" he stammered.
+
+"Move--_move_, I said." William spoke with unusual harshness.
+
+Pete wet his lips.
+
+"You mean you've sold the old place, sir?--that we--we ain't goin' to
+live here no longer?"
+
+"Sold? Of course not! _I'm_ going to move away; not you."
+
+If Pete could have known what caused the sharpness in his master's
+voice, he would not have been so grieved--or, rather, he would have
+been grieved for a different reason. As it was he could only falter
+miserably:
+
+"_You_ are goin' to move away from here!"
+
+"Yes, yes, man! Why, Pete, what ails you? One would think a body never
+moved before."
+
+"They didn't--not you, sir."
+
+William turned abruptly, so that his face could not be seen. With stern
+deliberation he picked up an elaborately decorated teapot; but the
+valuable bit of Lowestoft shook so in his hand that he set it down at
+once. It clicked sharply against its neighbor, betraying his nervous
+hand.
+
+Pete stirred.
+
+"But, Mr. William," he stammered thickly; "how are you--what'll you do
+without--There doesn't nobody but me know so well about your tea, and
+the two lumps in your coffee; and there's your flannels that you never
+put on till I get 'em out, and the woolen socks that you'd wear all
+summer if I didn't hide 'em. And--and who's goin' to take care of
+these?" he finished, with a glance that encompassed the overflowing
+cabinets and shelves of curios all about him.
+
+His master smiled sadly. An affection that had its inception in his
+boyhood days shone in his eyes. The hand in which the Lowestoft had
+shaken rested now heavily on an old man's bent shoulder--a shoulder that
+straightened itself in unconscious loyalty under the touch.
+
+"Pete, you have spoiled me, and no mistake. I don't expect to find
+another like you. But maybe if I wear the woolen socks too late you'll
+come and hunt up the others for me. Eh?" And, with a smile that was
+meant to be quizzical, William turned and began to shift the teapots
+about again.
+
+"But, Mr. William, why--that is, what will Mr. Bertram and Miss Billy
+do--without you?" ventured the old man.
+
+There was a sudden tinkling crash. On the floor lay the fragments of a
+silver-luster teapot.
+
+The servant exclaimed aloud in dismay, but his master did not even
+glance toward his once treasured possession on the floor.
+
+"Nonsense, Pete!" he was saying in a particularly cheery voice. "Have
+you lived all these years and not found out that newly-married folks
+don't _need_ any one else around? Come, do you suppose we could begin
+to pack these teapots to-night?" he added, a little feverishly. "Aren't
+there some boxes down cellar?"
+
+"I'll see, sir," said Pete, respectfully; but the expression on his face
+as he turned away showed that he was not thinking of teapots--nor of
+boxes in which to pack them.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III. BILLY SPEAKS HER MIND
+
+
+Mr. and Mrs. Bertram Henshaw were expected home the first of September.
+By the thirty-first of August the old Beacon Street homestead facing
+the Public Garden was in spick-and-span order, with Dong Ling in the
+basement hovering over a well-stocked larder, and Pete searching the
+rest of the house for a chair awry, or a bit of dust undiscovered.
+
+Twice before had the Strata--as Bertram long ago dubbed the home of
+his boyhood--been prepared for the coming of Billy, William's namesake:
+once, when it had been decorated with guns and fishing-rods to welcome
+the "boy" who turned out to be a girl; and again when with pink roses
+and sewing-baskets the three brothers got joyously ready for a feminine
+Billy who did not even come at all.
+
+The house had been very different then. It had been, indeed, a "strata,"
+with its distinctive layers of fads and pursuits as represented by
+Bertram and his painting on one floor, William and his curios on
+another, and Cyril with his music on a third. Cyril was gone now. Only
+Pete and his humble belongings occupied the top floor. The floor below,
+too, was silent now, and almost empty save for a rug or two, and a few
+pieces of heavy furniture that William had not cared to take with him
+to his new quarters on top of Beacon Hill. Below this, however, came
+Billy's old rooms, and on these Pete had lavished all his skill and
+devotion.
+
+Freshly laundered curtains were at the windows, dustless rugs were on
+the floor. The old work-basket had been brought down from the top-floor
+storeroom, and the long-closed piano stood invitingly open. In
+a conspicuous place, also, sat the little green god, upon whose
+exquisitely carved shoulders was supposed to rest the "heap plenty velly
+good luckee" of Dong Ling's prophecy.
+
+On the first floor Bertram's old rooms and the drawing-room came in for
+their share of the general overhauling. Even Spunkie did not escape, but
+had to submit to the ignominy of a bath. And then dawned fair and clear
+the first day of September, bringing at five o'clock the bride and
+groom.
+
+Respectfully lined up in the hall to meet them were Pete and Dong Ling:
+Pete with his wrinkled old face alight with joy and excitement; Dong
+Ling grinning and kotowing, and chanting in a high-pitched treble:
+
+"Miss Billee, Miss Billee--plenty much welcome, Miss Billee!"
+
+"Yes, welcome home, Mrs. _Henshaw!_" bowed Bertram, turning at the door,
+with an elaborate flourish that did not in the least hide his tender
+pride in his new wife.
+
+Billy laughed and colored a pretty pink.
+
+"Thank you--all of you," she cried a little unsteadily. "And how good,
+good everything does look to me! Why, where's Uncle William?" she broke
+off, casting hurriedly anxious eyes about her.
+
+"Well, I should say so," echoed Bertram. "Where is he, Pete? He isn't
+sick, is he?"
+
+A quick change crossed the old servant's face. He shook his head dumbly.
+
+Billy gave a gleeful laugh.
+
+"I know--he's asleep!" she caroled, skipping to the bottom of the
+stairway and looking up.
+
+"Ho, Uncle William! Better wake up, sir. The folks have come!"
+
+Pete cleared his throat.
+
+"Mr. William isn't here, Miss--ma'am," he corrected miserably.
+
+Billy smiled, but she frowned, too.
+
+"Not here! Well, I like that," she pouted; "--and when I've brought him
+the most beautiful pair of mirror knobs he ever saw, and all the way
+in my bag, too, so I could give them to him the very first thing," she
+added, darting over to the small bag she had brought in with her. "I'm
+glad I did, too, for our trunks didn't come," she continued laughingly.
+"Still, if he isn't here to receive them--There, Pete, aren't they
+beautiful?" she cried, carefully taking from their wrappings two
+exquisitely decorated porcelain discs mounted on two long spikes.
+"They're Batterseas--the real article. I know enough for that; and
+they're finer than anything he's got. Won't he be pleased?"
+
+"Yes, Miss--ma'am, I mean," stammered the old man.
+
+"These new titles come hard, don't they, Pete?" laughed Bertram.
+
+Pete smiled faintly.
+
+"Never mind, Pete," soothed his new mistress. "You shall call me 'Miss
+Billy' all your life if you want to. Bertram," she added, turning to
+her husband, "I'm going to just run up-stairs and put these in Uncle
+William's rooms so they'll be there when he comes in. We'll see how soon
+he discovers them!"
+
+Before Pete could stop her she was half-way up the first flight of
+stairs. Even then he tried to speak to his young master, to explain
+that Mr. William was not living there; but the words refused to come. He
+could only stand dumbly waiting.
+
+In a minute it came--Billy's sharp, startled cry.
+
+"Bertram! Bertram!"
+
+Bertram sprang for the stairway, but he had not reached the top when he
+met his wife coming down. She was white-faced and trembling.
+
+"Bertram--those rooms--there's not so much as a teapot there! Uncle
+William's--gone!"
+
+"Gone!" Bertram wheeled sharply. "Pete, what is the meaning of this?
+Where is my brother?" To hear him, one would think he suspected the old
+servant of having hidden his master.
+
+Pete lifted a shaking hand and fumbled with his collar.
+
+"He's moved, sir."
+
+"Moved! Oh, you mean to other rooms--to Cyril's." Bertram relaxed
+visibly. "He's upstairs, maybe."
+
+Pete shook his head.
+
+"No, sir. He's moved away--out of the house, sir."
+
+For a brief moment Bertram stared as if he could not believe what his
+ears had heard. Then, step by step, he began to descend the stairs.
+
+"Do you mean--to say--that my brother--has moved-gone away--_left_--his
+_home?_" he demanded.
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+Billy gave a low cry.
+
+"But why--why?" she choked, almost stumbling headlong down the stairway
+in her effort to reach the two men at the bottom. "Pete, why did he go?"
+
+There was no answer.
+
+"Pete,"--Bertram's voice was very sharp--"what is the meaning of this?
+Do you know why my brother left his home?"
+
+The old man wet his lips and swallowed chokingly, but he did not speak.
+
+"I'm waiting, Pete."
+
+Billy laid one hand on the old servant's arm--in the other hand she
+still tightly clutched the mirror knobs.
+
+"Pete, if you do know, won't you tell us, please?" she begged.
+
+Pete looked down at the hand, then up at the troubled young face with
+the beseeching eyes. His own features worked convulsively. With a
+visible effort he cleared his throat.
+
+"I know--what he said," he stammered, his eyes averted.
+
+"What was it?"
+
+There was no answer.
+
+"Look here, Pete, you'll have to tell us, you know," cut in Bertram,
+decisively, "so you might as well do it now as ever."
+
+Once more Pete cleared his throat. This time the words came in a burst
+of desperation.
+
+"Yes, sir. I understand, sir. It was only that he said--he said as how
+young folks didn't _need_ any one else around. So he was goin'."
+
+"Didn't _need_ any one else!" exclaimed Bertram, plainly not
+comprehending.
+
+"Yes, sir. You two bein' married so, now." Pete's eyes were still
+averted.
+
+Billy gave a low cry.
+
+"You mean--because _I_ came?" she demanded.
+
+"Why, yes, Miss--no--that is--" Pete stopped with an appealing glance at
+Bertram.
+
+"Then it was--it _was_--on account of _me_," choked Billy.
+
+Pete looked still more distressed
+
+"No, no!" he faltered. "It was only that he thought you wouldn't want
+him here now."
+
+"Want him here!" ejaculated Bertram.
+
+"Want him here!" echoed Billy, with a sob.
+
+"Pete, where is he?" As she asked the question she dropped the mirror
+knobs into her open bag, and reached for her coat and gloves--she had
+not removed her hat.
+
+Pete gave the address.
+
+"It's just down the street a bit and up the hill," he added excitedly,
+divining her purpose. "It's a sort of a boarding-house, I reckon."
+
+"A _boarding-house_--for Uncle William!" scorned Billy, her eyes ablaze.
+"Come, Bertram, we'll see about that."
+
+Bertram reached out a detaining hand.
+
+"But, dearest, you're so tired," he demurred. "Hadn't we better wait
+till after dinner, or till to-morrow?"
+
+"After dinner! To-morrow!" Billy's eyes blazed anew. "Why, Bertram
+Henshaw, do you think I'd leave that dear man even one minute longer,
+if I could help it, with a notion in his blessed old head that we didn't
+_want_ him?"
+
+"But you said a little while ago you had a headache, dear," still
+objected Bertram. "If you'd just eat your dinner!"
+
+"Dinner!" choked Billy. "I wonder if you think I could eat any dinner
+with Uncle William turned out of his home! I'm going to find Uncle
+William." And she stumbled blindly toward the door.
+
+Bertram reached for his hat. He threw a despairing glance into Pete's
+eyes.
+
+"We'll be back--when we can," he said, with a frown.
+
+"Yes, sir," answered Pete, respectfully. Then, as if impelled by some
+hidden force, he touched his master's arm. "It was that way she looked,
+sir, when she came to _you_--that night last July--with her eyes all
+shining," he whispered.
+
+A tender smile curved Bertram's lips. The frown vanished from his face.
+
+"Bless you, Pete--and bless her, too!" he whispered back. The next
+moment he had hurried after his wife.
+
+The house that bore the number Pete had given proved to have a
+pretentious doorway, and a landlady who, in response to the summons of
+the neat maid, appeared with a most impressive rustle of black silk and
+jet bugles.
+
+No, Mr. William Henshaw was not in his rooms. In fact, he was very
+seldom there. His business, she believed, called him to State Street
+through the day. Outside of that, she had been told, he spent much time
+sitting on a bench in the Common. Doubtless, if they cared to search,
+they could find him there now.
+
+"A bench in the Common, indeed!" stormed Billy, as she and Bertram
+hurried down the wide stone steps. "Uncle William--on a bench!"
+
+"But surely now, dear," ventured her husband, "you'll come home and get
+your dinner!"
+
+Billy turned indignantly.
+
+"And leave Uncle William on a bench in the Common? Indeed, no! Why,
+Bertram, you wouldn't, either," she cried, as she turned resolutely
+toward one of the entrances to the Common.
+
+And Bertram, with the "eyes all shining" still before him, could only
+murmur: "No, of course not, dear!" and follow obediently where she led.
+
+Under ordinary circumstances it would have been a delightful hour for a
+walk. The sun had almost set, and the shadows lay long across the grass.
+The air was cool and unusually bracing for a day so early in September.
+But all this was lost on Bertram. Bertram did not wish to take a walk.
+He was hungry. He wanted his dinner; and he wanted, too, his old home
+with his new wife flitting about the rooms as he had pictured this first
+evening together. He wanted William, of course. Certainly he wanted
+William; but if William would insist on running away and sitting on
+park benches in this ridiculous fashion, he ought to take the
+consequences--until to-morrow.
+
+Five, ten, fifteen minutes passed. Up one path and down another trudged
+the anxious-eyed Billy and her increasingly impatient husband. Then when
+the fifteen weary minutes had become a still more weary half-hour, the
+bonds Bertram had set on his temper snapped.
+
+"Billy," he remonstrated despairingly, "do, please, come home! Don't you
+see how highly improbable it is that we should happen on William if we
+walked like this all night? He might move--change his seat--go home,
+even. He probably has gone home. And surely never before did a bride
+insist on spending the first evening after her return tramping up and
+down a public park for hour after hour like this, looking for any man.
+_Won't_ you come home?"
+
+But Billy had not even heard. With a glad little cry she had darted to
+the side of the humped-up figure of a man alone on a park bench just
+ahead of them.
+
+"Uncle William! Oh, Uncle William, how could you?" she cried, dropping
+herself on to one end of the seat and catching the man's arm in both her
+hands.
+
+"Yes, how could you?" demanded Bertram, with just a touch of irritation,
+dropping himself on to the other end of the seat, and catching the man's
+other arm in his one usable hand.
+
+The bent shoulders and bowed head straightened up with a jerk.
+
+"Well, well, bless my soul! If it isn't our little bride," cried Uncle
+William, fondly. "And the happy bridegroom, too. When did you get home?"
+
+"We haven't got home," retorted Bertram, promptly, before his wife could
+speak. "Oh, we looked in at the door an hour or so back; but we didn't
+stay. We've been hunting for you ever since."
+
+"Nonsense, children!" Uncle William spoke with gay cheeriness; but he
+refused to meet either Billy's or Bertram's eyes.
+
+"Uncle William, how could you do it?" reproached Billy, again.
+
+"Do what?" Uncle William was plainly fencing for time.
+
+"Leave the house like that?"
+
+"Ho! I wanted a change."
+
+"As if we'd believe that!" scoffed Billy.
+
+"All right; let's call it you've had the change, then," laughed Bertram,
+"and we'll send over for your things to-morrow. Come--now let's go home
+to dinner."
+
+William shook his head. He essayed a gay smile.
+
+"Why, I've only just begun. I'm going to stay--oh, I don't know how long
+I'm going to stay," he finished blithely.
+
+Billy lifted her chin a little.
+
+"Uncle William, you aren't playing square. Pete told us what you said
+when you left."
+
+"Eh? What?" William looked up with startled eyes.
+
+"About--about our not _needing_ you. So we know, now, why you left; and
+we _sha'n't stand_ it."
+
+"Pete? That? Oh, that--that's nonsense I--I'll settle with Pete."
+
+Billy laughed softly.
+
+"Poor Pete! Don't. We simply dragged it out of him. And now we're here
+to tell you that we _do_ want you, and that you _must_ come back."
+
+Again William shook his head. A swift shadow crossed his face.
+
+"Thank you, no, children," he said dully.
+
+"You're very kind, but you don't need me. I should be just an interfering
+elder brother. I should spoil your young married life." (William's voice
+now sounded as if he were reciting a well-learned lesson.) "If I went
+away and stayed two months, you'd never forget the utter freedom and joy
+of those two whole months with the house all to yourselves."
+
+"Uncle William," gasped Billy, "what _are_ you talking about?"
+
+"About--about my not going back, of course."
+
+"But you are coming back," cut in Bertram, almost angrily. "Oh, come,
+Will, this is utter nonsense, and you know it! Come, let's go home to
+dinner."
+
+A stern look came to the corners of William's mouth--a look that Bertram
+understood well.
+
+"All right, I'll go to dinner, of course; but I sha'n't stay," said
+William, firmly. "I've thought it all out. I know I'm right. Come, we'll
+go to dinner now, and say no more about it," he finished with a cheery
+smile, as he rose to his feet. Then, to the bride, he added: "Did you
+have a nice trip, little girl?"
+
+Billy, too, had risen, now, but she did not seem to have heard his
+question. In the fast falling twilight her face looked a little white.
+
+"Uncle William," she began very quietly, "do you think for a minute that
+just because I married your brother I am going to live in that house and
+turn you out of the home you've lived in all your life?"
+
+"Nonsense, dear! I'm not turned out. I just go," corrected Uncle
+William, gayly.
+
+With superb disdain Billy brushed this aside.
+
+"Oh, no, you won't," she declared; "but--_I shall_."
+
+"Billy!" gasped Bertram.
+
+"My--my dear!" expostulated William, faintly.
+
+"Uncle William! Bertram! Listen," panted Billy. "I never told you much
+before, but I'm going to, now. Long ago, when I went away with Aunt
+Hannah, your sister Kate showed me how dear the old home was to
+you--how much you thought of it. And she said--she said that I had
+upset everything." (Bertram interjected a sharp word, but Billy paid
+no attention.) "That's why I went; and _I shall go again_--if you
+don't come home to-morrow to stay, Uncle William. Come, now let's go to
+dinner, please. Bertram's hungry," she finished, with a bright smile.
+
+There was a tense moment of silence. William glanced at Bertram; Bertram
+returned the glance--with interest.
+
+"Er--ah--yes; well, we might go to dinner," stammered William, after a
+minute.
+
+"Er--yes," agreed Bertram. And the three fell into step together.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV. "JUST LIKE BILLY"
+
+
+Billy did not leave the Strata this time. Before twenty-four hours had
+passed, the last cherished fragment of Mr. William Henshaw's possessions
+had been carefully carried down the imposing steps of the Beacon
+Hill boarding-house under the disapproving eyes of its bugle-adorned
+mistress, who found herself now with a month's advance rent and two
+vacant "parlors" on her hands. Before another twenty-four hours had
+passed her quondam boarder, with a tired sigh, sank into his favorite
+morris chair in his old familiar rooms, and looked about him with
+contented eyes. Every treasure was in place, from the traditional four
+small stones of his babyhood days to the Batterseas Billy had just
+brought him. Pete, as of yore, was hovering near with a dust-cloth.
+Bertram's gay whistle sounded from the floor below. William Henshaw was
+at home again.
+
+This much accomplished, Billy went to see Aunt Hannah.
+
+Aunt Hannah greeted her affectionately, though with tearfully troubled
+eyes. She was wearing a gray shawl to-day topped with a black one--sure
+sign of unrest, either physical or mental, as all her friends knew.
+
+"I'd begun to think you'd forgotten--me," she faltered, with a poor
+attempt at gayety.
+
+"You've been home three whole days."
+
+"I know, dearie," smiled Billy; "and 'twas a shame. But I have been so
+busy! My trunks came at last, and I've been helping Uncle William get
+settled, too."
+
+Aunt Hannah looked puzzled.
+
+"Uncle William get settled? You mean--he's changed his room?"
+
+Billy laughed oddly, and threw a swift glance into Aunt Hannah's face.
+
+"Well, yes, he did change," she murmured; "but he's moved back now into
+the old quarters. Er--you haven't heard from Uncle William then, lately,
+I take it."
+
+"No." Aunt Hannah shook her head abstractedly. "I did see him once,
+several weeks ago; but I haven't, since. We had quite a talk, then;
+and, Billy, I've been wanting to speak to you," she hurried on, a little
+feverishly. "I didn't like to leave, of course, till you did come home,
+as long as you'd said nothing about your plans; but--"
+
+"Leave!" interposed Billy, dazedly. "Leave where? What do you mean?"
+
+"Why, leave here, of course, dear. I mean. I didn't like to get my room
+while you were away; but I shall now, of course, at once."
+
+"Nonsense, Aunt Hannah! As if I'd let you do that," laughed Billy.
+
+Aunt Hannah stiffened perceptibly. Her lips looked suddenly thin and
+determined. Even the soft little curls above her ears seemed actually to
+bristle with resolution.
+
+"Billy," she began firmly, "we might as well understand each other at
+once. I know your good heart, and I appreciate your kindness. But I can
+not come to live with you. I shall not. It wouldn't be best. I should
+be like an interfering elder brother in your home. I should spoil your
+young married life; and if I went away for two months you'd never forget
+the utter joy and freedom of those two months with the whole house ali
+to yourselves."
+
+At the beginning of this speech Billy's eyes had still carried their
+dancing smile, but as the peroration progressed on to the end, a dawning
+surprise, which soon became a puzzled questioning, drove the smile away.
+Then Billy sat suddenly erect.
+
+"Why, Aunt Hannah, that's exactly what Uncle William--" Billy stopped,
+and regarded Aunt Hannah with quick suspicion. The next moment she burst
+into gleeful laughter.
+
+Aunt Hannah looked grieved, and not a little surprised; but Billy did
+not seem to notice this.
+
+"Oh, oh, Aunt Hannah--you, too! How perfectly funny!" she gurgled. "To
+think you two old blesseds should get your heads together like this!"
+
+Aunt Hannah stirred restively, and pulled the black shawl more closely
+about her.
+
+"Indeed, Billy, I don't know what you mean by that," she sighed, with a
+visible effort at self-control; "but I do know that I can not go to live
+with you."
+
+"Bless your heart, dear, I don't want you to," soothed Billy, with gay
+promptness.
+
+"Oh! O-h-h," stammered Aunt Hannah, surprise, mortification, dismay, and
+a grieved hurt bringing a flood of color to her face. It is one thing to
+refuse a home, and quite another to have a home refused you.
+
+"Oh! O-h-h, Aunt Hannah," cried Billy, turning very red in her turn.
+"Please, _please_ don't look like that. I didn't mean it that way. I do
+want you, dear, only--I want you somewhere else more. I want you--here."
+
+"Here!" Aunt Hannah looked relieved, but unconvinced.
+
+"Yes. Don't you like it here?"
+
+"Like it! Why, I love it, dear. You know I do. But you don't need this
+house now, Billy."
+
+"Oh, yes, I do," retorted Billy, airily. "I'm going to keep it up, and I
+want you here.
+
+"Fiddlededee, Billy! As if I'd let you keep up this house just for me,"
+scorned Aunt Hannah.
+
+"'Tisn't just for you. It's for--for lots of folks."
+
+"My grief and conscience, Billy! What are you talking about?"
+
+Billy laughed, and settled herself more comfortably on the hassock at
+Aunt Hannah's feet.
+
+"Well, I'll tell you. Just now I want it for Tommy Dunn, and the
+Greggorys if I can get them, and maybe one or two others. There'll
+always be somebody. You see, I had thought I'd have them at the Strata."
+
+"Tommy Dunn--at the Strata!"
+
+Billy laughed again ruefully.
+
+"O dear! You sound just like Bertram," she pouted. "He didn't want
+Tommy, either, nor any of the rest of them."
+
+"The rest of them!"
+
+"Well, I could have had a lot more, you know, the Strata is so big,
+especially now that Cyril has gone, and left all those empty rooms.
+_I_ got real enthusiastic, but Bertram didn't. He just laughed and said
+'nonsense!' until he found I was really in earnest; then he--well, he
+said 'nonsense,' then, too--only he didn't laugh," finished Billy, with
+a sigh.
+
+Aunt Hannah regarded her with fond, though slightly exasperated eyes.
+
+"Billy, you are, indeed, a most extraordinary young woman--at times.
+Surely, with you, a body never knows what to expect--except the
+unexpected."
+
+"Why, Aunt Hannah!--and from you, too!" reproached Billy, mischievously;
+but Aunt Hannah had yet more to say.
+
+"Of course Bertram thought it was nonsense. The idea of you, a bride,
+filling up your house with--with people like that! Tommy Dunn, indeed!"
+
+"Oh, Bertram said he liked Tommy all right," sighed Billy; "but he said
+that that didn't mean he wanted him for three meals a day. One would
+think poor Tommy was a breakfast food! So that is when I thought of
+keeping up this house, you see, and that's why I want you here--to take
+charge of it. And you'll do that--for me, won't you?"
+
+Aunt Hannah fell back in her chair.
+
+"Why, y-yes, Billy, of course, if--if you want it. But what an
+extraordinary idea, child!"
+
+Billy shook her head. A deeper color came to her cheeks, and a softer
+glow to her eyes.
+
+"I don't think so, Aunt Hannah. It's only that I'm so happy that some
+of it has just got to overflow somewhere, and this is going to be the
+overflow house--a sort of safety valve for me, you see. I'm going to
+call it the Annex--it will be an annex to our home. And I want to keep
+it full, always, of people who--who can make the best use of all that
+extra happiness that I can't possibly use myself," she finished a little
+tremulously. "Don't you see?"
+
+"Oh, yes, I _see_," replied Aunt Hannah, with a fond shake of the head.
+
+"But, really, listen--it's sensible," urged Billy. "First, there's
+Tommy. His mother died last month. He's at a neighbor's now, but they're
+going to send him to a Home for Crippled Children; and he's grieving his
+heart out over it. I'm going to bring him here to a real home--the kind
+that doesn't begin with a capital letter. He adores music, and he's got
+real talent, I think. Then there's the Greggorys."
+
+Aunt Hannah looked dubious.
+
+"You can't get the Greggorys to--to use any of that happiness, Billy.
+They're too proud."
+
+Billy smiled radiantly.
+
+"I know I can't get them to _use_ it, Aunt Hannah, but I believe I can
+get them to _give_ it," she declared triumphantly. "I shall ask Alice
+Greggory to teach Tommy music, and I shall ask Mrs. Greggory to teach
+him books; and I shall tell them both that I positively need them to
+keep you company."
+
+"Oh, but Billy," bridled Aunt Hannah, with prompt objection.
+
+"Tut, tut!--I know you'll be willing to be thrown as a little bit of a
+sop to the Greggorys' pride," coaxed Billy. "You just wait till I get
+the Overflow Annex in running order. Why, Aunt Hannah, you don't know
+how busy you're going to be handing out all that extra happiness that I
+can't use!"
+
+"You dear child!" Aunt Hannah smiled mistily. The black shawl had fallen
+unheeded to the floor now. "As if anybody ever had any more happiness
+than one's self could use!"
+
+"I have," avowed Billy, promptly, "and it's going to keep growing and
+growing, I know."
+
+"Oh, my grief and conscience, Billy, don't!" exclaimed Aunt Hannah,
+lifting shocked hands of remonstrance. "Rap on wood--do! How can you
+boast like that?"
+
+Billy dimpled roguishly and sprang to her feet.
+
+"Why, Aunt Hannah, I'm ashamed of you! To be superstitious like
+that--you, a good Presbyterian!"
+
+Aunt Hannah subsided shamefacedly.
+
+"Yes, I know, Billy, it is silly; but I just can't help it."
+
+"Oh, but it's worse than silly, Aunt Hannah," teased Billy, with a
+remorseless chuckle. "It's really _heathen!_ Bertram told me once that
+it dates 'way back to the time of the Druids--appealing to the god of
+trees, or something like that--when you rap on wood, you know."
+
+"Ugh!" shuddered Aunt Hannah. "As if I would, Billy! How is Bertram, by
+the by?"
+
+A swift shadow crossed Billy's bright face.
+
+"He's lovely--only his arm."
+
+"His arm! But I thought that was better."
+
+"Oh, it is," drooped Billy, "but it gets along so slowly, and it frets
+him dreadfully. You know he never can do anything with his left hand,
+he says, and he just hates to have things done for him--though Pete and
+Dong Ling are quarreling with each other all the time to do things for
+him, and I'm quarreling with both of them to do them for him myself! By
+the way, Dong Ling is going to leave us next week. Did you know it?"
+
+"Dong Ling--leave!"
+
+"Yes. Oh, he told Bertram long ago he should go when we were married;
+that he had plenty much money, and was going back to China, and not be
+Melican man any longer. But I don't think Bertram thought he'd do it.
+William says Dong Ling went to Pete, however, after we left, and told
+him he wanted to go; that he liked the little Missee plenty well, but
+that there'd be too much hen-talk when she got back, and--"
+
+"Why, the impudent creature!"
+
+Billy laughed merrily.
+
+"Yes; Pete was furious, William says, but Dong Ling didn't mean any
+disrespect, I'm sure. He just wasn't used to having petticoats around,
+and didn't want to take orders from them; that's all."
+
+"But, Billy, what will you do?"
+
+"Oh, Pete's fixed all that lovely," returned Billy, nonchalantly. "You
+know his niece lives over in South Boston, and it seems she's got a
+daughter who's a fine cook and will be glad to come. Mercy! Look at the
+time," she broke off, glancing at the clock. "I shall be late to dinner,
+and Dong Ling loathes anybody who's late to his meals--as I found out to
+my sorrow the night we got home. Good-by, dear. I'll be out soon again
+and fix it all up--about the Annex, you know." And with a bright smile
+she was gone.
+
+"Dear me," sighed Aunt Hannah, stooping to pick up the black shawl;
+"dear me! Of course everything will be all right--there's a girl coming,
+even if Dong Ling is going. But--but--Oh, my grief and conscience, what
+an extraordinary child Billy is, to be sure--but what a dear one!" she
+added, wiping a quick tear from her eye. "An Overflow Annex, indeed, for
+her 'extra happiness'! Now isn't that just like Billy?"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V. TIGER SKINS
+
+
+September passed and October came, bringing with it cool days and clear,
+crisp evenings royally ruled over by a gorgeous harvest moon. According
+to Billy everything was just perfect--except, of course, poor Bertram's
+arm; and even the fact that that gained so slowly was not without its
+advantage (again according to Billy), for it gave Bertram more time to
+be with her.
+
+"You see, dear, as long as you _can't_ paint," she told him earnestly,
+one day, "why, I'm not really hindering you by keeping you with me so
+much."
+
+"You certainly are not," he retorted, with a smile.
+
+"Then I may be just as happy as I like over it," settled Billy,
+comfortably.
+
+"As if you ever could hinder me," he ridiculed.
+
+"Oh, yes, I could," nodded Billy, emphatically. "You forget, sir. That
+was what worried me so. Everybody, even the newspapers and magazines,
+said I _would_ do it, too. They said I'd slay your Art, stifle your
+Ambition, destroy your Inspiration, and be a nuisance generally. And
+Kate said--"
+
+"Yes. Well, never mind what Kate said," interrupted the man, savagely.
+
+Billy laughed, and gave his ear a playful tweak.
+
+"All right; but I'm not going to do it, you know--spoil your career,
+sir. You just wait," she continued dramatically. "The minute your arm
+gets so you can paint, I myself shall conduct you to your studio, thrust
+the brushes into your hand, fill your palette with all the colors of
+the rainbow, and order you to paint, my lord, paint! But--until then I'm
+going to have you all I like," she finished, with a complete change of
+manner, nestling into the ready curve of his good left arm.
+
+"You witch!" laughed the man, fondly. "Why, Billy, you couldn't hinder
+me. You'll _be_ my inspiration, dear, instead of slaying it. You'll see.
+_This_ time Marguerite Winthrop's portrait is going to be a success."
+
+Billy turned quickly.
+
+"Then you are--that is, you haven't--I mean, you're going to--paint it?"
+
+"I just am," avowed the artist. "And this time it'll be a success, too,
+with you to help."
+
+Billy drew in her breath tremulously.
+
+"I didn't know but you'd already started it," she faltered.
+
+He shook his head.
+
+"No. After the other one failed, and Mr. Winthrop asked me to try again,
+I couldn't _then_. I was so troubled over you. That's the time you did
+hinder me," he smiled. "Then came your note breaking the engagement. Of
+course I knew too much to attempt a thing like that portrait then. But
+now--_now_--!" The pause and the emphasis were eloquent.
+
+"Of course, _now_," nodded Billy, brightly, but a little feverishly.
+"And when do you begin?"
+
+"Not till January. Miss Winthrop won't be back till then. I saw J. G.
+last week, and I told him I'd accept his offer to try again."
+
+"What did he say?"
+
+"He gave my left hand a big grip and said: 'Good!--and you'll win out
+this time.'"
+
+"Of course you will," nodded Billy, again, though still a little
+feverishly. "And this time I sha'n't mind a bit if you do stay to
+luncheon, and break engagements with me, sir," she went on, tilting
+her chin archly, "for I shall know it's the portrait and not the sitter
+that's really keeping you. Oh, you'll see what a fine artist's wife I'll
+make!"
+
+"The very best," declared Bertram so ardently that Billy blushed, and
+shook her head in reproof.
+
+"Nonsense! I wasn't fishing. I didn't mean it that way," she protested.
+Then, as he tried to catch her, she laughed and danced teasingly out of
+his reach.
+
+Because Bertram could not paint, therefore, Billy had him quite to
+herself these October days; nor did she hesitate to appropriate him.
+Neither, on his part, was Bertram loath to be appropriated. Like two
+lovers they read and walked and talked together, and like two children,
+sometimes, they romped through the stately old rooms with Spunkie, or
+with Tommy Dunn, who was a frequent guest. Spunkie, be it known, was
+renewing her kittenhood, so potent was the influence of the dangling
+strings and rolling balls that she encountered everywhere; and Tommy
+Dunn, with Billy's help, was learning that not even a pair of crutches
+need keep a lonely little lad from a frolic. Even William, roused from
+his after-dinner doze by peals of laughter, was sometimes inveigled into
+activities that left him breathless, but curiously aglow. While Pete,
+polishing silver in the dining-room down-stairs, smiled indulgently at
+the merry clatter above--and forgot the teasing pain in his side.
+
+But it was not all nonsense with Billy, nor gay laughter. More often
+it was a tender glow in the eyes, a softness in the voice, a radiant
+something like an aura of joy all about her, that told how happy indeed
+were these days for her. There was proof by word of mouth, too--long
+talks with Bertram in the dancing firelight when they laid dear
+plans for the future, and when she tried so hard to make her husband
+understand what a good, good wife she intended to be, and how she meant
+never to let anything come between them.
+
+It was so earnest and serious a Billy by this time that Bertram would
+turn startled, dismayed eyes on his young wife; whereupon, with a very
+Billy-like change of mood, she would give him one of her rare caresses,
+and perhaps sigh:
+
+"Goosey--it's only because I'm so happy, happy, happy! Why, Bertram, if
+it weren't for that Overflow Annex I believe I--I just couldn't live!"
+
+It was Bertram who sighed then, and who prayed fervently in his heart
+that never might he see a real shadow cloud that dear face.
+
+Thus far, certainly, the cares of matrimony had rested anything but
+heavily upon the shapely young shoulders of the new wife. Domestic
+affairs at the Strata moved like a piece of well-oiled machinery.
+Dong Ling, to be sure, was not there; but in his place reigned Pete's
+grandniece, a fresh-faced, capable young woman who (Bertram declared)
+cooked like an angel and minded her own business like a man. Pete, as
+of yore, had full charge of the house; and a casual eye would see few
+changes. Even the brothers themselves saw few, for that matter.
+
+True, at the very first, Billy had donned a ruffled apron and a
+bewitching dust-cap, and had traversed the house from cellar to garret
+with a prettily important air of "managing things," as she suggested
+changes right and left. She had summoned Pete, too, for three mornings
+in succession, and with great dignity had ordered the meals for the day.
+But when Bertram was discovered one evening tugging back his favorite
+chair, and when William had asked if Billy were through using his
+pipe-tray, the young wife had concluded to let things remain about as
+they were. And when William ate no breakfast one morning, and Bertram
+aggrievedly refused dessert that night at dinner, Billy--learning
+through an apologetic Pete that Master William always had to have eggs
+for breakfast no matter what else there was, and that Master Bertram
+never ate boiled rice--gave up planning the meals. True, for three more
+mornings she summoned Pete for "orders," but the orders were nothing
+more nor less than a blithe "Well, Pete, what are we going to have for
+dinner to-day?" By the end of a week even this ceremony was given up,
+and before a month had passed, Billy was little more than a guest in her
+own home, so far as responsibility was concerned.
+
+Billy was not idle, however; far from it. First, there were the
+delightful hours with Bertram. Then there was her music: Billy was
+writing a new song--the best she had ever written, Billy declared.
+
+"Why, Bertram, it can't help being that," she said to her husband, one
+day. "The words just sang themselves to me right out of my heart; and
+the melody just dropped down from the sky. And now, everywhere, I'm
+hearing the most wonderful harmonies. The whole universe is singing to
+me. If only now I can put it on paper what I hear! Then I can make the
+whole universe sing to some one else!"
+
+Even music, however, had to step one side for the wedding calls which
+were beginning to be received, and which must be returned, in spite
+of the occasional rebellion of the young husband. There were the more
+intimate friends to be seen, also, and Cyril and Marie to be visited.
+And always there was the Annex.
+
+The Annex was in fine running order now, and was a source of infinite
+satisfaction to its founder and great happiness to its beneficiaries.
+Tommy Dunn was there, learning wonderful things from books and still
+more wonderful things from the piano in the living-room. Alice Greggory
+and her mother were there, too--the result of much persuasion. Indeed,
+according to Bertram, Billy had been able to fill the Annex only
+by telling each prospective resident that he or she was absolutely
+necessary to the welfare and happiness of every other resident. Not that
+the house was full, either. There were still two unoccupied rooms.
+
+"But then, I'm glad there are," Billy had declared, "for there's sure to
+be some one that I'll want to send there."
+
+"Some _one_, did you say?" Bertram had retorted, meaningly; but his wife
+had disdained to answer this.
+
+Billy herself was frequently at the Annex. She told Aunt Hannah that
+she had to come often to bring the happiness--it accumulated so fast.
+Certainly she always found plenty to do there, whenever she came. There
+was Aunt Hannah to be read to, Mrs. Greggory to be sung to, and Tommy
+Dunn to be listened to; for Tommy Dunn was always quivering with
+eagerness to play her his latest "piece."
+
+Billy knew that some day at the Annex she would meet Mr. M. J.
+Arkwright; and she told herself that she hoped she should.
+
+Billy had not seen Arkwright (except on the stage of the Boston Opera
+House) since the day he had left her presence in white-faced, stony-eyed
+misery after declaring his love for her, and learning of her engagement
+to Bertram. Since then, she knew, he had been much with his old friend,
+Alice Greggory. She did not believe, should she see him now, that he
+would be either white-faced, or stony-eyed. His heart, she was sure,
+had gone where it ought to have gone in the first place--to Alice. Such
+being, in her opinion, the case, she longed to get the embarrassment of
+a first meeting between themselves over with, for, after that, she
+was sure, their old friendship could be renewed, and she would be in a
+position to further this pretty love affair between him and Alice. Very
+decidedly, therefore, Billy wished to meet Arkwright. Very pleased,
+consequently, was she when, one day, coming into the living-room at the
+Annex, she found the man sitting by the fire.
+
+Arkwright was on his feet at once.
+
+"Miss--Mrs. H--Henshaw," he stammered
+
+"Oh, Mr. Arkwright," she cried, with just a shade of nervousness in her
+voice as she advanced, her hand outstretched. "I'm glad to see you."
+
+"Thank you. I wanted to see Miss Greggory," he murmured. Then, as
+the unconscious rudeness of his reply dawned on him, he made matters
+infinitely worse by an attempted apology. "That is, I mean--I didn't
+mean--" he began to stammer miserably.
+
+Some girls might have tossed the floundering man a straw in the shape of
+a light laugh intended to turn aside all embarrassment--but not Billy.
+Billy held out a frankly helping hand that was meant to set the man
+squarely on his feet at her side.
+
+"Mr. Arkwright, don't, please," she begged earnestly. "You and I don't
+need to beat about the bush. I _am_ glad to see you, and I hope you're
+glad to see me. We're going to be the best of friends from now on, I'm
+sure; and some day, soon, you're going to bring Alice to see me, and
+we'll have some music. I left her up-stairs. She'll be down at once,
+I dare say--I met Rosa going up with your card. Good-by," she finished
+with a bright smile, as she turned and walked rapidly from the room.
+
+Outside, on the steps, Billy drew a long breath.
+
+"There," she whispered; "that's over--and well over!" The next minute
+she frowned vexedly. She had missed her glove. "Never mind! I sha'n't go
+back in there for it now, anyway," she decided.
+
+In the living-room, five minutes later, Alice Greggory found only a
+hastily scrawled note waiting for her.
+
+
+"If you'll forgive the unforgivable," she read "you'll forgive me for
+not being here when you come down. 'Circumstances over which I have no
+control have called me away.' May we let it go at that?
+
+"M. J. ARKWRIGHT."
+
+
+As Alice Greggory's amazed, questioning eyes left the note they fell
+upon the long white glove on the floor by the door. Half mechanically
+she crossed the room and picked it up; but almost at once she dropped it
+with a low cry.
+
+"Billy! He--saw--Billy!" Then a flood of understanding dyed her face
+scarlet as she turned and fled to the blessedly unseeing walls of her
+own room.
+
+Not ten minutes later Rosa tapped at her door with a note.
+
+"It's from Mr. Arkwright, Miss. He's downstairs." Rosa's eyes were
+puzzled, and a bit startled.
+
+"Mr. Arkwright!"
+
+"Yes, Miss. He's come again. That is, I didn't know he'd went--but he
+must have, for he's come again now. He wrote something in a little book;
+then he tore it out and gave it to me. He said he'd wait, please, for an
+answer."
+
+"Oh, very well, Rosa."
+
+Miss Greggory took the note and spoke with an elaborate air of
+indifference that was meant to express a calm ignoring of the puzzled
+questioning in the other's eyes. The next moment she read this in
+Arkwright's peculiar scrawl:
+
+
+"If you've already forgiven the unforgivable, you'll do it again, I
+know, and come down-stairs. Won't you, please? I want to see you."
+
+
+Miss Greggory lifted her head with a jerk. Her face was a painful red.
+
+"Tell Mr. Arkwright I can't possibly--" She came to an abrupt pause. Her
+eyes had encountered Rosa's, and in Rosa's eyes the puzzled questioning
+was plainly fast becoming a shrewd suspicion.
+
+There was the briefest of hesitations; then, lightly, Miss Greggory
+tossed the note aside.
+
+"Tell Mr. Arkwright I'll be down at once, please," she directed
+carelessly, as she turned back into the room.
+
+But she was not down at once. She was not down until she had taken time
+to bathe her red eyes, powder her telltale nose, smoothe her ruffled
+hair, and whip herself into the calm, steady-eyed, self-controlled young
+woman that Arkwright finally rose to meet when she came into the room.
+
+"I thought it was only women who were privileged to change their mind,"
+she began brightly; but Arkwright ignored her attempt to conventionalize
+the situation.
+
+"Thank you for coming down," he said, with a weariness that instantly
+drove the forced smile from the girl's lips. "I--I wanted to--to talk to
+you."
+
+"Yes?" She seated herself and motioned him to a chair near her. He took
+the seat, and then fell silent, his eyes out the window.
+
+"I thought you said you--you wanted to talk, she reminded him nervously,
+after a minute.
+
+"I did." He turned with disconcerting abruptness. "Alice, I'm going to
+tell you a story."
+
+"I shall be glad to listen. People always like stories, don't they?"
+
+"Do they?" The somber pain in Arkwright's eyes deepened. Alice Greggory
+did not know it, but he was thinking of another story he had once told
+in that same room. Billy was his listener then, while now--A little
+precipitately he began to speak.
+
+"When I was a very small boy I went to visit my uncle, who, in his young
+days, had been quite a hunter. Before the fireplace in his library was a
+huge tiger skin with a particularly lifelike head. The first time I saw
+it I screamed, and ran and hid. I refused then even to go into the room
+again. My cousins urged, scolded, pleaded, and laughed at me by turns,
+but I was obdurate. I would not go where I could see the fearsome thing
+again, even though it was, as they said, 'nothing but a dead old rug!'
+
+"Finally, one day, my uncle took a hand in the matter. By sheer
+will-power he forced me to go with him straight up to the dreaded
+creature, and stand by its side. He laid one of my shrinking hands on
+the beast's smooth head, and thrust the other one quite into the open
+red mouth with its gleaming teeth.
+
+"'You see,' he said, 'there's absolutely nothing to fear. He can't
+possibly hurt you. Just as if you weren't bigger and finer and stronger
+in every way than that dead thing on the floor!'
+
+"Then, when he had got me to the point where of my own free will I would
+walk up and touch the thing, he drew a lesson for me.
+
+"'Now remember,' he charged me. 'Never run and hide again. Only cowards
+do that. Walk straight up and face the thing. Ten to one you'll find
+it's nothing but a dead skin masquerading as the real thing. Even if it
+isn't if it's alive--face it. Find a weapon and fight it. Know that you
+are going to conquer it and you'll conquer. Never run. Be a man. Men
+don't run, my boy!'"
+
+Arkwright paused, and drew a long breath. He did not look at the girl
+in the opposite chair. If he had looked he would have seen a face
+transfigured.
+
+"Well," he resumed, "I never forgot that tiger skin, nor what it stood
+for, after that day when Uncle Ben thrust my hand into its hideous, but
+harmless, red mouth. Even as a kid I began, then, to try--not to run.
+I've tried ever since But to-day--I did run."
+
+Arkwright's voice had been getting lower and lower. The last three words
+would have been almost inaudible to ears less sensitively alert than
+were Alice Greggory's. For a moment after the words were uttered, only
+the clock's ticking broke the silence; then, with an obvious effort, the
+man roused himself, as if breaking away from some benumbing force that
+held him.
+
+"Alice, I don't need to tell you, after what I said the other night,
+that I loved Billy Neilson. That was bad enough, for I found she was
+pledged to another man. But to-day I discovered something worse: I
+discovered that I loved Billy _Henshaw_--another man's wife. And--I ran.
+But I've come back. I'm going to face the thing. Oh, I'm not deceiving
+myself! This love of mine is no dead tiger skin. It's a beast, alive and
+alert--God pity me!--to destroy my very soul. But I'm going to fight it;
+and--I want you to help me."
+
+The girl gave a half-smothered cry. The man turned, but he could not
+see her face distinctly. Twilight had come, and the room was full of
+shadows. He hesitated, then went on, a little more quietly.
+
+"That's why I've told you all this--so you would help me. And you will,
+won't you?"
+
+There was no answer. Once again he tried to see her face, but it was
+turned now quite away from him.
+
+"You've been a big help already, little girl. Your friendship, your
+comradeship--they've been everything to me. You're not going to make me
+do without them--now?"
+
+"No--oh, no!" The answer was low and a little breathless; but he heard
+it.
+
+"Thank you. I knew you wouldn't." He paused, then rose to his feet. When
+he spoke again his voice carried a note of whimsical lightness that was
+a little forced. "But I must go--else you _will_ take them from me,
+and with good reason. And please don't let your kind heart grieve too
+much--over me. I'm no deep-dyed villain in a melodrama, nor wicked lover
+in a ten-penny novel, you know. I'm just an everyday man in real life;
+and we're going to fight this thing out in everyday living. That's where
+your help is coming in. We'll go together to see Mrs. Bertram Henshaw.
+She's asked us to, and you'll do it, I know. We'll have music and
+everyday talk. We'll see Mrs. Bertram Henshaw in her own home with her
+husband, where she belongs; and--I'm not going to run again. But--I'm
+counting on your help, you know," he smiled a little wistfully, as he
+held out his hand in good-by.
+
+One minute later Alice Greggory, alone, was hurrying up-stairs.
+
+"I can't--I can't--I know I can't," she was whispering wildly. Then,
+in her own room, she faced herself in the mirror. "Yes--you--can, Alice
+Greggory," she asserted, with swift change of voice and manner. "This
+is _your_ tiger skin, and you're going to fight it. Do you
+understand?--fight it! And you're going to win, too. Do you want that
+man to know you--_care_?"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI. "THE PAINTING LOOK"
+
+
+It was toward the last of October that Billy began to notice her
+husband's growing restlessness. Twice, when she had been playing to
+him, she turned to find him testing the suppleness of his injured arm.
+Several times, failing to receive an answer to her questions, she had
+looked up to discover him gazing abstractedly at nothing in particular.
+
+They read and walked and talked together, to be sure, and Bertram's
+devotion to her lightest wish was beyond question; but more and more
+frequently these days Billy found him hovering over his sketches in his
+studio; and once, when he failed to respond to the dinner-bell,
+search revealed him buried in a profound treatise on "The Art of
+Foreshortening."
+
+Then came the day when Billy, after an hour's vain effort to imprison
+within notes a tantalizing melody, captured the truant and rain down to
+the studio to tell Bertram of her victory.
+
+But Bertram did not seem even to hear her. True, he leaped to his feet
+and hurried to meet her, his face radiantly aglow; but she had not
+ceased to speak before he himself was talking.
+
+"Billy, Billy, I've been sketching," he cried. "My hand is almost
+steady. See, some of those lines are all right! I just picked up a
+crayon and--" He stopped abruptly, his eyes on Billy's face. A vaguely
+troubled shadow crossed his own. "Did--did you--were you saying anything
+in--in particular, when you came in?" he stammered.
+
+For a short half-minute Billy looked at her husband without speaking.
+Then, a little queerly, she laughed.
+
+"Oh, no, nothing at all in _particular_," she retorted airily. The next
+moment, with one of her unexpected changes of manner, she darted across
+the room, picked up a palette, and a handful of brushes from the
+long box near it. Advancing toward her husband she held them out
+dramatically. "And now paint, my lord, paint!" she commanded him, with
+stern insistence, as she thrust them into his hands.
+
+Bertram laughed shamefacedly.
+
+"Oh, I say, Billy," he began; but Billy had gone.
+
+Out in the hall Billy was speeding up-stairs, talking fiercely to
+herself.
+
+"We'll, Billy Neilson Henshaw, it's come! Now behave yourself. _That was
+the painting look!_ You know what that means. Remember, he belongs to
+his Art before he does to you. Kate and everybody says so. And you--you
+expected him to tend to you and your silly little songs. Do you want to
+ruin his career? As if now he could spend all his time and give all his
+thoughts to you! But I--I just hate that Art!"
+
+"What did you say, Billy?" asked William, in mild surprise, coming
+around the turn of the balustrade in the hall above. "Were you speaking
+to me, my dear?"
+
+Billy looked up. Her face cleared suddenly, and she laughed--though a
+little ruefully.
+
+"No, Uncle William, I wasn't talking to you," she sighed. "I was
+just--just administering first aid to the injured," she finished, as she
+whisked into her own room.
+
+"Well, well, bless the child! What can she mean by that?" puzzled Uncle
+William, turning to go down the stairway.
+
+Bertram began to paint a very little the next day. He painted still more
+the next, and yet more again the day following. He was like a bird let
+out of a cage, so joyously alive was he. The old sparkle came back to
+his eye, the old gay smile to his lips. Now that they had come back
+Billy realized what she had not been conscious of before: that for
+several weeks past they had not been there; and she wondered which hurt
+the more--that they had not been there before, or that they were there
+now. Then she scolded herself roundly for asking the question at all.
+
+They were not easy--those days for Billy, though always to Bertram she
+managed to show a cheerfully serene face. To Uncle William, also, and to
+Aunt Hannah she showed a smiling countenance; and because she could
+not talk to anybody else of her feelings, she talked to herself. This,
+however, was no new thing for Billy to do From earliest childhood she
+had fought things out in like manner.
+
+"But it's so absurd of you, Billy Henshaw," she berated herself one day,
+when Bertram had become so absorbed in his work that he had forgotten to
+keep his appointment with her for a walk. "Just because you have had his
+constant attention almost every hour since you were married is no reason
+why you should have it every hour now, when his arm is better! Besides,
+it's exactly what you said you wouldn't do--object--to his giving proper
+time to his work."
+
+"But I'm not objecting," stormed the other half of herself. "I'm
+_telling_ him to do it. It's only that he's so--so _pleased_ to do it.
+He doesn't seem to mind a bit being away from me. He's actually happy!"
+
+"Well, don't you want him to be happy in his work? Fie! For shame! A
+fine artist's wife you are. It seems Kate was right, then; you _are_
+going to spoil his career!"
+
+"Ho!" quoth Billy, and tossed her head. Forthwith she crossed the room
+to her piano and plumped herself down hard on to the stool. Then, from
+under her fingers there fell a rollicking melody that seemed to fill the
+room with little dancing feet. Faster and faster sped Billy's fingers;
+swifter and swifter twinkled the little dancing feet. Then a door was
+jerked open, and Bertram's voice called:
+
+"Billy!"
+
+The music stopped instantly. Billy sprang from her seat, her
+eyes eagerly seeking the direction from which had come the voice.
+Perhaps--_perhaps_ Bertram wanted her. Perhaps he was not going to paint
+any longer that morning, after all. "Billy!" called the voice again.
+"Please, do you mind stopping that playing just for a little while? I'm
+a brute, I know, dear, but my brush _will_ try to keep time with that
+crazy little tune of yours, and you know my hand is none too steady,
+anyhow, and when it tries to keep up with that jiggety, jig, jig,
+jiggety, jig, jig--! _Do_ you mind, darling, just--just sewing, or
+doing something still for a while?"
+
+All the light fled from Billy's face, but her voice, when she spoke, was
+the quintessence of cheery indifference.
+
+"Why, no, of course not, dear."
+
+"Thank you. I knew you wouldn't," sighed Bertram. Then the door shut.
+
+For a long minute Billy stood motionless before she glanced at her watch
+and sped to the telephone.
+
+"Is Miss Greggory there, Rosa?" she called when the operator's ring was
+answered.
+
+"Mis' Greggory, the lame one?"
+
+"No; _Miss_ Greggory--Miss Alice."
+
+"Oh! Yes'm."
+
+"Then won't you ask her to come to the telephone, please."
+
+There was a moment's wait, during which Billy's small, well-shod foot
+beat a nervous tattoo on the floor.
+
+"Oh, is that you, Alice?" she called then. "Are you going to be home for
+an hour or two?"
+
+"Why, y-yes; yes, indeed."
+
+"Then I'm coming over. We'll play duets, sing--anything. I want some
+music."
+
+"Do! And--Mr. Arkwright is here. He'll help."
+
+"Mr. Arkwright? You say he's there? Then I won't--Yes, I will, too."
+Billy spoke with renewed firmness. "I'll be there right away. Good-by."
+And she hung up the receiver, and went to tell Pete to order John and
+Peggy at once.
+
+"I suppose I ought to have left Alice and Mr. Arkwright alone together,"
+muttered the young wife feverishly, as she hurriedly prepared for
+departure. "But I'll make it up to them later. I'm going to give them
+lots of chances. But to-day--to-day I just had to go--somewhere!"
+
+At the Annex, with Alice Greggory and Arkwright, Billy sang duets and
+trios, and reveled in a sonorous wilderness of new music to her heart's
+content. Then, rested, refreshed, and at peace with all the world, she
+hurried home to dinner and to Bertram.
+
+"There! I feel better," she sighed, as she took off her hat in her
+own room; "and now I'll go find Bertram. Bless his heart--of course he
+didn't want me to play when he was so busy!"
+
+Billy went straight to the studio, but Bertram was not there. Neither
+was he in William's room, nor anywhere in the house. Down-stairs in
+the dining-room Pete was found looking rather white, leaning back in
+a chair. He struggled at once to his feet, however, as his mistress
+entered the room.
+
+Billy hurried forward with a startled exclamation.
+
+"Why, Pete, what is it? Are you sick?" she cried, her glance
+encompassing the half-set table.
+
+"No, ma'am; oh, no, ma'am!" The old man stumbled forward and began
+to arrange the knives and forks. "It's just a pesky pain--beggin' yer
+pardon--in my side. But I ain't sick. No, Miss--ma'am."
+
+Billy frowned and shook her head. Her eyes were on Pete's palpably
+trembling hands.
+
+"But, Pete, you are sick," she protested. "Let Eliza do that."
+
+Pete drew himself stiffly erect. The color had begun to come back to his
+face.
+
+"There hain't no one set this table much but me for more'n fifty years,
+an' I've got a sort of notion that nobody can do it just ter suit me.
+Besides, I'm better now. It's gone--that pain."
+
+"But, Pete, what is it? How long have you had it?"
+
+"I hain't had it any time, steady. It's the comin' an' goin' kind. It
+seems silly ter mind it at all; only, when it does come, it sort o'
+takes the backbone right out o' my knees, and they double up so's I
+have ter set down. There, ye see? I'm pert as a sparrer, now!" And, with
+stiff celerity, Pete resumed his task.
+
+His mistress still frowned.
+
+"That isn't right, Pete," she demurred, with a slow shake of her head.
+"You should see a doctor."
+
+The old man paled a little. He had seen a doctor, and he had not liked
+what the doctor had told him. In fact, he stubbornly refused to
+believe what the doctor had said. He straightened himself now a little
+aggressively.
+
+"Humph! Beggin' yer pardon, Miss--ma'am, but I don't think much o' them
+doctor chaps."
+
+Billy shook her head again as she smiled and turned away. Then, as if
+casually, she asked:
+
+"Oh, did Mr. Bertram go out, Pete?"
+
+"Yes, Miss; about five o'clock. He said he'd be back to dinner."
+
+"Oh! All right."
+
+From the hall the telephone jangled sharply.
+
+"I'll go," said Pete's mistress, as she turned and hurried up-stairs.
+
+It was Bertram's voice that answered her opening "Hullo."
+
+"Oh, Billy, is that you, dear? Well, you're just the one I wanted. I
+wanted to say--that is, I wanted to ask you--" The speaker cleared
+his throat a little nervously, and began all over again. "The fact is,
+Billy, I've run across a couple of old classmates on from New York, and
+they are very anxious I should stay down to dinner with them. Would you
+mind--very much if I did?"
+
+A cold hand seemed to clutch Billy's heart. She caught her breath with
+a little gasp and tried to speak; but she had to try twice before the
+words came.
+
+"Why, no--no, of course not!" Billy's voice was very high-pitched and a
+little shaky, but it was surpassingly cheerful.
+
+"You sure you won't be--lonesome?" Bertram's voice was vaguely troubled.
+
+"Of course not!"
+
+"You've only to say the word, little girl," came Bertram's anxious tones
+again, "and I won't stay."
+
+Billy swallowed convulsively. If only, only he would _stop_ and leave
+her to herself! As if she were going to own up that _she_ was lonesome
+for _him_--if _he_ was not lonesome for _her!_
+
+"Nonsense! of course you'll stay," called Billy, still in that
+high-pitched, shaky treble. Then, before Bertram could answer, she
+uttered a gay "Good-by!" and hung up the receiver.
+
+Billy had ten whole minutes in which to cry before Pete's gong sounded
+for dinner; but she had only one minute in which to try to efface the
+woefully visible effects of those ten minutes before William tapped at
+her door, and called:
+
+"Gone to sleep, my dear? Dinner's ready. Didn't you hear the gong?"
+
+"Yes, I'm coming, Uncle William." Billy spoke with breezy gayety, and
+threw open the door; but she did not meet Uncle William's eyes. Her head
+was turned away. Her hands were fussing with the hang of her skirt.
+
+"Bertram's dining out, Pete tells me," observed William, with cheerful
+nonchalance, as they went down-stairs together.
+
+Billy bit her lip and looked up sharply. She had been bracing herself to
+meet with disdainful indifference this man's pity--the pity due a poor
+neglected wife whose husband _preferred_ to dine with old classmates
+rather than with herself. Now she found in William's face, not pity, but
+a calm, even jovial, acceptance of the situation as a matter of course.
+She had known she was going to hate that pity; but now, curiously
+enough, she was conscious only of anger that the pity was not
+there--that she might hate it.
+
+She tossed her head a little. So even William--Uncle William--regarded
+this monstrous thing as an insignificant matter of everyday experience.
+Maybe he expected it to occur frequently--every night, or so. Doubtless
+he did expect it to occur every night, or so. Indeed! Very well. As if
+she were going to show _now_ that she cared whether Bertram were there
+or not! They should see.
+
+So with head held high and eyes asparkle, Billy marched into the
+dining-room and took her accustomed place.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII. THE BIG BAD QUARREL
+
+
+It was a brilliant dinner--because Billy made it so. At first William
+met her sallies of wit with mild surprise; but it was not long before
+he rose gallantly to the occasion, and gave back full measure of retort.
+Even Pete twice had to turn his back to hide a smile, and once his hand
+shook so that the tea he was carrying almost spilled. This threatened
+catastrophe, however, seemed to frighten him so much that his face was
+very grave throughout the rest of the dinner.
+
+Still laughing and talking gayly, Billy and Uncle William, after the
+meal was over, ascended to the drawing-room. There, however, the man, in
+spite of the young woman's gay badinage, fell to dozing in the big chair
+before the fire, leaving Billy with only Spunkie for company--Spunkie,
+who, disdaining every effort to entice her into a romp, only winked and
+blinked stupid eyes, and finally curled herself on the rug for a nap.
+
+Billy, left to her own devices, glanced at her watch.
+
+Half-past seven! Time, almost, for Bertram to be coming. He had said
+"dinner"; and, of course, after dinner was over he would be coming
+home--to her. Very well; she would show him that she had at least got
+along without him as well as he had without her. At all events he
+would not find her forlornly sitting with her nose pressed against the
+window-pane! And forthwith Billy established herself in a big chair
+(with its back carefully turned toward the door by which Bertram would
+enter), and opened a book.
+
+Five, ten, fifteen minutes passed. Billy fidgeted in her chair, twisted
+her neck to look out into the hall--and dropped her book with a bang.
+
+Uncle William jerked himself awake, and Spunkie opened sleepy eyes. Then
+both settled themselves for another nap. Billy sighed, picked up
+her book, and flounced back into her chair. But she did not read.
+Disconsolately she sat staring straight ahead--until a quick step on
+the sidewalk outside stirred her into instant action. Assuming a look
+of absorbed interest she twitched the book open and held it before her
+face.... But the step passed by the door: and Billy saw then that her
+book was upside down.
+
+Five, ten, fifteen more minutes passed. Billy still sat, apparently
+reading, though she had not turned a page. The book now, however, was
+right side up. One by one other minutes passed till the great clock in
+the hall struck nine long strokes.
+
+"Well, well, bless my soul!" mumbled Uncle William, resolutely forcing
+himself to wake up. "What time was that?"
+
+"Nine o'clock." Billy spoke with tragic distinctness, yet very
+cheerfully.
+
+"Eh? Only nine?" blinked Uncle William. "I thought it must be ten. Well,
+anyhow, I believe I'll go up-stairs. I seem to be unusually sleepy."
+
+Billy said nothing. "'Only nine,' indeed!" she was thinking wrathfully.
+
+At the door Uncle William turned.
+
+"You're not going to sit up, my dear, of course," he remarked.
+
+For the second time that evening a cold hand seemed to clutch Billy's
+heart.
+
+_Sit up!_ Had it come already to that? Was she even now a wife who had
+need to _sit up_ for her husband?
+
+"I really wouldn't, my dear," advised Uncle William again. "Good night."
+
+"Oh, but I'm not sleepy at all, yet," Billy managed to declare brightly.
+"Good night."
+
+Then Uncle William went up-stairs.
+
+Billy turned to her book, which happened to be one of William's on "Fake
+Antiques."
+
+"'To collect anything, these days, requires expert knowledge, and the
+utmost care and discrimination,'" read Billy's eyes. "So Uncle William
+_expected_ Bertram was going to spend the whole evening as well as stay
+to dinner!" ran Billy's thoughts. "'The enormous quantity of bijouterie,
+Dresden and Battersea enamel ware that is now flooding the market,
+is made on the Continent--and made chiefly for the American trade,'"
+continued the book.
+
+"Well, who cares if it is," snapped Billy, springing to her feet and
+tossing the volume aside. "Spunkie, come here! You've simply got to play
+with me. Do you hear? I want to be gay--_gay_--GAY! He's gay. He's down
+there with those men, where he wants to be. Where he'd _rather_ be than
+be with me! Do you think I want him to come home and find me moping over
+a stupid old book? Not much! I'm going to have him find me gay, too.
+Now, come, Spunkie; hurry--wake up! He'll be here right away, I'm sure."
+And Billy shook a pair of worsted reins, hung with little soft balls,
+full in Spunkie's face.
+
+But Spunkie would not wake up, and Spunkie would not play. She pretended
+to. She bit at the reins, and sank her sharp claws into the dangling
+balls. For a fleeting instant, even, something like mischief gleamed in
+her big yellow eyes. Then the jaws relaxed, the paws turned to velvet,
+and Spunkie's sleek gray head settled slowly back into lazy comfort.
+Spunkie was asleep.
+
+Billy gazed at the cat with reproachful eyes.
+
+"And you, too, Spunkie," she murmured. Then she got to her feet and went
+back to her chair. This time she picked up a magazine and began to turn
+the leaves very fast, one after another.
+
+Half-past nine came, then ten. Pete appeared at the door to get Spunkie,
+and to see that everything was all right for the night.
+
+"Mr. Bertram is not in yet?" he began doubtfully.
+
+Billy shook her head with a bright smile.
+
+"No, Pete. Go to bed. I expect him every minute. Good night."
+
+"Thank you, ma'am. Good night."
+
+The old man picked up the sleepy cat and went down-stairs. A little
+later Billy heard his quiet steps coming back through the hall and
+ascending the stairs. She listened until from away at the top of the
+house she heard his door close. Then she drew a long breath.
+
+Ten o'clock--after ten o'clock, and Bertram not there yet! And was this
+what he called dinner? Did one eat, then, till ten o'clock, when one
+dined with one's friends?
+
+Billy was angry now--very angry. She was too angry to be reasonable.
+This thing that her husband had done seemed monstrous to her, smarting,
+as she was, under the sting of hurt pride and grieved loneliness--the
+state of mind into which she had worked herself. No longer now did she
+wish to be gay when her husband came. No longer did she even pretend to
+assume indifference. Bertram had done wrong. He had been unkind, cruel,
+thoughtless, inconsiderate of her comfort and happiness. Furthermore he
+_did not_ love her as well as she did him or he never, never could have
+done it! She would let him see, when he came, just how hurt and grieved
+she was--and how disappointed, too.
+
+Billy was walking the floor now, back and forth, back and forth.
+
+Half-past ten came, then eleven. As the eleven long strokes reverberated
+through the silent house Billy drew in her breath and held it suspended.
+A new look came to her eyes. A growing terror crept into them and
+culminated in a frightened stare at the clock.
+
+Billy ran then to the great outer door and pulled it open. A cold wind
+stung her face, and caused her to shut the door quickly. Back and forth
+she began to pace the floor again; but in five minutes she had run to
+the door once more. This time she wore a heavy coat of Bertram's which
+she caught up as she passed the hall-rack.
+
+Out on to the broad top step Billy hurried, and peered down the street.
+As far as she could see not a person was in sight. Across the street in
+the Public Garden the wind stirred the gray tree-branches and set them
+to casting weird shadows on the bare, frozen ground. A warning something
+behind her sent Billy scurrying into the house just in time to prevent
+the heavy door's closing and shutting her out, keyless, in the cold.
+
+Half-past eleven came, and again Billy ran to the door. This time she
+put the floor-mat against the casing so that the door could not close.
+Once more she peered wildly up and down the street, and across into the
+deserted, wind-swept Garden.
+
+There was only terror now in Billy's face. The anger was all gone. In
+Billy's mind there was not a shadow of doubt--something had happened to
+Bertram.
+
+Bertram was ill--hurt--dead! And he was so good, so kind, so noble; such
+a dear, dear husband! If only she could see him once. If only she could
+ask his forgiveness for those wicked, unkind, accusing thoughts. If only
+she could tell him again that she did love him. If only--
+
+Far down the street a step rang sharply on the frosty air. A masculine
+figure was hurrying toward the house. Retreating well into the shadow
+of the doorway, Billy watched it, her heart pounding against her side
+in great suffocating throbs. Nearer and nearer strode the approaching
+figure until Billy had almost sprung to meet it with a glad cry--almost,
+but not quite; for the figure neither turned nor paused, but marched
+straight on--and Billy saw then, under the arc light, a brown-bearded
+man who was not Bertram at all.
+
+Three times during the next few minutes did the waiting little bride
+on the doorstep watch with palpitating yearning a shadowy form appear,
+approach--and pass by. At the third heart-breaking disappointment, Billy
+wrung her hands helplessly.
+
+"I don't see how there can be--so many--utterly _useless_ people in the
+world!" she choked. Then, thoroughly chilled and sick at heart, she went
+into the house and closed the door.
+
+Once again, back and forth, back and forth, Billy took up her weary
+vigil. She still wore the heavy coat. She had forgotten to take it off.
+Her face was pitifully white and drawn. Her eyes were wild. One of her
+hands was nervously caressing the rough sleeve of the coat as it hung
+from her shoulder.
+
+
+One--two--three--
+
+Billy gave a sharp cry and ran into the hall.
+
+Yes, it was twelve o'clock. And now, always, all the rest of the
+dreary, useless hours that that clock would tick away through an endless
+existence, she would have to live--without Bertram. If only she could
+see him once more! But she could not. He was dead. He must be dead, now.
+Here it was twelve o'clock, and--
+
+There came a quick step, the click of a key in the lock, then the door
+swung back and Bertram, big, strong, and merry-eyed, stood before her.
+
+"Well, well, hullo," he called jovially. "Why, Billy, what's the matter?"
+he broke off, in quite a different tone of voice.
+
+And then a curious thing happened. Billy, who, a minute before, had been
+seeing only a dear, noble, adorable, _lost_ Bertram, saw now suddenly
+only the man that had stayed _happily_ till midnight with two friends,
+while she--she--
+
+"Matter! Matter!" exclaimed Billy sharply, then. "Is this what you call
+staying to dinner, Bertram Henshaw?"
+
+Bertram stared. A slow red stole to his forehead. It was his first
+experience of coming home to meet angry eyes that questioned his
+behavior--and he did not like it. He had been, perhaps, a little
+conscience-smitten when he saw how late he had stayed; and he had
+intended to say he was sorry, of course. But to be thus sharply
+called to account for a perfectly innocent good time with a couple of
+friends--! To come home and find Billy making a ridiculous scene like
+this--! He--he would not stand for it! He--
+
+Bertram's lips snapped open. The angry retort was almost spoken when
+something in the piteously quivering chin and white, drawn face opposite
+stopped it just in time.
+
+"Why, Billy--darling!" he murmured instead.
+
+It was Billy's turn to change. All the anger melted away before the
+dismayed tenderness in those dear eyes and the grieved hurt in that dear
+voice.
+
+"Well, you--you--I--" Billy began to cry.
+
+It was all right then, of course, for the next minute she was crying on
+Bertram's big, broad shoulder; and in the midst of broken words, kisses,
+gentle pats, and inarticulate croonings, the Big, Bad Quarrel, that had
+been all ready to materialize, faded quite away into nothingness.
+
+"I didn't have such an awfully good time, anyhow," avowed Bertram, when
+speech became rational. "I'd rather have been home with you."
+
+"Nonsense!" blinked Billy, valiantly. "Of course you had a good time;
+and it was perfectly right you should have it, too! And I--I hope you'll
+have it again."
+
+"I sha'n't," emphasized Bertram, promptly, "--not and leave you!"
+
+Billy regarded him with adoring eyes.
+
+"I'll tell you; we'll have 'em come here," she proposed gayly.
+
+"Sure we will," agreed Bertram.
+
+"Yes; sure we will," echoed Billy, with a contented sigh. Then, a little
+breathlessly, she added: "Anyhow, I'll know--where you are. I won't
+think you're--dead!"
+
+"You--blessed--little-goose!" scolded Bertram, punctuating each word
+with a kiss.
+
+Billy drew a long sigh.
+
+"If this is a quarrel I'm going to have them often," she announced
+placidly.
+
+"Billy!" The young husband was plainly aghast.
+
+"Well, I am--because I like the making-up," dimpled Billy, with a
+mischievous twinkle as she broke from his clasp and skipped ahead up the
+stairway.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII. BILLY CULTIVATES A "COMFORTABLE INDIFFERENCE"
+
+
+The next morning, under the uncompromising challenge of a bright sun,
+Billy began to be uneasily suspicious that she had been just a bit
+unreasonable and exacting the night before. To make matters worse she
+chanced to run across a newspaper criticism of a new book bearing the
+ominous title: "When the Honeymoon Wanes A Talk to Young Wives."
+
+Such a title, of course, attracted her supersensitive attention at once;
+and, with a curiously faint feeling, she picked up the paper and began
+to read.
+
+As the most of the criticism was taken up with quotations from the book,
+it was such sentences as these that met her startled eyes:
+
+"Perhaps the first test comes when the young wife awakes to the
+realization that while her husband loves her very much, he can still
+make plans with his old friends which do not include herself.... Then is
+when the foolish wife lets her husband see how hurt she is that he can
+want to be with any one but herself.... Then is when the husband--used
+all his life to independence, perhaps--begins to chafe under these new
+bonds that hold him so fast.... No man likes to be held up at the end of
+a threatened scene and made to give an account of himself.... Before
+a woman has learned to cultivate a comfortable indifference to her
+husband's comings and goings, she is apt to be tyrannical and exacting."
+
+"'Comfortable indifference,' indeed!" stormed Billy to herself. "As if I
+ever could be comfortably indifferent to anything Bertram did!"
+
+She dropped the paper; but there were still other quotations from the
+book there, she knew; and in a moment she was back at the table reading
+them.
+
+"No man, however fondly he loves his wife, likes to feel that she is
+everlastingly peering into the recesses of his mind, and weighing his
+every act to find out if he does or does not love her to-day as well as
+he did yesterday at this time.... Then, when spontaneity is dead, she
+is the chief mourner at its funeral.... A few couples never leave the
+Garden of Eden. They grow old hand in hand. They are the ones who bear
+and forbear; who have learned to adjust themselves to the intimate
+relationship of living together.... A certain amount of liberty, both of
+action and thought, must be allowed on each side.... The family shut in
+upon itself grows so narrow that all interest in the outside world
+is lost.... No two people are ever fitted to fill each other's lives
+entirely. They ought not to try to do it. If they do try, the process is
+belittling to each, and the result, if it is successful, is nothing less
+than a tragedy; for it could not mean the highest ideals, nor the truest
+devotion.... Brushing up against other interests and other personalities
+is good for both husband and wife. Then to each other they bring the
+best of what they have found, and each to the other continues to be new
+and interesting.... The young wife, however, is apt to be jealous of
+everything that turns her husband's attention for one moment away from
+herself. She is jealous of his thoughts, his words, his friends, even
+his business.... But the wife who has learned to be the clinging vine
+when her husband wishes her to cling, and to be the sturdy oak when
+clinging vines would be tiresome, has solved a tremendous problem."
+
+At this point Billy dropped the paper. She flung it down, indeed, a bit
+angrily. There were still a few more words in the criticism, mostly the
+critic's own opinion of the book; but Billy did not care for this. She
+had read quite enough--boo much, in fact. All that sort of talk might
+be very well, even necessary, perhaps (she told herself), for ordinary
+husbands and wives! but for her and Bertram--
+
+Then vividly before her rose those initial quoted words:
+
+"Perhaps the first test comes when the young wife awakes to the
+realization that while her husband loves her very much, he can still
+make plans with his old friends which do not include herself."
+
+Billy frowned, and put her finger to her lips. Was that then, last
+night, a "test"? Had she been "tyrannical and exacting"? Was she
+"everlastingly peering into the recesses" of Bertram's mind and
+"weighing his every act"? Was Bertram already beginning to "chafe" under
+these new bonds that held him?
+
+No, no, never that! She could not believe that. But what if he should
+sometime begin to chafe? What if they two should, in days to come,
+degenerate into just the ordinary, everyday married folk, whom she saw
+about her everywhere, and for whom just such horrid books as this must
+be written? It was unbelievable, unthinkable. And yet, that man had
+said--
+
+With a despairing sigh Billy picked up the paper once more and read
+carefully every word again. When she had finished she stood soberly
+thoughtful, her eyes out of the window.
+
+After all, it was nothing but the same old story. She was exacting.
+She did want her husband's every thought. She _gloried_ in peering into
+every last recess of his mind if she had half a chance. She was jealous
+of his work. She had almost hated his painting--at times. She had held
+him up with a threatened scene only the night before and demanded that
+he should give an account of himself. She had, very likely, been the
+clinging vine when she should have been the sturdy oak.
+
+Very well, then. (Billy lifted her head and threw back her shoulders.)
+He should have no further cause for complaint. She would be an oak. She
+would cultivate that comfortable indifference to his comings and goings.
+She would brush up against other interests and personalities so as to
+be "new" and "interesting" to her husband. She would not be tyrannical,
+exacting, or jealous. She would not threaten scenes, nor peer into
+recesses. Whatever happened, she would not let Bertram begin to chafe
+against those bonds!
+
+Having arrived at this heroic and (to her) eminently satisfactory state
+of mind, Billy turned from the window and fell to work on a piece of
+manuscript music.
+
+"'Brush up against other interests,'" she admonished herself sternly, as
+she reached for her pen.
+
+Theoretically it was beautiful; but practically--
+
+Billy began at once to be that oak. Not an hour after she had first seen
+the fateful notice of "When the Honeymoon Wanes," Bertram's ring sounded
+at the door down-stairs.
+
+Bertram always let himself in with his latchkey; but, from the first
+of Billy's being there, he had given a peculiar ring at the bell which
+would bring his wife flying to welcome him if she were anywhere in the
+house. To-day, when the bell sounded, Billy sprang as usual to her feet,
+with a joyous "There's Bertram!" But the next moment she fell back.
+
+"Tut, tut, Billy Neilson Henshaw! Learn to cultivate a comfortable
+indifference to your husband's comings and goings," she whispered
+fiercely. Then she sat down and fell to work again.
+
+A moment later she heard her husband's voice talking to some one--Pete,
+she surmised. "Here? You say she's here?" Then she heard Bertram's quick
+step on the stairs. The next minute, very quietly, he came to her door.
+
+"Ho!" he ejaculated gayly, as she rose to receive his kiss. "I thought
+I'd find you asleep, when you didn't hear my ring."
+
+Billy reddened a little.
+
+"Oh, no, I wasn't asleep."
+
+"But you didn't hear--" Bertram stopped abruptly, an odd look in his
+eyes. "Maybe you did hear it, though," he corrected.
+
+Billy colored more confusedly. The fact that she looked so distressed
+did not tend to clear Bertram's face.
+
+"Why, of course, Billy, I didn't mean to insist on your coming to meet
+me," he began a little stiffly; but Billy interrupted him.
+
+"Why, Bertram, I just love to go to meet you," she maintained
+indignantly. Then, remembering just in time, she amended: "That is,
+I did love to meet you, until--" With a sudden realization that she
+certainly had not helped matters any, she came to an embarrassed pause.
+
+A puzzled frown showed on Bertram's face.
+
+"You did love to meet me until--" he repeated after her; then his face
+changed. "Billy, you aren't--you _can't_ be laying up last night against
+me!" he reproached her a little irritably.
+
+"Last night? Why, of course not," retorted Billy, in a panic at the
+bare mention of the "test" which--according to "When the Honeymoon
+Wanes"--was at the root of all her misery. Already she thought she
+detected in Bertram's voice signs that he was beginning to chafe against
+those "bonds." "It is a matter of--of the utmost indifference to me what
+time you come home at night, my dear," she finished airily, as she sat
+down to her work again.
+
+Bertram stared; then he frowned, turned on his heel and left the room.
+Bertram, who knew nothing of the "Talk to Young Wives" in the newspaper
+at Billy's feet, was surprised, puzzled, and just a bit angry.
+
+Billy, left alone, jabbed her pen with such force against her paper that
+the note she was making became an unsightly blot.
+
+"Well, if this is what that man calls being 'comfortably indifferent,'
+I'd hate to try the _un_comfortable kind," she muttered with emphasis.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX. THE DINNER BILLY TRIED TO GET
+
+
+Notwithstanding what Billy was disposed to regard as the non-success
+of her first attempt to profit by the "Talk to Young Wives;" she still
+frantically tried to avert the waning of her honeymoon. Assiduously she
+cultivated the prescribed "indifference," and with at least apparent
+enthusiasm she sought the much-to-be-desired "outside interests." That
+is, she did all this when she thought of it when something reminded her
+of the sword of destruction hanging over her happiness. At other times,
+when she was just being happy without question, she was her old self
+impulsive, affectionate, and altogether adorable.
+
+Naturally, under these circumstances, her conduct was somewhat erratic.
+For three days, perhaps, she would fly to the door at her husband's
+ring, and hang upon his every movement. Then, for the next three,
+she would be a veritable will-o'-the-wisp for elusiveness, caring,
+apparently, not one whit whether her husband came or went until poor
+Bertram, at his wit's end, scourged himself with a merciless catechism
+as to what he had done to vex her. Then, perhaps, just when he had
+nerved himself almost to the point of asking her what was the trouble,
+there would come another change, bringing back to him the old Billy,
+joyous, winsome, and devoted, plainly caring nothing for anybody or
+anything but himself. Scarcely, however, would he become sure that it
+was his Billy back again before she was off once more, quite beyond his
+reach, singing with Arkwright and Alice Greggory, playing with Tommy
+Dunn, plunging into some club or church work--anything but being with
+him.
+
+That all this was puzzling and disquieting to Bertram, Billy not once
+suspected. Billy, so far as she was concerned, was but cultivating a
+comfortable indifference, brushing up against outside interests, and
+being an oak.
+
+December passed, and January came, bringing Miss Marguerite Winthrop to
+her Boston home. Bertram's arm was "as good as ever" now, according to
+its owner; and the sittings for the new portrait began at once. This
+left Billy even more to her own devices, for Bertram entered into his
+new work with an enthusiasm born of a glad relief from forced idleness,
+and a consuming eagerness to prove that even though he had failed the
+first time, he could paint a portrait of Marguerite Winthrop that would
+be a credit to himself, a conclusive retort to his critics, and a source
+of pride to his once mortified friends. With his whole heart, therefore,
+he threw himself into the work before him, staying sometimes well into
+the afternoon on the days Miss Winthrop could find time between her
+social engagements to give him a sitting.
+
+It was on such a day, toward the middle of the month, that Billy was
+called to the telephone at half-past twelve o'clock to speak to her
+husband.
+
+"Billy, dear," began Bertram at once, "if you don't mind I'm staying
+to luncheon at Miss Winthrop's kind request. We've changed the
+pose--neither of us was satisfied, you know--but we haven't quite
+settled on the new one. Miss Winthrop has two whole hours this
+afternoon that she can give me if I'll stay; and, of course, under the
+circumstances, I want to do it."
+
+"Of course," echoed Billy. Billy's voice was indomitably cheerful.
+
+"Thank you, dear. I knew you'd understand," sighed Bertram, contentedly.
+"You see, really, two whole hours, so--it's a chance I can't afford to
+lose."
+
+"Of course you can't," echoed Billy, again.
+
+"All right then. Good-by till to-night," called the man.
+
+"Good-by," answered Billy, still cheerfully. As she turned away,
+however, she tossed her head. "A new pose, indeed!" she muttered, with
+some asperity. "Just as if there could be a _new_ pose after all those
+she tried last year!"
+
+Immediately after luncheon Pete and Eliza started for South Boston to
+pay a visit to Eliza's mother, and it was soon after they left the house
+that Bertram called his wife up again.
+
+"Say, dearie, I forgot to tell you," he began, "but I met an old friend
+in the subway this morning, and I--well, I remembered what you said
+about bringing 'em home to dinner next time, so I asked him for
+to-night. Do you mind? It's--"
+
+"Mind? Of course not! I'm glad you did," plunged in Billy, with feverish
+eagerness. (Even now, just the bare mention of anything connected with
+that awful "test" night was enough to set Billy's nerves to tingling.)
+"I want you to always bring them home, Bertram."
+
+"All right, dear. We'll be there at six o'clock then. It's--it's
+Calderwell, this time. You remember Calderwell, of course."
+
+"Not--_Hugh_ Calderwell?" Billy's question was a little faint.
+
+"Sure!" Bertram laughed oddly, and lowered his voice. "I suspect
+_once_ I wouldn't have brought him home to you. I was too jealous. But
+now--well, now maybe I want him to see what he's lost."
+
+"_Bertram!_"
+
+But Bertram only laughed mischievously, and called a gay "Good-by till
+to-night, then!"
+
+Billy, at her end of the wires, hung up the receiver and backed against
+the wall a little palpitatingly.
+
+Calderwell! To dinner--Calderwell! Did she remember Calderwell? Did she,
+indeed! As if one could easily forget the man that, for a year or two,
+had proposed marriage as regularly (and almost as lightly!) as he had
+torn a monthly leaf from his calendar! Besides, was it not he, too, who
+had said that Bertram would never love any girl, _really_; that it would
+be only the tilt of her chin or the turn of her head that he loved--to
+paint? And now he was coming to dinner--and with Bertram.
+
+Very well, he should see! He should see that Bertram _did_ love her;
+_her_--not the tilt of her chin nor the turn of her head. He should
+see how happy they were, what a good wife she made, and how devoted and
+_satisfied_ Bertram was in his home. He should see! And forthwith Billy
+picked up her skirts and tripped up-stairs to select her very prettiest
+house-gown to do honor to the occasion. Up-stairs, however, one thing
+and another delayed her, so that it was four o'clock when she turned her
+attention to her toilet; and it was while she was hesitating whether to
+be stately and impressive in royally sumptuous blue velvet and ermine,
+or cozy and tantalizingly homy{sic} in bronze-gold cr�pe de Chine and
+swan's-down, that the telephone bell rang again.
+
+Eliza and Pete had not yet returned; so, as before, Billy answered it.
+This time Eliza's shaking voice came to her.
+
+"Is that you, ma'am?"
+
+"Why, yes, Eliza?"
+
+"Yes'm, it's me, ma'am. It's about Uncle Pete. He's give us a turn
+that's 'most scared us out of our wits."
+
+"Pete! You mean he's sick?"
+
+"Yes, ma'am, he was. That is, he is, too--only he's better, now, thank
+goodness," panted Eliza. "But he ain't hisself yet. He's that white and
+shaky! Would you--could you--that is, would you mind if we didn't come
+back till into the evenin', maybe?"
+
+"Why, of course not," cried Pete's mistress, quickly. "Don't come a
+minute before he's able, Eliza. Don't come until to-morrow."
+
+Eliza gave a trembling little laugh.
+
+"Thank you, ma'am; but there wouldn't be no keepin' of Uncle Pete here
+till then. If he could take five steps alone he'd start now. But he
+can't. He says he'll be all right pretty quick, though. He's had 'em
+before--these spells--but never quite so bad as this, I guess; an' he's
+worryin' somethin' turrible 'cause he can't start for home right away."
+
+"Nonsense!" cut in Mrs. Bertram Henshaw.
+
+"Yes'm. I knew you'd feel that way," stammered Eliza, gratefully. "You
+see, I couldn't leave him to come alone, and besides, anyhow, I'd have
+to stay, for mother ain't no more use than a wet dish-rag at such times,
+she's that scared herself. And she ain't very well, too. So if--if you
+_could_ get along--"
+
+"Of course we can! And tell Pete not to worry one bit. I'm so sorry he's
+sick!"
+
+"Thank you, ma'am. Then we'll be there some time this evenin'," sighed
+Eliza.
+
+From the telephone Billy turned away with a troubled face.
+
+"Pete _is_ ill," she was saying to herself. "I don't like the looks of
+it; and he's so faithful he'd come if--" With a little cry Billy
+stopped short. Then, tremblingly, she sank into the nearest chair.
+"Calderwell--and he's coming to _dinner!_" she moaned.
+
+For two benumbed minutes Billy sat staring at nothing. Then she ran to
+the telephone and called the Annex.
+
+Aunt Hannah answered.
+
+"Aunt Hannah, for heaven's sake, if you love me," pleaded Billy, "send
+Rosa down instanter! Pete is sick over to South Boston, and Eliza is
+with him; and Bertram is bringing Hugh Calderwell home to dinner. _Can_
+you spare Rosa?"
+
+"Oh, my grief and conscience, Billy! Of course I can--I mean I
+could--but Rosa isn't here, dear child! It's her day out, you know."
+
+"O dear, of course it is! I might have known, if I'd thought; but Pete
+and Eliza have spoiled me. They never take days out at meal time--both
+together, I mean--until to-night."
+
+"But, my dear child, what will you do?"
+
+"I don't know. I've got to think. I _must_ do something!"
+
+"Of course you must! I'd come over myself if it wasn't for my cold."
+
+"As if I'd let you!"
+
+"There isn't anybody here, only Tommy. Even Alice is gone. Oh, Billy,
+Billy, this only goes to prove what I've always said, that _no_ woman
+_ought_ to be a wife until she's an efficient housekeeper; and--"
+
+"Yes, yes, Aunt Hannah, I know," moaned Billy, frenziedly. "But I am a
+wife, and I'm not an efficient housekeeper; and Hugh Calderwell won't
+wait for me to learn. He's coming to-night. _To-night!_ And I've got to
+do something. Never mind. I'll fix it some way. Good-by!"
+
+"But, Billy, Billy! Oh, my grief and conscience," fluttered Aunt
+Hannah's voice across the wires as Billy snapped the receiver into
+place.
+
+For the second time that day Billy backed palpitatingly against the
+wall. Her eyes sought the clock fearfully.
+
+Fifteen minutes past four. She had an hour and three quarters. She
+could, of course, telephone Bertram to dine Calderwell at a club or some
+hotel. But to do this now, the very first time, when it had been her
+own suggestion that he "bring them home"--no, no, she could not do that!
+Anything but that! Besides, very likely she could not reach Bertram,
+anyway. Doubtless he had left the Winthrops' by this time.
+
+There was Marie. She could telephone Marie. But Marie could not very
+well come just now, she knew; and then, too, there was Cyril to be taken
+into consideration. How Cyril would gibe at the wife who had to call in
+all the neighbors just because her husband was bringing home a friend to
+dinner! How he would--Well, he shouldn't! He should not have the chance.
+So, there!
+
+With a jerk Mrs. Bertram Henshaw pulled herself away from the wall and
+stood erect. Her eyes snapped, and the very poise of her chin spelled
+determination.
+
+Very well, she would show them. Was not Bertram bringing this man home
+because he was proud of her? Mighty proud he would be if she had to call
+in half of Boston to get his dinner for him! Nonsense! She would get
+it herself. Was not this the time, if ever, to be an oak? A vine,
+doubtless, would lean and cling and telephone, and whine "I can't!" But
+not an oak. An oak would hold up its head and say "I can!" An oak would
+go ahead and get that dinner. She would be an oak. She would get that
+dinner.
+
+What if she didn't know how to cook bread and cake and pies and
+things? One did not have to cook bread and cake and pies just to get
+a dinner--meat and potatoes and vegetables! Besides, she _could_ make
+peach fritters. She knew she could. She would show them!
+
+And with actually a bit of song on her lips, Billy skipped up-stairs
+for her ruffled apron and dust-cap--two necessary accompaniments to this
+dinner-getting, in her opinion.
+
+Billy found the apron and dust-cap with no difficulty; but it took fully
+ten of her precious minutes to unearth from its obscure hiding-place the
+blue-and-gold "Bride's Helper" cookbook, one of Aunt Hannah's wedding
+gifts.
+
+On the way to the kitchen, Billy planned her dinner. As was natural,
+perhaps, she chose the things she herself would like to eat.
+
+"I won't attempt anything very elaborate," she said to herself. "It
+would be wiser to have something simple, like chicken pie, perhaps. I
+love chicken pie! And I'll have oyster stew first--that is, after the
+grapefruit. Just oysters boiled in milk must be easier than soup to
+make. I'll begin with grapefruit with a cherry in it, like Pete fixes
+it. Those don't have to be cooked, anyhow. I'll have fish--Bertram loves
+the fish course. Let me see, halibut, I guess, with egg sauce. I won't
+have any roast; nothing but the chicken pie. And I'll have squash and
+onions. I can have a salad, easy--just lettuce and stuff. That doesn't
+have to be cooked. Oh, and the peach fritters, if I get time to make
+them. For dessert--well, maybe I can find a new pie or pudding in the
+cookbook. I want to use that cookbook for something, after hunting all
+this time for it!"
+
+In the kitchen Billy found exquisite neatness, and silence. The first
+brought an approving light to her eyes; but the second, for some
+unapparent reason, filled her heart with vague misgiving. This feeling,
+however, Billy resolutely cast from her as she crossed the room, dropped
+her book on to the table, and turned toward the shining black stove.
+
+There was an excellent fire. Glowing points of light showed that only
+a good draft was needed to make the whole mass of coal red-hot. Billy,
+however, did not know this. Her experience of fires was confined to
+burning wood in open grates--and wood in open grates had to be poked to
+make it red and glowing. With confident alacrity now, therefore, Billy
+caught up the poker, thrust it into the mass of coals and gave them a
+fine stirring up. Then she set back the lid of the stove and went to
+hunt up the ingredients for her dinner.
+
+By the time Billy had searched five minutes and found no chicken, no
+oysters, and no halibut, it occurred to her that her larder was not,
+after all, an open market, and that one's provisions must be especially
+ordered to fit one's needs. As to ordering them now--Billy glanced at
+the clock and shook her head.
+
+"It's almost five, already, and they'd never get here in time," she
+sighed regretfully. "I'll have to have something else."
+
+Billy looked now, not for what she wanted, but for what she could find.
+And she found: some cold roast lamb, at which she turned up her nose; an
+uncooked beefsteak, which she appropriated doubtfully; a raw turnip and
+a head of lettuce, which she hailed with glee; and some beets, potatoes,
+onions, and grapefruit, from all of which she took a generous supply.
+Thus laden she went back to the kitchen.
+
+Spread upon the table they made a brave show.
+
+"Oh, well, I'll have quite a dinner, after all," she triumphed, cocking
+her head happily. "And now for the dessert," she finished, pouncing on
+the cookbook.
+
+It was while she was turning the leaves to find the pies and puddings
+that she ran across the vegetables and found the word "beets" staring
+her in the face. Mechanically she read the line below.
+
+"Winter beets will require three hours to cook. Use hot water."
+
+Billy's startled eyes sought the clock.
+
+Three hours--and it was five, now!
+
+Frenziedly, then, she ran her finger down the page.
+
+"Onions, one and one-half hours. Use hot water. Turnips require a long
+time, but if cut thin they will cook in an hour and a quarter."
+
+"An hour and a quarter, indeed!" she moaned.
+
+"Isn't there anything anywhere that doesn't take forever to cook?"
+
+"Early peas--... green corn--... summer squash--..." mumbled Billy's dry
+lips. "But what do folks eat in January--_January_?"
+
+It was the apparently inoffensive sentence, "New potatoes will boil in
+thirty minutes," that brought fresh terror to Billy's soul, and set her
+to fluttering the cookbook leaves with renewed haste. If it took _new_
+potatoes thirty minutes to cook, how long did it take old ones? In vain
+she searched for the answer. There were plenty of potatoes. They were
+mashed, whipped, scalloped, creamed, fried, and broiled; they were made
+into puffs, croquettes, potato border, and potato snow. For many of
+these they were boiled first--"until tender," one rule said.
+
+"But that doesn't tell me how long it takes to get 'em tender," fumed
+Billy, despairingly. "I suppose they think anybody ought to know
+that--but I don't!" Suddenly her eyes fell once more on the instructions
+for boiling turnips, and her face cleared. "If it helps to cut turnips
+thin, why not potatoes?" she cried. "I _can_ do that, anyhow; and I
+will," she finished, with a sigh of relief, as she caught up half a
+dozen potatoes and hurried into the pantry for a knife. A few minutes
+later, the potatoes, peeled, and cut almost to wafer thinness, were
+dumped into a basin of cold water.
+
+"There! now I guess you'll cook," nodded Billy to the dish in her hand
+as she hurried to the stove.
+
+Chilled by an ominous unresponsiveness, Billy lifted the stove lid and
+peered inside. Only a mass of black and graying coals greeted her. The
+fire was out.
+
+"To think that even you had to go back on me like this!" upbraided
+Billy, eyeing the dismal mass with reproachful gaze.
+
+This disaster, however, as Billy knew, was not so great as it seemed,
+for there was still the gas stove. In the old days, under Dong Ling's
+rule, there had been no gas stove. Dong Ling disapproved of "devil
+stoves" that had "no coalee, no woodee, but burned like hellee." Eliza,
+however, did approve of them; and not long after her arrival, a fine one
+had been put in for her use. So now Billy soon had her potatoes with a
+brisk blaze under them.
+
+In frantic earnest, then, Billy went to work. Brushing the discarded
+onions, turnip, and beets into a pail under the table, she was still
+confronted with the beefsteak, lettuce, and grapefruit. All but the
+beefsteak she pushed to one side with gentle pats.
+
+"You're all right," she nodded to them. "I can use you. You don't have
+to be cooked, bless your hearts! But _you_--!" Billy scowled at
+the beefsteak and ran her finger down the index of the "Bride's
+Helper"--Billy knew how to handle that book now.
+
+"No, you don't--not for me!" she muttered, after a minute, shaking her
+finger at the tenderloin on the table. "I haven't got any 'hot coals,'
+and I thought a 'gridiron' was where they played football; though it
+seems it's some sort of a dish to cook you in, here--but I shouldn't
+know it from a teaspoon, probably, if I should see it. No, sir! It's
+back to the refrigerator for you, and a nice cold sensible roast leg of
+lamb for me, that doesn't have to be cooked. Understand? _Cooked_," she
+finished, as she carried the beefsteak away and took possession of the
+hitherto despised cold lamb.
+
+Once more Billy made a mad search through cupboards and shelves. This
+time she bore back in triumph a can of corn, another of tomatoes, and
+a glass jar of preserved peaches. In the kitchen a cheery bubbling from
+the potatoes on the stove greeted her. Billy's spirits rose with the
+steam.
+
+"There, Spunkie," she said gayly to the cat, who had just uncurled from
+a nap behind the stove. "Tell me I can't get up a dinner! And maybe
+we'll have the peach fritters, too," she chirped. "I've got the
+peach-part, anyway."
+
+But Billy did not have the peach fritters, after all. She got out the
+sugar and the flour, to be sure, and she made a great ado looking up the
+rule; but a hurried glance at the clock sent her into the dining-room to
+set the table, and all thought of the peach fritters was given up.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X. THE DINNER BILLY GOT
+
+
+At five minutes of six Bertram and Calderwell came. Bertram gave his
+peculiar ring and let himself in with his latchkey; but Billy did not
+meet him in the hall, nor in the drawing-room. Excusing himself, Bertram
+hurried up-stairs. Billy was not in her room, nor anywhere on that
+floor. She was not in William's room. Coming down-stairs to the hall
+again, Bertram confronted William, who had just come in.
+
+"Where's Billy?" demanded the young husband, with just a touch of
+irritation, as if he suspected William of having Billy in his pocket.
+
+William stared slightly.
+
+"Why, I don't know. Isn't she here?"
+
+"I'll ask Pete," frowned Bertram.
+
+In the dining-room Bertram found no one, though the table was prettily
+set, and showed half a grapefruit at each place. In the kitchen--in the
+kitchen Bertram found a din of rattling tin, an odor of burned food--, a
+confusion of scattered pots and pans, a frightened cat who peered at him
+from under a littered stove, and a flushed, disheveled young woman in a
+blue dust-cap and ruffled apron, whom he finally recognized as his wife.
+
+"Why, Billy!" he gasped.
+
+Billy, who was struggling with something at the sink, turned sharply.
+
+"Bertram Henshaw," she panted, "I used to think you were wonderful
+because you could paint a picture. I even used to think I was a little
+wonderful because I could write a song. Well, I don't any more! But I'll
+tell you who _is_ wonderful. It's Eliza and Rosa, and all the rest of
+those women who can get a meal on to the table all at once, so it's fit
+to eat!"
+
+"Why, Billy!" gasped Bertram again, falling back to the door he had
+closed behind him. "What in the world does this mean?"
+
+"Mean? It means I'm getting dinner," choked Billy. "Can't you see?"
+
+"But--Pete! Eliza!"
+
+"They're sick--I mean he's sick; and I said I'd do it. I'd be an oak.
+But how did I know there wasn't anything in the house except stuff that
+took hours to cook--only potatoes? And how did I know that _they_ cooked
+in no time, and then got all smushy and wet staying in the water? And
+how did I know that everything else would stick on and burn on till
+you'd used every dish there was in the house to cook 'em in?"
+
+"Why, Billy!" gasped Bertram, for the third time. And then, because
+he had been married only six months instead of six years, he made the
+mistake of trying to argue with a woman whose nerves were already at the
+snapping point. "But, dear, it was so foolish of you to do all this! Why
+didn't you telephone? Why didn't you get somebody?"
+
+Like an irate little tigress, Billy turned at bay.
+
+"Bertram Henshaw," she flamed angrily, "if you don't go up-stairs and
+tend to that man up there, I shall _scream_. Now go! I'll be up when I
+can."
+
+And Bertram went.
+
+It was not so very long, after all, before Billy came in to greet her
+guest. She was not stately and imposing in royally sumptuous blue velvet
+and ermine; nor yet was she cozy and homy in bronze-gold cr�pe de
+Chine and swan's-down. She was just herself in a pretty little morning
+house gown of blue gingham. She was minus the dust-cap and the ruffled
+apron, but she had a dab of flour on the left cheek, and a smutch of
+crock on her forehead. She had, too, a cut finger on her right hand,
+and a burned thumb on her left. But she was Billy--and being Billy,
+she advanced with a bright smile and held out a cordial hand--not even
+wincing when the cut finger came under Calderwell's hearty clasp.
+
+"I'm glad to see you," she welcomed him. "You'll excuse my not appearing
+sooner, I'm sure, for--didn't Bertram tell you?--I'm playing Bridget
+to-night. But dinner is ready now, and we'll go down, please," she
+smiled, as she laid a light hand on her guest's arm.
+
+Behind her, Bertram, remembering the scene in the kitchen, stared in
+sheer amazement. Bertram, it might be mentioned again, had been married
+six months, not six years.
+
+What Billy had intended to serve for a "simple dinner" that night was:
+grapefruit with cherries, oyster stew, boiled halibut with egg sauce,
+chicken pie, squash, onions, and potatoes, peach fritters, a "lettuce
+and stuff" salad, and some new pie or pudding. What she did serve was:
+grapefruit (without the cherries), cold roast lamb, potatoes (a mush of
+sogginess), tomatoes (canned, and slightly burned), corn (canned, and
+very much burned), lettuce (plain); and for dessert, preserved peaches
+and cake (the latter rather dry and stale). Such was Billy's dinner.
+
+The grapefruit everybody ate. The cold lamb too, met with a hearty
+reception, especially after the potatoes, corn, and tomatoes were
+served--and tasted. Outwardly, through it all, Billy was gayety itself.
+Inwardly she was burning up with anger and mortification. And because
+she was all this, there was, apparently, no limit to her laughter and
+sparkling repartee as she talked with Calderwell, her guest--the guest
+who, according to her original plans, was to be shown how happy she and
+Bertram were, what a good wife she made, and how devoted and _satisfied_
+Bertram was in his home.
+
+William, picking at his dinner--as only a hungry man can pick at a
+dinner that is uneatable--watched Billy with a puzzled, uneasy frown.
+Bertram, choking over the few mouthfuls he ate, marked his wife's
+animated face and Calderwell's absorbed attention, and settled into
+gloomy silence.
+
+But it could not continue forever. The preserved peaches were eaten at
+last, and the stale cake left. (Billy had forgotten the coffee--which
+was just as well, perhaps.) Then the four trailed up-stairs to the
+drawing-room.
+
+At nine o'clock an anxious Eliza and a remorseful, apologetic Pete
+came home and descended to the horror the once orderly kitchen
+and dining-room had become. At ten, Calderwell, with very evident
+reluctance, tore himself away from Billy's gay badinage, and said good
+night. At two minutes past ten, an exhausted, nerve-racked Billy was
+trying to cry on the shoulders of both Uncle William and Bertram at
+once.
+
+"There, there, child, don't! It went off all right," patted Uncle
+William.
+
+"Billy, darling," pleaded Bertram, "please don't cry so! As if I'd ever
+let you step foot in that kitchen again!"
+
+At this Billy raised a tear-wet face, aflame with indignant
+determination.
+
+"As if I'd ever let you keep me _from_ it, Bertram Henshaw, after this!"
+she contested. "I'm not going to do another thing in all my life but
+_cook!_ When I think of the stuff we had to eat, after all the time I
+took to get it, I'm simply crazy! Do you think I'd run the risk of such
+a thing as this ever happening again?"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI. CALDERWELL DOES SOME QUESTIONING
+
+
+On the day after his dinner with Mr. and Mrs. Bertram Henshaw, Hugh
+Calderwell left Boston and did not return until more than a month had
+passed. One of his first acts, when he did come, was to look up Mr. M.
+J. Arkwright at the address which Billy had given him.
+
+Calderwell had not seen Arkwright since they parted in Paris some
+two years before, after a six-months tramp through Europe together.
+Calderwell liked Arkwright then, greatly, and he lost no time now in
+renewing the acquaintance.
+
+The address, as given by Billy, proved to be an attractive but modest
+apartment hotel near the Conservatory of Music; and Calderwell was
+delighted to find Arkwright at home in his comfortable little bachelor
+suite.
+
+Arkwright greeted him most cordially.
+
+"Well, well," he cried, "if it isn't Calderwell! And how's Mont Blanc?
+Or is it the Killarney Lakes this time, or maybe the Sphinx that I
+should inquire for, eh?"
+
+"Guess again," laughed Calderwell, throwing off his heavy coat and
+settling himself comfortably in the inviting-looking morris chair his
+friend pulled forward.
+
+"Sha'n't do it," retorted Arkwright, with a smile. "I never gamble on
+palpable uncertainties, except for a chance throw or two, as I gave
+a minute ago. Your movements are altogether too erratic, and too
+far-reaching, for ordinary mortals to keep track of."
+
+"Well, maybe you're right," grinned Calderwell, appreciatively. "Anyhow,
+you would have lost this time, sure thing, for I've been working."
+
+"Seen the doctor yet?" queried Arkwright, coolly, pushing the cigars
+across the table.
+
+"Thanks--for both," sniffed Calderwell, with a reproachful glance,
+helping himself. "Your good judgment in some matters is still
+unimpaired, I see," he observed, tapping the little gilded band which
+had told him the cigar was an old favorite. "As to other matters,
+however,--you're wrong again, my friend, in your surmise. I am not sick,
+and I have been working."
+
+"So? Well, I'm told they have very good specialists here. Some one
+of them ought to hit your case. Still--how long has it been running?"
+Arkwright's face showed only grave concern.
+
+"Oh, come, let up, Arkwright," snapped Calderwell, striking his match
+alight with a vigorous jerk. "I'll admit I haven't ever given any
+_special_ indication of an absorbing passion for work. But what can you
+expect of a fellow born with a whole dozen silver spoons in his mouth?
+And that's what I was, according to Bertram Henshaw. According to him
+again, it's a wonder I ever tried to feed myself; and perhaps he's
+right--with my mouth already so full."
+
+"I should say so," laughed Arkwright.
+
+"Well, be that as it may. I'm going to feed myself, and I'm going to
+earn my feed, too. I haven't climbed a mountain or paddled a canoe, for
+a year. I've been in Chicago cultivating the acquaintance of John Doe
+and Richard Roe."
+
+"You mean--law?"
+
+"Sure. I studied it here for a while, before that bout of ours a couple
+of years ago. Billy drove me away, then."
+
+"Billy!--er--Mrs. Henshaw?"
+
+"Yes. I thought I told you. She turned down my tenth-dozen proposal so
+emphatically that I lost all interest in Boston and took to the tall
+timber again. But I've come back. A friend of my father's wrote me to
+come on and consider a good opening there was in his law office. I came
+on a month ago, and considered. Then I went back to pack up. Now I've
+come for good, and here I am. You have my history to date. Now tell me
+of yourself. You're looking as fit as a penny from the mint, even though
+you have discarded that 'lovely' brown beard. Was that a concession
+to--er--_Mary Jane_?"
+
+Arkwright lifted a quick hand of protest.
+
+"'Michael Jeremiah,' please. There is no 'Mary Jane,' now," he said a
+bit stiffly.
+
+The other stared a little. Then he gave a low chuckle.
+
+"'Michael Jeremiah,'" he repeated musingly, eyeing the glowing tip of
+his cigar. "And to think how that mysterious 'M. J.' used to tantalize
+me! Do you mean," he added, turning slowly, "that no one calls you 'Mary
+Jane' now?"
+
+"Not if they know what is best for them."
+
+"Oh!" Calderwell noted the smouldering fire in the other's eyes a little
+curiously. "Very well. I'll take the hint--Michael Jeremiah."
+
+"Thanks." Arkwright relaxed a little. "To tell the truth, I've had quite
+enough now--of Mary Jane."
+
+"Very good. So be it," nodded the other, still regarding his friend
+thoughtfully. "But tell me--what of yourself?"
+
+Arkwright shrugged his shoulders.
+
+"There's nothing to tell. You've seen. I'm here."
+
+"Humph! Very pretty," scoffed Calderwell. "Then if _you_ won't tell, I
+_will_. I saw Billy a month ago, you see. It seems you've hit the trail
+for Grand Opera, as you threatened to that night in Paris; but you
+_haven't_ brought up in vaudeville, as you prophesied you would
+do--though, for that matter, judging from the plums some of the stars
+are picking on the vaudeville stage, nowadays, that isn't to be sneezed
+at. But Billy says you've made two or three appearances already on the
+sacred boards themselves--one of them a subscription performance--and
+that you created no end of a sensation."
+
+"Nonsense! I'm merely a student at the Opera School here," scowled
+Arkwright.
+
+"Oh, yes, Billy said you were that, but she also said you wouldn't
+be, long. That you'd already had one good offer--I'm not speaking of
+marriage--and that you were going abroad next summer, and that they were
+all insufferably proud of you."
+
+"Nonsense!" scowled Arkwright, again, coloring like a girl. "That is
+only some of--of Mrs. Henshaw's kind flattery."
+
+Calderwell jerked the cigar from between his lips, and sat suddenly
+forward in his chair.
+
+"Arkwright, tell me about them. How are they making it go?"
+
+Arkwright frowned.
+
+"Who? Make what go?" he asked.
+
+"The Henshaws. Is she happy? Is he--on the square?"
+
+Arkwright's face darkened.
+
+"Well, really," he began; but Calderwell interrupted.
+
+"Oh, come; don't be squeamish. You think I'm butting into what doesn't
+concern me; but I'm not. What concerns Billy does concern me. And if he
+doesn't make her happy, I'll--I'll kill him."
+
+In spite of himself Arkwright laughed. The vehemence of the other's
+words, and the fierceness with which he puffed at his cigar as he fell
+back in his chair were most expressive.
+
+"Well, I don't think you need to load revolvers nor sharpen daggers,
+just yet," he observed grimly.
+
+Calderwell laughed this time, though without much mirth.
+
+"Oh, I'm not in love with Billy, now," he explained. "Please don't think
+I am. I shouldn't see her if I was, of course."
+
+Arkwright changed his position suddenly, bringing his face into the
+shadow. Calderwell talked on without pausing.
+
+"No, I'm not in love with Billy. But Billy's a trump. You know that."
+
+"I do." The words were low, but steadily spoken.
+
+"Of course you do! We all do. And we want her happy. But as for her
+marrying Bertram--you could have bowled me over with a soap bubble when
+I heard she'd done it. Now understand: Bertram is a good fellow, and I
+like him. I've known him all his life, and he's all right. Oh, six or
+eight years ago, to be sure, he got in with a set of fellows--Bob Seaver
+and his clique--that were no good. Went in for Bohemianism, and all that
+rot. It wasn't good for Bertram. He's got the confounded temperament
+that goes with his talent, I suppose--though why a man can't paint a
+picture, or sing a song, and keep his temper and a level head I don't
+see!"
+
+"He can," cut in Arkwright, with curt emphasis.
+
+"Humph! Well, that's what I think. But, about this marriage business.
+Bertram admires a pretty face wherever he sees it--_to paint_, and
+always has. Not but that he's straight as a string with women--I don't
+mean that; but girls are always just so many pictures to be picked up
+on his brushes and transferred to his canvases. And as for his settling
+down and marrying anybody for keeps, right along--Great Scott! imagine
+Bertram Henshaw as a _domestic_ man!"
+
+Arkwright stirred restlessly as he spoke up in quick defense:
+
+"Oh, but he is, I assure you. I--I've seen them in their home
+together--many times. I think they are--very happy." Arkwright spoke
+with decision, though still a little diffidently.
+
+Calderwell was silent. He had picked up the little gilt band he had torn
+from his cigar and was fingering it musingly.
+
+"Yes; I've seen them--once," he said, after a minute. "I took dinner
+with them when I was on, a month ago."
+
+"I heard you did."
+
+At something in Arkwright's voice, Calderwell turned quickly.
+
+"What do you mean? Why do you say it like that?"
+
+Arkwright laughed. The constraint fled from his manner.
+
+"Well, I may as well tell you. You'll hear of it. It's no secret.
+Mrs. Henshaw herself tells of it everywhere. It was her friend, Alice
+Greggory, who told me of it first, however. It seems the cook was gone,
+and the mistress had to get the dinner herself."
+
+"Yes, I know that."
+
+"But you should hear Mrs. Henshaw tell the story now, or Bertram.
+It seems she knew nothing whatever about cooking, and her trials and
+tribulations in getting that dinner on to the table were only one
+degree worse than the dinner itself, according to her story. Didn't
+you--er--notice anything?"
+
+"Notice anything!" exploded Calderwell. "I noticed that Billy was so
+brilliant she fairly radiated sparks; and I noticed that Bertram was so
+glum he--he almost radiated thunderclaps. Then I saw that Billy's high
+spirits were all assumed to cover a threatened burst of tears, and I
+laid it all to him. I thought he'd said something to hurt her; and I
+could have punched him. Great Scott! Was _that_ what ailed them?"
+
+"I reckon it was. Alice says that since then Mrs. Henshaw has fairly
+haunted the kitchen, begging Eliza to teach her everything, _every
+single thing_ she knows!"
+
+Calderwell chuckled.
+
+"If that isn't just like Billy! She never does anything by halves. By
+George, but she was game over that dinner! I can see it all now."
+
+"Alice says she's really learning to cook, in spite of old Pete's
+horror, and Eliza's pleadings not to spoil her pretty hands."
+
+"Then Pete is back all right? What a faithful old soul he is!"
+
+Arkwright frowned slightly.
+
+"Yes, he's faithful, but he isn't all right, by any means. I think he's
+a sick man, myself."
+
+"What makes Billy let him work, then?"
+
+"Let him!" sniffed Arkwright. "I'd like to see you try to stop him! Mrs.
+Henshaw begs and pleads with him to stop, but he scouts the idea. Pete
+is thoroughly and unalterably convinced that the family would starve to
+death if it weren't for him; and Mrs. Henshaw says that she'll admit he
+has some grounds for his opinion when one remembers the condition of the
+kitchen and dining-room the night she presided over them."
+
+"Poor Billy!" chuckled Calderwell. "I'd have gone down into the kitchen
+myself if I'd suspected what was going on."
+
+Arkwright raised his eyebrows.
+
+"Perhaps it's well you didn't--if Bertram's picture of what he found
+there when he went down is a true one. Mrs. Henshaw acknowledges that
+even the cat sought refuge under the stove."
+
+"As if the veriest worm that crawls ever needed to seek refuge from
+Billy!" scoffed Calderwell. "By the way, what's this Annex I hear of?
+Bertram mentioned it, but I couldn't get either of them to tell what
+it was. Billy wouldn't, and Bertram said he couldn't--not with Billy
+shaking her head at him like that. So I had my suspicions. One of
+Billy's pet charities?"
+
+"She doesn't call it that." Arkwright's face and voice softened. "It is
+Hillside. She still keeps it open. She calls it the Annex to her home.
+She's filled it with a crippled woman, a poor little music teacher, a
+lame boy, and Aunt Hannah."
+
+"But how--extraordinary!"
+
+"She doesn't think so. She says it's just an overflow house for the
+extra happiness she can't use."
+
+There was a moment's silence. Calderwell laid down his cigar, pulled out
+his handkerchief, and blew his nose furiously. Then he got to his feet
+and walked to the fireplace. After a minute he turned.
+
+"Well, if she isn't the beat 'em!" he spluttered. "And I had the gall to
+ask you if Henshaw made her--happy! Overflow house, indeed!"
+
+"The best of it is, the way she does it," smiled Arkwright. "They're all
+the sort of people ordinary charity could never reach; and the only way
+she got them there at all was to make each one think that he or she was
+absolutely necessary to the rest of them. Even as it is, they all pay a
+little something toward the running expenses of the house. They
+insisted on that, and Mrs. Henshaw had to let them. I believe her chief
+difficulty now is that she has not less than six people whom she wishes
+to put into the two extra rooms still unoccupied, and she can't make up
+her mind which to take. Her husband says he expects to hear any day of
+an Annexette to the Annex."
+
+"Humph!" grunted Calderwell, as he turned and began to walk up and down
+the room. "Bertram is still painting, I suppose."
+
+"Oh, yes."
+
+"What's he doing now?"
+
+"Several things. He's up to his eyes in work. As you probably have
+heard, he met with a severe accident last summer, and lost the use of
+his right arm for many months. I believe they thought at one time he had
+lost it forever. But it's all right now, and he has several commissions
+for portraits. Alice says he's doing ideal heads again, too."
+
+"Same old 'Face of a Girl'?"
+
+"I suppose so, though Alice didn't say. Of course his special work just
+now is painting the portrait of Miss Marguerite Winthrop. You may have
+heard that he tried it last year and--and didn't make quite a success of
+it."
+
+"Yes. My sister Belle told me. She hears from Billy once in a while.
+Will it be a go, this time?"
+
+"We'll hope so--for everybody's sake. I imagine no one has seen it
+yet--it's not finished; but Alice says--"
+
+Calderwell turned abruptly, a quizzical smile on his face.
+
+"See here, my son," he interposed, "it strikes me that this Alice is
+saying a good deal--to you! Who is she?"
+
+Arkwright gave a light laugh.
+
+"Why, I told you. She is Miss Alice Greggory, Mrs. Henshaw's friend--and
+mine. I have known her for years."
+
+"Hm-m; what is she like?"
+
+"Like? Why, she's like--like herself, of course. You'll have to know
+Alice. She's the salt of the earth--Alice is," smiled Arkwright, rising
+to his feet with a remonstrative gesture, as he saw Calderwell pick up
+his coat. "What's your hurry?"
+
+"Hm-m," commented Calderwell again, ignoring the question. "And when,
+may I ask, do you intend to appropriate this--er--salt--to--er--ah,
+season your own life with, as I might say--eh?"
+
+Arkwright laughed. There was not the slightest trace of embarrassment in
+his face.
+
+"Never. _You're_ on the wrong track, this time. Alice and I are good
+friends--always have been, and always will be, I hope."
+
+"Nothing more?"
+
+"Nothing more. I see her frequently. She is musical, and the Henshaws
+are good enough to ask us there often together. You will meet her,
+doubtless, now, yourself. She is frequently at the Henshaw home."
+
+"Hm-m." Calderwell still eyed his host shrewdly. "Then you'll give me a
+clear field, eh?"
+
+"Certainly." Arkwright's eyes met his friend's gaze without swerving.
+
+"All right. However, I suppose you'll tell me, as I did you, once, that
+a right of way in such a case doesn't mean a thoroughfare for the party
+interested. If my memory serves me, I gave you right of way in Paris to
+win the affections of a certain elusive Miss Billy here in Boston, if
+you could. But I see you didn't seem to improve your opportunities," he
+finished teasingly.
+
+Arkwright stooped, of a sudden, to pick up a bit of paper from the
+floor.
+
+"No," he said quietly. "I didn't seem to improve my opportunities." This
+time he did not meet Calderwell's eyes.
+
+The good-byes had been said when Calderwell turned abruptly at the door.
+
+"Oh, I say, I suppose you're going to that devil's carnival at Jordan
+Hall to-morrow night."
+
+"Devil's carnival! You don't mean--Cyril Henshaw's piano recital!"
+
+"Sure I do," grinned Calderwell, unabashed. "And I'll warrant it'll be
+a devil's carnival, too. Isn't Mr. Cyril Henshaw going to play his own
+music? Oh, I know I'm hopeless, from your standpoint, but I can't help
+it. I like mine with some go in it, and a tune that you can find without
+hunting for it. And I don't like lost spirits gone mad that wail and
+shriek through ten perfectly good minutes, and then die with a gasping
+moan whose home is the tombs. However, you're going, I take it."
+
+"Of course I am," laughed the other. "You couldn't hire Alice to miss
+one shriek of those spirits. Besides, I rather like them myself, you
+know."
+
+"Yes, I suppose you do. You're brought up on it--in your business. But
+me for the 'Merry Widow' and even the hoary 'Jingle Bells' every time!
+However, I'm going to be there--out of respect to the poor fellow's
+family. And, by the way, that's another thing that bowled me
+over--Cyril's marriage. Why, Cyril hates women!"
+
+"Not all women--we'll hope," smiled Arkwright. "Do you know his wife?"
+
+"Not much. I used to see her a little at Billy's. Music teacher, wasn't
+she? Then she's the same sort, I suppose."
+
+"But she isn't," laughed Arkwright. "Oh, she taught music, but that
+was only because of necessity, I take it. She's domestic through and
+through, with an overwhelming passion for making puddings and darning
+socks, I hear. Alice says she believes Mrs. Cyril knows every dish and
+spoon by its Christian name, and that there's never so much as a spool
+of thread out of order in the house."
+
+"But how does Cyril stand it--the trials and tribulations of domestic
+life? Bertram used to declare that the whole Strata was aquiver with
+fear when Cyril was composing, and I remember him as a perfect bear if
+anybody so much as whispered when he was in one of his moods. I never
+forgot the night Bertram and I were up in William's room trying to sing
+'When Johnnie comes marching home,' to the accompaniment of a banjo
+in Bertram's hands, and a guitar in mine. Gorry! it was Hugh that went
+marching home that night."
+
+"Oh, well, from reports I reckon Mrs. Cyril doesn't play either a banjo
+or a guitar," smiled Arkwright. "Alice says she wears rubber heels on
+her shoes, and has put hushers on all the chair-legs, and felt-mats
+between all the plates and saucers. Anyhow, Cyril is building a new
+house, and he looks as if he were in a pretty healthy condition, as
+you'll see to-morrow night."
+
+"Humph! I wish he'd make his music healthy, then," grumbled Calderwell,
+as he opened the door.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII. FOR BILLY--SOME ADVICE
+
+
+February brought busy days. The public opening of the Bohemian Ten Club
+Exhibition was to take place the sixth of March, with a private view
+for invited guests the night before; and it was at this exhibition that
+Bertram planned to show his portrait of Marguerite Winthrop. He also, if
+possible, wished to enter two or three other canvases, upon which he was
+spending all the time he could get.
+
+Bertram felt that he was doing very good work now. The portrait of
+Marguerite Winthrop was coming on finely. The spoiled idol of society
+had at last found a pose and a costume that suited her, and she was
+graciously pleased to give the artist almost as many sittings as he
+wanted. The "elusive something" in her face, which had previously been
+so baffling, was now already caught and held bewitchingly on his canvas.
+He was confident that the portrait would be a success. He was also much
+interested in another piece of work which he intended to show called
+"The Rose." The model for this was a beautiful young girl he had found
+selling flowers with her father in a street booth at the North End.
+
+On the whole, Bertram was very happy these days. He could not, to
+be sure, spend quite so much time with Billy as he wished; but she
+understood, of course, as did he, that his work must come first. He knew
+that she tried to show him that she understood it. At the same time, he
+could not help thinking, occasionally, that Billy did sometimes mind his
+necessary absorption in his painting.
+
+To himself Bertram owned that Billy was, in some ways, a puzzle to him.
+Her conduct was still erratic at times. One day he would seem to be
+everything to her; the next--almost nothing, judging by the ease with
+which she relinquished his society and substituted that of some one
+else: Arkwright, or Calderwell, for instance.
+
+And that was another thing. Bertram was ashamed to hint even to himself
+that he was jealous of either of those men. Surely, after what had
+happened, after Billy's emphatic assertion that she had never loved any
+one but himself, it would seem not only absurd, but disloyal, that
+he should doubt for an instant Billy's entire devotion to him, and
+yet--there were times when he wished he _could_ come home and not
+always find Alice Greggory, Calderwell, Arkwright, or all three of them
+strumming the piano in the drawing-room! At such times, always, though,
+if he did feel impatient, he immediately demanded of himself: "Are you,
+then, the kind of husband that begrudges your wife young companions of
+her own age and tastes to help her while away the hours that you cannot
+possibly spend with her yourself?"
+
+This question, and the answer that his better self always gave to it,
+were usually sufficient to send him into some florists for a bunch of
+violets for Billy, or into a candy shop on a like atoning errand.
+
+As to Billy--Billy, too, was busy these days chief of her concerns
+being, perhaps, attention to that honeymoon of hers, to see that it did
+not wane. At least, the most of her thoughts, and many of her actions,
+centered about that object.
+
+Billy had the book, now--the "Talk to Young Wives." For a time she had
+worked with only the newspaper criticism to guide her; but, coming at
+last to the conclusion that if a little was good, more must be better,
+she had shyly gone into a bookstore one day and, with a pink blush, had
+asked for the book. Since bringing it home she had studied assiduously
+(though never if Bertram was near), keeping it well-hidden, when not in
+use, in a remote corner of her desk.
+
+There was a good deal in the book that Billy did not like, and there
+were some statements that worried her; but yet there was much that she
+tried earnestly to follow. She was still striving to be the oak, and
+she was still eagerly endeavoring to brush up against those necessary
+outside interests. She was so thankful, in this connection, for Alice
+Greggory, and for Arkwright and Hugh Calderwell. It was such a help that
+she had them! They were not only very pleasant and entertaining outside
+interests, but one or another of them was almost always conveniently
+within reach.
+
+Then, too, it pleased her to think that she was furthering the pretty
+love story between Alice and Mr. Arkwright. And she _was_ furthering it.
+She was sure of that. Already she could see how dependent the man was on
+Alice, how he looked to her for approbation, and appealed to her on all
+occasions, exactly as if there was not a move that he wanted to make
+without her presence near him. Billy was very sure, now, of Arkwright.
+She only wished she were as much so of Alice. But Alice troubled her.
+Not but that Alice was kindness itself to the man, either. It was only
+a peculiar something almost like fear, or constraint, that Billy thought
+she saw in Alice's eyes, sometimes, when Arkwright made a particularly
+intimate appeal. There was Calderwell, too. He, also, worried Billy. She
+feared he was going to complicate matters still more by falling in love
+with Alice, himself; and this, certainly, Billy did not want at all. As
+this phase of the matter presented itself, indeed, Billy determined to
+appropriate Calderwell a little more exclusively to herself, when the
+four were together, thus leaving Alice for Arkwright. After all, it was
+rather entertaining--this playing at Cupid's assistant. If she _could_
+not have Bertram all the time, it was fortunate that these outside
+interests were so pleasurable.
+
+Most of the mornings Billy spent in the kitchen, despite the
+remonstrances of both Pete and Eliza. Almost every meal, now, was graced
+with a palatable cake, pudding, or muffin that Billy would proudly claim
+as her handiwork. Pete still served at table, and made strenuous efforts
+to keep up all his old duties; but he was obviously growing weaker, and
+really serious blunders were beginning to be noticeable. Bertram even
+hinted once or twice that perhaps it would be just as well to insist on
+his going; but to this Billy would not give her consent. Even when one
+night his poor old trembling hands spilled half the contents of a soup
+plate over a new and costly evening gown of Billy's own, she still
+refused to have him dismissed.
+
+"Why, Bertram, I wouldn't do it," she declared hotly; "and you wouldn't,
+either. He's been here more than fifty years. It would break his heart.
+He's really too ill to work, and I wish he would go of his own accord,
+of course; but I sha'n't ever tell him to go--not if he spills soup on
+every dress I've got. I'll buy more--and more, if it's necessary. Bless
+his dear old heart! He thinks he's really serving us--and he is, too."
+
+"Oh, yes, you're right, he _is!_" sighed Bertram, with meaning emphasis,
+as he abandoned the argument.
+
+In addition to her "Talk to Young Wives," Billy found herself
+encountering advice and comment on the marriage question from still
+other quarters--from her acquaintances (mostly the feminine ones) right
+and left. Continually she was hearing such words as these:
+
+"Oh, well, what can you expect, Billy? You're an old married woman,
+now."
+
+"Never mind, you'll find he's like all the rest of the husbands. You
+just wait and see!"
+
+"Better begin with a high hand, Billy. Don't let him fool you!"
+
+"Mercy! If I had a husband whose business it was to look at women's
+beautiful eyes, peachy cheeks, and luxurious tresses, I should go
+crazy! It's hard enough to keep a man's eyes on yourself when his daily
+interests are supposed to be just lumps of coal and chunks of ice,
+without flinging him into the very jaws of temptation like asking him to
+paint a pretty girl's picture!"
+
+In response to all this, of course, Billy could but laugh, and blush,
+and toss back some gay reply, with a careless unconcern. But in her
+heart she did not like it. Sometimes she told herself that if there were
+not any advice or comment from anybody--either book or woman--if there
+were not anybody but just Bertram and herself, life would be just one
+long honeymoon forever and forever.
+
+Once or twice Billy was tempted to go to Marie with this honeymoon
+question; but Marie was very busy these days, and very preoccupied. The
+new house that Cyril was building on Corey Hill, not far from the
+Annex, was almost finished, and Marie was immersed in the subject of
+house-furnishings and interior decoration. She was, too, still more
+deeply engrossed in the fashioning of tiny garments of the softest
+linen, lace, and woolen; and there was on her face such a look of
+beatific wonder and joy that Billy did not like to so much as hint that
+there was in the world such a book as "When the Honeymoon Wanes: A Talk
+to Young Wives."
+
+Billy tried valiantly these days not to mind that Bertram's work was so
+absorbing. She tried not to mind that his business dealt, not with lumps
+of coal and chunks of ice, but with beautiful women like Marguerite
+Winthrop who asked him to luncheon, and lovely girls like his model for
+"The Rose" who came freely to his studio and spent hours in the beloved
+presence, being studied for what Bertram declared was absolutely the
+most wonderful poise of head and shoulders that he had ever seen.
+
+Billy tried, also, these days, to so conduct herself that not by any
+chance could Calderwell suspect that sometimes she was jealous of
+Bertram's art. Not for worlds would she have had Calderwell begin to get
+the notion into his head that his old-time prophecy concerning Bertram's
+caring only for the turn of a girl's head or the tilt of her chin--to
+paint, was being fulfilled. Hence, particularly gay and cheerful was
+Billy when Calderwell was near. Nor could it be said that Billy was
+really unhappy at any time. It was only that, on occasion, the very
+depth of her happiness in Bertram's love frightened her, lest it bring
+disaster to herself or Bertram.
+
+Billy still went frequently to the Annex. There were yet two unfilled
+rooms in the house. Billy was hesitating which two of six new friends
+of hers to choose as occupants; and it was one day early in March, after
+she had been talking the matter over with Aunt Hannah, that Aunt Hannah
+said:
+
+"Dear me, Billy, if you had your way I believe you'd open another whole
+house!"
+
+"Do you know?--that's just what I'm thinking of," retorted Billy,
+gravely. Then she laughed at Aunt Hannah's shocked gesture of protest.
+"Oh, well, I don't expect to," she added. "I haven't lived very long,
+but I've lived long enough to know that you can't always do what you
+want to."
+
+"Just as if there were anything _you_ wanted to do that you don't do, my
+dear," reproved Aunt Hannah, mildly.
+
+"Yes, I know." Billy drew in her breath with a little catch. "I have so
+much that is lovely; and that's why I need this house, you know, for the
+overflow," she nodded brightly. Then, with a characteristic change of
+subject, she added: "My, but you should have tasted of the popovers I
+made for breakfast this morning!"
+
+"I should like to," smiled Aunt Hannah. "William says you're getting to
+be quite a cook."
+
+"Well, maybe," conceded Billy, doubtfully. "Oh, I can do some things
+all right; but just wait till Pete and Eliza go away again, and Bertram
+brings home a friend to dinner. That'll tell the tale. I think now I
+could have something besides potato-mush and burned corn--but maybe I
+wouldn't, when the time came. If only I could buy everything I needed to
+cook with, I'd be all right. But I can't, I find."
+
+"Can't buy what you need! What do you mean?"
+
+Billy laughed ruefully.
+
+"Well, every other question I ask Eliza, she says: 'Why, I don't know;
+you have to use your judgment.' Just as if I had any judgment about how
+much salt to use, or what dish to take! Dear me, Aunt Hannah, the man
+that will grow judgment and can it as you would a mess of peas, has got
+his fortune made!"
+
+"What an absurd child you are, Billy," laughed Aunt Hannah. "I used to
+tell Marie--By the way, how is Marie? Have you seen her lately?"
+
+"Oh, yes, I saw her yesterday," twinkled Billy. "She had a book of
+wall-paper samples spread over the back of a chair, two bunches of
+samples of different colored damasks on the table before her, a 'Young
+Mother's Guide' propped open in another chair, and a pair of baby's
+socks in her lap with a roll each of pink, and white, and blue ribbon.
+She spent most of the time, after I had helped her choose the ribbon, in
+asking me if I thought she ought to let the baby cry and bother Cyril,
+or stop its crying and hurt the baby, because her 'Mother's Guide' says
+a certain amount of crying is needed to develop a baby's lungs."
+
+Aunt Hannah laughed, but she frowned, too.
+
+"The idea! I guess Cyril can stand proper crying--and laughing,
+too--from his own child!" she said then, crisply.
+
+"Oh, but Marie is afraid he can't," smiled Billy. "And that's the
+trouble. She says that's the only thing that worries her--Cyril."
+
+"Nonsense!" ejaculated Aunt Hannah.
+
+"Oh, but it isn't nonsense to Marie," retorted Billy. "You should see
+the preparations she's made and the precautions she's taken. Actually,
+when I saw those baby's socks in her lap, I didn't know but she was
+going to put rubber heels on them! They've built the new house with
+deadening felt in all the walls, and Marie's planned the nursery and
+Cyril's den at opposite ends of the house; and she says she shall keep
+the baby there _all_ the time--the nursery, I mean, not the den. She
+says she's going to teach it to be a quiet baby and hate noise. She says
+she thinks she can do it, too."
+
+"Humph!" sniffed Aunt Hannah, scornfully.
+
+"You should have seen Marie's disgust the other day," went on Billy, a
+bit mischievously. "Her Cousin Jane sent on a rattle she'd made herself,
+all soft worsted, with bells inside. It was a dear; but Marie was
+horror-stricken. 'My baby have a rattle?' she cried. 'Why, what would
+Cyril say? As if he could stand a rattle in the house!' And if she
+didn't give that rattle to the janitor's wife that very day, while I was
+there!"
+
+"Humph!" sniffed Aunt Hannah again, as Billy rose to go. "Well, I'm
+thinking Marie has still some things to learn in this world--and Cyril,
+too, for that matter."
+
+"I wouldn't wonder," laughed Billy, giving Aunt Hannah a good-by kiss.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII. PETE
+
+
+Bertram Henshaw had no disquieting forebodings this time concerning his
+portrait of Marguerite Winthrop when the doors of the Bohemian Ten Club
+Exhibition were thrown open to members and invited guests. Just how
+great a popular success it was destined to be, he could not know, of
+course, though he might have suspected it when he began to receive the
+admiring and hearty congratulations of his friends and fellow-artists on
+that first evening.
+
+Nor was the Winthrop portrait the only jewel in his crown on that
+occasion. His marvelously exquisite "The Rose," and his smaller ideal
+picture, "Expectation," came in for scarcely less commendation. There
+was no doubt now. The originator of the famous "Face of a Girl" had come
+into his own again. On all sides this was the verdict, one long-haired
+critic of international fame even claiming openly that Henshaw had
+not only equaled his former best work, but had gone beyond it, in both
+artistry and technique.
+
+It was a brilliant gathering. Society, as usual, in costly evening gowns
+and correct swallow-tails rubbed elbows with names famous in the world
+of Art and Letters. Everywhere were gay laughter and sparkling repartee.
+Even the austere-faced J. G. Winthrop unbent to the extent of grim
+smiles in response to the laudatory comments bestowed upon the pictured
+image of his idol, his beautiful daughter.
+
+As to the great financier's own opinion of the work, no one heard him
+express it except, perhaps, the artist; and all that he got was a grip
+of the hand and a "Good! I knew you'd fetch it this time, my boy!" But
+that was enough. And, indeed, no one who knew the stern old man needed
+to more than look into his face that evening to know of his entire
+satisfaction in this portrait soon to be the most recent, and the most
+cherished addition to his far-famed art collection.
+
+As to Bertram--Bertram was pleased and happy and gratified, of course,
+as was natural; but he was not one whit more so than was Bertram's wife.
+Billy fairly radiated happiness and proud joy. She told Bertram, indeed,
+that if he did anything to make her any prouder, it would take an Annex
+the size of the Boston Opera House to hold her extra happiness.
+
+"Sh-h, Billy! Some one will hear you," protested Bertram, tragically;
+but, in spite of his horrified voice, he did not look displeased.
+
+For the first time Billy met Marguerite Winthrop that evening. At the
+outset there was just a bit of shyness and constraint in the young
+wife's manner. Billy could not forget her old insane jealousy of this
+beautiful girl with the envied name of Marguerite. But it was for only a
+moment, and soon she was her natural, charming self.
+
+Miss Winthrop was fascinated, and she made no pretense of hiding it. She
+even turned to Bertram at last, and cried:
+
+"Surely, now, Mr. Henshaw, you need never go far for a model! Why don't
+you paint your wife?"
+
+Billy colored. Bertram smiled.
+
+"I have," he said. "I have painted her many times. In fact, I have
+painted her so often that she once declared it was only the tilt of her
+chin and the turn of her head that I loved--to paint," he said merrily,
+enjoying Billy's pretty confusion, and not realizing that his words
+really distressed her. "I have a whole studio full of 'Billys' at home."
+
+"Oh, have you, really?" questioned Miss Winthrop, eagerly. "Then mayn't
+I see them? Mayn't I, please, Mrs. Henshaw? I'd so love to!"
+
+"Why, of course you may," murmured both the artist and his wife.
+
+"Thank you. Then I'm coming right away. May I? I'm going to Washington
+next week, you see. Will you let me come to-morrow at--at half-past
+three, then? Will it be quite convenient for you, Mrs. Henshaw?"
+
+"Quite convenient. I shall be glad to see you," smiled Billy. And
+Bertram echoed his wife's cordial permission.
+
+"Thank you. Then I'll be there at half-past three," nodded Miss
+Winthrop, with a smile, as she turned to give place to an admiring
+group, who were waiting to pay their respects to the artist and his
+wife.
+
+There was, after all, that evening, one fly in Billy's ointment.
+
+It fluttered in at the behest of an old acquaintance--one of the "advice
+women," as Billy termed some of her too interested friends.
+
+"Well, they're lovely, perfectly lovely, of course, Mrs. Henshaw," said
+this lady, coming up to say good-night. "But, all the same, I'm
+glad my husband is just a plain lawyer. Look out, my dear, that while
+Mr. Henshaw is stealing all those pretty faces for his canvases--just
+look out that the fair ladies don't turn around and steal his heart
+before you know it. Dear me, but you must be so proud of him!"
+
+"I am," smiled Billy, serenely; and only the jagged split that rent the
+glove on her hand, at that moment, told of the fierce anger behind that
+smile.
+
+"As if I couldn't trust Bertram!" raged Billy passionately to herself,
+stealing a surreptitious glance at her ruined glove. "And as if there
+weren't ever any perfectly happy marriages--even if you don't ever hear
+of them, or read of them!"
+
+Bertram was not home to luncheon on the day following the opening night
+of the Bohemian Ten Club. A matter of business called him away from the
+house early in the morning; but he told his wife that he surely would
+be on hand for Miss Winthrop's call at half-past three o'clock that
+afternoon.
+
+"Yes, do," Billy had urged. "I think she's lovely, but you know her so
+much better than I do that I want you here. Besides, you needn't think
+_I'm_ going to show her all those Billys of yours. I may be vain, but
+I'm not quite vain enough for that, sir!"
+
+"Don't worry," her husband had laughed. "I'll be here."
+
+As it chanced, however, something occurred an hour before half-past
+three o'clock that drove every thought of Miss Winthrop's call from
+Billy's head.
+
+For three days, now, Pete had been at the home of his niece in South
+Boston. He had been forced, finally, to give up and go away. News from
+him the day before had been anything but reassuring, and to-day, Bertram
+being gone, Billy had suggested that Eliza serve a simple luncheon and
+go immediately afterward to South Boston to see how her uncle was. This
+suggestion Eliza had followed, leaving the house at one o'clock.
+
+Shortly after two Calderwell had dropped in to bring Bertram, as he
+expressed it, a bunch of bouquets he had gathered at the picture show
+the night before. He was still in the drawing-room, chatting with Billy,
+when the telephone bell rang.
+
+"If that's Bertram, tell him to come home; he's got company," laughed
+Calderwell, as Billy passed into the hall.
+
+A moment later he heard Billy give a startled cry, followed by a few
+broken words at short intervals. Then, before he could surmise what
+had happened, she was back in the drawing-room again, her eyes full of
+tears.
+
+"It's Pete," she choked. "Eliza says he can't live but a few minutes.
+He wants to see me once more. What shall I do? John's got Peggy out with
+Aunt Hannah and Mrs. Greggory. It was so nice to-day I made them go.
+But I must get there some way--Pete is calling for me. Uncle William is
+going, and I told Eliza where she might reach Bertram; but what shall
+_I_ do? How shall I go?"
+
+Calderwell was on his feet at once.
+
+"I'll get a taxi. Don't worry--we'll get there. Poor old soul--of course
+he wants to see you! Get on your things. I'll have it here in no time,"
+he finished, hurrying to the telephone.
+
+"Oh, Hugh, I'm so glad I've got _you_ here," sobbed Billy, stumbling
+blindly toward the stairway. "I'll be ready in two minutes."
+
+And she was; but neither then, nor a little later when she and
+Calderwell drove hurriedly away from the house, did Billy once remember
+that Miss Marguerite Winthrop was coming to call that afternoon to see
+Mrs. Bertram Henshaw and a roomful of Billy pictures.
+
+Pete was still alive when Calderwell left Billy at the door of the
+modest little home where Eliza's mother lived.
+
+"Yes, you're in time, ma'am," sobbed Eliza; "and, oh, I'm so glad you've
+come. He's been askin' and askin' for ye."
+
+From Eliza Billy learned then that Mr. William was there, but not Mr.
+Bertram. They had not been able to reach Mr. Bertram, or Mr. Cyril.
+
+Billy never forgot the look of reverent adoration that came into Pete's
+eyes as she entered the room where he lay.
+
+"Miss Billy--my Miss Billy! You were so good-to come," he whispered
+faintly.
+
+Billy choked back a sob.
+
+"Of course I'd come, Pete," she said gently, taking one of the thin,
+worn hands into both her soft ones.
+
+It was more than a few minutes that Pete lived. Four o'clock came, and
+five, and he was still with them. Often he opened his eyes and smiled.
+Sometimes he spoke a low word to William or Billy, or to one of the
+weeping women at the foot of the bed. That the presence of his beloved
+master and mistress meant much to him was plain to be seen.
+
+"I'm so sorry," he faltered once, "about that pretty dress--I spoiled,
+Miss Billy. But you know--my hands--"
+
+"I know, I know," soothed Billy; "but don't worry. It wasn't spoiled,
+Pete. It's all fixed now."
+
+"Oh, I'm so glad," sighed the sick man. After another long interval of
+silence he turned to William.
+
+"Them socks--the medium thin ones--you'd oughter be puttin' 'em on soon,
+sir, now. They're in the right-hand corner of the bottom drawer--you
+know."
+
+"Yes, Pete; I'll attend to it," William managed to stammer, after he had
+cleared his throat.
+
+Eliza's turn came next.
+
+"Remember about the coffee," Pete said to her, "--the way Mr. William
+likes it. And always eggs, you know, for--for--" His voice trailed into
+an indistinct murmur, and his eyelids drooped wearily.
+
+One by one the minutes passed. The doctor came and went: there was
+nothing he could do. At half-past five the thin old face became again
+alight with consciousness. There was a good-by message for Bertram, and
+one for Cyril. Aunt Hannah was remembered, and even little Tommy Dunn.
+Then, gradually, a gray shadow crept over the wasted features. The words
+came more brokenly. The mind, plainly, was wandering, for old Pete was
+young again, and around him were the lads he loved, William, Cyril, and
+Bertram. And then, very quietly, soon after the clock struck six, Pete
+fell into the beginning of his long sleep.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV. WHEN BERTRAM CAME HOME
+
+
+It was a little after half-past three o'clock that afternoon when
+Bertram Henshaw hurried up Beacon Street toward his home. He had been
+delayed, and he feared that Miss Winthrop would already have reached the
+house. Mindful of what Billy had said that morning, he knew how his wife
+would fret if he were not there when the guest arrived. The sight
+of what he surmised to be Miss Winthrop's limousine before his door
+hastened his steps still more. But as he reached the house, he was
+surprised to find Miss Winthrop herself turning away from the door.
+
+"Why, Miss Winthrop," he cried, "you're not going _now!_ You can't have
+been here any--yet!"
+
+"Well, no, I--I haven't," retorted the lady, with heightened color and a
+somewhat peculiar emphasis. "My ring wasn't answered."
+
+"Wasn't answered!" Bertram reddened angrily. "Why, what can that mean?
+Where's the maid? Where's my wife? Mrs. Henshaw must be here! She was
+expecting you."
+
+Bertram, in his annoyed amazement, spoke loudly, vehemently. Hence he
+was quite plainly heard by the group of small boys and girls who had
+been improving the mild weather for a frolic on the sidewalk, and who
+had been attracted to his door a moment before by the shining magnet
+of the Winthrop limousine with its resplendently liveried chauffeur. As
+Bertram spoke, one of the small girls, Bessie Bailey, stepped forward
+and piped up a shrill reply.
+
+"She ain't, Mr. Henshaw! She ain't here. I saw her go away just a little
+while ago."
+
+Bertram turned sharply.
+
+"You saw her go away! What do you mean?"
+
+Small Bessie swelled with importance. Bessie was thirteen, in spite of
+her diminutive height. Bessie's mother was dead, and Bessie's caretakers
+were gossiping nurses and servants, who frequently left in her way books
+that were much too old for Bessie to read--but she read them.
+
+"I mean she ain't here--your wife, Mr. Henshaw. She went away. I saw
+her. I guess likely she's eloped, sir."
+
+"Eloped!"
+
+Bessie swelled still more importantly. To her experienced eyes the
+situation contained all the necessary elements for the customary flight
+of the heroine in her story-books, as here, now, was the irate, deserted
+husband.
+
+"Sure! And 'twas just before you came--quite a while before. A big shiny
+black automobile like this drove up--only it wasn't quite such a nice
+one--an' Mrs. Henshaw an' a man came out of your house an' got in, an'
+drove right away _quick!_ They just ran to get into it, too--didn't
+they?" She appealed to her young mates grouped about her.
+
+A chorus of shrill exclamations brought Mr. Bertram Henshaw suddenly
+to his senses. By a desperate effort he hid his angry annoyance as
+he turned to the manifestly embarrassed young woman who was already
+descending the steps.
+
+"My dear Miss Winthrop," he apologized contritely, "I'm sure
+you'll forgive this seeming great rudeness on the part of my wife.
+Notwithstanding the lurid tales of our young friends here, I suspect
+nothing more serious has happened than that my wife has been hastily
+summoned to Aunt Hannah, perhaps. Or, of course, she may not have
+understood that you were coming to-day at half-past three--though I
+thought she did. But I'm so sorry--when you were so kind as to come--"
+Miss Winthrop interrupted with a quick gesture.
+
+"Say no more, I beg of you," she entreated. "Mrs. Henshaw is quite
+excusable, I'm sure. Please don't give it another thought," she
+finished, as with a hurried direction to the man who was holding open
+the door of her car, she stepped inside and bowed her good-byes.
+
+Bertram, with stern self-control, forced himself to walk nonchalantly
+up his steps, leisurely take out his key, and open his door, under the
+interested eyes of Bessie Bailey and her friends; but once beyond their
+hateful stare, his demeanor underwent a complete change. Throwing aside
+his hat and coat, he strode to the telephone.
+
+"Oh, is that you, Aunt Hannah?" he called crisply, a moment later.
+"Well, if Billy's there will you tell her I want to speak to her,
+please?"
+
+"Billy?" answered Aunt Hannah's slow, gentle tones. "Why, my dear boy,
+Billy isn't here!"
+
+"She isn't? Well, when did she leave? She's been there, hasn't she?"
+
+"Why, I don't think so, but I'll see, if you like. Mrs. Greggory and
+I have just this minute come in from an automobile ride. We would have
+stayed longer, but it began to get chilly, and I forgot to take one of
+the shawls that I'd laid out."
+
+"Yes; well, if you will see, please, if Billy has been there, and when
+she left," said Bertram, with grim self-control.
+
+"All right. I'll see," murmured Aunt Hannah. In a few moments her voice
+again sounded across the wires. "Why, no, Bertram, Rosa says she hasn't
+been here since yesterday. Isn't she there somewhere about the house?
+Didn't you know where she was going?"
+
+"Well, no, I didn't--else I shouldn't have been asking you," snapped
+the irate Bertram and hung up the receiver with most rude haste, thereby
+cutting off an astounded "Oh, my grief and conscience!" in the middle of
+it.
+
+The next ten minutes Bertram spent in going through the whole house,
+from garret to basement. Needless to say, he found nothing to enlighten
+him, or to soothe his temper. Four o'clock came, then half-past, and
+five. At five Bertram began to look for Eliza, but in vain. At half-past
+five he watched for William; but William, too, did not come.
+
+Bertram was pacing the floor now, nervously. He was a little frightened,
+but more mortified and angry. That Billy should have allowed Miss
+Winthrop to call by appointment only to find no hostess, no message,
+no maid, even, to answer her ring--it was inexcusable! Impulsiveness,
+unconventionality, and girlish irresponsibility were all very
+delightful, of course--at times; but not now, certainly. Billy was not
+a girl any longer. She was a married woman. _Something_ was due to him,
+her husband! A pretty picture he must have made on those steps, trying
+to apologize for a truant wife, and to laugh off that absurd Bessie
+Bailey's preposterous assertion at the same time! What would Miss
+Winthrop think? What could she think? Bertram fairly ground his teeth
+with chagrin, at the situation in which he found himself.
+
+Nor were matters helped any by the fact that Bertram was hungry.
+Bertram's luncheon had been meager and unsatisfying. That the kitchen
+down-stairs still remained in silent, spotless order instead of being
+astir with the sounds and smells of a good dinner (as it should have
+been) did not improve his temper. Where Billy was he could not imagine.
+He thought, once or twice, of calling up some of her friends; but
+something held him back from that--though he did try to get Marie,
+knowing very well that she was probably over to the new house and would
+not answer. He was not surprised, therefore, when he received no reply
+to his ring.
+
+That there was the slightest truth in Bessie Bailey's absurd "elopement"
+idea, Bertram did not, of course, for an instant believe. The only
+thing that rankled about that was the fact that she had suggested such a
+thing, and that Miss Winthrop and those silly children had heard her. He
+recognized half of Bessie's friends as neighborhood youngsters, and he
+knew very well that there would be many a quiet laugh at his expense
+around various Beacon Street dinner-tables that night. At the thought
+of those dinner-tables, he scowled again. _He_ had no dinner-table--at
+least, he had no dinner on it!
+
+Who the man might be Bertram thought he could easily guess. It was
+either Arkwright or Calderwell, of course; and probably that tiresome
+Alice Greggory was mixed up in it somehow. He did wish Billy--
+
+Six o'clock came, then half-past. Bertram was indeed frightened now, but
+he was more angry, and still more hungry. He had, in fact, reached that
+state of blind unreasonableness said to be peculiar to hungry males from
+time immemorial.
+
+At ten minutes of seven a key clicked in the lock of the outer door, and
+William and Billy entered the hall.
+
+It was almost dark. Bertram could not see their faces. He had not
+lighted the hall at all.
+
+"Well," he began sharply, "is this the way you receive your callers,
+Billy? I came home and found Miss Winthrop just leaving--no one here
+to receive her! Where've you been? Where's Eliza? Where's my dinner?
+Of course I don't mean to scold, Billy, but there is a limit to even
+my patience--and it's reached now. I can't help suggesting that if
+you would tend to your husband and your home a little more, and go
+gallivanting off with Calderwell and Arkwright and Alice Greggory a
+little less, that--Where is Eliza, anyway?" he finished irritably,
+switching on the lights with a snap.
+
+There was a moment of dead silence. At Bertram's first words Billy and
+William had stopped short. Neither had moved since. Now William turned
+and began to speak, but Billy interrupted. She met her husband's gaze
+steadily.
+
+"I will be down at once to get your dinner," she said quietly. "Eliza
+will not come to-night. Pete is dead."
+
+Bertram started forward with a quick cry.
+
+"Dead! Oh, Billy! Then you were--_there!_ Billy!"
+
+But his wife did not apparently hear him. She passed him without turning
+her head, and went on up the stairs, leaving him to meet the sorrowful,
+accusing eyes of William.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV. AFTER THE STORM
+
+
+The young husband's apologies were profuse and abject. Bertram was
+heartily ashamed of himself, and was man enough to acknowledge it.
+Almost on his knees he begged Billy to forgive him; and in a frenzy
+of self-denunciation he followed her down into the kitchen that night,
+piteously beseeching her to speak to him, to just _look_ at him, even,
+so that he might know he was not utterly despised--though he did,
+indeed, deserve to be more than despised, he moaned.
+
+At first Billy did not speak, or even vouchsafe a glance in his
+direction. Very quietly she went about her preparations for a simple
+meal, paying apparently no more attention to Bertram than as if he were
+not there. But that her ears were only seemingly, and not really deaf,
+was shown very clearly a little later, when, at a particularly abject
+wail on the part of the babbling shadow at her heels, Billy choked into
+a little gasp, half laughter, half sob. It was all over then. Bertram
+had her in his arms in a twinkling, while to the floor clattered and
+rolled a knife and a half-peeled baked potato.
+
+Naturally, after that, there could be no more dignified silences on the
+part of the injured wife. There were, instead, half-smiles, tears, sobs,
+a tremulous telling of Pete's going and his messages, followed by a
+tearful listening to Bertram's story of the torture he had endured at
+the hands of Miss Winthrop, Bessie Bailey, and an empty, dinnerless
+house. And thus, in one corner of the kitchen, some time later, a
+hungry, desperate William found them, the half-peeled, cold baked potato
+still at their feet.
+
+Torn between his craving for food and his desire not to interfere with
+any possible peace-making, William was obviously hesitating what to do,
+when Billy glanced up and saw him. She saw, too, at the same time, the
+empty, blazing gas-stove burner, and the pile of half-prepared potatoes,
+to warm which the burner had long since been lighted. With a little cry
+she broke away from her husband's arms.
+
+"Mercy! and here's poor Uncle William, bless his heart, with not a thing
+to eat yet!"
+
+They all got dinner then, together, with many a sigh and quick-coming
+tear as everywhere they met some sad reminder of the gentle old hands
+that would never again minister to their comfort.
+
+It was a silent meal, and little, after all, was eaten, though brave
+attempts at cheerfulness and naturalness were made by all three.
+Bertram, especially, talked, and tried to make sure that the shadow on
+Billy's face was at least not the one his own conduct had brought there.
+
+"For you do--you surely do forgive me, don't you?" he begged, as he
+followed her into the kitchen after the sorry meal was over.
+
+"Why, yes, dear, yes," sighed Billy, trying to smile.
+
+"And you'll forget?"
+
+There was no answer.
+
+"Billy! And you'll forget?" Bertram's voice was insistent, reproachful.
+
+Billy changed color and bit her lip. She looked plainly distressed.
+
+"Billy!" cried the man, still more reproachfully.
+
+"But, Bertram, I can't forget--quite yet," faltered Billy.
+
+Bertram frowned. For a minute he looked as if he were about to take
+up the matter seriously and argue it with her; but the next moment he
+smiled and tossed his head with jaunty playfulness--Bertram, to tell the
+truth, had now had quite enough of what he privately termed "scenes"
+and "heroics"; and, manlike, he was very ardently longing for the old
+easy-going friendliness, with all unpleasantness banished to oblivion.
+
+"Oh, but you'll have to forget," he claimed, with cheery insistence,
+"for you've promised to forgive me--and one can't forgive without
+forgetting. So, there!" he finished, with a smilingly determined
+"now-everything-is-just-as-it-was-before" air.
+
+Billy made no response. She turned hurriedly and began to busy herself
+with the dishes at the sink. In her heart she was wondering: could she
+ever forget what Bertram had said? Would anything ever blot out those
+awful words: "If you would tend to your husband and your home a little
+more, and go gallivanting off with Calderwell and Arkwright and Alice
+Greggory a little less--"? It seemed now that always, for evermore, they
+would ring in her ears; always, for evermore, they would burn deeper and
+deeper into her soul. And not once, in all Bertram's apologies, had he
+referred to them--those words he had uttered. He had not said he did not
+mean them. He had not said he was sorry he spoke them. He had ignored
+them; and he expected that now she, too, would ignore them. As if she
+could!" If you would tend to your husband and your home a little more,
+and go gallivanting off with Calderwell and Arkwright and Alice Greggory
+a little less--" Oh, if only she could, indeed,--forget!
+
+When Billy went up-stairs that night she ran across her "Talk to Young
+Wives" in her desk. With a half-stifled cry she thrust it far back out
+of sight.
+
+"I hate you, I hate you--with all your old talk about 'brushing up
+against outside interests'!" she whispered fiercely. "Well, I've
+'brushed'--and now see what I've got for it!"
+
+Later, however, after Bertram was asleep, Billy crept out of bed and
+got the book. Under the carefully shaded lamp in the adjoining room she
+turned the pages softly till she came to the sentence: "Perhaps it would
+be hard to find a more utterly unreasonable, irritable, irresponsible
+creature than a hungry man." With a long sigh she began to read; and not
+until some minutes later did she close the book, turn off the light, and
+steal back to bed.
+
+During the next three days, until after the funeral at the shabby little
+South Boston house, Eliza spent only about half of each day at the
+Strata. This, much to her distress, left many of the household tasks for
+her young mistress to perform. Billy, however, attacked each new duty
+with a feverish eagerness that seemed to make the performance of it
+very like some glad penance done for past misdeeds. And when--on the
+day after they had laid the old servant in his last resting place--a
+despairing message came from Eliza to the effect that now her mother was
+very ill, and would need her care, Billy promptly told Eliza to stay as
+long as was necessary; that they could get along all right without her.
+
+"But, Billy, what _are_ we going to do?" Bertram demanded, when he heard
+the news. "We must have somebody!"
+
+"_I'm_ going to do it."
+
+"Nonsense! As if you could!" scoffed Bertram.
+
+Billy lifted her chin.
+
+"Couldn't I, indeed," she retorted. "Do you realize, young man, how
+much I've done the last three days? How about those muffins you had this
+morning for breakfast, and that cake last night? And didn't you yourself
+say that you never ate a better pudding than that date puff yesterday
+noon?"
+
+Bertram laughed and shrugged his shoulders.
+
+"My dear love, I'm not questioning your _ability_ to do it," he soothed
+quickly. "Still," he added, with a whimsical smile, "I must remind you
+that Eliza has been here half the time, and that muffins and date puffs,
+however delicious, aren't all there is to running a big house like this.
+Besides, just be sensible, Billy," he went on more seriously, as he
+noted the rebellious gleam coming into his young wife's eyes; "you'd
+know you couldn't do it, if you'd just stop to think. There's the
+Carletons coming to dinner Monday, and my studio Tea to-morrow, to
+say nothing of the Symphony and the opera, and the concerts you'd lose
+because you were too dead tired to go to them. You know how it was with
+that concert yesterday afternoon which Alice Greggory wanted you to go
+to with her."
+
+"I didn't--want--to go," choked Billy, under her breath.
+
+"And there's your music. You haven't done a thing with that for days,
+yet only last week you told me the publishers were hurrying you for that
+last song to complete the group."
+
+"I haven't felt like--writing," stammered Billy, still half under her
+breath.
+
+"Of course you haven't," triumphed Bertram. "You've been too dead tired.
+And that's just what I say. Billy, you _can't_ do it all yourself!"
+
+"But I want to. I want to--to tend to things," faltered Billy, with a
+half-fearful glance into her husband's face.
+
+Billy was hearing very loudly now that accusing "If you'd tend to your
+husband and your home a little more--" Bertram, however, was not hearing
+it, evidently. Indeed, he seemed never to have heard it--much less to
+have spoken it.
+
+"'Tend to things,'" he laughed lightly. "Well, you'll have enough to do
+to tend to the maid, I fancy. Anyhow, we're going to have one. I'll just
+step into one of those--what do you call 'em?--intelligence offices on
+my way down and send one up," he finished, as he gave his wife a good-by
+kiss.
+
+An hour later Billy, struggling with the broom and the drawing-room
+carpet, was called to the telephone. It was her husband's voice that
+came to her.
+
+"Billy, for heaven's sake, take pity on me. Won't you put on your duds
+and come and engage your maid yourself?"
+
+"Why, Bertram, what's the matter?"
+
+"Matter? Holy smoke! Well, I've been to three of those intelligence
+offices--though why they call them that I can't imagine. If ever
+there was a place utterly devoid of intelligence-but never mind! I've
+interviewed four fat ladies, two thin ones, and one medium with a wart.
+I've cheerfully divulged all our family secrets, promised every other
+half-hour out, and taken oath that our household numbers three
+adult members, and no more; but I simply _can't_ remember how many
+handkerchiefs we have in the wash each week. Billy, will you come? Maybe
+you can do something with them. I'm sure you can!"
+
+"Why, of course I'll come," chirped Billy. "Where shall I meet you?"
+
+Bertram gave the street and number.
+
+"Good! I'll be there," promised Billy, as she hung up the receiver.
+
+Quite forgetting the broom in the middle of the drawing-room floor,
+Billy tripped up-stairs to change her dress. On her lips was a gay
+little song. In her heart was joy.
+
+"I rather guess _now_ I'm tending to my husband and my home!" she was
+crowing to herself.
+
+Just as Billy was about to leave the house the telephone bell jangled
+again.
+
+It was Alice Greggory.
+
+"Billy, dear," she called, "can't you come out? Mr. Arkwright and Mr.
+Calderwell are here, and they've brought some new music. We want you.
+Will you come?"
+
+"I can't, dear. Bertram wants me. He's sent for me. I've got some
+_housewifely_ duties to perform to-day," returned Billy, in a voice so
+curiously triumphant that Alice, at her end of the wires, frowned in
+puzzled wonder as she turned away from the telephone.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI. INTO TRAINING FOR MARY ELLEN
+
+
+Bertram told a friend afterwards that he never knew the meaning of the
+word "chaos" until he had seen the Strata during the weeks immediately
+following the laying away of his old servant.
+
+"Every stratum was aquiver with apprehension," he declared; "and there
+was never any telling when the next grand upheaval would rock the whole
+structure to its foundations."
+
+Nor was Bertram so far from being right. It was, indeed, a chaos, as
+none knew better than did Bertram's wife.
+
+Poor Billy! Sorry indeed were these days for Billy; and, as if to make
+her cup of woe full to overflowing, there were Sister Kate's epistolary
+"I told you so," and Aunt Hannah's ever recurring lament: "If only,
+Billy, you were a practical housekeeper yourself, they wouldn't impose
+on you so!"
+
+Aunt Hannah, to be sure, offered Rosa, and Kate, by letter, offered
+advice--plenty of it. But Billy, stung beyond all endurance, and fairly
+radiating hurt pride and dogged determination, disdained all assistance,
+and, with head held high, declared she was getting along very well, very
+well indeed!
+
+And this was the way she "got along."
+
+First came Nora. Nora was a blue-eyed, black-haired Irish girl, the
+sixth that the despairing Billy had interviewed on that fateful morning
+when Bertram had summoned her to his aid. Nora stayed two days. During
+her reign the entire Strata echoed to banged doors, dropped china, and
+slammed furniture. At her departure the Henshaws' possessions were less
+by four cups, two saucers, one plate, one salad bowl, two cut glass
+tumblers, and a teapot--the latter William's choicest bit of Lowestoft.
+
+Olga came next. Olga was a Treasure. She was low-voiced, gentle-eyed,
+and a good cook. She stayed a week. By that time the growing frequency
+of the disappearance of sundry small articles of value and convenience
+led to Billy's making a reluctant search of Olga's room--and to Olga's
+departure; for the room was, indeed, a treasure house, the Treasure
+having gathered unto itself other treasures.
+
+Following Olga came a period of what Bertram called "one night stands,"
+so frequently were the dramatis person� below stairs changed.
+Gretchen drank. Christine knew only four words of English: salt,
+good-by, no, and yes; and Billy found need occasionally of using other
+words. Mary was impertinent and lazy. Jennie could not even boil a
+potato properly, much less cook a dinner. Sarah (colored) was willing
+and pleasant, but insufferably untidy. Bridget was neatness itself, but
+she had no conception of the value of time. Her meals were always from
+thirty to sixty minutes late, and half-cooked at that. Vera sang--when
+she wasn't whistling--and as she was generally off the key, and
+always off the tune, her almost frantic mistress dismissed her before
+twenty-four hours had passed. Then came Mary Ellen.
+
+Mary Ellen began well. She was neat, capable, and obliging; but it
+did not take her long to discover just how much--and how little--her
+mistress really knew of practical housekeeping. Matters and things were
+very different then. Mary Ellen became argumentative, impertinent, and
+domineering. She openly shirked her work, when it pleased her so to do,
+and demanded perquisites and privileges so insolently that even William
+asked Billy one day whether Mary Ellen or Billy herself were the
+mistress of the Strata: and Bertram, with mock humility, inquired how
+_soon_ Mary Ellen would be wanting the house. Billy, in weary despair,
+submitted to this bullying for almost a week; then, in a sudden
+accession of outraged dignity that left Mary Ellen gasping with
+surprise, she told the girl to go.
+
+And thus the days passed. The maids came and the maids went, and, to
+Billy, each one seemed a little worse than the one before. Nowhere
+was there comfort, rest, or peacefulness. The nights were a torture of
+apprehension, and the days an even greater torture of fulfilment. Noise,
+confusion, meals poorly cooked and worse served, dust, disorder, and
+uncertainty. And this was _home_, Billy told herself bitterly. No wonder
+that Bertram telephoned more and more frequently that he had met a
+friend, and was dining in town. No wonder that William pushed back
+his plate almost every meal with his food scarcely touched, and then
+wandered about the house with that hungry, homesick, homeless look that
+nearly broke her heart. No wonder, indeed!
+
+And so it had come. It was true. Aunt Hannah and Kate and the "Talk to
+Young Wives" were right. She had not been fit to marry Bertram. She had
+not been fit to marry anybody. Her honeymoon was not only waning, but
+going into a total eclipse. Had not Bertram already declared that if she
+would tend to her husband and her home a little more--
+
+Billy clenched her small hands and set her round chin squarely.
+
+Very well, she would show them. She would tend to her husband and her
+home. She fancied she could _learn_ to run that house, and run it well!
+And forthwith she descended to the kitchen and told the then reigning
+tormentor that her wages would be paid until the end of the week, but
+that her services would be immediately dispensed with.
+
+Billy was well aware now that housekeeping was a matter of more than
+muffins and date puffs. She could gauge, in a measure, the magnitude of
+the task to which she had set herself. But she did not falter; and very
+systematically she set about making her plans.
+
+With a good stout woman to come in twice a week for the heavier work,
+she believed she could manage by herself very well until Eliza could
+come back. At least she could serve more palatable meals than the most
+of those that had appeared lately; and at least she could try to make a
+home that would not drive Bertram to club dinners, and Uncle William to
+hungry wanderings from room to room. Meanwhile, all the time, she could
+be learning, and in due course she would reach that shining goal of
+Housekeeping Efficiency, short of which--according to Aunt Hannah and
+the "Talk to Young Wives"--no woman need hope for a waneless honeymoon.
+
+So chaotic and erratic had been the household service, and so quietly
+did Billy slip into her new role, that it was not until the second meal
+after the maid's departure that the master of the house discovered what
+had happened. Then, as his wife rose to get some forgotten article, he
+questioned, with uplifted eyebrows:
+
+"Too good to wait upon us, is my lady now, eh?"
+
+"My lady is waiting on you," smiled Billy.
+
+"Yes, I see _this_ lady is," retorted Bertram, grimly; "but I mean our
+real lady in the kitchen. Great Scott, Billy, how long are you going to
+stand this?"
+
+Billy tossed her head airily, though she shook in her shoes. Billy had
+been dreading this moment.
+
+"I'm not standing it. She's gone," responded Billy, cheerfully, resuming
+her seat. "Uncle William, sha'n't I give you some more pudding?"
+
+"Gone, so soon?" groaned Bertram, as William passed his plate, with a
+smiling nod. "Oh, well," went on Bertram, resignedly, "she stayed longer
+than the last one. When is the next one coming?"
+
+"She's already here."
+
+Bertram frowned.
+
+"Here? But--you served the dessert, and--" At something in Billy's
+face, a quick suspicion came into his own. "Billy, you don't mean that
+you--_you_--"
+
+"Yes," she nodded brightly, "that's just what I mean. I'm the next one."
+
+"Nonsense!" exploded Bertram, wrathfully. "Oh, come, Billy, we've been
+all over this before. You know I can't have it."
+
+"Yes, you can. You've got to have it," retorted Billy, still with that
+disarming, airy cheerfulness. "Besides, 'twon't be half so bad as you
+think. Wasn't that a good pudding to-night? Didn't you both come back
+for more? Well, I made it."
+
+"Puddings!" ejaculated Bertram, with an impatient gesture. "Billy,
+as I've said before, it takes something besides puddings to run this
+house."
+
+"Yes, I know it does," dimpled Billy, "and I've got Mrs. Durgin for that
+part. She's coming twice a week, and more, if I need her. Why, dearie,
+you don't know anything about how comfortable you're going to be! I'll
+leave it to Uncle William if--"
+
+But Uncle William had gone. Silently he had slipped from his chair and
+disappeared. Uncle William, it might be mentioned in passing, had never
+quite forgotten Aunt Hannah's fateful call with its dire revelations
+concerning a certain unwanted, superfluous, third-party husband's
+brother. Remembering this, there were times when he thought absence was
+both safest and best. This was one of the times.
+
+"But, Billy, dear," still argued Bertram, irritably, "how can you? You
+don't know how. You've had no experience."
+
+Billy threw back her shoulders. An ominous light came to her eyes. She
+was no longer airily playful.
+
+"That's exactly it, Bertram. I don't know how--but I'm going to learn. I
+haven't had experience--but I'm going to get it. I _can't_ make a worse
+mess of it than we've had ever since Eliza went, anyway!"
+
+"But if you'd get a maid--a good maid," persisted Bertram, feebly.
+
+"I had _one_--Mary Ellen. She was a good maid--until she found out how
+little her mistress knew; then--well, you know what it was then. Do you
+think I'd let that thing happen to me again? No, sir! I'm going into
+training for--my next Mary Ellen!" And with a very majestic air Billy
+rose from the table and began to clear away the dishes.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII. THE EFFICIENCY STAR--AND BILLY
+
+
+Billy was not a young woman that did things by halves. Long ago, in
+the days of her childhood, her Aunt Ella had once said of her: "If only
+Billy didn't go into things all over, so; but whether it's measles or
+mud pies, I always know that she'll be the measliest or the muddiest
+of any child in town!" It could not be expected, therefore, that Billy
+would begin to play her new r�le now with any lack of enthusiasm. But
+even had she needed any incentive, there was still ever ringing in her
+ears Bertram's accusing: "If you'd tend to your husband and your home
+a little more--" Billy still declared very emphatically that she
+had forgiven Bertram; but she knew, in her heart, that she had not
+forgotten.
+
+Certainly, as the days passed, it could not be said that Billy was not
+tending to her husband and her home. From morning till night, now,
+she tended to nothing else. She seldom touched her piano--save to dust
+it--and she never touched her half-finished song-manuscript, long since
+banished to the oblivion of the music cabinet. She made no calls except
+occasional flying visits to the Annex, or to the pretty new home
+where Marie and Cyril were now delightfully settled. The opera and the
+Symphony were over for the season, but even had they not been, Billy
+could not have attended them. She had no time. Surely she was not
+doing any "gallivanting" now, she told herself sometimes, a little
+aggrievedly.
+
+There was, indeed, no time. From morning until night Billy was busy,
+flying from one task to another. Her ambition to have everything just
+right was equalled only by her dogged determination to "just show them"
+that she could do this thing. At first, of course, hampered as she was
+by ignorance and inexperience, each task consumed about twice as much
+time as was necessary. Yet afterwards, when accustomedness had brought
+its reward of speed, there was still for Billy no time; for increased
+knowledge had only opened the way to other paths, untrodden and
+alluring. Study of cookbooks had led to the study of food values. Billy
+discovered suddenly that potatoes, beef, onions, oranges, and puddings
+were something besides vegetables, meat, fruit, and dessert. They
+possessed attributes known as proteids, fats, and carbohydrates. Faint
+memories of long forgotten school days hinted that these terms had been
+heard before; but never, Billy was sure, had she fully realized what
+they meant.
+
+It was at this juncture that Billy ran across a book entitled "Correct
+Eating for Efficiency." She bought it at once, and carried it home
+in triumph. It proved to be a marvelous book. Billy had not read two
+chapters before she began to wonder how the family had managed to live
+thus far with any sort of success, in the face of their dense ignorance
+and her own criminal carelessness concerning their daily bill of fare.
+
+At dinner that night Billy told Bertram and William of her discovery,
+and, with growing excitement, dilated on the wonderful good that it was
+to bring to them.
+
+"Why, you don't know, you can't imagine what a treasure it is!" she
+exclaimed. "It gives a complete table for the exact balancing of food."
+
+"For what?" demanded Bertram, glancing up.
+
+"The exact balancing of food; and this book says that's the biggest
+problem that modern scientists have to solve."
+
+"Humph!" shrugged Bertram. "Well, you just balance my food to my hunger,
+and I'll agree not to complain."
+
+"Oh, but, Bertram, it's serious, really," urged Billy, looking genuinely
+distressed. "Why, it says that what you eat goes to make up what you
+are. It makes your vital energies. Your brain power and your body
+power come from what you eat. Don't you see? If you're going to paint
+a picture you need something different from what you would if you were
+going to--to saw wood; and what this book tells is--is what I ought to
+give you to make you do each one, I should think, from what I've read
+so far. Now don't you see how important it is? What if I should give you
+the saw-wood kind of a breakfast when you were just going up-stairs to
+paint all day? And what if I should give Uncle William a--a soldier's
+breakfast when all he is going to do is to go down on State Street and
+sit still all day?"
+
+"But--but, my dear," began Uncle William, looking slightly worried,
+"there's my eggs that I _always_ have, you know."
+
+"For heaven's sake, Billy, what _have_ you got hold of now?" demanded
+Bertram, with just a touch of irritation.
+
+Billy laughed merrily.
+
+"Well, I suppose I didn't sound very logical," she admitted. "But the
+book--you just wait. It's in the kitchen. I'm going to get it." And with
+laughing eagerness she ran from the room.
+
+In a moment she had returned, book in hand.
+
+"Now listen. _This_ is the real thing--not my garbled inaccuracies. 'The
+food which we eat serves three purposes: it builds the body substance,
+bone, muscle, etc., it produces heat in the body, and it generates vital
+energy. Nitrogen in different chemical combinations contributes largely
+to the manufacture of body substances; the fats produce heat; and the
+starches and sugars go to make the vital energy. The nitrogenous food
+elements we call proteins; the fats and oils, fats; and the starches and
+sugars (because of the predominance of carbon), we call carbohydrates.
+Now in selecting the diet for the day you should take care to choose
+those foods which give the proteins, fats, and carbohydrates in just the
+right proportion.'"
+
+"Oh, Billy!" groaned Bertram.
+
+"But it's so, Bertram," maintained Billy, anxiously. "And it's every bit
+here. I don't have to guess at it at all. They even give the quantities
+of calories of energy required for different sized men. I'm going
+to measure you both to-morrow; and you must be weighed, too," she
+continued, ignoring the sniffs of remonstrance from her two listeners.
+"Then I'll know just how many calories to give each of you. They say a
+man of average size and weight, and sedentary occupation, should have
+at least 2,000 calories--and some authorities say 3,000--in this
+proportion: proteins, 300 calories, fats, 350 calories, carbohydrates,
+1,350 calories. But you both are taller than five feet five inches, and
+I should think you weighed more than 145 pounds; so I can't tell just
+yet how many calories you will need."
+
+"How many we will need, indeed!" ejaculated Bertram.
+
+"But, my dear, you know I have to have my eggs," began Uncle William
+again, in a worried voice.
+
+"Of course you do, dear; and you shall have them," soothed Billy,
+brightly. "It's only that I'll have to be careful and balance up the
+other things for the day accordingly. Don't you see? Now listen. We'll
+see what eggs are." She turned the leaves rapidly. "Here's the food
+table. It's lovely. It tells everything. I never saw anything so
+wonderful. A--b--c--d--e--here we are. 'Eggs, scrambled or boiled, fats
+and proteins, one egg, 100.' If it's poached it's only 50; but you like
+yours boiled, so we'll have to reckon on the 100. And you always have
+two, so that means 200 calories in fats and proteins. Now, don't you
+see? If you can't have but 300 proteins and 350 fats all day, and you've
+already eaten 200 in your two eggs, that'll leave just--er--450 for all
+the rest of the day,--of fats and proteins, you understand. And you've
+no idea how fast that'll count up. Why, just one serving of butter is
+100 of fats, and eight almonds is another, while a serving of lentils is
+100 of proteins. So you see how it'll go."
+
+"Yes, I see," murmured Uncle William, casting a mournful glance about
+the generously laden table, much as if he were bidding farewell to
+a departing friend. "But if I should want more to eat--" He stopped
+helplessly, and Bertram's aggrieved voice filled the pause.
+
+"Look here, Billy, if you think I'm going to be measured for an egg and
+weighed for an almond, you're much mistaken; because I'm not. I want to
+eat what I like, and as much as I like, whether it's six calories or six
+thousand!"
+
+Billy chuckled, but she raised her hands in pretended shocked protest.
+
+"Six thousand! Mercy! Bertram, I don't know what would happen if you ate
+that quantity; but I'm sure you couldn't paint. You'd just have to saw
+wood and dig ditches to use up all that vital energy."
+
+"Humph!" scoffed Bertram.
+
+"Besides, this is for _efficiency_," went on Billy, with an earnest
+air. "This man owns up that some may think a 2,000 calory ration is
+altogether too small, and he advises such to begin with 3,000 or
+even 3,500--graded, of course, according to a man's size, weight, and
+occupation. But he says one famous man does splendid work on only
+1,800 calories, and another on even 1,600. But that is just a matter of
+chewing. Why, Bertram, you have no idea what perfectly wonderful things
+chewing does."
+
+"Yes, I've heard of that," grunted Bertram; "ten chews to a cherry, and
+sixty to a spoonful of soup. There's an old metronome up-stairs that
+Cyril left. You might bring it down and set it going on the table--so
+many ticks to a mouthful, I suppose. I reckon, with an incentive like
+that to eat, just about two calories would do me. Eh, William?"
+
+"Bertram! Now you're only making fun," chided Billy; "and when it's
+really serious, too. Now listen," she admonished, picking up the
+book again. "'If a man consumes a large amount of meat, and very few
+vegetables, his diet will be too rich in protein, and too lacking in
+carbohydrates. On the other hand, if he consumes great quantities of
+pastry, bread, butter, and tea, his meals will furnish too much energy,
+and not enough building material.' There, Bertram, don't you see?"
+
+"Oh, yes, I see," teased Bertram. "William, better eat what you can
+to-night. I foresee it's the last meal of just _food_ we'll get for some
+time. Hereafter we'll have proteins, fats, and carbohydrates made into
+calory croquettes, and--"
+
+"Bertram!" scolded Billy.
+
+But Bertram would not be silenced.
+
+"Here, just let me take that book," he insisted, dragging the volume
+from Billy's reluctant fingers. "Now, William, listen. Here's your
+breakfast to-morrow morning: strawberries, 100 calories; whole-wheat
+bread, 75 calories; butter, 100 calories (no second helping, mind you,
+or you'd ruin the balance and something would topple); boiled eggs, 200
+calories; cocoa, 100 calories--which all comes to 570 calories. Sounds
+like an English bill of fare with a new kind of foreign money, but
+'tisn't, really, you know. Now for luncheon you can have tomato soup, 50
+calories; potato salad--that's cheap, only 30 calories, and--" But Billy
+pulled the book away then, and in righteous indignation carried it to
+the kitchen.
+
+"You don't deserve anything to eat," she declared with dignity, as she
+returned to the dining-room.
+
+"No?" queried Bertram, his eyebrows uplifted. "Well, as near as I can
+make out we aren't going to get--much."
+
+But Billy did not deign to answer this.
+
+In spite of Bertram's tormenting gibes, Billy did, for some days,
+arrange her meals in accordance with the wonderful table of food given
+in "Correct Eating for Efficiency." To be sure, Bertram, whatever he
+found before him during those days, anxiously asked whether he were
+eating fats, proteins, or carbohydrates; and he worried openly as to the
+possibility of his meal's producing one calory too much or too little,
+thus endangering his "balance."
+
+Billy alternately laughed and scolded, to the unvarying good nature of
+her husband. As it happened, however, even this was not for long, for
+Billy ran across a magazine article on food adulteration; and this so
+filled her with terror lest, in the food served, she were killing her
+family by slow poison, that she forgot all about the proteins, fats,
+and carbohydrates. Her talk these days was of formaldehyde, benzoate of
+soda, and salicylic acid.
+
+Very soon, too, Billy discovered an exclusive Back Bay school for
+instruction in household economics and domestic hygiene. Billy
+investigated it at once, and was immediately aflame with enthusiasm. She
+told Bertram that it taught everything, _everything_ she wanted to know;
+and forthwith she enrolled herself as one of its most devoted pupils, in
+spite of her husband's protests that she knew enough, more than enough,
+already. This school attendance, to her consternation, Billy discovered
+took added time; but in some way she contrived to find it to take.
+
+And so the days passed. Eliza's mother, though better, was still too ill
+for her daughter to leave her. Billy, as the warm weather approached,
+began to look pale and thin. Billy, to tell the truth, was working
+altogether too hard; but she would not admit it, even to herself. At
+first the novelty of the work, and her determination to conquer at all
+costs, had given a fictitious strength to her endurance. Now that the
+novelty had become accustomedness, and the conquering a surety, Billy
+discovered that she had a back that could ache, and limbs that, at
+times, could almost refuse to move from weariness. There was still,
+however, one spur that never failed to urge her to fresh endeavor, and
+to make her, at least temporarily, forget both ache and weariness;
+and that was the comforting thought that now, certainly, even Bertram
+himself must admit that she was tending to her home and her husband.
+
+As to Bertram--Bertram, it is true, had at first uttered frequent and
+vehement protests against his wife's absorption of both mind and body
+in "that plaguy housework," as he termed it. But as the days passed, and
+blessed order superseded chaos, peace followed discord, and delicious,
+well-served meals took the place of the horrors that had been called
+meals in the past, he gradually accepted the change with tranquil
+satisfaction, and forgot to question how it was brought about; though he
+did still, sometimes, rebel because Billy was always too tired, or too
+busy, to go out with him. Of late, however, he had not done even this so
+frequently, for a new "Face of a Girl" had possessed his soul; and all
+his thoughts and most of his time had gone to putting on canvas the
+vision of loveliness that his mind's eye saw.
+
+By June fifteenth the picture was finished. Bertram awoke then to his
+surroundings. He found summer was upon him with no plans made for its
+enjoyment. He found William had started West for a two weeks' business
+trip. But what he did not find one day--at least at first--was his wife,
+when he came home unexpectedly at four o'clock. And Bertram especially
+wanted to find his wife that day, for he had met three people whose
+words had disquieted him not a little. First, Aunt Hannah. She had said:
+
+"Bertram, where is Billy? She hasn't been out to the Annex for a week;
+and the last time she was there she looked sick. I was real worried
+about her."
+
+Cyril had been next.
+
+"Where's Billy?" he had asked abruptly. "Marie says she hasn't seen her
+for two weeks. Marie's afraid she's sick. She says Billy didn't look
+well a bit, when she did see her."
+
+Calderwell had capped the climax. He had said:
+
+"Great Scott, Henshaw, where have you been keeping yourself? And where's
+your wife? Not one of us has caught more than a glimpse of her for
+weeks. She hasn't sung with us, nor played for us, nor let us take her
+anywhere for a month of Sundays. Even Miss Greggory says _she_ hasn't
+seen much of her, and that Billy always says she's too busy to go
+anywhere. But Miss Greggory says she looks pale and thin, and that _she_
+thinks she's worrying too much over running the house. I hope she isn't
+sick!"
+
+"Why, no, Billy isn't sick. Billy's all right," Bertram had answered. He
+had spoken lightly, nonchalantly, with an elaborate air of carelessness;
+but after he had left Calderwell, he had turned his steps abruptly and a
+little hastily toward home.
+
+And he had not found Billy--at least, not at once. He had gone first
+down into the kitchen and dining-room. He remembered then, uneasily,
+that he had always looked for Billy in the kitchen and dining-room, of
+late. To-day, however, she was not there.
+
+On the kitchen table Bertram did see a book wide open, and,
+mechanically, he picked it up. It was a much-thumbed cookbook, and it
+was open where two once-blank pages bore his wife's handwriting. On
+the first page, under the printed heading "Things to Remember," he read
+these sentences:
+
+"That rice swells till every dish in the house is full, and that spinach
+shrinks till you can't find it.
+
+"That beets boil dry if you look out the window.
+
+"That biscuits which look as if they'd been mixed up with a rusty stove
+poker haven't really been so, but have only got too much undissolved
+soda in them."
+
+There were other sentences, but Bertram's eyes chanced to fall on the
+opposite page where the "Things to Remember" had been changed to "Things
+to Forget"; and here Billy had written just four words: "Burns," "cuts,"
+and "yesterday's failures."
+
+Bertram dropped the book then with a spasmodic clearing of his throat,
+and hurriedly resumed his search. When he did find his wife, at last, he
+gave a cry of dismay--she was on her own bed, huddled in a little heap,
+and shaking with sobs.
+
+"Billy! Why, Billy!" he gasped, striding to the bedside.
+
+Billy sat up at once, and hastily wiped her eyes.
+
+"Oh, is it you, B-Bertram? I didn't hear you come in. You--you s-said
+you weren't coming till six o'clock!" she choked.
+
+"Billy, what is the meaning of this?"
+
+"N-nothing. I--I guess I'm just tired."
+
+"What have you been doing?" Bertram spoke sternly, almost sharply. He
+was wondering why he had not noticed before the little hollows in his
+wife's cheeks. "Billy, what have you been doing?"
+
+"Why, n-nothing extra, only some sweeping, and cleaning out the
+refrigerator."
+
+"Sweeping! Cleaning! _You!_ I thought Mrs. Durgin did that."
+
+"She does. I mean she did. But she couldn't come. She broke her
+leg--fell off the stepladder where she was three days ago. So I _had_
+to do it. And to-day, someway, everything went wrong. I burned me, and I
+cut me, and I used two sodas with not any cream of tartar, and I should
+think I didn't know anything, not anything!" And down went Billy's head
+into the pillows again in another burst of sobs.
+
+With gentle yet uncompromising determination, Bertram gathered his
+wife into his arms and carried her to the big chair. There, for a few
+minutes, he soothed and petted her as if she were a tired child--which,
+indeed, she was.
+
+"Billy, this thing has got to stop," he said then. There was a very
+inexorable ring of decision in his voice.
+
+"What thing?"
+
+"This housework business."
+
+Billy sat up with a jerk.
+
+"But, Bertram, it isn't fair. You can't--you mustn't--just because of
+to-day! I _can_ do it. I have done it. I've done it days and days, and
+it's gone beautifully--even if they did say I couldn't!"
+
+"Couldn't what?"
+
+"Be an e-efficient housekeeper."
+
+"Who said you couldn't?"
+
+"Aunt Hannah and K-Kate."
+
+Bertram said a savage word under his breath.
+
+"Holy smoke, Billy! I didn't marry you for a cook or a scrub-lady. If
+you _had_ to do it, that would be another matter, of course; and if we
+did have to do it, we wouldn't have a big house like this for you to do
+it in. But I didn't marry for a cook, and I knew I wasn't getting one
+when I married you."
+
+Billy bridled into instant wrath.
+
+"Well, I like that, Bertram Henshaw! Can't I cook? Haven't I proved that
+I can cook?"
+
+Bertram laughed, and kissed the indignant lips till they quivered into
+an unwilling smile.
+
+"Bless your spunky little heart, of course you have! But that doesn't
+mean that I want you to do it. You see, it so happens that you can do
+other things, too; and I'd rather you did those. Billy, you haven't
+played to me for a week, nor sung to me for a month. You're too tired
+every night to talk, or read together, or go anywhere with me. I married
+for companionship--not cooking and sweeping!"
+
+Billy shook her head stubbornly. Her mouth settled into determined
+lines.
+
+"That's all very well to say. You aren't hungry now, Bertram. But it's
+different when you are, and they said 'twould be."
+
+"Humph! 'They' are Aunt Hannah and Kate, I suppose."
+
+"Yes--and the 'Talk to Young Wives.'"
+
+"The w-what?"
+
+Billy choked a little. She had forgotten that Bertram did not know about
+the "Talk to Young Wives." She wished that she had not mentioned the
+book, but now that she had, she would make the best of it. She drew
+herself up with dignity.
+
+"It's a book; a very nice book. It says lots of things--that have come
+true."
+
+"Where is that book? Let me see it, please."
+
+With visible reluctance Billy got down from her perch on Bertram's knee,
+went to her desk and brought back the book.
+
+Bertram regarded it frowningly, so frowningly that Billy hastened to its
+defense.
+
+"And it's true--what it says in there, and what Aunt Hannah and Kate
+said. It _is_ different when they're hungry! You said yourself if I'd
+tend to my husband and my home a little more, and--"
+
+Bertram looked up with unfeigned amazement.
+
+"I said what?" he demanded.
+
+In a voice shaken with emotion, Billy repeated the fateful words.
+
+"I never--when did I say that?"
+
+"The night Uncle William and I came home from--Pete's."
+
+For a moment Bertram stared dumbly; then a shamed red swept to his
+forehead.
+
+"Billy, _did_ I say that? I ought to be shot if I did. But, Billy, you
+said you'd forgiven me!"
+
+"I did, dear--truly I did; but, don't you see?--it was true. I _hadn't_
+tended to things. So I've been doing it since."
+
+A sudden comprehension illuminated Bertram's face.
+
+"Heavens, Billy! And is that why you haven't been anywhere, or done
+anything? Is that why Calderwell said to-day that you hadn't been with
+them anywhere, and that--Great Scott, Billy! Did you think I was such a
+selfish brute as that?"
+
+"Oh, but when I was going with them I _was_ following the book--I
+thought," quavered Billy; and hurriedly she turned the leaves to a
+carefully marked passage. "It's there--about the outside interests. See?
+I _was_ trying to brush up against them, so that I wouldn't interfere
+with your Art. Then, when you accused me of gallivanting off with--"
+But Bertram swept her back into his arms, and not for some minutes could
+Billy make a coherent speech again.
+
+Then Bertram spoke.
+
+"See here, Billy," he exploded, a little shakily, "if I could get you
+off somewhere on a desert island, where there weren't any Aunt Hannahs
+or Kates, or Talks to Young Wives, I think there'd be a chance to make
+you happy; but--"
+
+"Oh, but there was truth in it," interrupted Billy, sitting erect again.
+"I _didn't_ know how to run a house, and it was perfectly awful while we
+were having all those dreadful maids, one after the other; and no woman
+should be a wife who doesn't know--"
+
+"All right, all right, dear," interrupted Bertram, in his turn. "We'll
+concede that point, if you like. But you _do_ know now. You've got the
+efficient housewife racket down pat even to the last calory your husband
+should be fed; and I'll warrant there isn't a Mary Ellen in Christendom
+who can find a spot of ignorance on you as big as a pinhead! So we'll
+call that settled. What you need now is a good rest; and you're going to
+have it, too. I'm going to have six Mary Ellens here to-morrow morning.
+Six! Do you hear? And all you've got to do is to get your gladdest rags
+together for a trip to Europe with me next month. Because we're going.
+I shall get the tickets to-morrow, _after_ I send the six Mary Ellens
+packing up here. Now come, put on your bonnet. We're going down town to
+dinner."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII. BILLY TRIES HER HAND AT "MANAGING"
+
+
+Bertram did not engage six Mary Ellens the next morning, nor even one,
+as it happened; for that evening, Eliza--who had not been unaware of
+conditions at the Strata--telephoned to say that her mother was so much
+better now she believed she could be spared to come to the Strata for
+several hours each day, if Mrs. Henshaw would like to have her begin in
+that way.
+
+Billy agreed promptly, and declared herself as more than willing to put
+up with such an arrangement. Bertram, it is true, when he heard of
+the plan, rebelled, and asserted that what Billy needed was a rest, an
+entire rest from care and labor. In fact, what he wanted her to do, he
+said, was to gallivant--to gallivant all day long.
+
+"Nonsense!" Billy had laughed, coloring to the tips of her ears.
+"Besides, as for the work, Bertram, with just you and me here, and with
+all my vast experience now, and Eliza here for several hours every day,
+it'll be nothing but play for this little time before we go away. You'll
+see!"
+
+"All right, I'll _see_, then," Bertram had nodded meaningly. "But just
+make sure that it _is_ play for you!"
+
+"I will," laughed Billy; and there the matter had ended.
+
+Eliza began work the next day, and Billy did indeed soon find herself
+"playing" under Bertram's watchful insistence. She resumed her music,
+and brought out of exile the unfinished song. With Bertram she took
+drives and walks; and every two or three days she went to see Aunt
+Hannah and Marie. She was pleasantly busy, too, with plans for her
+coming trip; and it was not long before even the remorseful Bertram had
+to admit that Billy was looking and appearing quite like her old self.
+
+At the Annex Billy found Calderwell and Arkwright, one day. They greeted
+her as if she had just returned from a far country.
+
+"Well, if you aren't the stranger lady," began Calderwell, looking
+frankly pleased to see her. "We'd thought of advertising in the daily
+press somewhat after this fashion: 'Lost, strayed, or stolen, one
+Billy; comrade, good friend, and kind cheerer-up of lonely hearts. Any
+information thankfully received by her bereft, sorrowing friends.'"
+
+Billy joined in the laugh that greeted this sally, but Arkwright
+noticed that she tried to change the subject from her own affairs to
+a discussion of the new song on Alice Greggory's piano. Calderwell,
+however, was not to be silenced.
+
+"The last I heard of this elusive Billy," he resumed, with teasing
+cheerfulness, "she was running down a certain lost calory that had
+slipped away from her husband's breakfast, and--"
+
+Billy wheeled sharply.
+
+"Where did you get hold of that?" she demanded.
+
+"Oh, I didn't," returned the man, defensively. "I never got hold of it
+at all. I never even saw the calory--though, for that matter, I don't
+think I should know one if I did see it! What we feared was, that, in
+hunting the lost calory, you had lost yourself, and--" But Billy would
+hear no more. With her disdainful nose in the air she walked to the
+piano.
+
+"Come, Mr. Arkwright," she said with dignity. "Let's try this song."
+
+Arkwright rose at once and accompanied her to the piano.
+
+They had sung the song through twice when Billy became uneasily aware
+that, on the other side of the room, Calderwell and Alice Greggory were
+softly chuckling over something they had found in a magazine. Billy
+frowned, and twitched the corners of a pile of music, with restless
+fingers.
+
+"I wonder if Alice hasn't got some quartets here somewhere," she
+murmured, her disapproving eyes still bent on the absorbed couple across
+the room.
+
+Arkwright was silent. Billy, throwing a hurried glance into his face,
+thought she detected a somber shadow in his eyes. She thought, too, she
+knew why it was there. So possessed had Billy been, during the early
+winter, of the idea that her special mission in life was to inaugurate
+and foster a love affair between disappointed Mr. Arkwright and lonely
+Alice Greggory, that now she forgot, for a moment, that Arkwright
+himself was quite unaware of her efforts. She thought only that the
+present shadow on his face must be caused by the same thing that brought
+worry to her own heart--the manifest devotion of Calderwell to Alice
+Greggory just now across the room. Instinctively, therefore, as to a
+coworker in a common cause, she turned a disturbed face to the man at
+her side.
+
+"It is, indeed, high time that I looked after something besides lost
+calories," she said significantly. Then, at the evident uncomprehension
+in Arkwright's face, she added: "Has it been going on like this--very
+long?"
+
+Arkwright still, apparently, did not understand.
+
+"Has--what been going on?" he questioned.
+
+"That--over there," answered Billy, impatiently, scarcely knowing
+whether to be more irritated at the threatened miscarriage of her
+cherished plans, or at Arkwright's (to her) wilfully blind insistence
+on her making her meaning more plain. "Has it been going on long--such
+utter devotion?"
+
+As she asked the question Billy turned and looked squarely into
+Arkwright's face. She saw, therefore, the great change that came to it,
+as her meaning became clear to him. Her first feeling was one of
+shocked realization that Arkwright had, indeed, been really blind. Her
+second--she turned away her eyes hurriedly from what she thought she saw
+in the man's countenance.
+
+With an assumedly gay little cry she sprang to her feet.
+
+"Come, come, what are you two children chuckling over?" she demanded,
+crossing the room abruptly. "Didn't you hear me say I wanted you to come
+and sing a quartet?"
+
+Billy blamed herself very much for what she called her stupidity in so
+baldly summoning Arkwright's attention to Calderwell's devotion to Alice
+Greggory. She declared that she ought to have known better, and she
+asked herself if this were the way she was "furthering matters" between
+Alice Greggory and Arkwright.
+
+Billy was really seriously disturbed. She had never quite forgiven
+herself for being so blind to Arkwright's feeling for herself during
+those days when he had not known of her engagement to Bertram. She had
+never forgotten, either, the painful scene when he had hopefully told
+of his love, only to be met with her own shocked repudiation. For long
+weeks after that, his face had haunted her. She had wished, oh,
+so ardently, that she could do something in some way to bring him
+happiness. When, therefore, it had come to her knowledge afterward that
+he was frequently with his old friend, Alice Greggory, she had been so
+glad. It was very easy then to fan hope into conviction that here, in
+this old friend, he had found sweet balm for his wounded heart; and she
+determined at once to do all that she could do to help. So very glowing,
+indeed, was her eagerness in the matter, that it looked suspiciously as
+if she thought, could she but bring this thing about, that old scores
+against herself would be erased.
+
+Billy told herself, virtuously, however, that not only for Arkwright did
+she desire this marriage to take place, but for Alice Greggory. In the
+very nature of things Alice would one day be left alone. She was poor,
+and not very strong. She sorely needed the shielding love and care of
+a good husband. What more natural than that her old-time friend and
+almost-sweetheart, M. J. Arkwright, should be that good husband?
+
+That really it was more Arkwright and less Alice that was being
+considered, however, was proved when the devotion of Calderwell began to
+be first suspected, then known for a fact. Billy's distress at this turn
+of affairs indicated very plainly that it was not just a husband, but a
+certain one particular husband that she desired for Alice Greggory. All
+the more disturbed was she, therefore, when to-day, seeing her three
+friends together again for the first time for some weeks, she discovered
+increased evidence that her worst fears were to be realized. It was to
+be Alice and Calderwell, not Alice and Arkwright. Arkwright was again to
+be disappointed in his dearest hopes.
+
+Telling herself indignantly that it could not be, it _should_ not be,
+Billy determined to remain after the men had gone, and speak to Alice.
+Just what she would say she did not know. Even what she could say, she
+was not sure. But certainly there must be something, some little thing
+that she could say, which would open Alice's eyes to what she was doing,
+and what she ought to do.
+
+It was in this frame of mind, therefore, that Billy, after Arkwright
+and Calderwell had gone, spoke to Alice. She began warily, with assumed
+nonchalance.
+
+"I believe Mr. Arkwright sings better every time I hear him."
+
+There was no answer. Alice was sorting music at the piano.
+
+"Don't you think so?" Billy raised her voice a little.
+
+Alice turned almost with a start.
+
+"What's that? Oh, yes. Well, I don't know; maybe I do."
+
+"You would--if you didn't hear him any oftener than I do," laughed
+Billy. "But then, of course you do hear him oftener."
+
+"I? Oh, no, indeed. Not so very much oftener." Alice had turned back
+to her music. There was a slight embarrassment in her manner. "I
+wonder--where--that new song--is," she murmured.
+
+Billy, who knew very well where the song lay, was not to be diverted.
+
+"Nonsense! As if Mr. Arkwright wasn't always telling how Alice liked
+this song, and didn't like that one, and thought the other the best yet!
+I don't believe he sings a thing that he doesn't first sing to you. For
+that matter, I fancy he asks your opinion of everything, anyway."
+
+"Why, Billy, he doesn't!" exclaimed Alice, a deep red flaming into her
+cheeks. "You know he doesn't."
+
+Billy laughed gleefully. She had not been slow to note the color in her
+friend's face, or to ascribe to it the one meaning she wished to ascribe
+to it. So sure, indeed, was she now that her fears had been groundless,
+that she flung caution to the winds.
+
+"Ho! My dear Alice, you can't expect us all to be blind," she teased.
+"Besides, we all think it's such a lovely arrangement that we're just
+glad to see it. He's such a fine fellow, and we like him so much! We
+couldn't ask for a better husband for you than Mr. Arkwright, and--"
+From sheer amazement at the sudden white horror in Alice Greggory's
+face, Billy stopped short. "Why, Alice!" she faltered then.
+
+With a visible effort Alice forced her trembling lips to speak.
+
+"My husband--_Mr. Arkwright!_ Why, Billy, you couldn't have seen--you
+haven't seen--there's nothing you _could_ see! He isn't--he wasn't--he
+can't be! We--we're nothing but friends, Billy, just good friends!"
+
+Billy, though dismayed, was still not quite convinced.
+
+"Friends! Nonsense! When--"
+
+But Alice interrupted feverishly. Alice, in an agony of fear lest the
+true state of affairs should be suspected, was hiding behind a bulwark
+of pride.
+
+"Now, Billy, please! Say no more. You're quite wrong, entirely. You'll
+never, never hear of my marrying Mr. Arkwright. As I said before, we're
+friends--the best of friends; that is all. We couldn't be anything else,
+possibly!"
+
+Billy, plainly discomfited, fell back; but she threw a sharp glance into
+her friend's flushed countenance.
+
+"You mean--because of--Hugh Calderwell?" she demanded. Then, for the
+second time that afternoon throwing discretion to the winds, she went on
+plaintively: "You won't listen, of course. Girls in love never do. Hugh
+is all right, and I like him; but there's more real solid worth in Mr.
+Arkwright's little finger than there is in Hugh's whole self. And--" But
+a merry peal of laughter from Alice Greggory interrupted.
+
+"And, pray, do you think I'm in love with Hugh Calderwell?" she
+demanded. There was a curious note of something very like relief in her
+voice.
+
+"Well, I didn't know," began Billy, uncertainly.
+
+"Then I'll tell you now," smiled Alice. "I'm not. Furthermore, perhaps
+it's just as well that you should know right now that I don't intend to
+marry--ever."
+
+"Oh, Alice!"
+
+"No." There was determination, and there was still that curious note of
+relief in the girl's voice. It was as if, somewhere, a great danger had
+been avoided. "I have my music. That is enough. I'm not intending to
+marry."
+
+"Oh, but Alice, while I will own up I'm glad it isn't Hugh Calderwell,
+there _is_ Mr. Arkwright, and I did hope--" But Alice shook her head and
+turned resolutely away. At that moment, too, Aunt Hannah came in from
+the street, so Billy could say no more.
+
+Aunt Hannah dropped herself a little wearily into a chair.
+
+"I've just come from Marie's," she said.
+
+"How is she?" asked Billy.
+
+Aunt Hannah smiled, and raised her eyebrows.
+
+"Well, just now she's quite exercised over another rattle--from her
+cousin out West, this time. There were four little silver bells on it,
+and she hasn't got any janitor's wife now to give it to."
+
+Billy laughed softly, but Aunt Hannah had more to say.
+
+"You know she isn't going to allow any toys but Teddy bears and woolly
+lambs, of which, I believe, she has already bought quite an assortment.
+She says they don't rattle or squeak. I declare, when I see the woolen
+pads and rubber hushers that that child has put everywhere all over the
+house, I don't know whether to laugh or cry. And she's so worried! It
+seems Cyril must needs take just this time to start composing a new
+opera or symphony, or something; and never before has she allowed him to
+be interrupted by anything on such an occasion. But what he'll do when
+the baby comes she says she doesn't know, for she says she can't--she
+just can't keep it from bothering him some, she's afraid. As if any
+opera or symphony that ever lived was of more consequence than a man's
+own child!" finished Aunt Hannah, with an indignant sniff, as she
+reached for her shawl.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX. A TOUGH NUT TO CRACK FOR CYRIL
+
+
+It was early in the forenoon of the first day of July that Eliza told
+her mistress that Mrs. Stetson was asking for her at the telephone.
+Eliza's face was not a little troubled.
+
+"I'm afraid, maybe, it isn't good news," she stammered, as her mistress
+hurriedly arose. "She's at Mr. Cyril Henshaw's--Mrs. Stetson is--and she
+seemed so terribly upset about something that there was no making real
+sense out of what she said. But she asked for you, and said to have you
+come quick."
+
+Billy, her own face paling, was already at the telephone.
+
+"Yes, Aunt Hannah. What is it?"
+
+"Oh, my grief and conscience, Billy, if you _can_, come up here, please.
+You must come! _Can't_ you come?"
+
+"Why, yes, of course. But--but--_Marie!_ The--the _baby!_"
+
+A faint groan came across the wires.
+
+"Oh, my grief and conscience, Billy! It isn't _the_ baby. It's _babies!_
+It's twins--boys. Cyril has them now--the nurse hasn't got here yet."
+
+"Twins! _Cyril_ has them!" broke in Billy, hysterically.
+
+"Yes, and they're crying something terrible. We've sent for a second
+nurse to come, too, of course, but she hasn't got here yet, either. And
+those babies--if you could hear them! That's what we want you for, to--"
+
+But Billy was almost laughing now.
+
+"All right, I'll come out--and hear them," she called a bit wildly, as
+she hung up the receiver.
+
+Some little time later, a palpably nervous maid admitted Billy to the
+home of Mr. and Mrs. Cyril Henshaw. Even as the door was opened, Billy
+heard faintly, but unmistakably, the moaning wails of two infants.
+
+"Mrs. Stetson says if you will please to help Mr. Henshaw with the
+babies," stammered the maid, after the preliminary questions and
+answers. "I've been in when I could, and they're all right, only
+they're crying. They're in his den. We had to put them as far away as
+possible--their crying worried Mrs. Henshaw so."
+
+"Yes, I see," murmured Billy. "I'll go to them at once. No, don't
+trouble to come. I know the way. Just tell Mrs. Stetson I'm here,
+please," she finished, as she tossed her hat and gloves on to the hall
+table, and turned to go upstairs.
+
+Billy's feet made no sound on the soft rugs. The crying, however, grew
+louder and louder as she approached the den. Softly she turned the knob
+and pushed open the door. She stopped short, then, at what she saw.
+
+Cyril had not heard her, nor seen her. His back was partly toward the
+door. His coat was off, and his hair stood fiercely on end as if a
+nervous hand had ruffled it. His usually pale face was very red, and
+his forehead showed great drops of perspiration. He was on his feet,
+hovering over the couch, at each end of which lay a rumpled roll of
+linen, lace, and flannel, from which emerged a prodigiously puckered
+little face, two uncertainly waving rose-leaf fists, and a wail of
+protesting rage that was not uncertain in the least.
+
+In one hand Cyril held a Teddy bear, in the other his watch, dangling
+from its fob chain. Both of these he shook feebly, one after the other,
+above the tiny faces.
+
+"Oh, come, come, pretty baby, good baby, hush, hush," he begged
+agitatedly.
+
+In the doorway Billy clapped her hands to her lips and stifled a laugh.
+Billy knew, of course, that what she should do was to go forward at
+once, and help this poor, distracted man; but Billy, just then, was not
+doing what she knew she ought to do.
+
+With a muttered ejaculation (which Billy, to her sorrow, could not
+catch) Cyril laid down the watch and flung the Teddy bear aside. Then,
+in very evident despair, he gingerly picked up one of the rumpled rolls
+of flannel, lace, and linen, and held it straight out before him. After
+a moment's indecision he began awkwardly to jounce it, teeter it, rock
+it back and forth, and to pat it jerkily.
+
+"Oh, come, come, pretty baby, good baby, hush, hush," he begged again,
+frantically.
+
+Perhaps it was the change of position; perhaps it was the novelty of the
+motion, perhaps it was only utter weariness, or lack of breath. Whatever
+the cause, the wailing sobs from the bundle in his arms dwindled
+suddenly to a gentle whisper, then ceased altogether.
+
+With a ray of hope illuminating his drawn countenance, Cyril carefully
+laid the baby down and picked up the other. Almost confidently now he
+began the jouncing and teetering and rocking as before.
+
+"There, there! Oh, come, come, pretty baby, good baby, hush, hush," he
+chanted again.
+
+This time he was not so successful. Perhaps he had lost his skill.
+Perhaps it was merely the world-old difference in babies. At all events,
+this infant did not care for jerks and jounces, and showed it plainly by
+emitting loud and yet louder wails of rage--wails in which his brother
+on the couch speedily joined.
+
+"Oh, come, come, pretty baby, good baby, hush, hush--_confound it_,
+HUSH, I say!" exploded the frightened, weary, baffled, distracted man,
+picking up the other baby, and trying to hold both his sons at once.
+
+Billy hurried forward then, tearfully, remorsefully, her face all
+sympathy, her arms all tenderness.
+
+"Here, Cyril, let me help you," she cried.
+
+Cyril turned abruptly.
+
+"Thank God, _some_ one's come," he groaned, holding out both the babies,
+with an exuberance of generosity. "Billy, you've saved my life!"
+
+Billy laughed tremulously.
+
+"Yes, I've come, Cyril, and I'll help every bit I can; but I don't know
+a thing--not a single thing about them myself. Dear me, aren't they
+cunning? But, Cyril, do they always cry so?"
+
+The father-of-an-hour drew himself stiffly erect.
+
+"Cry? What do you mean? Why shouldn't they cry?" he demanded
+indignantly. "I want you to understand that Doctor Brown said those were
+A number I fine boys! Anyhow, I guess there's no doubt they've got
+lungs all right," he added, with a grim smile, as he pulled out his
+handkerchief and drew it across his perspiring brow.
+
+Billy did not have an opportunity to show Cyril how much or how little
+she knew about babies, for in another minute the maid had appeared with
+the extra nurse; and that young woman, with trained celerity and easy
+confidence, assumed instant command, and speedily had peace and order
+restored.
+
+Cyril, freed from responsibility, cast longing eyes, for a moment, upon
+his work; but the next minute, with a despairing glance about him, he
+turned and fled precipitately.
+
+Billy, following the direction of his eyes, suppressed a smile. On the
+top of Cyril's manuscript music on the table lay a hot-water bottle.
+Draped over the back of his favorite chair was a pink-bordered baby
+blanket. On the piano-stool rested a beribboned and beruffled baby's
+toilet basket. From behind the sofa pillow leered ridiculously the Teddy
+bear, just as it had left Cyril's desperate hand.
+
+No wonder, indeed, that Billy smiled. Billy was thinking of what Marie
+had said not a week before:
+
+"I shall keep the baby, of course, in the nursery. I've been in homes
+where they've had baby things strewn from one end of the house to
+the other; but it won't be that way here. In the first place, I don't
+believe in it; but, even if I did, I'd have to be careful on account
+of Cyril. Imagine Cyril's trying to write his music with a baby in
+the room! No! I shall keep the baby in the nursery, if possible; but
+wherever it is, it won't be anywhere near Cyril's den, anyway."
+
+Billy suppressed many a smile during the days that immediately followed
+the coming of the twins. Some of the smiles, however, refused to be
+suppressed. They became, indeed, shamelessly audible chuckles.
+
+Billy was to sail the tenth, and, naturally, during those early July
+days, her time was pretty much occupied with her preparations for
+departure; but nothing could keep her from frequent, though short,
+visits to the home of her brother-in-law.
+
+The twins were proving themselves to be fine, healthy boys. Two trained
+maids, and two trained nurses ruled the household with a rod of iron. As
+to Cyril--Billy declared that Cyril was learning something every day of
+his life now.
+
+"Oh, yes, he's learning things," she said to Aunt Hannah, one morning;
+"lots of things. For instance: he has his breakfast now, not when he
+wants it, but when the maid wants to give it to him--which is precisely
+at eight o'clock every morning. So he's learning punctuality. And for
+the first time in his life he has discovered the astounding fact that
+there are several things more important in the world than is the special
+piece of music he happens to be composing--chiefly the twins' bath, the
+twins' nap, the twins' airing, and the twins' colic."
+
+Aunt Hannah laughed, though she frowned, too.
+
+"But, surely, Billy, with two nurses and the maids, Cyril doesn't have
+to--to--" She came to a helpless pause.
+
+"Oh, no," laughed Billy; "Cyril doesn't have to really attend to any of
+those things--though I have seen each of the nurses, at different times,
+unhesitatingly thrust a twin into his arms and bid him hold the child
+till she comes back. But it's this way. You see, Marie must be kept
+quiet, and the nursery is very near her room. It worries her terribly
+when either of the children cries. Besides, the little rascals have
+apparently fixed up some sort of labor-union compact with each other, so
+that if one cries for something or nothing, the other promptly joins in
+and helps. So the nurses have got into the habit of picking up the first
+disturber of the peace, and hurrying him to quarters remote; and Cyril's
+den being the most remote of all, they usually fetch up there."
+
+"You mean--they take those babies into Cyril's den--_now_?" Even Aunt
+Hannah was plainly aghast.
+
+"Yes," twinkled Billy. "I fancy their Hygienic Immaculacies approved
+of Cyril's bare floors, undraped windows, and generally knick-knackless
+condition. Anyhow, they've made his den a sort of--of annex to the
+nursery."
+
+"But--but Cyril! What does he say?" stammered the dumfounded Aunt
+Hannah. "Think of Cyril's standing a thing like that! Doesn't he do
+anything--or say anything?"
+
+Billy smiled, and lifted her brows quizzically.
+
+"My dear Aunt Hannah, did you ever know _many_ people to have the
+courage to 'say things' to one of those becapped, beaproned, bespotless
+creatures of loftily superb superiority known as trained nurses?
+Besides, you wouldn't recognize Cyril now. Nobody would. He's as meek
+as Moses, and has been ever since his two young sons were laid in his
+reluctant, trembling arms. He breaks into a cold sweat at nothing, and
+moves about his own home as if he were a stranger and an interloper,
+endured merely on sufferance in this abode of strange women and strange
+babies."
+
+"Nonsense!" scoffed Aunt Hannah.
+
+"But it's so," maintained Billy, merrily. "Now, for instance. You know
+Cyril always has been in the habit of venting his moods on the piano
+(just as I do, only more so) by playing exactly as he feels. Well, as
+near as I can gather, he was at his usual trick the next day after the
+twins arrived; and you can imagine about what sort of music it would be,
+after what he had been through the preceding forty-eight hours.
+
+"Of course I don't know exactly what happened, but Julia--Marie's second
+maid, you know--tells the story. She's been with them long enough to
+know something of the way the whole household always turns on the pivot
+of the master's whims; so she fully appreciated the situation. She
+says she heard him begin to play, and that she never heard such queer,
+creepy, shivery music in her life; but that he hadn't been playing five
+minutes before one of the nurses came into the living-room where Julia
+was dusting, and told her to tell whoever was playing to stop that
+dreadful noise, as they wanted to take the twins in there for their nap.
+
+"'But I didn't do it, ma'am,' Julia says. 'I wa'n't lookin' for losin'
+my place, an' I let the young woman do the job herself. An' she done
+it, pert as you please. An' jest as I was seekin' a hidin'-place for the
+explosion, if Mr. Henshaw didn't come out lookin' a little wild, but as
+meek as a lamb; an' when he sees me he asked wouldn't I please get him a
+cup of coffee, good an' strong. An' I got it.'
+
+"So you see," finished Billy, "Cyril is learning things--lots of
+things."
+
+"Oh, my grief and conscience! I should say he was," half-shivered Aunt
+Hannah. "_Cyril_ looking meek as a lamb, indeed!"
+
+Billy laughed merrily.
+
+"Well, it must be a new experience--for Cyril. For a man whose daily
+existence for years has been rubber-heeled and woolen-padded, and whose
+family from boyhood has stood at attention and saluted if he so much as
+looked at them, it must be quite a change, as things are now. However,
+it'll be different, of course, when Marie is on her feet again."
+
+"Does she know at all how things are going?"
+
+"Not very much, as yet, though I believe she has begun to worry some.
+She confided to me one day that she was glad, of course, that she had
+two darling babies, instead of one; but that she was afraid it might be
+hard, just at first, to teach them both at once to be quiet; for she was
+afraid that while she was teaching one, the other would be sure to cry,
+or do something noisy."
+
+"Do something noisy, indeed!" ejaculated Aunt Hannah.
+
+"As for the real state of affairs, Marie doesn't dream that Cyril's
+sacred den is given over to Teddy bears and baby blankets. All is, I
+hope she'll be measurably strong before she does find it out," laughed
+Billy, as she rose to go.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX. ARKWRIGHT'S EYES ARE OPENED
+
+
+William came back from his business trip the eighth of July, and on the
+ninth Billy and Bertram went to New York. Eliza's mother was so well
+now that Eliza had taken up her old quarters in the Strata, and the
+household affairs were once more running like clockwork. Later in the
+season William would go away for a month's fishing trip, and the house
+would be closed.
+
+Mr. and Mrs. Bertram Henshaw were not expected to return until the first
+of October; but with Eliza to look after the comfort of William, the
+mistress of the house did no worrying. Ever since Pete's going, Eliza
+had said that she preferred to be the only maid, with a charwoman to
+come in for the heavier work; and to this arrangement her mistress had
+willingly consented, for the present.
+
+Marie and the babies were doing finely, and Aunt Hannah's health, and
+affairs at the Annex, were all that could be desired. As Billy, indeed,
+saw it, there was only one flaw to mar her perfect content on this
+holiday trip with Bertram, and that was her disappointment over the very
+evident disaster that had come to her cherished matrimonial plans for
+Arkwright and Alice Greggory. She could not forget Arkwright's face
+that day at the Annex, when she had so foolishly called his attention
+to Calderwell's devotion; and she could not forget, either, Alice
+Greggory's very obvious perturbation a little later, and her
+suspiciously emphatic assertion that she had no intention of marrying
+any one, certainly not Arkwright. As Billy thought of all this now, she
+could not but admit that it did look dark for Arkwright--poor Arkwright,
+whom she, more than any one else in the world, perhaps, had a special
+reason for wishing to see happily married.
+
+There was, then, this one cloud on Billy's horizon as the big boat that
+was to bear her across the water steamed down the harbor that beautiful
+July day.
+
+As it chanced, naturally, perhaps, not only was Billy thinking of
+Arkwright that morning, but Arkwright was thinking of Billy.
+
+Arkwright had thought frequently of Billy during the last few days,
+particularly since that afternoon meeting at the Annex when the four had
+renewed their old good times together. Up to that day Arkwright had been
+trying not to think of Billy. He had been "fighting his tiger skin."
+Sternly he had been forcing himself to meet her, to see her, to talk
+with her, to sing with her, or to pass her by--all with the indifference
+properly expected to be shown in association with Mrs. Bertram Henshaw,
+another man's wife. He had known, of course, that deep down in his
+heart he loved her, always had loved her, and always would love her.
+Hopelessly and drearily he accepted this as a fact even while with all
+his might fighting that tiger skin. So sure was he, indeed, of this, so
+implicitly had he accepted it as an unalterable certainty, that in time
+even his efforts to fight it became almost mechanical and unconscious in
+their stern round of forced indifference.
+
+Then came that day at the Annex--and the discovery: the discovery which
+he had made when Billy called his attention to Calderwell and Alice
+Greggory across the room in the corner; the discovery which had come
+with so blinding a force, and which even now he was tempted to question
+as to its reality; the discovery that not Billy Neilson, nor Mrs.
+Bertram Henshaw, nor even the tender ghost of a lost love held the
+center of his heart--but Alice Greggory.
+
+The first intimation of all this had come with his curious feeling of
+unreasoning hatred and blind indignation toward Calderwell as,
+through Billy's eyes, he had seen the two together. Then had come
+the overwhelming longing to pick up Alice Greggory and run off with
+her--somewhere, anywhere, so that Calderwell could not follow.
+
+At once, however, he had pulled himself up short with the mental cry of
+"Absurd!" What was it to him if Calderwell did care for Alice Greggory?
+Surely he himself was not in love with the girl. He was in love with
+Billy; that is--
+
+It was all confusion then, in his mind, and he was glad indeed when he
+could leave the house. He wanted to be alone. He wanted to think. He
+must, in some way, thrash out this astounding thing that had come to
+him.
+
+Arkwright did not visit the Annex again for some days. Until he was more
+nearly sure of himself and of his feelings, he did not wish to see Alice
+Greggory. It was then that he began to think of Billy, deliberately,
+purposefully, for it must be, of course, that he had made a mistake,
+he told himself. It must be that he did, really, still care for
+Billy--though of course he ought not to.
+
+Arkwright made another discovery then. He learned that, however
+deliberately he started in to think of Billy, he ended every time in
+thinking of Alice. He thought of how good she had been to him, and of
+how faithful she had been in helping him to fight his love for Billy.
+Just here he decided, for a moment, that probably, after all, his
+feeling of anger against Calderwell was merely the fear of losing this
+helpful comradeship that he so needed. Even with himself, however,
+Arkwright could not keep up this farce long, and very soon he admitted
+miserably that it was not the comradeship of Alice Greggory that he
+wanted or needed, but the love.
+
+He knew it now. No longer was there any use in beating about the bush.
+He did love Alice Greggory; but so curiously and unbelievably stupid had
+he been that he had not found it out until now. And now it was too late.
+Had not even Billy called his attention to the fact of Calderwell's
+devotion? Besides, had not he himself, at the very first, told
+Calderwell that he might have a clear field?
+
+Fool that he had been to let another thus lightly step in and win from
+under his very nose what might have been his if he had but known his own
+mind before it was too late!
+
+But was it, after all, quite too late? He and Alice were old friends.
+Away back in their young days in their native town they had been,
+indeed, almost sweethearts, in a boy-and-girl fashion. It would not have
+taken much in those days, he believed, to have made the relationship
+more interesting. But changes had come. Alice had left town, and for
+years they had drifted apart. Then had come Billy, and Billy had found
+Alice, thus bringing about the odd circumstance of their renewing of
+acquaintanceship. Perhaps, at that time, if he had not already
+thought he cared for Billy, there would have been something more than
+acquaintanceship.
+
+But he _had_ thought he cared for Billy all these years; and now, at
+this late day, to wake up and find that he cared for Alice! A pretty
+mess he had made of things! Was he so inconstant then, so fickle? Did he
+not know his own mind five minutes at a time? What would Alice Greggory
+think, even if he found the courage to tell her? What could she think?
+What could anybody think?
+
+Arkwright fairly ground his teeth in impotent wrath--and he did not know
+whether he were the most angry that he did not love Billy, or that he
+had loved Billy, or that he loved somebody else now.
+
+It was while he was in this unenviable frame of mind that he went to
+see Alice. Not that he had planned definitely to speak to her of his
+discovery, nor yet that he had planned not to. He had, indeed, planned
+nothing. For a man usually so decided as to purpose and energetic as
+to action, he was in a most unhappy state of uncertainty and
+changeableness. One thing only was unmistakably clear to him, and that
+was that he must see Alice.
+
+For months, now, he had taken to Alice all his hopes and griefs,
+perplexities and problems; and never had he failed to find comfort
+in the shape of sympathetic understanding and wise counsel. To Alice,
+therefore, now he turned as a matter of course, telling himself vaguely
+that, perhaps, after he had seen Alice, he would feel better.
+
+Just how intimately this particular problem of his concerned Alice
+herself, he did not stop to realize. He did not, indeed, think of it at
+all from Alice's standpoint--until he came face to face with the girl in
+the living-room at the Annex. Then, suddenly, he did. His manner became
+at once, consequently, full of embarrassment and quite devoid of its
+usual frank friendliness.
+
+As it happened, this was perhaps the most unfortunate thing that could
+have occurred, so far as it concerned the attitude of Alice Greggory,
+for thereby innumerable tiny sparks of suspicion that had been
+tormenting the girl for days were instantly fanned into consuming flames
+of conviction.
+
+Alice had not been slow to note Arkwright's prolonged absence from the
+Annex. Coming as it did so soon after her most disconcerting talk with
+Billy in regard to her own relations with him, it had filled her with
+frightened questionings.
+
+If Billy had seen things to make her think of linking their names
+together, perhaps Arkwright himself had heard some such idea put forth
+somewhere, and that was why he was staying away--to show the world that
+there was no foundation for such rumors. Perhaps he was even doing it to
+show _her_ that--
+
+Even in her thoughts Alice could scarcely bring herself to finish the
+sentence. That Arkwright should ever suspect for a moment that she cared
+for him was intolerable. Painfully conscious as she was that she did
+care for him, it was easy to fear that others must be conscious of it,
+too. Had she not already proof that Billy suspected it? Why, then, might
+not it be quite possible, even probable, that Arkwright suspected it,
+also; and, because he did suspect it, had decided that it would be just
+as well, perhaps, if he did not call so often.
+
+In spite of Alice's angry insistence to herself that, after all, this
+could not be the case--that the man _knew_ she understood he still loved
+Billy--she could not help fearing, in the face of Arkwright's unusual
+absence, that it might yet be true. When, therefore, he finally did
+appear, only to become at once obviously embarrassed in her presence,
+her fears instantly became convictions. It was true, then. The man did
+believe she cared for him, and he had been trying to teach her--to save
+her.
+
+To teach her! To save her, indeed! Very well, he should see! And
+forthwith, from that moment, Alice Greggory's chief reason for living
+became to prove to Mr. M. J. Arkwright that he needed not to teach her,
+to save her, nor yet to sympathize with her.
+
+"How do you do?" she greeted him, with a particularly bright smile. "I'm
+sure I _hope_ you are well, such a beautiful day as this."
+
+"Oh, yes, I'm well, I suppose. Still, I have felt better in my life,"
+smiled Arkwright, with some constraint.
+
+"Oh, I'm sorry," murmured the girl, striving so hard to speak with
+impersonal unconcern that she did not notice the inaptness of her reply.
+
+"Eh? Sorry I've felt better, are you?" retorted Arkwright, with nervous
+humor. Then, because he was embarrassed, he said the one thing he had
+meant not to say: "Don't you think I'm quite a stranger? It's been some
+time since I've been here."
+
+Alice, smarting under the sting of what she judged to be the only
+possible cause for his embarrassment, leaped to this new opportunity to
+show her lack of interest.
+
+"Oh, has it?" she murmured carelessly. "Well, I don't know but it has,
+now that I come to think of it."
+
+Arkwright frowned gloomily. A week ago he would have tossed back a
+laughingly aggrieved remark as to her unflattering indifference to his
+presence. Now he was in no mood for such joking. It was too serious a
+matter with him.
+
+"You've been busy, no doubt, with--other matters," he presumed
+forlornly, thinking of Calderwell.
+
+"Yes, I have been busy," assented the girl. "One is always happier,
+I think, to be busy. Not that I meant that I needed the work to _be_
+happy," she added hastily, in a panic lest he think she had a consuming
+sorrow to kill.
+
+"No, of course not," he murmured abstractedly, rising to his feet and
+crossing the room to the piano. Then, with an elaborate air of trying to
+appear very natural, he asked jovially: "Anything new to play to me?"
+
+Alice arose at once.
+
+"Yes. I have a little nocturne that I was playing to Mr. Calderwell last
+night."
+
+"Oh, to Calderwell!" Arkwright had stiffened perceptibly.
+
+"Yes. _He_ didn't like it. I'll play it to you and see what you say,"
+she smiled, seating herself at the piano.
+
+"Well, if he had liked it, it's safe to say I shouldn't," shrugged
+Arkwright.
+
+"Nonsense!" laughed the girl, beginning to appear more like her natural
+self. "I should think you were Mr. Cyril Henshaw! Mr. Calderwell _is_
+partial to ragtime, I'll admit. But there are some good things he
+likes."
+
+"There are, indeed, _some_ good things he likes," returned Arkwright,
+with grim emphasis, his somber eyes fixed on what he believed to be the
+one especial object of Calderwell's affections at the moment.
+
+Alice, unaware both of the melancholy gaze bent upon herself and of the
+cause thereof, laughed again merrily.
+
+"Poor Mr. Calderwell," she cried, as she let her fingers slide into
+soft, introductory chords. "He isn't to blame for not liking what he
+calls our lost spirits that wail. It's just the way he's made."
+
+Arkwright vouchsafed no reply. With an abrupt gesture he turned and
+began to pace the room moodily. At the piano Alice slipped from the
+chords into the nocturne. She played it straight through, then, with a
+charm and skill that brought Arkwright's feet to a pause before it was
+half finished.
+
+"By George, that's great!" he breathed, when the last tone had quivered
+into silence.
+
+"Yes, isn't it--beautiful?" she murmured.
+
+The room was very quiet, and in semi-darkness. The last rays of a late
+June sunset had been filling the room with golden light, but it was gone
+now. Even at the piano by the window, Alice had barely been able to see
+clearly enough to read the notes of her nocturne.
+
+To Arkwright the air still trembled with the exquisite melody that had
+but just left her fingers. A quick fire came to his eyes. He forgot
+everything but that it was Alice there in the half-light by the
+window--Alice, whom he loved. With a low cry he took a swift step toward
+her.
+
+"Alice!"
+
+Instantly the girl was on her feet. But it was not toward him that she
+turned. It was away--resolutely, and with a haste that was strangely
+like terror.
+
+Alice, too, had forgotten, for just a moment. She had let herself drift
+into a dream world where there was nothing but the music she was playing
+and the man she loved. Then the music had stopped, and the man had
+spoken her name.
+
+Alice remembered then. She remembered Billy, whom this man loved. She
+remembered the long days just passed when this man had stayed away,
+presumably to teach _her_--to save _her_. And now, at the sound of his
+voice speaking her name, she had almost bared her heart to him.
+
+No wonder that Alice, with a haste that looked like terror, crossed the
+floor and flooded the room with light.
+
+"Dear me!" she shivered, carefully avoiding Arkwright's eyes. "If Mr.
+Calderwell were here now he'd have some excuse to talk about our lost
+spirits that wail. That _is_ a creepy piece of music when you play it
+in the dark!" And, for fear that he should suspect how her heart was
+aching, she gave a particularly brilliant and joyous smile.
+
+Once again at the mention of Calderwell's name Arkwright stiffened
+perceptibly. The fire left his eyes. For a moment he did not speak;
+then, gravely, he said:
+
+"Calderwell? Yes, perhaps he would; and--you ought to be a judge, I
+should think. You see him quite frequently, don't you?"
+
+"Why, yes, of course. He often comes out here, you know."
+
+"Yes; I had heard that he did--since _you_ came."
+
+His meaning was unmistakable. Alice looked up quickly. A prompt denial
+of his implication was on her lips when the thought came to her that
+perhaps just here lay a sure way to prove to this man before her that
+there was, indeed, no need for him to teach her, to save her, or yet to
+sympathize with her. She could not affirm, of course; but she need not
+deny--yet.
+
+"Nonsense!" she laughed lightly, pleased that she could feel what she
+hoped would pass for a telltale color burning her cheeks. "Come, let
+us try some duets," she proposed, leading the way to the piano. And
+Arkwright, interpreting the apparently embarrassed change of subject
+exactly as she had hoped that he would interpret it, followed her, sick
+at heart.
+
+"'O wert thou in the cauld blast,'" sang Arkwright's lips a few moments
+later.
+
+"I can't tell her now--when I _know_ she cares for Calderwell," gloomily
+ran his thoughts, the while. "It would do no possible good, and would
+only make her unhappy to grieve me."
+
+"'O wert thou in the cauld blast,'" chimed in Alice's alto, low and
+sweet.
+
+"I reckon now he won't be staying away from here any more just to _save_
+me!" ran Alice's thoughts, palpitatingly triumphant.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI. BILLY TAKES HER TURN AT QUESTIONING
+
+
+Arkwright did not call to see Alice Greggory for some days. He did not
+want to see Alice now. He told himself wearily that she could not help
+him fight this tiger skin that lay across his path, The very fact of her
+presence by his side would, indeed, incapacitate himself for fighting.
+So he deliberately stayed away from the Annex until the day before he
+sailed for Germany. Then he went out to say good-by.
+
+Chagrined as he was at what he termed his imbecile stupidity in not
+knowing his own heart all these past months, and convinced, as he also
+was, that Alice and Calderwell cared for each other, he could see no way
+for him but to play the part of a man of kindliness and honor, leaving a
+clear field for his preferred rival, and bringing no shadow of regret to
+mar the happiness of the girl he loved.
+
+As for being his old easy, frank self on this last call, however, that
+was impossible; so Alice found plenty of fuel for her still burning
+fires of suspicion--fires which had, indeed, blazed up anew at this
+second long period of absence on the part of Arkwright. Naturally,
+therefore, the call was anything but a joy and comfort to either one.
+Arkwright was nervous, gloomy, and abnormally gay by turns. Alice was
+nervous and abnormally gay all the time. Then they said good-by and
+Arkwright went away. He sailed the next day, and Alice settled down to
+the summer of study and hard work she had laid out for herself.
+
+
+On the tenth of September Billy came home. She was brown, plump-cheeked,
+and smiling. She declared that she had had a perfectly beautiful time,
+and that there couldn't be anything in the world nicer than the trip
+she and Bertram had taken--just they two together. In answer to Aunt
+Hannah's solicitous inquiries, she asserted that she was all well and
+rested now. But there was a vaguely troubled questioning in her eyes
+that Aunt Hannah did not quite like. Aunt Hannah, however, said nothing
+even to Billy herself about this.
+
+One of the first friends Billy saw after her return was Hugh Calderwell.
+As it happened Bertram was out when he came, so Billy had the first
+half-hour of the call to herself. She was not sorry for this, as it
+gave her a chance to question Calderwell a little concerning Alice
+Greggory--something she had long ago determined to do at the first
+opportunity.
+
+"Now tell me everything--everything about everybody," she began
+diplomatically, settling herself comfortably for a good visit.
+
+"Thank you, I'm well, and have had a passably agreeable summer,
+barring the heat, sundry persistent mosquitoes, several grievous
+disappointments, and a felon on my thumb," he began, with shameless
+imperturbability. "I have been to Revere once, to the circus once,
+to Nantasket three times, and to Keith's and the 'movies' ten times,
+perhaps--to be accurate. I have also--But perhaps there was some one
+else you desired to inquire for," he broke off, turning upon his hostess
+a bland but unsmiling countenance.
+
+"Oh, no, how could there be?" twinkled Billy. "Really, Hugh, I always
+knew you had a pretty good opinion of yourself, but I didn't credit you
+with thinking you were _everybody_. Go on. I'm so interested!"
+
+Hugh chuckled softly; but there was a plaintive tone in his voice as he
+answered.
+
+"Thanks, no. I've rather lost my interest now. Lack of appreciation
+always did discourage me. We'll talk of something else, please. You
+enjoyed your trip?"
+
+"Very much. It just couldn't have been nicer!"
+
+"You were lucky. The heat here has been something fierce!"
+
+"What made you stay?"
+
+"Reasons too numerous, and one too heart-breaking, to mention. Besides,
+you forget," with dignity. "There is my profession. I have joined the
+workers of the world now, you know."
+
+"Oh, fudge, Hugh!" laughed Billy. "You know very well you're as likely
+as not to start for the ends of the earth to-morrow morning!"
+
+Hugh drew himself up.
+
+"I don't seem to succeed in making people understand that I'm serious,"
+he began aggrievedly. "I--" With an expressive flourish of his hands he
+relaxed suddenly, and fell back in his chair. A slow smile came to
+his lips. "Well, Billy, I'll give up. You've hit it," he confessed. "I
+_have_ thought seriously of starting to-morrow morning for _half-way_ to
+the ends of the earth--Panama."
+
+"Hugh!"
+
+"Well, I have. Even this call was to be a good-by--if I went."
+
+"Oh, Hugh! But I really thought--in spite of my teasing--that you had
+settled down, this time."
+
+"Yes, so did I," sighed the man, a little soberly. "But I guess it's
+no use, Billy. Oh, I'm coming back, of course, and link arms again with
+their worthy Highnesses, John Doe and Richard Roe; but just now I've got
+a restless fit on me. I want to see the wheels go 'round. Of course, if
+I had my bread and butter and cigars to earn, 'twould be different. But
+I haven't, and I know I haven't; and I suspect that's where the trouble
+lies. If it wasn't for those natal silver spoons of mine that Bertram
+is always talking about, things might be different. But the spoons are
+there, and always have been; and I know they're all ready to dish out
+mountains to climb and lakes to paddle in, any time I've a mind to say
+the word. So--I just say the word. That's all."
+
+"And you've said it now?"
+
+"Yes, I think so; for a while."
+
+"And--those reasons that _have_ kept you here all summer," ventured
+Billy, "they aren't in--er--commission any longer?"
+
+"No."
+
+Billy hesitated, regarding her companion meditatively. Then, with the
+feeling that she had followed a blind alley to its termination, she
+retreated and made a fresh start.
+
+"Well, you haven't yet told me everything about everybody, you know,"
+she hinted smilingly. "You might begin that--I mean the less important
+everybodies, of course, now that I've heard about you."
+
+"Meaning--"
+
+"Oh, Aunt Hannah, and the Greggorys, and Cyril and Marie, and the twins,
+and Mr. Arkwright, and all the rest."
+
+"But you've had letters, surely."
+
+"Yes, I've had letters from some of them, and I've seen most of them
+since I came back. It's just that I wanted to know _your_ viewpoint of
+what's happened through the summer."
+
+"Very well. Aunt Hannah is as dear as ever, wears just as many shawls,
+and still keeps her clock striking twelve when it's half-past eleven.
+Mrs. Greggory is just as sweet as ever--and a little more frail, I
+fear,--bless her heart! Mr. Arkwright is still abroad, as I presume
+you know. I hear he is doing great stunts over there, and will sing in
+Berlin and Paris this winter. I'm thinking of going across from Panama
+later. If I do I shall look him up. Mr. and Mrs. Cyril are as well as
+could be expected when you realize that they haven't yet settled on a
+pair of names for the twins."
+
+"I know it--and the poor little things three months old, too! I think
+it's a shame. You've heard the reason, I suppose. Cyril declares that
+naming babies is one of the most serious and delicate operations in the
+world, and that, for his part, he thinks people ought to select their
+own names when they've arrived at years of discretion. He wants to
+wait till the twins are eighteen, and then make each of them a birthday
+present of the name of their own choosing."
+
+"Well, if that isn't the limit!" laughed Calderwell. "I'd heard some
+such thing before, but I hadn't supposed it was really so."
+
+"Well, it is. He says he knows more tomboys and enormous fat women named
+'Grace' and 'Lily,' and sweet little mouse-like ladies staggering along
+under a sonorous 'Jerusha Theodosia' or 'Zenobia Jane'; and that if he
+should name the boys 'Franz' and 'Felix' after Schubert and Mendelssohn
+as Marie wants to, they'd as likely as not turn out to be men who hated
+the sound of music and doted on stocks and dry goods."
+
+"Humph!" grunted Calderwell. "I saw Cyril last week, and he said he
+hadn't named the twins yet, but he didn't tell me why. I offered him two
+perfectly good names myself, but he didn't seem interested."
+
+"What were they?"
+
+"Eldad and Bildad."
+
+"Hugh!" protested Billy.
+
+"Well, why not?" bridled the man. "I'm sure those are new and unique,
+and really musical, too--'way ahead of your Franz and Felix."
+
+"But those aren't really names!"
+
+"Indeed they are."
+
+"Where did you get them?"
+
+"Off our family tree, though they're Bible names, Belle says. Perhaps
+you didn't know, but Sister Belle has been making the dirt fly quite
+lively of late around that family tree of ours, and she wrote me some
+of her discoveries. It seems two of the roots, or branches--say, are
+ancestors roots, or branches?--were called Eldad and Bildad. Now I
+thought those names were good enough to pass along, but, as I said
+before, Cyril wasn't interested."
+
+"I should say not," laughed Billy. "But, honestly, Hugh, it's really
+serious. Marie wants them named _something_, but she doesn't say much
+to Cyril. Marie wouldn't really breathe, you know, if she thought Cyril
+disapproved of breathing. And in this case Cyril does not hesitate to
+declare that the boys shall name themselves."
+
+"What a situation!" laughed Calderwell.
+
+"Isn't it? But, do you know, I can sympathize with it, in a way, for
+I've always mourned so over _my_ name. 'Billy' was always such a trial
+to me! Poor Uncle William wasn't the only one that prepared guns and
+fishing rods to entertain the expected boy. I don't know, though, I'm
+afraid if I'd been allowed to select my name I should have been a 'Helen
+Clarabella' all my days, for that was the name I gave all my dolls, with
+'first,' 'second,' 'third,' and so on, added to them for distinction.
+Evidently I thought that 'Helen Clarabella' was the most feminine
+appellation possible, and the most foreign to the despised 'Billy.' So
+you see I can sympathize with Cyril to a certain extent."
+
+"But they must call the little chaps _something_, now," argued Hugh.
+
+Billy gave a sudden merry laugh.
+
+"They do," she gurgled, "and that's the funniest part of it. Oh, Cyril
+doesn't. He always calls them impersonally 'they' or 'it.' He doesn't
+see much of them anyway, now, I understand. Marie was horrified when she
+realized how the nurses had been using his den as a nursery annex and
+she changed all that instanter, when she took charge of things again.
+The twins stay in the nursery now, I'm told. But about the names--the
+nurses, it seems, have got into the way of calling them 'Dot' and
+'Dimple.' One has a dimple in his cheek, and the other is a little
+smaller of the two. Marie is no end distressed, particularly as she
+finds that she herself calls them that; and she says the idea of boys
+being 'Dot' and 'Dimple'!"
+
+"I should say so," laughed Calderwell. "Not I regard that as worse than
+my 'Eldad' and 'Bildad.'"
+
+"I know it, and Alice says--By the way, you haven't mentioned Alice, but
+I suppose you see her occasionally."
+
+Billy paused in evident expectation of a reply. Billy was, in fact,
+quite pluming herself on the adroit casualness with which she had
+introduced the subject nearest her heart.
+
+Calderwell raised his eyebrows.
+
+"Oh, yes, I see her."
+
+"But you hadn't mentioned her."
+
+There was the briefest of pauses; then with a half-quizzical dejection,
+there came the remark:
+
+"You seem to forget. I told you that I stayed here this summer for
+reasons too numerous, and one too heart-breaking, to mention. She was
+the _one_."
+
+"You mean--"
+
+"Yes. The usual thing. She turned me down. Oh, I haven't asked her yet
+as many times as I did you, but--"
+
+"_Hugh!_"
+
+Hugh tossed her a grim smile and went on imperturbably.
+
+"I'm older now, of course, and know more, perhaps. Besides, the finality
+of her remarks was not to be mistaken."
+
+Billy, in spite of her sympathy for Calderwell, was conscious of a throb
+of relief that at least one stumbling-block was removed from Arkwright's
+possible pathway to Alice's heart.
+
+"Did she give any special reason?" hazarded Billy, a shade too
+anxiously.
+
+"Oh, yes. She said she wasn't going to marry anybody--only her music."
+
+"Nonsense!" ejaculated Billy, falling back in her chair a little.
+
+"Yes, I said that, too," gloomed the man; "but it didn't do any good.
+You see, I had known another girl who'd said the same thing once." (He
+did not look up, but a vivid red flamed suddenly into Billy's cheeks.)
+"And she--when the right one came--forgot all about the music, and
+married the man. So I naturally suspected that Alice would do the same
+thing. In fact, I said so to her. I was bold enough to even call the man
+by name--I hadn't been jealous of Arkwright for nothing, you see--but
+she denied it, and flew into such an indignant allegation that there
+wasn't a word of truth in it, that I had to sue for pardon before I got
+anything like peace."
+
+"Oh-h!" said Billy, in a disappointed voice, falling quite back in her
+chair this time.
+
+"And so that's why I'm wanting especially just now to see the wheels go
+'round," smiled Calderwell, a little wistfully. "Oh, I shall get over
+it, I suppose. It isn't the first time, I'll own--but some day I take it
+there will be a last time. Enough of this, however! You haven't told me
+a thing about yourself. How about it? When I come back, are you going
+to give me a dinner cooked by your own fair hands? Going to still play
+Bridget?"
+
+Billy laughed and shook her head.
+
+"No; far from it. Eliza has come back, and her cousin from Vermont is
+coming as second girl to help her. But I _could_ cook a dinner for you
+if I had to now, sir, and it wouldn't be potato-mush and cold lamb," she
+bragged shamelessly, as there sounded Bertram's peculiar ring, and the
+click of his key in the lock.
+
+
+It was the next afternoon that Billy called on Marie. From Marie's,
+Billy went to the Annex, which was very near Cyril's new house; and
+there, in Aunt Hannah's room, she had what she told Bertram afterwards
+was a perfectly lovely visit.
+
+Aunt Hannah, too, enjoyed the visit very much, though yet there was one
+thing that disturbed her--the vaguely troubled look in Billy's eyes,
+which to-day was more apparent than ever. Not until just before Billy
+went home did something occur to give Aunt Hannah a possible clue as to
+what was the meaning of it. That something was a question from Billy.
+
+"Aunt Hannah, why don't I feel like Marie did? why don't I feel like
+everybody does in books and stories? Marie went around with such a
+detached, heavenly, absorbed look in her eyes, before the twins came to
+her home. But I don't. I don't find anything like that in my face,
+when I look in the glass. And I don't feel detached and absorbed and
+heavenly. I'm happy, of course; but I can't help thinking of the dear,
+dear times Bertram and I have together, just we two, and I can't seem to
+imagine it at all with a third person around."
+
+"Billy! _Third person_, indeed!"
+
+"There! I knew 'twould shock you," mourned Billy. "It shocks me. I _want_
+to feel detached and heavenly and absorbed."
+
+"But Billy, dear, think of it--calling your own baby a third person!"
+
+Billy sighed despairingly.
+
+"Yes, I know. And I suppose I might as well own up to the rest of it
+too. I--I'm actually afraid of babies, Aunt Hannah! Well, I am," she
+reiterated, in answer to Aunt Hannah's gasp of disapproval. "I'm not
+used to them at all. I never had any little brothers and sisters, and I
+don't know how to treat babies. I--I'm always afraid they'll break, or
+something. I'm just as afraid of the twins as I can be. How Marie can
+handle them, and toss them about as she does, I don't see."
+
+"Toss them about, indeed!"
+
+"Well, it looks that way to me," sighed Billy. "Anyhow, I know I can
+never get to handle them like that--and that's no way to feel! And
+I'm ashamed of myself because I _can't_ be detached and heavenly and
+absorbed," she added, rising to go. "Everybody always is, it seems, but
+just me."
+
+"Fiddlededee, my dear!" scoffed Aunt Hannah, patting Billy's downcast
+face. "Wait till a year from now, and we'll see about that third-person
+bugaboo you're worrying about. _I'm_ not worrying now; so you'd better
+not!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII. A DOT AND A DIMPLE
+
+
+On the day Cyril Henshaw's twins were six months old, a momentous
+occurrence marked the date with a flaming red letter of remembrance; and
+it all began with a baby's smile.
+
+Cyril, in quest of his wife at about ten o'clock that morning, and not
+finding her, pursued his search even to the nursery--a room he very
+seldom entered. Cyril did not like to go into the nursery. He felt ill
+at ease, and as if he were away from home--and Cyril was known to abhor
+being away from home since he was married. Now that Marie had taken over
+the reins of government again, he had been obliged to see very little
+of those strange women and babies. Not but that he liked the babies, of
+course. They were his sons, and he was proud of them. They should have
+every advantage that college, special training, and travel could give
+them. He quite anticipated what they would be to him--when they really
+knew anything. But, of course, _now_, when they could do nothing but
+cry and wave their absurd little fists, and wobble their heads in so
+fearsome a manner, as if they simply did not know the meaning of the
+word backbone--and, for that matter, of course they didn't--why, he
+could not be expected to be anything but relieved when he had his den to
+himself again, with a reasonable chance of finding his manuscript as
+he had left it, and not cut up into a ridiculous string of paper dolls
+holding hands, as he had once found it, after a visit from a woman with
+a small girl.
+
+Since Marie had been at the helm, however, he had not been troubled in
+such a way. He had, indeed, known almost his old customary peace and
+freedom from interruption, with only an occasional flitting across his
+path of the strange women and babies--though he had realized, of course,
+that they were in the house, especially in the nursery. For that reason,
+therefore, he always avoided the nursery when possible. But to-day he
+wanted his wife, and his wife was not to be found anywhere else in the
+house. So, reluctantly, he turned his steps toward the nursery, and,
+with a frown, knocked and pushed open the door.
+
+"Is Mrs. Henshaw here?" he demanded, not over gently.
+
+Absolute silence greeted his question. The man saw then that there was
+no one in the room save a baby sitting on a mat in the middle of the
+floor, barricaded on all sides with pillows.
+
+With a deeper frown the man turned to go, when a gleeful "Ah--goo!"
+halted his steps midway. He wheeled sharply.
+
+"Er--eh?" he queried, uncertainly eyeing his small son on the floor.
+
+"Ah--goo!" observed the infant (who had been very lonesome), with
+greater emphasis; and this time he sent into his father's eyes the most
+bewitching of smiles.
+
+"Well, by George!" murmured the man, weakly, a dawning amazement driving
+the frown from his face.
+
+"Spgggh--oo--wah!" gurgled the boy, holding out two tiny fists.
+
+A slow smile came to the man's face.
+
+"Well, I'll--be--darned," he muttered half-shamefacedly, wholly
+delightedly. "If the rascal doesn't act as if he--knew me!"
+
+"Ah--goo--spggghh!" grinned the infant, toothlessly, but entrancingly.
+
+With almost a stealthy touch Cyril closed the door back of him, and
+advanced a little dubiously toward his son. His countenance carried a
+mixture of guilt, curiosity, and dogged determination so ludicrous that
+it was a pity none but baby eyes could see it. As if to meet more
+nearly on a level this baffling new acquaintance, Cyril got to his
+knees--somewhat stiffly, it must be confessed--and faced his son.
+
+"Goo--eee--ooo--yah!" crowed the baby now, thrashing legs and arms about
+in a transport of joy at the acquisition of this new playmate.
+
+"Well, well, young man, you--you don't say so!" stammered the
+growingly-proud father, thrusting a plainly timid and unaccustomed
+finger toward his offspring. "So you do know me, eh? Well, who am I?"
+
+"Da--da!" gurgled the boy, triumphantly clutching the outstretched
+finger, and holding on with a tenacity that brought a gleeful chuckle to
+the lips of the man.
+
+"Jove! but aren't you the strong little beggar, though! Needn't tell me
+you don't know a good thing when you see it! So I'm 'da-da,' am I?"
+he went on, unhesitatingly accepting as the pure gold of knowledge the
+shameless imitation vocabulary his son was foisting upon him. "Well, I
+expect I am, and--"
+
+"Oh, Cyril!" The door had opened, and Marie was in the room. If she gave
+a start of surprise at her husband's unaccustomed attitude, she quickly
+controlled herself. "Julia said you wanted me. I must have been going
+down the back stairs when you came up the front, and--"
+
+"Please, Mrs. Henshaw, is it Dot you have in here, or Dimple?" asked a
+new voice, as the second nurse entered by another door.
+
+Before Mrs. Henshaw could answer, Cyril, who had got to his feet, turned
+sharply.
+
+"Is it--_who_?" he demanded.
+
+"Oh! Oh, Mr. Henshaw," stammered the girl. "I beg your pardon. I didn't
+know you were here. It was only that I wanted to know which baby it was.
+We thought we had Dot with us, until--"
+
+"Dot! Dimple!" exploded the man. "Do you mean to say you have given my
+_sons_ the ridiculous names of '_Dot_' and '_Dimple_'?"
+
+"Why, no--yes--well, that is--we had to call them something," faltered
+the nurse, as with a despairing glance at her mistress, she plunged
+through the doorway.
+
+Cyril turned to his wife.
+
+"Marie, what is the meaning of this?" he demanded.
+
+"Why, Cyril, dear, don't--don't get so wrought up," she begged. "It's
+only as Mary said, we _had_ to call them something, and--"
+
+"Wrought up, indeed!" interrupted Cyril, savagely. "Who wouldn't be?
+'Dot' and 'Dimple'! Great Scott! One would think those boys were a
+couple of kittens or puppies; that they didn't know anything--didn't
+have any brains! But they have--if the other is anything like this one,
+at least," he declared, pointing to his son on the floor, who, at
+this opportune moment joined in the conversation to the extent of an
+appropriate "Ah--goo--da--da!"
+
+"There, hear that, will you?" triumphed the father. "What did I tell
+you? That's the way he's been going on ever since I came into the room;
+The little rascal knows me--so soon!"
+
+Marie clapped her fingers to her lips and turned her back suddenly,
+with a spasmodic little cough; but her husband, if he noticed the
+interruption, paid no heed.
+
+"Dot and Dimple, indeed!" he went on wrathfully. "That settles it. We'll
+name those boys to-day, Marie, _to-day!_ Not once again will I let the
+sun go down on a Dot and a Dimple under my roof."
+
+Marie turned with a quick little cry of happiness.
+
+"Oh, Cyril, I'm so glad! I've so wanted to have them named, you know!
+And shall we call them Franz and Felix, as we'd talked?"
+
+"Franz, Felix, John, James, Paul, Charles--anything, so it's sane and
+sensible! I'd even adopt Calderwell's absurd Bildad and--er--Tomdad, or
+whatever it was, rather than have those poor little chaps insulted a
+day longer with a 'Dot' and a 'Dimple.' Great Scott!" And, entirely
+forgetting what he had come to the nursery for, Cyril strode from the
+room.
+
+"Ah--goo--spggggh!" commented baby from the middle of the floor.
+
+
+It was on a very windy March day that Bertram Henshaw's son, Bertram,
+Jr., arrived at the Strata. Billy went so far into the Valley of the
+Shadow of Death for her baby that it was some days before she realized
+in all its importance the presence of the new member of her family. Even
+when the days had become weeks, and Bertram, Jr., was a month and a
+half old, the extreme lassitude and weariness of his young mother was a
+source of ever-growing anxiety to her family and friends. Billy was so
+unlike herself, they all said.
+
+"If something could only rouse her," suggested the Henshaw's old
+family physician one day. "A certain sort of mental shock--if not too
+severe--would do the deed, I think, and with no injury--only benefit.
+Her physical condition is in just the state that needs a stimulus to
+stir it into new life and vigor."
+
+As it happened, this was said on a certain Monday. Two days later
+Bertram's sister Kate, on her way with her husband to Mr. Hartwell's old
+home in Vermont, stopped over in Boston for a two days' visit. She made
+her headquarters at Cyril's home, but very naturally she went, without
+much delay, to pay her respects to Bertram, Jr.
+
+"Mr. Hartwell's brother isn't well," she explained to Billy, after
+the greetings were over. "You know he's the only one left there, since
+Mother and Father Hartwell came West. We shall go right on up to Vermont
+in a couple of days, but we just had to stay over long enough to see the
+baby; and we hadn't ever seen the twins, either, you know. By the way,
+how perfectly ridiculous Cyril is over those boys!"
+
+"Is he?" smiled Billy, faintly.
+
+"Yes. One would think there were never any babies born before, to hear
+him talk. He thinks they're the most wonderful things in the world--and
+they are cunning little fellows, I'll admit. But Cyril thinks they
+_know_ so much," went on Kate, laughingly. "He's always bragging of
+something one or the other of them has done. Think of it--_Cyril!_ Marie
+says it all started from the time last January when he discovered the
+nurses had been calling them Dot and Dimple."
+
+"Yes, I know," smiled Billy again, faintly, lifting a thin, white, very
+un-Billy-like hand to her head.
+
+Kate frowned, and regarded her sister-in-law thoughtfully.
+
+"Mercy! how you look, Billy!" she exclaimed, with cheerful tactlessness.
+"They said you did, but, I declare, you look worse than I thought."
+
+Billy's pale face reddened perceptibly.
+
+"Nonsense! It's just that I'm so--so tired," she insisted. "I shall be
+all right soon. How did you leave the children?"
+
+"Well, and happy--'specially little Kate, because mother was going away.
+Kate is mistress, you know, when I'm gone, and she takes herself very
+seriously."
+
+"Mistress! A little thing like her! Why, she can't be more than ten or
+eleven," murmured Billy.
+
+"She isn't. She was ten last month. But you'd think she was forty, the
+airs she gives herself, sometimes. Oh, of course there's Nora, and the
+cook, and Miss Winton, the governess, there to really manage things,
+and Mother Hartwell is just around the corner; but little Kate _thinks_
+she's managing, so she's happy."
+
+Billy suppressed a smile. Billy was thinking that little Kate came
+naturally by at least one of her traits.
+
+"Really, that child is impossible, sometimes," resumed Mrs. Hartwell,
+with a sigh. "You know the absurd things she was always saying two or
+three years ago, when we came on to Cyril's wedding."
+
+"Yes, I remember."
+
+"Well, I thought she would get over it. But she doesn't. She's worse, if
+anything; and sometimes her insight, or intuition, or whatever you may
+call it, is positively uncanny. I never know what she's going to remark
+next, when I take her anywhere; but it's safe to say, whatever it is,
+it'll be unexpected and _usually_ embarrassing to somebody. And--is
+that the baby?" broke off Mrs. Hartwell, as a cooing laugh and a woman's
+voice came from the next room.
+
+"Yes. The nurse has just brought him in, I think," said Billy.
+
+"Then I'll go right now and see him," rejoined Kate, rising to her feet
+and hurrying into the next room.
+
+Left alone, Billy lay back wearily in her reclining-chair. She wondered
+why Kate always tired her so. She wished she had had on her blue kimono,
+then perhaps Kate would not have thought she looked so badly. Blue was
+always more becoming to her than--
+
+Billy turned her head suddenly. From the next room had come Kate's
+clear-cut, decisive voice.
+
+"Oh, no, I don't think he looks a bit like his father. That little
+snubby nose was never the Henshaw nose."
+
+Billy drew in her breath sharply, and pulled herself half erect in her
+chair. From the next room came Kate's voice again, after a low murmur
+from the nurse.
+
+"Oh, but he isn't, I tell you. He isn't one bit of a Henshaw baby! The
+Henshaw babies are always _pretty_ ones. They have more hair, and they
+look--well, different."
+
+Billy gave a low cry, and struggled to her feet.
+
+"Oh, no," spoke up Kate, in answer to another indistinct something from
+the nurse. "I don't think he's near as pretty as the twins. Of
+course the twins are a good deal older, but they have such a _bright_
+look,--and they did have, from the very first. I saw it in their tiniest
+baby pictures. But this baby--"
+
+"_This_ baby is _mine_, please," cut in a tremulous, but resolute voice;
+and Mrs. Hartwell turned to confront Bertram, Jr.'s mother, manifestly
+weak and trembling, but no less manifestly blazing-eyed and determined.
+
+"Why, Billy!" expostulated Mrs. Hartwell, as Billy stumbled forward and
+snatched the child into her arms.
+
+"Perhaps he doesn't look like the Henshaw babies. Perhaps he isn't as
+pretty as the twins. Perhaps he hasn't much hair, and does have a snub
+nose. He's my baby just the same, and I shall not stay calmly by and see
+him abused! Besides, _I_ think he's prettier than the twins ever thought
+of being; and he's got all the hair I want him to have, and his nose
+is just exactly what a baby's nose ought to be!" And, with a superb
+gesture, Billy turned and bore the baby away.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII. BILLY AND THE ENORMOUS RESPONSIBILITY
+
+
+When the doctor heard from the nurse of Mrs. Hartwell's visit and what
+had come of it, he only gave a discreet smile, as befitted himself and
+the occasion; but to his wife privately, that night, the doctor said,
+when he had finished telling the story:
+
+"And I couldn't have prescribed a better pill if I'd tried!"
+
+"_Pill_--Mrs. Hartwell! Oh, Harold," reproved the doctor's wife, mildly.
+
+But the doctor only chuckled the more, and said:
+
+"You wait and see."
+
+If Billy's friends were worried before because of her lassitude and lack
+of ambition, they were almost as worried now over her amazing alertness
+and insistent activity. Day by day, almost hour by hour, she seemed to
+gain in strength; and every bit she acquired she promptly tested almost
+to the breaking point, so plainly eager was she to be well and strong.
+And always, from morning until night, and again from night until
+morning, the pivot of her existence, around which swung all thoughts,
+words, actions, and plans, was the sturdy little plump-cheeked,
+firm-fleshed atom of humanity known as Bertram, Jr. Even Aunt Hannah
+remonstrated with her at last.
+
+"But, Billy, dear," she exclaimed, "one would almost get the idea that
+you thought there wasn't a thing in the world but that baby!"
+
+Billy laughed.
+
+"Well, do you know, sometimes I 'most think there isn't," she retorted
+unblushingly.
+
+"Billy!" protested Aunt Hannah; then, a little severely, she demanded:
+"And who was it that just last September was calling this same
+only-object-in-the-world a third person in your home?"
+
+"Third person, indeed! Aunt Hannah, did I? Did I really say such a
+dreadful thing as that? But I didn't know, then, of course. I couldn't
+know how perfectly wonderful a baby is, especially such a baby as
+Bertram, Jr., is. Why, Aunt Hannah, that little thing knows a whole lot
+already. He's known me for weeks; I know he has. And ages and ages ago
+he began to give me little smiles when he saw me. They were smiles--real
+smiles! Oh, yes, I know nurse said they weren't smiles at the first,"
+admitted Billy, in answer to Aunt Hannah's doubting expression. "I know
+nurse said it was only wind on his stomach. Think of it--wind on his
+stomach! Just as if I didn't know the difference between my own baby's
+smile and wind on his stomach! And you don't know how soon he began to
+follow my moving finger with his eyes!"
+
+"Yes, I tried that one day, I remember," observed Aunt Hannah demurely.
+"I moved my finger. He looked at the ceiling--_fixedly_."
+
+"Well, probably he _wanted_ to look at the ceiling, then," defended the
+young mother, promptly. "I'm sure I wouldn't give a snap for a baby if
+he didn't sometimes have a mind of his own, and exercise it!"
+
+"Oh, Billy, Billy," laughed Aunt Hannah, with a shake of her head as
+Billy turned away, chin uptilted.
+
+By the time Bertram, Jr., was three months old, Billy was unmistakably
+her old happy, merry self, strong and well. Affairs at the Strata once
+more were moving as by clockwork--only this time it was a baby's hand
+that set the clock, and that wound it, too.
+
+Billy told her husband very earnestly that now they had entered upon a
+period of Enormous Responsibility. The Life, Character, and Destiny of a
+Human Soul was intrusted to their care, and they must be Wise, Faithful,
+and Efficient. They must be at once Proud and Humble at this their Great
+Opportunity. They must Observe, Learn, and Practice. First and foremost
+in their eyes must always be this wonderful Important Trust.
+
+Bertram laughed at first very heartily at Billy's instructions, which,
+he declared, were so bristling with capitals that he could fairly see
+them drop from her lips. Then, when he found how really very much in
+earnest she was, and how hurt she was at his levity, he managed to pull
+his face into something like sobriety while she talked to him, though he
+did persist in dropping kisses on her cheeks, her chin, her finger-tips,
+her hair, and the little pink lobes of her ears--"just by way of
+punctuation" to her sentences, he said. And he told her that he wasn't
+really slighting her lips, only that they moved so fast he could not
+catch them. Whereat Billy pouted, and told him severely that he was a
+bad, naughty boy, and that he did not deserve to be the father of the
+dearest, most wonderful baby in the world.
+
+"No, I know I don't," beamed Bertram, with cheerful unrepentance; "but I
+am, just the same," he finished triumphantly. And this time he contrived
+to find his wife's lips.
+
+"Oh, Bertram," sighed Billy, despairingly.
+
+"You're an old dear, of course, and one just can't be cross with you;
+but you don't, you just _don't_ realize your Immense Responsibility."
+
+"Oh, yes, I do," maintained Bertram so seriously that even Billy herself
+almost believed him.
+
+In spite of his assertions, however, it must be confessed that Bertram
+was much more inclined to regard the new member of his family as just
+his son rather than as an Important Trust; and there is little doubt
+that he liked to toss him in the air and hear his gleeful crows of
+delight, without any bother of Observing him at all. As to the Life and
+Character and Destiny intrusted to his care, it is to be feared that
+Bertram just plain gloried in his son, poked him in the ribs, and
+chuckled him under the chin whenever he pleased, and gave never so much
+as a thought to Character and Destiny. It is to be feared, too, that he
+was Proud without being Humble, and that the only Opportunity he really
+appreciated was the chance to show off his wife and baby to some less
+fortunate fellow-man.
+
+But not so Billy. Billy joined a Mothers' Club and entered a class in
+Child Training with an elaborate system of Charts, Rules, and Tests. She
+subscribed to each new "Mothers' Helper," and the like, that she came
+across, devouring each and every one with an eagerness that was tempered
+only by a vague uneasiness at finding so many differences of opinion
+among Those Who Knew.
+
+Undeniably Billy, if not Bertram, was indeed realizing the Enormous
+Responsibility, and was keeping ever before her the Important Trust.
+
+In June Bertram took a cottage at the South Shore, and by the time the
+really hot weather arrived the family were well settled. It was only an
+hour away from Boston, and easy of access, but William said he guessed
+he would not go; he would stay in Boston, sleeping at the house, and
+getting his meals at the club, until the middle of July, when he was
+going down in Maine for his usual fishing trip, which he had planned to
+take a little earlier than usual this year.
+
+"But you'll be so lonesome, Uncle William," Billy demurred, "in this
+great house all alone!"
+
+"Oh, no, I sha'n't," rejoined Uncle William. "I shall only be sleeping
+here, you know," he finished, with a slightly peculiar smile.
+
+It was well, perhaps, that Billy did not exactly realize the
+significance of that smile, nor the unconscious emphasis on the word
+"sleeping," for it would have troubled her not a little.
+
+William, to tell the truth, was quite anticipating that sleeping.
+William's nights had not been exactly restful since the baby came. His
+evenings, too, had not been the peaceful things they were wont to be.
+
+Some of Billy's Rules and Tests were strenuously objected to on the part
+of her small son, and the young man did not hesitate to show it. Billy
+said that it was good for the baby to cry, that it developed his lungs;
+but William was very sure that it was not good for _him_. Certainly,
+when the baby did cry, William never could help hovering near the center
+of disturbance, and he always _had_ to remind Billy that it might be a
+pin, you know, or some cruel thing that was hurting. As if he, William,
+a great strong man, could sit calmly by and smoke a pipe, or lie in his
+comfortable bed and sleep, while that blessed little baby was crying
+his heart out like that! Of course, if one did not _know_ he was
+crying--Hence William's anticipation of those quiet, restful nights when
+he could not know it.
+
+Very soon after Billy's arrival at the cottage, Aunt Hannah and Alice
+Greggory came down for a day's visit. Aunt Hannah had been away from
+Boston for several weeks, so it was some time since she had seen the
+baby.
+
+"My, but hasn't he grown!" she exclaimed, picking the baby up and
+stooping to give him a snuggling kiss. The next instant she almost
+dropped the little fellow, so startling had been Billy's cry.
+
+"No, no, wait, Aunt Hannah, please," Billy was entreating, hurrying to
+the little corner cupboard. In a moment she was back with a small bottle
+and a bit of antiseptic cotton. "We always sterilize our lips now before
+we kiss him--it's so much safer, you know."
+
+Aunt Hannah sat down limply, the baby still in her arms.
+
+"Fiddlededee, Billy! What an absurd idea! What have you got in that
+bottle?"
+
+"Why, Aunt Hannah, it's just a little simple listerine," bridled Billy,
+"and it isn't absurd at all. It's very sensible. My 'Hygienic Guide for
+Mothers' says--"
+
+"Well, I suppose I may kiss his hand," interposed Aunt Hannah, just a
+little curtly, "without subjecting myself to a City Hospital treatment!"
+
+Billy laughed shamefacedly, but she still held her ground.
+
+"No, you can't--nor even his foot. He might get them in his mouth. Aunt
+Hannah, why does a baby think that everything, from his own toes to his
+father's watch fob and the plush balls on a caller's wrist-bag, is made
+to eat? As if I could sterilize everything, and keep him from getting
+hold of germs somewhere!"
+
+"You'll have to have a germ-proof room for him," laughed Alice Greggory,
+playfully snapping her fingers at the baby in Aunt Hannah's lap.
+
+Billy turned eagerly.
+
+"Oh, did you read about that, too?" she cried. "I thought it was _so_
+interesting, and I wondered if I could do it."
+
+Alice stared frankly.
+
+"You don't mean to say they actually _have_ such things," she
+challenged.
+
+"Well, I read about them in a magazine," asserted Billy, "--how you
+could have a germ-proof room. They said it was very simple, too. Just
+pasteurize the air, you know, by heating it to one hundred and ten
+and one-half degrees Fahrenheit for seventeen and one-half minutes. I
+remember just the figures."
+
+"Simple, indeed! It sounds so," scoffed Aunt Hannah, with uplifted
+eyebrows.
+
+"Oh, well, I couldn't do it, of course," admitted Billy, regretfully.
+"Bertram never'd stand for that in the world. He's always rushing in to
+show the baby off to every Tom, Dick and Harry and his wife that comes;
+and of course if you opened the nursery door, that would let in those
+germ things, and you _couldn't_ very well pasteurize your callers by
+heating them to one hundred and ten and one-half degrees for seventeen
+and one-half minutes! I don't see how you could manage such a room,
+anyway, unless you had a system of--of rooms like locks, same as they do
+for water in canals."
+
+"Oh, my grief and conscience--locks, indeed!" almost groaned Aunt
+Hannah. "Here, Alice, will you please take this child--that is, if you
+have a germ-proof certificate about you to show to his mother. I want to
+take off my bonnet and gloves."
+
+"Take him? Of course I'll take him," laughed Alice; "and right under his
+mother's nose, too," she added, with a playful grimace at Billy. "And
+we'll make pat-a-cakes, and send the little pigs to market, and have
+such a beautiful time that we'll forget there ever was such a thing in
+the world as an old germ. Eh, babykins?"
+
+"Babykins" cooed his unqualified approval of this plan; but his mother
+looked troubled.
+
+"That's all right, Alice. You may play with him," she frowned
+doubtfully; "but you mustn't do it long, you know--not over five
+minutes."
+
+"Five minutes! Well, I like that, when I've come all the way from Boston
+purposely to see him," pouted Alice. "What's the matter now? Time for
+his nap?"
+
+"Oh, no, not for--thirteen minutes," replied Billy, consulting the watch
+at her belt. "But we never play with Baby more than five minutes at a
+time. My 'Scientific Care of Infants' says it isn't wise; that with some
+babies it's positively dangerous, until after they're six months old.
+It makes them nervous, and forces their mind, you know," she explained
+anxiously. "So of course we'd want to be careful. Bertram, Jr., isn't
+quite four, yet."
+
+"Why, yes, of course," murmured Alice, politely, stopping a pat-a-cake
+before it was half baked.
+
+The infant, as if suspecting that he was being deprived of his lawful
+baby rights, began to fret and whimper.
+
+"Poor itty sing," crooned Aunt Hannah, who, having divested herself of
+bonnet and gloves, came hurriedly forward with outstretched hands. "Do
+they just 'buse 'em? Come here to your old auntie, sweetems, and we'll
+go walkee. I saw a bow-wow--such a tunnin' ickey wickey bow-wow on the
+steps when I came in. Come, we go see ickey wickey bow-wow?"
+
+"Aunt Hannah, _please!_" protested Billy, both hands upraised in horror.
+"_Won't_ you say 'dog,' and leave out that dreadful 'ickey wickey'? Of
+course he can't understand things now, really, but we never know when
+he'll begin to, and we aren't ever going to let him hear baby-talk at
+all, if we can help it. And truly, when you come to think of it, it is
+absurd to expect a child to talk sensibly and rationally on the mental
+diet of 'moo-moos' and 'choo-choos' served out to them. Our Professor of
+Metaphysics and Ideology in our Child Study Course says that nothing is
+so receptive and plastic as the Mind of a Little Child, and that it is
+perfectly appalling how we fill it with trivial absurdities that haven't
+even the virtue of being accurate. So that's why we're trying to be so
+careful with Baby. You didn't mind my speaking, I know, Aunt Hannah."
+
+"Oh, no, of course not, Billy," retorted Aunt Hannah, a little tartly,
+and with a touch of sarcasm most unlike her gentle self. "I'm sure
+I shouldn't wish to fill this infant's plastic mind with anything so
+appalling as trivial inaccuracies. May I be pardoned for suggesting,
+however," she went on as the baby's whimper threatened to become a lusty
+wail, "that this young gentleman cries as if he were sleepy and hungry?"
+
+"Yes, he is," admitted Billy.
+
+"Well, doesn't your system of scientific training allow him to be given
+such trivial absurdities as food and naps?" inquired the lady, mildly.
+
+"Of course it does, Aunt Hannah," retorted Billy, laughing in spite of
+herself. "And it's almost time now. There are only a few more minutes to
+wait."
+
+"Few more minutes to wait, indeed!" scorned Aunt Hannah. "I suppose the
+poor little fellow might cry and cry, and you wouldn't set that clock
+ahead by a teeny weeny minute!"
+
+"Certainly not," said the young mother, decisively. "My 'Daily Guide for
+Mothers' says that a time for everything and everything in its time, is
+the very A B C and whole alphabet of Right Training. He does everything
+by the clock, and to the minute," declared Billy, proudly.
+
+Aunt Hannah sniffed, obviously skeptical and rebellious. Alice Greggory
+laughed.
+
+"Aunt Hannah looks as if she'd like to bring down her clock that strikes
+half an hour ahead," she said mischievously; but Aunt Hannah did not
+deign to answer this.
+
+"How long do you rock him?" she demanded of Billy. "I suppose I may do
+that, mayn't I?"
+
+"Mercy, I don't rock him at all, Aunt Hannah," exclaimed Billy.
+
+"Nor sing to him?"
+
+"Certainly not."
+
+"But you did--before I went away. I remember that you did."
+
+"Yes, I know I did," admitted Billy, "and I had an awful time, too.
+Some evenings, every single one of us, even to Uncle William, had to
+try before we could get him off to sleep. But that was before I got my
+'Efficiency of Mother and Child,' or my 'Scientific Training,' and, oh,
+lots of others. You see, I didn't know a thing then, and I loved to rock
+him, so I did it--though the nurse said it wasn't good for him; but I
+didn't believe _her_. I've had an awful time changing; but I've done it.
+I just put him in his little crib, or his carriage, and after a while
+he goes to sleep. Sometimes, now, he doesn't cry hardly any. I'm afraid,
+to-day, though, he will," she worried.
+
+"Yes, I'm afraid he will," almost screamed Aunt Hannah, in order to make
+herself heard above Bertram, Jr., who, by this time, was voicing his
+opinion of matters and things in no uncertain manner.
+
+It was not, after all, so very long before peace and order reigned; and,
+in due course, Bertram, Jr., in his carriage, lay fast asleep. Then,
+while Aunt Hannah went to Billy's room for a short rest, Billy and Alice
+went out on to the wide veranda which faced the wonderful expanse of sky
+and sea.
+
+"Now tell me of yourself," commanded Billy, almost at once. "It's been
+ages since I've heard or seen a thing of you."
+
+"There's nothing to tell."
+
+"Nonsense! But there must be," insisted Billy. "You know it's months
+since I've seen anything of you, hardly."
+
+"I know. We feel quite neglected at the Annex," said Alice.
+
+"But I don't go anywhere," defended Billy. "I can't. There isn't time."
+
+"Even to bring us the extra happiness?" smiled Alice.
+
+A quick change came to Billy's face. Her eyes glowed deeply.
+
+"No; though I've had so much that ought to have gone--such loads
+and loads of extra happiness, which I couldn't possibly use myself!
+Sometimes I'm so happy, Alice, that--that I'm just frightened. It
+doesn't seem as if anybody ought to be so happy."
+
+"Oh, Billy, dear," demurred Alice, her eyes filling suddenly with tears.
+
+"Well, I've got the Annex. I'm glad I've got that for the overflow,
+anyway," resumed Billy, trying to steady her voice. "I've sent a whole
+lot of happiness up there mentally, if I haven't actually carried it; so
+I'm sure you must have got it. Now tell me of yourself."
+
+"There's nothing to tell," insisted Alice, as before.
+
+"You're working as hard as ever?"
+
+"Yes--harder."
+
+"New pupils?"
+
+"Yes, and some concert engagements--good ones, for next season.
+Accompaniments, you know."
+
+Billy nodded.
+
+"Yes; I've heard of you already twice, lately, in that line, and very
+flatteringly, too."
+
+"Have you? Well, that's good."
+
+"Hm-m." There was a moment's silence, then, abruptly, Billy changed the
+subject. "I had a letter from Belle Calderwell, yesterday." She paused
+expectantly, but there was no comment.
+
+"You don't seem interested," she frowned, after a minute.
+
+Alice laughed.
+
+"Pardon me, but--I don't know the Lady, you see. Was it a good letter?"
+
+"You know her brother."
+
+"Very true." Alice's cheeks showed a deeper color. "Did she say anything
+of him?"
+
+"Yes. She said he was coming back to Boston next winter."
+
+"Indeed!"
+
+"Yes. She says that this time he declares he really _is_ going to settle
+down to work," murmured Billy, demurely, with a sidelong glance at her
+companion. "She says he's engaged to be married--one of her friends over
+there."
+
+There was no reply. Alice appeared to be absorbed in watching a tiny
+white sail far out at sea.
+
+Again Billy was silent. Then, with studied carelessness, she said:
+
+"Yes, and you know Mr. Arkwright, too. She told of him."
+
+"Yes? Well, what of him?" Alice's voice was studiedly indifferent.
+
+"Oh, there was quite a lot of him. Belle had just been to hear him
+sing, and then her brother had introduced him to her. She thinks he's
+perfectly wonderful, in every way, I should judge. In fact, she simply
+raved over him. It seems that while we've been hearing nothing from him
+all winter, he's been winning no end of laurels for himself in Paris and
+Berlin. He's been studying, too, of course, as well as singing; and
+now he's got a chance to sing somewhere--create a r�le, or
+something--Belle said she wasn't quite clear on the matter herself, but
+it was a perfectly splendid chance, and one that was a fine feather in
+his cap."
+
+"Then he won't be coming home--that is, to Boston--at all this winter,
+probably," said Alice, with a cheerfulness that sounded just a little
+forced.
+
+"Not until February. But he is coming then. He's been engaged for six
+performances with the Boston Opera Company--as a star tenor, mind you!
+Isn't that splendid?"
+
+"Indeed it is," murmured Alice.
+
+"Belle writes that Hugh says he's improved wonderfully, and that even he
+can see that his singing is marvelous. He says Paris is wild over him;
+but--for my part, I wish he'd come home and stay here where he belongs,"
+finished Billy, a bit petulantly.
+
+"Why, why, Billy!" murmured her friend, a curiously startled look coming
+into her eyes.
+
+"Well, I do," maintained Billy; then, recklessly, she added: "I had such
+beautiful plans for him, once, Alice. Oh, if you only could have cared
+for him, you'd have made such a splendid couple!"
+
+A vivid scarlet flew to Alice's face.
+
+"Nonsense!" she cried, getting quickly to her feet and bending over
+one of the flower boxes along the veranda railing. "Mr. Arkwright
+never thought of marrying me--and I'm not going to marry anybody but my
+music."
+
+Billy sighed despairingly.
+
+"I know that's what you say now; but if--" She stopped abruptly. Around
+the turn of the veranda had appeared Aunt Hannah, wheeling Bertram, Jr.,
+still asleep in his carriage.
+
+"I came out the other door," she explained softly. "And it was so lovely
+I just had to go in and get the baby. I thought it would be so nice for
+him to finish his nap out here."
+
+Billy arose with a troubled frown.
+
+"But, Aunt Hannah, he mustn't--he can't stay out here. I'm sorry, but
+we'll have to take him back."
+
+Aunt Hannah's eyes grew mutinous.
+
+"But I thought the outdoor air was just the thing for him. I'm sure your
+scientific hygienic nonsense says _that!_"
+
+"They do--they did--that is, some of them do," acknowledged Billy,
+worriedly; "but they differ, so! And the one I'm going by now says that
+Baby should always sleep in an _even_ temperature--seventy degrees, if
+possible; and that's exactly what the room in there was, when I left
+him. It's not the same out here, I'm sure. In fact I looked at the
+thermometer to see, just before I came out myself. So, Aunt Hannah, I'm
+afraid I'll have to take him back."
+
+"But you used to have him sleep out of doors all the time, on that
+little balcony out of your room," argued Aunt Hannah, still plainly
+unconvinced.
+
+"Yes, I know I did. I was following the other man's rules, then. As I
+said, if only they wouldn't differ so! Of course I want the best; but
+it's so hard to always know the best, and--"
+
+At this very inopportune moment Master Bertram took occasion to wake
+up, which brought even a deeper wrinkle of worry to his fond mother's
+forehead; for she said that, according to the clock, he should have been
+sleeping exactly ten and one-half more minutes, and that of course he
+couldn't commence the next thing until those ten and one-half minutes
+were up, or else his entire schedule for the day would be shattered.
+So what she should do with him for those should-have-been-sleeping ten
+minutes and a half, she did not know. All of which drew from Aunt Hannah
+the astounding exclamation of:
+
+"Oh, my grief and conscience, Billy, if you aren't the--the limit!"
+Which, indeed, she must have been, to have brought circumspect Aunt
+Hannah to the point of actually using slang.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV. A NIGHT OFF
+
+
+The Henshaw family did not return to the Strata until late in September.
+Billy said that the sea air seemed to agree so well with the baby it
+would be a pity to change until the weather became really too cool at
+the shore to be comfortable.
+
+William came back from his fishing trip in August, and resumed his old
+habit of sleeping at the house and taking his meals at the club. To be
+sure, for a week he went back and forth between the city and the beach
+house; but it happened to be a time when Bertram, Jr., was cutting a
+tooth, and this so wore upon William's sympathy--William still could not
+help insisting it _might_ be a pin--that he concluded peace lay only in
+flight. So he went back to the Strata.
+
+Bertram had stayed at the cottage all summer, painting industriously.
+Heretofore he had taken more of a vacation through the summer months,
+but this year there seemed to be nothing for him to do but to paint. He
+did not like to go away on a trip and leave Billy, and she declared she
+could not take the baby nor leave him, and that she did not need any
+trip, anyway.
+
+"All right, then, we'll just stay at the beach, and have a fine vacation
+together," he had answered her.
+
+As Bertram saw it, however, he could detect very little "vacation"
+to it. Billy had no time for anything but the baby. When she was not
+actually engaged in caring for it, she was studying how to care for it.
+Never had she been sweeter or dearer, and never had Bertram loved her
+half so well. He was proud, too, of her devotion, and of her triumphant
+success as a mother; but he did wish that sometimes, just once in a
+while, she would remember she was a wife, and pay a little attention to
+him, her husband.
+
+Bertram was ashamed to own it, even to himself, but he was feeling just
+a little abused that summer; and he knew that, in his heart, he was
+actually getting jealous of his own son, in spite of his adoration of
+the little fellow. He told himself defensively that it was not to be
+expected that he should not want the love of his wife, the attentions of
+his wife, and the companionship of his wife--a part of the time. It was
+nothing more than natural that occasionally he should like to see her
+show some interest in subjects not mentioned in Mothers' Guides and
+Scientific Trainings of Infants; and he did not believe he could be
+blamed for wanting his residence to be a home for himself as well as a
+nursery for his offspring.
+
+Even while he thus discontentedly argued with himself, however, Bertram
+called himself a selfish brute just to think such things when he had
+so dear and loving a wife as Billy, and so fine and splendid a baby as
+Bertram, Jr. He told himself, too, that very likely when they were back
+in their own house again, and when motherhood was not so new to her,
+Billy would not be so absorbed in the baby. She would return to her old
+interest in her husband, her music, her friends, and her own personal
+appearance. Meanwhile there was always, of course, for him, his
+painting. So he would paint, accepting gladly what crumbs of attention
+fell from the baby's table, and trust to the future to make Billy none
+the less a mother, perhaps, but a little more the wife.
+
+Just how confidently he was counting on this coming change, Bertram
+hardly realized himself; but certainly the family was scarcely settled
+at the Strata before the husband gayly proposed one evening that he and
+Billy should go to the theater to see "Romeo and Juliet."
+
+Billy was clearly both surprised and shocked.
+
+"Why, Bertram, I can't--you know I can't!" she exclaimed reprovingly.
+
+Bertram's heart sank; but he kept a brave front.
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"What a question! As if I'd leave Baby!"
+
+"But, Billy, dear, you'd be gone less than three hours, and you say
+Delia's the most careful of nurses."
+
+Billy's forehead puckered into an anxious frown.
+
+"I can't help it. Something might happen to him, Bertram. I couldn't be
+happy a minute."
+
+"But, dearest, aren't you _ever_ going to leave him?" demanded the young
+husband, forlornly.
+
+"Why, yes, of course, when it's reasonable and necessary. I went out to
+the Annex yesterday afternoon. I was gone almost two whole hours."
+
+"Well, did anything happen?"
+
+"N-no; but then I telephoned, you see, several times, so I _knew_
+everything was all right."
+
+"Oh, well, if that's all you want, I could telephone, you know, between
+every act," suggested Bertram, with a sarcasm that was quite lost on the
+earnest young mother.
+
+"Y-yes, you could do that, couldn't you?" conceded Billy; "and, of
+course, I _haven't_ been anywhere much, lately."
+
+"Indeed I could," agreed Bertram, with a promptness that carefully hid
+his surprise at her literal acceptance of what he had proposed as a huge
+joke. "Come, is it a go? Shall I telephone to see if I can get seats?"
+
+"You think Baby'll surely be all right?"
+
+"I certainly do."
+
+"And you'll telephone home between every act?"
+
+"I will." Bertram's voice sounded almost as if he were repeating the
+marriage service.
+
+"And we'll come straight home afterwards as fast as John and Peggy can
+bring us?"
+
+"Certainly."
+
+"Then I think--I'll--go," breathed Billy, tremulously, plainly showing
+what a momentous concession she thought she was making. "I do love
+'Romeo and Juliet,' and I haven't seen it for ages!"
+
+"Good! Then I'll find out about the tickets," cried Bertram, so elated
+at the prospect of having an old-time evening out with his wife that
+even the half-hourly telephones did not seem too great a price to pay.
+
+When the time came, they were a little late in starting. Baby
+was fretful, and though Billy usually laid him in his crib and
+unhesitatingly left the room, insisting that he should go to sleep by
+himself in accordance with the most approved rules in her Scientific
+Training; yet to-night she could not bring herself to the point of
+leaving the house until he was quiet. Hurried as they were when they
+did start, Billy was conscious of Bertram's frowning disapproval of her
+frock.
+
+"You don't like it, of course, dear, and I don't blame you," she smiled
+remorsefully.
+
+"Oh, I like it--that is, I did, when it was new," rejoined her husband,
+with apologetic frankness. "But, dear, didn't you have anything else?
+This looks almost--well, mussy, you know."
+
+"No--well, yes, maybe there were others," admitted Billy; "but this
+was the quickest and easiest to get into, and it all came just as I
+was getting Baby ready for bed, you know. I am a fright, though, I'll
+acknowledge, so far as clothes go. I haven't had time to get a thing
+since Baby came. I must get something right away, I suppose."
+
+"Yes, indeed," declared Bertram, with emphasis, hurrying his wife into
+the waiting automobile.
+
+Billy had to apologize again at the theater, for the curtain had already
+risen on the ancient quarrel between the houses of Capulet and Montague,
+and Billy knew her husband's special abhorrence of tardy arrivals.
+Later, though, when well established in their seats, Billy's mind was
+plainly not with the players on the stage.
+
+"Do you suppose Baby _is_ all right?" she whispered, after a time.
+
+"Sh-h! Of course he is, dear!"
+
+There was a brief silence, during which Billy peered at her program in
+the semi-darkness. Then she nudged her husband's arm ecstatically.
+
+"Bertram, I couldn't have chosen a better play if I'd tried. There
+are _five_ acts! I'd forgotten there were so many. That means you can
+telephone four times!"
+
+"Yes, dear." Bertram's voice was sternly cheerful.
+
+"You must be sure they tell you exactly how Baby is."
+
+"All right, dear. Sh-h! Here's Romeo."
+
+Billy subsided. She even clapped a little in spasmodic enthusiasm.
+Presently she peered at her program again.
+
+"There wouldn't be time, I suppose, to telephone between the scenes,"
+she hazarded wistfully. "There are sixteen of those!"
+
+"Well, hardly! Billy, you aren't paying one bit of attention to the
+play!"
+
+"Why, of course I am," whispered Billy, indignantly. "I think it's
+perfectly lovely, and I'm perfectly contented, too--since I found
+out about those five acts, and as long as I _can't_ have the sixteen
+scenes," she added, settling back in her seat.
+
+As if to prove that she was interested in the play, her next whisper,
+some time later, had to do with one of the characters on the stage.
+
+"Who's that--the nurse? Mercy! We wouldn't want her for Baby, would we?"
+
+In spite of himself Bertram chuckled this time. Billy, too, laughed at
+herself. Then, resolutely, she settled into her seat again.
+
+The curtain was not fairly down on the first act before Billy had laid
+an urgent hand on her husband's arm.
+
+"Now, remember; ask if he's waked up, or anything," she directed. "And
+be sure to say I'll come right home if they need me. Now hurry."
+
+"Yes, dear." Bertram rose with alacrity. "I'll be back right away."
+
+"Oh, but I don't want you to hurry _too_ much," she called after him,
+softly. "I want you to take plenty of time to ask questions."
+
+"All right," nodded Bertram, with a quizzical smile, as he turned away.
+
+Obediently Bertram asked all the question she could think of, then came
+back to his wife. There was nothing in his report that even Billy could
+disapprove of, or worry about; and with almost a contented look on her
+face she turned toward the stage as the curtain went up on the second
+act.
+
+"I love this balcony scene," she sighed happily.
+
+Romeo, however, had not half finished his impassioned love-making when
+Billy clutched her husband's arm almost fiercely.
+
+"Bertram," she fairly hissed in a tragic whisper, "I've just happened
+to think! Won't it be awful when Baby falls in love? I know I shall just
+hate that girl for taking him away from me!"
+
+"Sh-h! _Billy!_" expostulated her husband, choking with half-stifled
+laughter. "That woman in front heard you, I know she did!"
+
+"Well, I shall," sighed Billy, mournfully, turning back to the stage.
+
+   "'Good night, good night! parting is such sweet sorrow,
+     That I shall say good night, till it be morrow,"'
+
+sighed Juliet passionately to her Romeo.
+
+"Mercy! I hope not," whispered Billy flippantly in Bertram's ear. "I'm
+sure I don't want to stay here till to-morrow! I want to go home and see
+Baby."
+
+"_Billy!_" pleaded Bertram so despairingly, that Billy, really
+conscience-smitten, sat back in her seat and remained, for the rest of
+the act, very quiet indeed.
+
+Deceived by her apparent tranquillity, Bertram turned as the curtain
+went down.
+
+"Now, Billy, surely you don't think it'll be necessary to telephone so
+soon as this again," he ventured.
+
+Billy's countenance fell.
+
+"But, Bertram, you _said_ you would! Of course if you aren't willing
+to--but I've been counting on hearing all through this horrid long act,
+and--"
+
+"Goodness me, Billy, I'll telephone every minute for you, of course, if
+you want me to," cried Bertram, springing to his feet, and trying not to
+show his impatience.
+
+He was back more promptly this time.
+
+"Everything O. K.," he smiled reassuringly into Billy's anxious eyes.
+"Delia said she'd just been up, and the little chap was sound asleep."
+
+To the man's unbounded surprise, his wife grew actually white.
+
+"Up! Up!" she exclaimed. "Do you mean that Delia went down-stairs to
+_stay_, and left my baby up there alone?"
+
+"But, Billy, she said he was all right," murmured Bertram, softly,
+casting uneasy sidelong glances at his too interested neighbors.
+
+"'All right'! Perhaps he was, _then_--but he may not be, later. Delia
+should stay in the next room all the time, where she could hear the
+least thing."
+
+"Yes, dear, she will, I'm sure, if you tell her to," soothed Bertram,
+quickly. "It'll be all right next time."
+
+Billy shook her head. She was obviously near to crying.
+
+"But, Bertram, I can't stand it to sit here enjoying myself all safe and
+comfortable, and know that Baby is _alone_ up there in that great big
+room! Please, _please_ won't you go and telephone Delia to go up _now_
+and stay there?"
+
+Bertram, weary, sorely tried, and increasingly aware of those annoyingly
+interested neighbors, was on the point of saying a very decided no; but
+a glance into Billy's pleading eyes settled it. Without a word he went
+back to the telephone.
+
+The curtain was up when he slipped into his seat, very red of face. In
+answer to Billy's hurried whisper he shook his head; but in the short
+pause between the first and second scenes he said, in a low voice:
+
+"I'm sorry, Billy, but I couldn't get the house at all."
+
+"Couldn't get them! But you'd just been talking with them!"
+
+"That's exactly it, probably. I had just telephoned, so they weren't
+watching for the bell. Anyhow, I couldn't get them."
+
+"Then you didn't get Delia at all!"
+
+"Of course not."
+
+"And Baby is still--all alone!"
+
+"But he's all right, dear. Delia's keeping watch of him."
+
+For a moment there was silence; then, with clear decisiveness came
+Billy's voice.
+
+"Bertram, I am going home."
+
+"Billy!"
+
+"I am."
+
+"Billy, for heaven's sake don't be a silly goose! The play's half over
+already. We'll soon be going, anyway."
+
+Billy's lips came together in a thin little determined line.
+
+"Bertram, I am going home now, please," she said. "You needn't come with
+me; I can go alone."
+
+Bertram said two words under his breath which it was just as well,
+perhaps, that Billy--and the neighbors--did not hear; then he gathered
+up their wraps and, with Billy, stalked out of the theater.
+
+At home everything was found to be absolutely as it should be.
+Bertram, Jr., was peacefully sleeping, and Delia, who had come up from
+downstairs, was sewing in the next room.
+
+"There, you see," observed Bertram, a little sourly.
+
+Billy drew a long, contented sigh.
+
+"Yes, I see; everything is all right. But that's exactly what I wanted
+to do, Bertram, you know--to _see for myself_," she finished happily.
+
+And Bertram, looking at her rapt face as she hovered over the baby's
+crib, called himself a brute and a beast to mind _anything_ that could
+make Billy look like that.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV. "SHOULD AULD ACQUAINTANCE BE FORGOT"
+
+
+Bertram did not ask Billy very soon again to go to the theater. For some
+days, indeed, he did not ask her to do anything. Then, one evening, he
+did beg for some music.
+
+"Billy, you haven't played to me or sung to me since I could remember,"
+he complained. "I want some music."
+
+Billy gave a merry laugh and wriggled her fingers experimentally.
+
+"Mercy, Bertram! I don't believe I could play a note. You know I'm all
+out of practice."
+
+"But why _don't_ you practice?"
+
+"Why, Bertram, I can't. In the first place I don't seem to have any time
+except when Baby's asleep; and I can't play then-I'd wake him up."
+
+Bertram sighed irritably, rose to his feet, and began to walk up and
+down the room. He came to a pause at last, his eyes bent a trifle
+disapprovingly on his wife.
+
+"Billy, dear, _don't_ you wear anything but those wrapper things
+nowadays?" he asked plaintively.
+
+Again Billy laughed. But this time a troubled frown followed the laugh.
+
+"I know, Bertram, I suppose they do look dowdy, sometimes," she
+confessed; "but, you see, I hate to wear a really good dress--Baby
+rumples them up so; and I'm usually in a hurry to get to him mornings,
+and these are so easy to slip into, and so much more comfortable for me
+to handle him in!"
+
+"Yes, of course, of course; I see," mumbled Bertram, listlessly taking
+up his walk again.
+
+Billy, after a moment's silence, began to talk animatedly. Baby had done
+a wonderfully cunning thing that morning, and Billy had not had a chance
+yet to tell Bertram. Baby was growing more and more cunning anyway,
+these days, and there were several things she believed she had not told
+him; so she told them now.
+
+Bertram listened politely, interestedly. He told himself that he _was_
+interested, too. Of course he was interested in the doings of his own
+child! But he still walked up and down the room a little restlessly,
+coming to a halt at last by the window, across which the shade had not
+been drawn.
+
+"Billy," he cried suddenly, with his old boyish eagerness, "there's
+a glorious moon. Come on! Let's take a little walk--a real
+fellow-and-his-best-girl walk! Will you?"
+
+"Mercy! dear, I couldn't," cried Billy springing to her feet. "I'd love
+to, though, if I could," she added hastily, as she saw disappointment
+cloud her husband's face. "But I told Delia she might go out. It isn't
+her regular evening, of course, but I told her I didn't mind staying
+with Baby a bit. So I'll have to go right up now. She'll be going soon.
+But, dear, you go and take your walk. It'll do you good. Then you can
+come back and tell me all about it--only you must come in quietly, so
+not to wake the baby," she finished, giving her husband an affectionate
+kiss, as she left the room.
+
+After a disconsolate five minutes of solitude, Bertram got his hat and
+coat and went out for his walk--but he told himself he did not expect to
+enjoy it.
+
+Bertram Henshaw knew that the old rebellious jealousy of the summer had
+him fast in its grip. He was heartily ashamed of himself, but he could
+not help it. He wanted Billy, and he wanted her then. He wanted to talk
+to her. He wanted to tell her about a new portrait commission he had
+just obtained; and he wanted to ask her what she thought of the idea of
+a brand-new "Face of a Girl" for the Bohemian Ten Exhibition next March.
+He wanted--but then, what would be the use? She would listen, of course,
+but he would know by the very looks of her face that she would not be
+really thinking of what he was saying; and he would be willing to wager
+his best canvas that in the very first pause she would tell about the
+baby's newest tooth or latest toy. Not but that he liked to hear about
+the little fellow, of course; and not but that he was proud as Punch
+of him, too; but that he would like sometimes to hear Billy talk of
+something else. The sweetest melody in the world, if dinned into one's
+ears day and night, became something to be fled from.
+
+And Billy ought to talk of something else, too! Bertram, Jr., wonderful
+as he was, really was not the only thing in the world, or even the only
+baby; and other people--outsiders, their friends--had a right to
+expect that sometimes other matters might be considered--their own, for
+instance. But Billy seemed to have forgotten this. No matter whether
+the subject of conversation had to do with the latest novel or a trip
+to Europe, under Billy's guidance it invariably led straight to Baby's
+Jack-and-Jill book, or to a perambulator journey in the Public Garden.
+If it had not been so serious, it would have been really funny the way
+all roads led straight to one goal. He himself, when alone with Billy,
+had started the most unusual and foreign subjects, sometimes, just to
+see if there were not somewhere a little bypath that did not bring up in
+his own nursery. He never, however, found one.
+
+But it was not funny; it was serious. Was this glorious gift on
+parenthood to which he had looked forward as the crowning joy of his
+existence, to be nothing but a tragedy that would finally wreck his
+domestic happiness? It could not be. It must not be. He must be patient,
+and wait. Billy loved him. He was sure she did. By and by this obsession
+of motherhood, which had her so fast in its grasp, would relax. She
+would remember that her husband had rights as well as her child. Once
+again she would give him the companionship, love, and sympathetic
+interest so dear to him. Meanwhile there was his work. He must bury
+himself in that. And fortunate, indeed, he was, he told himself, that he
+had something so absorbing.
+
+It was at this point in his meditations that Bertram rounded a corner
+and came face to face with a man who stopped him short with a jovial:
+
+"Isn't it--by George, it is Bertie Henshaw! Well, what do you think of
+that for luck?--and me only two days home from 'Gay Paree'!"
+
+"Oh, Seaver! How are you? You _are_ a stranger!" Bertram's voice and
+handshake were a bit more cordial than they would have been had he not
+at the moment been feeling so abused and forlorn. In the old days he had
+liked this Bob Seaver well. Seaver was an artist like himself, and was
+good company always. But Seaver and his crowd were a little too Bohemian
+for William's taste; and after Billy came, she, too, had objected to
+what she called "that horrid Seaver man." In his heart, Bertram knew
+that there was good foundation for their objections, so he had avoided
+Seaver for a time; and for some years, now, the man had been abroad,
+somewhat to Bertram's relief. To-night, however, Seaver's genial smile
+and hearty friendliness were like a sudden burst of sunshine on a rainy
+day--and Bertram detested rainy days. He was feeling now, too, as if he
+had just had a whole week of them.
+
+"Yes, I am something of a stranger here," nodded Seaver. "But I tell you
+what, little old Boston looks mighty good to me, all the same. Come on!
+You're just the fellow we want. I'm on my way now to the old stamping
+ground. Come--right about face, old chap, and come with me!"
+
+Bertram shook his head.
+
+"Sorry--but I guess I can't, to-night," he sighed. Both gesture and
+words were unhesitating, but the voice carried the discontent of a small
+boy, who, while the sun is still shining, has been told to come into the
+house.
+
+"Oh, rats! Yes, you can, too. Come on! Lots of the old crowd will be
+there--Griggs, Beebe, Jack Jenkins, and Tully. We need you to complete
+the show."
+
+"Jack Jenkins? Is he here?" A new eagerness had come into Bertram's
+voice.
+
+"Sure! He came on from New York last night. Great boy, Jenkins! Just
+back from Paris fairly covered with medals, you know."
+
+"Yes, so I hear. I haven't seen him for four years."
+
+"Better come to-night then."
+
+"No-o," began Bertram, with obvious reluctance. "It's already nine
+o'clock, and--"
+
+"Nine o'clock!" cut in Seaver, with a broad grin. "Since when has your
+limit been nine o'clock? I've seen the time when you didn't mind nine
+o'clock in the morning, Bertie! What's got--Oh, I remember. I met
+another friend of yours in Berlin; chap named Arkwright--and say, he's
+some singer, you bet! You're going to hear of him one of these days.
+Well, he told me all about how you'd settled down now--son and heir,
+fireside bliss, pretty wife, and all the fixings. But, I say, Bertie,
+doesn't she let you out--_any_?"
+
+"Nonsense, Seaver!" flared Bertram in annoyed wrath.
+
+"Well, then, why don't you come to-night? If you want to see Jenkins
+you'll have to; he's going back to New York to-morrow."
+
+For only a brief minute longer did Bertram hesitate; then he turned
+squarely about with an air of finality.
+
+"Is he? Well, then, perhaps I will," he said. "I'd hate to miss Jenkins
+entirely."
+
+"Good!" exclaimed his companion, as they fell into step. "Have a cigar?"
+
+"Thanks. Don't mind if I do."
+
+If Bertram's chin was a little higher and his step a little more decided
+than usual, it was all merely by way of accompaniment to his thoughts.
+
+Certainly it was right that he should go, and it was sensible. Indeed,
+it was really almost imperative--due to Billy, as it were--after that
+disagreeable taunt of Seaver's. As if she did not want him to go when
+and where he pleased! As if she would consent for a moment to figure
+in the eyes of his friends as a tyrannical wife who objected to her
+husband's passing a social evening with his friends! To be sure, in this
+particular case, she might not favor Seaver's presence, but even she
+would not mind this once--and, anyhow, it was Jenkins that was the
+attraction, not Seaver. Besides, he himself was no undeveloped boy now.
+He was a man, presumedly able to take care of himself. Besides, again,
+had not Billy herself told him to go out and enjoy the evening without
+her, as she had to stay with the baby? He would telephone her, of
+course, that he had met some old friends, and that he might be late;
+then she would not worry.
+
+And forthwith, having settled the matter in his mind, and to his
+complete satisfaction, Bertram gave his undivided attention to Seaver,
+who had already plunged into an account of a recent Art Exhibition he
+had attended in Paris.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI. GHOSTS THAT WALKED FOR BERTRAM
+
+
+October proved to be unusually mild, and about the middle of the month,
+Bertram, after much unselfish urging on the part of Billy, went to a
+friend's camp in the Adirondacks for a week's stay. He came back with an
+angry, lugubrious face--and a broken arm.
+
+"Oh, Bertram! And your right one, too--the same one you broke before!"
+mourned Billy, tearfully.
+
+"Of course," retorted Bertram, trying in vain to give an air of
+jauntiness to his reply. "Didn't want to be too changeable, you know!"
+
+"But how did you do it, dear?"
+
+"Fell into a silly little hole covered with underbrush. But--oh, Billy,
+what's the use? I did it, and I can't undo it--more's the pity!"
+
+"Of course you can't, you poor boy," sympathized Billy; "and you sha'n't
+be tormented with questions. We'll just be thankful 'twas no worse. You
+can't paint for a while, of course; but we won't mind that. It'll just
+give Baby and me a chance to have you all to ourselves for a time, and
+we'll love that!'
+
+"Yes, of course," sighed Bertram, so abstractedly that Billy bridled
+with pretty resentment.
+
+"Well, I like your enthusiasm, sir," she frowned. "I'm afraid you don't
+appreciate the blessings you do have, young man! Did you realize what
+I said? I remarked that you could be with _Baby_ and _me_," she
+emphasized.
+
+Bertram laughed, and gave his wife an affectionate kiss.
+
+"Indeed I do appreciate my blessings, dear--when those blessings are
+such treasures as you and Baby, but--" Only his doleful eyes fixed on
+his injured arm finished his sentence.
+
+"I know, dear, of course, and I understand," murmured Billy, all
+tenderness at once.
+
+
+They were not easy for Bertram--those following days. Once again he
+was obliged to accept the little intimate personal services that he
+so disliked. Once again he could do nothing but read, or wander
+disconsolately into his studio and gaze at his half-finished "Face of
+a Girl." Occasionally, it is true, driven nearly to desperation by the
+haunting vision in his mind's eye, he picked up a brush and attempted
+to make his left hand serve his will; but a bare half-dozen irritating,
+ineffectual strokes were usually enough to make him throw down his
+brush in disgust. He never could do anything with his left hand, he told
+himself dejectedly.
+
+Many of his hours, of course, he spent with Billy and his son, and they
+were happy hours, too; but they always came to be restless ones before
+the day was half over. Billy was always devotion itself to him--when she
+was not attending to the baby; he had no fault to find with Billy. And
+the baby was delightful--he could find no fault with the baby. But the
+baby _was_ fretful--he was teething, Billy said--and he needed a great
+deal of attention; so, naturally, Bertram drifted out of the nursery,
+after a time, and went down into his studio, where were his dear, empty
+palette, his orderly brushes, and his tantalizing "Face of a Girl." From
+the studio, generally, Bertram went out on to the street.
+
+Sometimes he dropped into a fellow-artist's studio. Sometimes he
+strolled into a club or caf� where he knew he would be likely to find
+some friend who would help him while away a tiresome hour. Bertram's
+friends quite vied with each other in rendering this sort of aid, so
+much so, indeed, that--naturally, perhaps--Bertram came to call on their
+services more and more frequently.
+
+Particularly was this the case when, after the splints were removed,
+Bertram found, as the days passed, that his arm was not improving as it
+should improve. This not only disappointed and annoyed him, but worried
+him. He remembered sundry disquieting warnings given by the physician
+at the time of the former break--warnings concerning the probable
+seriousness of a repetition of the injury. To Billy, of course, Bertram
+said nothing of all this; but just before Christmas he went to see a
+noted specialist.
+
+An hour later, almost in front of the learned surgeon's door, Bertram
+met Bob Seaver.
+
+"Great Scott, Bertie, what's up?" ejaculated Seaver. "You look as if
+you'd seen a ghost."
+
+"I have," answered Bertram, with grim bitterness. "I've seen the ghost
+of--of every 'Face of a Girl' I ever painted."
+
+"Gorry! So bad as that? No wonder you look as if you'd been disporting
+in graveyards," chuckled Seaver, laughing at his own joke "What's the
+matter--arm on a rampage to day?"
+
+He paused for reply, but as Bertram did not answer at once, he resumed,
+with gay insistence: "Come on! You need cheering up. Suppose we go down
+to Trentini's and see who's there."
+
+"All right," agreed Bertram, dully. "Suit yourself."
+
+Bertram was not thinking of Seaver, Trentini's, or whom he might find
+there. Bertram was thinking of certain words he had heard less than
+half an hour ago. He was wondering, too, if ever again he could think of
+anything but those words.
+
+"The truth?" the great surgeon had said. "Well, the truth is--I'm sorry
+to tell you the truth, Mr. Henshaw, but if you will have it--you've
+painted the last picture you'll ever paint with your right hand, I fear.
+It's a bad case. This break, coming as it did on top of the serious
+injury of two or three years ago, was bad enough; but, to make matters
+worse, the bone was imperfectly set and wrongly treated, which could not
+be helped, of course, as you were miles away from skilled surgeons at
+the time of the injury. We'll do the best we can, of course; but--well,
+you asked for the truth, you remember; so I had to give it to you."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII. THE MOTHER--THE WIFE
+
+
+Bertram made up his mind at once that, for the present, at least,
+he would tell no one what the surgeon had said to him. He had placed
+himself under the man's care, and there was nothing to do but to take
+the prescribed treatment and await results as patiently as he could.
+Meanwhile there was no need to worry Billy, or William, or anybody else
+with the matter.
+
+Billy was so busy with her holiday plans that she was only vaguely aware
+of what seemed to be an increase of restlessness on the part of her
+husband during those days just before Christmas.
+
+"Poor dear, is the arm feeling horrid to-day?" she asked one morning,
+when the gloom on her husband's face was deeper than usual.
+
+Bertram frowned and did not answer directly.
+
+"Lots of good I am these days!" he exclaimed, his moody eyes on the
+armful of many-shaped, many-sized packages she carried. "What are those
+for-the tree?"
+
+"Yes; and it's going to be so pretty, Bertram," exulted Billy. "And, do
+you know, Baby positively acts as if he suspected things--little as he
+is," she went on eagerly. "He's as nervous as a witch. I can't keep him
+still a minute!"
+
+"How about his mother?" hinted Bertram, with a faint smile.
+
+Billy laughed.
+
+"Well, I'm afraid she isn't exactly calm herself," she confessed, as she
+hurried out of the room with her parcels.
+
+Bertram looked after her longingly, despondently.
+
+"I wonder what she'd say if she--knew," he muttered. "But she sha'n't
+know--till she just has to," he vowed suddenly, under his breath,
+striding into the hall for his hat and coat.
+
+Never had the Strata known such a Christmas as this was planned to be.
+Cyril, Marie, and the twins were to be there, also Kate, her husband
+and three children, Paul, Egbert, and little Kate, from the West. On
+Christmas Day there was to be a big family dinner, with Aunt Hannah down
+from the Annex. Then, in concession to the extreme youth of the young
+host and his twin cousins, there was to be an afternoon tree. The shades
+were to be drawn and the candles lighted, however, so that there might
+be no loss of effect. In the evening the tree was to be once more loaded
+with fascinating packages and candy-bags, and this time the Greggorys,
+Tommy Dunn, and all the rest from the Annex were to have the fun all
+over again.
+
+From garret to basement the Strata was aflame with holly, and aglitter
+with tinsel. Nowhere did there seem to be a spot that did not have its
+bit of tissue paper or its trail of red ribbon. And everything--holly,
+ribbon, tissue, and tinsel--led to the mysteriously closed doors of the
+great front drawing-room, past which none but Billy and her accredited
+messengers might venture. No wonder, indeed, that even Baby scented
+excitement, and that Baby's mother was not exactly calm. No wonder, too,
+that Bertram, with his helpless right arm, and his heavy heart, felt
+peculiarly forlorn and "out of it." No wonder, also, that he took
+himself literally out of it with growing frequency.
+
+Mr. and Mrs. Hartwell and little Kate were to stay at the Strata. The
+boys, Paul and Egbert, were to go to Cyril's. Promptly at the appointed
+time, two days before Christmas, they arrived. And from that hour until
+two days after Christmas, when the last bit of holly, ribbon, tissue,
+and tinsel disappeared from the floor, Billy moved in a whirl of anxious
+responsibility that was yet filled with fun, frolic, and laughter.
+
+It was a great success, the whole affair. Everybody seemed pleased and
+happy--that is, everybody but Bertram; and he very plainly tried to seem
+pleased and happy. Even Cyril unbent to the extent of not appearing to
+mind the noise one bit; and Sister Kate (Bertram said) found only
+the extraordinarily small number of four details to change in the
+arrangements. Baby obligingly let his teeth-getting go, for the
+occasion, and he and the twins, Franz and Felix, were the admiration and
+delight of all. Little Kate, to be sure, was a trifle disconcerting once
+or twice, but everybody was too absorbed to pay much attention to her.
+Billy did, however, remember her opening remarks.
+
+"Well, little Kate, do you remember me?" Billy had greeted her
+pleasantly.
+
+"Oh, yes," little Kate had answered, with a winning smile. "You're my
+Aunt Billy what married my Uncle Bertram instead of Uncle William as you
+said you would first."
+
+Everybody laughed, and Billy colored, of course; but little Kate went on
+eagerly:
+
+"And I've been wanting just awfully to see you," she announced.
+
+"Have you? I'm glad, I'm sure. I feel highly flattered," smiled Billy.
+
+"Well, I have. You see, I wanted to ask you something. Have you ever
+wished that you _had_ married Uncle William instead of Uncle Bertram, or
+that you'd tried for Uncle Cyril before Aunty Marie got him?"
+
+"Kate!" gasped her horrified mother. "I told you--You see," she broke
+off, turning to Billy despairingly. "She's been pestering me with
+questions like that ever since she knew she was coming. She never has
+forgotten the way you changed from one uncle to the other. You may
+remember; it made a great impression on her at the time."
+
+"Yes, I--I remember," stammered Billy, trying to laugh off her
+embarrassment.
+
+"But you haven't told me yet whether you did wish you'd married Uncle
+William, or Uncle Cyril," interposed little Kate, persistently.
+
+"No, no, of course not!" exclaimed Billy, with a vivid blush, casting
+her eyes about for a door of escape, and rejoicing greatly when she
+spied Delia with the baby coming toward them. "There, look, my dear,
+here's your new cousin, little Bertram!" she exclaimed. "Don't you want
+to see him?"
+
+Little Kate turned dutifully.
+
+"Yes'm, Aunt Billy, but I'd rather see the twins. Mother says _they're_
+real pretty and cunning."
+
+"Er--y-yes, they are," murmured Billy, on whom the emphasis of the
+"they're" had not been lost.
+
+Naturally, as may be supposed, therefore, Billy had not forgotten little
+Kate's opening remarks.
+
+Immediately after Christmas Mr. Hartwell and the boys went back to their
+Western home, leaving Mrs. Hartwell and her daughter to make a round of
+visits to friends in the East. For almost a week after Christmas they
+remained at the Strata; and it was on the last day of their stay that
+little Kate asked the question that proved so momentous in results.
+
+Billy, almost unconsciously, had avoided t�te-�-t�tes with her
+small guest. But to-day they were alone together.
+
+"Aunt Billy," began the little girl, after a meditative gaze into the
+other's face, "you _are_ married to Uncle Bertram, aren't you?"
+
+"I certainly am, my dear," smiled Billy, trying to speak unconcernedly.
+
+"Well, then, what makes you forget it?"
+
+"What makes me forget--Why, child, what a question! What do you mean? I
+don't forget it!" exclaimed Billy, indignantly.
+
+"Then what _did_ mother mean? I heard her tell Uncle William myself--she
+didn't know I heard, though--that she did wish you'd remember you were
+Uncle Bertram's wife as well as Cousin Bertram's mother."
+
+Billy flushed scarlet, then grew very white. At that moment Mrs.
+Hartwell came into the room. Little Kate turned triumphantly.
+
+"There, she hasn't forgotten, and I knew she hadn't, mother! I asked her
+just now, and she said she hadn't."
+
+"Hadn't what?" questioned Mrs. Hartwell, looking a little apprehensively
+at her sister-in-law's white face and angry eyes.
+
+"Hadn't forgotten that she was Uncle Bertram's wife."
+
+"Kate," interposed Billy, steadily meeting her sister-in-law's gaze,
+"will you be good enough to tell me what this child is talking about?"
+
+Mrs. Hartwell sighed, and gave an impatient gesture.
+
+"Kate, I've a mind to take you home on the next train," she said to her
+daughter. "Run away, now, down-stairs. Your Aunt Billy and I want to
+talk. Come, come, hurry! I mean what I say," she added warningly, as she
+saw unmistakable signs of rebellion on the small young face.
+
+"I wish," pouted little Kate, rising reluctantly, and moving toward the
+door, "that you didn't always send me away just when I wanted most to
+stay!"
+
+"Well, Kate?" prompted Billy, as the door closed behind the little girl.
+
+"Yes, I suppose I'll have to say it now, as long as that child has put
+her finger in the pie. But I hadn't intended to speak, no matter what I
+saw. I promised myself I wouldn't, before I came. I know, of course, how
+Bertram and Cyril, and William, too, say that I'm always interfering
+in affairs that don't concern me--though, for that matter, if my own
+brother's affairs don't concern me, I don't know whose should!
+
+"But, as I said, I wasn't going to speak this time, no matter what I
+saw. And I haven't--except to William, and Cyril, and Aunt Hannah; but
+I suppose somewhere little Kate got hold of it. It's simply this, Billy.
+It seems to me it's high time you began to realize that you're Bertram's
+wife as well as the baby's mother."
+
+"That, I am--I don't think I quite understand," said Billy, unsteadily.
+
+"No, I suppose you don't," sighed Kate, "though where your eyes are, I
+don't see--or, rather, I do see: they're on the baby, _always_. It's all
+very well and lovely, Billy, to be a devoted mother, and you certainly
+are that. I'll say that much for you, and I'll admit I never thought you
+would be. But _can't_ you see what you're doing to Bertram?"
+
+"_Doing to Bertram!_--by being a devoted mother to his son!"
+
+"Yes, doing to Bertram. Can't you see what a change there is in the
+boy? He doesn't act like himself at all. He's restless and gloomy and
+entirely out of sorts."
+
+"Yes, I know; but that's his arm," pleaded Billy. "Poor boy--he's so
+tired of it!"
+
+Kate shook her head decisively.
+
+"It's more than his arm, Billy. You'd see it yourself if you weren't
+blinded by your absorption in that baby. Where is Bertram every evening?
+Where is he daytimes? Do you realize that he's been at home scarcely one
+evening since I came? And as for the days--he's almost never here."
+
+"But, Kate, he can't paint now, you know, so of course he doesn't
+need to stay so closely at home," defended Billy. "He goes out to find
+distraction from himself."
+
+"Yes, 'distraction,' indeed," sniffed Kate. "And where do you suppose
+he finds it? Do you _know_ where he finds it? I tell you, Billy, Bertram
+Henshaw is not the sort of man that should find too much 'distraction'
+outside his home. His tastes and his temperament are altogether too
+Bohemian, and--"
+
+Billy interrupted with a peremptorily upraised hand.
+
+"Please remember, Kate, you are speaking of my husband to his wife; and
+his wife has perfect confidence in him, and is just a little particular
+as to what you say."
+
+"Yes; well, I'm speaking of my brother, too, whom I know very well,"
+shrugged Kate. "All is, you may remember sometime that I warned
+you--that's all. This trusting business is all very pretty; but I think
+'twould be a lot prettier, and a vast deal more sensible, if you'd give
+him a little attention as well as trust, and see if you can't keep him
+at home a bit more. At least you'll know whom he's with, then. Cyril
+says he saw him last week with Bob Seaver."
+
+"With--Bob--Seaver?" faltered Billy, changing color.
+
+"Yes. I see you remember him," smiled Kate, not quite agreeably.
+"Perhaps now you'll take some stock in what I've said, and remember it."
+
+"I'll remember it, certainly," returned Billy, a little proudly. "You've
+said a good many things to me, in the past, Mrs. Hartwell, and I've
+remembered them all--every one."
+
+It was Kate's turn to flush, and she did it.
+
+"Yes, I know. And I presume very likely sometimes there _hasn't_ been
+much foundation for what I've said. I think this time, however, you'll
+find there is," she finished, with an air of hurt dignity.
+
+Billy made no reply, perhaps because Delia, at that moment, brought in
+the baby.
+
+Mrs. Hartwell and little Kate left the Strata the next morning. Until
+then Billy contrived to keep, before them, a countenance serene, and a
+manner free from unrest. Even when, after dinner that evening, Bertram
+put on his hat and coat and went out, Billy refused to meet her
+sister-in-law's meaning gaze. But in the morning, after they had left
+the house, Billy did not attempt to deceive herself. Determinedly, then,
+she set herself to going over in her mind the past months since the baby
+came; and she was appalled at what she found. Ever in her ears, too, was
+that feared name, "Bob Seaver"; and ever before her eyes was that night
+years ago when, as an eighteen-year-old girl, she had followed Bertram
+and Bob Seaver into a glittering caf� at eleven o'clock at night,
+because Bertram had been drinking and was not himself. She remembered
+Bertram's face when he had seen her, and what he had said when she
+begged him to come home. She remembered, too, what the family had said
+afterward. But she remembered, also, that years later Bertram had told
+her what that escapade of hers had really done for him, and that he
+believed he had actually loved her from that moment. After that night,
+at all events, he had had little to do with Bob Seaver.
+
+And now Seaver was back again, it seemed--and with Bertram. They had
+been seen together. But if they had, what could she do? Surely she could
+hardly now follow them into a public caf� and demand that Seaver let
+her husband come home! But she could keep him at home, perhaps. (Billy
+quite brightened at this thought.) Kate had said that she was so
+absorbed in Baby that her husband received no attention at all. Billy
+did not believe this was true; but if it were true, she could at least
+rectify that mistake. If it were attention that he wanted--he should
+want no more. Poor Bertram! No wonder that he had sought distraction
+outside! When one had a horrid broken arm that would not let one do
+anything, what else could one do?
+
+Just here Billy suddenly remembered the book, "A Talk to Young Wives."
+If she recollected rightly, there was a chapter that covered the very
+claim Kate had been making. Billy had not thought of the book for
+months, but she went at once to get it now. There might be, after all,
+something in it that would help her.
+
+"The Coming of the First Baby." Billy found the chapter without
+difficulty and settled herself to read, her countenance alight with
+interest. In a surprisingly short time, however, a new expression came
+to her face; and at last a little gasp of dismay fell from her lips. She
+looked up then, with a startled gaze.
+
+_Had_ her walls possessed eyes and ears all these past months, only to
+give instructions to an unseen hand that it might write what the eyes
+and ears had learned? For it was such sentences as these that the
+conscience-smitten Billy read:
+
+"Maternity is apt to work a miracle in a woman's life, but sometimes it
+spells disaster so far as domestic bliss is concerned. The young mother,
+wrapped up in the delights and duties of motherhood, utterly forgets
+that she has a husband. She lives and moves and has her being in the
+nursery. She thinks baby, talks baby, knows only baby. She refuses to
+dress up, because it is easier to take care of baby in a frowzy wrapper.
+She will not go out with her husband for fear something might happen to
+the baby. She gives up her music because baby won't let her practice.
+In vain her husband tries to interest her in his own affairs. She has
+neither eyes nor ears for him, only for baby.
+
+"Now no man enjoys having his nose put out of joint, even by his own
+child. He loves his child devotedly, and is proud of him, of course;
+but that does not keep him from wanting the society of his wife
+occasionally, nor from longing for her old-time love and sympathetic
+interest. It is an admirable thing, certainly, for a woman to be a
+devoted mother; but maternal affection can be carried too far. Husbands
+have some rights as well as offspring; and the wife who neglects
+her husband for her babies does so at her peril. Home, with the wife
+eternally in the nursery, is apt to be a dull and lonely thing to the
+average husband, so he starts out to find amusement for himself--and he
+finds it. Then is the time when the new little life that is so precious,
+and that should have bound the two more closely together, becomes the
+wedge that drives them apart."
+
+Billy did not read any more. With a little sobbing cry she flung the
+book back into her desk, and began to pull off her wrapper. Her fingers
+shook. Already she saw herself a Monster, a Wicked Destroyer of Domestic
+Bliss with her thoughtless absorption in Baby, until he had become that
+Awful Thing--a _Wedge_. And Bertram--poor Bertram, with his broken arm!
+She had not played to him, nor sung to him, nor gone out with him. And
+when had they had one of their good long talks about Bertram's work and
+plans?
+
+But it should all be changed now. She would play, and sing, and go out
+with him. She would dress up, too. He should see no more wrappers. She
+would ask about his work, and seem interested. She _was_ interested. She
+remembered now, that just before he was hurt, he had told her of a
+new portrait, and of a new "Face of a Girl" that he had planned to do.
+Lately he had said nothing about these. He had seemed discouraged--and
+no wonder, with his broken arm! But she would change all that. He should
+see! And forthwith Billy hurried to her closet to pick out her prettiest
+house frock.
+
+Long before dinner Billy was ready, waiting in the drawing-room. She had
+on a pretty little blue silk gown that she knew Bertram liked, and she
+watched very anxiously for Bertram to come up the steps. She remembered
+now, with a pang, that he had long since given up his peculiar ring; but
+she meant to meet him at the door just the same.
+
+Bertram, however, did not come. At a quarter before six he telephoned
+that he had met some friends, and would dine at the club.
+
+"My, my, how pretty we are!" exclaimed Uncle William, when they went
+down to dinner together. "New frock?"
+
+"Why, no, Uncle William," laughed Billy, a little tremulously. "You've
+seen it dozens of times!"
+
+"Have I?" murmured the man. "I don't seem to remember it. Too bad
+Bertram isn't here to see you. Somehow, you look unusually pretty
+to-night."
+
+And Billy's heart ached anew.
+
+Billy spent the evening practicing--softly, to be sure, so as not to
+wake Baby--but _practicing_.
+
+As the days passed Billy discovered that it was much easier to say she
+would "change things" than it was really to change them. She changed
+herself, it is true--her clothes, her habits, her words, and her
+thoughts; but it was more difficult to change Bertram. In the first
+place, he was there so little. She was dismayed when she saw how very
+little, indeed, he was at home--and she did not like to ask him outright
+to stay. That was not in accordance with her plans. Besides, the "Talk
+to Young Wives" said that indirect influence was much to be preferred,
+always, to direct persuasion--which last, indeed, usually failed to
+produce results.
+
+So Billy "dressed up," and practiced, and talked (of anything but the
+baby), and even hinted shamelessly once or twice that she would like to
+go to the theater; but all to little avail. True, Bertram brightened
+up, for a minute, when he came home and found her in a new or a favorite
+dress, and he told her how pretty she looked. He appeared to like to
+have her play to him, too, even declaring once or twice that it was
+quite like old times, yes, it was. But he never noticed her hints about
+the theater, and he did not seem to like to talk about his work, even a
+little bit.
+
+Billy laid this last fact to his injured arm. She decided that he had
+become blue and discouraged, and that he needed cheering up, especially
+about his work; so she determinedly and systematically set herself to
+doing it.
+
+She talked of the fine work he had done, and of the still finer work he
+would yet do, when his arm was well. She told him how proud she was of
+him, and she let him see how dear his Art was to her, and how badly she
+would feel if she thought he had really lost all his interest in his
+work and would never paint again. She questioned him about the new
+portrait he was to begin as soon as his arm would let him; and she tried
+to arouse his enthusiasm in the picture he had planned to show in the
+March Exhibition of the Bohemian Ten, telling him that she was sure his
+arm would allow him to complete at least one canvas to hang.
+
+In none of this, however, did Bertram appear in the least interested.
+The one thing, indeed, which he seemed not to want to talk about, was
+his work; and he responded to her overtures on the subject with only
+moody silence, or else with almost irritable monosyllables; all of which
+not only grieved but surprised Billy very much. For, according to
+the "Talk to Young Wives," she was doing exactly what the ideal,
+sympathetic, interested-in-her-husband's-work wife should do.
+
+When February came, bringing with it no change for the better, Billy was
+thoroughly frightened. Bertram's arm plainly was not improving. He was
+more gloomy and restless than ever. He seemed not to want to stay at
+home at all; and Billy knew now for a certainty that he was spending
+more and more time with Bob Seaver and "the boys."
+
+Poor Billy! Nowhere could she look these days and see happiness. Even
+the adored baby seemed, at times, almost to give an added pang. Had he
+not become, according to the "Talk to Young Wives" that awful thing, a
+_Wedge_? The Annex, too, carried its sting; for where was the need of
+an overflow house for happiness now, when there was no happiness to
+overflow? Even the little jade idol on Billy's mantel Billy could not
+bear to see these days, for its once bland smile had become a hideous
+grin, demanding, "Where, now, is your heap plenty velly good luckee?"
+
+But, before Bertram, Billy still carried a bravely smiling face, and to
+him still she talked earnestly and enthusiastically of his work--which
+last, as it happened, was the worst course she could have pursued; for
+the one thing poor Bertram wished to forget, just now, was--his work.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVIII. CONSPIRATORS
+
+
+Early in February came Arkwright's appearance at the Boston Opera
+House--the first since he had sung there as a student a few years
+before. He was an immediate and an unquestioned success. His portrait
+adorned the front page of almost every Boston newspaper the next
+morning, and captious critics vied with each other to do him honor. His
+full history, from boyhood up, was featured, with special emphasis on
+his recent triumphs in New York and foreign capitals. He was interviewed
+as to his opinion on everything from vegetarianism to woman's suffrage;
+and his preferences as to pies and pastimes were given headline
+prominence. There was no doubt of it. Mr. M. J. Arkwright was a star.
+
+All Arkwright's old friends, including Billy, Bertram, Cyril, Marie,
+Calderwell, Alice Greggory, Aunt Hannah, and Tommy Dunn, went to hear
+him sing; and after the performance he held a miniature reception,
+with enough adulation to turn his head completely around, he declared
+deprecatingly. Not until the next evening, however, did he have an
+opportunity for what he called a real talk with any of his friends;
+then, in Calderwell's room, he settled back in his chair with a sigh of
+content.
+
+For a time his own and Calderwell's affairs occupied their attention;
+then, after a short pause, the tenor asked abruptly:
+
+"Is there anything--wrong with the Henshaws, Calderwell?"
+
+Calderwell came suddenly erect in his chair.
+
+"Thank you! I hoped you'd introduce that subject; though, for that
+matter, if you hadn't, I should. Yes, there is--and I'm looking to you,
+old man, to get them out of it."
+
+"I?" Arkwright sat erect now.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"What do you mean?"
+
+"In a way, the expected has happened--though I know now that I didn't
+really expect it to happen, in spite of my prophecies. You may remember
+I was always skeptical on the subject of Bertram's settling down to a
+domestic hearthstone. I insisted 'twould be the turn of a girl's head
+and the curve of her cheek that he wanted to paint."
+
+Arkwright looked up with a quick frown.
+
+"You don't mean that Henshaw has been cad enough to find another--"
+
+Calderwell threw up his hand.
+
+"No, no, not that! We haven't that to deal with--yet, thank goodness!
+There's no woman in it. And, really, when you come right down to it, if
+ever a fellow had an excuse to seek diversion, Bertram Henshaw has--poor
+chap! It's just this. Bertram broke his arm again last October."
+
+"Yes, so I hear, and I thought he was looking badly."
+
+"He is. It's a bad business. 'Twas improperly set in the first place,
+and it's not doing well now. In fact, I'm told on pretty good authority
+that the doctor says he probably will never use it again."
+
+"Oh, by George! Calderwell!"
+
+"Yes. Tough, isn't it? 'Specially when you think of his work, and
+know--as I happen to--that he's particularly dependent on his right hand
+for everything. He doesn't tell this generally, and I understand Billy
+and the family know nothing of it--how hopeless the case is, I mean.
+Well, naturally, the poor fellow has been pretty thoroughly discouraged,
+and to get away from himself he's gone back to his old Bohemian habits,
+spending much of his time with some of his old cronies that are none too
+good for him--Seaver, for instance."
+
+"Bob Seaver? Yes, I know him." Arkwright's lips snapped together
+crisply.
+
+"Yes. He said he knew you. That's why I'm counting on your help."
+
+"What do you mean?"
+
+"I mean I want you to get Henshaw away from him, and keep him away."
+
+Arkwright's face darkened with an angry flush.
+
+"Great Scott, Calderwell! What are you talking about? Henshaw is no kid
+to be toted home, and I'm no nursery governess to do the toting!"
+
+Calderwell laughed quietly.
+
+"No; I don't think any one would take you for a nursery governess,
+Arkwright, in spite of the fact that you are still known to some of
+your friends as 'Mary Jane.' But you can sing a song, man, which will
+promptly give you a through ticket to their innermost sacred circle.
+In fact, to my certain knowledge, Seaver is already planning a jamboree
+with you at the right hand of the toastmaster. There's your chance. Once
+in, stay in--long enough to get Henshaw out."
+
+"But, good heavens, Calderwell, it's impossible! What can I do?"
+demanded Arkwright, savagely. "I can't walk up to the man, take him by
+the ear, and say: 'Here, you, sir--march home!' Neither can I come
+the 'I-am-holier-than-thou' act, and hold up to him the mirror of his
+transgressions."
+
+"No, but you can get him out of it _some_ way. You can find a way--for
+Billy's sake."
+
+There was no answer, and, after a moment, Calderwell went on more
+quietly.
+
+"I haven't seen Billy but two or three times since I came back to
+Boston--but I don't need to, to know that she's breaking her heart over
+something. And of course that something is--Bertram."
+
+There was still no answer. Arkwright got up suddenly, and walked to the
+window.
+
+"You see, I'm helpless," resumed Calderwell. "I don't paint pictures,
+nor sing songs, nor write stories, nor dance jigs for a living--and you
+have to do one or another to be in with that set. And it's got to be a
+Johnny-on-the-spot with Bertram. All is, something will have to be done
+to get him out of the state of mind and body he's in now, or--"
+
+Arkwright wheeled sharply.
+
+"When did you say this jamboree was going to be?" he demanded.
+
+"Next week, some time. The date is not settled. They were going to
+consult you."
+
+"Hm-m," commented Arkwright. And, though his next remark was a complete
+change of subject, Calderwell gave a contented sigh.
+
+
+If, when the proposition was first made to him, Arkwright was doubtful
+of his ability to be a successful "Johnny-on-the-spot," he was even more
+doubtful of it as the days passed, and he was attempting to carry out
+the suggestion.
+
+He had known that he was undertaking a most difficult and delicate task,
+and he soon began to fear that it was an impossible one, as well. With
+a dogged persistence, however, he adhered to his purpose, ever on the
+alert to be more watchful, more tactful, more efficient in emergencies.
+
+Disagreeable as was the task, in a way, in another way it was a great
+pleasure to him. He was glad of the opportunity to do anything for
+Billy; and then, too, he was glad of something absorbing enough to take
+his mind off his own affairs. He told himself, sometimes, that this
+helping another man to fight his tiger skin was assisting himself to
+fight his own.
+
+Arkwright was trying very hard not to think of Alice Greggory these
+days. He had come back hoping that he was in a measure "cured" of his
+"folly," as he termed it; but the first look into Alice Greggory's
+blue-gray eyes had taught him the fallacy of that idea. In that very
+first meeting with Alice, he feared that he had revealed his secret, for
+she was plainly so nervously distant and ill at ease with him that he
+could but construe her embarrassment and chilly dignity as pity for him
+and a desire to show him that she had nothing but friendship for him.
+Since then he had seen but little of her, partly because he did not wish
+to see her, and partly because his time was so fully occupied. Then,
+too, in a round-about way he had heard a rumor that Calderwell was
+engaged to be married; and, though no feminine name had been mentioned
+in connection with the story, Arkwright had not hesitated to supply in
+his own mind that of Alice Greggory.
+
+Beginning with the "jamboree," which came off quite in accordance with
+Calderwell's prophecies, Arkwright spent the most of such time as was
+not given to his professional duties in deliberately cultivating the
+society of Bertram and his friends. To this extent he met with no
+difficulty, for he found that M. J. Arkwright, the new star in the
+operatic firmament, was obviously a welcome comrade. Beyond this it was
+not so easy. Arkwright wondered, indeed, sometimes, if he were making
+any progress at all. But still he persevered.
+
+He walked with Bertram, he talked with Bertram, unobtrusively he
+contrived to be near Bertram almost always, when they were together with
+"the boys." Gradually he won from him the story of what the surgeon had
+said to him, and of how black the future looked in consequence. This
+established a new bond between them, so potent that Arkwright ventured
+to test it one day by telling Bertram the story of the tiger skin--the
+first tiger skin in his uncle's library years ago, and of how, since
+then, any difficulty he had encountered he had tried to treat as a
+tiger skin. In telling the story he was careful to draw no moral for
+his listener, and to preach no sermon. He told the tale, too, with all
+possible whimsical lightness of touch, and immediately at its conclusion
+he changed the subject. But that he had not failed utterly in his design
+was evidenced a few days later when Bertram grimly declared that he
+guessed _his_ tiger skin was a lively beast, all right.
+
+The first time Arkwright went home with Bertram, his presence was almost
+a necessity. Bertram was not quite himself that night. Billy admitted
+them. She had plainly been watching and waiting. Arkwright never forgot
+the look on her face as her eyes met his. There was a curious mixture
+of terror, hurt pride, relief, and shame, overtopped by a fierce loyalty
+which almost seemed to say aloud the words: "Don't you dare to blame
+him!"
+
+Arkwright's heart ached with sympathy and admiration at the proudly
+courageous way in which Billy carried off the next few painful minutes.
+Even when he bade her good night a little later, only her eyes said
+"thank you." Her lips were dumb.
+
+Arkwright often went home with Bertram after that. Not that it was
+always necessary--far from it. Some time, indeed, elapsed before he
+had quite the same excuse again for his presence. But he had found that
+occasionally he could get Bertram home earlier by adroit suggestions of
+one kind or another; and more and more frequently he was succeeding in
+getting him home for a game of chess.
+
+Bertram liked chess, and was a fine player. Since breaking his arm he
+had turned to games with the feverish eagerness of one who looks for
+something absorbing to fill an unrestful mind. It was Seaver's skill
+in chess that had at first attracted Bertram to the man long ago; but
+Bertram could beat him easily--too easily for much pleasure in it now.
+So they did not play chess often these days. Bertram had found that, in
+spite of his injury, he could still take part in other games, and some
+of them, if not so intricate as chess, were at least more apt to take
+his mind off himself, especially if there were a bit of money up to add
+zest and interest.
+
+As it happened, however, Bertram learned one day that Arkwright could
+play chess--and play well, too, as he discovered after their first
+game together. This fact contributed not a little to such success as
+Arkwright was having in his efforts to wean Bertram from his undesirable
+companions; for Bertram soon found out that Arkwright was more than a
+match for himself, and the occasional games he did succeed in winning
+only whetted his appetite for more. Many an evening now, therefore, was
+spent by the two men in Bertram's den, with Billy anxiously hovering
+near, her eyes longingly watching either her husband's absorbed face or
+the pretty little red and white ivory figures, which seemed to possess
+so wonderful a power to hold his attention. In spite of her joy at the
+chessmen's efficacy in keeping Bertram at home, however, she was almost
+jealous of them.
+
+"Mr. Arkwright, couldn't you show _me_ how to play, sometime?" she said
+wistfully, one evening, when the momentary absence of Bertram had left
+the two alone together. "I used to watch Bertram and Marie play years
+ago; but I never knew how to play myself. Not that I can see where the
+fun is in just sitting staring at a chessboard for half an hour at a
+time, though! But Bertram likes it, and so I--I want to learn to stare
+with him. Will you teach me?"
+
+"I should be glad to," smiled Arkwright.
+
+"Then will you come, maybe, sometimes when Bertram is at the doctor's?
+He goes every Tuesday and Friday at three o'clock for treatment. I'd
+rather you came then for two reasons: first, because I don't want
+Bertram to know I'm learning, till I can play _some_; and, secondly,
+because--because I don't want to take you away--from him."
+
+The last words were spoken very low, and were accompanied by a painful
+blush. It was the first time Billy had ever hinted to Arkwright, in
+words, that she understood what he was trying to do.
+
+"I'll come next Tuesday," promised Arkwright, with a cheerfully
+unobservant air. Then Bertram came in, bringing the book of Chess
+Problems, for which he had gone up-stairs.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIX. CHESS
+
+
+Promptly at three o'clock Tuesday afternoon Arkwright appeared at the
+Strata, and for the next hour Billy did her best to learn the names and
+the moves of the pretty little ivory men. But at the end of the hour she
+was almost ready to give up in despair.
+
+"If there weren't so many kinds, and if they didn't all insist on doing
+something different, it wouldn't be so bad," she sighed. "But how can
+you be expected to remember which goes diagonal, and which crisscross,
+and which can't go but one square, and which can skip 'way across the
+board, 'specially when that little pawn-thing can go straight ahead
+_two_ squares sometimes, and the next minute only one (except when
+it takes things, and then it goes crooked one square) and when that
+tiresome little horse tries to go all ways at once, and can jump 'round
+and hurdle over _anybody's_ head, even the king's--how can you expect
+folks to remember? But, then, Bertram remembers," she added, resolutely,
+"so I guess I can."
+
+Whenever possible, after that, Arkwright came on Tuesdays and Fridays,
+and, in spite of her doubts, Billy did very soon begin to "remember."
+Spurred by her great desire to play with Bertram and surprise him, Billy
+spared no pains to learn well her lessons. Even among the baby's books
+and playthings these days might be found a "Manual of Chess," for Billy
+pursued her study at all hours; and some nights even her dreams were of
+ruined, castles where kings and queens and bishops disported themselves,
+with pawns for servants, and where a weird knight on horseback used the
+castle's highest tower for a hurdle, landing always a hundred yards to
+one side of where he would be expected to come down.
+
+It was not long, of course, before Billy could play a game of chess,
+after a fashion, but she knew just enough to realize that she actually
+knew nothing; and she knew, too, that until she could play a really good
+game, her moves would not hold Bertram's attention for one minute. Not
+at present, therefore, was she willing Bertram should know what she was
+attempting to do.
+
+Billy had not yet learned what the great surgeon had said to Bertram.
+She knew only that his arm was no better, and that he never voluntarily
+spoke of his painting. Over her now seemed to be hanging a vague horror.
+Something was the matter. She knew that. But what it was she could
+not fathom. She realized that Arkwright was trying to help, and her
+gratitude, though silent, knew no bounds. Not even to Aunt Hannah or
+Uncle William could she speak of this thing that was troubling her. That
+they, too, understood, in a measure, she realized. But still she said no
+word. Billy was wearing a proud little air of aloofness these days that
+was heart-breaking to those who saw it and read it aright for what it
+was: loyalty to Bertram, no matter what happened. And so Billy pored
+over her chessboard feverishly, tirelessly, having ever before her
+longing eyes the dear time when Bertram, across the table from her,
+should sit happily staring for half an hour at a move she had made.
+
+Whatever Billy's chess-playing was to signify, however, in her own life,
+it was destined to play a part in the lives of two friends of hers that
+was most unexpected.
+
+During Billy's very first lesson, as it chanced, Alice Greggory called
+and found Billy and Arkwright so absorbed in their game that they did
+not at first hear Eliza speak her name.
+
+The quick color that flew to Arkwright's face at sight of herself was
+construed at once by Alice as embarrassment on his part at being found
+t�te-�-t�te with Bertram Henshaw's wife. And she did not like
+it. She was not pleased that he was there. She was less pleased that he
+blushed for being there.
+
+It so happened that Alice found him there again several times. Alice
+gave a piano lesson at two o'clock every Tuesday and Friday afternoon to
+a little Beacon Street neighbor of Billy's, and she had fallen into the
+habit of stepping in to see Billy for a few minutes afterward, which
+brought her there at a little past three, just after the chess lesson
+was well started.
+
+If, the first time that Alice Greggory found Arkwright opposite Billy at
+the chess-table, she was surprised and displeased, the second and third
+times she was much more so. When it finally came to her one day with
+sickening illumination, that always the t�te-�-t�tes were
+during Bertram's hour at the doctor's, she was appalled.
+
+What could it mean? Had Arkwright given up his fight? Was he playing
+false to himself and to Bertram by trying thus, on the sly, to win the
+love of his friend's wife? Was this man, whom she had so admired for his
+brave stand, and to whom all unasked she had given her heart's best
+love (more the pity of it!)--was this idol of hers to show feet of clay,
+after all? She could not believe it. And yet--
+
+Sick at heart, but imbued with the determination of a righteous cause,
+Alice Greggory resolved, for Billy's sake, to watch and wait. If
+necessary she should speak to some one--though to whom she did not know.
+Billy's happiness should not be put in jeopardy if she could help it.
+Indeed, no!
+
+As the weeks passed, Alice came to be more and more uneasy, distressed,
+and grieved. Of Billy she could believe no evil; but of Arkwright
+she was beginning to think she could believe everything that was
+dishonorable and despicable. And to believe that of the man she still
+loved--no wonder that Alice did not look nor act like herself these
+days.
+
+Incensed at herself because she did love him, angry at him because he
+seemed to be proving himself so unworthy of that love, and genuinely
+frightened at what she thought was the fast-approaching wreck of all
+happiness for her dear friend, Billy, Alice did not know which way
+to turn. At the first she had told herself confidently that she would
+"speak to somebody." But, as time passed, she saw the impracticability
+of that idea. Speak to somebody, indeed! To whom? When? Where? What
+should she say? Where was her right to say anything? She was not dealing
+with a parcel of naughty children who had pilfered the cake jar! She
+was dealing with grown men and women, who, presumedly, knew their own
+affairs, and who, certainly, would resent any interference from her. On
+the other hand, could she stand calmly by and see Bertram lose his wife,
+Arkwright his honor, Billy her happiness, and herself her faith in human
+nature, all because to do otherwise would be to meddle in other people's
+business? Apparently she could, and should. At least that seemed to be
+the r�le which she was expected to play.
+
+It was when Alice had reached this unhappy frame of mind that Arkwright
+himself unexpectedly opened the door for her.
+
+The two were alone together in Bertram Henshaw's den. It was Tuesday
+afternoon. Alice had called to find Billy and Arkwright deep in their
+usual game of chess. Then a matter of domestic affairs had taken Billy
+from the room.
+
+"I'm afraid I'll have to be gone ten minutes, or more," she had said, as
+she rose from the table reluctantly. "But you might be showing Alice the
+moves, Mr. Arkwright," she had added, with a laugh, as she disappeared.
+
+"Shall I teach you the moves?" he had smiled, when they were alone
+together.
+
+Alice's reply had been so indignantly short and sharp that Arkwright,
+after a moment's pause, had said, with a whimsical smile that yet
+carried a touch of sadness:
+
+"I am forced to surmise from your answer that you think it is _you_ who
+should be teaching _me_ moves. At all events, I seem to have been making
+some moves lately that have not suited you, judging by your actions.
+Have I offended you in any way, Alice?"
+
+The girl turned with a quick lifting of her head. Alice knew that if
+ever she were to speak, it must be now. Never again could she hope for
+such an opportunity as this. Suddenly throwing circumspect caution quite
+aside, she determined that she would speak. Springing to her feet she
+crossed the room and seated herself in Billy's chair at the chess-table.
+
+"Me! Offend me!" she exclaimed, in a low voice. "As if I were the one
+you were offending!"
+
+"Why, _Alice!_" murmured the man, in obvious stupefaction.
+
+Alice raised her hand, palm outward.
+
+"Now don't, _please_ don't pretend you don't know," she begged, almost
+piteously. "Please don't add that to all the rest. Oh, I understand,
+of course, it's none of my affairs, and I wasn't going to speak," she
+choked; "but, to-day, when you gave me this chance, I had to. At first
+I couldn't believe it," she plunged on, plainly hurrying against Billy's
+return. "After all you'd told me of how you meant to fight it--your
+tiger skin. And I thought it merely _happened_ that you were here alone
+with her those days I came. Then, when I found out they were _always_
+the days Mr. Henshaw was away at the doctor's, I had to believe."
+
+She stopped for breath. Arkwright, who, up to this moment had shown that
+he was completely mystified as to what she was talking about, suddenly
+flushed a painful red. He was obviously about to speak, but she
+prevented him with a quick gesture.
+
+"There's a little more I've got to say, please. As if it weren't bad
+enough to do what you're doing _at all_, but you must needs take it at
+such a time as this when--when her husband _isn't_ doing just what he
+ought to do, and we all know it--it's so unfair to take her now, and
+try to--to win--And you aren't even fair with him," she protested
+tremulously. "You pretend to be his friend. You go with him everywhere.
+It's just as if you were _helping_ to--to pull him down. You're one with
+the whole bunch." (The blood suddenly receded from Arkwright's
+face, leaving it very white; but if Alice saw it, she paid no heed.)
+"Everybody says you are. Then to come here like this, on the sly, when
+you know he can't be here, I--Oh, can't you see what you're doing?"
+
+There was a moment's pause, then Arkwright spoke. A deep pain looked
+from his eyes. He was still very pale, and his mouth had settled into
+sad lines.
+
+"I think, perhaps, it may be just as well if I tell you what I _am_
+doing--or, rather, trying to do," he said quietly.
+
+Then he told her.
+
+"And so you see," he added, when he had finished the tale, "I haven't
+really accomplished much, after all, and it seems the little I have
+accomplished has only led to my being misjudged by you, my best friend."
+
+Alice gave a sobbing cry. Her face was scarlet. Horror, shame, and
+relief struggled for mastery in her countenance.
+
+"Oh, but I didn't know, I didn't know," she moaned, twisting her hands
+nervously. "And now, when you've been so brave, so true--for me to
+accuse you of--Oh, can you _ever_ forgive me? But you see, knowing that
+you _did_ care for her, it did look--" She choked into silence, and
+turned away her head.
+
+He glanced at her tenderly, mournfully.
+
+"Yes," he said, after a minute, in a low voice. "I can see how it did
+look; and so I'm going to tell you now something I had meant never to
+tell you. There really couldn't have been anything in that, you see,
+for I found out long ago that it was gone--whatever love there had been
+for--Billy."
+
+"But your--tiger skin!"
+
+"Oh, yes, I thought it was alive," smiled Arkwright, sadly, "when I
+asked you to help me fight it. But one day, very suddenly, I discovered
+that it was nothing but a dead skin of dreams and memories. But I made
+another discovery, too. I found that just beyond lay another one, and
+that was very much alive."
+
+"Another one?" Alice turned to him in wonder. "But you never asked me to
+help you fight--that one!"
+
+He shook his head.
+
+"No; I couldn't, you see. You couldn't have helped me. You'd only have
+hindered me."
+
+"Hindered you?"
+
+"Yes. You see, it was my love for--you, that I was fighting--then."
+
+Alice gave a low cry and flushed vividly; but Arkwright hurried on, his
+eyes turned away.
+
+"Oh, I understand. I know. I'm not asking for--anything. I heard some
+time ago of your engagement to Calderwell. I've tried many times to
+say the proper, expected pretty speeches, but--I couldn't. I will
+now, though. I do. You have all my tenderest best wishes for your
+happiness--dear. If long ago I hadn't been such a blind fool as not to
+know my own heart--"
+
+"But--but there's some mistake," interposed Alice, palpitatingly, with
+hanging head. "I--I'm not engaged to Mr. Calderwell."
+
+Arkwright turned and sent a keen glance into her face.
+
+"You're--not?"
+
+"No."
+
+"But I heard that Calderwell--" He stopped helplessly.
+
+"You heard that Mr. Calderwell was engaged, very likely. But--it so
+happens he isn't engaged--to me," murmured Alice, faintly.
+
+"But, long ago you said--" Arkwright paused, his eyes still keenly
+searching her face.
+
+"Never mind what I said--long ago," laughed Alice, trying unsuccessfully
+to meet his gaze. "One says lots of things, at times, you know."
+
+Into Arkwright's eyes came a new light, a light that plainly needed but
+a breath to fan it into quick fire.
+
+"Alice," he said softly, "do you mean that maybe now--I needn't try to
+fight--that other tiger skin?"
+
+There was no answer.
+
+Arkwright reached out a pleading hand.
+
+"Alice, dear, I've loved you so long," he begged unsteadily. "Don't
+you think that sometime, if I was very, very patient, you could just
+_begin_--to care a little for me?"
+
+Still there was no answer. Then, slowly, Alice shook her head. Her face
+was turned quite away--which was a pity, for if Arkwright could have
+seen the sudden tender mischief in her eyes, his own would not have
+become so somber.
+
+"Not even a little bit?"
+
+"I couldn't ever--begin," answered a half-smothered voice.
+
+"Alice!" cried the man, heart-brokenly.
+
+Alice turned now, and for a fleeting instant let him see her eyes,
+glowing with the love so long kept in relentless exile.
+
+"I couldn't, because, you see-I began--long ago," she whispered.
+
+"Alice!" It was the same single word, but spoken with a world of
+difference, for into it now was crowded all the glory and the wonder of
+a great love. "Alice!" breathed the man again; and this time the word
+was, oh, so tenderly whispered into the little pink and white ear of the
+girl in his arms.
+
+"I got delayed," began Billy, in the doorway.
+
+"Oh-h!" she broke off, beating a hushed, but precipitate, retreat.
+
+Fully thirty minutes later, Billy came to the door again. This time her
+approach was heralded by a snatch of song.
+
+"I hope you'll excuse my being gone so long," she smiled, as she
+entered the room where her two guests sat decorously face to face at the
+chess-table.
+
+"Well, you know you said you'd be gone ten minutes," Arkwright reminded
+her, politely.
+
+"Yes, I know I did." And Billy, to her credit, did not even smile at the
+man who did not know ten minutes from fifty.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXX. BY A BABY'S HAND
+
+
+After all, it was the baby's hand that did it, as was proper, and
+perhaps to be expected; for surely, was it not Bertram, Jr.'s place to
+show his parents that he was, indeed, no Wedge, but a dear and precious
+Tie binding two loving, loyal hearts more and more closely together?
+It would seem, indeed, that Bertram, Jr., thought so, perhaps, and very
+bravely he set about it; though, to carry out his purpose, he had to
+turn his steps into an unfamiliar way--a way of pain, and weariness, and
+danger.
+
+It was Arkwright who told Bertram that the baby was very sick, and
+that Billy wanted him. Bertram went home at once to find a distracted,
+white-faced Billy, and a twisted, pain-racked little creature, who it
+was almost impossible to believe was the happy, laughing baby boy he had
+left that morning.
+
+For the next two weeks nothing was thought of in the silent old Beacon
+Street house but the tiny little life hovering so near Death's door
+that twice it appeared to have slipped quite across the threshold.
+All through those terrible weeks it seemed as if Billy neither ate
+nor slept; and always at her side, comforting, cheering, and helping
+wherever possible was Bertram, tender, loving, and marvelously
+thoughtful.
+
+Then came the turning point when the universe itself appeared to
+hang upon a baby's breath. Gradually, almost imperceptibly, came the
+fluttering back of the tiny spirit into the longing arms stretched so
+far, far out to meet and hold it. And the father and the mother, looking
+into each other's sleepless, dark-ringed eyes, knew that their son was
+once more theirs to love and cherish.
+
+When two have gone together with a dear one down into the Valley of the
+Shadow of Death, and have come back, either mourning or rejoicing, they
+find a different world from the one they had left. Things that were
+great before seem small, and some things that were small seem great.
+At least Bertram and Billy found their world thus changed when together
+they came back bringing their son with them.
+
+In the long weeks of convalescence, when the healthy rosiness stole
+bit by bit into the baby's waxen face, and the light of recognition and
+understanding crept day by day into the baby's eyes, there was many a
+quiet hour for heart-to-heart talks between the two who so anxiously and
+joyously hailed every rosy tint and fleeting sparkle. And there was
+so much to tell, so much to hear, so much to talk about! And always,
+running through everything, was that golden thread of joy, beside which
+all else paled--that they had Baby and each other. As if anything else
+mattered!
+
+To be sure, there was Bertram's arm. Very early in their talks Billy
+found out about that. But Billy, with Baby getting well, was not to be
+daunted, even by this.
+
+"Nonsense, darling--not paint again, indeed! Why, Bertram, of course you
+will," she cried confidently.
+
+"But, Billy, the doctor said," began Bertram; but Billy would not even
+listen.
+
+"Very well, what if he did, dear?" she interrupted. "What if he did
+say you couldn't use your right arm much again?" Billy's voice broke
+a little, then quickly steadied into something very much like triumph.
+"You've got your left one!"
+
+Bertram shook his head.
+
+"I can't paint with that."
+
+"Yes, you can," insisted Billy, firmly. "Why, Bertram, what do you
+suppose you were given two arms for if not to fight with both of them?
+And I'm going to be ever so much prouder of what you paint now, because
+I'll know how splendidly you worked to do it. Besides, there's Baby. As
+if you weren't ever going to paint for Baby! Why, Bertram, I'm going to
+have you paint Baby, one of these days. Think how pleased he'll be to
+see it when he grows up! He's nicer, anyhow, than any old 'Face of a
+Girl' you ever did. Paint? Why, Bertram, darling, of course you're going
+to paint, and better than you ever did before!"
+
+Bertram shook his head again; but this time he smiled, and patted
+Billy's cheek with the tip of his forefinger.
+
+"As if I could!" he disclaimed. But that afternoon he went into his
+long-deserted studio and hunted up his last unfinished picture. For
+some time he stood motionless before it; then, with a quick gesture of
+determination, he got out his palette, paints, and brushes. This time
+not until he had painted ten, a dozen, a score of strokes, did he drop
+his brush with a sigh and carefully erase the fresh paint on the canvas.
+The next day he worked longer, and this time he allowed a little, a very
+little, of what he had done to remain.
+
+The third day Billy herself found him at his easel.
+
+"I wonder--do you suppose I could?" he asked fearfully.
+
+"Why, dearest, of course you can! Haven't you noticed? Can't you see how
+much more you can do with your left hand now? You've _had_ to use it,
+you see. _I've_ seen you do a lot of things with it, lately, that you
+never used to do at all. And, of course, the more you do with it, the
+more you can!"
+
+"I know; but that doesn't mean that I can paint with it," sighed
+Bertram, ruefully eyeing the tiny bit of fresh color his canvas showed
+for his long afternoon's work.
+
+"You wait and see," nodded Billy, with so overwhelming a cheery
+confidence that Bertram, looking into her glowing face, was conscious
+of a curious throb of exultation, almost as if already the victory were
+his.
+
+But it was not always of Bertram's broken arm, nor even of his work that
+they talked. Bertram, hanging over the baby's crib to assure himself
+that the rosiness and the sparkle were really growing more apparent
+every day, used to wonder sometimes how ever in the world he could have
+been jealous of his son. He said as much one day to Billy.
+
+To Billy it was a most astounding idea.
+
+"You mean you were actually jealous of your own baby?" she gasped.
+"Why, Bertram, how could--And was that why you--you sought distraction
+and--Oh, but, Bertram, that was all my f-fault," she quavered
+remorsefully. "I wouldn't play, nor sing, nor go to walk, nor anything;
+and I wore horrid frowzy wrappers all the time, and--"
+
+"Oh, come, come, Billy," expostulated the man. "I'm not going to have
+you talk like that about _my wife!_"
+
+"But I did--the book said I did," wailed Billy.
+
+"The book? Good heavens! Are there any books in this, too?" demanded
+Bertram.
+
+"Yes, the same one; the--the 'Talks to Young Wives,'" nodded Billy.
+And then, because some things had grown small to them, and some others
+great, they both laughed happily.
+
+But even this was not quite all; for one evening, very shyly, Billy
+brought out the chessboard.
+
+"Of course I can't play well," she faltered; "and maybe you don't want
+to play with me at all."
+
+But Bertram, when he found out why she had learned, was very sure he did
+want very much to play with her.
+
+Billy did not beat, of course. But she did several times experience--for
+a few blissful minutes--the pleasure of seeing Bertram sit motionless,
+studying the board, because of a move she had made. And though, in the
+end, her king was ignominiously trapped with not an unguarded square
+upon which to set his poor distracted foot, the memory of those blissful
+minutes when she had made Bertram "stare" more than paid for the final
+checkmate.
+
+By the middle of June the baby was well enough to be taken to the
+beach, and Bertram was so fortunate as to secure the same house they had
+occupied before. Once again William went down in Maine for his fishing
+trip, and the Strata was closed. In the beach house Bertram was painting
+industriously--with his left hand. Almost he was beginning to feel
+Billy's enthusiasm. Almost he was believing that he _was_ doing good
+work. It was not the "Face of a Girl," now. It was the face of a baby:
+smiling, laughing, even crying, sometimes; at other times just gazing
+straight into your eyes with adorable soberness. Bertram still went
+into Boston twice a week for treatment, though the treatment itself had
+changed. The great surgeon had sent him to still another specialist.
+
+"There's a chance--though perhaps a small one," he had said. "I'd like
+you to try it, anyway."
+
+As the summer advanced, Bertram thought sometimes that he could see a
+slight improvement in his injured arm; but he tried not to think too
+much about this. He had thought the same thing before, only to be
+disappointed in the end. Besides, he was undeniably interested just now
+in seeing if he _could_ paint with his left hand. Billy was so sure,
+and she had said that she would be prouder than ever of him, if he
+could--and he would like to make Billy proud! Then, too, there was the
+baby--he had no idea a baby could be so interesting to paint. He was not
+sure but that he was going to like to paint babies even better than he
+had liked to paint his "Face of a Girl" that had brought him his first
+fame.
+
+In September the family returned to the Strata. The move was made a
+little earlier this year on account of Alice Greggory's wedding.
+
+Alice was to be married in the pretty living-room at the Annex, just
+where Billy herself had been married a few short years before; and Billy
+had great plans for the wedding--not all of which she was able to carry
+out, for Alice, like Marie before her, had very strong objections to
+being placed under too great obligations.
+
+"And you see, really, anyway," she told Billy, "I owe the whole thing to
+you, to begin with--even my husband."
+
+"Nonsense! Of course you don't," disputed Billy.
+
+"But I do. If it hadn't been for you I should never have found him
+again, and of _course_ I shouldn't have had this dear little home to be
+married in. And I never could have left mother if she hadn't had
+Aunt Hannah and the Annex which means you. And if I hadn't found Mr.
+Arkwright, I might never have known how--how I could go back to my old
+home (as I am going on my honeymoon trip), and just know that every one
+of my old friends who shakes hands with me isn't pitying me now, because
+I'm my father's daughter. And that means you; for you see I never would
+have known that my father's name was cleared if it hadn't been for you.
+And--"
+
+"Oh, Alice, please, please," begged Billy, laughingly raising two
+protesting hands. "Why don't you say that it's to me you owe just
+breathing, and be done with it?"
+
+"Well, I will, then," avowed Alice, doggedly. "And it's true, too, for,
+honestly, my dear, I don't believe I would have been breathing to-day,
+nor mother, either, if you hadn't found us that morning, and taken us
+out of those awful rooms."
+
+"I? Never! You wouldn't let me take you out," laughed Billy. "You proud
+little thing! Maybe _you've_ forgotten how you turned poor Uncle William
+and me out into the cold, cold world that morning, just because we dared
+to aspire to your Lowestoft teapot; but I haven't!"
+
+"Oh, Billy, please, _don't_," begged Alice, the painful color staining
+her face. "If you knew how I've hated myself since for the way I acted
+that day--and, really, you did take us away from there, you know."
+
+"No, I didn't. I merely found two good tenants for Mr. and Mrs. Delano,"
+corrected Billy, with a sober face.
+
+"Oh, yes, I know all about that," smiled Alice, affectionately; "and you
+got mother and me here to keep Aunt Hannah company and teach Tommy Dunn;
+and you got Aunt Hannah here to keep us company and take care of Tommy
+Dunn; and you got Tommy Dunn here so Aunt Hannah and we could have
+somebody to teach and take care of; and, as for the others,--" But Billy
+put her hands to her ears and fled.
+
+The wedding was to be on the fifteenth. From the West Kate wrote that
+of course it was none of her affairs, particularly as neither of the
+interested parties was a relation, but still she should think that for
+a man in Mr. Arkwright's position, nothing but a church wedding would
+do at all, as, of course, he did, in a way, belong to the public. Alice,
+however, declared that perhaps he did belong to the public, when he was
+Don Somebody-or-other in doublet and hose; but when he was just plain
+Michael Jeremiah Arkwright in a frock coat he was hers, and she did not
+propose to make a Grand Opera show of her wedding. And as Arkwright,
+too, very much disapproved of the church-wedding idea, the two were
+married in the Annex living-room at noon on the fifteenth as originally
+planned, in spite of Mrs. Kate Hartwell's letter.
+
+It was soon after the wedding that Bertram told Billy he wished she
+would sit for him with Bertram, Jr.
+
+"I want to try my hand at you both together," he coaxed.
+
+"Why, of course, if you like, dear," agreed Billy, promptly, "though I
+think Baby is just as nice, and even nicer, alone."
+
+Once again all over Bertram's studio began to appear sketches of Billy,
+this time a glorified, tender Billy, with the wonderful mother-love in
+her eyes. Then, after several sketches of trial poses, Bertram began his
+picture of Billy and the baby together.
+
+Even now Bertram was not sure of his work. He knew that he could not yet
+paint with his old freedom and ease; he knew that his stroke was not so
+sure, so untrammeled. But he knew, too, that he had gained wonderfully,
+during the summer, and that he was gaining now, every day. To Billy he
+said nothing of all this. Even to himself he scarcely put his hope into
+words; but in his heart he knew that what he was really painting his
+"Mother and Child" picture for was the Bohemian Ten Club Exhibition in
+March--if he could but put upon canvas the vision that was spurring him
+on.
+
+And so Bertram worked all through those short winter days, not always
+upon the one picture, of course, but upon some picture or sketch that
+would help to give his still uncertain left hand the skill that had
+belonged to its mate. And always, cheering, encouraging, insisting on
+victory, was Billy, so that even had Bertram been tempted, sometimes,
+to give up, he could not have done so--and faced Billy's grieved,
+disappointed eyes. And when at last his work was completed, and the
+pictured mother and child in all their marvelous life and beauty seemed
+ready to step from the canvas, Billy drew a long ecstatic breath.
+
+"Oh, Bertram, it _is_, it is the best work you have ever done." Billy
+was looking at the baby. Always she had ignored herself as part of the
+picture. "And won't it be fine for the Exhibition!"
+
+Bertram's hand tightened on the chair-back in front of him. For a moment
+he could not speak. Then, a bit huskily, he asked:
+
+"Would you dare--risk it?"
+
+"Risk it! Why, Bertram Henshaw, I've meant that picture for the
+Exhibition from the very first--only I never dreamed you could get it so
+perfectly lovely. _Now_ what do you say about Baby being nicer than any
+old 'Face of a Girl' that you ever did?" she triumphed.
+
+And Bertram, who, even to himself, had not dared whisper the
+word exhibition, gave a tremulous laugh that was almost a sob, so
+overwhelming was his sudden realization of what faith and confidence had
+meant to Billy, his wife.
+
+If there was still a lingering doubt in Bertram's mind, it must
+have been dispelled in less than an hour after the Bohemian Ten Club
+Exhibition flung open its doors on its opening night. Once again Bertram
+found his picture the cynosure of all admiring eyes, and himself the
+center of an enthusiastic group of friends and fellow-artists who vied
+with each other in hearty words of congratulation. And when, later,
+the feared critics, whose names and opinions counted for so much in his
+world, had their say in the daily press and weekly reviews, Bertram
+knew how surely indeed he had won. And when he read that "Henshaw's
+work shows now a peculiar strength, a sort of reserve power, as it were,
+which, beautiful as was his former work, it never showed before," he
+smiled grimly, and said to Billy:
+
+"I suppose, now, that was the fighting I did with my good left hand, eh,
+dear?"
+
+But there was yet one more drop that was to make Bertram's cup of joy
+brim to overflowing. It came just one month after the Exhibition in the
+shape of a terse dozen words from the doctor. Bertram fairly flew home
+that day. He had no consciousness of any means of locomotion. He thought
+he was going to tell his wife at once his great good news; but when he
+saw her, speech suddenly fled, and all that he could do was to draw her
+closely to him with his left arm and hide his face.
+
+"Why, Bertram, dearest, what--what is it?" stammered the thoroughly
+frightened Billy. "Has anything-happened?"
+
+"No, no--yes--yes, everything has happened. I mean, it's going to
+happen," choked the man. "Billy, that old chap says that I'm going to
+have my arm again. Think of it--my good right arm that I've lost so
+long!"
+
+"_Oh, Bertram!_" breathed Billy. And she, too, fell to sobbing.
+
+Later, when speech was more coherent, she faltered:
+
+"Well, anyway, it doesn't make any difference _how_ many beautiful
+pictures you p-paint, after this, Bertram, I _can't_ be prouder of any
+than I am of the one your l--left hand did."
+
+"Oh, but I have you to thank for all that, dear."
+
+"No, you haven't," disputed Billy, blinking teary eyes; "but--" she
+paused, then went on spiritedly, "but, anyhow, I--I don't believe any
+one--not even Kate--can say _now_ that--that I've been a hindrance to
+you in your c-career!"
+
+"Hindrance!" scoffed Bertram, in a tone that left no room for doubt, and
+with a kiss that left even less, if possible.
+
+Billy, for still another minute, was silent; then, with a wistfulness
+that was half playful, half serious, she sighed:
+
+"Bertram, I believe being married is something like clocks, you know,
+'specially at the first."
+
+"Clocks, dear?"
+
+"Yes. I was out to Aunt Hannah's to-day. She was fussing with her
+clock--the one that strikes half an hour ahead--and I saw all those
+quantities of wheels, little and big, that have to go just so, with
+all the little cogs fitting into all the other little cogs just exactly
+right. Well, that's like marriage. See? There's such a lot of
+little cogs in everyday life that have to be fitted so they'll run
+smoothly--that have to be adjusted, 'specially at the first."
+
+"Oh, Billy, what an idea!"
+
+"But it's so, really, Bertram. Anyhow, I know my cogs were always
+getting out of place at the first," laughed Billy. "And I was like Aunt
+Hannah's clock, too, always going off half an hour ahead of time. And
+maybe I shall be so again, sometimes. But, Bertram,"--her voice shook a
+little--"if you'll just look at my face you'll see that I tell the right
+time there, just as Aunt Hannah's clock does. I'm sure, always, I'll
+tell the right time there, even if I do go off half an hour ahead!"
+
+"As if I didn't know that," answered Bertram, very low and tenderly.
+"Besides, I reckon I have some cogs of my own that need adjusting!"
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Miss Billy Married, by Eleanor H. Porter
+
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diff --git a/old/361-8.zip b/old/361-8.zip
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+<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?>
+
+<!DOCTYPE html
+   PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN"
+   "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" >
+
+<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en">
+  <head>
+    <title>
+      Miss Billy--Married, by Eleanor H. Porter
+    </title>
+    <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve">
+
+    body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify}
+    P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; }
+    H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; }
+    hr  { width: 50%; text-align: center;}
+    .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; }
+    blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;}
+    .mynote    {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;}
+    .toc       { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;}
+    .toc2      { margin-left: 20%;}
+    div.fig    { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; }
+    div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; }
+    .figleft   {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;}
+    .figright  {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;}
+    .pagenum   {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal;
+               margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%;
+               text-align: right;}
+    pre        { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;}
+
+</style>
+  </head>
+  <body>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Miss Billy Married, by Eleanor H. Porter
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Miss Billy Married
+
+Author: Eleanor H. Porter
+
+Release Date: July 8, 2008 [EBook #361]
+Last Updated: March 9, 2018
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MISS BILLY MARRIED ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Charles Keller, and David Widger
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <h1>
+      MISS BILLY&mdash;MARRIED
+    </h1>
+    <p>
+      <br />
+    </p>
+    <h2>
+      By Eleanor H. Porter
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      <br />
+    </p>
+    <h4>
+      Author Of Pollyanna, Etc.
+    </h4>
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <h4>
+      TO <br /> My Cousin Maud
+    </h4>
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <blockquote>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big>
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        <br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>MISS BILLY&mdash;MARRIED</b></a>
+        <br /> <br /> <br /> <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;SOME
+        OPINIONS AND A WEDDING <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II.
+        </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;FOR WILLIAM&mdash;A HOME <br /><br /> <a
+        href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;BILLY SPEAKS HER MIND
+        <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;"JUST
+        LIKE BILLY&rdquo; <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;TIGER
+        SKINS <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;"THE
+        PAINTING LOOK&rdquo; <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE
+        BIG BAD QUARREL <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;BILLY
+        CULTIVATES A &ldquo;COMFORTABLE INDIFFERENCE&rdquo; <br /><br /> <a
+        href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE DINNER BILLY TRIED
+        TO GET <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE
+        DINNER BILLY GOT <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;CALDERWELL
+        DOES SOME QUESTIONING <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII.
+        </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;FOR BILLY&mdash;SOME ADVICE <br /><br /> <a
+        href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;PETE <br /><br /> <a
+        href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;WHEN BERTRAM CAME
+        HOME <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;AFTER
+        THE STORM <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;INTO
+        TRAINING FOR MARY ELLEN <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER
+        XVII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE EFFICIENCY STAR&mdash;AND BILLY <br /><br /> <a
+        href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;BILLY TRIES HER
+        HAND AT &ldquo;MANAGING&rdquo; <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;A
+        TOUGH NUT TO CRACK FOR CYRIL <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER
+        XX. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;ARKWRIGHT'S EYES ARE OPENED <br /><br /> <a
+        href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XXI. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;BILLY TAKES HER TURN
+        AT QUESTIONING <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER XXII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;A
+        DOT AND A DIMPLE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XXIII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;BILLY
+        AND THE ENORMOUS RESPONSIBILITY <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0024">
+        CHAPTER XXIV. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;A NIGHT OFF <br /><br /> <a
+        href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER XXV. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;"SHOULD AULD
+        ACQUAINTANCE BE FORGOT&rdquo; <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER
+        XXVI. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;GHOSTS THAT WALKED FOR BERTRAM <br /><br /> <a
+        href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER XXVII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE MOTHER&mdash;THE
+        WIFE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0028"> CHAPTER XXVIII. &nbsp;&nbsp;</a>&nbsp;&nbsp;CONSPIRATORS
+        <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0029"> CHAPTER XXIX. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;CHESS
+        <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0030"> CHAPTER XXX. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;BY A
+        BABY'S HAND <br /><br />
+      </p>
+    </blockquote>
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <h1>
+      MISS BILLY&mdash;MARRIED
+    </h1>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER I. SOME OPINIONS AND A WEDDING
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I, Bertram, take thee, Billy,&rdquo; chanted the white-robed clergyman.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'I, Bertram, take thee, Billy,'&rdquo; echoed the tall young bridegroom, his
+      eyes gravely tender.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To my wedded wife.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'To my wedded wife.'&rdquo; The bridegroom's voice shook a little.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To have and to hold from this day forward.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'To have and to hold from this day forward.'&rdquo; Now the young voice rang
+      with triumph. It had grown strong and steady.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;For better for worse.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'For better for worse.'&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;For richer for poorer,&rdquo; droned the clergyman, with the weariness of
+      uncounted repetitions.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'For richer for poorer,'&rdquo; avowed the bridegroom, with the decisive
+      emphasis of one to whom the words are new and significant.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In sickness and in health.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'In sickness and in health.'&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To love and to cherish.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'To love and to cherish.'&rdquo; The younger voice carried infinite tenderness
+      now.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Till death us do part.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Till death us do part,'&rdquo; repeated the bridegroom's lips; but everybody
+      knew that what his heart said was: &ldquo;Now, and through all eternity.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;According to God's holy ordinance.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'According to God's holy ordinance.'&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And thereto I plight thee my troth.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'And thereto I plight thee my troth.'&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a faint stir in the room. In one corner a white-haired woman
+      blinked tear-wet eyes and pulled a fleecy white shawl more closely about
+      her shoulders. Then the minister's voice sounded again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I, Billy, take thee, Bertram.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'I, Billy, take thee, Bertram.'&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This time the echoing voice was a feminine one, low and sweet, but clearly
+      distinct, and vibrant with joyous confidence, on through one after another
+      of the ever familiar, but ever impressive phrases of the service that
+      gives into the hands of one man and of one woman the future happiness,
+      each of the other.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The wedding was at noon. That evening Mrs. Kate Hartwell, sister of the
+      bridegroom, wrote the following letter:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      BOSTON, July 15th.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;MY DEAR HUSBAND:&mdash;Well, it's all over with, and they're married. I
+      couldn't do one thing to prevent it. Much as ever as they would even
+      listen to what I had to say&mdash;and when they knew how I had hurried
+      East to say it, too, with only two hours' notice!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But then, what can you expect? From time immemorial lovers never did have
+      any sense; and when those lovers are such irresponsible flutterbudgets as
+      Billy and Bertram&mdash;!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And such a wedding! I couldn't do anything with <i>that</i>, either,
+      though I tried hard. They had it in Billy's living-room at noon, with
+      nothing but the sun for light. There was no maid of honor, no bridesmaids,
+      no wedding cake, no wedding veil, no presents (except from the family, and
+      from that ridiculous Chinese cook of brother William's, Ding Dong, or
+      whatever his name is. He tore in just before the wedding ceremony, and
+      insisted upon seeing Billy to give her a wretched little green stone idol,
+      which he declared would bring her 'heap plenty velly good luckee' if she
+      received it before she 'got married.' I wouldn't have the hideous,
+      grinning thing around, but William says it's real jade, and very valuable,
+      and of course Billy was crazy over it&mdash;or pretended to be). There was
+      no trousseau, either, and no reception. There was no anything but the
+      bridegroom; and when I tell you that Billy actually declared that was all
+      she wanted, you will understand how absurdly in love she is&mdash;in spite
+      of all those weeks and weeks of broken engagement when I, at least,
+      supposed she had come to her senses, until I got that crazy note from
+      Bertram a week ago saying they were to be married today.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can't say that I've got any really satisfactory explanation of the
+      matter. Everything has been in such a hubbub, and those two ridiculous
+      children have been so afraid they wouldn't be together every minute
+      possible, that any really rational conversation with either of them was
+      out of the question. When Billy broke the engagement last spring none of
+      us knew why she had done it, as you know; and I fancy we shall be almost
+      as much in the dark as to why she has&mdash;er&mdash;mended it now, as you
+      might say. As near as I can make out, however, she thought he didn't want
+      her, and he thought she didn't want him. I believe matters were still
+      further complicated by a girl Bertram was painting, and a young fellow
+      that used to sing with Billy&mdash;a Mr. Arkwright.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Anyhow, things came to a head last spring, Billy broke the engagement and
+      fled to parts unknown with Aunt Hannah, leaving Bertram here in Boston to
+      alternate between stony despair and reckless gayety, according to William;
+      and it was while he was in the latter mood that he had that awful
+      automobile accident and broke his arm&mdash;and almost his neck. He was
+      wildly delirious, and called continually for Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, it seems Billy didn't know all this; but a week ago she came home,
+      and in some way found out about it, I think through Pete&mdash;William's
+      old butler, you know. Just exactly what happened I can't say, but I do
+      know that she dragged poor old Aunt Hannah down to Bertram's at some
+      unearthly hour, and in the rain; and Aunt Hannah couldn't do a thing with
+      her. All Billy would say, was, 'Bertram wants me.' And Aunt Hannah told me
+      that if I could have seen Billy's face I'd have known that she'd have gone
+      to Bertram then if he'd been at the top of the Himalaya Mountains, or at
+      the bottom of the China Sea. So perhaps it's just as well&mdash;for Aunt
+      Hannah's sake, at least&mdash;that he was in no worse place than on his
+      own couch at home. Anyhow, she went, and in half an hour they blandly
+      informed Aunt Hannah that they were going to be married to-day.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aunt Hannah said she tried to stop that, and get them to put it off till
+      October (the original date, you know), but Bertram was obdurate. And when
+      he declared he'd marry her the next day if it wasn't for the new license
+      law, Aunt Hannah said she gave up for fear he'd get a special
+      dispensation, or go to the Governor or the President, or do some other
+      dreadful thing. (What a funny old soul Aunt Hannah is!) Bertram told <i>me</i>
+      that he should never feel safe till Billy was really his; that she'd read
+      something, or hear something, or think something, or get a letter from me
+      (as if anything <i>I</i> could say would do any good-or harm!), and so
+      break the engagement again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, she's his now, so I suppose he's satisfied; though, for my part, I
+      haven't changed my mind at all. I still say that they are not one bit
+      suited to each other, and that matrimony will simply ruin his career.
+      Bertram never has loved and never will love any girl long&mdash;except to
+      paint. But if he simply <i>would</i> get married, why couldn't he have
+      taken a nice, sensible domestic girl that would have kept him fed and
+      mended?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not but that I'm very fond of Billy, as you know, dear; but imagine Billy
+      as a wife&mdash;worse yet, a mother! Billy's a dear girl, but she knows
+      about as much of real life and its problems as&mdash;as our little Kate. A
+      more impulsive, irresponsible, regardless-of-consequences young woman I
+      never saw. She can play divinely, and write delightful songs, I'll
+      acknowledge; but what is that when a man is hungry, or has lost a button?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy has had her own way, and had everything she wanted for years now&mdash;a
+      rather dangerous preparation for marriage, especially marriage to a fellow
+      like Bertram who has had <i>his</i> own way and everything <i>he's</i>
+      wanted for years. Pray, what's going to happen when those ways conflict,
+      and neither one gets the thing wanted?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And think of her ignorance of cooking&mdash;but, there! What's the use?
+      They're married now, and it can't be helped.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mercy, what a letter I've written! But I, had to talk to some one;
+      besides, I'd promised I to let you know how matters stood as soon as I
+      could. As you see, though, my trip East has been practically useless. I
+      saw the wedding, to be sure, but I didn't prevent it, or even postpone it&mdash;though
+      I meant to do one or the other, else I should never have made that
+      tiresome journey half across the continent at two hours' notice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;However, we shall see what we shall see. As for me, I'm dead tired. Good
+      night.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Affectionately yours,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;KATE.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Quite naturally, Mrs. Kate Hartwell was not the only one who was thinking
+      that evening of the wedding. In the home of Bertram's brother Cyril, Cyril
+      himself was at the piano, but where his thoughts were was plain to be seen&mdash;or
+      rather, heard; for from under his fingers there came the Lohengrin wedding
+      march until all the room seemed filled with the scent of orange blossoms,
+      the mistiness of floating veils, and the echoing peals of far-away organs
+      heralding the &ldquo;Fair Bride and Groom.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Over by the table in the glowing circle of the shaded lamp, sat Marie,
+      Cyril's wife, a dainty sewing-basket by her side. Her hands, however, lay
+      idly across the stocking in her lap.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As the music ceased, she drew a long sigh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What a perfectly beautiful wedding that was! she breathed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Cyril whirled about on the piano stool.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It was a very sensible wedding,&rdquo; he said with emphasis.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They looked so happy&mdash;both of them,&rdquo; went on Marie, dreamily; &ldquo;so&mdash;so
+      sort of above and beyond everything about them, as if nothing ever, ever
+      could trouble them&mdash;<i>now</i>.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Cyril lifted his eyebrows.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph! Well, as I said before, it was a very <i>sensible</i> wedding,&rdquo; he
+      declared.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This time Marie noticed the emphasis. She laughed, though her eyes looked
+      a little troubled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know, dear, of course, what you mean. <i>I</i> thought our wedding was
+      beautiful; but I would have made it simpler if I'd realized in time how
+      you&mdash;you&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How I abhorred pink teas and purple pageants,&rdquo; he finished for her, with
+      a frowning smile. &ldquo;Oh, well, I stood it&mdash;for the sake of what it
+      brought me.&rdquo; His face showed now only the smile; the frown had vanished.
+      For a man known for years to his friends as a &ldquo;hater of women and all
+      other confusion,&rdquo; Cyril Henshaw was looking remarkably well-pleased with
+      himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His wife of less than a year colored as she met his gaze. Hurriedly she
+      picked up her needle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The man laughed happily at her confusion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What are you doing? Is that my stocking?&rdquo; he demanded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A look, half pain, half reproach, crossed her face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Cyril, of course not! You&mdash;you told me not to, long ago. You
+      said my darns made&mdash;bunches.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ho! I meant I didn't want to <i>wear</i> them,&rdquo; retorted the man, upon
+      whom the tragic wretchedness of that half-sobbed &ldquo;bunches&rdquo; had been quite
+      lost. &ldquo;I love to see you <i>mending</i> them,&rdquo; he finished, with an
+      approving glance at the pretty little picture of domesticity before him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A peculiar expression came to Marie's eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Cyril, you mean you <i>like</i> to have me mend them just for&mdash;for
+      the sake of seeing me do it, when you <i>know</i> you won't ever wear
+      them?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sure!&rdquo; nodded the man, imperturbably. Then, with a sudden laugh, he
+      asked: &ldquo;I wonder now, does Billy love to mend socks?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Marie smiled, but she sighed, too, and shook her head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm afraid not, Cyril.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nor cook?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Marie laughed outright this time. The vaguely troubled look had fled from
+      her eyes
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Billy's helped me beat eggs and butter sometimes, but I never knew
+      her to cook a thing or want to cook a thing, but once; then she spent
+      nearly two weeks trying to learn to make puddings&mdash;for you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;For <i>me!</i>&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Marie puckered her lips queerly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I supposed they were for you at the time. At all events she was
+      trying to make them for some one of you boys; probably it was really for
+      Bertram, though.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph!&rdquo; grunted Cyril. Then, after a minute, he observed: &ldquo;I judge Kate
+      thinks Billy'll never make them&mdash;for anybody. I'm afraid Sister Kate
+      isn't pleased.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, but Mrs. Hartwell was&mdash;was disappointed in the wedding,&rdquo;
+       apologized Marie, quickly. &ldquo;You know she wanted it put off anyway, and she
+      didn't like such a simple one.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hm-m; as usual Sister Kate forgot it wasn't her funeral&mdash;I mean, her
+      wedding,&rdquo; retorted Cyril, dryly. &ldquo;Kate is never happy, you know, unless
+      she's managing things.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I know,&rdquo; nodded Marie, with a frowning smile of recollection at
+      certain features of her own wedding.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She doesn't approve of Billy's taste in guests, either,&rdquo; remarked Cyril,
+      after a moment's silence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I thought her guests were lovely,&rdquo; spoke up Marie, in quick defense. &ldquo;Of
+      course, most of her social friends are away&mdash;in July; but Billy is
+      never a society girl, you know, in spite of the way Society is always
+      trying to lionize her and Bertram.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, of course Kate knows that; but she says it seems as if Billy needn't
+      have gone out and gathered in the lame and the halt and the blind.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense!&rdquo; cried Marie, with unusual sharpness for her. &ldquo;I suppose she
+      said that just because of Mrs. Greggory's and Tommy Dunn's crutches.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, they didn't make a real festive-looking wedding party, you must
+      admit,&rdquo; laughed Cyril; &ldquo;what with the bridegroom's own arm in a sling,
+      too! But who were they all, anyway?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, you knew Mrs. Greggory and Alice, of course&mdash;and Pete,&rdquo; smiled
+      Marie. &ldquo;And wasn't Pete happy? Billy says she'd have had Pete if she had
+      no one else; that there wouldn't have been any wedding, anyway, if it
+      hadn't been for his telephoning Aunt Hannah that night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes; Will told me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As for Tommy and the others&mdash;most of them were those people that
+      Billy had at her home last summer for a two weeks' vacation&mdash;people,
+      you know, too poor to give themselves one, and too proud to accept one
+      from ordinary charity. Billy's been following them up and doing little
+      things for them ever since&mdash;sugarplums and frosting on their cake,
+      she calls it; and they adore her, of course. I think it was lovely of her
+      to have them, and they did have such a good time! You should have seen
+      Tommy when you played that wedding march for Billy to enter the room. His
+      poor little face was so transfigured with joy that I almost cried, just to
+      look at him. Billy says he loves music&mdash;poor little fellow!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I hope they'll be happy, in spite of Kate's doleful prophecies.
+      Certainly they looked happy enough to-day,&rdquo; declared Cyril, patting a yawn
+      as he rose to his feet. &ldquo;I fancy Will and Aunt Hannah are lonesome,
+      though, about now,&rdquo; he added.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; smiled Marie, mistily, as she gathered up her work. &ldquo;I know what
+      Aunt Hannah's doing. She's helping Rosa put the house to rights, and she's
+      stopping to cry over every slipper and handkerchief of Billy's she finds.
+      And she'll do that until that funny clock of hers strikes twelve, then
+      she'll say 'Oh, my grief and conscience&mdash;midnight!' But the next
+      minute she'll remember that it's only half-past eleven, after all, and
+      she'll send Rosa to bed and sit patting Billy's slipper in her lap till it
+      really is midnight by all the other clocks.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Cyril laughed appreciatively.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I know what Will is doing,&rdquo; he declared.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Will is in Bertram's den dozing before the fireplace with Spunkie curled
+      up in his lap.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      As it happened, both these surmises were not far from right. In the
+      Strata, the Henshaws' old Beacon Street home, William was sitting before
+      the fireplace with the cat in his lap, but he was not dozing. He was
+      talking.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Spunkie,&rdquo; he was saying, &ldquo;your master, Bertram, got married to-day&mdash;and
+      to Miss Billy. He'll be bringing her home one of these days&mdash;your new
+      mistress. And such a mistress! Never did cat or house have a better!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Just think; for the first time in years this old place is to know the
+      touch of a woman's hand&mdash;and that's what it hasn't known for almost
+      twenty years, except for those few short months six years ago when a
+      dark-eyed girl and a little gray kitten (that was Spunk, your predecessor,
+      you know) blew in and blew out again before we scarcely knew they were
+      here. That girl was Miss Billy, and she was a dear then, just as she is
+      now, only now she's coming here to stay. She's coming home, Spunkie; and
+      she'll make it a home for you, for me, and for all of us. Up to now, you
+      know, it hasn't really been a home, for years&mdash;just us men, so. It'll
+      be very different, Spunkie, as you'll soon find out. Now mind, madam! We
+      must show that we appreciate all this: no tempers, no tantrums, no showing
+      of claws, no leaving our coats&mdash;either yours or mine&mdash;on the
+      drawing-room chairs, no tracking in of mud on clean rugs and floors! For
+      we're going to have a home, Spunkie&mdash;a home!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At Hillside, Aunt Hannah was, indeed, helping Rosa to put the house to
+      rights, as Marie had said. She was crying, too, over a glove she had found
+      on Billy's piano; but she was crying over something else, also. Not only
+      had she lost Billy, but she had lost her home.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To be sure, nothing had been said during that nightmare of a week of hurry
+      and confusion about Aunt Hannah's future; but Aunt Hannah knew very well
+      how it must be. This dear little house on the side of Corey Hill was
+      Billy's home, and Billy would not need it any longer. It would be sold, of
+      course; and she, Aunt Hannah, would go back to a &ldquo;second-story front&rdquo; and
+      loneliness in some Back Bay boarding-house; and a second story front and
+      loneliness would not be easy now, after these years of home&mdash;and
+      Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      No wonder, indeed, that Aunt Hannah sat crying and patting the little
+      white glove in her hand. No wonder, too, that&mdash;being Aunt Hannah&mdash;she
+      reached for the shawl near by and put it on, shiveringly. Even July,
+      to-night, was cold&mdash;to Aunt Hannah.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In yet another home that evening was the wedding of Billy Neilson and
+      Bertram Henshaw uppermost in thought and speech. In a certain little
+      South-End flat where, in two rented rooms, lived Alice Greggory and her
+      crippled mother, Alice was talking to Mr. M. J. Arkwright, commonly known
+      to his friends as &ldquo;Mary Jane,&rdquo; owing to the mystery in which he had for so
+      long shrouded his name.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright to-night was plainly moody and ill at ease.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You're not listening. You're not listening at all,&rdquo; complained Alice
+      Greggory at last, reproachfully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With a visible effort the man roused himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Indeed I am,&rdquo; he maintained.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I thought you'd be interested in the wedding. You used to be friends&mdash;you
+      and Billy.&rdquo; The girl's voice still vibrated with reproach.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a moment's silence; then, a little harshly, the man said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps&mdash;because I wanted to be more than&mdash;a friend&mdash;is
+      why you're not satisfied with my interest now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A look that was almost terror came to Alice Greggory's eyes. She flushed
+      painfully, then grew very white.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You mean&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he nodded dully, without looking up. &ldquo;I cared too much for her. I
+      supposed Henshaw was just a friend&mdash;till too late.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a breathless hush before, a little unsteadily, the girl
+      stammered:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I'm so sorry&mdash;so very sorry! I&mdash;I didn't know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, of course you didn't. I've almost told you, though, lots of times;
+      you've been so good to me all these weeks.&rdquo; He raised his head now, and
+      looked at her, frank comradeship in his eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The girl stirred restlessly. Her eyes swerved a little under his level
+      gaze.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, but I've done nothing&mdash;n-nothing,&rdquo; she stammered. Then, at the
+      light tap of crutches on a bare floor she turned in obvious relief. &ldquo;Oh,
+      here's mother. She's been in visiting with Mrs. Delano, our landlady.
+      Mother, Mr. Arkwright is here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Meanwhile, speeding north as fast as steam could carry them, were the
+      bride and groom. The wondrousness of the first hour of their journey side
+      by side had become a joyous certitude that always it was to be like this
+      now.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bertram,&rdquo; began the bride, after a long minute of eloquent silence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, love.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You know our wedding was very different from most weddings.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course it was!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, but <i>really</i> it was. Now listen.&rdquo; The bride's voice grew
+      tenderly earnest. &ldquo;I think our marriage is going to be different, too.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Different?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo; Billy's tone was emphatic. &ldquo;There are so many common, everyday
+      marriages where&mdash;where&mdash;Why, Bertram, as if you could ever be to
+      me like&mdash;like Mr. Carleton is, for instance!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Like Mr. Carleton is&mdash;to you?&rdquo; Bertram's voice was frankly puzzled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, no! As Mr. Carleton is to Mrs. Carleton, I mean.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; Bertram subsided in relief.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And the Grahams and Whartons, and the Freddie Agnews, and&mdash;and a lot
+      of others. Why, Bertram, I've seen the Grahams and the Whartons not even
+      speak to each other a whole evening, when they've been at a dinner, or
+      something; and I've seen Mrs. Carleton not even seem to know her husband
+      came into the room. I don't mean quarrel, dear. Of course we'd never <i>quarrel!</i>
+      But I mean I'm sure we shall never get used to&mdash;to you being you, and
+      I being I.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Indeed we sha'n't,&rdquo; agreed Bertram, rapturously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ours is going to be such a beautiful marriage!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course it will be.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And we'll be so happy!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I shall be, and I shall try to make you so.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As if I could be anything else,&rdquo; sighed Billy, blissfully. &ldquo;And now we <i>can't</i>
+      have any misunderstandings, you see.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course not. Er&mdash;what's that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, I mean that&mdash;that we can't ever repeat hose miserable weeks of
+      misunderstanding. Everything is all explained up. I <i>know</i>, now, that
+      you don't love Miss Winthrop, or just girls&mdash;any girl&mdash;to paint.
+      You love me. Not the tilt of my chin, nor the turn of my head; but <i>me</i>.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I do&mdash;just you.&rdquo; Bertram's eyes gave the caress his lips would have
+      given had it not been for the presence of the man in the seat across the
+      aisle of the sleeping-car.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And you&mdash;you know now that I love you&mdash;just you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not even Arkwright?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not even Arkwright,&rdquo; smiled Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was the briefest of hesitations; then, a little constrainedly,
+      Bertram asked:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And you said you&mdash;you never <i>had</i> cared for Arkwright, didn't
+      you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      For the second time in her life Billy was thankful that Bertram's question
+      had turned upon <i>her</i> love for Arkwright, not Arkwright's love for
+      her. In Billy's opinion, a man's unrequited love for a girl was his
+      secret, not hers, and was certainly one that the girl had no right to
+      tell. Once before Bertram had asked her if she had ever cared for
+      Arkwright, and then she had answered emphatically, as she did now:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never, dear.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I thought you said so,&rdquo; murmured Bertram, relaxing a little.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I did; besides, didn't I tell you?&rdquo; she went on airily, &ldquo;I think he'll
+      marry Alice Greggory. Alice wrote me all the time I was away, and&mdash;oh,
+      she didn't say anything definite, I'll admit,&rdquo; confessed Billy, with an
+      arch smile; &ldquo;but she spoke of his being there lots, and they used to know
+      each other years ago, you see. There was almost a romance there, I think,
+      before the Greggorys lost their money and moved away from all their
+      friends.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, he may have her. She's a nice girl&mdash;a mighty nice girl,&rdquo;
+       answered Bertram, with the unmistakably satisfied air of the man who knows
+      he himself possesses the nicest girl of them all.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy, reading unerringly the triumph in his voice, grew suddenly grave.
+      She regarded her husband with a thoughtful frown; then she drew a profound
+      sigh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Whew!&rdquo; laughed Bertram, whimsically. &ldquo;So soon as this?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bertram!&rdquo; Billy's voice was tragic.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, my love.&rdquo; The bridegroom pulled his face into sobriety; then Billy
+      spoke, with solemn impressiveness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bertram, I don't know a thing about&mdash;cooking&mdash;except what I've
+      been learning in Rosa's cook-book this last week.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram laughed so loud that the man across the aisle glanced over the top
+      of his paper surreptitiously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Rosa's cook-book! Is that what you were doing all this week?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes; that is&mdash;I tried so hard to learn something,&rdquo; stammered Billy.
+      &ldquo;But I'm afraid I didn't&mdash;much; there were so many things for me to
+      think of, you know, with only a week. I believe I <i>could</i> make peach
+      fritters, though. They were the last thing I studied.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram laughed again, uproariously; but, at Billy's unchangingly tragic
+      face, he grew suddenly very grave and tender.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, dear, I didn't marry you to&mdash;to get a cook,&rdquo; he said gently.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy shook her head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know; but Aunt Hannah said that even if I never expected to cook,
+      myself, I ought to know how it was done, so to properly oversee it. She
+      said that&mdash;that no woman, who didn't know how to cook and keep house
+      properly, had any business to be a wife. And, Bertram, I did try,
+      honestly, all this week. I tried so hard to remember when you sponged
+      bread and when you kneaded it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't ever need&mdash;<i>yours</i>,&rdquo; cut in Bertram, shamelessly; but
+      he got only a deservedly stern glance in return.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And I repeated over and over again how many cupfuls of flour and pinches
+      of salt and spoonfuls of baking-powder went into things; but, Bertram, I
+      simply could not keep my mind on it. Everything, everywhere was singing to
+      me. And how do you suppose I could remember how many pinches of flour and
+      spoonfuls of salt and cupfuls of baking-powder went into a loaf of cake
+      when all the while the very teakettle on the stove was singing: 'It's all
+      right&mdash;Bertram loves me&mdash;I'm going to marry Bertram!'?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You darling!&rdquo; (In spite of the man across the aisle Bertram did almost
+      kiss her this time.) &ldquo;As if anybody cared how many cupfuls of
+      baking-powder went anywhere&mdash;with that in your heart!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aunt Hannah says you will&mdash;when you're hungry. And Kate said&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram uttered a sharp word behind his teeth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, for heaven's sake don't tell me what Kate said, if you want me to
+      stay sane, and not attempt to fight somebody&mdash;broken arm, and all.
+      Kate <i>thinks</i> she's kind, and I suppose she means well; but&mdash;well,
+      she's made trouble enough between us already. I've got you now,
+      sweetheart. You're mine&mdash;all mine&mdash;&rdquo; his voice shook, and
+      dropped to a tender whisper&mdash;&ldquo;'till death us do part.'&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes; 'till death us do part,'&rdquo; breathed Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And then, for a time, they fell silent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'I, Bertram, take thee, Billy,'&rdquo; sang the whirring wheels beneath them,
+      to one.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'I, Billy, take thee, Bertram,'&rdquo; sang the whirring wheels beneath them,
+      to the other. While straight ahead before them both, stretched fair and
+      beautiful in their eyes, the wondrous path of life which they were to
+      tread together.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER II. FOR WILLIAM&mdash;A HOME
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      On the first Sunday after the wedding Pete came up-stairs to tell his
+      master, William, that Mrs. Stetson wanted to see him in the drawing-room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      William went down at once.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, Aunt Hannah,&rdquo; he began, reaching out a cordial hand. &ldquo;Why, what's
+      the matter?&rdquo; he broke off concernedly, as he caught a clearer view of the
+      little old lady's drawn face and troubled eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;William, it's silly, of course,&rdquo; cried Aunt Hannah, tremulously, &ldquo;but I
+      simply had to go to some one. I&mdash;I feel so nervous and unsettled! Did&mdash;did
+      Billy say anything to you&mdash;what she was going to do?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What she was going to do? About what? What do you mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;About the house&mdash;selling it,&rdquo; faltered Aunt Hannah, sinking wearily
+      back into her chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      William frowned thoughtfully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, no,&rdquo; he answered. &ldquo;It was all so hurried at the last, you know.
+      There was really very little chance to make plans for anything&mdash;except
+      the wedding,&rdquo; he finished, with a smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I know,&rdquo; sighed Aunt Hannah. &ldquo;Everything was in such confusion!
+      Still, I didn't know but she might have said something&mdash;to you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, she didn't. But I imagine it won't be hard to guess what she'll do.
+      When they get back from their trip I fancy she won't lose much time in
+      having what things she wants brought down here. Then she'll sell the rest
+      and put the house on the market.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, of&mdash;of course,&rdquo; stammered Aunt Hannah, pulling herself hastily
+      to a more erect position. &ldquo;That's what I thought, too. Then don't you
+      think we'd better dismiss Rosa and close the house at once?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why&mdash;yes, perhaps so. Why not? Then you'd be all settled here when
+      she comes home. I'm sure, the sooner you come, the better I'll be
+      pleased,&rdquo; he smiled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah turned sharply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here!&rdquo; she ejaculated. &ldquo;William Henshaw, you didn't suppose I was coming
+      <i>here</i> to live, did you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was William's turn to look amazed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, of course you're coming here! Where else should you go, pray?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where I was before&mdash;before Billy came&mdash;to you,&rdquo; returned Aunt
+      Hannah a little tremulously, but with a certain dignity. &ldquo;I shall take a
+      room in some quiet boarding-house, of course.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense, Aunt Hannah! As if Billy would listen to that! You came before;
+      why not come now?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah lifted her chin the fraction of an inch.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You forget. I was needed before. Billy is a married woman now. She needs
+      no chaperon.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense!&rdquo; scowled William, again. &ldquo;Billy will always need you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah shook her head mournfully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I like to think&mdash;she wants me, William, but I know, in my heart, it
+      isn't best.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why not?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a moment's pause; then, decisively came the answer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because I think young married folks should not have outsiders in the
+      home.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      William laughed relievedly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, so that's it! Well, Aunt Hannah, you're no outsider. Come, run right
+      along home and pack your trunk.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah was plainly almost crying; but she held her ground.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;William, I can't,&rdquo; she reiterated.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But&mdash;Billy is such a child, and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      For once in her circumspect life Aunt Hannah was guilty of an
+      interruption.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pardon me, William, she is not a child. She is a woman now, and she has a
+      woman's problems to meet.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, then, why don't you help her meet them?&rdquo; retorted William, still
+      with a whimsical smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But Aunt Hannah did not smile. For a minute she did not speak; then, with
+      her eyes studiously averted, she said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;William, the first four years of my married life were&mdash;were spoiled
+      by an outsider in our home. I don't mean to spoil Billy's.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      William relaxed visibly. The smile fled from his face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why&mdash;Aunt&mdash;Hannah!&rdquo; he exclaimed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little old lady turned with a weary sigh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I know. You are shocked, of course. I shouldn't have told you.
+      Still, it is all past long ago, and&mdash;I wanted to make you understand
+      why I can't come. He was my husband's eldest brother&mdash;a bachelor. He
+      was good and kind, and meant well, I suppose; but&mdash;he interfered with
+      everything. I was young, and probably headstrong. At all events, there was
+      constant friction. He went away once and stayed two whole months. I shall
+      never forget the utter freedom and happiness of those months for us, with
+      the whole house to ourselves. No, William, I can't come.&rdquo; She rose
+      abruptly and turned toward the door. Her eyes were wistful, and her face
+      was still drawn with suffering; but her whole frail little self quivered
+      plainly with high resolve. &ldquo;John has Peggy outside. I must go.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But&mdash;but, Aunt Hannah,&rdquo; began William, helplessly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She lifted a protesting hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, don't urge me, please. I can't come here. But&mdash;I believe I won't
+      close the house till Billy gets home, after all,&rdquo; she declared. The next
+      moment she was gone, and William, dazedly, from the doorway, was watching
+      John help her into Billy's automobile, called by Billy and half her
+      friends, &ldquo;Peggy,&rdquo; short for &ldquo;Pegasus.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Still dazedly William turned back into the house and dropped himself into
+      the nearest chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What a curious call it had been! Aunt Hannah had not acted like herself at
+      all. Not once had she said &ldquo;Oh, my grief and conscience!&rdquo; while the things
+      she <i>had</i> said&mdash;! Someway, he had never thought of Aunt Hannah
+      as being young, and a bride. Still, of course she must have been&mdash;once.
+      And the reason she gave for not coming there to live&mdash;the pitiful
+      story of that outsider in her home! But she was no outsider! She was no
+      interfering brother of Billy's&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      William caught his breath suddenly, and held it suspended. Then he gave a
+      low ejaculation and half sprang from his chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Spunkie, disturbed from her doze by the fire, uttered a purring &ldquo;me-o-ow,&rdquo;
+       and looked up inquiringly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For a long minute William gazed dumbly into the cat's yellow, sleepily
+      contented eyes; then he said with tragic distinctness:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Spunkie, it's true: Aunt Hannah isn't Billy's husband's brother, but&mdash;I
+      am! Do you hear? I <i>am!</i>&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pur-r-me-ow!&rdquo; commented Spunkie; and curled herself for another nap.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was no peace for William after that. In vain he told himself that he
+      was no &ldquo;interfering&rdquo; brother, and that this was his home and had been all
+      his life; in vain did he declare emphatically that he could not go, he
+      would not go; that Billy would not wish him to go: always before his eyes
+      was the vision of that little bride of years long gone; always in his ears
+      was the echo of Aunt Hannah's &ldquo;I shall never forget the utter freedom and
+      happiness of those months for us, with the whole house to ourselves.&rdquo; Nor,
+      turn which way he would, could he find anything to comfort him. Simply
+      because he was so fearfully looking for it, he found it&mdash;the thing
+      that had for its theme the wretchedness that might be expected from the
+      presence of a third person in the new home.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Poor William! Everywhere he met it&mdash;the hint, the word, the story,
+      the song, even; and always it added its mite to the woeful whole. Even the
+      hoariest of mother-in-law jokes had its sting for him; and, to make his
+      cup quite full, he chanced to remember one day what Marie had said when he
+      had suggested that she and Cyril come to the Strata to live: &ldquo;No; I think
+      young folks should begin by themselves.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Unhappy, indeed, were these days for William. Like a lost spirit he
+      wandered from room to room, touching this, fingering that. For long
+      minutes he would stand before some picture, or some treasured bit of old
+      mahogany, as if to stamp indelibly upon his mind a thing that was soon to
+      be no more. At other times, like a man without a home, he would go out
+      into the Common or the Public Garden and sit for hours on some bench&mdash;thinking.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All this could have but one ending, of course. Before the middle of August
+      William summoned Pete to his rooms.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Pete, I'm going to move next week,&rdquo; he began nonchalantly. His voice
+      sounded as if moving were a pleasurable circumstance that occurred in his
+      life regularly once a month. &ldquo;I'd like you to begin to pack up these
+      things, please, to-morrow.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The old servant's mouth fell open.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You're goin' to&mdash;to what, sir?&rdquo; he stammered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Move&mdash;<i>move</i>, I said.&rdquo; William spoke with unusual harshness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Pete wet his lips.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You mean you've sold the old place, sir?&mdash;that we&mdash;we ain't
+      goin' to live here no longer?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sold? Of course not! <i>I'm</i> going to move away; not you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      If Pete could have known what caused the sharpness in his master's voice,
+      he would not have been so grieved&mdash;or, rather, he would have been
+      grieved for a different reason. As it was he could only falter miserably:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;<i>You</i> are goin' to move away from here!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, yes, man! Why, Pete, what ails you? One would think a body never
+      moved before.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They didn't&mdash;not you, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      William turned abruptly, so that his face could not be seen. With stern
+      deliberation he picked up an elaborately decorated teapot; but the
+      valuable bit of Lowestoft shook so in his hand that he set it down at
+      once. It clicked sharply against its neighbor, betraying his nervous hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Pete stirred.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, Mr. William,&rdquo; he stammered thickly; &ldquo;how are you&mdash;what'll you
+      do without&mdash;There doesn't nobody but me know so well about your tea,
+      and the two lumps in your coffee; and there's your flannels that you never
+      put on till I get 'em out, and the woolen socks that you'd wear all summer
+      if I didn't hide 'em. And&mdash;and who's goin' to take care of these?&rdquo; he
+      finished, with a glance that encompassed the overflowing cabinets and
+      shelves of curios all about him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His master smiled sadly. An affection that had its inception in his
+      boyhood days shone in his eyes. The hand in which the Lowestoft had shaken
+      rested now heavily on an old man's bent shoulder&mdash;a shoulder that
+      straightened itself in unconscious loyalty under the touch.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pete, you have spoiled me, and no mistake. I don't expect to find another
+      like you. But maybe if I wear the woolen socks too late you'll come and
+      hunt up the others for me. Eh?&rdquo; And, with a smile that was meant to be
+      quizzical, William turned and began to shift the teapots about again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, Mr. William, why&mdash;that is, what will Mr. Bertram and Miss Billy
+      do&mdash;without you?&rdquo; ventured the old man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a sudden tinkling crash. On the floor lay the fragments of a
+      silver-luster teapot.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The servant exclaimed aloud in dismay, but his master did not even glance
+      toward his once treasured possession on the floor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense, Pete!&rdquo; he was saying in a particularly cheery voice. &ldquo;Have you
+      lived all these years and not found out that newly-married folks don't <i>need</i>
+      any one else around? Come, do you suppose we could begin to pack these
+      teapots to-night?&rdquo; he added, a little feverishly. &ldquo;Aren't there some boxes
+      down cellar?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll see, sir,&rdquo; said Pete, respectfully; but the expression on his face
+      as he turned away showed that he was not thinking of teapots&mdash;nor of
+      boxes in which to pack them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER III. BILLY SPEAKS HER MIND
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Mr. and Mrs. Bertram Henshaw were expected home the first of September. By
+      the thirty-first of August the old Beacon Street homestead facing the
+      Public Garden was in spick-and-span order, with Dong Ling in the basement
+      hovering over a well-stocked larder, and Pete searching the rest of the
+      house for a chair awry, or a bit of dust undiscovered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Twice before had the Strata&mdash;as Bertram long ago dubbed the home of
+      his boyhood&mdash;been prepared for the coming of Billy, William's
+      namesake: once, when it had been decorated with guns and fishing-rods to
+      welcome the &ldquo;boy&rdquo; who turned out to be a girl; and again when with pink
+      roses and sewing-baskets the three brothers got joyously ready for a
+      feminine Billy who did not even come at all.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The house had been very different then. It had been, indeed, a &ldquo;strata,&rdquo;
+       with its distinctive layers of fads and pursuits as represented by Bertram
+      and his painting on one floor, William and his curios on another, and
+      Cyril with his music on a third. Cyril was gone now. Only Pete and his
+      humble belongings occupied the top floor. The floor below, too, was silent
+      now, and almost empty save for a rug or two, and a few pieces of heavy
+      furniture that William had not cared to take with him to his new quarters
+      on top of Beacon Hill. Below this, however, came Billy's old rooms, and on
+      these Pete had lavished all his skill and devotion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Freshly laundered curtains were at the windows, dustless rugs were on the
+      floor. The old work-basket had been brought down from the top-floor
+      storeroom, and the long-closed piano stood invitingly open. In a
+      conspicuous place, also, sat the little green god, upon whose exquisitely
+      carved shoulders was supposed to rest the &ldquo;heap plenty velly good luckee&rdquo;
+       of Dong Ling's prophecy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the first floor Bertram's old rooms and the drawing-room came in for
+      their share of the general overhauling. Even Spunkie did not escape, but
+      had to submit to the ignominy of a bath. And then dawned fair and clear
+      the first day of September, bringing at five o'clock the bride and groom.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Respectfully lined up in the hall to meet them were Pete and Dong Ling:
+      Pete with his wrinkled old face alight with joy and excitement; Dong Ling
+      grinning and kotowing, and chanting in a high-pitched treble:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Billee, Miss Billee&mdash;plenty much welcome, Miss Billee!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, welcome home, Mrs. <i>Henshaw!</i>&rdquo; bowed Bertram, turning at the
+      door, with an elaborate flourish that did not in the least hide his tender
+      pride in his new wife.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed and colored a pretty pink.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you&mdash;all of you,&rdquo; she cried a little unsteadily. &ldquo;And how
+      good, good everything does look to me! Why, where's Uncle William?&rdquo; she
+      broke off, casting hurriedly anxious eyes about her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I should say so,&rdquo; echoed Bertram. &ldquo;Where is he, Pete? He isn't
+      sick, is he?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A quick change crossed the old servant's face. He shook his head dumbly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy gave a gleeful laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know&mdash;he's asleep!&rdquo; she caroled, skipping to the bottom of the
+      stairway and looking up.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ho, Uncle William! Better wake up, sir. The folks have come!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Pete cleared his throat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. William isn't here, Miss&mdash;ma'am,&rdquo; he corrected miserably.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy smiled, but she frowned, too.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not here! Well, I like that,&rdquo; she pouted; &ldquo;&mdash;and when I've brought
+      him the most beautiful pair of mirror knobs he ever saw, and all the way
+      in my bag, too, so I could give them to him the very first thing,&rdquo; she
+      added, darting over to the small bag she had brought in with her. &ldquo;I'm
+      glad I did, too, for our trunks didn't come,&rdquo; she continued laughingly.
+      &ldquo;Still, if he isn't here to receive them&mdash;There, Pete, aren't they
+      beautiful?&rdquo; she cried, carefully taking from their wrappings two
+      exquisitely decorated porcelain discs mounted on two long spikes. &ldquo;They're
+      Batterseas&mdash;the real article. I know enough for that; and they're
+      finer than anything he's got. Won't he be pleased?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, Miss&mdash;ma'am, I mean,&rdquo; stammered the old man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;These new titles come hard, don't they, Pete?&rdquo; laughed Bertram.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Pete smiled faintly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never mind, Pete,&rdquo; soothed his new mistress. &ldquo;You shall call me 'Miss
+      Billy' all your life if you want to. Bertram,&rdquo; she added, turning to her
+      husband, &ldquo;I'm going to just run up-stairs and put these in Uncle William's
+      rooms so they'll be there when he comes in. We'll see how soon he
+      discovers them!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Before Pete could stop her she was half-way up the first flight of stairs.
+      Even then he tried to speak to his young master, to explain that Mr.
+      William was not living there; but the words refused to come. He could only
+      stand dumbly waiting.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In a minute it came&mdash;Billy's sharp, startled cry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bertram! Bertram!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram sprang for the stairway, but he had not reached the top when he
+      met his wife coming down. She was white-faced and trembling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bertram&mdash;those rooms&mdash;there's not so much as a teapot there!
+      Uncle William's&mdash;gone!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Gone!&rdquo; Bertram wheeled sharply. &ldquo;Pete, what is the meaning of this? Where
+      is my brother?&rdquo; To hear him, one would think he suspected the old servant
+      of having hidden his master.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Pete lifted a shaking hand and fumbled with his collar.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He's moved, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Moved! Oh, you mean to other rooms&mdash;to Cyril's.&rdquo; Bertram relaxed
+      visibly. &ldquo;He's upstairs, maybe.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Pete shook his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, sir. He's moved away&mdash;out of the house, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      For a brief moment Bertram stared as if he could not believe what his ears
+      had heard. Then, step by step, he began to descend the stairs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you mean&mdash;to say&mdash;that my brother&mdash;has moved-gone away&mdash;<i>left</i>&mdash;his
+      <i>home?</i>&rdquo; he demanded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy gave a low cry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But why&mdash;why?&rdquo; she choked, almost stumbling headlong down the
+      stairway in her effort to reach the two men at the bottom. &ldquo;Pete, why did
+      he go?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was no answer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pete,&rdquo;&mdash;Bertram's voice was very sharp&mdash;&ldquo;what is the meaning of
+      this? Do you know why my brother left his home?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The old man wet his lips and swallowed chokingly, but he did not speak.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm waiting, Pete.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laid one hand on the old servant's arm&mdash;in the other hand she
+      still tightly clutched the mirror knobs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pete, if you do know, won't you tell us, please?&rdquo; she begged.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Pete looked down at the hand, then up at the troubled young face with the
+      beseeching eyes. His own features worked convulsively. With a visible
+      effort he cleared his throat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know&mdash;what he said,&rdquo; he stammered, his eyes averted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What was it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was no answer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Look here, Pete, you'll have to tell us, you know,&rdquo; cut in Bertram,
+      decisively, &ldquo;so you might as well do it now as ever.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Once more Pete cleared his throat. This time the words came in a burst of
+      desperation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, sir. I understand, sir. It was only that he said&mdash;he said as
+      how young folks didn't <i>need</i> any one else around. So he was goin'.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Didn't <i>need</i> any one else!&rdquo; exclaimed Bertram, plainly not
+      comprehending.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, sir. You two bein' married so, now.&rdquo; Pete's eyes were still averted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy gave a low cry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You mean&mdash;because <i>I</i> came?&rdquo; she demanded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, yes, Miss&mdash;no&mdash;that is&mdash;&rdquo; Pete stopped with an
+      appealing glance at Bertram.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then it was&mdash;it <i>was</i>&mdash;on account of <i>me</i>,&rdquo; choked
+      Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Pete looked still more distressed
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, no!&rdquo; he faltered. &ldquo;It was only that he thought you wouldn't want him
+      here now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Want him here!&rdquo; ejaculated Bertram.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Want him here!&rdquo; echoed Billy, with a sob.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pete, where is he?&rdquo; As she asked the question she dropped the mirror
+      knobs into her open bag, and reached for her coat and gloves&mdash;she had
+      not removed her hat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Pete gave the address.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's just down the street a bit and up the hill,&rdquo; he added excitedly,
+      divining her purpose. &ldquo;It's a sort of a boarding-house, I reckon.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A <i>boarding-house</i>&mdash;for Uncle William!&rdquo; scorned Billy, her eyes
+      ablaze. &ldquo;Come, Bertram, we'll see about that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram reached out a detaining hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, dearest, you're so tired,&rdquo; he demurred. &ldquo;Hadn't we better wait till
+      after dinner, or till to-morrow?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;After dinner! To-morrow!&rdquo; Billy's eyes blazed anew. &ldquo;Why, Bertram
+      Henshaw, do you think I'd leave that dear man even one minute longer, if I
+      could help it, with a notion in his blessed old head that we didn't <i>want</i>
+      him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you said a little while ago you had a headache, dear,&rdquo; still objected
+      Bertram. &ldquo;If you'd just eat your dinner!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dinner!&rdquo; choked Billy. &ldquo;I wonder if you think I could eat any dinner with
+      Uncle William turned out of his home! I'm going to find Uncle William.&rdquo;
+       And she stumbled blindly toward the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram reached for his hat. He threw a despairing glance into Pete's
+      eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We'll be back&mdash;when we can,&rdquo; he said, with a frown.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, sir,&rdquo; answered Pete, respectfully. Then, as if impelled by some
+      hidden force, he touched his master's arm. &ldquo;It was that way she looked,
+      sir, when she came to <i>you</i>&mdash;that night last July&mdash;with her
+      eyes all shining,&rdquo; he whispered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A tender smile curved Bertram's lips. The frown vanished from his face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bless you, Pete&mdash;and bless her, too!&rdquo; he whispered back. The next
+      moment he had hurried after his wife.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The house that bore the number Pete had given proved to have a pretentious
+      doorway, and a landlady who, in response to the summons of the neat maid,
+      appeared with a most impressive rustle of black silk and jet bugles.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      No, Mr. William Henshaw was not in his rooms. In fact, he was very seldom
+      there. His business, she believed, called him to State Street through the
+      day. Outside of that, she had been told, he spent much time sitting on a
+      bench in the Common. Doubtless, if they cared to search, they could find
+      him there now.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A bench in the Common, indeed!&rdquo; stormed Billy, as she and Bertram hurried
+      down the wide stone steps. &ldquo;Uncle William&mdash;on a bench!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But surely now, dear,&rdquo; ventured her husband, &ldquo;you'll come home and get
+      your dinner!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy turned indignantly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And leave Uncle William on a bench in the Common? Indeed, no! Why,
+      Bertram, you wouldn't, either,&rdquo; she cried, as she turned resolutely toward
+      one of the entrances to the Common.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And Bertram, with the &ldquo;eyes all shining&rdquo; still before him, could only
+      murmur: &ldquo;No, of course not, dear!&rdquo; and follow obediently where she led.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Under ordinary circumstances it would have been a delightful hour for a
+      walk. The sun had almost set, and the shadows lay long across the grass.
+      The air was cool and unusually bracing for a day so early in September.
+      But all this was lost on Bertram. Bertram did not wish to take a walk. He
+      was hungry. He wanted his dinner; and he wanted, too, his old home with
+      his new wife flitting about the rooms as he had pictured this first
+      evening together. He wanted William, of course. Certainly he wanted
+      William; but if William would insist on running away and sitting on park
+      benches in this ridiculous fashion, he ought to take the consequences&mdash;until
+      to-morrow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Five, ten, fifteen minutes passed. Up one path and down another trudged
+      the anxious-eyed Billy and her increasingly impatient husband. Then when
+      the fifteen weary minutes had become a still more weary half-hour, the
+      bonds Bertram had set on his temper snapped.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy,&rdquo; he remonstrated despairingly, &ldquo;do, please, come home! Don't you
+      see how highly improbable it is that we should happen on William if we
+      walked like this all night? He might move&mdash;change his seat&mdash;go
+      home, even. He probably has gone home. And surely never before did a bride
+      insist on spending the first evening after her return tramping up and down
+      a public park for hour after hour like this, looking for any man. <i>Won't</i>
+      you come home?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But Billy had not even heard. With a glad little cry she had darted to the
+      side of the humped-up figure of a man alone on a park bench just ahead of
+      them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Uncle William! Oh, Uncle William, how could you?&rdquo; she cried, dropping
+      herself on to one end of the seat and catching the man's arm in both her
+      hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, how could you?&rdquo; demanded Bertram, with just a touch of irritation,
+      dropping himself on to the other end of the seat, and catching the man's
+      other arm in his one usable hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The bent shoulders and bowed head straightened up with a jerk.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, well, bless my soul! If it isn't our little bride,&rdquo; cried Uncle
+      William, fondly. &ldquo;And the happy bridegroom, too. When did you get home?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We haven't got home,&rdquo; retorted Bertram, promptly, before his wife could
+      speak. &ldquo;Oh, we looked in at the door an hour or so back; but we didn't
+      stay. We've been hunting for you ever since.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense, children!&rdquo; Uncle William spoke with gay cheeriness; but he
+      refused to meet either Billy's or Bertram's eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Uncle William, how could you do it?&rdquo; reproached Billy, again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do what?&rdquo; Uncle William was plainly fencing for time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Leave the house like that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ho! I wanted a change.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As if we'd believe that!&rdquo; scoffed Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right; let's call it you've had the change, then,&rdquo; laughed Bertram,
+      &ldquo;and we'll send over for your things to-morrow. Come&mdash;now let's go
+      home to dinner.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      William shook his head. He essayed a gay smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, I've only just begun. I'm going to stay&mdash;oh, I don't know how
+      long I'm going to stay,&rdquo; he finished blithely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy lifted her chin a little.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Uncle William, you aren't playing square. Pete told us what you said when
+      you left.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh? What?&rdquo; William looked up with startled eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;About&mdash;about our not <i>needing</i> you. So we know, now, why you
+      left; and we <i>sha'n't stand</i> it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pete? That? Oh, that&mdash;that's nonsense I&mdash;I'll settle with
+      Pete.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed softly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Poor Pete! Don't. We simply dragged it out of him. And now we're here to
+      tell you that we <i>do</i> want you, and that you <i>must</i> come back.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Again William shook his head. A swift shadow crossed his face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you, no, children,&rdquo; he said dully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You're very kind, but you don't need me. I should be just an interfering
+      elder brother. I should spoil your young married life.&rdquo; (William's voice
+      now sounded as if he were reciting a well-learned lesson.) &ldquo;If I went away
+      and stayed two months, you'd never forget the utter freedom and joy of
+      those two whole months with the house all to yourselves.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Uncle William,&rdquo; gasped Billy, &ldquo;what <i>are</i> you talking about?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;About&mdash;about my not going back, of course.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you are coming back,&rdquo; cut in Bertram, almost angrily. &ldquo;Oh, come,
+      Will, this is utter nonsense, and you know it! Come, let's go home to
+      dinner.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A stern look came to the corners of William's mouth&mdash;a look that
+      Bertram understood well.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right, I'll go to dinner, of course; but I sha'n't stay,&rdquo; said
+      William, firmly. &ldquo;I've thought it all out. I know I'm right. Come, we'll
+      go to dinner now, and say no more about it,&rdquo; he finished with a cheery
+      smile, as he rose to his feet. Then, to the bride, he added: &ldquo;Did you have
+      a nice trip, little girl?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy, too, had risen, now, but she did not seem to have heard his
+      question. In the fast falling twilight her face looked a little white.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Uncle William,&rdquo; she began very quietly, &ldquo;do you think for a minute that
+      just because I married your brother I am going to live in that house and
+      turn you out of the home you've lived in all your life?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense, dear! I'm not turned out. I just go,&rdquo; corrected Uncle William,
+      gayly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With superb disdain Billy brushed this aside.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no, you won't,&rdquo; she declared; &ldquo;but&mdash;<i>I shall</i>.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy!&rdquo; gasped Bertram.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My&mdash;my dear!&rdquo; expostulated William, faintly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Uncle William! Bertram! Listen,&rdquo; panted Billy. &ldquo;I never told you much
+      before, but I'm going to, now. Long ago, when I went away with Aunt
+      Hannah, your sister Kate showed me how dear the old home was to you&mdash;how
+      much you thought of it. And she said&mdash;she said that I had upset
+      everything.&rdquo; (Bertram interjected a sharp word, but Billy paid no
+      attention.) &ldquo;That's why I went; and <i>I shall go again</i>&mdash;if you
+      don't come home to-morrow to stay, Uncle William. Come, now let's go to
+      dinner, please. Bertram's hungry,&rdquo; she finished, with a bright smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a tense moment of silence. William glanced at Bertram; Bertram
+      returned the glance&mdash;with interest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Er&mdash;ah&mdash;yes; well, we might go to dinner,&rdquo; stammered William,
+      after a minute.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Er&mdash;yes,&rdquo; agreed Bertram. And the three fell into step together.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER IV. &ldquo;JUST LIKE BILLY&rdquo;
+     </h2>
+    <p>
+      Billy did not leave the Strata this time. Before twenty-four hours had
+      passed, the last cherished fragment of Mr. William Henshaw's possessions
+      had been carefully carried down the imposing steps of the Beacon Hill
+      boarding-house under the disapproving eyes of its bugle-adorned mistress,
+      who found herself now with a month's advance rent and two vacant &ldquo;parlors&rdquo;
+       on her hands. Before another twenty-four hours had passed her quondam
+      boarder, with a tired sigh, sank into his favorite morris chair in his old
+      familiar rooms, and looked about him with contented eyes. Every treasure
+      was in place, from the traditional four small stones of his babyhood days
+      to the Batterseas Billy had just brought him. Pete, as of yore, was
+      hovering near with a dust-cloth. Bertram's gay whistle sounded from the
+      floor below. William Henshaw was at home again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This much accomplished, Billy went to see Aunt Hannah.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah greeted her affectionately, though with tearfully troubled
+      eyes. She was wearing a gray shawl to-day topped with a black one&mdash;sure
+      sign of unrest, either physical or mental, as all her friends knew.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'd begun to think you'd forgotten&mdash;me,&rdquo; she faltered, with a poor
+      attempt at gayety.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You've been home three whole days.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know, dearie,&rdquo; smiled Billy; &ldquo;and 'twas a shame. But I have been so
+      busy! My trunks came at last, and I've been helping Uncle William get
+      settled, too.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah looked puzzled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Uncle William get settled? You mean&mdash;he's changed his room?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed oddly, and threw a swift glance into Aunt Hannah's face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, yes, he did change,&rdquo; she murmured; &ldquo;but he's moved back now into
+      the old quarters. Er&mdash;you haven't heard from Uncle William then,
+      lately, I take it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo; Aunt Hannah shook her head abstractedly. &ldquo;I did see him once,
+      several weeks ago; but I haven't, since. We had quite a talk, then; and,
+      Billy, I've been wanting to speak to you,&rdquo; she hurried on, a little
+      feverishly. &ldquo;I didn't like to leave, of course, till you did come home, as
+      long as you'd said nothing about your plans; but&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Leave!&rdquo; interposed Billy, dazedly. &ldquo;Leave where? What do you mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, leave here, of course, dear. I mean. I didn't like to get my room
+      while you were away; but I shall now, of course, at once.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense, Aunt Hannah! As if I'd let you do that,&rdquo; laughed Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah stiffened perceptibly. Her lips looked suddenly thin and
+      determined. Even the soft little curls above her ears seemed actually to
+      bristle with resolution.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy,&rdquo; she began firmly, &ldquo;we might as well understand each other at
+      once. I know your good heart, and I appreciate your kindness. But I can
+      not come to live with you. I shall not. It wouldn't be best. I should be
+      like an interfering elder brother in your home. I should spoil your young
+      married life; and if I went away for two months you'd never forget the
+      utter joy and freedom of those two months with the whole house ali to
+      yourselves.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At the beginning of this speech Billy's eyes had still carried their
+      dancing smile, but as the peroration progressed on to the end, a dawning
+      surprise, which soon became a puzzled questioning, drove the smile away.
+      Then Billy sat suddenly erect.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Aunt Hannah, that's exactly what Uncle William&mdash;&rdquo; Billy
+      stopped, and regarded Aunt Hannah with quick suspicion. The next moment
+      she burst into gleeful laughter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah looked grieved, and not a little surprised; but Billy did not
+      seem to notice this.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, oh, Aunt Hannah&mdash;you, too! How perfectly funny!&rdquo; she gurgled.
+      &ldquo;To think you two old blesseds should get your heads together like this!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah stirred restively, and pulled the black shawl more closely
+      about her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Indeed, Billy, I don't know what you mean by that,&rdquo; she sighed, with a
+      visible effort at self-control; &ldquo;but I do know that I can not go to live
+      with you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bless your heart, dear, I don't want you to,&rdquo; soothed Billy, with gay
+      promptness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! O-h-h,&rdquo; stammered Aunt Hannah, surprise, mortification, dismay, and a
+      grieved hurt bringing a flood of color to her face. It is one thing to
+      refuse a home, and quite another to have a home refused you.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! O-h-h, Aunt Hannah,&rdquo; cried Billy, turning very red in her turn.
+      &ldquo;Please, <i>please</i> don't look like that. I didn't mean it that way. I
+      do want you, dear, only&mdash;I want you somewhere else more. I want you&mdash;here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here!&rdquo; Aunt Hannah looked relieved, but unconvinced.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. Don't you like it here?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Like it! Why, I love it, dear. You know I do. But you don't need this
+      house now, Billy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes, I do,&rdquo; retorted Billy, airily. &ldquo;I'm going to keep it up, and I
+      want you here.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fiddlededee, Billy! As if I'd let you keep up this house just for me,&rdquo;
+       scorned Aunt Hannah.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Tisn't just for you. It's for&mdash;for lots of folks.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My grief and conscience, Billy! What are you talking about?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed, and settled herself more comfortably on the hassock at Aunt
+      Hannah's feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I'll tell you. Just now I want it for Tommy Dunn, and the Greggorys
+      if I can get them, and maybe one or two others. There'll always be
+      somebody. You see, I had thought I'd have them at the Strata.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tommy Dunn&mdash;at the Strata!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed again ruefully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;O dear! You sound just like Bertram,&rdquo; she pouted. &ldquo;He didn't want Tommy,
+      either, nor any of the rest of them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The rest of them!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I could have had a lot more, you know, the Strata is so big,
+      especially now that Cyril has gone, and left all those empty rooms. <i>I</i>
+      got real enthusiastic, but Bertram didn't. He just laughed and said
+      'nonsense!' until he found I was really in earnest; then he&mdash;well, he
+      said 'nonsense,' then, too&mdash;only he didn't laugh,&rdquo; finished Billy,
+      with a sigh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah regarded her with fond, though slightly exasperated eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, you are, indeed, a most extraordinary young woman&mdash;at times.
+      Surely, with you, a body never knows what to expect&mdash;except the
+      unexpected.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Aunt Hannah!&mdash;and from you, too!&rdquo; reproached Billy,
+      mischievously; but Aunt Hannah had yet more to say.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course Bertram thought it was nonsense. The idea of you, a bride,
+      filling up your house with&mdash;with people like that! Tommy Dunn,
+      indeed!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Bertram said he liked Tommy all right,&rdquo; sighed Billy; &ldquo;but he said
+      that that didn't mean he wanted him for three meals a day. One would think
+      poor Tommy was a breakfast food! So that is when I thought of keeping up
+      this house, you see, and that's why I want you here&mdash;to take charge
+      of it. And you'll do that&mdash;for me, won't you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah fell back in her chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, y-yes, Billy, of course, if&mdash;if you want it. But what an
+      extraordinary idea, child!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy shook her head. A deeper color came to her cheeks, and a softer glow
+      to her eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't think so, Aunt Hannah. It's only that I'm so happy that some of
+      it has just got to overflow somewhere, and this is going to be the
+      overflow house&mdash;a sort of safety valve for me, you see. I'm going to
+      call it the Annex&mdash;it will be an annex to our home. And I want to
+      keep it full, always, of people who&mdash;who can make the best use of all
+      that extra happiness that I can't possibly use myself,&rdquo; she finished a
+      little tremulously. &ldquo;Don't you see?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes, I <i>see</i>,&rdquo; replied Aunt Hannah, with a fond shake of the
+      head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, really, listen&mdash;it's sensible,&rdquo; urged Billy. &ldquo;First, there's
+      Tommy. His mother died last month. He's at a neighbor's now, but they're
+      going to send him to a Home for Crippled Children; and he's grieving his
+      heart out over it. I'm going to bring him here to a real home&mdash;the
+      kind that doesn't begin with a capital letter. He adores music, and he's
+      got real talent, I think. Then there's the Greggorys.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah looked dubious.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You can't get the Greggorys to&mdash;to use any of that happiness, Billy.
+      They're too proud.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy smiled radiantly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know I can't get them to <i>use</i> it, Aunt Hannah, but I believe I
+      can get them to <i>give</i> it,&rdquo; she declared triumphantly. &ldquo;I shall ask
+      Alice Greggory to teach Tommy music, and I shall ask Mrs. Greggory to
+      teach him books; and I shall tell them both that I positively need them to
+      keep you company.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, but Billy,&rdquo; bridled Aunt Hannah, with prompt objection.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tut, tut!&mdash;I know you'll be willing to be thrown as a little bit of
+      a sop to the Greggorys' pride,&rdquo; coaxed Billy. &ldquo;You just wait till I get
+      the Overflow Annex in running order. Why, Aunt Hannah, you don't know how
+      busy you're going to be handing out all that extra happiness that I can't
+      use!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You dear child!&rdquo; Aunt Hannah smiled mistily. The black shawl had fallen
+      unheeded to the floor now. &ldquo;As if anybody ever had any more happiness than
+      one's self could use!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have,&rdquo; avowed Billy, promptly, &ldquo;and it's going to keep growing and
+      growing, I know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, my grief and conscience, Billy, don't!&rdquo; exclaimed Aunt Hannah,
+      lifting shocked hands of remonstrance. &ldquo;Rap on wood&mdash;do! How can you
+      boast like that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy dimpled roguishly and sprang to her feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Aunt Hannah, I'm ashamed of you! To be superstitious like that&mdash;you,
+      a good Presbyterian!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah subsided shamefacedly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I know, Billy, it is silly; but I just can't help it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, but it's worse than silly, Aunt Hannah,&rdquo; teased Billy, with a
+      remorseless chuckle. &ldquo;It's really <i>heathen!</i> Bertram told me once
+      that it dates 'way back to the time of the Druids&mdash;appealing to the
+      god of trees, or something like that&mdash;when you rap on wood, you
+      know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ugh!&rdquo; shuddered Aunt Hannah. &ldquo;As if I would, Billy! How is Bertram, by
+      the by?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A swift shadow crossed Billy's bright face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He's lovely&mdash;only his arm.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;His arm! But I thought that was better.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, it is,&rdquo; drooped Billy, &ldquo;but it gets along so slowly, and it frets him
+      dreadfully. You know he never can do anything with his left hand, he says,
+      and he just hates to have things done for him&mdash;though Pete and Dong
+      Ling are quarreling with each other all the time to do things for him, and
+      I'm quarreling with both of them to do them for him myself! By the way,
+      Dong Ling is going to leave us next week. Did you know it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dong Ling&mdash;leave!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. Oh, he told Bertram long ago he should go when we were married; that
+      he had plenty much money, and was going back to China, and not be Melican
+      man any longer. But I don't think Bertram thought he'd do it. William says
+      Dong Ling went to Pete, however, after we left, and told him he wanted to
+      go; that he liked the little Missee plenty well, but that there'd be too
+      much hen-talk when she got back, and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, the impudent creature!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed merrily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes; Pete was furious, William says, but Dong Ling didn't mean any
+      disrespect, I'm sure. He just wasn't used to having petticoats around, and
+      didn't want to take orders from them; that's all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, Billy, what will you do?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Pete's fixed all that lovely,&rdquo; returned Billy, nonchalantly. &ldquo;You
+      know his niece lives over in South Boston, and it seems she's got a
+      daughter who's a fine cook and will be glad to come. Mercy! Look at the
+      time,&rdquo; she broke off, glancing at the clock. &ldquo;I shall be late to dinner,
+      and Dong Ling loathes anybody who's late to his meals&mdash;as I found out
+      to my sorrow the night we got home. Good-by, dear. I'll be out soon again
+      and fix it all up&mdash;about the Annex, you know.&rdquo; And with a bright
+      smile she was gone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dear me,&rdquo; sighed Aunt Hannah, stooping to pick up the black shawl; &ldquo;dear
+      me! Of course everything will be all right&mdash;there's a girl coming,
+      even if Dong Ling is going. But&mdash;but&mdash;Oh, my grief and
+      conscience, what an extraordinary child Billy is, to be sure&mdash;but
+      what a dear one!&rdquo; she added, wiping a quick tear from her eye. &ldquo;An
+      Overflow Annex, indeed, for her 'extra happiness'! Now isn't that just
+      like Billy?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER V. TIGER SKINS
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      September passed and October came, bringing with it cool days and clear,
+      crisp evenings royally ruled over by a gorgeous harvest moon. According to
+      Billy everything was just perfect&mdash;except, of course, poor Bertram's
+      arm; and even the fact that that gained so slowly was not without its
+      advantage (again according to Billy), for it gave Bertram more time to be
+      with her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You see, dear, as long as you <i>can't</i> paint,&rdquo; she told him
+      earnestly, one day, &ldquo;why, I'm not really hindering you by keeping you with
+      me so much.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You certainly are not,&rdquo; he retorted, with a smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then I may be just as happy as I like over it,&rdquo; settled Billy,
+      comfortably.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As if you ever could hinder me,&rdquo; he ridiculed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes, I could,&rdquo; nodded Billy, emphatically. &ldquo;You forget, sir. That was
+      what worried me so. Everybody, even the newspapers and magazines, said I
+      <i>would</i> do it, too. They said I'd slay your Art, stifle your
+      Ambition, destroy your Inspiration, and be a nuisance generally. And Kate
+      said&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. Well, never mind what Kate said,&rdquo; interrupted the man, savagely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed, and gave his ear a playful tweak.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right; but I'm not going to do it, you know&mdash;spoil your career,
+      sir. You just wait,&rdquo; she continued dramatically. &ldquo;The minute your arm gets
+      so you can paint, I myself shall conduct you to your studio, thrust the
+      brushes into your hand, fill your palette with all the colors of the
+      rainbow, and order you to paint, my lord, paint! But&mdash;until then I'm
+      going to have you all I like,&rdquo; she finished, with a complete change of
+      manner, nestling into the ready curve of his good left arm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You witch!&rdquo; laughed the man, fondly. &ldquo;Why, Billy, you couldn't hinder me.
+      You'll <i>be</i> my inspiration, dear, instead of slaying it. You'll see.
+      <i>This</i> time Marguerite Winthrop's portrait is going to be a success.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy turned quickly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then you are&mdash;that is, you haven't&mdash;I mean, you're going to&mdash;paint
+      it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I just am,&rdquo; avowed the artist. &ldquo;And this time it'll be a success, too,
+      with you to help.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy drew in her breath tremulously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I didn't know but you'd already started it,&rdquo; she faltered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He shook his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. After the other one failed, and Mr. Winthrop asked me to try again, I
+      couldn't <i>then</i>. I was so troubled over you. That's the time you did
+      hinder me,&rdquo; he smiled. &ldquo;Then came your note breaking the engagement. Of
+      course I knew too much to attempt a thing like that portrait then. But now&mdash;<i>now</i>&mdash;!&rdquo;
+       The pause and the emphasis were eloquent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course, <i>now</i>,&rdquo; nodded Billy, brightly, but a little feverishly.
+      &ldquo;And when do you begin?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not till January. Miss Winthrop won't be back till then. I saw J. G. last
+      week, and I told him I'd accept his offer to try again.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What did he say?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He gave my left hand a big grip and said: 'Good!&mdash;and you'll win out
+      this time.'&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course you will,&rdquo; nodded Billy, again, though still a little
+      feverishly. &ldquo;And this time I sha'n't mind a bit if you do stay to
+      luncheon, and break engagements with me, sir,&rdquo; she went on, tilting her
+      chin archly, &ldquo;for I shall know it's the portrait and not the sitter that's
+      really keeping you. Oh, you'll see what a fine artist's wife I'll make!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The very best,&rdquo; declared Bertram so ardently that Billy blushed, and
+      shook her head in reproof.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense! I wasn't fishing. I didn't mean it that way,&rdquo; she protested.
+      Then, as he tried to catch her, she laughed and danced teasingly out of
+      his reach.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Because Bertram could not paint, therefore, Billy had him quite to herself
+      these October days; nor did she hesitate to appropriate him. Neither, on
+      his part, was Bertram loath to be appropriated. Like two lovers they read
+      and walked and talked together, and like two children, sometimes, they
+      romped through the stately old rooms with Spunkie, or with Tommy Dunn, who
+      was a frequent guest. Spunkie, be it known, was renewing her kittenhood,
+      so potent was the influence of the dangling strings and rolling balls that
+      she encountered everywhere; and Tommy Dunn, with Billy's help, was
+      learning that not even a pair of crutches need keep a lonely little lad
+      from a frolic. Even William, roused from his after-dinner doze by peals of
+      laughter, was sometimes inveigled into activities that left him
+      breathless, but curiously aglow. While Pete, polishing silver in the
+      dining-room down-stairs, smiled indulgently at the merry clatter above&mdash;and
+      forgot the teasing pain in his side.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But it was not all nonsense with Billy, nor gay laughter. More often it
+      was a tender glow in the eyes, a softness in the voice, a radiant
+      something like an aura of joy all about her, that told how happy indeed
+      were these days for her. There was proof by word of mouth, too&mdash;long
+      talks with Bertram in the dancing firelight when they laid dear plans for
+      the future, and when she tried so hard to make her husband understand what
+      a good, good wife she intended to be, and how she meant never to let
+      anything come between them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was so earnest and serious a Billy by this time that Bertram would turn
+      startled, dismayed eyes on his young wife; whereupon, with a very
+      Billy-like change of mood, she would give him one of her rare caresses,
+      and perhaps sigh:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Goosey&mdash;it's only because I'm so happy, happy, happy! Why, Bertram,
+      if it weren't for that Overflow Annex I believe I&mdash;I just couldn't
+      live!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was Bertram who sighed then, and who prayed fervently in his heart that
+      never might he see a real shadow cloud that dear face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus far, certainly, the cares of matrimony had rested anything but
+      heavily upon the shapely young shoulders of the new wife. Domestic affairs
+      at the Strata moved like a piece of well-oiled machinery. Dong Ling, to be
+      sure, was not there; but in his place reigned Pete's grandniece, a
+      fresh-faced, capable young woman who (Bertram declared) cooked like an
+      angel and minded her own business like a man. Pete, as of yore, had full
+      charge of the house; and a casual eye would see few changes. Even the
+      brothers themselves saw few, for that matter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      True, at the very first, Billy had donned a ruffled apron and a bewitching
+      dust-cap, and had traversed the house from cellar to garret with a
+      prettily important air of &ldquo;managing things,&rdquo; as she suggested changes
+      right and left. She had summoned Pete, too, for three mornings in
+      succession, and with great dignity had ordered the meals for the day. But
+      when Bertram was discovered one evening tugging back his favorite chair,
+      and when William had asked if Billy were through using his pipe-tray, the
+      young wife had concluded to let things remain about as they were. And when
+      William ate no breakfast one morning, and Bertram aggrievedly refused
+      dessert that night at dinner, Billy&mdash;learning through an apologetic
+      Pete that Master William always had to have eggs for breakfast no matter
+      what else there was, and that Master Bertram never ate boiled rice&mdash;gave
+      up planning the meals. True, for three more mornings she summoned Pete for
+      &ldquo;orders,&rdquo; but the orders were nothing more nor less than a blithe &ldquo;Well,
+      Pete, what are we going to have for dinner to-day?&rdquo; By the end of a week
+      even this ceremony was given up, and before a month had passed, Billy was
+      little more than a guest in her own home, so far as responsibility was
+      concerned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy was not idle, however; far from it. First, there were the delightful
+      hours with Bertram. Then there was her music: Billy was writing a new song&mdash;the
+      best she had ever written, Billy declared.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Bertram, it can't help being that,&rdquo; she said to her husband, one
+      day. &ldquo;The words just sang themselves to me right out of my heart; and the
+      melody just dropped down from the sky. And now, everywhere, I'm hearing
+      the most wonderful harmonies. The whole universe is singing to me. If only
+      now I can put it on paper what I hear! Then I can make the whole universe
+      sing to some one else!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Even music, however, had to step one side for the wedding calls which were
+      beginning to be received, and which must be returned, in spite of the
+      occasional rebellion of the young husband. There were the more intimate
+      friends to be seen, also, and Cyril and Marie to be visited. And always
+      there was the Annex.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Annex was in fine running order now, and was a source of infinite
+      satisfaction to its founder and great happiness to its beneficiaries.
+      Tommy Dunn was there, learning wonderful things from books and still more
+      wonderful things from the piano in the living-room. Alice Greggory and her
+      mother were there, too&mdash;the result of much persuasion. Indeed,
+      according to Bertram, Billy had been able to fill the Annex only by
+      telling each prospective resident that he or she was absolutely necessary
+      to the welfare and happiness of every other resident. Not that the house
+      was full, either. There were still two unoccupied rooms.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But then, I'm glad there are,&rdquo; Billy had declared, &ldquo;for there's sure to
+      be some one that I'll want to send there.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Some <i>one</i>, did you say?&rdquo; Bertram had retorted, meaningly; but his
+      wife had disdained to answer this.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy herself was frequently at the Annex. She told Aunt Hannah that she
+      had to come often to bring the happiness&mdash;it accumulated so fast.
+      Certainly she always found plenty to do there, whenever she came. There
+      was Aunt Hannah to be read to, Mrs. Greggory to be sung to, and Tommy Dunn
+      to be listened to; for Tommy Dunn was always quivering with eagerness to
+      play her his latest &ldquo;piece.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy knew that some day at the Annex she would meet Mr. M. J. Arkwright;
+      and she told herself that she hoped she should.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy had not seen Arkwright (except on the stage of the Boston Opera
+      House) since the day he had left her presence in white-faced, stony-eyed
+      misery after declaring his love for her, and learning of her engagement to
+      Bertram. Since then, she knew, he had been much with his old friend, Alice
+      Greggory. She did not believe, should she see him now, that he would be
+      either white-faced, or stony-eyed. His heart, she was sure, had gone where
+      it ought to have gone in the first place&mdash;to Alice. Such being, in
+      her opinion, the case, she longed to get the embarrassment of a first
+      meeting between themselves over with, for, after that, she was sure, their
+      old friendship could be renewed, and she would be in a position to further
+      this pretty love affair between him and Alice. Very decidedly, therefore,
+      Billy wished to meet Arkwright. Very pleased, consequently, was she when,
+      one day, coming into the living-room at the Annex, she found the man
+      sitting by the fire.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright was on his feet at once.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss&mdash;Mrs. H&mdash;Henshaw,&rdquo; he stammered
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Mr. Arkwright,&rdquo; she cried, with just a shade of nervousness in her
+      voice as she advanced, her hand outstretched. &ldquo;I'm glad to see you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you. I wanted to see Miss Greggory,&rdquo; he murmured. Then, as the
+      unconscious rudeness of his reply dawned on him, he made matters
+      infinitely worse by an attempted apology. &ldquo;That is, I mean&mdash;I didn't
+      mean&mdash;&rdquo; he began to stammer miserably.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Some girls might have tossed the floundering man a straw in the shape of a
+      light laugh intended to turn aside all embarrassment&mdash;but not Billy.
+      Billy held out a frankly helping hand that was meant to set the man
+      squarely on his feet at her side.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Arkwright, don't, please,&rdquo; she begged earnestly. &ldquo;You and I don't
+      need to beat about the bush. I <i>am</i> glad to see you, and I hope
+      you're glad to see me. We're going to be the best of friends from now on,
+      I'm sure; and some day, soon, you're going to bring Alice to see me, and
+      we'll have some music. I left her up-stairs. She'll be down at once, I
+      dare say&mdash;I met Rosa going up with your card. Good-by,&rdquo; she finished
+      with a bright smile, as she turned and walked rapidly from the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Outside, on the steps, Billy drew a long breath.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There,&rdquo; she whispered; &ldquo;that's over&mdash;and well over!&rdquo; The next minute
+      she frowned vexedly. She had missed her glove. &ldquo;Never mind! I sha'n't go
+      back in there for it now, anyway,&rdquo; she decided.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the living-room, five minutes later, Alice Greggory found only a
+      hastily scrawled note waiting for her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you'll forgive the unforgivable,&rdquo; she read &ldquo;you'll forgive me for not
+      being here when you come down. 'Circumstances over which I have no control
+      have called me away.' May we let it go at that?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;M. J. ARKWRIGHT.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      As Alice Greggory's amazed, questioning eyes left the note they fell upon
+      the long white glove on the floor by the door. Half mechanically she
+      crossed the room and picked it up; but almost at once she dropped it with
+      a low cry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy! He&mdash;saw&mdash;Billy!&rdquo; Then a flood of understanding dyed her
+      face scarlet as she turned and fled to the blessedly unseeing walls of her
+      own room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Not ten minutes later Rosa tapped at her door with a note.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's from Mr. Arkwright, Miss. He's downstairs.&rdquo; Rosa's eyes were
+      puzzled, and a bit startled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Arkwright!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, Miss. He's come again. That is, I didn't know he'd went&mdash;but he
+      must have, for he's come again now. He wrote something in a little book;
+      then he tore it out and gave it to me. He said he'd wait, please, for an
+      answer.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, very well, Rosa.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Greggory took the note and spoke with an elaborate air of
+      indifference that was meant to express a calm ignoring of the puzzled
+      questioning in the other's eyes. The next moment she read this in
+      Arkwright's peculiar scrawl:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you've already forgiven the unforgivable, you'll do it again, I know,
+      and come down-stairs. Won't you, please? I want to see you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Greggory lifted her head with a jerk. Her face was a painful red.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tell Mr. Arkwright I can't possibly&mdash;&rdquo; She came to an abrupt pause.
+      Her eyes had encountered Rosa's, and in Rosa's eyes the puzzled
+      questioning was plainly fast becoming a shrewd suspicion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was the briefest of hesitations; then, lightly, Miss Greggory tossed
+      the note aside.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tell Mr. Arkwright I'll be down at once, please,&rdquo; she directed
+      carelessly, as she turned back into the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But she was not down at once. She was not down until she had taken time to
+      bathe her red eyes, powder her telltale nose, smoothe her ruffled hair,
+      and whip herself into the calm, steady-eyed, self-controlled young woman
+      that Arkwright finally rose to meet when she came into the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I thought it was only women who were privileged to change their mind,&rdquo;
+       she began brightly; but Arkwright ignored her attempt to conventionalize
+      the situation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you for coming down,&rdquo; he said, with a weariness that instantly
+      drove the forced smile from the girl's lips. &ldquo;I&mdash;I wanted to&mdash;to
+      talk to you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes?&rdquo; She seated herself and motioned him to a chair near her. He took
+      the seat, and then fell silent, his eyes out the window.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I thought you said you&mdash;you wanted to talk, she reminded him
+      nervously, after a minute.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I did.&rdquo; He turned with disconcerting abruptness. &ldquo;Alice, I'm going to
+      tell you a story.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I shall be glad to listen. People always like stories, don't they?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do they?&rdquo; The somber pain in Arkwright's eyes deepened. Alice Greggory
+      did not know it, but he was thinking of another story he had once told in
+      that same room. Billy was his listener then, while now&mdash;A little
+      precipitately he began to speak.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When I was a very small boy I went to visit my uncle, who, in his young
+      days, had been quite a hunter. Before the fireplace in his library was a
+      huge tiger skin with a particularly lifelike head. The first time I saw it
+      I screamed, and ran and hid. I refused then even to go into the room
+      again. My cousins urged, scolded, pleaded, and laughed at me by turns, but
+      I was obdurate. I would not go where I could see the fearsome thing again,
+      even though it was, as they said, 'nothing but a dead old rug!'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Finally, one day, my uncle took a hand in the matter. By sheer will-power
+      he forced me to go with him straight up to the dreaded creature, and stand
+      by its side. He laid one of my shrinking hands on the beast's smooth head,
+      and thrust the other one quite into the open red mouth with its gleaming
+      teeth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'You see,' he said, 'there's absolutely nothing to fear. He can't
+      possibly hurt you. Just as if you weren't bigger and finer and stronger in
+      every way than that dead thing on the floor!'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then, when he had got me to the point where of my own free will I would
+      walk up and touch the thing, he drew a lesson for me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Now remember,' he charged me. 'Never run and hide again. Only cowards do
+      that. Walk straight up and face the thing. Ten to one you'll find it's
+      nothing but a dead skin masquerading as the real thing. Even if it isn't
+      if it's alive&mdash;face it. Find a weapon and fight it. Know that you are
+      going to conquer it and you'll conquer. Never run. Be a man. Men don't
+      run, my boy!'&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright paused, and drew a long breath. He did not look at the girl in
+      the opposite chair. If he had looked he would have seen a face
+      transfigured.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; he resumed, &ldquo;I never forgot that tiger skin, nor what it stood
+      for, after that day when Uncle Ben thrust my hand into its hideous, but
+      harmless, red mouth. Even as a kid I began, then, to try&mdash;not to run.
+      I've tried ever since But to-day&mdash;I did run.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright's voice had been getting lower and lower. The last three words
+      would have been almost inaudible to ears less sensitively alert than were
+      Alice Greggory's. For a moment after the words were uttered, only the
+      clock's ticking broke the silence; then, with an obvious effort, the man
+      roused himself, as if breaking away from some benumbing force that held
+      him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Alice, I don't need to tell you, after what I said the other night, that
+      I loved Billy Neilson. That was bad enough, for I found she was pledged to
+      another man. But to-day I discovered something worse: I discovered that I
+      loved Billy <i>Henshaw</i>&mdash;another man's wife. And&mdash;I ran. But
+      I've come back. I'm going to face the thing. Oh, I'm not deceiving myself!
+      This love of mine is no dead tiger skin. It's a beast, alive and alert&mdash;God
+      pity me!&mdash;to destroy my very soul. But I'm going to fight it; and&mdash;I
+      want you to help me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The girl gave a half-smothered cry. The man turned, but he could not see
+      her face distinctly. Twilight had come, and the room was full of shadows.
+      He hesitated, then went on, a little more quietly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's why I've told you all this&mdash;so you would help me. And you
+      will, won't you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was no answer. Once again he tried to see her face, but it was
+      turned now quite away from him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You've been a big help already, little girl. Your friendship, your
+      comradeship&mdash;they've been everything to me. You're not going to make
+      me do without them&mdash;now?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No&mdash;oh, no!&rdquo; The answer was low and a little breathless; but he
+      heard it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you. I knew you wouldn't.&rdquo; He paused, then rose to his feet. When
+      he spoke again his voice carried a note of whimsical lightness that was a
+      little forced. &ldquo;But I must go&mdash;else you <i>will</i> take them from
+      me, and with good reason. And please don't let your kind heart grieve too
+      much&mdash;over me. I'm no deep-dyed villain in a melodrama, nor wicked
+      lover in a ten-penny novel, you know. I'm just an everyday man in real
+      life; and we're going to fight this thing out in everyday living. That's
+      where your help is coming in. We'll go together to see Mrs. Bertram
+      Henshaw. She's asked us to, and you'll do it, I know. We'll have music and
+      everyday talk. We'll see Mrs. Bertram Henshaw in her own home with her
+      husband, where she belongs; and&mdash;I'm not going to run again. But&mdash;I'm
+      counting on your help, you know,&rdquo; he smiled a little wistfully, as he held
+      out his hand in good-by.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One minute later Alice Greggory, alone, was hurrying up-stairs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can't&mdash;I can't&mdash;I know I can't,&rdquo; she was whispering wildly.
+      Then, in her own room, she faced herself in the mirror. &ldquo;Yes&mdash;you&mdash;can,
+      Alice Greggory,&rdquo; she asserted, with swift change of voice and manner.
+      &ldquo;This is <i>your</i> tiger skin, and you're going to fight it. Do you
+      understand?&mdash;fight it! And you're going to win, too. Do you want that
+      man to know you&mdash;<i>care</i>?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER VI. &ldquo;THE PAINTING LOOK&rdquo;
+     </h2>
+    <p>
+      It was toward the last of October that Billy began to notice her husband's
+      growing restlessness. Twice, when she had been playing to him, she turned
+      to find him testing the suppleness of his injured arm. Several times,
+      failing to receive an answer to her questions, she had looked up to
+      discover him gazing abstractedly at nothing in particular.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They read and walked and talked together, to be sure, and Bertram's
+      devotion to her lightest wish was beyond question; but more and more
+      frequently these days Billy found him hovering over his sketches in his
+      studio; and once, when he failed to respond to the dinner-bell, search
+      revealed him buried in a profound treatise on &ldquo;The Art of Foreshortening.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then came the day when Billy, after an hour's vain effort to imprison
+      within notes a tantalizing melody, captured the truant and rain down to
+      the studio to tell Bertram of her victory.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But Bertram did not seem even to hear her. True, he leaped to his feet and
+      hurried to meet her, his face radiantly aglow; but she had not ceased to
+      speak before he himself was talking.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, Billy, I've been sketching,&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;My hand is almost steady.
+      See, some of those lines are all right! I just picked up a crayon and&mdash;&rdquo;
+       He stopped abruptly, his eyes on Billy's face. A vaguely troubled shadow
+      crossed his own. &ldquo;Did&mdash;did you&mdash;were you saying anything in&mdash;in
+      particular, when you came in?&rdquo; he stammered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For a short half-minute Billy looked at her husband without speaking.
+      Then, a little queerly, she laughed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no, nothing at all in <i>particular</i>,&rdquo; she retorted airily. The
+      next moment, with one of her unexpected changes of manner, she darted
+      across the room, picked up a palette, and a handful of brushes from the
+      long box near it. Advancing toward her husband she held them out
+      dramatically. &ldquo;And now paint, my lord, paint!&rdquo; she commanded him, with
+      stern insistence, as she thrust them into his hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram laughed shamefacedly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I say, Billy,&rdquo; he began; but Billy had gone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Out in the hall Billy was speeding up-stairs, talking fiercely to herself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We'll, Billy Neilson Henshaw, it's come! Now behave yourself. <i>That was
+      the painting look!</i> You know what that means. Remember, he belongs to
+      his Art before he does to you. Kate and everybody says so. And you&mdash;you
+      expected him to tend to you and your silly little songs. Do you want to
+      ruin his career? As if now he could spend all his time and give all his
+      thoughts to you! But I&mdash;I just hate that Art!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What did you say, Billy?&rdquo; asked William, in mild surprise, coming around
+      the turn of the balustrade in the hall above. &ldquo;Were you speaking to me, my
+      dear?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy looked up. Her face cleared suddenly, and she laughed&mdash;though a
+      little ruefully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, Uncle William, I wasn't talking to you,&rdquo; she sighed. &ldquo;I was just&mdash;just
+      administering first aid to the injured,&rdquo; she finished, as she whisked into
+      her own room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, well, bless the child! What can she mean by that?&rdquo; puzzled Uncle
+      William, turning to go down the stairway.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram began to paint a very little the next day. He painted still more
+      the next, and yet more again the day following. He was like a bird let out
+      of a cage, so joyously alive was he. The old sparkle came back to his eye,
+      the old gay smile to his lips. Now that they had come back Billy realized
+      what she had not been conscious of before: that for several weeks past
+      they had not been there; and she wondered which hurt the more&mdash;that
+      they had not been there before, or that they were there now. Then she
+      scolded herself roundly for asking the question at all.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They were not easy&mdash;those days for Billy, though always to Bertram
+      she managed to show a cheerfully serene face. To Uncle William, also, and
+      to Aunt Hannah she showed a smiling countenance; and because she could not
+      talk to anybody else of her feelings, she talked to herself. This,
+      however, was no new thing for Billy to do From earliest childhood she had
+      fought things out in like manner.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But it's so absurd of you, Billy Henshaw,&rdquo; she berated herself one day,
+      when Bertram had become so absorbed in his work that he had forgotten to
+      keep his appointment with her for a walk. &ldquo;Just because you have had his
+      constant attention almost every hour since you were married is no reason
+      why you should have it every hour now, when his arm is better! Besides,
+      it's exactly what you said you wouldn't do&mdash;object&mdash;to his
+      giving proper time to his work.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I'm not objecting,&rdquo; stormed the other half of herself. &ldquo;I'm <i>telling</i>
+      him to do it. It's only that he's so&mdash;so <i>pleased</i> to do it. He
+      doesn't seem to mind a bit being away from me. He's actually happy!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, don't you want him to be happy in his work? Fie! For shame! A fine
+      artist's wife you are. It seems Kate was right, then; you <i>are</i> going
+      to spoil his career!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ho!&rdquo; quoth Billy, and tossed her head. Forthwith she crossed the room to
+      her piano and plumped herself down hard on to the stool. Then, from under
+      her fingers there fell a rollicking melody that seemed to fill the room
+      with little dancing feet. Faster and faster sped Billy's fingers; swifter
+      and swifter twinkled the little dancing feet. Then a door was jerked open,
+      and Bertram's voice called:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The music stopped instantly. Billy sprang from her seat, her eyes eagerly
+      seeking the direction from which had come the voice. Perhaps&mdash;<i>perhaps</i>
+      Bertram wanted her. Perhaps he was not going to paint any longer that
+      morning, after all. &ldquo;Billy!&rdquo; called the voice again. &ldquo;Please, do you mind
+      stopping that playing just for a little while? I'm a brute, I know, dear,
+      but my brush <i>will</i> try to keep time with that crazy little tune of
+      yours, and you know my hand is none too steady, anyhow, and when it tries
+      to keep up with that jiggety, jig, jig, jiggety, jig, jig&mdash;! <i>Do</i>
+      you mind, darling, just&mdash;just sewing, or doing something still for a
+      while?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      All the light fled from Billy's face, but her voice, when she spoke, was
+      the quintessence of cheery indifference.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, no, of course not, dear.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you. I knew you wouldn't,&rdquo; sighed Bertram. Then the door shut.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For a long minute Billy stood motionless before she glanced at her watch
+      and sped to the telephone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is Miss Greggory there, Rosa?&rdquo; she called when the operator's ring was
+      answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mis' Greggory, the lame one?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No; <i>Miss</i> Greggory&mdash;Miss Alice.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! Yes'm.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then won't you ask her to come to the telephone, please.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a moment's wait, during which Billy's small, well-shod foot beat
+      a nervous tattoo on the floor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, is that you, Alice?&rdquo; she called then. &ldquo;Are you going to be home for
+      an hour or two?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, y-yes; yes, indeed.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then I'm coming over. We'll play duets, sing&mdash;anything. I want some
+      music.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do! And&mdash;Mr. Arkwright is here. He'll help.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Arkwright? You say he's there? Then I won't&mdash;Yes, I will, too.&rdquo;
+       Billy spoke with renewed firmness. &ldquo;I'll be there right away. Good-by.&rdquo;
+       And she hung up the receiver, and went to tell Pete to order John and
+      Peggy at once.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I suppose I ought to have left Alice and Mr. Arkwright alone together,&rdquo;
+       muttered the young wife feverishly, as she hurriedly prepared for
+      departure. &ldquo;But I'll make it up to them later. I'm going to give them lots
+      of chances. But to-day&mdash;to-day I just had to go&mdash;somewhere!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At the Annex, with Alice Greggory and Arkwright, Billy sang duets and
+      trios, and reveled in a sonorous wilderness of new music to her heart's
+      content. Then, rested, refreshed, and at peace with all the world, she
+      hurried home to dinner and to Bertram.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There! I feel better,&rdquo; she sighed, as she took off her hat in her own
+      room; &ldquo;and now I'll go find Bertram. Bless his heart&mdash;of course he
+      didn't want me to play when he was so busy!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy went straight to the studio, but Bertram was not there. Neither was
+      he in William's room, nor anywhere in the house. Down-stairs in the
+      dining-room Pete was found looking rather white, leaning back in a chair.
+      He struggled at once to his feet, however, as his mistress entered the
+      room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy hurried forward with a startled exclamation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Pete, what is it? Are you sick?&rdquo; she cried, her glance encompassing
+      the half-set table.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, ma'am; oh, no, ma'am!&rdquo; The old man stumbled forward and began to
+      arrange the knives and forks. &ldquo;It's just a pesky pain&mdash;beggin' yer
+      pardon&mdash;in my side. But I ain't sick. No, Miss&mdash;ma'am.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy frowned and shook her head. Her eyes were on Pete's palpably
+      trembling hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, Pete, you are sick,&rdquo; she protested. &ldquo;Let Eliza do that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Pete drew himself stiffly erect. The color had begun to come back to his
+      face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There hain't no one set this table much but me for more'n fifty years,
+      an' I've got a sort of notion that nobody can do it just ter suit me.
+      Besides, I'm better now. It's gone&mdash;that pain.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, Pete, what is it? How long have you had it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I hain't had it any time, steady. It's the comin' an' goin' kind. It
+      seems silly ter mind it at all; only, when it does come, it sort o' takes
+      the backbone right out o' my knees, and they double up so's I have ter set
+      down. There, ye see? I'm pert as a sparrer, now!&rdquo; And, with stiff
+      celerity, Pete resumed his task.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His mistress still frowned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That isn't right, Pete,&rdquo; she demurred, with a slow shake of her head.
+      &ldquo;You should see a doctor.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The old man paled a little. He had seen a doctor, and he had not liked
+      what the doctor had told him. In fact, he stubbornly refused to believe
+      what the doctor had said. He straightened himself now a little
+      aggressively.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph! Beggin' yer pardon, Miss&mdash;ma'am, but I don't think much o'
+      them doctor chaps.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy shook her head again as she smiled and turned away. Then, as if
+      casually, she asked:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, did Mr. Bertram go out, Pete?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, Miss; about five o'clock. He said he'd be back to dinner.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! All right.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      From the hall the telephone jangled sharply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll go,&rdquo; said Pete's mistress, as she turned and hurried up-stairs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was Bertram's voice that answered her opening &ldquo;Hullo.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Billy, is that you, dear? Well, you're just the one I wanted. I
+      wanted to say&mdash;that is, I wanted to ask you&mdash;&rdquo; The speaker
+      cleared his throat a little nervously, and began all over again. &ldquo;The fact
+      is, Billy, I've run across a couple of old classmates on from New York,
+      and they are very anxious I should stay down to dinner with them. Would
+      you mind&mdash;very much if I did?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A cold hand seemed to clutch Billy's heart. She caught her breath with a
+      little gasp and tried to speak; but she had to try twice before the words
+      came.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, no&mdash;no, of course not!&rdquo; Billy's voice was very high-pitched and
+      a little shaky, but it was surpassingly cheerful.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You sure you won't be&mdash;lonesome?&rdquo; Bertram's voice was vaguely
+      troubled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course not!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You've only to say the word, little girl,&rdquo; came Bertram's anxious tones
+      again, &ldquo;and I won't stay.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy swallowed convulsively. If only, only he would <i>stop</i> and leave
+      her to herself! As if she were going to own up that <i>she</i> was
+      lonesome for <i>him</i>&mdash;if <i>he</i> was not lonesome for <i>her!</i>
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense! of course you'll stay,&rdquo; called Billy, still in that
+      high-pitched, shaky treble. Then, before Bertram could answer, she uttered
+      a gay &ldquo;Good-by!&rdquo; and hung up the receiver.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy had ten whole minutes in which to cry before Pete's gong sounded for
+      dinner; but she had only one minute in which to try to efface the woefully
+      visible effects of those ten minutes before William tapped at her door,
+      and called:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Gone to sleep, my dear? Dinner's ready. Didn't you hear the gong?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I'm coming, Uncle William.&rdquo; Billy spoke with breezy gayety, and
+      threw open the door; but she did not meet Uncle William's eyes. Her head
+      was turned away. Her hands were fussing with the hang of her skirt.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bertram's dining out, Pete tells me,&rdquo; observed William, with cheerful
+      nonchalance, as they went down-stairs together.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy bit her lip and looked up sharply. She had been bracing herself to
+      meet with disdainful indifference this man's pity&mdash;the pity due a
+      poor neglected wife whose husband <i>preferred</i> to dine with old
+      classmates rather than with herself. Now she found in William's face, not
+      pity, but a calm, even jovial, acceptance of the situation as a matter of
+      course. She had known she was going to hate that pity; but now, curiously
+      enough, she was conscious only of anger that the pity was not there&mdash;that
+      she might hate it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She tossed her head a little. So even William&mdash;Uncle William&mdash;regarded
+      this monstrous thing as an insignificant matter of everyday experience.
+      Maybe he expected it to occur frequently&mdash;every night, or so.
+      Doubtless he did expect it to occur every night, or so. Indeed! Very well.
+      As if she were going to show <i>now</i> that she cared whether Bertram
+      were there or not! They should see.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So with head held high and eyes asparkle, Billy marched into the
+      dining-room and took her accustomed place.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER VII. THE BIG BAD QUARREL
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      It was a brilliant dinner&mdash;because Billy made it so. At first William
+      met her sallies of wit with mild surprise; but it was not long before he
+      rose gallantly to the occasion, and gave back full measure of retort. Even
+      Pete twice had to turn his back to hide a smile, and once his hand shook
+      so that the tea he was carrying almost spilled. This threatened
+      catastrophe, however, seemed to frighten him so much that his face was
+      very grave throughout the rest of the dinner.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Still laughing and talking gayly, Billy and Uncle William, after the meal
+      was over, ascended to the drawing-room. There, however, the man, in spite
+      of the young woman's gay badinage, fell to dozing in the big chair before
+      the fire, leaving Billy with only Spunkie for company&mdash;Spunkie, who,
+      disdaining every effort to entice her into a romp, only winked and blinked
+      stupid eyes, and finally curled herself on the rug for a nap.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy, left to her own devices, glanced at her watch.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Half-past seven! Time, almost, for Bertram to be coming. He had said
+      &ldquo;dinner&rdquo;; and, of course, after dinner was over he would be coming home&mdash;to
+      her. Very well; she would show him that she had at least got along without
+      him as well as he had without her. At all events he would not find her
+      forlornly sitting with her nose pressed against the window-pane! And
+      forthwith Billy established herself in a big chair (with its back
+      carefully turned toward the door by which Bertram would enter), and opened
+      a book.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Five, ten, fifteen minutes passed. Billy fidgeted in her chair, twisted
+      her neck to look out into the hall&mdash;and dropped her book with a bang.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Uncle William jerked himself awake, and Spunkie opened sleepy eyes. Then
+      both settled themselves for another nap. Billy sighed, picked up her book,
+      and flounced back into her chair. But she did not read. Disconsolately she
+      sat staring straight ahead&mdash;until a quick step on the sidewalk
+      outside stirred her into instant action. Assuming a look of absorbed
+      interest she twitched the book open and held it before her face.... But
+      the step passed by the door: and Billy saw then that her book was upside
+      down.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Five, ten, fifteen more minutes passed. Billy still sat, apparently
+      reading, though she had not turned a page. The book now, however, was
+      right side up. One by one other minutes passed till the great clock in the
+      hall struck nine long strokes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, well, bless my soul!&rdquo; mumbled Uncle William, resolutely forcing
+      himself to wake up. &ldquo;What time was that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nine o'clock.&rdquo; Billy spoke with tragic distinctness, yet very cheerfully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh? Only nine?&rdquo; blinked Uncle William. &ldquo;I thought it must be ten. Well,
+      anyhow, I believe I'll go up-stairs. I seem to be unusually sleepy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy said nothing. &ldquo;'Only nine,' indeed!&rdquo; she was thinking wrathfully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the door Uncle William turned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You're not going to sit up, my dear, of course,&rdquo; he remarked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For the second time that evening a cold hand seemed to clutch Billy's
+      heart.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <i>Sit up!</i> Had it come already to that? Was she even now a wife who
+      had need to <i>sit up</i> for her husband?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I really wouldn't, my dear,&rdquo; advised Uncle William again. &ldquo;Good night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, but I'm not sleepy at all, yet,&rdquo; Billy managed to declare brightly.
+      &ldquo;Good night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then Uncle William went up-stairs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy turned to her book, which happened to be one of William's on &ldquo;Fake
+      Antiques.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'To collect anything, these days, requires expert knowledge, and the
+      utmost care and discrimination,'&rdquo; read Billy's eyes. &ldquo;So Uncle William <i>expected</i>
+      Bertram was going to spend the whole evening as well as stay to dinner!&rdquo;
+       ran Billy's thoughts. &ldquo;'The enormous quantity of bijouterie, Dresden and
+      Battersea enamel ware that is now flooding the market, is made on the
+      Continent&mdash;and made chiefly for the American trade,'&rdquo; continued the
+      book.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, who cares if it is,&rdquo; snapped Billy, springing to her feet and
+      tossing the volume aside. &ldquo;Spunkie, come here! You've simply got to play
+      with me. Do you hear? I want to be gay&mdash;<i>gay</i>&mdash;GAY! He's
+      gay. He's down there with those men, where he wants to be. Where he'd <i>rather</i>
+      be than be with me! Do you think I want him to come home and find me
+      moping over a stupid old book? Not much! I'm going to have him find me
+      gay, too. Now, come, Spunkie; hurry&mdash;wake up! He'll be here right
+      away, I'm sure.&rdquo; And Billy shook a pair of worsted reins, hung with little
+      soft balls, full in Spunkie's face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But Spunkie would not wake up, and Spunkie would not play. She pretended
+      to. She bit at the reins, and sank her sharp claws into the dangling
+      balls. For a fleeting instant, even, something like mischief gleamed in
+      her big yellow eyes. Then the jaws relaxed, the paws turned to velvet, and
+      Spunkie's sleek gray head settled slowly back into lazy comfort. Spunkie
+      was asleep.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy gazed at the cat with reproachful eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And you, too, Spunkie,&rdquo; she murmured. Then she got to her feet and went
+      back to her chair. This time she picked up a magazine and began to turn
+      the leaves very fast, one after another.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Half-past nine came, then ten. Pete appeared at the door to get Spunkie,
+      and to see that everything was all right for the night.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Bertram is not in yet?&rdquo; he began doubtfully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy shook her head with a bright smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, Pete. Go to bed. I expect him every minute. Good night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you, ma'am. Good night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The old man picked up the sleepy cat and went down-stairs. A little later
+      Billy heard his quiet steps coming back through the hall and ascending the
+      stairs. She listened until from away at the top of the house she heard his
+      door close. Then she drew a long breath.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ten o'clock&mdash;after ten o'clock, and Bertram not there yet! And was
+      this what he called dinner? Did one eat, then, till ten o'clock, when one
+      dined with one's friends?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy was angry now&mdash;very angry. She was too angry to be reasonable.
+      This thing that her husband had done seemed monstrous to her, smarting, as
+      she was, under the sting of hurt pride and grieved loneliness&mdash;the
+      state of mind into which she had worked herself. No longer now did she
+      wish to be gay when her husband came. No longer did she even pretend to
+      assume indifference. Bertram had done wrong. He had been unkind, cruel,
+      thoughtless, inconsiderate of her comfort and happiness. Furthermore he <i>did
+      not</i> love her as well as she did him or he never, never could have done
+      it! She would let him see, when he came, just how hurt and grieved she was&mdash;and
+      how disappointed, too.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy was walking the floor now, back and forth, back and forth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Half-past ten came, then eleven. As the eleven long strokes reverberated
+      through the silent house Billy drew in her breath and held it suspended. A
+      new look came to her eyes. A growing terror crept into them and culminated
+      in a frightened stare at the clock.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy ran then to the great outer door and pulled it open. A cold wind
+      stung her face, and caused her to shut the door quickly. Back and forth
+      she began to pace the floor again; but in five minutes she had run to the
+      door once more. This time she wore a heavy coat of Bertram's which she
+      caught up as she passed the hall-rack.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Out on to the broad top step Billy hurried, and peered down the street. As
+      far as she could see not a person was in sight. Across the street in the
+      Public Garden the wind stirred the gray tree-branches and set them to
+      casting weird shadows on the bare, frozen ground. A warning something
+      behind her sent Billy scurrying into the house just in time to prevent the
+      heavy door's closing and shutting her out, keyless, in the cold.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Half-past eleven came, and again Billy ran to the door. This time she put
+      the floor-mat against the casing so that the door could not close. Once
+      more she peered wildly up and down the street, and across into the
+      deserted, wind-swept Garden.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was only terror now in Billy's face. The anger was all gone. In
+      Billy's mind there was not a shadow of doubt&mdash;something had happened
+      to Bertram.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram was ill&mdash;hurt&mdash;dead! And he was so good, so kind, so
+      noble; such a dear, dear husband! If only she could see him once. If only
+      she could ask his forgiveness for those wicked, unkind, accusing thoughts.
+      If only she could tell him again that she did love him. If only&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Far down the street a step rang sharply on the frosty air. A masculine
+      figure was hurrying toward the house. Retreating well into the shadow of
+      the doorway, Billy watched it, her heart pounding against her side in
+      great suffocating throbs. Nearer and nearer strode the approaching figure
+      until Billy had almost sprung to meet it with a glad cry&mdash;almost, but
+      not quite; for the figure neither turned nor paused, but marched straight
+      on&mdash;and Billy saw then, under the arc light, a brown-bearded man who
+      was not Bertram at all.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Three times during the next few minutes did the waiting little bride on
+      the doorstep watch with palpitating yearning a shadowy form appear,
+      approach&mdash;and pass by. At the third heart-breaking disappointment,
+      Billy wrung her hands helplessly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't see how there can be&mdash;so many&mdash;utterly <i>useless</i>
+      people in the world!&rdquo; she choked. Then, thoroughly chilled and sick at
+      heart, she went into the house and closed the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Once again, back and forth, back and forth, Billy took up her weary vigil.
+      She still wore the heavy coat. She had forgotten to take it off. Her face
+      was pitifully white and drawn. Her eyes were wild. One of her hands was
+      nervously caressing the rough sleeve of the coat as it hung from her
+      shoulder.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One&mdash;two&mdash;three&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy gave a sharp cry and ran into the hall.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Yes, it was twelve o'clock. And now, always, all the rest of the dreary,
+      useless hours that that clock would tick away through an endless
+      existence, she would have to live&mdash;without Bertram. If only she could
+      see him once more! But she could not. He was dead. He must be dead, now.
+      Here it was twelve o'clock, and&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There came a quick step, the click of a key in the lock, then the door
+      swung back and Bertram, big, strong, and merry-eyed, stood before her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, well, hullo,&rdquo; he called jovially. &ldquo;Why, Billy, what's the matter?&rdquo;
+       he broke off, in quite a different tone of voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And then a curious thing happened. Billy, who, a minute before, had been
+      seeing only a dear, noble, adorable, <i>lost</i> Bertram, saw now suddenly
+      only the man that had stayed <i>happily</i> till midnight with two
+      friends, while she&mdash;she&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Matter! Matter!&rdquo; exclaimed Billy sharply, then. &ldquo;Is this what you call
+      staying to dinner, Bertram Henshaw?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram stared. A slow red stole to his forehead. It was his first
+      experience of coming home to meet angry eyes that questioned his behavior&mdash;and
+      he did not like it. He had been, perhaps, a little conscience-smitten when
+      he saw how late he had stayed; and he had intended to say he was sorry, of
+      course. But to be thus sharply called to account for a perfectly innocent
+      good time with a couple of friends&mdash;! To come home and find Billy
+      making a ridiculous scene like this&mdash;! He&mdash;he would not stand
+      for it! He&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram's lips snapped open. The angry retort was almost spoken when
+      something in the piteously quivering chin and white, drawn face opposite
+      stopped it just in time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Billy&mdash;darling!&rdquo; he murmured instead.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was Billy's turn to change. All the anger melted away before the
+      dismayed tenderness in those dear eyes and the grieved hurt in that dear
+      voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, you&mdash;you&mdash;I&mdash;&rdquo; Billy began to cry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was all right then, of course, for the next minute she was crying on
+      Bertram's big, broad shoulder; and in the midst of broken words, kisses,
+      gentle pats, and inarticulate croonings, the Big, Bad Quarrel, that had
+      been all ready to materialize, faded quite away into nothingness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I didn't have such an awfully good time, anyhow,&rdquo; avowed Bertram, when
+      speech became rational. &ldquo;I'd rather have been home with you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense!&rdquo; blinked Billy, valiantly. &ldquo;Of course you had a good time; and
+      it was perfectly right you should have it, too! And I&mdash;I hope you'll
+      have it again.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I sha'n't,&rdquo; emphasized Bertram, promptly, &ldquo;&mdash;not and leave you!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy regarded him with adoring eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll tell you; we'll have 'em come here,&rdquo; she proposed gayly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sure we will,&rdquo; agreed Bertram.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes; sure we will,&rdquo; echoed Billy, with a contented sigh. Then, a little
+      breathlessly, she added: &ldquo;Anyhow, I'll know&mdash;where you are. I won't
+      think you're&mdash;dead!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You&mdash;blessed&mdash;little-goose!&rdquo; scolded Bertram, punctuating each
+      word with a kiss.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy drew a long sigh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If this is a quarrel I'm going to have them often,&rdquo; she announced
+      placidly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy!&rdquo; The young husband was plainly aghast.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I am&mdash;because I like the making-up,&rdquo; dimpled Billy, with a
+      mischievous twinkle as she broke from his clasp and skipped ahead up the
+      stairway.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER VIII. BILLY CULTIVATES A &ldquo;COMFORTABLE INDIFFERENCE&rdquo;
+     </h2>
+    <p>
+      The next morning, under the uncompromising challenge of a bright sun,
+      Billy began to be uneasily suspicious that she had been just a bit
+      unreasonable and exacting the night before. To make matters worse she
+      chanced to run across a newspaper criticism of a new book bearing the
+      ominous title: &ldquo;When the Honeymoon Wanes A Talk to Young Wives.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Such a title, of course, attracted her supersensitive attention at once;
+      and, with a curiously faint feeling, she picked up the paper and began to
+      read.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As the most of the criticism was taken up with quotations from the book,
+      it was such sentences as these that met her startled eyes:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps the first test comes when the young wife awakes to the
+      realization that while her husband loves her very much, he can still make
+      plans with his old friends which do not include herself.... Then is when
+      the foolish wife lets her husband see how hurt she is that he can want to
+      be with any one but herself.... Then is when the husband&mdash;used all
+      his life to independence, perhaps&mdash;begins to chafe under these new
+      bonds that hold him so fast.... No man likes to be held up at the end of a
+      threatened scene and made to give an account of himself.... Before a woman
+      has learned to cultivate a comfortable indifference to her husband's
+      comings and goings, she is apt to be tyrannical and exacting.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Comfortable indifference,' indeed!&rdquo; stormed Billy to herself. &ldquo;As if I
+      ever could be comfortably indifferent to anything Bertram did!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She dropped the paper; but there were still other quotations from the book
+      there, she knew; and in a moment she was back at the table reading them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No man, however fondly he loves his wife, likes to feel that she is
+      everlastingly peering into the recesses of his mind, and weighing his
+      every act to find out if he does or does not love her to-day as well as he
+      did yesterday at this time.... Then, when spontaneity is dead, she is the
+      chief mourner at its funeral.... A few couples never leave the Garden of
+      Eden. They grow old hand in hand. They are the ones who bear and forbear;
+      who have learned to adjust themselves to the intimate relationship of
+      living together.... A certain amount of liberty, both of action and
+      thought, must be allowed on each side.... The family shut in upon itself
+      grows so narrow that all interest in the outside world is lost.... No two
+      people are ever fitted to fill each other's lives entirely. They ought not
+      to try to do it. If they do try, the process is belittling to each, and
+      the result, if it is successful, is nothing less than a tragedy; for it
+      could not mean the highest ideals, nor the truest devotion.... Brushing up
+      against other interests and other personalities is good for both husband
+      and wife. Then to each other they bring the best of what they have found,
+      and each to the other continues to be new and interesting.... The young
+      wife, however, is apt to be jealous of everything that turns her husband's
+      attention for one moment away from herself. She is jealous of his
+      thoughts, his words, his friends, even his business.... But the wife who
+      has learned to be the clinging vine when her husband wishes her to cling,
+      and to be the sturdy oak when clinging vines would be tiresome, has solved
+      a tremendous problem.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At this point Billy dropped the paper. She flung it down, indeed, a bit
+      angrily. There were still a few more words in the criticism, mostly the
+      critic's own opinion of the book; but Billy did not care for this. She had
+      read quite enough&mdash;boo much, in fact. All that sort of talk might be
+      very well, even necessary, perhaps (she told herself), for ordinary
+      husbands and wives! but for her and Bertram&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then vividly before her rose those initial quoted words:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps the first test comes when the young wife awakes to the
+      realization that while her husband loves her very much, he can still make
+      plans with his old friends which do not include herself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy frowned, and put her finger to her lips. Was that then, last night,
+      a &ldquo;test&rdquo;? Had she been &ldquo;tyrannical and exacting&rdquo;? Was she &ldquo;everlastingly
+      peering into the recesses&rdquo; of Bertram's mind and &ldquo;weighing his every act&rdquo;?
+      Was Bertram already beginning to &ldquo;chafe&rdquo; under these new bonds that held
+      him?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      No, no, never that! She could not believe that. But what if he should
+      sometime begin to chafe? What if they two should, in days to come,
+      degenerate into just the ordinary, everyday married folk, whom she saw
+      about her everywhere, and for whom just such horrid books as this must be
+      written? It was unbelievable, unthinkable. And yet, that man had said&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With a despairing sigh Billy picked up the paper once more and read
+      carefully every word again. When she had finished she stood soberly
+      thoughtful, her eyes out of the window.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After all, it was nothing but the same old story. She was exacting. She
+      did want her husband's every thought. She <i>gloried</i> in peering into
+      every last recess of his mind if she had half a chance. She was jealous of
+      his work. She had almost hated his painting&mdash;at times. She had held
+      him up with a threatened scene only the night before and demanded that he
+      should give an account of himself. She had, very likely, been the clinging
+      vine when she should have been the sturdy oak.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Very well, then. (Billy lifted her head and threw back her shoulders.) He
+      should have no further cause for complaint. She would be an oak. She would
+      cultivate that comfortable indifference to his comings and goings. She
+      would brush up against other interests and personalities so as to be &ldquo;new&rdquo;
+       and &ldquo;interesting&rdquo; to her husband. She would not be tyrannical, exacting,
+      or jealous. She would not threaten scenes, nor peer into recesses.
+      Whatever happened, she would not let Bertram begin to chafe against those
+      bonds!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Having arrived at this heroic and (to her) eminently satisfactory state of
+      mind, Billy turned from the window and fell to work on a piece of
+      manuscript music.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Brush up against other interests,'&rdquo; she admonished herself sternly, as
+      she reached for her pen.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Theoretically it was beautiful; but practically&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy began at once to be that oak. Not an hour after she had first seen
+      the fateful notice of &ldquo;When the Honeymoon Wanes,&rdquo; Bertram's ring sounded
+      at the door down-stairs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram always let himself in with his latchkey; but, from the first of
+      Billy's being there, he had given a peculiar ring at the bell which would
+      bring his wife flying to welcome him if she were anywhere in the house.
+      To-day, when the bell sounded, Billy sprang as usual to her feet, with a
+      joyous &ldquo;There's Bertram!&rdquo; But the next moment she fell back.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tut, tut, Billy Neilson Henshaw! Learn to cultivate a comfortable
+      indifference to your husband's comings and goings,&rdquo; she whispered
+      fiercely. Then she sat down and fell to work again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A moment later she heard her husband's voice talking to some one&mdash;Pete,
+      she surmised. &ldquo;Here? You say she's here?&rdquo; Then she heard Bertram's quick
+      step on the stairs. The next minute, very quietly, he came to her door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ho!&rdquo; he ejaculated gayly, as she rose to receive his kiss. &ldquo;I thought I'd
+      find you asleep, when you didn't hear my ring.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy reddened a little.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no, I wasn't asleep.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you didn't hear&mdash;&rdquo; Bertram stopped abruptly, an odd look in his
+      eyes. &ldquo;Maybe you did hear it, though,&rdquo; he corrected.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy colored more confusedly. The fact that she looked so distressed did
+      not tend to clear Bertram's face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, of course, Billy, I didn't mean to insist on your coming to meet
+      me,&rdquo; he began a little stiffly; but Billy interrupted him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Bertram, I just love to go to meet you,&rdquo; she maintained indignantly.
+      Then, remembering just in time, she amended: &ldquo;That is, I did love to meet
+      you, until&mdash;&rdquo; With a sudden realization that she certainly had not
+      helped matters any, she came to an embarrassed pause.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A puzzled frown showed on Bertram's face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You did love to meet me until&mdash;&rdquo; he repeated after her; then his
+      face changed. &ldquo;Billy, you aren't&mdash;you <i>can't</i> be laying up last
+      night against me!&rdquo; he reproached her a little irritably.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Last night? Why, of course not,&rdquo; retorted Billy, in a panic at the bare
+      mention of the &ldquo;test&rdquo; which&mdash;according to &ldquo;When the Honeymoon Wanes&rdquo;&mdash;was
+      at the root of all her misery. Already she thought she detected in
+      Bertram's voice signs that he was beginning to chafe against those
+      &ldquo;bonds.&rdquo; &ldquo;It is a matter of&mdash;of the utmost indifference to me what
+      time you come home at night, my dear,&rdquo; she finished airily, as she sat
+      down to her work again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram stared; then he frowned, turned on his heel and left the room.
+      Bertram, who knew nothing of the &ldquo;Talk to Young Wives&rdquo; in the newspaper at
+      Billy's feet, was surprised, puzzled, and just a bit angry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy, left alone, jabbed her pen with such force against her paper that
+      the note she was making became an unsightly blot.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, if this is what that man calls being 'comfortably indifferent,' I'd
+      hate to try the <i>un</i>comfortable kind,&rdquo; she muttered with emphasis.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER IX. THE DINNER BILLY TRIED TO GET
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Notwithstanding what Billy was disposed to regard as the non-success of
+      her first attempt to profit by the &ldquo;Talk to Young Wives;&rdquo; she still
+      frantically tried to avert the waning of her honeymoon. Assiduously she
+      cultivated the prescribed &ldquo;indifference,&rdquo; and with at least apparent
+      enthusiasm she sought the much-to-be-desired &ldquo;outside interests.&rdquo; That is,
+      she did all this when she thought of it when something reminded her of the
+      sword of destruction hanging over her happiness. At other times, when she
+      was just being happy without question, she was her old self impulsive,
+      affectionate, and altogether adorable.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Naturally, under these circumstances, her conduct was somewhat erratic.
+      For three days, perhaps, she would fly to the door at her husband's ring,
+      and hang upon his every movement. Then, for the next three, she would be a
+      veritable will-o'-the-wisp for elusiveness, caring, apparently, not one
+      whit whether her husband came or went until poor Bertram, at his wit's
+      end, scourged himself with a merciless catechism as to what he had done to
+      vex her. Then, perhaps, just when he had nerved himself almost to the
+      point of asking her what was the trouble, there would come another change,
+      bringing back to him the old Billy, joyous, winsome, and devoted, plainly
+      caring nothing for anybody or anything but himself. Scarcely, however,
+      would he become sure that it was his Billy back again before she was off
+      once more, quite beyond his reach, singing with Arkwright and Alice
+      Greggory, playing with Tommy Dunn, plunging into some club or church work&mdash;anything
+      but being with him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That all this was puzzling and disquieting to Bertram, Billy not once
+      suspected. Billy, so far as she was concerned, was but cultivating a
+      comfortable indifference, brushing up against outside interests, and being
+      an oak.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      December passed, and January came, bringing Miss Marguerite Winthrop to
+      her Boston home. Bertram's arm was &ldquo;as good as ever&rdquo; now, according to its
+      owner; and the sittings for the new portrait began at once. This left
+      Billy even more to her own devices, for Bertram entered into his new work
+      with an enthusiasm born of a glad relief from forced idleness, and a
+      consuming eagerness to prove that even though he had failed the first
+      time, he could paint a portrait of Marguerite Winthrop that would be a
+      credit to himself, a conclusive retort to his critics, and a source of
+      pride to his once mortified friends. With his whole heart, therefore, he
+      threw himself into the work before him, staying sometimes well into the
+      afternoon on the days Miss Winthrop could find time between her social
+      engagements to give him a sitting.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was on such a day, toward the middle of the month, that Billy was
+      called to the telephone at half-past twelve o'clock to speak to her
+      husband.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, dear,&rdquo; began Bertram at once, &ldquo;if you don't mind I'm staying to
+      luncheon at Miss Winthrop's kind request. We've changed the pose&mdash;neither
+      of us was satisfied, you know&mdash;but we haven't quite settled on the
+      new one. Miss Winthrop has two whole hours this afternoon that she can
+      give me if I'll stay; and, of course, under the circumstances, I want to
+      do it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course,&rdquo; echoed Billy. Billy's voice was indomitably cheerful.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you, dear. I knew you'd understand,&rdquo; sighed Bertram, contentedly.
+      &ldquo;You see, really, two whole hours, so&mdash;it's a chance I can't afford
+      to lose.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course you can't,&rdquo; echoed Billy, again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right then. Good-by till to-night,&rdquo; called the man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good-by,&rdquo; answered Billy, still cheerfully. As she turned away, however,
+      she tossed her head. &ldquo;A new pose, indeed!&rdquo; she muttered, with some
+      asperity. &ldquo;Just as if there could be a <i>new</i> pose after all those she
+      tried last year!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Immediately after luncheon Pete and Eliza started for South Boston to pay
+      a visit to Eliza's mother, and it was soon after they left the house that
+      Bertram called his wife up again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Say, dearie, I forgot to tell you,&rdquo; he began, &ldquo;but I met an old friend in
+      the subway this morning, and I&mdash;well, I remembered what you said
+      about bringing 'em home to dinner next time, so I asked him for to-night.
+      Do you mind? It's&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mind? Of course not! I'm glad you did,&rdquo; plunged in Billy, with feverish
+      eagerness. (Even now, just the bare mention of anything connected with
+      that awful &ldquo;test&rdquo; night was enough to set Billy's nerves to tingling.) &ldquo;I
+      want you to always bring them home, Bertram.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right, dear. We'll be there at six o'clock then. It's&mdash;it's
+      Calderwell, this time. You remember Calderwell, of course.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not&mdash;<i>Hugh</i> Calderwell?&rdquo; Billy's question was a little faint.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sure!&rdquo; Bertram laughed oddly, and lowered his voice. &ldquo;I suspect <i>once</i>
+      I wouldn't have brought him home to you. I was too jealous. But now&mdash;well,
+      now maybe I want him to see what he's lost.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;<i>Bertram!</i>&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But Bertram only laughed mischievously, and called a gay &ldquo;Good-by till
+      to-night, then!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy, at her end of the wires, hung up the receiver and backed against
+      the wall a little palpitatingly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Calderwell! To dinner&mdash;Calderwell! Did she remember Calderwell? Did
+      she, indeed! As if one could easily forget the man that, for a year or
+      two, had proposed marriage as regularly (and almost as lightly!) as he had
+      torn a monthly leaf from his calendar! Besides, was it not he, too, who
+      had said that Bertram would never love any girl, <i>really</i>; that it
+      would be only the tilt of her chin or the turn of her head that he loved&mdash;to
+      paint? And now he was coming to dinner&mdash;and with Bertram.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Very well, he should see! He should see that Bertram <i>did</i> love her;
+      <i>her</i>&mdash;not the tilt of her chin nor the turn of her head. He
+      should see how happy they were, what a good wife she made, and how devoted
+      and <i>satisfied</i> Bertram was in his home. He should see! And forthwith
+      Billy picked up her skirts and tripped up-stairs to select her very
+      prettiest house-gown to do honor to the occasion. Up-stairs, however, one
+      thing and another delayed her, so that it was four o'clock when she turned
+      her attention to her toilet; and it was while she was hesitating whether
+      to be stately and impressive in royally sumptuous blue velvet and ermine,
+      or cozy and tantalizingly homy{sic} in bronze-gold crêpe de Chine and
+      swan's-down, that the telephone bell rang again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Eliza and Pete had not yet returned; so, as before, Billy answered it.
+      This time Eliza's shaking voice came to her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is that you, ma'am?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, yes, Eliza?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes'm, it's me, ma'am. It's about Uncle Pete. He's give us a turn that's
+      'most scared us out of our wits.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pete! You mean he's sick?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, ma'am, he was. That is, he is, too&mdash;only he's better, now,
+      thank goodness,&rdquo; panted Eliza. &ldquo;But he ain't hisself yet. He's that white
+      and shaky! Would you&mdash;could you&mdash;that is, would you mind if we
+      didn't come back till into the evenin', maybe?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, of course not,&rdquo; cried Pete's mistress, quickly. &ldquo;Don't come a minute
+      before he's able, Eliza. Don't come until to-morrow.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Eliza gave a trembling little laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you, ma'am; but there wouldn't be no keepin' of Uncle Pete here
+      till then. If he could take five steps alone he'd start now. But he can't.
+      He says he'll be all right pretty quick, though. He's had 'em before&mdash;these
+      spells&mdash;but never quite so bad as this, I guess; an' he's worryin'
+      somethin' turrible 'cause he can't start for home right away.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense!&rdquo; cut in Mrs. Bertram Henshaw.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes'm. I knew you'd feel that way,&rdquo; stammered Eliza, gratefully. &ldquo;You
+      see, I couldn't leave him to come alone, and besides, anyhow, I'd have to
+      stay, for mother ain't no more use than a wet dish-rag at such times,
+      she's that scared herself. And she ain't very well, too. So if&mdash;if
+      you <i>could</i> get along&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course we can! And tell Pete not to worry one bit. I'm so sorry he's
+      sick!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you, ma'am. Then we'll be there some time this evenin',&rdquo; sighed
+      Eliza.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      From the telephone Billy turned away with a troubled face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pete <i>is</i> ill,&rdquo; she was saying to herself. &ldquo;I don't like the looks
+      of it; and he's so faithful he'd come if&mdash;&rdquo; With a little cry Billy
+      stopped short. Then, tremblingly, she sank into the nearest chair.
+      &ldquo;Calderwell&mdash;and he's coming to <i>dinner!</i>&rdquo; she moaned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For two benumbed minutes Billy sat staring at nothing. Then she ran to the
+      telephone and called the Annex.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aunt Hannah, for heaven's sake, if you love me,&rdquo; pleaded Billy, &ldquo;send
+      Rosa down instanter! Pete is sick over to South Boston, and Eliza is with
+      him; and Bertram is bringing Hugh Calderwell home to dinner. <i>Can</i>
+      you spare Rosa?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, my grief and conscience, Billy! Of course I can&mdash;I mean I could&mdash;but
+      Rosa isn't here, dear child! It's her day out, you know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;O dear, of course it is! I might have known, if I'd thought; but Pete and
+      Eliza have spoiled me. They never take days out at meal time&mdash;both
+      together, I mean&mdash;until to-night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, my dear child, what will you do?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know. I've got to think. I <i>must</i> do something!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course you must! I'd come over myself if it wasn't for my cold.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As if I'd let you!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There isn't anybody here, only Tommy. Even Alice is gone. Oh, Billy,
+      Billy, this only goes to prove what I've always said, that <i>no</i> woman
+      <i>ought</i> to be a wife until she's an efficient housekeeper; and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, yes, Aunt Hannah, I know,&rdquo; moaned Billy, frenziedly. &ldquo;But I am a
+      wife, and I'm not an efficient housekeeper; and Hugh Calderwell won't wait
+      for me to learn. He's coming to-night. <i>To-night!</i> And I've got to do
+      something. Never mind. I'll fix it some way. Good-by!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, Billy, Billy! Oh, my grief and conscience,&rdquo; fluttered Aunt Hannah's
+      voice across the wires as Billy snapped the receiver into place.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For the second time that day Billy backed palpitatingly against the wall.
+      Her eyes sought the clock fearfully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Fifteen minutes past four. She had an hour and three quarters. She could,
+      of course, telephone Bertram to dine Calderwell at a club or some hotel.
+      But to do this now, the very first time, when it had been her own
+      suggestion that he &ldquo;bring them home&rdquo;&mdash;no, no, she could not do that!
+      Anything but that! Besides, very likely she could not reach Bertram,
+      anyway. Doubtless he had left the Winthrops' by this time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was Marie. She could telephone Marie. But Marie could not very well
+      come just now, she knew; and then, too, there was Cyril to be taken into
+      consideration. How Cyril would gibe at the wife who had to call in all the
+      neighbors just because her husband was bringing home a friend to dinner!
+      How he would&mdash;Well, he shouldn't! He should not have the chance. So,
+      there!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With a jerk Mrs. Bertram Henshaw pulled herself away from the wall and
+      stood erect. Her eyes snapped, and the very poise of her chin spelled
+      determination.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Very well, she would show them. Was not Bertram bringing this man home
+      because he was proud of her? Mighty proud he would be if she had to call
+      in half of Boston to get his dinner for him! Nonsense! She would get it
+      herself. Was not this the time, if ever, to be an oak? A vine, doubtless,
+      would lean and cling and telephone, and whine &ldquo;I can't!&rdquo; But not an oak.
+      An oak would hold up its head and say &ldquo;I can!&rdquo; An oak would go ahead and
+      get that dinner. She would be an oak. She would get that dinner.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What if she didn't know how to cook bread and cake and pies and things?
+      One did not have to cook bread and cake and pies just to get a dinner&mdash;meat
+      and potatoes and vegetables! Besides, she <i>could</i> make peach
+      fritters. She knew she could. She would show them!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And with actually a bit of song on her lips, Billy skipped up-stairs for
+      her ruffled apron and dust-cap&mdash;two necessary accompaniments to this
+      dinner-getting, in her opinion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy found the apron and dust-cap with no difficulty; but it took fully
+      ten of her precious minutes to unearth from its obscure hiding-place the
+      blue-and-gold &ldquo;Bride's Helper&rdquo; cookbook, one of Aunt Hannah's wedding
+      gifts.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the way to the kitchen, Billy planned her dinner. As was natural,
+      perhaps, she chose the things she herself would like to eat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I won't attempt anything very elaborate,&rdquo; she said to herself. &ldquo;It would
+      be wiser to have something simple, like chicken pie, perhaps. I love
+      chicken pie! And I'll have oyster stew first&mdash;that is, after the
+      grapefruit. Just oysters boiled in milk must be easier than soup to make.
+      I'll begin with grapefruit with a cherry in it, like Pete fixes it. Those
+      don't have to be cooked, anyhow. I'll have fish&mdash;Bertram loves the
+      fish course. Let me see, halibut, I guess, with egg sauce. I won't have
+      any roast; nothing but the chicken pie. And I'll have squash and onions. I
+      can have a salad, easy&mdash;just lettuce and stuff. That doesn't have to
+      be cooked. Oh, and the peach fritters, if I get time to make them. For
+      dessert&mdash;well, maybe I can find a new pie or pudding in the cookbook.
+      I want to use that cookbook for something, after hunting all this time for
+      it!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In the kitchen Billy found exquisite neatness, and silence. The first
+      brought an approving light to her eyes; but the second, for some
+      unapparent reason, filled her heart with vague misgiving. This feeling,
+      however, Billy resolutely cast from her as she crossed the room, dropped
+      her book on to the table, and turned toward the shining black stove.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was an excellent fire. Glowing points of light showed that only a
+      good draft was needed to make the whole mass of coal red-hot. Billy,
+      however, did not know this. Her experience of fires was confined to
+      burning wood in open grates&mdash;and wood in open grates had to be poked
+      to make it red and glowing. With confident alacrity now, therefore, Billy
+      caught up the poker, thrust it into the mass of coals and gave them a fine
+      stirring up. Then she set back the lid of the stove and went to hunt up
+      the ingredients for her dinner.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      By the time Billy had searched five minutes and found no chicken, no
+      oysters, and no halibut, it occurred to her that her larder was not, after
+      all, an open market, and that one's provisions must be especially ordered
+      to fit one's needs. As to ordering them now&mdash;Billy glanced at the
+      clock and shook her head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's almost five, already, and they'd never get here in time,&rdquo; she sighed
+      regretfully. &ldquo;I'll have to have something else.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy looked now, not for what she wanted, but for what she could find.
+      And she found: some cold roast lamb, at which she turned up her nose; an
+      uncooked beefsteak, which she appropriated doubtfully; a raw turnip and a
+      head of lettuce, which she hailed with glee; and some beets, potatoes,
+      onions, and grapefruit, from all of which she took a generous supply. Thus
+      laden she went back to the kitchen.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Spread upon the table they made a brave show.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, well, I'll have quite a dinner, after all,&rdquo; she triumphed, cocking
+      her head happily. &ldquo;And now for the dessert,&rdquo; she finished, pouncing on the
+      cookbook.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was while she was turning the leaves to find the pies and puddings that
+      she ran across the vegetables and found the word &ldquo;beets&rdquo; staring her in
+      the face. Mechanically she read the line below.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Winter beets will require three hours to cook. Use hot water.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy's startled eyes sought the clock.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Three hours&mdash;and it was five, now!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Frenziedly, then, she ran her finger down the page.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Onions, one and one-half hours. Use hot water. Turnips require a long
+      time, but if cut thin they will cook in an hour and a quarter.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;An hour and a quarter, indeed!&rdquo; she moaned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Isn't there anything anywhere that doesn't take forever to cook?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Early peas&mdash;... green corn&mdash;... summer squash&mdash;...&rdquo;
+       mumbled Billy's dry lips. &ldquo;But what do folks eat in January&mdash;<i>January</i>?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was the apparently inoffensive sentence, &ldquo;New potatoes will boil in
+      thirty minutes,&rdquo; that brought fresh terror to Billy's soul, and set her to
+      fluttering the cookbook leaves with renewed haste. If it took <i>new</i>
+      potatoes thirty minutes to cook, how long did it take old ones? In vain
+      she searched for the answer. There were plenty of potatoes. They were
+      mashed, whipped, scalloped, creamed, fried, and broiled; they were made
+      into puffs, croquettes, potato border, and potato snow. For many of these
+      they were boiled first&mdash;&ldquo;until tender,&rdquo; one rule said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But that doesn't tell me how long it takes to get 'em tender,&rdquo; fumed
+      Billy, despairingly. &ldquo;I suppose they think anybody ought to know that&mdash;but
+      I don't!&rdquo; Suddenly her eyes fell once more on the instructions for boiling
+      turnips, and her face cleared. &ldquo;If it helps to cut turnips thin, why not
+      potatoes?&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;I <i>can</i> do that, anyhow; and I will,&rdquo; she
+      finished, with a sigh of relief, as she caught up half a dozen potatoes
+      and hurried into the pantry for a knife. A few minutes later, the
+      potatoes, peeled, and cut almost to wafer thinness, were dumped into a
+      basin of cold water.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There! now I guess you'll cook,&rdquo; nodded Billy to the dish in her hand as
+      she hurried to the stove.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Chilled by an ominous unresponsiveness, Billy lifted the stove lid and
+      peered inside. Only a mass of black and graying coals greeted her. The
+      fire was out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To think that even you had to go back on me like this!&rdquo; upbraided Billy,
+      eyeing the dismal mass with reproachful gaze.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This disaster, however, as Billy knew, was not so great as it seemed, for
+      there was still the gas stove. In the old days, under Dong Ling's rule,
+      there had been no gas stove. Dong Ling disapproved of &ldquo;devil stoves&rdquo; that
+      had &ldquo;no coalee, no woodee, but burned like hellee.&rdquo; Eliza, however, did
+      approve of them; and not long after her arrival, a fine one had been put
+      in for her use. So now Billy soon had her potatoes with a brisk blaze
+      under them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In frantic earnest, then, Billy went to work. Brushing the discarded
+      onions, turnip, and beets into a pail under the table, she was still
+      confronted with the beefsteak, lettuce, and grapefruit. All but the
+      beefsteak she pushed to one side with gentle pats.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You're all right,&rdquo; she nodded to them. &ldquo;I can use you. You don't have to
+      be cooked, bless your hearts! But <i>you</i>&mdash;!&rdquo; Billy scowled at the
+      beefsteak and ran her finger down the index of the &ldquo;Bride's Helper&rdquo;&mdash;Billy
+      knew how to handle that book now.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, you don't&mdash;not for me!&rdquo; she muttered, after a minute, shaking
+      her finger at the tenderloin on the table. &ldquo;I haven't got any 'hot coals,'
+      and I thought a 'gridiron' was where they played football; though it seems
+      it's some sort of a dish to cook you in, here&mdash;but I shouldn't know
+      it from a teaspoon, probably, if I should see it. No, sir! It's back to
+      the refrigerator for you, and a nice cold sensible roast leg of lamb for
+      me, that doesn't have to be cooked. Understand? <i>Cooked</i>,&rdquo; she
+      finished, as she carried the beefsteak away and took possession of the
+      hitherto despised cold lamb.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Once more Billy made a mad search through cupboards and shelves. This time
+      she bore back in triumph a can of corn, another of tomatoes, and a glass
+      jar of preserved peaches. In the kitchen a cheery bubbling from the
+      potatoes on the stove greeted her. Billy's spirits rose with the steam.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There, Spunkie,&rdquo; she said gayly to the cat, who had just uncurled from a
+      nap behind the stove. &ldquo;Tell me I can't get up a dinner! And maybe we'll
+      have the peach fritters, too,&rdquo; she chirped. &ldquo;I've got the peach-part,
+      anyway.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But Billy did not have the peach fritters, after all. She got out the
+      sugar and the flour, to be sure, and she made a great ado looking up the
+      rule; but a hurried glance at the clock sent her into the dining-room to
+      set the table, and all thought of the peach fritters was given up.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER X. THE DINNER BILLY GOT
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      At five minutes of six Bertram and Calderwell came. Bertram gave his
+      peculiar ring and let himself in with his latchkey; but Billy did not meet
+      him in the hall, nor in the drawing-room. Excusing himself, Bertram
+      hurried up-stairs. Billy was not in her room, nor anywhere on that floor.
+      She was not in William's room. Coming down-stairs to the hall again,
+      Bertram confronted William, who had just come in.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where's Billy?&rdquo; demanded the young husband, with just a touch of
+      irritation, as if he suspected William of having Billy in his pocket.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      William stared slightly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, I don't know. Isn't she here?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll ask Pete,&rdquo; frowned Bertram.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the dining-room Bertram found no one, though the table was prettily
+      set, and showed half a grapefruit at each place. In the kitchen&mdash;in
+      the kitchen Bertram found a din of rattling tin, an odor of burned food&mdash;,
+      a confusion of scattered pots and pans, a frightened cat who peered at him
+      from under a littered stove, and a flushed, disheveled young woman in a
+      blue dust-cap and ruffled apron, whom he finally recognized as his wife.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Billy!&rdquo; he gasped.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy, who was struggling with something at the sink, turned sharply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bertram Henshaw,&rdquo; she panted, &ldquo;I used to think you were wonderful because
+      you could paint a picture. I even used to think I was a little wonderful
+      because I could write a song. Well, I don't any more! But I'll tell you
+      who <i>is</i> wonderful. It's Eliza and Rosa, and all the rest of those
+      women who can get a meal on to the table all at once, so it's fit to eat!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Billy!&rdquo; gasped Bertram again, falling back to the door he had closed
+      behind him. &ldquo;What in the world does this mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mean? It means I'm getting dinner,&rdquo; choked Billy. &ldquo;Can't you see?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But&mdash;Pete! Eliza!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They're sick&mdash;I mean he's sick; and I said I'd do it. I'd be an oak.
+      But how did I know there wasn't anything in the house except stuff that
+      took hours to cook&mdash;only potatoes? And how did I know that <i>they</i>
+      cooked in no time, and then got all smushy and wet staying in the water?
+      And how did I know that everything else would stick on and burn on till
+      you'd used every dish there was in the house to cook 'em in?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Billy!&rdquo; gasped Bertram, for the third time. And then, because he had
+      been married only six months instead of six years, he made the mistake of
+      trying to argue with a woman whose nerves were already at the snapping
+      point. &ldquo;But, dear, it was so foolish of you to do all this! Why didn't you
+      telephone? Why didn't you get somebody?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Like an irate little tigress, Billy turned at bay.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bertram Henshaw,&rdquo; she flamed angrily, &ldquo;if you don't go up-stairs and tend
+      to that man up there, I shall <i>scream</i>. Now go! I'll be up when I
+      can.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And Bertram went.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was not so very long, after all, before Billy came in to greet her
+      guest. She was not stately and imposing in royally sumptuous blue velvet
+      and ermine; nor yet was she cozy and homy in bronze-gold crêpe de Chine
+      and swan's-down. She was just herself in a pretty little morning house
+      gown of blue gingham. She was minus the dust-cap and the ruffled apron,
+      but she had a dab of flour on the left cheek, and a smutch of crock on her
+      forehead. She had, too, a cut finger on her right hand, and a burned thumb
+      on her left. But she was Billy&mdash;and being Billy, she advanced with a
+      bright smile and held out a cordial hand&mdash;not even wincing when the
+      cut finger came under Calderwell's hearty clasp.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm glad to see you,&rdquo; she welcomed him. &ldquo;You'll excuse my not appearing
+      sooner, I'm sure, for&mdash;didn't Bertram tell you?&mdash;I'm playing
+      Bridget to-night. But dinner is ready now, and we'll go down, please,&rdquo; she
+      smiled, as she laid a light hand on her guest's arm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Behind her, Bertram, remembering the scene in the kitchen, stared in sheer
+      amazement. Bertram, it might be mentioned again, had been married six
+      months, not six years.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What Billy had intended to serve for a &ldquo;simple dinner&rdquo; that night was:
+      grapefruit with cherries, oyster stew, boiled halibut with egg sauce,
+      chicken pie, squash, onions, and potatoes, peach fritters, a &ldquo;lettuce and
+      stuff&rdquo; salad, and some new pie or pudding. What she did serve was:
+      grapefruit (without the cherries), cold roast lamb, potatoes (a mush of
+      sogginess), tomatoes (canned, and slightly burned), corn (canned, and very
+      much burned), lettuce (plain); and for dessert, preserved peaches and cake
+      (the latter rather dry and stale). Such was Billy's dinner.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The grapefruit everybody ate. The cold lamb too, met with a hearty
+      reception, especially after the potatoes, corn, and tomatoes were served&mdash;and
+      tasted. Outwardly, through it all, Billy was gayety itself. Inwardly she
+      was burning up with anger and mortification. And because she was all this,
+      there was, apparently, no limit to her laughter and sparkling repartee as
+      she talked with Calderwell, her guest&mdash;the guest who, according to
+      her original plans, was to be shown how happy she and Bertram were, what a
+      good wife she made, and how devoted and <i>satisfied</i> Bertram was in
+      his home.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      William, picking at his dinner&mdash;as only a hungry man can pick at a
+      dinner that is uneatable&mdash;watched Billy with a puzzled, uneasy frown.
+      Bertram, choking over the few mouthfuls he ate, marked his wife's animated
+      face and Calderwell's absorbed attention, and settled into gloomy silence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But it could not continue forever. The preserved peaches were eaten at
+      last, and the stale cake left. (Billy had forgotten the coffee&mdash;which
+      was just as well, perhaps.) Then the four trailed up-stairs to the
+      drawing-room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At nine o'clock an anxious Eliza and a remorseful, apologetic Pete came
+      home and descended to the horror the once orderly kitchen and dining-room
+      had become. At ten, Calderwell, with very evident reluctance, tore himself
+      away from Billy's gay badinage, and said good night. At two minutes past
+      ten, an exhausted, nerve-racked Billy was trying to cry on the shoulders
+      of both Uncle William and Bertram at once.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There, there, child, don't! It went off all right,&rdquo; patted Uncle William.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, darling,&rdquo; pleaded Bertram, &ldquo;please don't cry so! As if I'd ever
+      let you step foot in that kitchen again!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At this Billy raised a tear-wet face, aflame with indignant determination.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As if I'd ever let you keep me <i>from</i> it, Bertram Henshaw, after
+      this!&rdquo; she contested. &ldquo;I'm not going to do another thing in all my life
+      but <i>cook!</i> When I think of the stuff we had to eat, after all the
+      time I took to get it, I'm simply crazy! Do you think I'd run the risk of
+      such a thing as this ever happening again?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XI. CALDERWELL DOES SOME QUESTIONING
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      On the day after his dinner with Mr. and Mrs. Bertram Henshaw, Hugh
+      Calderwell left Boston and did not return until more than a month had
+      passed. One of his first acts, when he did come, was to look up Mr. M. J.
+      Arkwright at the address which Billy had given him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Calderwell had not seen Arkwright since they parted in Paris some two
+      years before, after a six-months tramp through Europe together. Calderwell
+      liked Arkwright then, greatly, and he lost no time now in renewing the
+      acquaintance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The address, as given by Billy, proved to be an attractive but modest
+      apartment hotel near the Conservatory of Music; and Calderwell was
+      delighted to find Arkwright at home in his comfortable little bachelor
+      suite.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright greeted him most cordially.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, well,&rdquo; he cried, &ldquo;if it isn't Calderwell! And how's Mont Blanc? Or
+      is it the Killarney Lakes this time, or maybe the Sphinx that I should
+      inquire for, eh?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Guess again,&rdquo; laughed Calderwell, throwing off his heavy coat and
+      settling himself comfortably in the inviting-looking morris chair his
+      friend pulled forward.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sha'n't do it,&rdquo; retorted Arkwright, with a smile. &ldquo;I never gamble on
+      palpable uncertainties, except for a chance throw or two, as I gave a
+      minute ago. Your movements are altogether too erratic, and too
+      far-reaching, for ordinary mortals to keep track of.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, maybe you're right,&rdquo; grinned Calderwell, appreciatively. &ldquo;Anyhow,
+      you would have lost this time, sure thing, for I've been working.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Seen the doctor yet?&rdquo; queried Arkwright, coolly, pushing the cigars
+      across the table.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thanks&mdash;for both,&rdquo; sniffed Calderwell, with a reproachful glance,
+      helping himself. &ldquo;Your good judgment in some matters is still unimpaired,
+      I see,&rdquo; he observed, tapping the little gilded band which had told him the
+      cigar was an old favorite. &ldquo;As to other matters, however,&mdash;you're
+      wrong again, my friend, in your surmise. I am not sick, and I have been
+      working.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So? Well, I'm told they have very good specialists here. Some one of them
+      ought to hit your case. Still&mdash;how long has it been running?&rdquo;
+       Arkwright's face showed only grave concern.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, come, let up, Arkwright,&rdquo; snapped Calderwell, striking his match
+      alight with a vigorous jerk. &ldquo;I'll admit I haven't ever given any <i>special</i>
+      indication of an absorbing passion for work. But what can you expect of a
+      fellow born with a whole dozen silver spoons in his mouth? And that's what
+      I was, according to Bertram Henshaw. According to him again, it's a wonder
+      I ever tried to feed myself; and perhaps he's right&mdash;with my mouth
+      already so full.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I should say so,&rdquo; laughed Arkwright.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, be that as it may. I'm going to feed myself, and I'm going to earn
+      my feed, too. I haven't climbed a mountain or paddled a canoe, for a year.
+      I've been in Chicago cultivating the acquaintance of John Doe and Richard
+      Roe.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You mean&mdash;law?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sure. I studied it here for a while, before that bout of ours a couple of
+      years ago. Billy drove me away, then.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy!&mdash;er&mdash;Mrs. Henshaw?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. I thought I told you. She turned down my tenth-dozen proposal so
+      emphatically that I lost all interest in Boston and took to the tall
+      timber again. But I've come back. A friend of my father's wrote me to come
+      on and consider a good opening there was in his law office. I came on a
+      month ago, and considered. Then I went back to pack up. Now I've come for
+      good, and here I am. You have my history to date. Now tell me of yourself.
+      You're looking as fit as a penny from the mint, even though you have
+      discarded that 'lovely' brown beard. Was that a concession to&mdash;er&mdash;<i>Mary
+      Jane</i>?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright lifted a quick hand of protest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Michael Jeremiah,' please. There is no 'Mary Jane,' now,&rdquo; he said a bit
+      stiffly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The other stared a little. Then he gave a low chuckle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Michael Jeremiah,'&rdquo; he repeated musingly, eyeing the glowing tip of his
+      cigar. &ldquo;And to think how that mysterious 'M. J.' used to tantalize me! Do
+      you mean,&rdquo; he added, turning slowly, &ldquo;that no one calls you 'Mary Jane'
+      now?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not if they know what is best for them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; Calderwell noted the smouldering fire in the other's eyes a little
+      curiously. &ldquo;Very well. I'll take the hint&mdash;Michael Jeremiah.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thanks.&rdquo; Arkwright relaxed a little. &ldquo;To tell the truth, I've had quite
+      enough now&mdash;of Mary Jane.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very good. So be it,&rdquo; nodded the other, still regarding his friend
+      thoughtfully. &ldquo;But tell me&mdash;what of yourself?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright shrugged his shoulders.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There's nothing to tell. You've seen. I'm here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph! Very pretty,&rdquo; scoffed Calderwell. &ldquo;Then if <i>you</i> won't tell,
+      I <i>will</i>. I saw Billy a month ago, you see. It seems you've hit the
+      trail for Grand Opera, as you threatened to that night in Paris; but you
+      <i>haven't</i> brought up in vaudeville, as you prophesied you would do&mdash;though,
+      for that matter, judging from the plums some of the stars are picking on
+      the vaudeville stage, nowadays, that isn't to be sneezed at. But Billy
+      says you've made two or three appearances already on the sacred boards
+      themselves&mdash;one of them a subscription performance&mdash;and that you
+      created no end of a sensation.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense! I'm merely a student at the Opera School here,&rdquo; scowled
+      Arkwright.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes, Billy said you were that, but she also said you wouldn't be,
+      long. That you'd already had one good offer&mdash;I'm not speaking of
+      marriage&mdash;and that you were going abroad next summer, and that they
+      were all insufferably proud of you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense!&rdquo; scowled Arkwright, again, coloring like a girl. &ldquo;That is only
+      some of&mdash;of Mrs. Henshaw's kind flattery.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Calderwell jerked the cigar from between his lips, and sat suddenly
+      forward in his chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Arkwright, tell me about them. How are they making it go?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright frowned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who? Make what go?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Henshaws. Is she happy? Is he&mdash;on the square?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright's face darkened.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, really,&rdquo; he began; but Calderwell interrupted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, come; don't be squeamish. You think I'm butting into what doesn't
+      concern me; but I'm not. What concerns Billy does concern me. And if he
+      doesn't make her happy, I'll&mdash;I'll kill him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In spite of himself Arkwright laughed. The vehemence of the other's words,
+      and the fierceness with which he puffed at his cigar as he fell back in
+      his chair were most expressive.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I don't think you need to load revolvers nor sharpen daggers, just
+      yet,&rdquo; he observed grimly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Calderwell laughed this time, though without much mirth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I'm not in love with Billy, now,&rdquo; he explained. &ldquo;Please don't think I
+      am. I shouldn't see her if I was, of course.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright changed his position suddenly, bringing his face into the
+      shadow. Calderwell talked on without pausing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I'm not in love with Billy. But Billy's a trump. You know that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I do.&rdquo; The words were low, but steadily spoken.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course you do! We all do. And we want her happy. But as for her
+      marrying Bertram&mdash;you could have bowled me over with a soap bubble
+      when I heard she'd done it. Now understand: Bertram is a good fellow, and
+      I like him. I've known him all his life, and he's all right. Oh, six or
+      eight years ago, to be sure, he got in with a set of fellows&mdash;Bob
+      Seaver and his clique&mdash;that were no good. Went in for Bohemianism,
+      and all that rot. It wasn't good for Bertram. He's got the confounded
+      temperament that goes with his talent, I suppose&mdash;though why a man
+      can't paint a picture, or sing a song, and keep his temper and a level
+      head I don't see!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He can,&rdquo; cut in Arkwright, with curt emphasis.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph! Well, that's what I think. But, about this marriage business.
+      Bertram admires a pretty face wherever he sees it&mdash;<i>to paint</i>,
+      and always has. Not but that he's straight as a string with women&mdash;I
+      don't mean that; but girls are always just so many pictures to be picked
+      up on his brushes and transferred to his canvases. And as for his settling
+      down and marrying anybody for keeps, right along&mdash;Great Scott!
+      imagine Bertram Henshaw as a <i>domestic</i> man!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright stirred restlessly as he spoke up in quick defense:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, but he is, I assure you. I&mdash;I've seen them in their home
+      together&mdash;many times. I think they are&mdash;very happy.&rdquo; Arkwright
+      spoke with decision, though still a little diffidently.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Calderwell was silent. He had picked up the little gilt band he had torn
+      from his cigar and was fingering it musingly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes; I've seen them&mdash;once,&rdquo; he said, after a minute. &ldquo;I took dinner
+      with them when I was on, a month ago.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I heard you did.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At something in Arkwright's voice, Calderwell turned quickly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you mean? Why do you say it like that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright laughed. The constraint fled from his manner.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I may as well tell you. You'll hear of it. It's no secret. Mrs.
+      Henshaw herself tells of it everywhere. It was her friend, Alice Greggory,
+      who told me of it first, however. It seems the cook was gone, and the
+      mistress had to get the dinner herself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I know that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you should hear Mrs. Henshaw tell the story now, or Bertram. It seems
+      she knew nothing whatever about cooking, and her trials and tribulations
+      in getting that dinner on to the table were only one degree worse than the
+      dinner itself, according to her story. Didn't you&mdash;er&mdash;notice
+      anything?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Notice anything!&rdquo; exploded Calderwell. &ldquo;I noticed that Billy was so
+      brilliant she fairly radiated sparks; and I noticed that Bertram was so
+      glum he&mdash;he almost radiated thunderclaps. Then I saw that Billy's
+      high spirits were all assumed to cover a threatened burst of tears, and I
+      laid it all to him. I thought he'd said something to hurt her; and I could
+      have punched him. Great Scott! Was <i>that</i> what ailed them?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I reckon it was. Alice says that since then Mrs. Henshaw has fairly
+      haunted the kitchen, begging Eliza to teach her everything, <i>every
+      single thing</i> she knows!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Calderwell chuckled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If that isn't just like Billy! She never does anything by halves. By
+      George, but she was game over that dinner! I can see it all now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Alice says she's really learning to cook, in spite of old Pete's horror,
+      and Eliza's pleadings not to spoil her pretty hands.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then Pete is back all right? What a faithful old soul he is!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright frowned slightly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, he's faithful, but he isn't all right, by any means. I think he's a
+      sick man, myself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What makes Billy let him work, then?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let him!&rdquo; sniffed Arkwright. &ldquo;I'd like to see you try to stop him! Mrs.
+      Henshaw begs and pleads with him to stop, but he scouts the idea. Pete is
+      thoroughly and unalterably convinced that the family would starve to death
+      if it weren't for him; and Mrs. Henshaw says that she'll admit he has some
+      grounds for his opinion when one remembers the condition of the kitchen
+      and dining-room the night she presided over them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Poor Billy!&rdquo; chuckled Calderwell. &ldquo;I'd have gone down into the kitchen
+      myself if I'd suspected what was going on.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright raised his eyebrows.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps it's well you didn't&mdash;if Bertram's picture of what he found
+      there when he went down is a true one. Mrs. Henshaw acknowledges that even
+      the cat sought refuge under the stove.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As if the veriest worm that crawls ever needed to seek refuge from
+      Billy!&rdquo; scoffed Calderwell. &ldquo;By the way, what's this Annex I hear of?
+      Bertram mentioned it, but I couldn't get either of them to tell what it
+      was. Billy wouldn't, and Bertram said he couldn't&mdash;not with Billy
+      shaking her head at him like that. So I had my suspicions. One of Billy's
+      pet charities?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She doesn't call it that.&rdquo; Arkwright's face and voice softened. &ldquo;It is
+      Hillside. She still keeps it open. She calls it the Annex to her home.
+      She's filled it with a crippled woman, a poor little music teacher, a lame
+      boy, and Aunt Hannah.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But how&mdash;extraordinary!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She doesn't think so. She says it's just an overflow house for the extra
+      happiness she can't use.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a moment's silence. Calderwell laid down his cigar, pulled out
+      his handkerchief, and blew his nose furiously. Then he got to his feet and
+      walked to the fireplace. After a minute he turned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, if she isn't the beat 'em!&rdquo; he spluttered. &ldquo;And I had the gall to
+      ask you if Henshaw made her&mdash;happy! Overflow house, indeed!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The best of it is, the way she does it,&rdquo; smiled Arkwright. &ldquo;They're all
+      the sort of people ordinary charity could never reach; and the only way
+      she got them there at all was to make each one think that he or she was
+      absolutely necessary to the rest of them. Even as it is, they all pay a
+      little something toward the running expenses of the house. They insisted
+      on that, and Mrs. Henshaw had to let them. I believe her chief difficulty
+      now is that she has not less than six people whom she wishes to put into
+      the two extra rooms still unoccupied, and she can't make up her mind which
+      to take. Her husband says he expects to hear any day of an Annexette to
+      the Annex.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph!&rdquo; grunted Calderwell, as he turned and began to walk up and down
+      the room. &ldquo;Bertram is still painting, I suppose.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What's he doing now?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Several things. He's up to his eyes in work. As you probably have heard,
+      he met with a severe accident last summer, and lost the use of his right
+      arm for many months. I believe they thought at one time he had lost it
+      forever. But it's all right now, and he has several commissions for
+      portraits. Alice says he's doing ideal heads again, too.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Same old 'Face of a Girl'?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I suppose so, though Alice didn't say. Of course his special work just
+      now is painting the portrait of Miss Marguerite Winthrop. You may have
+      heard that he tried it last year and&mdash;and didn't make quite a success
+      of it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. My sister Belle told me. She hears from Billy once in a while. Will
+      it be a go, this time?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We'll hope so&mdash;for everybody's sake. I imagine no one has seen it
+      yet&mdash;it's not finished; but Alice says&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Calderwell turned abruptly, a quizzical smile on his face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;See here, my son,&rdquo; he interposed, &ldquo;it strikes me that this Alice is
+      saying a good deal&mdash;to you! Who is she?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright gave a light laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, I told you. She is Miss Alice Greggory, Mrs. Henshaw's friend&mdash;and
+      mine. I have known her for years.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hm-m; what is she like?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Like? Why, she's like&mdash;like herself, of course. You'll have to know
+      Alice. She's the salt of the earth&mdash;Alice is,&rdquo; smiled Arkwright,
+      rising to his feet with a remonstrative gesture, as he saw Calderwell pick
+      up his coat. &ldquo;What's your hurry?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hm-m,&rdquo; commented Calderwell again, ignoring the question. &ldquo;And when, may
+      I ask, do you intend to appropriate this&mdash;er&mdash;salt&mdash;to&mdash;er&mdash;ah,
+      season your own life with, as I might say&mdash;eh?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright laughed. There was not the slightest trace of embarrassment in
+      his face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never. <i>You're</i> on the wrong track, this time. Alice and I are good
+      friends&mdash;always have been, and always will be, I hope.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nothing more?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nothing more. I see her frequently. She is musical, and the Henshaws are
+      good enough to ask us there often together. You will meet her, doubtless,
+      now, yourself. She is frequently at the Henshaw home.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hm-m.&rdquo; Calderwell still eyed his host shrewdly. &ldquo;Then you'll give me a
+      clear field, eh?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Certainly.&rdquo; Arkwright's eyes met his friend's gaze without swerving.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right. However, I suppose you'll tell me, as I did you, once, that a
+      right of way in such a case doesn't mean a thoroughfare for the party
+      interested. If my memory serves me, I gave you right of way in Paris to
+      win the affections of a certain elusive Miss Billy here in Boston, if you
+      could. But I see you didn't seem to improve your opportunities,&rdquo; he
+      finished teasingly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright stooped, of a sudden, to pick up a bit of paper from the floor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; he said quietly. &ldquo;I didn't seem to improve my opportunities.&rdquo; This
+      time he did not meet Calderwell's eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The good-byes had been said when Calderwell turned abruptly at the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I say, I suppose you're going to that devil's carnival at Jordan Hall
+      to-morrow night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Devil's carnival! You don't mean&mdash;Cyril Henshaw's piano recital!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sure I do,&rdquo; grinned Calderwell, unabashed. &ldquo;And I'll warrant it'll be a
+      devil's carnival, too. Isn't Mr. Cyril Henshaw going to play his own
+      music? Oh, I know I'm hopeless, from your standpoint, but I can't help it.
+      I like mine with some go in it, and a tune that you can find without
+      hunting for it. And I don't like lost spirits gone mad that wail and
+      shriek through ten perfectly good minutes, and then die with a gasping
+      moan whose home is the tombs. However, you're going, I take it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course I am,&rdquo; laughed the other. &ldquo;You couldn't hire Alice to miss one
+      shriek of those spirits. Besides, I rather like them myself, you know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I suppose you do. You're brought up on it&mdash;in your business.
+      But me for the 'Merry Widow' and even the hoary 'Jingle Bells' every time!
+      However, I'm going to be there&mdash;out of respect to the poor fellow's
+      family. And, by the way, that's another thing that bowled me over&mdash;Cyril's
+      marriage. Why, Cyril hates women!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not all women&mdash;we'll hope,&rdquo; smiled Arkwright. &ldquo;Do you know his
+      wife?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not much. I used to see her a little at Billy's. Music teacher, wasn't
+      she? Then she's the same sort, I suppose.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But she isn't,&rdquo; laughed Arkwright. &ldquo;Oh, she taught music, but that was
+      only because of necessity, I take it. She's domestic through and through,
+      with an overwhelming passion for making puddings and darning socks, I
+      hear. Alice says she believes Mrs. Cyril knows every dish and spoon by its
+      Christian name, and that there's never so much as a spool of thread out of
+      order in the house.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But how does Cyril stand it&mdash;the trials and tribulations of domestic
+      life? Bertram used to declare that the whole Strata was aquiver with fear
+      when Cyril was composing, and I remember him as a perfect bear if anybody
+      so much as whispered when he was in one of his moods. I never forgot the
+      night Bertram and I were up in William's room trying to sing 'When Johnnie
+      comes marching home,' to the accompaniment of a banjo in Bertram's hands,
+      and a guitar in mine. Gorry! it was Hugh that went marching home that
+      night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, well, from reports I reckon Mrs. Cyril doesn't play either a banjo or
+      a guitar,&rdquo; smiled Arkwright. &ldquo;Alice says she wears rubber heels on her
+      shoes, and has put hushers on all the chair-legs, and felt-mats between
+      all the plates and saucers. Anyhow, Cyril is building a new house, and he
+      looks as if he were in a pretty healthy condition, as you'll see to-morrow
+      night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph! I wish he'd make his music healthy, then,&rdquo; grumbled Calderwell, as
+      he opened the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XII. FOR BILLY&mdash;SOME ADVICE
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      February brought busy days. The public opening of the Bohemian Ten Club
+      Exhibition was to take place the sixth of March, with a private view for
+      invited guests the night before; and it was at this exhibition that
+      Bertram planned to show his portrait of Marguerite Winthrop. He also, if
+      possible, wished to enter two or three other canvases, upon which he was
+      spending all the time he could get.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram felt that he was doing very good work now. The portrait of
+      Marguerite Winthrop was coming on finely. The spoiled idol of society had
+      at last found a pose and a costume that suited her, and she was graciously
+      pleased to give the artist almost as many sittings as he wanted. The
+      &ldquo;elusive something&rdquo; in her face, which had previously been so baffling,
+      was now already caught and held bewitchingly on his canvas. He was
+      confident that the portrait would be a success. He was also much
+      interested in another piece of work which he intended to show called &ldquo;The
+      Rose.&rdquo; The model for this was a beautiful young girl he had found selling
+      flowers with her father in a street booth at the North End.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the whole, Bertram was very happy these days. He could not, to be sure,
+      spend quite so much time with Billy as he wished; but she understood, of
+      course, as did he, that his work must come first. He knew that she tried
+      to show him that she understood it. At the same time, he could not help
+      thinking, occasionally, that Billy did sometimes mind his necessary
+      absorption in his painting.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To himself Bertram owned that Billy was, in some ways, a puzzle to him.
+      Her conduct was still erratic at times. One day he would seem to be
+      everything to her; the next&mdash;almost nothing, judging by the ease with
+      which she relinquished his society and substituted that of some one else:
+      Arkwright, or Calderwell, for instance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And that was another thing. Bertram was ashamed to hint even to himself
+      that he was jealous of either of those men. Surely, after what had
+      happened, after Billy's emphatic assertion that she had never loved any
+      one but himself, it would seem not only absurd, but disloyal, that he
+      should doubt for an instant Billy's entire devotion to him, and yet&mdash;there
+      were times when he wished he <i>could</i> come home and not always find
+      Alice Greggory, Calderwell, Arkwright, or all three of them strumming the
+      piano in the drawing-room! At such times, always, though, if he did feel
+      impatient, he immediately demanded of himself: &ldquo;Are you, then, the kind of
+      husband that begrudges your wife young companions of her own age and
+      tastes to help her while away the hours that you cannot possibly spend
+      with her yourself?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This question, and the answer that his better self always gave to it, were
+      usually sufficient to send him into some florists for a bunch of violets
+      for Billy, or into a candy shop on a like atoning errand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As to Billy&mdash;Billy, too, was busy these days chief of her concerns
+      being, perhaps, attention to that honeymoon of hers, to see that it did
+      not wane. At least, the most of her thoughts, and many of her actions,
+      centered about that object.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy had the book, now&mdash;the &ldquo;Talk to Young Wives.&rdquo; For a time she
+      had worked with only the newspaper criticism to guide her; but, coming at
+      last to the conclusion that if a little was good, more must be better, she
+      had shyly gone into a bookstore one day and, with a pink blush, had asked
+      for the book. Since bringing it home she had studied assiduously (though
+      never if Bertram was near), keeping it well-hidden, when not in use, in a
+      remote corner of her desk.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a good deal in the book that Billy did not like, and there were
+      some statements that worried her; but yet there was much that she tried
+      earnestly to follow. She was still striving to be the oak, and she was
+      still eagerly endeavoring to brush up against those necessary outside
+      interests. She was so thankful, in this connection, for Alice Greggory,
+      and for Arkwright and Hugh Calderwell. It was such a help that she had
+      them! They were not only very pleasant and entertaining outside interests,
+      but one or another of them was almost always conveniently within reach.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then, too, it pleased her to think that she was furthering the pretty love
+      story between Alice and Mr. Arkwright. And she <i>was</i> furthering it.
+      She was sure of that. Already she could see how dependent the man was on
+      Alice, how he looked to her for approbation, and appealed to her on all
+      occasions, exactly as if there was not a move that he wanted to make
+      without her presence near him. Billy was very sure, now, of Arkwright. She
+      only wished she were as much so of Alice. But Alice troubled her. Not but
+      that Alice was kindness itself to the man, either. It was only a peculiar
+      something almost like fear, or constraint, that Billy thought she saw in
+      Alice's eyes, sometimes, when Arkwright made a particularly intimate
+      appeal. There was Calderwell, too. He, also, worried Billy. She feared he
+      was going to complicate matters still more by falling in love with Alice,
+      himself; and this, certainly, Billy did not want at all. As this phase of
+      the matter presented itself, indeed, Billy determined to appropriate
+      Calderwell a little more exclusively to herself, when the four were
+      together, thus leaving Alice for Arkwright. After all, it was rather
+      entertaining&mdash;this playing at Cupid's assistant. If she <i>could</i>
+      not have Bertram all the time, it was fortunate that these outside
+      interests were so pleasurable.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Most of the mornings Billy spent in the kitchen, despite the remonstrances
+      of both Pete and Eliza. Almost every meal, now, was graced with a
+      palatable cake, pudding, or muffin that Billy would proudly claim as her
+      handiwork. Pete still served at table, and made strenuous efforts to keep
+      up all his old duties; but he was obviously growing weaker, and really
+      serious blunders were beginning to be noticeable. Bertram even hinted once
+      or twice that perhaps it would be just as well to insist on his going; but
+      to this Billy would not give her consent. Even when one night his poor old
+      trembling hands spilled half the contents of a soup plate over a new and
+      costly evening gown of Billy's own, she still refused to have him
+      dismissed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Bertram, I wouldn't do it,&rdquo; she declared hotly; &ldquo;and you wouldn't,
+      either. He's been here more than fifty years. It would break his heart.
+      He's really too ill to work, and I wish he would go of his own accord, of
+      course; but I sha'n't ever tell him to go&mdash;not if he spills soup on
+      every dress I've got. I'll buy more&mdash;and more, if it's necessary.
+      Bless his dear old heart! He thinks he's really serving us&mdash;and he
+      is, too.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes, you're right, he <i>is!</i>&rdquo; sighed Bertram, with meaning
+      emphasis, as he abandoned the argument.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In addition to her &ldquo;Talk to Young Wives,&rdquo; Billy found herself encountering
+      advice and comment on the marriage question from still other quarters&mdash;from
+      her acquaintances (mostly the feminine ones) right and left. Continually
+      she was hearing such words as these:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, well, what can you expect, Billy? You're an old married woman, now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never mind, you'll find he's like all the rest of the husbands. You just
+      wait and see!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Better begin with a high hand, Billy. Don't let him fool you!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mercy! If I had a husband whose business it was to look at women's
+      beautiful eyes, peachy cheeks, and luxurious tresses, I should go crazy!
+      It's hard enough to keep a man's eyes on yourself when his daily interests
+      are supposed to be just lumps of coal and chunks of ice, without flinging
+      him into the very jaws of temptation like asking him to paint a pretty
+      girl's picture!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In response to all this, of course, Billy could but laugh, and blush, and
+      toss back some gay reply, with a careless unconcern. But in her heart she
+      did not like it. Sometimes she told herself that if there were not any
+      advice or comment from anybody&mdash;either book or woman&mdash;if there
+      were not anybody but just Bertram and herself, life would be just one long
+      honeymoon forever and forever.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Once or twice Billy was tempted to go to Marie with this honeymoon
+      question; but Marie was very busy these days, and very preoccupied. The
+      new house that Cyril was building on Corey Hill, not far from the Annex,
+      was almost finished, and Marie was immersed in the subject of
+      house-furnishings and interior decoration. She was, too, still more deeply
+      engrossed in the fashioning of tiny garments of the softest linen, lace,
+      and woolen; and there was on her face such a look of beatific wonder and
+      joy that Billy did not like to so much as hint that there was in the world
+      such a book as &ldquo;When the Honeymoon Wanes: A Talk to Young Wives.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy tried valiantly these days not to mind that Bertram's work was so
+      absorbing. She tried not to mind that his business dealt, not with lumps
+      of coal and chunks of ice, but with beautiful women like Marguerite
+      Winthrop who asked him to luncheon, and lovely girls like his model for
+      &ldquo;The Rose&rdquo; who came freely to his studio and spent hours in the beloved
+      presence, being studied for what Bertram declared was absolutely the most
+      wonderful poise of head and shoulders that he had ever seen.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy tried, also, these days, to so conduct herself that not by any
+      chance could Calderwell suspect that sometimes she was jealous of
+      Bertram's art. Not for worlds would she have had Calderwell begin to get
+      the notion into his head that his old-time prophecy concerning Bertram's
+      caring only for the turn of a girl's head or the tilt of her chin&mdash;to
+      paint, was being fulfilled. Hence, particularly gay and cheerful was Billy
+      when Calderwell was near. Nor could it be said that Billy was really
+      unhappy at any time. It was only that, on occasion, the very depth of her
+      happiness in Bertram's love frightened her, lest it bring disaster to
+      herself or Bertram.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy still went frequently to the Annex. There were yet two unfilled
+      rooms in the house. Billy was hesitating which two of six new friends of
+      hers to choose as occupants; and it was one day early in March, after she
+      had been talking the matter over with Aunt Hannah, that Aunt Hannah said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dear me, Billy, if you had your way I believe you'd open another whole
+      house!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you know?&mdash;that's just what I'm thinking of,&rdquo; retorted Billy,
+      gravely. Then she laughed at Aunt Hannah's shocked gesture of protest.
+      &ldquo;Oh, well, I don't expect to,&rdquo; she added. &ldquo;I haven't lived very long, but
+      I've lived long enough to know that you can't always do what you want to.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Just as if there were anything <i>you</i> wanted to do that you don't do,
+      my dear,&rdquo; reproved Aunt Hannah, mildly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I know.&rdquo; Billy drew in her breath with a little catch. &ldquo;I have so
+      much that is lovely; and that's why I need this house, you know, for the
+      overflow,&rdquo; she nodded brightly. Then, with a characteristic change of
+      subject, she added: &ldquo;My, but you should have tasted of the popovers I made
+      for breakfast this morning!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I should like to,&rdquo; smiled Aunt Hannah. &ldquo;William says you're getting to be
+      quite a cook.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, maybe,&rdquo; conceded Billy, doubtfully. &ldquo;Oh, I can do some things all
+      right; but just wait till Pete and Eliza go away again, and Bertram brings
+      home a friend to dinner. That'll tell the tale. I think now I could have
+      something besides potato-mush and burned corn&mdash;but maybe I wouldn't,
+      when the time came. If only I could buy everything I needed to cook with,
+      I'd be all right. But I can't, I find.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Can't buy what you need! What do you mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed ruefully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, every other question I ask Eliza, she says: 'Why, I don't know; you
+      have to use your judgment.' Just as if I had any judgment about how much
+      salt to use, or what dish to take! Dear me, Aunt Hannah, the man that will
+      grow judgment and can it as you would a mess of peas, has got his fortune
+      made!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What an absurd child you are, Billy,&rdquo; laughed Aunt Hannah. &ldquo;I used to
+      tell Marie&mdash;By the way, how is Marie? Have you seen her lately?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes, I saw her yesterday,&rdquo; twinkled Billy. &ldquo;She had a book of
+      wall-paper samples spread over the back of a chair, two bunches of samples
+      of different colored damasks on the table before her, a 'Young Mother's
+      Guide' propped open in another chair, and a pair of baby's socks in her
+      lap with a roll each of pink, and white, and blue ribbon. She spent most
+      of the time, after I had helped her choose the ribbon, in asking me if I
+      thought she ought to let the baby cry and bother Cyril, or stop its crying
+      and hurt the baby, because her 'Mother's Guide' says a certain amount of
+      crying is needed to develop a baby's lungs.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah laughed, but she frowned, too.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The idea! I guess Cyril can stand proper crying&mdash;and laughing, too&mdash;from
+      his own child!&rdquo; she said then, crisply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, but Marie is afraid he can't,&rdquo; smiled Billy. &ldquo;And that's the trouble.
+      She says that's the only thing that worries her&mdash;Cyril.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense!&rdquo; ejaculated Aunt Hannah.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, but it isn't nonsense to Marie,&rdquo; retorted Billy. &ldquo;You should see the
+      preparations she's made and the precautions she's taken. Actually, when I
+      saw those baby's socks in her lap, I didn't know but she was going to put
+      rubber heels on them! They've built the new house with deadening felt in
+      all the walls, and Marie's planned the nursery and Cyril's den at opposite
+      ends of the house; and she says she shall keep the baby there <i>all</i>
+      the time&mdash;the nursery, I mean, not the den. She says she's going to
+      teach it to be a quiet baby and hate noise. She says she thinks she can do
+      it, too.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph!&rdquo; sniffed Aunt Hannah, scornfully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You should have seen Marie's disgust the other day,&rdquo; went on Billy, a bit
+      mischievously. &ldquo;Her Cousin Jane sent on a rattle she'd made herself, all
+      soft worsted, with bells inside. It was a dear; but Marie was
+      horror-stricken. 'My baby have a rattle?' she cried. 'Why, what would
+      Cyril say? As if he could stand a rattle in the house!' And if she didn't
+      give that rattle to the janitor's wife that very day, while I was there!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph!&rdquo; sniffed Aunt Hannah again, as Billy rose to go. &ldquo;Well, I'm
+      thinking Marie has still some things to learn in this world&mdash;and
+      Cyril, too, for that matter.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wouldn't wonder,&rdquo; laughed Billy, giving Aunt Hannah a good-by kiss.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XIII. PETE
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Bertram Henshaw had no disquieting forebodings this time concerning his
+      portrait of Marguerite Winthrop when the doors of the Bohemian Ten Club
+      Exhibition were thrown open to members and invited guests. Just how great
+      a popular success it was destined to be, he could not know, of course,
+      though he might have suspected it when he began to receive the admiring
+      and hearty congratulations of his friends and fellow-artists on that first
+      evening.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Nor was the Winthrop portrait the only jewel in his crown on that
+      occasion. His marvelously exquisite &ldquo;The Rose,&rdquo; and his smaller ideal
+      picture, &ldquo;Expectation,&rdquo; came in for scarcely less commendation. There was
+      no doubt now. The originator of the famous &ldquo;Face of a Girl&rdquo; had come into
+      his own again. On all sides this was the verdict, one long-haired critic
+      of international fame even claiming openly that Henshaw had not only
+      equaled his former best work, but had gone beyond it, in both artistry and
+      technique.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a brilliant gathering. Society, as usual, in costly evening gowns
+      and correct swallow-tails rubbed elbows with names famous in the world of
+      Art and Letters. Everywhere were gay laughter and sparkling repartee. Even
+      the austere-faced J. G. Winthrop unbent to the extent of grim smiles in
+      response to the laudatory comments bestowed upon the pictured image of his
+      idol, his beautiful daughter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As to the great financier's own opinion of the work, no one heard him
+      express it except, perhaps, the artist; and all that he got was a grip of
+      the hand and a &ldquo;Good! I knew you'd fetch it this time, my boy!&rdquo; But that
+      was enough. And, indeed, no one who knew the stern old man needed to more
+      than look into his face that evening to know of his entire satisfaction in
+      this portrait soon to be the most recent, and the most cherished addition
+      to his far-famed art collection.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As to Bertram&mdash;Bertram was pleased and happy and gratified, of
+      course, as was natural; but he was not one whit more so than was Bertram's
+      wife. Billy fairly radiated happiness and proud joy. She told Bertram,
+      indeed, that if he did anything to make her any prouder, it would take an
+      Annex the size of the Boston Opera House to hold her extra happiness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sh-h, Billy! Some one will hear you,&rdquo; protested Bertram, tragically; but,
+      in spite of his horrified voice, he did not look displeased.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For the first time Billy met Marguerite Winthrop that evening. At the
+      outset there was just a bit of shyness and constraint in the young wife's
+      manner. Billy could not forget her old insane jealousy of this beautiful
+      girl with the envied name of Marguerite. But it was for only a moment, and
+      soon she was her natural, charming self.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Winthrop was fascinated, and she made no pretense of hiding it. She
+      even turned to Bertram at last, and cried:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Surely, now, Mr. Henshaw, you need never go far for a model! Why don't
+      you paint your wife?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy colored. Bertram smiled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I have painted her many times. In fact, I have painted
+      her so often that she once declared it was only the tilt of her chin and
+      the turn of her head that I loved&mdash;to paint,&rdquo; he said merrily,
+      enjoying Billy's pretty confusion, and not realizing that his words really
+      distressed her. &ldquo;I have a whole studio full of 'Billys' at home.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, have you, really?&rdquo; questioned Miss Winthrop, eagerly. &ldquo;Then mayn't I
+      see them? Mayn't I, please, Mrs. Henshaw? I'd so love to!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, of course you may,&rdquo; murmured both the artist and his wife.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you. Then I'm coming right away. May I? I'm going to Washington
+      next week, you see. Will you let me come to-morrow at&mdash;at half-past
+      three, then? Will it be quite convenient for you, Mrs. Henshaw?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Quite convenient. I shall be glad to see you,&rdquo; smiled Billy. And Bertram
+      echoed his wife's cordial permission.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you. Then I'll be there at half-past three,&rdquo; nodded Miss Winthrop,
+      with a smile, as she turned to give place to an admiring group, who were
+      waiting to pay their respects to the artist and his wife.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was, after all, that evening, one fly in Billy's ointment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It fluttered in at the behest of an old acquaintance&mdash;one of the
+      &ldquo;advice women,&rdquo; as Billy termed some of her too interested friends.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, they're lovely, perfectly lovely, of course, Mrs. Henshaw,&rdquo; said
+      this lady, coming up to say good-night. &ldquo;But, all the same, I'm glad my
+      husband is just a plain lawyer. Look out, my dear, that while Mr. Henshaw
+      is stealing all those pretty faces for his canvases&mdash;just look out
+      that the fair ladies don't turn around and steal his heart before you know
+      it. Dear me, but you must be so proud of him!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am,&rdquo; smiled Billy, serenely; and only the jagged split that rent the
+      glove on her hand, at that moment, told of the fierce anger behind that
+      smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As if I couldn't trust Bertram!&rdquo; raged Billy passionately to herself,
+      stealing a surreptitious glance at her ruined glove. &ldquo;And as if there
+      weren't ever any perfectly happy marriages&mdash;even if you don't ever
+      hear of them, or read of them!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram was not home to luncheon on the day following the opening night of
+      the Bohemian Ten Club. A matter of business called him away from the house
+      early in the morning; but he told his wife that he surely would be on hand
+      for Miss Winthrop's call at half-past three o'clock that afternoon.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, do,&rdquo; Billy had urged. &ldquo;I think she's lovely, but you know her so
+      much better than I do that I want you here. Besides, you needn't think <i>I'm</i>
+      going to show her all those Billys of yours. I may be vain, but I'm not
+      quite vain enough for that, sir!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't worry,&rdquo; her husband had laughed. &ldquo;I'll be here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      As it chanced, however, something occurred an hour before half-past three
+      o'clock that drove every thought of Miss Winthrop's call from Billy's
+      head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For three days, now, Pete had been at the home of his niece in South
+      Boston. He had been forced, finally, to give up and go away. News from him
+      the day before had been anything but reassuring, and to-day, Bertram being
+      gone, Billy had suggested that Eliza serve a simple luncheon and go
+      immediately afterward to South Boston to see how her uncle was. This
+      suggestion Eliza had followed, leaving the house at one o'clock.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Shortly after two Calderwell had dropped in to bring Bertram, as he
+      expressed it, a bunch of bouquets he had gathered at the picture show the
+      night before. He was still in the drawing-room, chatting with Billy, when
+      the telephone bell rang.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If that's Bertram, tell him to come home; he's got company,&rdquo; laughed
+      Calderwell, as Billy passed into the hall.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A moment later he heard Billy give a startled cry, followed by a few
+      broken words at short intervals. Then, before he could surmise what had
+      happened, she was back in the drawing-room again, her eyes full of tears.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's Pete,&rdquo; she choked. &ldquo;Eliza says he can't live but a few minutes. He
+      wants to see me once more. What shall I do? John's got Peggy out with Aunt
+      Hannah and Mrs. Greggory. It was so nice to-day I made them go. But I must
+      get there some way&mdash;Pete is calling for me. Uncle William is going,
+      and I told Eliza where she might reach Bertram; but what shall <i>I</i>
+      do? How shall I go?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Calderwell was on his feet at once.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll get a taxi. Don't worry&mdash;we'll get there. Poor old soul&mdash;of
+      course he wants to see you! Get on your things. I'll have it here in no
+      time,&rdquo; he finished, hurrying to the telephone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Hugh, I'm so glad I've got <i>you</i> here,&rdquo; sobbed Billy, stumbling
+      blindly toward the stairway. &ldquo;I'll be ready in two minutes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And she was; but neither then, nor a little later when she and Calderwell
+      drove hurriedly away from the house, did Billy once remember that Miss
+      Marguerite Winthrop was coming to call that afternoon to see Mrs. Bertram
+      Henshaw and a roomful of Billy pictures.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Pete was still alive when Calderwell left Billy at the door of the modest
+      little home where Eliza's mother lived.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, you're in time, ma'am,&rdquo; sobbed Eliza; &ldquo;and, oh, I'm so glad you've
+      come. He's been askin' and askin' for ye.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      From Eliza Billy learned then that Mr. William was there, but not Mr.
+      Bertram. They had not been able to reach Mr. Bertram, or Mr. Cyril.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy never forgot the look of reverent adoration that came into Pete's
+      eyes as she entered the room where he lay.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Billy&mdash;my Miss Billy! You were so good-to come,&rdquo; he whispered
+      faintly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy choked back a sob.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course I'd come, Pete,&rdquo; she said gently, taking one of the thin, worn
+      hands into both her soft ones.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was more than a few minutes that Pete lived. Four o'clock came, and
+      five, and he was still with them. Often he opened his eyes and smiled.
+      Sometimes he spoke a low word to William or Billy, or to one of the
+      weeping women at the foot of the bed. That the presence of his beloved
+      master and mistress meant much to him was plain to be seen.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm so sorry,&rdquo; he faltered once, &ldquo;about that pretty dress&mdash;I
+      spoiled, Miss Billy. But you know&mdash;my hands&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know, I know,&rdquo; soothed Billy; &ldquo;but don't worry. It wasn't spoiled,
+      Pete. It's all fixed now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I'm so glad,&rdquo; sighed the sick man. After another long interval of
+      silence he turned to William.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Them socks&mdash;the medium thin ones&mdash;you'd oughter be puttin' 'em
+      on soon, sir, now. They're in the right-hand corner of the bottom drawer&mdash;you
+      know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, Pete; I'll attend to it,&rdquo; William managed to stammer, after he had
+      cleared his throat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Eliza's turn came next.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Remember about the coffee,&rdquo; Pete said to her, &ldquo;&mdash;the way Mr. William
+      likes it. And always eggs, you know, for&mdash;for&mdash;&rdquo; His voice
+      trailed into an indistinct murmur, and his eyelids drooped wearily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One by one the minutes passed. The doctor came and went: there was nothing
+      he could do. At half-past five the thin old face became again alight with
+      consciousness. There was a good-by message for Bertram, and one for Cyril.
+      Aunt Hannah was remembered, and even little Tommy Dunn. Then, gradually, a
+      gray shadow crept over the wasted features. The words came more brokenly.
+      The mind, plainly, was wandering, for old Pete was young again, and around
+      him were the lads he loved, William, Cyril, and Bertram. And then, very
+      quietly, soon after the clock struck six, Pete fell into the beginning of
+      his long sleep.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XIV. WHEN BERTRAM CAME HOME
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      It was a little after half-past three o'clock that afternoon when Bertram
+      Henshaw hurried up Beacon Street toward his home. He had been delayed, and
+      he feared that Miss Winthrop would already have reached the house. Mindful
+      of what Billy had said that morning, he knew how his wife would fret if he
+      were not there when the guest arrived. The sight of what he surmised to be
+      Miss Winthrop's limousine before his door hastened his steps still more.
+      But as he reached the house, he was surprised to find Miss Winthrop
+      herself turning away from the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Miss Winthrop,&rdquo; he cried, &ldquo;you're not going <i>now!</i> You can't
+      have been here any&mdash;yet!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, no, I&mdash;I haven't,&rdquo; retorted the lady, with heightened color
+      and a somewhat peculiar emphasis. &ldquo;My ring wasn't answered.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wasn't answered!&rdquo; Bertram reddened angrily. &ldquo;Why, what can that mean?
+      Where's the maid? Where's my wife? Mrs. Henshaw must be here! She was
+      expecting you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram, in his annoyed amazement, spoke loudly, vehemently. Hence he was
+      quite plainly heard by the group of small boys and girls who had been
+      improving the mild weather for a frolic on the sidewalk, and who had been
+      attracted to his door a moment before by the shining magnet of the
+      Winthrop limousine with its resplendently liveried chauffeur. As Bertram
+      spoke, one of the small girls, Bessie Bailey, stepped forward and piped up
+      a shrill reply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She ain't, Mr. Henshaw! She ain't here. I saw her go away just a little
+      while ago.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram turned sharply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You saw her go away! What do you mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Small Bessie swelled with importance. Bessie was thirteen, in spite of her
+      diminutive height. Bessie's mother was dead, and Bessie's caretakers were
+      gossiping nurses and servants, who frequently left in her way books that
+      were much too old for Bessie to read&mdash;but she read them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I mean she ain't here&mdash;your wife, Mr. Henshaw. She went away. I saw
+      her. I guess likely she's eloped, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eloped!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bessie swelled still more importantly. To her experienced eyes the
+      situation contained all the necessary elements for the customary flight of
+      the heroine in her story-books, as here, now, was the irate, deserted
+      husband.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sure! And 'twas just before you came&mdash;quite a while before. A big
+      shiny black automobile like this drove up&mdash;only it wasn't quite such
+      a nice one&mdash;an' Mrs. Henshaw an' a man came out of your house an' got
+      in, an' drove right away <i>quick!</i> They just ran to get into it, too&mdash;didn't
+      they?&rdquo; She appealed to her young mates grouped about her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A chorus of shrill exclamations brought Mr. Bertram Henshaw suddenly to
+      his senses. By a desperate effort he hid his angry annoyance as he turned
+      to the manifestly embarrassed young woman who was already descending the
+      steps.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My dear Miss Winthrop,&rdquo; he apologized contritely, &ldquo;I'm sure you'll
+      forgive this seeming great rudeness on the part of my wife.
+      Notwithstanding the lurid tales of our young friends here, I suspect
+      nothing more serious has happened than that my wife has been hastily
+      summoned to Aunt Hannah, perhaps. Or, of course, she may not have
+      understood that you were coming to-day at half-past three&mdash;though I
+      thought she did. But I'm so sorry&mdash;when you were so kind as to come&mdash;&rdquo;
+       Miss Winthrop interrupted with a quick gesture.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Say no more, I beg of you,&rdquo; she entreated. &ldquo;Mrs. Henshaw is quite
+      excusable, I'm sure. Please don't give it another thought,&rdquo; she finished,
+      as with a hurried direction to the man who was holding open the door of
+      her car, she stepped inside and bowed her good-byes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram, with stern self-control, forced himself to walk nonchalantly up
+      his steps, leisurely take out his key, and open his door, under the
+      interested eyes of Bessie Bailey and her friends; but once beyond their
+      hateful stare, his demeanor underwent a complete change. Throwing aside
+      his hat and coat, he strode to the telephone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, is that you, Aunt Hannah?&rdquo; he called crisply, a moment later. &ldquo;Well,
+      if Billy's there will you tell her I want to speak to her, please?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy?&rdquo; answered Aunt Hannah's slow, gentle tones. &ldquo;Why, my dear boy,
+      Billy isn't here!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She isn't? Well, when did she leave? She's been there, hasn't she?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, I don't think so, but I'll see, if you like. Mrs. Greggory and I
+      have just this minute come in from an automobile ride. We would have
+      stayed longer, but it began to get chilly, and I forgot to take one of the
+      shawls that I'd laid out.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes; well, if you will see, please, if Billy has been there, and when she
+      left,&rdquo; said Bertram, with grim self-control.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right. I'll see,&rdquo; murmured Aunt Hannah. In a few moments her voice
+      again sounded across the wires. &ldquo;Why, no, Bertram, Rosa says she hasn't
+      been here since yesterday. Isn't she there somewhere about the house?
+      Didn't you know where she was going?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, no, I didn't&mdash;else I shouldn't have been asking you,&rdquo; snapped
+      the irate Bertram and hung up the receiver with most rude haste, thereby
+      cutting off an astounded &ldquo;Oh, my grief and conscience!&rdquo; in the middle of
+      it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The next ten minutes Bertram spent in going through the whole house, from
+      garret to basement. Needless to say, he found nothing to enlighten him, or
+      to soothe his temper. Four o'clock came, then half-past, and five. At five
+      Bertram began to look for Eliza, but in vain. At half-past five he watched
+      for William; but William, too, did not come.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram was pacing the floor now, nervously. He was a little frightened,
+      but more mortified and angry. That Billy should have allowed Miss Winthrop
+      to call by appointment only to find no hostess, no message, no maid, even,
+      to answer her ring&mdash;it was inexcusable! Impulsiveness,
+      unconventionality, and girlish irresponsibility were all very delightful,
+      of course&mdash;at times; but not now, certainly. Billy was not a girl any
+      longer. She was a married woman. <i>Something</i> was due to him, her
+      husband! A pretty picture he must have made on those steps, trying to
+      apologize for a truant wife, and to laugh off that absurd Bessie Bailey's
+      preposterous assertion at the same time! What would Miss Winthrop think?
+      What could she think? Bertram fairly ground his teeth with chagrin, at the
+      situation in which he found himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Nor were matters helped any by the fact that Bertram was hungry. Bertram's
+      luncheon had been meager and unsatisfying. That the kitchen down-stairs
+      still remained in silent, spotless order instead of being astir with the
+      sounds and smells of a good dinner (as it should have been) did not
+      improve his temper. Where Billy was he could not imagine. He thought, once
+      or twice, of calling up some of her friends; but something held him back
+      from that&mdash;though he did try to get Marie, knowing very well that she
+      was probably over to the new house and would not answer. He was not
+      surprised, therefore, when he received no reply to his ring.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That there was the slightest truth in Bessie Bailey's absurd &ldquo;elopement&rdquo;
+       idea, Bertram did not, of course, for an instant believe. The only thing
+      that rankled about that was the fact that she had suggested such a thing,
+      and that Miss Winthrop and those silly children had heard her. He
+      recognized half of Bessie's friends as neighborhood youngsters, and he
+      knew very well that there would be many a quiet laugh at his expense
+      around various Beacon Street dinner-tables that night. At the thought of
+      those dinner-tables, he scowled again. <i>He</i> had no dinner-table&mdash;at
+      least, he had no dinner on it!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Who the man might be Bertram thought he could easily guess. It was either
+      Arkwright or Calderwell, of course; and probably that tiresome Alice
+      Greggory was mixed up in it somehow. He did wish Billy&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Six o'clock came, then half-past. Bertram was indeed frightened now, but
+      he was more angry, and still more hungry. He had, in fact, reached that
+      state of blind unreasonableness said to be peculiar to hungry males from
+      time immemorial.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At ten minutes of seven a key clicked in the lock of the outer door, and
+      William and Billy entered the hall.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was almost dark. Bertram could not see their faces. He had not lighted
+      the hall at all.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; he began sharply, &ldquo;is this the way you receive your callers,
+      Billy? I came home and found Miss Winthrop just leaving&mdash;no one here
+      to receive her! Where've you been? Where's Eliza? Where's my dinner? Of
+      course I don't mean to scold, Billy, but there is a limit to even my
+      patience&mdash;and it's reached now. I can't help suggesting that if you
+      would tend to your husband and your home a little more, and go
+      gallivanting off with Calderwell and Arkwright and Alice Greggory a little
+      less, that&mdash;Where is Eliza, anyway?&rdquo; he finished irritably, switching
+      on the lights with a snap.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a moment of dead silence. At Bertram's first words Billy and
+      William had stopped short. Neither had moved since. Now William turned and
+      began to speak, but Billy interrupted. She met her husband's gaze
+      steadily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I will be down at once to get your dinner,&rdquo; she said quietly. &ldquo;Eliza will
+      not come to-night. Pete is dead.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram started forward with a quick cry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dead! Oh, Billy! Then you were&mdash;<i>there!</i> Billy!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But his wife did not apparently hear him. She passed him without turning
+      her head, and went on up the stairs, leaving him to meet the sorrowful,
+      accusing eyes of William.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XV. AFTER THE STORM
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      The young husband's apologies were profuse and abject. Bertram was
+      heartily ashamed of himself, and was man enough to acknowledge it. Almost
+      on his knees he begged Billy to forgive him; and in a frenzy of
+      self-denunciation he followed her down into the kitchen that night,
+      piteously beseeching her to speak to him, to just <i>look</i> at him,
+      even, so that he might know he was not utterly despised&mdash;though he
+      did, indeed, deserve to be more than despised, he moaned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At first Billy did not speak, or even vouchsafe a glance in his direction.
+      Very quietly she went about her preparations for a simple meal, paying
+      apparently no more attention to Bertram than as if he were not there. But
+      that her ears were only seemingly, and not really deaf, was shown very
+      clearly a little later, when, at a particularly abject wail on the part of
+      the babbling shadow at her heels, Billy choked into a little gasp, half
+      laughter, half sob. It was all over then. Bertram had her in his arms in a
+      twinkling, while to the floor clattered and rolled a knife and a
+      half-peeled baked potato.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Naturally, after that, there could be no more dignified silences on the
+      part of the injured wife. There were, instead, half-smiles, tears, sobs, a
+      tremulous telling of Pete's going and his messages, followed by a tearful
+      listening to Bertram's story of the torture he had endured at the hands of
+      Miss Winthrop, Bessie Bailey, and an empty, dinnerless house. And thus, in
+      one corner of the kitchen, some time later, a hungry, desperate William
+      found them, the half-peeled, cold baked potato still at their feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Torn between his craving for food and his desire not to interfere with any
+      possible peace-making, William was obviously hesitating what to do, when
+      Billy glanced up and saw him. She saw, too, at the same time, the empty,
+      blazing gas-stove burner, and the pile of half-prepared potatoes, to warm
+      which the burner had long since been lighted. With a little cry she broke
+      away from her husband's arms.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mercy! and here's poor Uncle William, bless his heart, with not a thing
+      to eat yet!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They all got dinner then, together, with many a sigh and quick-coming tear
+      as everywhere they met some sad reminder of the gentle old hands that
+      would never again minister to their comfort.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a silent meal, and little, after all, was eaten, though brave
+      attempts at cheerfulness and naturalness were made by all three. Bertram,
+      especially, talked, and tried to make sure that the shadow on Billy's face
+      was at least not the one his own conduct had brought there.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;For you do&mdash;you surely do forgive me, don't you?&rdquo; he begged, as he
+      followed her into the kitchen after the sorry meal was over.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, yes, dear, yes,&rdquo; sighed Billy, trying to smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And you'll forget?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was no answer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy! And you'll forget?&rdquo; Bertram's voice was insistent, reproachful.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy changed color and bit her lip. She looked plainly distressed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy!&rdquo; cried the man, still more reproachfully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, Bertram, I can't forget&mdash;quite yet,&rdquo; faltered Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram frowned. For a minute he looked as if he were about to take up the
+      matter seriously and argue it with her; but the next moment he smiled and
+      tossed his head with jaunty playfulness&mdash;Bertram, to tell the truth,
+      had now had quite enough of what he privately termed &ldquo;scenes&rdquo; and
+      &ldquo;heroics&rdquo;; and, manlike, he was very ardently longing for the old
+      easy-going friendliness, with all unpleasantness banished to oblivion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, but you'll have to forget,&rdquo; he claimed, with cheery insistence, &ldquo;for
+      you've promised to forgive me&mdash;and one can't forgive without
+      forgetting. So, there!&rdquo; he finished, with a smilingly determined
+      &ldquo;now-everything-is-just-as-it-was-before&rdquo; air.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy made no response. She turned hurriedly and began to busy herself
+      with the dishes at the sink. In her heart she was wondering: could she
+      ever forget what Bertram had said? Would anything ever blot out those
+      awful words: &ldquo;If you would tend to your husband and your home a little
+      more, and go gallivanting off with Calderwell and Arkwright and Alice
+      Greggory a little less&mdash;&ldquo;? It seemed now that always, for evermore,
+      they would ring in her ears; always, for evermore, they would burn deeper
+      and deeper into her soul. And not once, in all Bertram's apologies, had he
+      referred to them&mdash;those words he had uttered. He had not said he did
+      not mean them. He had not said he was sorry he spoke them. He had ignored
+      them; and he expected that now she, too, would ignore them. As if she
+      could!&rdquo; If you would tend to your husband and your home a little more, and
+      go gallivanting off with Calderwell and Arkwright and Alice Greggory a
+      little less&mdash;&rdquo; Oh, if only she could, indeed,&mdash;forget!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When Billy went up-stairs that night she ran across her &ldquo;Talk to Young
+      Wives&rdquo; in her desk. With a half-stifled cry she thrust it far back out of
+      sight.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I hate you, I hate you&mdash;with all your old talk about 'brushing up
+      against outside interests'!&rdquo; she whispered fiercely. &ldquo;Well, I've 'brushed'&mdash;and
+      now see what I've got for it!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Later, however, after Bertram was asleep, Billy crept out of bed and got
+      the book. Under the carefully shaded lamp in the adjoining room she turned
+      the pages softly till she came to the sentence: &ldquo;Perhaps it would be hard
+      to find a more utterly unreasonable, irritable, irresponsible creature
+      than a hungry man.&rdquo; With a long sigh she began to read; and not until some
+      minutes later did she close the book, turn off the light, and steal back
+      to bed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      During the next three days, until after the funeral at the shabby little
+      South Boston house, Eliza spent only about half of each day at the Strata.
+      This, much to her distress, left many of the household tasks for her young
+      mistress to perform. Billy, however, attacked each new duty with a
+      feverish eagerness that seemed to make the performance of it very like
+      some glad penance done for past misdeeds. And when&mdash;on the day after
+      they had laid the old servant in his last resting place&mdash;a despairing
+      message came from Eliza to the effect that now her mother was very ill,
+      and would need her care, Billy promptly told Eliza to stay as long as was
+      necessary; that they could get along all right without her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, Billy, what <i>are</i> we going to do?&rdquo; Bertram demanded, when he
+      heard the news. &ldquo;We must have somebody!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;<i>I'm</i> going to do it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense! As if you could!&rdquo; scoffed Bertram.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy lifted her chin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Couldn't I, indeed,&rdquo; she retorted. &ldquo;Do you realize, young man, how much
+      I've done the last three days? How about those muffins you had this
+      morning for breakfast, and that cake last night? And didn't you yourself
+      say that you never ate a better pudding than that date puff yesterday
+      noon?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram laughed and shrugged his shoulders.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My dear love, I'm not questioning your <i>ability</i> to do it,&rdquo; he
+      soothed quickly. &ldquo;Still,&rdquo; he added, with a whimsical smile, &ldquo;I must remind
+      you that Eliza has been here half the time, and that muffins and date
+      puffs, however delicious, aren't all there is to running a big house like
+      this. Besides, just be sensible, Billy,&rdquo; he went on more seriously, as he
+      noted the rebellious gleam coming into his young wife's eyes; &ldquo;you'd know
+      you couldn't do it, if you'd just stop to think. There's the Carletons
+      coming to dinner Monday, and my studio Tea to-morrow, to say nothing of
+      the Symphony and the opera, and the concerts you'd lose because you were
+      too dead tired to go to them. You know how it was with that concert
+      yesterday afternoon which Alice Greggory wanted you to go to with her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I didn't&mdash;want&mdash;to go,&rdquo; choked Billy, under her breath.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And there's your music. You haven't done a thing with that for days, yet
+      only last week you told me the publishers were hurrying you for that last
+      song to complete the group.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I haven't felt like&mdash;writing,&rdquo; stammered Billy, still half under her
+      breath.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course you haven't,&rdquo; triumphed Bertram. &ldquo;You've been too dead tired.
+      And that's just what I say. Billy, you <i>can't</i> do it all yourself!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I want to. I want to&mdash;to tend to things,&rdquo; faltered Billy, with a
+      half-fearful glance into her husband's face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy was hearing very loudly now that accusing &ldquo;If you'd tend to your
+      husband and your home a little more&mdash;&rdquo; Bertram, however, was not
+      hearing it, evidently. Indeed, he seemed never to have heard it&mdash;much
+      less to have spoken it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Tend to things,'&rdquo; he laughed lightly. &ldquo;Well, you'll have enough to do to
+      tend to the maid, I fancy. Anyhow, we're going to have one. I'll just step
+      into one of those&mdash;what do you call 'em?&mdash;intelligence offices
+      on my way down and send one up,&rdquo; he finished, as he gave his wife a
+      good-by kiss.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      An hour later Billy, struggling with the broom and the drawing-room
+      carpet, was called to the telephone. It was her husband's voice that came
+      to her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, for heaven's sake, take pity on me. Won't you put on your duds and
+      come and engage your maid yourself?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Bertram, what's the matter?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Matter? Holy smoke! Well, I've been to three of those intelligence
+      offices&mdash;though why they call them that I can't imagine. If ever
+      there was a place utterly devoid of intelligence-but never mind! I've
+      interviewed four fat ladies, two thin ones, and one medium with a wart.
+      I've cheerfully divulged all our family secrets, promised every other
+      half-hour out, and taken oath that our household numbers three adult
+      members, and no more; but I simply <i>can't</i> remember how many
+      handkerchiefs we have in the wash each week. Billy, will you come? Maybe
+      you can do something with them. I'm sure you can!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, of course I'll come,&rdquo; chirped Billy. &ldquo;Where shall I meet you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram gave the street and number.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good! I'll be there,&rdquo; promised Billy, as she hung up the receiver.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Quite forgetting the broom in the middle of the drawing-room floor, Billy
+      tripped up-stairs to change her dress. On her lips was a gay little song.
+      In her heart was joy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I rather guess <i>now</i> I'm tending to my husband and my home!&rdquo; she was
+      crowing to herself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Just as Billy was about to leave the house the telephone bell jangled
+      again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was Alice Greggory.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, dear,&rdquo; she called, &ldquo;can't you come out? Mr. Arkwright and Mr.
+      Calderwell are here, and they've brought some new music. We want you. Will
+      you come?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can't, dear. Bertram wants me. He's sent for me. I've got some <i>housewifely</i>
+      duties to perform to-day,&rdquo; returned Billy, in a voice so curiously
+      triumphant that Alice, at her end of the wires, frowned in puzzled wonder
+      as she turned away from the telephone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XVI. INTO TRAINING FOR MARY ELLEN
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Bertram told a friend afterwards that he never knew the meaning of the
+      word &ldquo;chaos&rdquo; until he had seen the Strata during the weeks immediately
+      following the laying away of his old servant.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Every stratum was aquiver with apprehension,&rdquo; he declared; &ldquo;and there was
+      never any telling when the next grand upheaval would rock the whole
+      structure to its foundations.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Nor was Bertram so far from being right. It was, indeed, a chaos, as none
+      knew better than did Bertram's wife.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Poor Billy! Sorry indeed were these days for Billy; and, as if to make her
+      cup of woe full to overflowing, there were Sister Kate's epistolary &ldquo;I
+      told you so,&rdquo; and Aunt Hannah's ever recurring lament: &ldquo;If only, Billy,
+      you were a practical housekeeper yourself, they wouldn't impose on you
+      so!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah, to be sure, offered Rosa, and Kate, by letter, offered advice&mdash;plenty
+      of it. But Billy, stung beyond all endurance, and fairly radiating hurt
+      pride and dogged determination, disdained all assistance, and, with head
+      held high, declared she was getting along very well, very well indeed!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And this was the way she &ldquo;got along.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      First came Nora. Nora was a blue-eyed, black-haired Irish girl, the sixth
+      that the despairing Billy had interviewed on that fateful morning when
+      Bertram had summoned her to his aid. Nora stayed two days. During her
+      reign the entire Strata echoed to banged doors, dropped china, and slammed
+      furniture. At her departure the Henshaws' possessions were less by four
+      cups, two saucers, one plate, one salad bowl, two cut glass tumblers, and
+      a teapot&mdash;the latter William's choicest bit of Lowestoft.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Olga came next. Olga was a Treasure. She was low-voiced, gentle-eyed, and
+      a good cook. She stayed a week. By that time the growing frequency of the
+      disappearance of sundry small articles of value and convenience led to
+      Billy's making a reluctant search of Olga's room&mdash;and to Olga's
+      departure; for the room was, indeed, a treasure house, the Treasure having
+      gathered unto itself other treasures.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Following Olga came a period of what Bertram called &ldquo;one night stands,&rdquo; so
+      frequently were the dramatis personæ below stairs changed. Gretchen drank.
+      Christine knew only four words of English: salt, good-by, no, and yes; and
+      Billy found need occasionally of using other words. Mary was impertinent
+      and lazy. Jennie could not even boil a potato properly, much less cook a
+      dinner. Sarah (colored) was willing and pleasant, but insufferably untidy.
+      Bridget was neatness itself, but she had no conception of the value of
+      time. Her meals were always from thirty to sixty minutes late, and
+      half-cooked at that. Vera sang&mdash;when she wasn't whistling&mdash;and
+      as she was generally off the key, and always off the tune, her almost
+      frantic mistress dismissed her before twenty-four hours had passed. Then
+      came Mary Ellen.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mary Ellen began well. She was neat, capable, and obliging; but it did not
+      take her long to discover just how much&mdash;and how little&mdash;her
+      mistress really knew of practical housekeeping. Matters and things were
+      very different then. Mary Ellen became argumentative, impertinent, and
+      domineering. She openly shirked her work, when it pleased her so to do,
+      and demanded perquisites and privileges so insolently that even William
+      asked Billy one day whether Mary Ellen or Billy herself were the mistress
+      of the Strata: and Bertram, with mock humility, inquired how <i>soon</i>
+      Mary Ellen would be wanting the house. Billy, in weary despair, submitted
+      to this bullying for almost a week; then, in a sudden accession of
+      outraged dignity that left Mary Ellen gasping with surprise, she told the
+      girl to go.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And thus the days passed. The maids came and the maids went, and, to
+      Billy, each one seemed a little worse than the one before. Nowhere was
+      there comfort, rest, or peacefulness. The nights were a torture of
+      apprehension, and the days an even greater torture of fulfilment. Noise,
+      confusion, meals poorly cooked and worse served, dust, disorder, and
+      uncertainty. And this was <i>home</i>, Billy told herself bitterly. No
+      wonder that Bertram telephoned more and more frequently that he had met a
+      friend, and was dining in town. No wonder that William pushed back his
+      plate almost every meal with his food scarcely touched, and then wandered
+      about the house with that hungry, homesick, homeless look that nearly
+      broke her heart. No wonder, indeed!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And so it had come. It was true. Aunt Hannah and Kate and the &ldquo;Talk to
+      Young Wives&rdquo; were right. She had not been fit to marry Bertram. She had
+      not been fit to marry anybody. Her honeymoon was not only waning, but
+      going into a total eclipse. Had not Bertram already declared that if she
+      would tend to her husband and her home a little more&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy clenched her small hands and set her round chin squarely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Very well, she would show them. She would tend to her husband and her
+      home. She fancied she could <i>learn</i> to run that house, and run it
+      well! And forthwith she descended to the kitchen and told the then
+      reigning tormentor that her wages would be paid until the end of the week,
+      but that her services would be immediately dispensed with.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy was well aware now that housekeeping was a matter of more than
+      muffins and date puffs. She could gauge, in a measure, the magnitude of
+      the task to which she had set herself. But she did not falter; and very
+      systematically she set about making her plans.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With a good stout woman to come in twice a week for the heavier work, she
+      believed she could manage by herself very well until Eliza could come
+      back. At least she could serve more palatable meals than the most of those
+      that had appeared lately; and at least she could try to make a home that
+      would not drive Bertram to club dinners, and Uncle William to hungry
+      wanderings from room to room. Meanwhile, all the time, she could be
+      learning, and in due course she would reach that shining goal of
+      Housekeeping Efficiency, short of which&mdash;according to Aunt Hannah and
+      the &ldquo;Talk to Young Wives&rdquo;&mdash;no woman need hope for a waneless
+      honeymoon.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So chaotic and erratic had been the household service, and so quietly did
+      Billy slip into her new role, that it was not until the second meal after
+      the maid's departure that the master of the house discovered what had
+      happened. Then, as his wife rose to get some forgotten article, he
+      questioned, with uplifted eyebrows:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Too good to wait upon us, is my lady now, eh?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My lady is waiting on you,&rdquo; smiled Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I see <i>this</i> lady is,&rdquo; retorted Bertram, grimly; &ldquo;but I mean
+      our real lady in the kitchen. Great Scott, Billy, how long are you going
+      to stand this?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy tossed her head airily, though she shook in her shoes. Billy had
+      been dreading this moment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm not standing it. She's gone,&rdquo; responded Billy, cheerfully, resuming
+      her seat. &ldquo;Uncle William, sha'n't I give you some more pudding?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Gone, so soon?&rdquo; groaned Bertram, as William passed his plate, with a
+      smiling nod. &ldquo;Oh, well,&rdquo; went on Bertram, resignedly, &ldquo;she stayed longer
+      than the last one. When is the next one coming?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She's already here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram frowned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here? But&mdash;you served the dessert, and&mdash;&rdquo; At something in
+      Billy's face, a quick suspicion came into his own. &ldquo;Billy, you don't mean
+      that you&mdash;<i>you</i>&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; she nodded brightly, &ldquo;that's just what I mean. I'm the next one.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense!&rdquo; exploded Bertram, wrathfully. &ldquo;Oh, come, Billy, we've been all
+      over this before. You know I can't have it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, you can. You've got to have it,&rdquo; retorted Billy, still with that
+      disarming, airy cheerfulness. &ldquo;Besides, 'twon't be half so bad as you
+      think. Wasn't that a good pudding to-night? Didn't you both come back for
+      more? Well, I made it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Puddings!&rdquo; ejaculated Bertram, with an impatient gesture. &ldquo;Billy, as I've
+      said before, it takes something besides puddings to run this house.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I know it does,&rdquo; dimpled Billy, &ldquo;and I've got Mrs. Durgin for that
+      part. She's coming twice a week, and more, if I need her. Why, dearie, you
+      don't know anything about how comfortable you're going to be! I'll leave
+      it to Uncle William if&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But Uncle William had gone. Silently he had slipped from his chair and
+      disappeared. Uncle William, it might be mentioned in passing, had never
+      quite forgotten Aunt Hannah's fateful call with its dire revelations
+      concerning a certain unwanted, superfluous, third-party husband's brother.
+      Remembering this, there were times when he thought absence was both safest
+      and best. This was one of the times.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, Billy, dear,&rdquo; still argued Bertram, irritably, &ldquo;how can you? You
+      don't know how. You've had no experience.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy threw back her shoulders. An ominous light came to her eyes. She was
+      no longer airily playful.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's exactly it, Bertram. I don't know how&mdash;but I'm going to
+      learn. I haven't had experience&mdash;but I'm going to get it. I <i>can't</i>
+      make a worse mess of it than we've had ever since Eliza went, anyway!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But if you'd get a maid&mdash;a good maid,&rdquo; persisted Bertram, feebly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I had <i>one</i>&mdash;Mary Ellen. She was a good maid&mdash;until she
+      found out how little her mistress knew; then&mdash;well, you know what it
+      was then. Do you think I'd let that thing happen to me again? No, sir! I'm
+      going into training for&mdash;my next Mary Ellen!&rdquo; And with a very
+      majestic air Billy rose from the table and began to clear away the dishes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XVII. THE EFFICIENCY STAR&mdash;AND BILLY
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Billy was not a young woman that did things by halves. Long ago, in the
+      days of her childhood, her Aunt Ella had once said of her: &ldquo;If only Billy
+      didn't go into things all over, so; but whether it's measles or mud pies,
+      I always know that she'll be the measliest or the muddiest of any child in
+      town!&rdquo; It could not be expected, therefore, that Billy would begin to play
+      her new rôle now with any lack of enthusiasm. But even had she needed any
+      incentive, there was still ever ringing in her ears Bertram's accusing:
+      &ldquo;If you'd tend to your husband and your home a little more&mdash;&rdquo; Billy
+      still declared very emphatically that she had forgiven Bertram; but she
+      knew, in her heart, that she had not forgotten.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Certainly, as the days passed, it could not be said that Billy was not
+      tending to her husband and her home. From morning till night, now, she
+      tended to nothing else. She seldom touched her piano&mdash;save to dust it&mdash;and
+      she never touched her half-finished song-manuscript, long since banished
+      to the oblivion of the music cabinet. She made no calls except occasional
+      flying visits to the Annex, or to the pretty new home where Marie and
+      Cyril were now delightfully settled. The opera and the Symphony were over
+      for the season, but even had they not been, Billy could not have attended
+      them. She had no time. Surely she was not doing any &ldquo;gallivanting&rdquo; now,
+      she told herself sometimes, a little aggrievedly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was, indeed, no time. From morning until night Billy was busy,
+      flying from one task to another. Her ambition to have everything just
+      right was equalled only by her dogged determination to &ldquo;just show them&rdquo;
+       that she could do this thing. At first, of course, hampered as she was by
+      ignorance and inexperience, each task consumed about twice as much time as
+      was necessary. Yet afterwards, when accustomedness had brought its reward
+      of speed, there was still for Billy no time; for increased knowledge had
+      only opened the way to other paths, untrodden and alluring. Study of
+      cookbooks had led to the study of food values. Billy discovered suddenly
+      that potatoes, beef, onions, oranges, and puddings were something besides
+      vegetables, meat, fruit, and dessert. They possessed attributes known as
+      proteids, fats, and carbohydrates. Faint memories of long forgotten school
+      days hinted that these terms had been heard before; but never, Billy was
+      sure, had she fully realized what they meant.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was at this juncture that Billy ran across a book entitled &ldquo;Correct
+      Eating for Efficiency.&rdquo; She bought it at once, and carried it home in
+      triumph. It proved to be a marvelous book. Billy had not read two chapters
+      before she began to wonder how the family had managed to live thus far
+      with any sort of success, in the face of their dense ignorance and her own
+      criminal carelessness concerning their daily bill of fare.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At dinner that night Billy told Bertram and William of her discovery, and,
+      with growing excitement, dilated on the wonderful good that it was to
+      bring to them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, you don't know, you can't imagine what a treasure it is!&rdquo; she
+      exclaimed. &ldquo;It gives a complete table for the exact balancing of food.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;For what?&rdquo; demanded Bertram, glancing up.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The exact balancing of food; and this book says that's the biggest
+      problem that modern scientists have to solve.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph!&rdquo; shrugged Bertram. &ldquo;Well, you just balance my food to my hunger,
+      and I'll agree not to complain.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, but, Bertram, it's serious, really,&rdquo; urged Billy, looking genuinely
+      distressed. &ldquo;Why, it says that what you eat goes to make up what you are.
+      It makes your vital energies. Your brain power and your body power come
+      from what you eat. Don't you see? If you're going to paint a picture you
+      need something different from what you would if you were going to&mdash;to
+      saw wood; and what this book tells is&mdash;is what I ought to give you to
+      make you do each one, I should think, from what I've read so far. Now
+      don't you see how important it is? What if I should give you the saw-wood
+      kind of a breakfast when you were just going up-stairs to paint all day?
+      And what if I should give Uncle William a&mdash;a soldier's breakfast when
+      all he is going to do is to go down on State Street and sit still all
+      day?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But&mdash;but, my dear,&rdquo; began Uncle William, looking slightly worried,
+      &ldquo;there's my eggs that I <i>always</i> have, you know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;For heaven's sake, Billy, what <i>have</i> you got hold of now?&rdquo; demanded
+      Bertram, with just a touch of irritation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed merrily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I suppose I didn't sound very logical,&rdquo; she admitted. &ldquo;But the book&mdash;you
+      just wait. It's in the kitchen. I'm going to get it.&rdquo; And with laughing
+      eagerness she ran from the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In a moment she had returned, book in hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now listen. <i>This</i> is the real thing&mdash;not my garbled
+      inaccuracies. 'The food which we eat serves three purposes: it builds the
+      body substance, bone, muscle, etc., it produces heat in the body, and it
+      generates vital energy. Nitrogen in different chemical combinations
+      contributes largely to the manufacture of body substances; the fats
+      produce heat; and the starches and sugars go to make the vital energy. The
+      nitrogenous food elements we call proteins; the fats and oils, fats; and
+      the starches and sugars (because of the predominance of carbon), we call
+      carbohydrates. Now in selecting the diet for the day you should take care
+      to choose those foods which give the proteins, fats, and carbohydrates in
+      just the right proportion.'&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Billy!&rdquo; groaned Bertram.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But it's so, Bertram,&rdquo; maintained Billy, anxiously. &ldquo;And it's every bit
+      here. I don't have to guess at it at all. They even give the quantities of
+      calories of energy required for different sized men. I'm going to measure
+      you both to-morrow; and you must be weighed, too,&rdquo; she continued, ignoring
+      the sniffs of remonstrance from her two listeners. &ldquo;Then I'll know just
+      how many calories to give each of you. They say a man of average size and
+      weight, and sedentary occupation, should have at least 2,000 calories&mdash;and
+      some authorities say 3,000&mdash;in this proportion: proteins, 300
+      calories, fats, 350 calories, carbohydrates, 1,350 calories. But you both
+      are taller than five feet five inches, and I should think you weighed more
+      than 145 pounds; so I can't tell just yet how many calories you will
+      need.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How many we will need, indeed!&rdquo; ejaculated Bertram.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, my dear, you know I have to have my eggs,&rdquo; began Uncle William
+      again, in a worried voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course you do, dear; and you shall have them,&rdquo; soothed Billy,
+      brightly. &ldquo;It's only that I'll have to be careful and balance up the other
+      things for the day accordingly. Don't you see? Now listen. We'll see what
+      eggs are.&rdquo; She turned the leaves rapidly. &ldquo;Here's the food table. It's
+      lovely. It tells everything. I never saw anything so wonderful. A&mdash;b&mdash;c&mdash;d&mdash;e&mdash;here
+      we are. 'Eggs, scrambled or boiled, fats and proteins, one egg, 100.' If
+      it's poached it's only 50; but you like yours boiled, so we'll have to
+      reckon on the 100. And you always have two, so that means 200 calories in
+      fats and proteins. Now, don't you see? If you can't have but 300 proteins
+      and 350 fats all day, and you've already eaten 200 in your two eggs,
+      that'll leave just&mdash;er&mdash;450 for all the rest of the day,&mdash;of
+      fats and proteins, you understand. And you've no idea how fast that'll
+      count up. Why, just one serving of butter is 100 of fats, and eight
+      almonds is another, while a serving of lentils is 100 of proteins. So you
+      see how it'll go.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I see,&rdquo; murmured Uncle William, casting a mournful glance about the
+      generously laden table, much as if he were bidding farewell to a departing
+      friend. &ldquo;But if I should want more to eat&mdash;&rdquo; He stopped helplessly,
+      and Bertram's aggrieved voice filled the pause.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Look here, Billy, if you think I'm going to be measured for an egg and
+      weighed for an almond, you're much mistaken; because I'm not. I want to
+      eat what I like, and as much as I like, whether it's six calories or six
+      thousand!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy chuckled, but she raised her hands in pretended shocked protest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Six thousand! Mercy! Bertram, I don't know what would happen if you ate
+      that quantity; but I'm sure you couldn't paint. You'd just have to saw
+      wood and dig ditches to use up all that vital energy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph!&rdquo; scoffed Bertram.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Besides, this is for <i>efficiency</i>,&rdquo; went on Billy, with an earnest
+      air. &ldquo;This man owns up that some may think a 2,000 calory ration is
+      altogether too small, and he advises such to begin with 3,000 or even
+      3,500&mdash;graded, of course, according to a man's size, weight, and
+      occupation. But he says one famous man does splendid work on only 1,800
+      calories, and another on even 1,600. But that is just a matter of chewing.
+      Why, Bertram, you have no idea what perfectly wonderful things chewing
+      does.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I've heard of that,&rdquo; grunted Bertram; &ldquo;ten chews to a cherry, and
+      sixty to a spoonful of soup. There's an old metronome up-stairs that Cyril
+      left. You might bring it down and set it going on the table&mdash;so many
+      ticks to a mouthful, I suppose. I reckon, with an incentive like that to
+      eat, just about two calories would do me. Eh, William?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bertram! Now you're only making fun,&rdquo; chided Billy; &ldquo;and when it's really
+      serious, too. Now listen,&rdquo; she admonished, picking up the book again. &ldquo;'If
+      a man consumes a large amount of meat, and very few vegetables, his diet
+      will be too rich in protein, and too lacking in carbohydrates. On the
+      other hand, if he consumes great quantities of pastry, bread, butter, and
+      tea, his meals will furnish too much energy, and not enough building
+      material.' There, Bertram, don't you see?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes, I see,&rdquo; teased Bertram. &ldquo;William, better eat what you can
+      to-night. I foresee it's the last meal of just <i>food</i> we'll get for
+      some time. Hereafter we'll have proteins, fats, and carbohydrates made
+      into calory croquettes, and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bertram!&rdquo; scolded Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But Bertram would not be silenced.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here, just let me take that book,&rdquo; he insisted, dragging the volume from
+      Billy's reluctant fingers. &ldquo;Now, William, listen. Here's your breakfast
+      to-morrow morning: strawberries, 100 calories; whole-wheat bread, 75
+      calories; butter, 100 calories (no second helping, mind you, or you'd ruin
+      the balance and something would topple); boiled eggs, 200 calories; cocoa,
+      100 calories&mdash;which all comes to 570 calories. Sounds like an English
+      bill of fare with a new kind of foreign money, but 'tisn't, really, you
+      know. Now for luncheon you can have tomato soup, 50 calories; potato salad&mdash;that's
+      cheap, only 30 calories, and&mdash;&rdquo; But Billy pulled the book away then,
+      and in righteous indignation carried it to the kitchen.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You don't deserve anything to eat,&rdquo; she declared with dignity, as she
+      returned to the dining-room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No?&rdquo; queried Bertram, his eyebrows uplifted. &ldquo;Well, as near as I can make
+      out we aren't going to get&mdash;much.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But Billy did not deign to answer this.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In spite of Bertram's tormenting gibes, Billy did, for some days, arrange
+      her meals in accordance with the wonderful table of food given in &ldquo;Correct
+      Eating for Efficiency.&rdquo; To be sure, Bertram, whatever he found before him
+      during those days, anxiously asked whether he were eating fats, proteins,
+      or carbohydrates; and he worried openly as to the possibility of his
+      meal's producing one calory too much or too little, thus endangering his
+      &ldquo;balance.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy alternately laughed and scolded, to the unvarying good nature of her
+      husband. As it happened, however, even this was not for long, for Billy
+      ran across a magazine article on food adulteration; and this so filled her
+      with terror lest, in the food served, she were killing her family by slow
+      poison, that she forgot all about the proteins, fats, and carbohydrates.
+      Her talk these days was of formaldehyde, benzoate of soda, and salicylic
+      acid.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Very soon, too, Billy discovered an exclusive Back Bay school for
+      instruction in household economics and domestic hygiene. Billy
+      investigated it at once, and was immediately aflame with enthusiasm. She
+      told Bertram that it taught everything, <i>everything</i> she wanted to
+      know; and forthwith she enrolled herself as one of its most devoted
+      pupils, in spite of her husband's protests that she knew enough, more than
+      enough, already. This school attendance, to her consternation, Billy
+      discovered took added time; but in some way she contrived to find it to
+      take.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And so the days passed. Eliza's mother, though better, was still too ill
+      for her daughter to leave her. Billy, as the warm weather approached,
+      began to look pale and thin. Billy, to tell the truth, was working
+      altogether too hard; but she would not admit it, even to herself. At first
+      the novelty of the work, and her determination to conquer at all costs,
+      had given a fictitious strength to her endurance. Now that the novelty had
+      become accustomedness, and the conquering a surety, Billy discovered that
+      she had a back that could ache, and limbs that, at times, could almost
+      refuse to move from weariness. There was still, however, one spur that
+      never failed to urge her to fresh endeavor, and to make her, at least
+      temporarily, forget both ache and weariness; and that was the comforting
+      thought that now, certainly, even Bertram himself must admit that she was
+      tending to her home and her husband.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As to Bertram&mdash;Bertram, it is true, had at first uttered frequent and
+      vehement protests against his wife's absorption of both mind and body in
+      &ldquo;that plaguy housework,&rdquo; as he termed it. But as the days passed, and
+      blessed order superseded chaos, peace followed discord, and delicious,
+      well-served meals took the place of the horrors that had been called meals
+      in the past, he gradually accepted the change with tranquil satisfaction,
+      and forgot to question how it was brought about; though he did still,
+      sometimes, rebel because Billy was always too tired, or too busy, to go
+      out with him. Of late, however, he had not done even this so frequently,
+      for a new &ldquo;Face of a Girl&rdquo; had possessed his soul; and all his thoughts
+      and most of his time had gone to putting on canvas the vision of
+      loveliness that his mind's eye saw.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      By June fifteenth the picture was finished. Bertram awoke then to his
+      surroundings. He found summer was upon him with no plans made for its
+      enjoyment. He found William had started West for a two weeks' business
+      trip. But what he did not find one day&mdash;at least at first&mdash;was
+      his wife, when he came home unexpectedly at four o'clock. And Bertram
+      especially wanted to find his wife that day, for he had met three people
+      whose words had disquieted him not a little. First, Aunt Hannah. She had
+      said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bertram, where is Billy? She hasn't been out to the Annex for a week; and
+      the last time she was there she looked sick. I was real worried about
+      her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Cyril had been next.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where's Billy?&rdquo; he had asked abruptly. &ldquo;Marie says she hasn't seen her
+      for two weeks. Marie's afraid she's sick. She says Billy didn't look well
+      a bit, when she did see her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Calderwell had capped the climax. He had said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Great Scott, Henshaw, where have you been keeping yourself? And where's
+      your wife? Not one of us has caught more than a glimpse of her for weeks.
+      She hasn't sung with us, nor played for us, nor let us take her anywhere
+      for a month of Sundays. Even Miss Greggory says <i>she</i> hasn't seen
+      much of her, and that Billy always says she's too busy to go anywhere. But
+      Miss Greggory says she looks pale and thin, and that <i>she</i> thinks
+      she's worrying too much over running the house. I hope she isn't sick!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, no, Billy isn't sick. Billy's all right,&rdquo; Bertram had answered. He
+      had spoken lightly, nonchalantly, with an elaborate air of carelessness;
+      but after he had left Calderwell, he had turned his steps abruptly and a
+      little hastily toward home.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And he had not found Billy&mdash;at least, not at once. He had gone first
+      down into the kitchen and dining-room. He remembered then, uneasily, that
+      he had always looked for Billy in the kitchen and dining-room, of late.
+      To-day, however, she was not there.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the kitchen table Bertram did see a book wide open, and, mechanically,
+      he picked it up. It was a much-thumbed cookbook, and it was open where two
+      once-blank pages bore his wife's handwriting. On the first page, under the
+      printed heading &ldquo;Things to Remember,&rdquo; he read these sentences:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That rice swells till every dish in the house is full, and that spinach
+      shrinks till you can't find it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That beets boil dry if you look out the window.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That biscuits which look as if they'd been mixed up with a rusty stove
+      poker haven't really been so, but have only got too much undissolved soda
+      in them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There were other sentences, but Bertram's eyes chanced to fall on the
+      opposite page where the &ldquo;Things to Remember&rdquo; had been changed to &ldquo;Things
+      to Forget&rdquo;; and here Billy had written just four words: &ldquo;Burns,&rdquo; &ldquo;cuts,&rdquo;
+       and &ldquo;yesterday's failures.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram dropped the book then with a spasmodic clearing of his throat, and
+      hurriedly resumed his search. When he did find his wife, at last, he gave
+      a cry of dismay&mdash;she was on her own bed, huddled in a little heap,
+      and shaking with sobs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy! Why, Billy!&rdquo; he gasped, striding to the bedside.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy sat up at once, and hastily wiped her eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, is it you, B-Bertram? I didn't hear you come in. You&mdash;you s-said
+      you weren't coming till six o'clock!&rdquo; she choked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, what is the meaning of this?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;N-nothing. I&mdash;I guess I'm just tired.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What have you been doing?&rdquo; Bertram spoke sternly, almost sharply. He was
+      wondering why he had not noticed before the little hollows in his wife's
+      cheeks. &ldquo;Billy, what have you been doing?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, n-nothing extra, only some sweeping, and cleaning out the
+      refrigerator.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sweeping! Cleaning! <i>You!</i> I thought Mrs. Durgin did that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She does. I mean she did. But she couldn't come. She broke her leg&mdash;fell
+      off the stepladder where she was three days ago. So I <i>had</i> to do it.
+      And to-day, someway, everything went wrong. I burned me, and I cut me, and
+      I used two sodas with not any cream of tartar, and I should think I didn't
+      know anything, not anything!&rdquo; And down went Billy's head into the pillows
+      again in another burst of sobs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With gentle yet uncompromising determination, Bertram gathered his wife
+      into his arms and carried her to the big chair. There, for a few minutes,
+      he soothed and petted her as if she were a tired child&mdash;which,
+      indeed, she was.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, this thing has got to stop,&rdquo; he said then. There was a very
+      inexorable ring of decision in his voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What thing?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This housework business.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy sat up with a jerk.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, Bertram, it isn't fair. You can't&mdash;you mustn't&mdash;just
+      because of to-day! I <i>can</i> do it. I have done it. I've done it days
+      and days, and it's gone beautifully&mdash;even if they did say I
+      couldn't!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Couldn't what?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Be an e-efficient housekeeper.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who said you couldn't?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aunt Hannah and K-Kate.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram said a savage word under his breath.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Holy smoke, Billy! I didn't marry you for a cook or a scrub-lady. If you
+      <i>had</i> to do it, that would be another matter, of course; and if we
+      did have to do it, we wouldn't have a big house like this for you to do it
+      in. But I didn't marry for a cook, and I knew I wasn't getting one when I
+      married you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy bridled into instant wrath.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I like that, Bertram Henshaw! Can't I cook? Haven't I proved that I
+      can cook?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram laughed, and kissed the indignant lips till they quivered into an
+      unwilling smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bless your spunky little heart, of course you have! But that doesn't mean
+      that I want you to do it. You see, it so happens that you can do other
+      things, too; and I'd rather you did those. Billy, you haven't played to me
+      for a week, nor sung to me for a month. You're too tired every night to
+      talk, or read together, or go anywhere with me. I married for
+      companionship&mdash;not cooking and sweeping!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy shook her head stubbornly. Her mouth settled into determined lines.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's all very well to say. You aren't hungry now, Bertram. But it's
+      different when you are, and they said 'twould be.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph! 'They' are Aunt Hannah and Kate, I suppose.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes&mdash;and the 'Talk to Young Wives.'&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The w-what?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy choked a little. She had forgotten that Bertram did not know about
+      the &ldquo;Talk to Young Wives.&rdquo; She wished that she had not mentioned the book,
+      but now that she had, she would make the best of it. She drew herself up
+      with dignity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's a book; a very nice book. It says lots of things&mdash;that have
+      come true.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where is that book? Let me see it, please.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      With visible reluctance Billy got down from her perch on Bertram's knee,
+      went to her desk and brought back the book.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram regarded it frowningly, so frowningly that Billy hastened to its
+      defense.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And it's true&mdash;what it says in there, and what Aunt Hannah and Kate
+      said. It <i>is</i> different when they're hungry! You said yourself if I'd
+      tend to my husband and my home a little more, and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram looked up with unfeigned amazement.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I said what?&rdquo; he demanded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In a voice shaken with emotion, Billy repeated the fateful words.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I never&mdash;when did I say that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The night Uncle William and I came home from&mdash;Pete's.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      For a moment Bertram stared dumbly; then a shamed red swept to his
+      forehead.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, <i>did</i> I say that? I ought to be shot if I did. But, Billy,
+      you said you'd forgiven me!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I did, dear&mdash;truly I did; but, don't you see?&mdash;it was true. I
+      <i>hadn't</i> tended to things. So I've been doing it since.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A sudden comprehension illuminated Bertram's face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Heavens, Billy! And is that why you haven't been anywhere, or done
+      anything? Is that why Calderwell said to-day that you hadn't been with
+      them anywhere, and that&mdash;Great Scott, Billy! Did you think I was such
+      a selfish brute as that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, but when I was going with them I <i>was</i> following the book&mdash;I
+      thought,&rdquo; quavered Billy; and hurriedly she turned the leaves to a
+      carefully marked passage. &ldquo;It's there&mdash;about the outside interests.
+      See? I <i>was</i> trying to brush up against them, so that I wouldn't
+      interfere with your Art. Then, when you accused me of gallivanting off
+      with&mdash;&rdquo; But Bertram swept her back into his arms, and not for some
+      minutes could Billy make a coherent speech again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then Bertram spoke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;See here, Billy,&rdquo; he exploded, a little shakily, &ldquo;if I could get you off
+      somewhere on a desert island, where there weren't any Aunt Hannahs or
+      Kates, or Talks to Young Wives, I think there'd be a chance to make you
+      happy; but&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, but there was truth in it,&rdquo; interrupted Billy, sitting erect again.
+      &ldquo;I <i>didn't</i> know how to run a house, and it was perfectly awful while
+      we were having all those dreadful maids, one after the other; and no woman
+      should be a wife who doesn't know&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right, all right, dear,&rdquo; interrupted Bertram, in his turn. &ldquo;We'll
+      concede that point, if you like. But you <i>do</i> know now. You've got
+      the efficient housewife racket down pat even to the last calory your
+      husband should be fed; and I'll warrant there isn't a Mary Ellen in
+      Christendom who can find a spot of ignorance on you as big as a pinhead!
+      So we'll call that settled. What you need now is a good rest; and you're
+      going to have it, too. I'm going to have six Mary Ellens here to-morrow
+      morning. Six! Do you hear? And all you've got to do is to get your
+      gladdest rags together for a trip to Europe with me next month. Because
+      we're going. I shall get the tickets to-morrow, <i>after</i> I send the
+      six Mary Ellens packing up here. Now come, put on your bonnet. We're going
+      down town to dinner.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XVIII. BILLY TRIES HER HAND AT &ldquo;MANAGING&rdquo;
+     </h2>
+    <p>
+      Bertram did not engage six Mary Ellens the next morning, nor even one, as
+      it happened; for that evening, Eliza&mdash;who had not been unaware of
+      conditions at the Strata&mdash;telephoned to say that her mother was so
+      much better now she believed she could be spared to come to the Strata for
+      several hours each day, if Mrs. Henshaw would like to have her begin in
+      that way.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy agreed promptly, and declared herself as more than willing to put up
+      with such an arrangement. Bertram, it is true, when he heard of the plan,
+      rebelled, and asserted that what Billy needed was a rest, an entire rest
+      from care and labor. In fact, what he wanted her to do, he said, was to
+      gallivant&mdash;to gallivant all day long.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense!&rdquo; Billy had laughed, coloring to the tips of her ears. &ldquo;Besides,
+      as for the work, Bertram, with just you and me here, and with all my vast
+      experience now, and Eliza here for several hours every day, it'll be
+      nothing but play for this little time before we go away. You'll see!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right, I'll <i>see</i>, then,&rdquo; Bertram had nodded meaningly. &ldquo;But
+      just make sure that it <i>is</i> play for you!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I will,&rdquo; laughed Billy; and there the matter had ended.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Eliza began work the next day, and Billy did indeed soon find herself
+      &ldquo;playing&rdquo; under Bertram's watchful insistence. She resumed her music, and
+      brought out of exile the unfinished song. With Bertram she took drives and
+      walks; and every two or three days she went to see Aunt Hannah and Marie.
+      She was pleasantly busy, too, with plans for her coming trip; and it was
+      not long before even the remorseful Bertram had to admit that Billy was
+      looking and appearing quite like her old self.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the Annex Billy found Calderwell and Arkwright, one day. They greeted
+      her as if she had just returned from a far country.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, if you aren't the stranger lady,&rdquo; began Calderwell, looking frankly
+      pleased to see her. &ldquo;We'd thought of advertising in the daily press
+      somewhat after this fashion: 'Lost, strayed, or stolen, one Billy;
+      comrade, good friend, and kind cheerer-up of lonely hearts. Any
+      information thankfully received by her bereft, sorrowing friends.'&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy joined in the laugh that greeted this sally, but Arkwright noticed
+      that she tried to change the subject from her own affairs to a discussion
+      of the new song on Alice Greggory's piano. Calderwell, however, was not to
+      be silenced.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The last I heard of this elusive Billy,&rdquo; he resumed, with teasing
+      cheerfulness, &ldquo;she was running down a certain lost calory that had slipped
+      away from her husband's breakfast, and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy wheeled sharply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where did you get hold of that?&rdquo; she demanded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I didn't,&rdquo; returned the man, defensively. &ldquo;I never got hold of it at
+      all. I never even saw the calory&mdash;though, for that matter, I don't
+      think I should know one if I did see it! What we feared was, that, in
+      hunting the lost calory, you had lost yourself, and&mdash;&rdquo; But Billy
+      would hear no more. With her disdainful nose in the air she walked to the
+      piano.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come, Mr. Arkwright,&rdquo; she said with dignity. &ldquo;Let's try this song.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright rose at once and accompanied her to the piano.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They had sung the song through twice when Billy became uneasily aware
+      that, on the other side of the room, Calderwell and Alice Greggory were
+      softly chuckling over something they had found in a magazine. Billy
+      frowned, and twitched the corners of a pile of music, with restless
+      fingers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wonder if Alice hasn't got some quartets here somewhere,&rdquo; she murmured,
+      her disapproving eyes still bent on the absorbed couple across the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright was silent. Billy, throwing a hurried glance into his face,
+      thought she detected a somber shadow in his eyes. She thought, too, she
+      knew why it was there. So possessed had Billy been, during the early
+      winter, of the idea that her special mission in life was to inaugurate and
+      foster a love affair between disappointed Mr. Arkwright and lonely Alice
+      Greggory, that now she forgot, for a moment, that Arkwright himself was
+      quite unaware of her efforts. She thought only that the present shadow on
+      his face must be caused by the same thing that brought worry to her own
+      heart&mdash;the manifest devotion of Calderwell to Alice Greggory just now
+      across the room. Instinctively, therefore, as to a coworker in a common
+      cause, she turned a disturbed face to the man at her side.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is, indeed, high time that I looked after something besides lost
+      calories,&rdquo; she said significantly. Then, at the evident uncomprehension in
+      Arkwright's face, she added: &ldquo;Has it been going on like this&mdash;very
+      long?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright still, apparently, did not understand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Has&mdash;what been going on?&rdquo; he questioned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That&mdash;over there,&rdquo; answered Billy, impatiently, scarcely knowing
+      whether to be more irritated at the threatened miscarriage of her
+      cherished plans, or at Arkwright's (to her) wilfully blind insistence on
+      her making her meaning more plain. &ldquo;Has it been going on long&mdash;such
+      utter devotion?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      As she asked the question Billy turned and looked squarely into
+      Arkwright's face. She saw, therefore, the great change that came to it, as
+      her meaning became clear to him. Her first feeling was one of shocked
+      realization that Arkwright had, indeed, been really blind. Her second&mdash;she
+      turned away her eyes hurriedly from what she thought she saw in the man's
+      countenance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With an assumedly gay little cry she sprang to her feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come, come, what are you two children chuckling over?&rdquo; she demanded,
+      crossing the room abruptly. &ldquo;Didn't you hear me say I wanted you to come
+      and sing a quartet?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy blamed herself very much for what she called her stupidity in so
+      baldly summoning Arkwright's attention to Calderwell's devotion to Alice
+      Greggory. She declared that she ought to have known better, and she asked
+      herself if this were the way she was &ldquo;furthering matters&rdquo; between Alice
+      Greggory and Arkwright.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy was really seriously disturbed. She had never quite forgiven herself
+      for being so blind to Arkwright's feeling for herself during those days
+      when he had not known of her engagement to Bertram. She had never
+      forgotten, either, the painful scene when he had hopefully told of his
+      love, only to be met with her own shocked repudiation. For long weeks
+      after that, his face had haunted her. She had wished, oh, so ardently,
+      that she could do something in some way to bring him happiness. When,
+      therefore, it had come to her knowledge afterward that he was frequently
+      with his old friend, Alice Greggory, she had been so glad. It was very
+      easy then to fan hope into conviction that here, in this old friend, he
+      had found sweet balm for his wounded heart; and she determined at once to
+      do all that she could do to help. So very glowing, indeed, was her
+      eagerness in the matter, that it looked suspiciously as if she thought,
+      could she but bring this thing about, that old scores against herself
+      would be erased.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy told herself, virtuously, however, that not only for Arkwright did
+      she desire this marriage to take place, but for Alice Greggory. In the
+      very nature of things Alice would one day be left alone. She was poor, and
+      not very strong. She sorely needed the shielding love and care of a good
+      husband. What more natural than that her old-time friend and
+      almost-sweetheart, M. J. Arkwright, should be that good husband?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That really it was more Arkwright and less Alice that was being
+      considered, however, was proved when the devotion of Calderwell began to
+      be first suspected, then known for a fact. Billy's distress at this turn
+      of affairs indicated very plainly that it was not just a husband, but a
+      certain one particular husband that she desired for Alice Greggory. All
+      the more disturbed was she, therefore, when to-day, seeing her three
+      friends together again for the first time for some weeks, she discovered
+      increased evidence that her worst fears were to be realized. It was to be
+      Alice and Calderwell, not Alice and Arkwright. Arkwright was again to be
+      disappointed in his dearest hopes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Telling herself indignantly that it could not be, it <i>should</i> not be,
+      Billy determined to remain after the men had gone, and speak to Alice.
+      Just what she would say she did not know. Even what she could say, she was
+      not sure. But certainly there must be something, some little thing that
+      she could say, which would open Alice's eyes to what she was doing, and
+      what she ought to do.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was in this frame of mind, therefore, that Billy, after Arkwright and
+      Calderwell had gone, spoke to Alice. She began warily, with assumed
+      nonchalance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I believe Mr. Arkwright sings better every time I hear him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was no answer. Alice was sorting music at the piano.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't you think so?&rdquo; Billy raised her voice a little.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Alice turned almost with a start.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What's that? Oh, yes. Well, I don't know; maybe I do.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You would&mdash;if you didn't hear him any oftener than I do,&rdquo; laughed
+      Billy. &ldquo;But then, of course you do hear him oftener.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I? Oh, no, indeed. Not so very much oftener.&rdquo; Alice had turned back to
+      her music. There was a slight embarrassment in her manner. &ldquo;I wonder&mdash;where&mdash;that
+      new song&mdash;is,&rdquo; she murmured.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy, who knew very well where the song lay, was not to be diverted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense! As if Mr. Arkwright wasn't always telling how Alice liked this
+      song, and didn't like that one, and thought the other the best yet! I
+      don't believe he sings a thing that he doesn't first sing to you. For that
+      matter, I fancy he asks your opinion of everything, anyway.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Billy, he doesn't!&rdquo; exclaimed Alice, a deep red flaming into her
+      cheeks. &ldquo;You know he doesn't.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed gleefully. She had not been slow to note the color in her
+      friend's face, or to ascribe to it the one meaning she wished to ascribe
+      to it. So sure, indeed, was she now that her fears had been groundless,
+      that she flung caution to the winds.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ho! My dear Alice, you can't expect us all to be blind,&rdquo; she teased.
+      &ldquo;Besides, we all think it's such a lovely arrangement that we're just glad
+      to see it. He's such a fine fellow, and we like him so much! We couldn't
+      ask for a better husband for you than Mr. Arkwright, and&mdash;&rdquo; From
+      sheer amazement at the sudden white horror in Alice Greggory's face, Billy
+      stopped short. &ldquo;Why, Alice!&rdquo; she faltered then.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With a visible effort Alice forced her trembling lips to speak.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My husband&mdash;<i>Mr. Arkwright!</i> Why, Billy, you couldn't have seen&mdash;you
+      haven't seen&mdash;there's nothing you <i>could</i> see! He isn't&mdash;he
+      wasn't&mdash;he can't be! We&mdash;we're nothing but friends, Billy, just
+      good friends!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy, though dismayed, was still not quite convinced.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Friends! Nonsense! When&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But Alice interrupted feverishly. Alice, in an agony of fear lest the true
+      state of affairs should be suspected, was hiding behind a bulwark of
+      pride.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now, Billy, please! Say no more. You're quite wrong, entirely. You'll
+      never, never hear of my marrying Mr. Arkwright. As I said before, we're
+      friends&mdash;the best of friends; that is all. We couldn't be anything
+      else, possibly!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy, plainly discomfited, fell back; but she threw a sharp glance into
+      her friend's flushed countenance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You mean&mdash;because of&mdash;Hugh Calderwell?&rdquo; she demanded. Then, for
+      the second time that afternoon throwing discretion to the winds, she went
+      on plaintively: &ldquo;You won't listen, of course. Girls in love never do. Hugh
+      is all right, and I like him; but there's more real solid worth in Mr.
+      Arkwright's little finger than there is in Hugh's whole self. And&mdash;&rdquo;
+       But a merry peal of laughter from Alice Greggory interrupted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And, pray, do you think I'm in love with Hugh Calderwell?&rdquo; she demanded.
+      There was a curious note of something very like relief in her voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I didn't know,&rdquo; began Billy, uncertainly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then I'll tell you now,&rdquo; smiled Alice. &ldquo;I'm not. Furthermore, perhaps
+      it's just as well that you should know right now that I don't intend to
+      marry&mdash;ever.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Alice!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo; There was determination, and there was still that curious note of
+      relief in the girl's voice. It was as if, somewhere, a great danger had
+      been avoided. &ldquo;I have my music. That is enough. I'm not intending to
+      marry.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, but Alice, while I will own up I'm glad it isn't Hugh Calderwell,
+      there <i>is</i> Mr. Arkwright, and I did hope&mdash;&rdquo; But Alice shook her
+      head and turned resolutely away. At that moment, too, Aunt Hannah came in
+      from the street, so Billy could say no more.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah dropped herself a little wearily into a chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I've just come from Marie's,&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How is she?&rdquo; asked Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah smiled, and raised her eyebrows.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, just now she's quite exercised over another rattle&mdash;from her
+      cousin out West, this time. There were four little silver bells on it, and
+      she hasn't got any janitor's wife now to give it to.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed softly, but Aunt Hannah had more to say.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You know she isn't going to allow any toys but Teddy bears and woolly
+      lambs, of which, I believe, she has already bought quite an assortment.
+      She says they don't rattle or squeak. I declare, when I see the woolen
+      pads and rubber hushers that that child has put everywhere all over the
+      house, I don't know whether to laugh or cry. And she's so worried! It
+      seems Cyril must needs take just this time to start composing a new opera
+      or symphony, or something; and never before has she allowed him to be
+      interrupted by anything on such an occasion. But what he'll do when the
+      baby comes she says she doesn't know, for she says she can't&mdash;she
+      just can't keep it from bothering him some, she's afraid. As if any opera
+      or symphony that ever lived was of more consequence than a man's own
+      child!&rdquo; finished Aunt Hannah, with an indignant sniff, as she reached for
+      her shawl.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XIX. A TOUGH NUT TO CRACK FOR CYRIL
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      It was early in the forenoon of the first day of July that Eliza told her
+      mistress that Mrs. Stetson was asking for her at the telephone. Eliza's
+      face was not a little troubled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm afraid, maybe, it isn't good news,&rdquo; she stammered, as her mistress
+      hurriedly arose. &ldquo;She's at Mr. Cyril Henshaw's&mdash;Mrs. Stetson is&mdash;and
+      she seemed so terribly upset about something that there was no making real
+      sense out of what she said. But she asked for you, and said to have you
+      come quick.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy, her own face paling, was already at the telephone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, Aunt Hannah. What is it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, my grief and conscience, Billy, if you <i>can</i>, come up here,
+      please. You must come! <i>Can't</i> you come?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, yes, of course. But&mdash;but&mdash;<i>Marie!</i> The&mdash;the <i>baby!</i>&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A faint groan came across the wires.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, my grief and conscience, Billy! It isn't <i>the</i> baby. It's <i>babies!</i>
+      It's twins&mdash;boys. Cyril has them now&mdash;the nurse hasn't got here
+      yet.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Twins! <i>Cyril</i> has them!&rdquo; broke in Billy, hysterically.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, and they're crying something terrible. We've sent for a second nurse
+      to come, too, of course, but she hasn't got here yet, either. And those
+      babies&mdash;if you could hear them! That's what we want you for, to&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But Billy was almost laughing now.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right, I'll come out&mdash;and hear them,&rdquo; she called a bit wildly,
+      as she hung up the receiver.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Some little time later, a palpably nervous maid admitted Billy to the home
+      of Mr. and Mrs. Cyril Henshaw. Even as the door was opened, Billy heard
+      faintly, but unmistakably, the moaning wails of two infants.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mrs. Stetson says if you will please to help Mr. Henshaw with the
+      babies,&rdquo; stammered the maid, after the preliminary questions and answers.
+      &ldquo;I've been in when I could, and they're all right, only they're crying.
+      They're in his den. We had to put them as far away as possible&mdash;their
+      crying worried Mrs. Henshaw so.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I see,&rdquo; murmured Billy. &ldquo;I'll go to them at once. No, don't trouble
+      to come. I know the way. Just tell Mrs. Stetson I'm here, please,&rdquo; she
+      finished, as she tossed her hat and gloves on to the hall table, and
+      turned to go upstairs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy's feet made no sound on the soft rugs. The crying, however, grew
+      louder and louder as she approached the den. Softly she turned the knob
+      and pushed open the door. She stopped short, then, at what she saw.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Cyril had not heard her, nor seen her. His back was partly toward the
+      door. His coat was off, and his hair stood fiercely on end as if a nervous
+      hand had ruffled it. His usually pale face was very red, and his forehead
+      showed great drops of perspiration. He was on his feet, hovering over the
+      couch, at each end of which lay a rumpled roll of linen, lace, and
+      flannel, from which emerged a prodigiously puckered little face, two
+      uncertainly waving rose-leaf fists, and a wail of protesting rage that was
+      not uncertain in the least.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In one hand Cyril held a Teddy bear, in the other his watch, dangling from
+      its fob chain. Both of these he shook feebly, one after the other, above
+      the tiny faces.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, come, come, pretty baby, good baby, hush, hush,&rdquo; he begged
+      agitatedly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the doorway Billy clapped her hands to her lips and stifled a laugh.
+      Billy knew, of course, that what she should do was to go forward at once,
+      and help this poor, distracted man; but Billy, just then, was not doing
+      what she knew she ought to do.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With a muttered ejaculation (which Billy, to her sorrow, could not catch)
+      Cyril laid down the watch and flung the Teddy bear aside. Then, in very
+      evident despair, he gingerly picked up one of the rumpled rolls of
+      flannel, lace, and linen, and held it straight out before him. After a
+      moment's indecision he began awkwardly to jounce it, teeter it, rock it
+      back and forth, and to pat it jerkily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, come, come, pretty baby, good baby, hush, hush,&rdquo; he begged again,
+      frantically.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Perhaps it was the change of position; perhaps it was the novelty of the
+      motion, perhaps it was only utter weariness, or lack of breath. Whatever
+      the cause, the wailing sobs from the bundle in his arms dwindled suddenly
+      to a gentle whisper, then ceased altogether.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With a ray of hope illuminating his drawn countenance, Cyril carefully
+      laid the baby down and picked up the other. Almost confidently now he
+      began the jouncing and teetering and rocking as before.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There, there! Oh, come, come, pretty baby, good baby, hush, hush,&rdquo; he
+      chanted again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This time he was not so successful. Perhaps he had lost his skill. Perhaps
+      it was merely the world-old difference in babies. At all events, this
+      infant did not care for jerks and jounces, and showed it plainly by
+      emitting loud and yet louder wails of rage&mdash;wails in which his
+      brother on the couch speedily joined.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, come, come, pretty baby, good baby, hush, hush&mdash;<i>confound it</i>,
+      HUSH, I say!&rdquo; exploded the frightened, weary, baffled, distracted man,
+      picking up the other baby, and trying to hold both his sons at once.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy hurried forward then, tearfully, remorsefully, her face all
+      sympathy, her arms all tenderness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here, Cyril, let me help you,&rdquo; she cried.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Cyril turned abruptly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank God, <i>some</i> one's come,&rdquo; he groaned, holding out both the
+      babies, with an exuberance of generosity. &ldquo;Billy, you've saved my life!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed tremulously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I've come, Cyril, and I'll help every bit I can; but I don't know a
+      thing&mdash;not a single thing about them myself. Dear me, aren't they
+      cunning? But, Cyril, do they always cry so?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The father-of-an-hour drew himself stiffly erect.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Cry? What do you mean? Why shouldn't they cry?&rdquo; he demanded indignantly.
+      &ldquo;I want you to understand that Doctor Brown said those were A number I
+      fine boys! Anyhow, I guess there's no doubt they've got lungs all right,&rdquo;
+       he added, with a grim smile, as he pulled out his handkerchief and drew it
+      across his perspiring brow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy did not have an opportunity to show Cyril how much or how little she
+      knew about babies, for in another minute the maid had appeared with the
+      extra nurse; and that young woman, with trained celerity and easy
+      confidence, assumed instant command, and speedily had peace and order
+      restored.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Cyril, freed from responsibility, cast longing eyes, for a moment, upon
+      his work; but the next minute, with a despairing glance about him, he
+      turned and fled precipitately.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy, following the direction of his eyes, suppressed a smile. On the top
+      of Cyril's manuscript music on the table lay a hot-water bottle. Draped
+      over the back of his favorite chair was a pink-bordered baby blanket. On
+      the piano-stool rested a beribboned and beruffled baby's toilet basket.
+      From behind the sofa pillow leered ridiculously the Teddy bear, just as it
+      had left Cyril's desperate hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      No wonder, indeed, that Billy smiled. Billy was thinking of what Marie had
+      said not a week before:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I shall keep the baby, of course, in the nursery. I've been in homes
+      where they've had baby things strewn from one end of the house to the
+      other; but it won't be that way here. In the first place, I don't believe
+      in it; but, even if I did, I'd have to be careful on account of Cyril.
+      Imagine Cyril's trying to write his music with a baby in the room! No! I
+      shall keep the baby in the nursery, if possible; but wherever it is, it
+      won't be anywhere near Cyril's den, anyway.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy suppressed many a smile during the days that immediately followed
+      the coming of the twins. Some of the smiles, however, refused to be
+      suppressed. They became, indeed, shamelessly audible chuckles.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy was to sail the tenth, and, naturally, during those early July days,
+      her time was pretty much occupied with her preparations for departure; but
+      nothing could keep her from frequent, though short, visits to the home of
+      her brother-in-law.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The twins were proving themselves to be fine, healthy boys. Two trained
+      maids, and two trained nurses ruled the household with a rod of iron. As
+      to Cyril&mdash;Billy declared that Cyril was learning something every day
+      of his life now.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes, he's learning things,&rdquo; she said to Aunt Hannah, one morning;
+      &ldquo;lots of things. For instance: he has his breakfast now, not when he wants
+      it, but when the maid wants to give it to him&mdash;which is precisely at
+      eight o'clock every morning. So he's learning punctuality. And for the
+      first time in his life he has discovered the astounding fact that there
+      are several things more important in the world than is the special piece
+      of music he happens to be composing&mdash;chiefly the twins' bath, the
+      twins' nap, the twins' airing, and the twins' colic.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah laughed, though she frowned, too.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, surely, Billy, with two nurses and the maids, Cyril doesn't have to&mdash;to&mdash;&rdquo;
+       She came to a helpless pause.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no,&rdquo; laughed Billy; &ldquo;Cyril doesn't have to really attend to any of
+      those things&mdash;though I have seen each of the nurses, at different
+      times, unhesitatingly thrust a twin into his arms and bid him hold the
+      child till she comes back. But it's this way. You see, Marie must be kept
+      quiet, and the nursery is very near her room. It worries her terribly when
+      either of the children cries. Besides, the little rascals have apparently
+      fixed up some sort of labor-union compact with each other, so that if one
+      cries for something or nothing, the other promptly joins in and helps. So
+      the nurses have got into the habit of picking up the first disturber of
+      the peace, and hurrying him to quarters remote; and Cyril's den being the
+      most remote of all, they usually fetch up there.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You mean&mdash;they take those babies into Cyril's den&mdash;<i>now</i>?&rdquo;
+       Even Aunt Hannah was plainly aghast.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; twinkled Billy. &ldquo;I fancy their Hygienic Immaculacies approved of
+      Cyril's bare floors, undraped windows, and generally knick-knackless
+      condition. Anyhow, they've made his den a sort of&mdash;of annex to the
+      nursery.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But&mdash;but Cyril! What does he say?&rdquo; stammered the dumfounded Aunt
+      Hannah. &ldquo;Think of Cyril's standing a thing like that! Doesn't he do
+      anything&mdash;or say anything?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy smiled, and lifted her brows quizzically.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My dear Aunt Hannah, did you ever know <i>many</i> people to have the
+      courage to 'say things' to one of those becapped, beaproned, bespotless
+      creatures of loftily superb superiority known as trained nurses? Besides,
+      you wouldn't recognize Cyril now. Nobody would. He's as meek as Moses, and
+      has been ever since his two young sons were laid in his reluctant,
+      trembling arms. He breaks into a cold sweat at nothing, and moves about
+      his own home as if he were a stranger and an interloper, endured merely on
+      sufferance in this abode of strange women and strange babies.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense!&rdquo; scoffed Aunt Hannah.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But it's so,&rdquo; maintained Billy, merrily. &ldquo;Now, for instance. You know
+      Cyril always has been in the habit of venting his moods on the piano (just
+      as I do, only more so) by playing exactly as he feels. Well, as near as I
+      can gather, he was at his usual trick the next day after the twins
+      arrived; and you can imagine about what sort of music it would be, after
+      what he had been through the preceding forty-eight hours.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course I don't know exactly what happened, but Julia&mdash;Marie's
+      second maid, you know&mdash;tells the story. She's been with them long
+      enough to know something of the way the whole household always turns on
+      the pivot of the master's whims; so she fully appreciated the situation.
+      She says she heard him begin to play, and that she never heard such queer,
+      creepy, shivery music in her life; but that he hadn't been playing five
+      minutes before one of the nurses came into the living-room where Julia was
+      dusting, and told her to tell whoever was playing to stop that dreadful
+      noise, as they wanted to take the twins in there for their nap.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'But I didn't do it, ma'am,' Julia says. 'I wa'n't lookin' for losin' my
+      place, an' I let the young woman do the job herself. An' she done it, pert
+      as you please. An' jest as I was seekin' a hidin'-place for the explosion,
+      if Mr. Henshaw didn't come out lookin' a little wild, but as meek as a
+      lamb; an' when he sees me he asked wouldn't I please get him a cup of
+      coffee, good an' strong. An' I got it.'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So you see,&rdquo; finished Billy, &ldquo;Cyril is learning things&mdash;lots of
+      things.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, my grief and conscience! I should say he was,&rdquo; half-shivered Aunt
+      Hannah. &ldquo;<i>Cyril</i> looking meek as a lamb, indeed!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed merrily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, it must be a new experience&mdash;for Cyril. For a man whose daily
+      existence for years has been rubber-heeled and woolen-padded, and whose
+      family from boyhood has stood at attention and saluted if he so much as
+      looked at them, it must be quite a change, as things are now. However,
+      it'll be different, of course, when Marie is on her feet again.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Does she know at all how things are going?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not very much, as yet, though I believe she has begun to worry some. She
+      confided to me one day that she was glad, of course, that she had two
+      darling babies, instead of one; but that she was afraid it might be hard,
+      just at first, to teach them both at once to be quiet; for she was afraid
+      that while she was teaching one, the other would be sure to cry, or do
+      something noisy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do something noisy, indeed!&rdquo; ejaculated Aunt Hannah.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As for the real state of affairs, Marie doesn't dream that Cyril's sacred
+      den is given over to Teddy bears and baby blankets. All is, I hope she'll
+      be measurably strong before she does find it out,&rdquo; laughed Billy, as she
+      rose to go.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XX. ARKWRIGHT'S EYES ARE OPENED
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      William came back from his business trip the eighth of July, and on the
+      ninth Billy and Bertram went to New York. Eliza's mother was so well now
+      that Eliza had taken up her old quarters in the Strata, and the household
+      affairs were once more running like clockwork. Later in the season William
+      would go away for a month's fishing trip, and the house would be closed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. and Mrs. Bertram Henshaw were not expected to return until the first
+      of October; but with Eliza to look after the comfort of William, the
+      mistress of the house did no worrying. Ever since Pete's going, Eliza had
+      said that she preferred to be the only maid, with a charwoman to come in
+      for the heavier work; and to this arrangement her mistress had willingly
+      consented, for the present.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Marie and the babies were doing finely, and Aunt Hannah's health, and
+      affairs at the Annex, were all that could be desired. As Billy, indeed,
+      saw it, there was only one flaw to mar her perfect content on this holiday
+      trip with Bertram, and that was her disappointment over the very evident
+      disaster that had come to her cherished matrimonial plans for Arkwright
+      and Alice Greggory. She could not forget Arkwright's face that day at the
+      Annex, when she had so foolishly called his attention to Calderwell's
+      devotion; and she could not forget, either, Alice Greggory's very obvious
+      perturbation a little later, and her suspiciously emphatic assertion that
+      she had no intention of marrying any one, certainly not Arkwright. As
+      Billy thought of all this now, she could not but admit that it did look
+      dark for Arkwright&mdash;poor Arkwright, whom she, more than any one else
+      in the world, perhaps, had a special reason for wishing to see happily
+      married.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was, then, this one cloud on Billy's horizon as the big boat that
+      was to bear her across the water steamed down the harbor that beautiful
+      July day.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As it chanced, naturally, perhaps, not only was Billy thinking of
+      Arkwright that morning, but Arkwright was thinking of Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright had thought frequently of Billy during the last few days,
+      particularly since that afternoon meeting at the Annex when the four had
+      renewed their old good times together. Up to that day Arkwright had been
+      trying not to think of Billy. He had been &ldquo;fighting his tiger skin.&rdquo;
+       Sternly he had been forcing himself to meet her, to see her, to talk with
+      her, to sing with her, or to pass her by&mdash;all with the indifference
+      properly expected to be shown in association with Mrs. Bertram Henshaw,
+      another man's wife. He had known, of course, that deep down in his heart
+      he loved her, always had loved her, and always would love her. Hopelessly
+      and drearily he accepted this as a fact even while with all his might
+      fighting that tiger skin. So sure was he, indeed, of this, so implicitly
+      had he accepted it as an unalterable certainty, that in time even his
+      efforts to fight it became almost mechanical and unconscious in their
+      stern round of forced indifference.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then came that day at the Annex&mdash;and the discovery: the discovery
+      which he had made when Billy called his attention to Calderwell and Alice
+      Greggory across the room in the corner; the discovery which had come with
+      so blinding a force, and which even now he was tempted to question as to
+      its reality; the discovery that not Billy Neilson, nor Mrs. Bertram
+      Henshaw, nor even the tender ghost of a lost love held the center of his
+      heart&mdash;but Alice Greggory.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The first intimation of all this had come with his curious feeling of
+      unreasoning hatred and blind indignation toward Calderwell as, through
+      Billy's eyes, he had seen the two together. Then had come the overwhelming
+      longing to pick up Alice Greggory and run off with her&mdash;somewhere,
+      anywhere, so that Calderwell could not follow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At once, however, he had pulled himself up short with the mental cry of
+      &ldquo;Absurd!&rdquo; What was it to him if Calderwell did care for Alice Greggory?
+      Surely he himself was not in love with the girl. He was in love with
+      Billy; that is&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was all confusion then, in his mind, and he was glad indeed when he
+      could leave the house. He wanted to be alone. He wanted to think. He must,
+      in some way, thrash out this astounding thing that had come to him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright did not visit the Annex again for some days. Until he was more
+      nearly sure of himself and of his feelings, he did not wish to see Alice
+      Greggory. It was then that he began to think of Billy, deliberately,
+      purposefully, for it must be, of course, that he had made a mistake, he
+      told himself. It must be that he did, really, still care for Billy&mdash;though
+      of course he ought not to.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright made another discovery then. He learned that, however
+      deliberately he started in to think of Billy, he ended every time in
+      thinking of Alice. He thought of how good she had been to him, and of how
+      faithful she had been in helping him to fight his love for Billy. Just
+      here he decided, for a moment, that probably, after all, his feeling of
+      anger against Calderwell was merely the fear of losing this helpful
+      comradeship that he so needed. Even with himself, however, Arkwright could
+      not keep up this farce long, and very soon he admitted miserably that it
+      was not the comradeship of Alice Greggory that he wanted or needed, but
+      the love.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He knew it now. No longer was there any use in beating about the bush. He
+      did love Alice Greggory; but so curiously and unbelievably stupid had he
+      been that he had not found it out until now. And now it was too late. Had
+      not even Billy called his attention to the fact of Calderwell's devotion?
+      Besides, had not he himself, at the very first, told Calderwell that he
+      might have a clear field?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Fool that he had been to let another thus lightly step in and win from
+      under his very nose what might have been his if he had but known his own
+      mind before it was too late!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But was it, after all, quite too late? He and Alice were old friends. Away
+      back in their young days in their native town they had been, indeed,
+      almost sweethearts, in a boy-and-girl fashion. It would not have taken
+      much in those days, he believed, to have made the relationship more
+      interesting. But changes had come. Alice had left town, and for years they
+      had drifted apart. Then had come Billy, and Billy had found Alice, thus
+      bringing about the odd circumstance of their renewing of acquaintanceship.
+      Perhaps, at that time, if he had not already thought he cared for Billy,
+      there would have been something more than acquaintanceship.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But he <i>had</i> thought he cared for Billy all these years; and now, at
+      this late day, to wake up and find that he cared for Alice! A pretty mess
+      he had made of things! Was he so inconstant then, so fickle? Did he not
+      know his own mind five minutes at a time? What would Alice Greggory think,
+      even if he found the courage to tell her? What could she think? What could
+      anybody think?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright fairly ground his teeth in impotent wrath&mdash;and he did not
+      know whether he were the most angry that he did not love Billy, or that he
+      had loved Billy, or that he loved somebody else now.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was while he was in this unenviable frame of mind that he went to see
+      Alice. Not that he had planned definitely to speak to her of his
+      discovery, nor yet that he had planned not to. He had, indeed, planned
+      nothing. For a man usually so decided as to purpose and energetic as to
+      action, he was in a most unhappy state of uncertainty and changeableness.
+      One thing only was unmistakably clear to him, and that was that he must
+      see Alice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For months, now, he had taken to Alice all his hopes and griefs,
+      perplexities and problems; and never had he failed to find comfort in the
+      shape of sympathetic understanding and wise counsel. To Alice, therefore,
+      now he turned as a matter of course, telling himself vaguely that,
+      perhaps, after he had seen Alice, he would feel better.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Just how intimately this particular problem of his concerned Alice
+      herself, he did not stop to realize. He did not, indeed, think of it at
+      all from Alice's standpoint&mdash;until he came face to face with the girl
+      in the living-room at the Annex. Then, suddenly, he did. His manner became
+      at once, consequently, full of embarrassment and quite devoid of its usual
+      frank friendliness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As it happened, this was perhaps the most unfortunate thing that could
+      have occurred, so far as it concerned the attitude of Alice Greggory, for
+      thereby innumerable tiny sparks of suspicion that had been tormenting the
+      girl for days were instantly fanned into consuming flames of conviction.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Alice had not been slow to note Arkwright's prolonged absence from the
+      Annex. Coming as it did so soon after her most disconcerting talk with
+      Billy in regard to her own relations with him, it had filled her with
+      frightened questionings.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      If Billy had seen things to make her think of linking their names
+      together, perhaps Arkwright himself had heard some such idea put forth
+      somewhere, and that was why he was staying away&mdash;to show the world
+      that there was no foundation for such rumors. Perhaps he was even doing it
+      to show <i>her</i> that&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Even in her thoughts Alice could scarcely bring herself to finish the
+      sentence. That Arkwright should ever suspect for a moment that she cared
+      for him was intolerable. Painfully conscious as she was that she did care
+      for him, it was easy to fear that others must be conscious of it, too. Had
+      she not already proof that Billy suspected it? Why, then, might not it be
+      quite possible, even probable, that Arkwright suspected it, also; and,
+      because he did suspect it, had decided that it would be just as well,
+      perhaps, if he did not call so often.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In spite of Alice's angry insistence to herself that, after all, this
+      could not be the case&mdash;that the man <i>knew</i> she understood he
+      still loved Billy&mdash;she could not help fearing, in the face of
+      Arkwright's unusual absence, that it might yet be true. When, therefore,
+      he finally did appear, only to become at once obviously embarrassed in her
+      presence, her fears instantly became convictions. It was true, then. The
+      man did believe she cared for him, and he had been trying to teach her&mdash;to
+      save her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To teach her! To save her, indeed! Very well, he should see! And
+      forthwith, from that moment, Alice Greggory's chief reason for living
+      became to prove to Mr. M. J. Arkwright that he needed not to teach her, to
+      save her, nor yet to sympathize with her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How do you do?&rdquo; she greeted him, with a particularly bright smile. &ldquo;I'm
+      sure I <i>hope</i> you are well, such a beautiful day as this.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes, I'm well, I suppose. Still, I have felt better in my life,&rdquo;
+       smiled Arkwright, with some constraint.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I'm sorry,&rdquo; murmured the girl, striving so hard to speak with
+      impersonal unconcern that she did not notice the inaptness of her reply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh? Sorry I've felt better, are you?&rdquo; retorted Arkwright, with nervous
+      humor. Then, because he was embarrassed, he said the one thing he had
+      meant not to say: &ldquo;Don't you think I'm quite a stranger? It's been some
+      time since I've been here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Alice, smarting under the sting of what she judged to be the only possible
+      cause for his embarrassment, leaped to this new opportunity to show her
+      lack of interest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, has it?&rdquo; she murmured carelessly. &ldquo;Well, I don't know but it has, now
+      that I come to think of it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright frowned gloomily. A week ago he would have tossed back a
+      laughingly aggrieved remark as to her unflattering indifference to his
+      presence. Now he was in no mood for such joking. It was too serious a
+      matter with him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You've been busy, no doubt, with&mdash;other matters,&rdquo; he presumed
+      forlornly, thinking of Calderwell.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I have been busy,&rdquo; assented the girl. &ldquo;One is always happier, I
+      think, to be busy. Not that I meant that I needed the work to <i>be</i>
+      happy,&rdquo; she added hastily, in a panic lest he think she had a consuming
+      sorrow to kill.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, of course not,&rdquo; he murmured abstractedly, rising to his feet and
+      crossing the room to the piano. Then, with an elaborate air of trying to
+      appear very natural, he asked jovially: &ldquo;Anything new to play to me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Alice arose at once.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. I have a little nocturne that I was playing to Mr. Calderwell last
+      night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, to Calderwell!&rdquo; Arkwright had stiffened perceptibly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. <i>He</i> didn't like it. I'll play it to you and see what you say,&rdquo;
+       she smiled, seating herself at the piano.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, if he had liked it, it's safe to say I shouldn't,&rdquo; shrugged
+      Arkwright.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense!&rdquo; laughed the girl, beginning to appear more like her natural
+      self. &ldquo;I should think you were Mr. Cyril Henshaw! Mr. Calderwell <i>is</i>
+      partial to ragtime, I'll admit. But there are some good things he likes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There are, indeed, <i>some</i> good things he likes,&rdquo; returned Arkwright,
+      with grim emphasis, his somber eyes fixed on what he believed to be the
+      one especial object of Calderwell's affections at the moment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Alice, unaware both of the melancholy gaze bent upon herself and of the
+      cause thereof, laughed again merrily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Poor Mr. Calderwell,&rdquo; she cried, as she let her fingers slide into soft,
+      introductory chords. &ldquo;He isn't to blame for not liking what he calls our
+      lost spirits that wail. It's just the way he's made.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright vouchsafed no reply. With an abrupt gesture he turned and began
+      to pace the room moodily. At the piano Alice slipped from the chords into
+      the nocturne. She played it straight through, then, with a charm and skill
+      that brought Arkwright's feet to a pause before it was half finished.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By George, that's great!&rdquo; he breathed, when the last tone had quivered
+      into silence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, isn't it&mdash;beautiful?&rdquo; she murmured.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The room was very quiet, and in semi-darkness. The last rays of a late
+      June sunset had been filling the room with golden light, but it was gone
+      now. Even at the piano by the window, Alice had barely been able to see
+      clearly enough to read the notes of her nocturne.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To Arkwright the air still trembled with the exquisite melody that had but
+      just left her fingers. A quick fire came to his eyes. He forgot everything
+      but that it was Alice there in the half-light by the window&mdash;Alice,
+      whom he loved. With a low cry he took a swift step toward her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Alice!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Instantly the girl was on her feet. But it was not toward him that she
+      turned. It was away&mdash;resolutely, and with a haste that was strangely
+      like terror.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Alice, too, had forgotten, for just a moment. She had let herself drift
+      into a dream world where there was nothing but the music she was playing
+      and the man she loved. Then the music had stopped, and the man had spoken
+      her name.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Alice remembered then. She remembered Billy, whom this man loved. She
+      remembered the long days just passed when this man had stayed away,
+      presumably to teach <i>her</i>&mdash;to save <i>her</i>. And now, at the
+      sound of his voice speaking her name, she had almost bared her heart to
+      him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      No wonder that Alice, with a haste that looked like terror, crossed the
+      floor and flooded the room with light.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dear me!&rdquo; she shivered, carefully avoiding Arkwright's eyes. &ldquo;If Mr.
+      Calderwell were here now he'd have some excuse to talk about our lost
+      spirits that wail. That <i>is</i> a creepy piece of music when you play it
+      in the dark!&rdquo; And, for fear that he should suspect how her heart was
+      aching, she gave a particularly brilliant and joyous smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Once again at the mention of Calderwell's name Arkwright stiffened
+      perceptibly. The fire left his eyes. For a moment he did not speak; then,
+      gravely, he said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Calderwell? Yes, perhaps he would; and&mdash;you ought to be a judge, I
+      should think. You see him quite frequently, don't you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, yes, of course. He often comes out here, you know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes; I had heard that he did&mdash;since <i>you</i> came.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His meaning was unmistakable. Alice looked up quickly. A prompt denial of
+      his implication was on her lips when the thought came to her that perhaps
+      just here lay a sure way to prove to this man before her that there was,
+      indeed, no need for him to teach her, to save her, or yet to sympathize
+      with her. She could not affirm, of course; but she need not deny&mdash;yet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense!&rdquo; she laughed lightly, pleased that she could feel what she
+      hoped would pass for a telltale color burning her cheeks. &ldquo;Come, let us
+      try some duets,&rdquo; she proposed, leading the way to the piano. And
+      Arkwright, interpreting the apparently embarrassed change of subject
+      exactly as she had hoped that he would interpret it, followed her, sick at
+      heart.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'O wert thou in the cauld blast,'&rdquo; sang Arkwright's lips a few moments
+      later.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can't tell her now&mdash;when I <i>know</i> she cares for Calderwell,&rdquo;
+       gloomily ran his thoughts, the while. &ldquo;It would do no possible good, and
+      would only make her unhappy to grieve me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'O wert thou in the cauld blast,'&rdquo; chimed in Alice's alto, low and sweet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I reckon now he won't be staying away from here any more just to <i>save</i>
+      me!&rdquo; ran Alice's thoughts, palpitatingly triumphant.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXI. BILLY TAKES HER TURN AT QUESTIONING
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright did not call to see Alice Greggory for some days. He did not
+      want to see Alice now. He told himself wearily that she could not help him
+      fight this tiger skin that lay across his path, The very fact of her
+      presence by his side would, indeed, incapacitate himself for fighting. So
+      he deliberately stayed away from the Annex until the day before he sailed
+      for Germany. Then he went out to say good-by.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Chagrined as he was at what he termed his imbecile stupidity in not
+      knowing his own heart all these past months, and convinced, as he also
+      was, that Alice and Calderwell cared for each other, he could see no way
+      for him but to play the part of a man of kindliness and honor, leaving a
+      clear field for his preferred rival, and bringing no shadow of regret to
+      mar the happiness of the girl he loved.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As for being his old easy, frank self on this last call, however, that was
+      impossible; so Alice found plenty of fuel for her still burning fires of
+      suspicion&mdash;fires which had, indeed, blazed up anew at this second
+      long period of absence on the part of Arkwright. Naturally, therefore, the
+      call was anything but a joy and comfort to either one. Arkwright was
+      nervous, gloomy, and abnormally gay by turns. Alice was nervous and
+      abnormally gay all the time. Then they said good-by and Arkwright went
+      away. He sailed the next day, and Alice settled down to the summer of
+      study and hard work she had laid out for herself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the tenth of September Billy came home. She was brown, plump-cheeked,
+      and smiling. She declared that she had had a perfectly beautiful time, and
+      that there couldn't be anything in the world nicer than the trip she and
+      Bertram had taken&mdash;just they two together. In answer to Aunt Hannah's
+      solicitous inquiries, she asserted that she was all well and rested now.
+      But there was a vaguely troubled questioning in her eyes that Aunt Hannah
+      did not quite like. Aunt Hannah, however, said nothing even to Billy
+      herself about this.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One of the first friends Billy saw after her return was Hugh Calderwell.
+      As it happened Bertram was out when he came, so Billy had the first
+      half-hour of the call to herself. She was not sorry for this, as it gave
+      her a chance to question Calderwell a little concerning Alice Greggory&mdash;something
+      she had long ago determined to do at the first opportunity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now tell me everything&mdash;everything about everybody,&rdquo; she began
+      diplomatically, settling herself comfortably for a good visit.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you, I'm well, and have had a passably agreeable summer, barring
+      the heat, sundry persistent mosquitoes, several grievous disappointments,
+      and a felon on my thumb,&rdquo; he began, with shameless imperturbability. &ldquo;I
+      have been to Revere once, to the circus once, to Nantasket three times,
+      and to Keith's and the 'movies' ten times, perhaps&mdash;to be accurate. I
+      have also&mdash;But perhaps there was some one else you desired to inquire
+      for,&rdquo; he broke off, turning upon his hostess a bland but unsmiling
+      countenance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no, how could there be?&rdquo; twinkled Billy. &ldquo;Really, Hugh, I always knew
+      you had a pretty good opinion of yourself, but I didn't credit you with
+      thinking you were <i>everybody</i>. Go on. I'm so interested!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Hugh chuckled softly; but there was a plaintive tone in his voice as he
+      answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thanks, no. I've rather lost my interest now. Lack of appreciation always
+      did discourage me. We'll talk of something else, please. You enjoyed your
+      trip?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very much. It just couldn't have been nicer!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You were lucky. The heat here has been something fierce!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What made you stay?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Reasons too numerous, and one too heart-breaking, to mention. Besides,
+      you forget,&rdquo; with dignity. &ldquo;There is my profession. I have joined the
+      workers of the world now, you know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, fudge, Hugh!&rdquo; laughed Billy. &ldquo;You know very well you're as likely as
+      not to start for the ends of the earth to-morrow morning!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Hugh drew himself up.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't seem to succeed in making people understand that I'm serious,&rdquo; he
+      began aggrievedly. &ldquo;I&mdash;&rdquo; With an expressive flourish of his hands he
+      relaxed suddenly, and fell back in his chair. A slow smile came to his
+      lips. &ldquo;Well, Billy, I'll give up. You've hit it,&rdquo; he confessed. &ldquo;I <i>have</i>
+      thought seriously of starting to-morrow morning for <i>half-way</i> to the
+      ends of the earth&mdash;Panama.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hugh!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I have. Even this call was to be a good-by&mdash;if I went.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Hugh! But I really thought&mdash;in spite of my teasing&mdash;that
+      you had settled down, this time.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, so did I,&rdquo; sighed the man, a little soberly. &ldquo;But I guess it's no
+      use, Billy. Oh, I'm coming back, of course, and link arms again with their
+      worthy Highnesses, John Doe and Richard Roe; but just now I've got a
+      restless fit on me. I want to see the wheels go 'round. Of course, if I
+      had my bread and butter and cigars to earn, 'twould be different. But I
+      haven't, and I know I haven't; and I suspect that's where the trouble
+      lies. If it wasn't for those natal silver spoons of mine that Bertram is
+      always talking about, things might be different. But the spoons are there,
+      and always have been; and I know they're all ready to dish out mountains
+      to climb and lakes to paddle in, any time I've a mind to say the word. So&mdash;I
+      just say the word. That's all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And you've said it now?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I think so; for a while.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And&mdash;those reasons that <i>have</i> kept you here all summer,&rdquo;
+       ventured Billy, &ldquo;they aren't in&mdash;er&mdash;commission any longer?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy hesitated, regarding her companion meditatively. Then, with the
+      feeling that she had followed a blind alley to its termination, she
+      retreated and made a fresh start.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, you haven't yet told me everything about everybody, you know,&rdquo; she
+      hinted smilingly. &ldquo;You might begin that&mdash;I mean the less important
+      everybodies, of course, now that I've heard about you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Meaning&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Aunt Hannah, and the Greggorys, and Cyril and Marie, and the twins,
+      and Mr. Arkwright, and all the rest.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you've had letters, surely.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I've had letters from some of them, and I've seen most of them since
+      I came back. It's just that I wanted to know <i>your</i> viewpoint of
+      what's happened through the summer.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very well. Aunt Hannah is as dear as ever, wears just as many shawls, and
+      still keeps her clock striking twelve when it's half-past eleven. Mrs.
+      Greggory is just as sweet as ever&mdash;and a little more frail, I fear,&mdash;bless
+      her heart! Mr. Arkwright is still abroad, as I presume you know. I hear he
+      is doing great stunts over there, and will sing in Berlin and Paris this
+      winter. I'm thinking of going across from Panama later. If I do I shall
+      look him up. Mr. and Mrs. Cyril are as well as could be expected when you
+      realize that they haven't yet settled on a pair of names for the twins.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know it&mdash;and the poor little things three months old, too! I think
+      it's a shame. You've heard the reason, I suppose. Cyril declares that
+      naming babies is one of the most serious and delicate operations in the
+      world, and that, for his part, he thinks people ought to select their own
+      names when they've arrived at years of discretion. He wants to wait till
+      the twins are eighteen, and then make each of them a birthday present of
+      the name of their own choosing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, if that isn't the limit!&rdquo; laughed Calderwell. &ldquo;I'd heard some such
+      thing before, but I hadn't supposed it was really so.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, it is. He says he knows more tomboys and enormous fat women named
+      'Grace' and 'Lily,' and sweet little mouse-like ladies staggering along
+      under a sonorous 'Jerusha Theodosia' or 'Zenobia Jane'; and that if he
+      should name the boys 'Franz' and 'Felix' after Schubert and Mendelssohn as
+      Marie wants to, they'd as likely as not turn out to be men who hated the
+      sound of music and doted on stocks and dry goods.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph!&rdquo; grunted Calderwell. &ldquo;I saw Cyril last week, and he said he hadn't
+      named the twins yet, but he didn't tell me why. I offered him two
+      perfectly good names myself, but he didn't seem interested.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What were they?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eldad and Bildad.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hugh!&rdquo; protested Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, why not?&rdquo; bridled the man. &ldquo;I'm sure those are new and unique, and
+      really musical, too&mdash;'way ahead of your Franz and Felix.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But those aren't really names!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Indeed they are.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where did you get them?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Off our family tree, though they're Bible names, Belle says. Perhaps you
+      didn't know, but Sister Belle has been making the dirt fly quite lively of
+      late around that family tree of ours, and she wrote me some of her
+      discoveries. It seems two of the roots, or branches&mdash;say, are
+      ancestors roots, or branches?&mdash;were called Eldad and Bildad. Now I
+      thought those names were good enough to pass along, but, as I said before,
+      Cyril wasn't interested.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I should say not,&rdquo; laughed Billy. &ldquo;But, honestly, Hugh, it's really
+      serious. Marie wants them named <i>something</i>, but she doesn't say much
+      to Cyril. Marie wouldn't really breathe, you know, if she thought Cyril
+      disapproved of breathing. And in this case Cyril does not hesitate to
+      declare that the boys shall name themselves.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What a situation!&rdquo; laughed Calderwell.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Isn't it? But, do you know, I can sympathize with it, in a way, for I've
+      always mourned so over <i>my</i> name. 'Billy' was always such a trial to
+      me! Poor Uncle William wasn't the only one that prepared guns and fishing
+      rods to entertain the expected boy. I don't know, though, I'm afraid if
+      I'd been allowed to select my name I should have been a 'Helen Clarabella'
+      all my days, for that was the name I gave all my dolls, with 'first,'
+      'second,' 'third,' and so on, added to them for distinction. Evidently I
+      thought that 'Helen Clarabella' was the most feminine appellation
+      possible, and the most foreign to the despised 'Billy.' So you see I can
+      sympathize with Cyril to a certain extent.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But they must call the little chaps <i>something</i>, now,&rdquo; argued Hugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy gave a sudden merry laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They do,&rdquo; she gurgled, &ldquo;and that's the funniest part of it. Oh, Cyril
+      doesn't. He always calls them impersonally 'they' or 'it.' He doesn't see
+      much of them anyway, now, I understand. Marie was horrified when she
+      realized how the nurses had been using his den as a nursery annex and she
+      changed all that instanter, when she took charge of things again. The
+      twins stay in the nursery now, I'm told. But about the names&mdash;the
+      nurses, it seems, have got into the way of calling them 'Dot' and
+      'Dimple.' One has a dimple in his cheek, and the other is a little smaller
+      of the two. Marie is no end distressed, particularly as she finds that she
+      herself calls them that; and she says the idea of boys being 'Dot' and
+      'Dimple'!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I should say so,&rdquo; laughed Calderwell. &ldquo;Not I regard that as worse than my
+      'Eldad' and 'Bildad.'&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know it, and Alice says&mdash;By the way, you haven't mentioned Alice,
+      but I suppose you see her occasionally.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy paused in evident expectation of a reply. Billy was, in fact, quite
+      pluming herself on the adroit casualness with which she had introduced the
+      subject nearest her heart.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Calderwell raised his eyebrows.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes, I see her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you hadn't mentioned her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was the briefest of pauses; then with a half-quizzical dejection,
+      there came the remark:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You seem to forget. I told you that I stayed here this summer for reasons
+      too numerous, and one too heart-breaking, to mention. She was the <i>one</i>.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You mean&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. The usual thing. She turned me down. Oh, I haven't asked her yet as
+      many times as I did you, but&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;<i>Hugh!</i>&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Hugh tossed her a grim smile and went on imperturbably.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm older now, of course, and know more, perhaps. Besides, the finality
+      of her remarks was not to be mistaken.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy, in spite of her sympathy for Calderwell, was conscious of a throb
+      of relief that at least one stumbling-block was removed from Arkwright's
+      possible pathway to Alice's heart.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did she give any special reason?&rdquo; hazarded Billy, a shade too anxiously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes. She said she wasn't going to marry anybody&mdash;only her
+      music.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense!&rdquo; ejaculated Billy, falling back in her chair a little.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I said that, too,&rdquo; gloomed the man; &ldquo;but it didn't do any good. You
+      see, I had known another girl who'd said the same thing once.&rdquo; (He did not
+      look up, but a vivid red flamed suddenly into Billy's cheeks.) &ldquo;And she&mdash;when
+      the right one came&mdash;forgot all about the music, and married the man.
+      So I naturally suspected that Alice would do the same thing. In fact, I
+      said so to her. I was bold enough to even call the man by name&mdash;I
+      hadn't been jealous of Arkwright for nothing, you see&mdash;but she denied
+      it, and flew into such an indignant allegation that there wasn't a word of
+      truth in it, that I had to sue for pardon before I got anything like
+      peace.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh-h!&rdquo; said Billy, in a disappointed voice, falling quite back in her
+      chair this time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And so that's why I'm wanting especially just now to see the wheels go
+      'round,&rdquo; smiled Calderwell, a little wistfully. &ldquo;Oh, I shall get over it,
+      I suppose. It isn't the first time, I'll own&mdash;but some day I take it
+      there will be a last time. Enough of this, however! You haven't told me a
+      thing about yourself. How about it? When I come back, are you going to
+      give me a dinner cooked by your own fair hands? Going to still play
+      Bridget?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed and shook her head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No; far from it. Eliza has come back, and her cousin from Vermont is
+      coming as second girl to help her. But I <i>could</i> cook a dinner for
+      you if I had to now, sir, and it wouldn't be potato-mush and cold lamb,&rdquo;
+       she bragged shamelessly, as there sounded Bertram's peculiar ring, and the
+      click of his key in the lock.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was the next afternoon that Billy called on Marie. From Marie's, Billy
+      went to the Annex, which was very near Cyril's new house; and there, in
+      Aunt Hannah's room, she had what she told Bertram afterwards was a
+      perfectly lovely visit.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah, too, enjoyed the visit very much, though yet there was one
+      thing that disturbed her&mdash;the vaguely troubled look in Billy's eyes,
+      which to-day was more apparent than ever. Not until just before Billy went
+      home did something occur to give Aunt Hannah a possible clue as to what
+      was the meaning of it. That something was a question from Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aunt Hannah, why don't I feel like Marie did? why don't I feel like
+      everybody does in books and stories? Marie went around with such a
+      detached, heavenly, absorbed look in her eyes, before the twins came to
+      her home. But I don't. I don't find anything like that in my face, when I
+      look in the glass. And I don't feel detached and absorbed and heavenly.
+      I'm happy, of course; but I can't help thinking of the dear, dear times
+      Bertram and I have together, just we two, and I can't seem to imagine it
+      at all with a third person around.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy! <i>Third person</i>, indeed!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There! I knew 'twould shock you,&rdquo; mourned Billy. &ldquo;It shocks me. I <i>want</i>
+      to feel detached and heavenly and absorbed.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But Billy, dear, think of it&mdash;calling your own baby a third person!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy sighed despairingly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I know. And I suppose I might as well own up to the rest of it too.
+      I&mdash;I'm actually afraid of babies, Aunt Hannah! Well, I am,&rdquo; she
+      reiterated, in answer to Aunt Hannah's gasp of disapproval. &ldquo;I'm not used
+      to them at all. I never had any little brothers and sisters, and I don't
+      know how to treat babies. I&mdash;I'm always afraid they'll break, or
+      something. I'm just as afraid of the twins as I can be. How Marie can
+      handle them, and toss them about as she does, I don't see.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Toss them about, indeed!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, it looks that way to me,&rdquo; sighed Billy. &ldquo;Anyhow, I know I can never
+      get to handle them like that&mdash;and that's no way to feel! And I'm
+      ashamed of myself because I <i>can't</i> be detached and heavenly and
+      absorbed,&rdquo; she added, rising to go. &ldquo;Everybody always is, it seems, but
+      just me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fiddlededee, my dear!&rdquo; scoffed Aunt Hannah, patting Billy's downcast
+      face. &ldquo;Wait till a year from now, and we'll see about that third-person
+      bugaboo you're worrying about. <i>I'm</i> not worrying now; so you'd
+      better not!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXII. A DOT AND A DIMPLE
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      On the day Cyril Henshaw's twins were six months old, a momentous
+      occurrence marked the date with a flaming red letter of remembrance; and
+      it all began with a baby's smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Cyril, in quest of his wife at about ten o'clock that morning, and not
+      finding her, pursued his search even to the nursery&mdash;a room he very
+      seldom entered. Cyril did not like to go into the nursery. He felt ill at
+      ease, and as if he were away from home&mdash;and Cyril was known to abhor
+      being away from home since he was married. Now that Marie had taken over
+      the reins of government again, he had been obliged to see very little of
+      those strange women and babies. Not but that he liked the babies, of
+      course. They were his sons, and he was proud of them. They should have
+      every advantage that college, special training, and travel could give
+      them. He quite anticipated what they would be to him&mdash;when they
+      really knew anything. But, of course, <i>now</i>, when they could do
+      nothing but cry and wave their absurd little fists, and wobble their heads
+      in so fearsome a manner, as if they simply did not know the meaning of the
+      word backbone&mdash;and, for that matter, of course they didn't&mdash;why,
+      he could not be expected to be anything but relieved when he had his den
+      to himself again, with a reasonable chance of finding his manuscript as he
+      had left it, and not cut up into a ridiculous string of paper dolls
+      holding hands, as he had once found it, after a visit from a woman with a
+      small girl.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Since Marie had been at the helm, however, he had not been troubled in
+      such a way. He had, indeed, known almost his old customary peace and
+      freedom from interruption, with only an occasional flitting across his
+      path of the strange women and babies&mdash;though he had realized, of
+      course, that they were in the house, especially in the nursery. For that
+      reason, therefore, he always avoided the nursery when possible. But to-day
+      he wanted his wife, and his wife was not to be found anywhere else in the
+      house. So, reluctantly, he turned his steps toward the nursery, and, with
+      a frown, knocked and pushed open the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is Mrs. Henshaw here?&rdquo; he demanded, not over gently.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Absolute silence greeted his question. The man saw then that there was no
+      one in the room save a baby sitting on a mat in the middle of the floor,
+      barricaded on all sides with pillows.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With a deeper frown the man turned to go, when a gleeful &ldquo;Ah&mdash;goo!&rdquo;
+       halted his steps midway. He wheeled sharply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Er&mdash;eh?&rdquo; he queried, uncertainly eyeing his small son on the floor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah&mdash;goo!&rdquo; observed the infant (who had been very lonesome), with
+      greater emphasis; and this time he sent into his father's eyes the most
+      bewitching of smiles.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, by George!&rdquo; murmured the man, weakly, a dawning amazement driving
+      the frown from his face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Spgggh&mdash;oo&mdash;wah!&rdquo; gurgled the boy, holding out two tiny fists.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A slow smile came to the man's face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I'll&mdash;be&mdash;darned,&rdquo; he muttered half-shamefacedly, wholly
+      delightedly. &ldquo;If the rascal doesn't act as if he&mdash;knew me!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah&mdash;goo&mdash;spggghh!&rdquo; grinned the infant, toothlessly, but
+      entrancingly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With almost a stealthy touch Cyril closed the door back of him, and
+      advanced a little dubiously toward his son. His countenance carried a
+      mixture of guilt, curiosity, and dogged determination so ludicrous that it
+      was a pity none but baby eyes could see it. As if to meet more nearly on a
+      level this baffling new acquaintance, Cyril got to his knees&mdash;somewhat
+      stiffly, it must be confessed&mdash;and faced his son.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Goo&mdash;eee&mdash;ooo&mdash;yah!&rdquo; crowed the baby now, thrashing legs
+      and arms about in a transport of joy at the acquisition of this new
+      playmate.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, well, young man, you&mdash;you don't say so!&rdquo; stammered the
+      growingly-proud father, thrusting a plainly timid and unaccustomed finger
+      toward his offspring. &ldquo;So you do know me, eh? Well, who am I?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Da&mdash;da!&rdquo; gurgled the boy, triumphantly clutching the outstretched
+      finger, and holding on with a tenacity that brought a gleeful chuckle to
+      the lips of the man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jove! but aren't you the strong little beggar, though! Needn't tell me
+      you don't know a good thing when you see it! So I'm 'da-da,' am I?&rdquo; he
+      went on, unhesitatingly accepting as the pure gold of knowledge the
+      shameless imitation vocabulary his son was foisting upon him. &ldquo;Well, I
+      expect I am, and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Cyril!&rdquo; The door had opened, and Marie was in the room. If she gave a
+      start of surprise at her husband's unaccustomed attitude, she quickly
+      controlled herself. &ldquo;Julia said you wanted me. I must have been going down
+      the back stairs when you came up the front, and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Please, Mrs. Henshaw, is it Dot you have in here, or Dimple?&rdquo; asked a new
+      voice, as the second nurse entered by another door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Before Mrs. Henshaw could answer, Cyril, who had got to his feet, turned
+      sharply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is it&mdash;<i>who</i>?&rdquo; he demanded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! Oh, Mr. Henshaw,&rdquo; stammered the girl. &ldquo;I beg your pardon. I didn't
+      know you were here. It was only that I wanted to know which baby it was.
+      We thought we had Dot with us, until&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dot! Dimple!&rdquo; exploded the man. &ldquo;Do you mean to say you have given my <i>sons</i>
+      the ridiculous names of '<i>Dot</i>' and '<i>Dimple</i>'?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, no&mdash;yes&mdash;well, that is&mdash;we had to call them
+      something,&rdquo; faltered the nurse, as with a despairing glance at her
+      mistress, she plunged through the doorway.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Cyril turned to his wife.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Marie, what is the meaning of this?&rdquo; he demanded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Cyril, dear, don't&mdash;don't get so wrought up,&rdquo; she begged. &ldquo;It's
+      only as Mary said, we <i>had</i> to call them something, and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wrought up, indeed!&rdquo; interrupted Cyril, savagely. &ldquo;Who wouldn't be? 'Dot'
+      and 'Dimple'! Great Scott! One would think those boys were a couple of
+      kittens or puppies; that they didn't know anything&mdash;didn't have any
+      brains! But they have&mdash;if the other is anything like this one, at
+      least,&rdquo; he declared, pointing to his son on the floor, who, at this
+      opportune moment joined in the conversation to the extent of an
+      appropriate &ldquo;Ah&mdash;goo&mdash;da&mdash;da!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There, hear that, will you?&rdquo; triumphed the father. &ldquo;What did I tell you?
+      That's the way he's been going on ever since I came into the room; The
+      little rascal knows me&mdash;so soon!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Marie clapped her fingers to her lips and turned her back suddenly, with a
+      spasmodic little cough; but her husband, if he noticed the interruption,
+      paid no heed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dot and Dimple, indeed!&rdquo; he went on wrathfully. &ldquo;That settles it. We'll
+      name those boys to-day, Marie, <i>to-day!</i> Not once again will I let
+      the sun go down on a Dot and a Dimple under my roof.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Marie turned with a quick little cry of happiness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Cyril, I'm so glad! I've so wanted to have them named, you know! And
+      shall we call them Franz and Felix, as we'd talked?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Franz, Felix, John, James, Paul, Charles&mdash;anything, so it's sane and
+      sensible! I'd even adopt Calderwell's absurd Bildad and&mdash;er&mdash;Tomdad,
+      or whatever it was, rather than have those poor little chaps insulted a
+      day longer with a 'Dot' and a 'Dimple.' Great Scott!&rdquo; And, entirely
+      forgetting what he had come to the nursery for, Cyril strode from the
+      room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah&mdash;goo&mdash;spggggh!&rdquo; commented baby from the middle of the floor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was on a very windy March day that Bertram Henshaw's son, Bertram, Jr.,
+      arrived at the Strata. Billy went so far into the Valley of the Shadow of
+      Death for her baby that it was some days before she realized in all its
+      importance the presence of the new member of her family. Even when the
+      days had become weeks, and Bertram, Jr., was a month and a half old, the
+      extreme lassitude and weariness of his young mother was a source of
+      ever-growing anxiety to her family and friends. Billy was so unlike
+      herself, they all said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If something could only rouse her,&rdquo; suggested the Henshaw's old family
+      physician one day. &ldquo;A certain sort of mental shock&mdash;if not too severe&mdash;would
+      do the deed, I think, and with no injury&mdash;only benefit. Her physical
+      condition is in just the state that needs a stimulus to stir it into new
+      life and vigor.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      As it happened, this was said on a certain Monday. Two days later
+      Bertram's sister Kate, on her way with her husband to Mr. Hartwell's old
+      home in Vermont, stopped over in Boston for a two days' visit. She made
+      her headquarters at Cyril's home, but very naturally she went, without
+      much delay, to pay her respects to Bertram, Jr.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Hartwell's brother isn't well,&rdquo; she explained to Billy, after the
+      greetings were over. &ldquo;You know he's the only one left there, since Mother
+      and Father Hartwell came West. We shall go right on up to Vermont in a
+      couple of days, but we just had to stay over long enough to see the baby;
+      and we hadn't ever seen the twins, either, you know. By the way, how
+      perfectly ridiculous Cyril is over those boys!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is he?&rdquo; smiled Billy, faintly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. One would think there were never any babies born before, to hear him
+      talk. He thinks they're the most wonderful things in the world&mdash;and
+      they are cunning little fellows, I'll admit. But Cyril thinks they <i>know</i>
+      so much,&rdquo; went on Kate, laughingly. &ldquo;He's always bragging of something one
+      or the other of them has done. Think of it&mdash;<i>Cyril!</i> Marie says
+      it all started from the time last January when he discovered the nurses
+      had been calling them Dot and Dimple.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I know,&rdquo; smiled Billy again, faintly, lifting a thin, white, very
+      un-Billy-like hand to her head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Kate frowned, and regarded her sister-in-law thoughtfully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mercy! how you look, Billy!&rdquo; she exclaimed, with cheerful tactlessness.
+      &ldquo;They said you did, but, I declare, you look worse than I thought.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy's pale face reddened perceptibly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense! It's just that I'm so&mdash;so tired,&rdquo; she insisted. &ldquo;I shall
+      be all right soon. How did you leave the children?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, and happy&mdash;'specially little Kate, because mother was going
+      away. Kate is mistress, you know, when I'm gone, and she takes herself
+      very seriously.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mistress! A little thing like her! Why, she can't be more than ten or
+      eleven,&rdquo; murmured Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She isn't. She was ten last month. But you'd think she was forty, the
+      airs she gives herself, sometimes. Oh, of course there's Nora, and the
+      cook, and Miss Winton, the governess, there to really manage things, and
+      Mother Hartwell is just around the corner; but little Kate <i>thinks</i>
+      she's managing, so she's happy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy suppressed a smile. Billy was thinking that little Kate came
+      naturally by at least one of her traits.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Really, that child is impossible, sometimes,&rdquo; resumed Mrs. Hartwell, with
+      a sigh. &ldquo;You know the absurd things she was always saying two or three
+      years ago, when we came on to Cyril's wedding.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I remember.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I thought she would get over it. But she doesn't. She's worse, if
+      anything; and sometimes her insight, or intuition, or whatever you may
+      call it, is positively uncanny. I never know what she's going to remark
+      next, when I take her anywhere; but it's safe to say, whatever it is,
+      it'll be unexpected and <i>usually</i> embarrassing to somebody. And&mdash;is
+      that the baby?&rdquo; broke off Mrs. Hartwell, as a cooing laugh and a woman's
+      voice came from the next room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. The nurse has just brought him in, I think,&rdquo; said Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then I'll go right now and see him,&rdquo; rejoined Kate, rising to her feet
+      and hurrying into the next room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Left alone, Billy lay back wearily in her reclining-chair. She wondered
+      why Kate always tired her so. She wished she had had on her blue kimono,
+      then perhaps Kate would not have thought she looked so badly. Blue was
+      always more becoming to her than&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy turned her head suddenly. From the next room had come Kate's
+      clear-cut, decisive voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no, I don't think he looks a bit like his father. That little snubby
+      nose was never the Henshaw nose.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy drew in her breath sharply, and pulled herself half erect in her
+      chair. From the next room came Kate's voice again, after a low murmur from
+      the nurse.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, but he isn't, I tell you. He isn't one bit of a Henshaw baby! The
+      Henshaw babies are always <i>pretty</i> ones. They have more hair, and
+      they look&mdash;well, different.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy gave a low cry, and struggled to her feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no,&rdquo; spoke up Kate, in answer to another indistinct something from
+      the nurse. &ldquo;I don't think he's near as pretty as the twins. Of course the
+      twins are a good deal older, but they have such a <i>bright</i> look,&mdash;and
+      they did have, from the very first. I saw it in their tiniest baby
+      pictures. But this baby&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;<i>This</i> baby is <i>mine</i>, please,&rdquo; cut in a tremulous, but
+      resolute voice; and Mrs. Hartwell turned to confront Bertram, Jr.'s
+      mother, manifestly weak and trembling, but no less manifestly blazing-eyed
+      and determined.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Billy!&rdquo; expostulated Mrs. Hartwell, as Billy stumbled forward and
+      snatched the child into her arms.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps he doesn't look like the Henshaw babies. Perhaps he isn't as
+      pretty as the twins. Perhaps he hasn't much hair, and does have a snub
+      nose. He's my baby just the same, and I shall not stay calmly by and see
+      him abused! Besides, <i>I</i> think he's prettier than the twins ever
+      thought of being; and he's got all the hair I want him to have, and his
+      nose is just exactly what a baby's nose ought to be!&rdquo; And, with a superb
+      gesture, Billy turned and bore the baby away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXIII. BILLY AND THE ENORMOUS RESPONSIBILITY
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      When the doctor heard from the nurse of Mrs. Hartwell's visit and what had
+      come of it, he only gave a discreet smile, as befitted himself and the
+      occasion; but to his wife privately, that night, the doctor said, when he
+      had finished telling the story:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And I couldn't have prescribed a better pill if I'd tried!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;<i>Pill</i>&mdash;Mrs. Hartwell! Oh, Harold,&rdquo; reproved the doctor's wife,
+      mildly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But the doctor only chuckled the more, and said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You wait and see.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      If Billy's friends were worried before because of her lassitude and lack
+      of ambition, they were almost as worried now over her amazing alertness
+      and insistent activity. Day by day, almost hour by hour, she seemed to
+      gain in strength; and every bit she acquired she promptly tested almost to
+      the breaking point, so plainly eager was she to be well and strong. And
+      always, from morning until night, and again from night until morning, the
+      pivot of her existence, around which swung all thoughts, words, actions,
+      and plans, was the sturdy little plump-cheeked, firm-fleshed atom of
+      humanity known as Bertram, Jr. Even Aunt Hannah remonstrated with her at
+      last.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, Billy, dear,&rdquo; she exclaimed, &ldquo;one would almost get the idea that you
+      thought there wasn't a thing in the world but that baby!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, do you know, sometimes I 'most think there isn't,&rdquo; she retorted
+      unblushingly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy!&rdquo; protested Aunt Hannah; then, a little severely, she demanded:
+      &ldquo;And who was it that just last September was calling this same
+      only-object-in-the-world a third person in your home?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Third person, indeed! Aunt Hannah, did I? Did I really say such a
+      dreadful thing as that? But I didn't know, then, of course. I couldn't
+      know how perfectly wonderful a baby is, especially such a baby as Bertram,
+      Jr., is. Why, Aunt Hannah, that little thing knows a whole lot already.
+      He's known me for weeks; I know he has. And ages and ages ago he began to
+      give me little smiles when he saw me. They were smiles&mdash;real smiles!
+      Oh, yes, I know nurse said they weren't smiles at the first,&rdquo; admitted
+      Billy, in answer to Aunt Hannah's doubting expression. &ldquo;I know nurse said
+      it was only wind on his stomach. Think of it&mdash;wind on his stomach!
+      Just as if I didn't know the difference between my own baby's smile and
+      wind on his stomach! And you don't know how soon he began to follow my
+      moving finger with his eyes!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I tried that one day, I remember,&rdquo; observed Aunt Hannah demurely. &ldquo;I
+      moved my finger. He looked at the ceiling&mdash;<i>fixedly</i>.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, probably he <i>wanted</i> to look at the ceiling, then,&rdquo; defended
+      the young mother, promptly. &ldquo;I'm sure I wouldn't give a snap for a baby if
+      he didn't sometimes have a mind of his own, and exercise it!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Billy, Billy,&rdquo; laughed Aunt Hannah, with a shake of her head as Billy
+      turned away, chin uptilted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      By the time Bertram, Jr., was three months old, Billy was unmistakably her
+      old happy, merry self, strong and well. Affairs at the Strata once more
+      were moving as by clockwork&mdash;only this time it was a baby's hand that
+      set the clock, and that wound it, too.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy told her husband very earnestly that now they had entered upon a
+      period of Enormous Responsibility. The Life, Character, and Destiny of a
+      Human Soul was intrusted to their care, and they must be Wise, Faithful,
+      and Efficient. They must be at once Proud and Humble at this their Great
+      Opportunity. They must Observe, Learn, and Practice. First and foremost in
+      their eyes must always be this wonderful Important Trust.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram laughed at first very heartily at Billy's instructions, which, he
+      declared, were so bristling with capitals that he could fairly see them
+      drop from her lips. Then, when he found how really very much in earnest
+      she was, and how hurt she was at his levity, he managed to pull his face
+      into something like sobriety while she talked to him, though he did
+      persist in dropping kisses on her cheeks, her chin, her finger-tips, her
+      hair, and the little pink lobes of her ears&mdash;&ldquo;just by way of
+      punctuation&rdquo; to her sentences, he said. And he told her that he wasn't
+      really slighting her lips, only that they moved so fast he could not catch
+      them. Whereat Billy pouted, and told him severely that he was a bad,
+      naughty boy, and that he did not deserve to be the father of the dearest,
+      most wonderful baby in the world.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I know I don't,&rdquo; beamed Bertram, with cheerful unrepentance; &ldquo;but I
+      am, just the same,&rdquo; he finished triumphantly. And this time he contrived
+      to find his wife's lips.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Bertram,&rdquo; sighed Billy, despairingly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You're an old dear, of course, and one just can't be cross with you; but
+      you don't, you just <i>don't</i> realize your Immense Responsibility.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes, I do,&rdquo; maintained Bertram so seriously that even Billy herself
+      almost believed him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In spite of his assertions, however, it must be confessed that Bertram was
+      much more inclined to regard the new member of his family as just his son
+      rather than as an Important Trust; and there is little doubt that he liked
+      to toss him in the air and hear his gleeful crows of delight, without any
+      bother of Observing him at all. As to the Life and Character and Destiny
+      intrusted to his care, it is to be feared that Bertram just plain gloried
+      in his son, poked him in the ribs, and chuckled him under the chin
+      whenever he pleased, and gave never so much as a thought to Character and
+      Destiny. It is to be feared, too, that he was Proud without being Humble,
+      and that the only Opportunity he really appreciated was the chance to show
+      off his wife and baby to some less fortunate fellow-man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But not so Billy. Billy joined a Mothers' Club and entered a class in
+      Child Training with an elaborate system of Charts, Rules, and Tests. She
+      subscribed to each new &ldquo;Mothers' Helper,&rdquo; and the like, that she came
+      across, devouring each and every one with an eagerness that was tempered
+      only by a vague uneasiness at finding so many differences of opinion among
+      Those Who Knew.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Undeniably Billy, if not Bertram, was indeed realizing the Enormous
+      Responsibility, and was keeping ever before her the Important Trust.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In June Bertram took a cottage at the South Shore, and by the time the
+      really hot weather arrived the family were well settled. It was only an
+      hour away from Boston, and easy of access, but William said he guessed he
+      would not go; he would stay in Boston, sleeping at the house, and getting
+      his meals at the club, until the middle of July, when he was going down in
+      Maine for his usual fishing trip, which he had planned to take a little
+      earlier than usual this year.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you'll be so lonesome, Uncle William,&rdquo; Billy demurred, &ldquo;in this great
+      house all alone!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no, I sha'n't,&rdquo; rejoined Uncle William. &ldquo;I shall only be sleeping
+      here, you know,&rdquo; he finished, with a slightly peculiar smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was well, perhaps, that Billy did not exactly realize the significance
+      of that smile, nor the unconscious emphasis on the word &ldquo;sleeping,&rdquo; for it
+      would have troubled her not a little.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      William, to tell the truth, was quite anticipating that sleeping.
+      William's nights had not been exactly restful since the baby came. His
+      evenings, too, had not been the peaceful things they were wont to be.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Some of Billy's Rules and Tests were strenuously objected to on the part
+      of her small son, and the young man did not hesitate to show it. Billy
+      said that it was good for the baby to cry, that it developed his lungs;
+      but William was very sure that it was not good for <i>him</i>. Certainly,
+      when the baby did cry, William never could help hovering near the center
+      of disturbance, and he always <i>had</i> to remind Billy that it might be
+      a pin, you know, or some cruel thing that was hurting. As if he, William,
+      a great strong man, could sit calmly by and smoke a pipe, or lie in his
+      comfortable bed and sleep, while that blessed little baby was crying his
+      heart out like that! Of course, if one did not <i>know</i> he was crying&mdash;Hence
+      William's anticipation of those quiet, restful nights when he could not
+      know it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Very soon after Billy's arrival at the cottage, Aunt Hannah and Alice
+      Greggory came down for a day's visit. Aunt Hannah had been away from
+      Boston for several weeks, so it was some time since she had seen the baby.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My, but hasn't he grown!&rdquo; she exclaimed, picking the baby up and stooping
+      to give him a snuggling kiss. The next instant she almost dropped the
+      little fellow, so startling had been Billy's cry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, no, wait, Aunt Hannah, please,&rdquo; Billy was entreating, hurrying to the
+      little corner cupboard. In a moment she was back with a small bottle and a
+      bit of antiseptic cotton. &ldquo;We always sterilize our lips now before we kiss
+      him&mdash;it's so much safer, you know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah sat down limply, the baby still in her arms.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fiddlededee, Billy! What an absurd idea! What have you got in that
+      bottle?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Aunt Hannah, it's just a little simple listerine,&rdquo; bridled Billy,
+      &ldquo;and it isn't absurd at all. It's very sensible. My 'Hygienic Guide for
+      Mothers' says&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I suppose I may kiss his hand,&rdquo; interposed Aunt Hannah, just a
+      little curtly, &ldquo;without subjecting myself to a City Hospital treatment!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed shamefacedly, but she still held her ground.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, you can't&mdash;nor even his foot. He might get them in his mouth.
+      Aunt Hannah, why does a baby think that everything, from his own toes to
+      his father's watch fob and the plush balls on a caller's wrist-bag, is
+      made to eat? As if I could sterilize everything, and keep him from getting
+      hold of germs somewhere!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You'll have to have a germ-proof room for him,&rdquo; laughed Alice Greggory,
+      playfully snapping her fingers at the baby in Aunt Hannah's lap.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy turned eagerly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, did you read about that, too?&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;I thought it was <i>so</i>
+      interesting, and I wondered if I could do it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Alice stared frankly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You don't mean to say they actually <i>have</i> such things,&rdquo; she
+      challenged.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I read about them in a magazine,&rdquo; asserted Billy, &ldquo;&mdash;how you
+      could have a germ-proof room. They said it was very simple, too. Just
+      pasteurize the air, you know, by heating it to one hundred and ten and
+      one-half degrees Fahrenheit for seventeen and one-half minutes. I remember
+      just the figures.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Simple, indeed! It sounds so,&rdquo; scoffed Aunt Hannah, with uplifted
+      eyebrows.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, well, I couldn't do it, of course,&rdquo; admitted Billy, regretfully.
+      &ldquo;Bertram never'd stand for that in the world. He's always rushing in to
+      show the baby off to every Tom, Dick and Harry and his wife that comes;
+      and of course if you opened the nursery door, that would let in those germ
+      things, and you <i>couldn't</i> very well pasteurize your callers by
+      heating them to one hundred and ten and one-half degrees for seventeen and
+      one-half minutes! I don't see how you could manage such a room, anyway,
+      unless you had a system of&mdash;of rooms like locks, same as they do for
+      water in canals.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, my grief and conscience&mdash;locks, indeed!&rdquo; almost groaned Aunt
+      Hannah. &ldquo;Here, Alice, will you please take this child&mdash;that is, if
+      you have a germ-proof certificate about you to show to his mother. I want
+      to take off my bonnet and gloves.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Take him? Of course I'll take him,&rdquo; laughed Alice; &ldquo;and right under his
+      mother's nose, too,&rdquo; she added, with a playful grimace at Billy. &ldquo;And
+      we'll make pat-a-cakes, and send the little pigs to market, and have such
+      a beautiful time that we'll forget there ever was such a thing in the
+      world as an old germ. Eh, babykins?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Babykins&rdquo; cooed his unqualified approval of this plan; but his mother
+      looked troubled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's all right, Alice. You may play with him,&rdquo; she frowned doubtfully;
+      &ldquo;but you mustn't do it long, you know&mdash;not over five minutes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Five minutes! Well, I like that, when I've come all the way from Boston
+      purposely to see him,&rdquo; pouted Alice. &ldquo;What's the matter now? Time for his
+      nap?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no, not for&mdash;thirteen minutes,&rdquo; replied Billy, consulting the
+      watch at her belt. &ldquo;But we never play with Baby more than five minutes at
+      a time. My 'Scientific Care of Infants' says it isn't wise; that with some
+      babies it's positively dangerous, until after they're six months old. It
+      makes them nervous, and forces their mind, you know,&rdquo; she explained
+      anxiously. &ldquo;So of course we'd want to be careful. Bertram, Jr., isn't
+      quite four, yet.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, yes, of course,&rdquo; murmured Alice, politely, stopping a pat-a-cake
+      before it was half baked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The infant, as if suspecting that he was being deprived of his lawful baby
+      rights, began to fret and whimper.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Poor itty sing,&rdquo; crooned Aunt Hannah, who, having divested herself of
+      bonnet and gloves, came hurriedly forward with outstretched hands. &ldquo;Do
+      they just 'buse 'em? Come here to your old auntie, sweetems, and we'll go
+      walkee. I saw a bow-wow&mdash;such a tunnin' ickey wickey bow-wow on the
+      steps when I came in. Come, we go see ickey wickey bow-wow?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aunt Hannah, <i>please!</i>&rdquo; protested Billy, both hands upraised in
+      horror. &ldquo;<i>Won't</i> you say 'dog,' and leave out that dreadful 'ickey
+      wickey'? Of course he can't understand things now, really, but we never
+      know when he'll begin to, and we aren't ever going to let him hear
+      baby-talk at all, if we can help it. And truly, when you come to think of
+      it, it is absurd to expect a child to talk sensibly and rationally on the
+      mental diet of 'moo-moos' and 'choo-choos' served out to them. Our
+      Professor of Metaphysics and Ideology in our Child Study Course says that
+      nothing is so receptive and plastic as the Mind of a Little Child, and
+      that it is perfectly appalling how we fill it with trivial absurdities
+      that haven't even the virtue of being accurate. So that's why we're trying
+      to be so careful with Baby. You didn't mind my speaking, I know, Aunt
+      Hannah.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no, of course not, Billy,&rdquo; retorted Aunt Hannah, a little tartly, and
+      with a touch of sarcasm most unlike her gentle self. &ldquo;I'm sure I shouldn't
+      wish to fill this infant's plastic mind with anything so appalling as
+      trivial inaccuracies. May I be pardoned for suggesting, however,&rdquo; she went
+      on as the baby's whimper threatened to become a lusty wail, &ldquo;that this
+      young gentleman cries as if he were sleepy and hungry?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, he is,&rdquo; admitted Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, doesn't your system of scientific training allow him to be given
+      such trivial absurdities as food and naps?&rdquo; inquired the lady, mildly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course it does, Aunt Hannah,&rdquo; retorted Billy, laughing in spite of
+      herself. &ldquo;And it's almost time now. There are only a few more minutes to
+      wait.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Few more minutes to wait, indeed!&rdquo; scorned Aunt Hannah. &ldquo;I suppose the
+      poor little fellow might cry and cry, and you wouldn't set that clock
+      ahead by a teeny weeny minute!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Certainly not,&rdquo; said the young mother, decisively. &ldquo;My 'Daily Guide for
+      Mothers' says that a time for everything and everything in its time, is
+      the very A B C and whole alphabet of Right Training. He does everything by
+      the clock, and to the minute,&rdquo; declared Billy, proudly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah sniffed, obviously skeptical and rebellious. Alice Greggory
+      laughed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aunt Hannah looks as if she'd like to bring down her clock that strikes
+      half an hour ahead,&rdquo; she said mischievously; but Aunt Hannah did not deign
+      to answer this.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How long do you rock him?&rdquo; she demanded of Billy. &ldquo;I suppose I may do
+      that, mayn't I?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mercy, I don't rock him at all, Aunt Hannah,&rdquo; exclaimed Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nor sing to him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Certainly not.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you did&mdash;before I went away. I remember that you did.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I know I did,&rdquo; admitted Billy, &ldquo;and I had an awful time, too. Some
+      evenings, every single one of us, even to Uncle William, had to try before
+      we could get him off to sleep. But that was before I got my 'Efficiency of
+      Mother and Child,' or my 'Scientific Training,' and, oh, lots of others.
+      You see, I didn't know a thing then, and I loved to rock him, so I did it&mdash;though
+      the nurse said it wasn't good for him; but I didn't believe <i>her</i>.
+      I've had an awful time changing; but I've done it. I just put him in his
+      little crib, or his carriage, and after a while he goes to sleep.
+      Sometimes, now, he doesn't cry hardly any. I'm afraid, to-day, though, he
+      will,&rdquo; she worried.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I'm afraid he will,&rdquo; almost screamed Aunt Hannah, in order to make
+      herself heard above Bertram, Jr., who, by this time, was voicing his
+      opinion of matters and things in no uncertain manner.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was not, after all, so very long before peace and order reigned; and,
+      in due course, Bertram, Jr., in his carriage, lay fast asleep. Then, while
+      Aunt Hannah went to Billy's room for a short rest, Billy and Alice went
+      out on to the wide veranda which faced the wonderful expanse of sky and
+      sea.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now tell me of yourself,&rdquo; commanded Billy, almost at once. &ldquo;It's been
+      ages since I've heard or seen a thing of you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There's nothing to tell.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense! But there must be,&rdquo; insisted Billy. &ldquo;You know it's months since
+      I've seen anything of you, hardly.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know. We feel quite neglected at the Annex,&rdquo; said Alice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I don't go anywhere,&rdquo; defended Billy. &ldquo;I can't. There isn't time.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Even to bring us the extra happiness?&rdquo; smiled Alice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A quick change came to Billy's face. Her eyes glowed deeply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No; though I've had so much that ought to have gone&mdash;such loads and
+      loads of extra happiness, which I couldn't possibly use myself! Sometimes
+      I'm so happy, Alice, that&mdash;that I'm just frightened. It doesn't seem
+      as if anybody ought to be so happy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Billy, dear,&rdquo; demurred Alice, her eyes filling suddenly with tears.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I've got the Annex. I'm glad I've got that for the overflow,
+      anyway,&rdquo; resumed Billy, trying to steady her voice. &ldquo;I've sent a whole lot
+      of happiness up there mentally, if I haven't actually carried it; so I'm
+      sure you must have got it. Now tell me of yourself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There's nothing to tell,&rdquo; insisted Alice, as before.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You're working as hard as ever?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes&mdash;harder.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;New pupils?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, and some concert engagements&mdash;good ones, for next season.
+      Accompaniments, you know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy nodded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes; I've heard of you already twice, lately, in that line, and very
+      flatteringly, too.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you? Well, that's good.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hm-m.&rdquo; There was a moment's silence, then, abruptly, Billy changed the
+      subject. &ldquo;I had a letter from Belle Calderwell, yesterday.&rdquo; She paused
+      expectantly, but there was no comment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You don't seem interested,&rdquo; she frowned, after a minute.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Alice laughed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pardon me, but&mdash;I don't know the Lady, you see. Was it a good
+      letter?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You know her brother.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very true.&rdquo; Alice's cheeks showed a deeper color. &ldquo;Did she say anything
+      of him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. She said he was coming back to Boston next winter.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Indeed!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. She says that this time he declares he really <i>is</i> going to
+      settle down to work,&rdquo; murmured Billy, demurely, with a sidelong glance at
+      her companion. &ldquo;She says he's engaged to be married&mdash;one of her
+      friends over there.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was no reply. Alice appeared to be absorbed in watching a tiny white
+      sail far out at sea.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Again Billy was silent. Then, with studied carelessness, she said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, and you know Mr. Arkwright, too. She told of him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes? Well, what of him?&rdquo; Alice's voice was studiedly indifferent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, there was quite a lot of him. Belle had just been to hear him sing,
+      and then her brother had introduced him to her. She thinks he's perfectly
+      wonderful, in every way, I should judge. In fact, she simply raved over
+      him. It seems that while we've been hearing nothing from him all winter,
+      he's been winning no end of laurels for himself in Paris and Berlin. He's
+      been studying, too, of course, as well as singing; and now he's got a
+      chance to sing somewhere&mdash;create a rôle, or something&mdash;Belle
+      said she wasn't quite clear on the matter herself, but it was a perfectly
+      splendid chance, and one that was a fine feather in his cap.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then he won't be coming home&mdash;that is, to Boston&mdash;at all this
+      winter, probably,&rdquo; said Alice, with a cheerfulness that sounded just a
+      little forced.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not until February. But he is coming then. He's been engaged for six
+      performances with the Boston Opera Company&mdash;as a star tenor, mind
+      you! Isn't that splendid?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Indeed it is,&rdquo; murmured Alice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Belle writes that Hugh says he's improved wonderfully, and that even he
+      can see that his singing is marvelous. He says Paris is wild over him; but&mdash;for
+      my part, I wish he'd come home and stay here where he belongs,&rdquo; finished
+      Billy, a bit petulantly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, why, Billy!&rdquo; murmured her friend, a curiously startled look coming
+      into her eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I do,&rdquo; maintained Billy; then, recklessly, she added: &ldquo;I had such
+      beautiful plans for him, once, Alice. Oh, if you only could have cared for
+      him, you'd have made such a splendid couple!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A vivid scarlet flew to Alice's face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense!&rdquo; she cried, getting quickly to her feet and bending over one of
+      the flower boxes along the veranda railing. &ldquo;Mr. Arkwright never thought
+      of marrying me&mdash;and I'm not going to marry anybody but my music.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy sighed despairingly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know that's what you say now; but if&mdash;&rdquo; She stopped abruptly.
+      Around the turn of the veranda had appeared Aunt Hannah, wheeling Bertram,
+      Jr., still asleep in his carriage.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I came out the other door,&rdquo; she explained softly. &ldquo;And it was so lovely I
+      just had to go in and get the baby. I thought it would be so nice for him
+      to finish his nap out here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy arose with a troubled frown.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, Aunt Hannah, he mustn't&mdash;he can't stay out here. I'm sorry, but
+      we'll have to take him back.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aunt Hannah's eyes grew mutinous.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I thought the outdoor air was just the thing for him. I'm sure your
+      scientific hygienic nonsense says <i>that!</i>&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They do&mdash;they did&mdash;that is, some of them do,&rdquo; acknowledged
+      Billy, worriedly; &ldquo;but they differ, so! And the one I'm going by now says
+      that Baby should always sleep in an <i>even</i> temperature&mdash;seventy
+      degrees, if possible; and that's exactly what the room in there was, when
+      I left him. It's not the same out here, I'm sure. In fact I looked at the
+      thermometer to see, just before I came out myself. So, Aunt Hannah, I'm
+      afraid I'll have to take him back.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you used to have him sleep out of doors all the time, on that little
+      balcony out of your room,&rdquo; argued Aunt Hannah, still plainly unconvinced.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I know I did. I was following the other man's rules, then. As I
+      said, if only they wouldn't differ so! Of course I want the best; but it's
+      so hard to always know the best, and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At this very inopportune moment Master Bertram took occasion to wake up,
+      which brought even a deeper wrinkle of worry to his fond mother's
+      forehead; for she said that, according to the clock, he should have been
+      sleeping exactly ten and one-half more minutes, and that of course he
+      couldn't commence the next thing until those ten and one-half minutes were
+      up, or else his entire schedule for the day would be shattered. So what
+      she should do with him for those should-have-been-sleeping ten minutes and
+      a half, she did not know. All of which drew from Aunt Hannah the
+      astounding exclamation of:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, my grief and conscience, Billy, if you aren't the&mdash;the limit!&rdquo;
+       Which, indeed, she must have been, to have brought circumspect Aunt Hannah
+      to the point of actually using slang.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXIV. A NIGHT OFF
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      The Henshaw family did not return to the Strata until late in September.
+      Billy said that the sea air seemed to agree so well with the baby it would
+      be a pity to change until the weather became really too cool at the shore
+      to be comfortable.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      William came back from his fishing trip in August, and resumed his old
+      habit of sleeping at the house and taking his meals at the club. To be
+      sure, for a week he went back and forth between the city and the beach
+      house; but it happened to be a time when Bertram, Jr., was cutting a
+      tooth, and this so wore upon William's sympathy&mdash;William still could
+      not help insisting it <i>might</i> be a pin&mdash;that he concluded peace
+      lay only in flight. So he went back to the Strata.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram had stayed at the cottage all summer, painting industriously.
+      Heretofore he had taken more of a vacation through the summer months, but
+      this year there seemed to be nothing for him to do but to paint. He did
+      not like to go away on a trip and leave Billy, and she declared she could
+      not take the baby nor leave him, and that she did not need any trip,
+      anyway.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right, then, we'll just stay at the beach, and have a fine vacation
+      together,&rdquo; he had answered her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As Bertram saw it, however, he could detect very little &ldquo;vacation&rdquo; to it.
+      Billy had no time for anything but the baby. When she was not actually
+      engaged in caring for it, she was studying how to care for it. Never had
+      she been sweeter or dearer, and never had Bertram loved her half so well.
+      He was proud, too, of her devotion, and of her triumphant success as a
+      mother; but he did wish that sometimes, just once in a while, she would
+      remember she was a wife, and pay a little attention to him, her husband.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram was ashamed to own it, even to himself, but he was feeling just a
+      little abused that summer; and he knew that, in his heart, he was actually
+      getting jealous of his own son, in spite of his adoration of the little
+      fellow. He told himself defensively that it was not to be expected that he
+      should not want the love of his wife, the attentions of his wife, and the
+      companionship of his wife&mdash;a part of the time. It was nothing more
+      than natural that occasionally he should like to see her show some
+      interest in subjects not mentioned in Mothers' Guides and Scientific
+      Trainings of Infants; and he did not believe he could be blamed for
+      wanting his residence to be a home for himself as well as a nursery for
+      his offspring.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Even while he thus discontentedly argued with himself, however, Bertram
+      called himself a selfish brute just to think such things when he had so
+      dear and loving a wife as Billy, and so fine and splendid a baby as
+      Bertram, Jr. He told himself, too, that very likely when they were back in
+      their own house again, and when motherhood was not so new to her, Billy
+      would not be so absorbed in the baby. She would return to her old interest
+      in her husband, her music, her friends, and her own personal appearance.
+      Meanwhile there was always, of course, for him, his painting. So he would
+      paint, accepting gladly what crumbs of attention fell from the baby's
+      table, and trust to the future to make Billy none the less a mother,
+      perhaps, but a little more the wife.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Just how confidently he was counting on this coming change, Bertram hardly
+      realized himself; but certainly the family was scarcely settled at the
+      Strata before the husband gayly proposed one evening that he and Billy
+      should go to the theater to see &ldquo;Romeo and Juliet.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy was clearly both surprised and shocked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Bertram, I can't&mdash;you know I can't!&rdquo; she exclaimed reprovingly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram's heart sank; but he kept a brave front.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why not?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What a question! As if I'd leave Baby!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, Billy, dear, you'd be gone less than three hours, and you say
+      Delia's the most careful of nurses.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy's forehead puckered into an anxious frown.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can't help it. Something might happen to him, Bertram. I couldn't be
+      happy a minute.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, dearest, aren't you <i>ever</i> going to leave him?&rdquo; demanded the
+      young husband, forlornly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, yes, of course, when it's reasonable and necessary. I went out to
+      the Annex yesterday afternoon. I was gone almost two whole hours.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, did anything happen?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;N-no; but then I telephoned, you see, several times, so I <i>knew</i>
+      everything was all right.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, well, if that's all you want, I could telephone, you know, between
+      every act,&rdquo; suggested Bertram, with a sarcasm that was quite lost on the
+      earnest young mother.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Y-yes, you could do that, couldn't you?&rdquo; conceded Billy; &ldquo;and, of course,
+      I <i>haven't</i> been anywhere much, lately.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Indeed I could,&rdquo; agreed Bertram, with a promptness that carefully hid his
+      surprise at her literal acceptance of what he had proposed as a huge joke.
+      &ldquo;Come, is it a go? Shall I telephone to see if I can get seats?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You think Baby'll surely be all right?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I certainly do.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And you'll telephone home between every act?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I will.&rdquo; Bertram's voice sounded almost as if he were repeating the
+      marriage service.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And we'll come straight home afterwards as fast as John and Peggy can
+      bring us?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Certainly.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then I think&mdash;I'll&mdash;go,&rdquo; breathed Billy, tremulously, plainly
+      showing what a momentous concession she thought she was making. &ldquo;I do love
+      'Romeo and Juliet,' and I haven't seen it for ages!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good! Then I'll find out about the tickets,&rdquo; cried Bertram, so elated at
+      the prospect of having an old-time evening out with his wife that even the
+      half-hourly telephones did not seem too great a price to pay.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When the time came, they were a little late in starting. Baby was fretful,
+      and though Billy usually laid him in his crib and unhesitatingly left the
+      room, insisting that he should go to sleep by himself in accordance with
+      the most approved rules in her Scientific Training; yet to-night she could
+      not bring herself to the point of leaving the house until he was quiet.
+      Hurried as they were when they did start, Billy was conscious of Bertram's
+      frowning disapproval of her frock.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You don't like it, of course, dear, and I don't blame you,&rdquo; she smiled
+      remorsefully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I like it&mdash;that is, I did, when it was new,&rdquo; rejoined her
+      husband, with apologetic frankness. &ldquo;But, dear, didn't you have anything
+      else? This looks almost&mdash;well, mussy, you know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No&mdash;well, yes, maybe there were others,&rdquo; admitted Billy; &ldquo;but this
+      was the quickest and easiest to get into, and it all came just as I was
+      getting Baby ready for bed, you know. I am a fright, though, I'll
+      acknowledge, so far as clothes go. I haven't had time to get a thing since
+      Baby came. I must get something right away, I suppose.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, indeed,&rdquo; declared Bertram, with emphasis, hurrying his wife into the
+      waiting automobile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy had to apologize again at the theater, for the curtain had already
+      risen on the ancient quarrel between the houses of Capulet and Montague,
+      and Billy knew her husband's special abhorrence of tardy arrivals. Later,
+      though, when well established in their seats, Billy's mind was plainly not
+      with the players on the stage.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you suppose Baby <i>is</i> all right?&rdquo; she whispered, after a time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sh-h! Of course he is, dear!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a brief silence, during which Billy peered at her program in the
+      semi-darkness. Then she nudged her husband's arm ecstatically.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bertram, I couldn't have chosen a better play if I'd tried. There are <i>five</i>
+      acts! I'd forgotten there were so many. That means you can telephone four
+      times!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, dear.&rdquo; Bertram's voice was sternly cheerful.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You must be sure they tell you exactly how Baby is.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right, dear. Sh-h! Here's Romeo.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy subsided. She even clapped a little in spasmodic enthusiasm.
+      Presently she peered at her program again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There wouldn't be time, I suppose, to telephone between the scenes,&rdquo; she
+      hazarded wistfully. &ldquo;There are sixteen of those!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, hardly! Billy, you aren't paying one bit of attention to the play!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, of course I am,&rdquo; whispered Billy, indignantly. &ldquo;I think it's
+      perfectly lovely, and I'm perfectly contented, too&mdash;since I found out
+      about those five acts, and as long as I <i>can't</i> have the sixteen
+      scenes,&rdquo; she added, settling back in her seat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As if to prove that she was interested in the play, her next whisper, some
+      time later, had to do with one of the characters on the stage.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who's that&mdash;the nurse? Mercy! We wouldn't want her for Baby, would
+      we?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In spite of himself Bertram chuckled this time. Billy, too, laughed at
+      herself. Then, resolutely, she settled into her seat again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The curtain was not fairly down on the first act before Billy had laid an
+      urgent hand on her husband's arm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now, remember; ask if he's waked up, or anything,&rdquo; she directed. &ldquo;And be
+      sure to say I'll come right home if they need me. Now hurry.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, dear.&rdquo; Bertram rose with alacrity. &ldquo;I'll be back right away.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, but I don't want you to hurry <i>too</i> much,&rdquo; she called after him,
+      softly. &ldquo;I want you to take plenty of time to ask questions.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right,&rdquo; nodded Bertram, with a quizzical smile, as he turned away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Obediently Bertram asked all the question she could think of, then came
+      back to his wife. There was nothing in his report that even Billy could
+      disapprove of, or worry about; and with almost a contented look on her
+      face she turned toward the stage as the curtain went up on the second act.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I love this balcony scene,&rdquo; she sighed happily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Romeo, however, had not half finished his impassioned love-making when
+      Billy clutched her husband's arm almost fiercely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bertram,&rdquo; she fairly hissed in a tragic whisper, &ldquo;I've just happened to
+      think! Won't it be awful when Baby falls in love? I know I shall just hate
+      that girl for taking him away from me!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sh-h! <i>Billy!</i>&rdquo; expostulated her husband, choking with half-stifled
+      laughter. &ldquo;That woman in front heard you, I know she did!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I shall,&rdquo; sighed Billy, mournfully, turning back to the stage.
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+   &ldquo;'Good night, good night! parting is such sweet sorrow,
+     That I shall say good night, till it be morrow,&rdquo;'
+</pre>
+    <p>
+      sighed Juliet passionately to her Romeo.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mercy! I hope not,&rdquo; whispered Billy flippantly in Bertram's ear. &ldquo;I'm
+      sure I don't want to stay here till to-morrow! I want to go home and see
+      Baby.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;<i>Billy!</i>&rdquo; pleaded Bertram so despairingly, that Billy, really
+      conscience-smitten, sat back in her seat and remained, for the rest of the
+      act, very quiet indeed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Deceived by her apparent tranquillity, Bertram turned as the curtain went
+      down.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now, Billy, surely you don't think it'll be necessary to telephone so
+      soon as this again,&rdquo; he ventured.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy's countenance fell.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, Bertram, you <i>said</i> you would! Of course if you aren't willing
+      to&mdash;but I've been counting on hearing all through this horrid long
+      act, and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Goodness me, Billy, I'll telephone every minute for you, of course, if
+      you want me to,&rdquo; cried Bertram, springing to his feet, and trying not to
+      show his impatience.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was back more promptly this time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Everything O. K.,&rdquo; he smiled reassuringly into Billy's anxious eyes.
+      &ldquo;Delia said she'd just been up, and the little chap was sound asleep.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      To the man's unbounded surprise, his wife grew actually white.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Up! Up!&rdquo; she exclaimed. &ldquo;Do you mean that Delia went down-stairs to <i>stay</i>,
+      and left my baby up there alone?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, Billy, she said he was all right,&rdquo; murmured Bertram, softly, casting
+      uneasy sidelong glances at his too interested neighbors.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'All right'! Perhaps he was, <i>then</i>&mdash;but he may not be, later.
+      Delia should stay in the next room all the time, where she could hear the
+      least thing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, dear, she will, I'm sure, if you tell her to,&rdquo; soothed Bertram,
+      quickly. &ldquo;It'll be all right next time.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy shook her head. She was obviously near to crying.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, Bertram, I can't stand it to sit here enjoying myself all safe and
+      comfortable, and know that Baby is <i>alone</i> up there in that great big
+      room! Please, <i>please</i> won't you go and telephone Delia to go up <i>now</i>
+      and stay there?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram, weary, sorely tried, and increasingly aware of those annoyingly
+      interested neighbors, was on the point of saying a very decided no; but a
+      glance into Billy's pleading eyes settled it. Without a word he went back
+      to the telephone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The curtain was up when he slipped into his seat, very red of face. In
+      answer to Billy's hurried whisper he shook his head; but in the short
+      pause between the first and second scenes he said, in a low voice:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm sorry, Billy, but I couldn't get the house at all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Couldn't get them! But you'd just been talking with them!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's exactly it, probably. I had just telephoned, so they weren't
+      watching for the bell. Anyhow, I couldn't get them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then you didn't get Delia at all!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course not.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And Baby is still&mdash;all alone!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But he's all right, dear. Delia's keeping watch of him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      For a moment there was silence; then, with clear decisiveness came Billy's
+      voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bertram, I am going home.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, for heaven's sake don't be a silly goose! The play's half over
+      already. We'll soon be going, anyway.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy's lips came together in a thin little determined line.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bertram, I am going home now, please,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;You needn't come with
+      me; I can go alone.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram said two words under his breath which it was just as well,
+      perhaps, that Billy&mdash;and the neighbors&mdash;did not hear; then he
+      gathered up their wraps and, with Billy, stalked out of the theater.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At home everything was found to be absolutely as it should be. Bertram,
+      Jr., was peacefully sleeping, and Delia, who had come up from downstairs,
+      was sewing in the next room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There, you see,&rdquo; observed Bertram, a little sourly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy drew a long, contented sigh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I see; everything is all right. But that's exactly what I wanted to
+      do, Bertram, you know&mdash;to <i>see for myself</i>,&rdquo; she finished
+      happily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And Bertram, looking at her rapt face as she hovered over the baby's crib,
+      called himself a brute and a beast to mind <i>anything</i> that could make
+      Billy look like that.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXV. &ldquo;SHOULD AULD ACQUAINTANCE BE FORGOT&rdquo;
+     </h2>
+    <p>
+      Bertram did not ask Billy very soon again to go to the theater. For some
+      days, indeed, he did not ask her to do anything. Then, one evening, he did
+      beg for some music.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, you haven't played to me or sung to me since I could remember,&rdquo; he
+      complained. &ldquo;I want some music.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy gave a merry laugh and wriggled her fingers experimentally.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mercy, Bertram! I don't believe I could play a note. You know I'm all out
+      of practice.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But why <i>don't</i> you practice?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Bertram, I can't. In the first place I don't seem to have any time
+      except when Baby's asleep; and I can't play then-I'd wake him up.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram sighed irritably, rose to his feet, and began to walk up and down
+      the room. He came to a pause at last, his eyes bent a trifle
+      disapprovingly on his wife.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy, dear, <i>don't</i> you wear anything but those wrapper things
+      nowadays?&rdquo; he asked plaintively.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Again Billy laughed. But this time a troubled frown followed the laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know, Bertram, I suppose they do look dowdy, sometimes,&rdquo; she confessed;
+      &ldquo;but, you see, I hate to wear a really good dress&mdash;Baby rumples them
+      up so; and I'm usually in a hurry to get to him mornings, and these are so
+      easy to slip into, and so much more comfortable for me to handle him in!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, of course, of course; I see,&rdquo; mumbled Bertram, listlessly taking up
+      his walk again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy, after a moment's silence, began to talk animatedly. Baby had done a
+      wonderfully cunning thing that morning, and Billy had not had a chance yet
+      to tell Bertram. Baby was growing more and more cunning anyway, these
+      days, and there were several things she believed she had not told him; so
+      she told them now.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram listened politely, interestedly. He told himself that he <i>was</i>
+      interested, too. Of course he was interested in the doings of his own
+      child! But he still walked up and down the room a little restlessly,
+      coming to a halt at last by the window, across which the shade had not
+      been drawn.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Billy,&rdquo; he cried suddenly, with his old boyish eagerness, &ldquo;there's a
+      glorious moon. Come on! Let's take a little walk&mdash;a real
+      fellow-and-his-best-girl walk! Will you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mercy! dear, I couldn't,&rdquo; cried Billy springing to her feet. &ldquo;I'd love
+      to, though, if I could,&rdquo; she added hastily, as she saw disappointment
+      cloud her husband's face. &ldquo;But I told Delia she might go out. It isn't her
+      regular evening, of course, but I told her I didn't mind staying with Baby
+      a bit. So I'll have to go right up now. She'll be going soon. But, dear,
+      you go and take your walk. It'll do you good. Then you can come back and
+      tell me all about it&mdash;only you must come in quietly, so not to wake
+      the baby,&rdquo; she finished, giving her husband an affectionate kiss, as she
+      left the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After a disconsolate five minutes of solitude, Bertram got his hat and
+      coat and went out for his walk&mdash;but he told himself he did not expect
+      to enjoy it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram Henshaw knew that the old rebellious jealousy of the summer had
+      him fast in its grip. He was heartily ashamed of himself, but he could not
+      help it. He wanted Billy, and he wanted her then. He wanted to talk to
+      her. He wanted to tell her about a new portrait commission he had just
+      obtained; and he wanted to ask her what she thought of the idea of a
+      brand-new &ldquo;Face of a Girl&rdquo; for the Bohemian Ten Exhibition next March. He
+      wanted&mdash;but then, what would be the use? She would listen, of course,
+      but he would know by the very looks of her face that she would not be
+      really thinking of what he was saying; and he would be willing to wager
+      his best canvas that in the very first pause she would tell about the
+      baby's newest tooth or latest toy. Not but that he liked to hear about the
+      little fellow, of course; and not but that he was proud as Punch of him,
+      too; but that he would like sometimes to hear Billy talk of something
+      else. The sweetest melody in the world, if dinned into one's ears day and
+      night, became something to be fled from.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And Billy ought to talk of something else, too! Bertram, Jr., wonderful as
+      he was, really was not the only thing in the world, or even the only baby;
+      and other people&mdash;outsiders, their friends&mdash;had a right to
+      expect that sometimes other matters might be considered&mdash;their own,
+      for instance. But Billy seemed to have forgotten this. No matter whether
+      the subject of conversation had to do with the latest novel or a trip to
+      Europe, under Billy's guidance it invariably led straight to Baby's
+      Jack-and-Jill book, or to a perambulator journey in the Public Garden. If
+      it had not been so serious, it would have been really funny the way all
+      roads led straight to one goal. He himself, when alone with Billy, had
+      started the most unusual and foreign subjects, sometimes, just to see if
+      there were not somewhere a little bypath that did not bring up in his own
+      nursery. He never, however, found one.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But it was not funny; it was serious. Was this glorious gift on parenthood
+      to which he had looked forward as the crowning joy of his existence, to be
+      nothing but a tragedy that would finally wreck his domestic happiness? It
+      could not be. It must not be. He must be patient, and wait. Billy loved
+      him. He was sure she did. By and by this obsession of motherhood, which
+      had her so fast in its grasp, would relax. She would remember that her
+      husband had rights as well as her child. Once again she would give him the
+      companionship, love, and sympathetic interest so dear to him. Meanwhile
+      there was his work. He must bury himself in that. And fortunate, indeed,
+      he was, he told himself, that he had something so absorbing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was at this point in his meditations that Bertram rounded a corner and
+      came face to face with a man who stopped him short with a jovial:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Isn't it&mdash;by George, it is Bertie Henshaw! Well, what do you think
+      of that for luck?&mdash;and me only two days home from 'Gay Paree'!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Seaver! How are you? You <i>are</i> a stranger!&rdquo; Bertram's voice and
+      handshake were a bit more cordial than they would have been had he not at
+      the moment been feeling so abused and forlorn. In the old days he had
+      liked this Bob Seaver well. Seaver was an artist like himself, and was
+      good company always. But Seaver and his crowd were a little too Bohemian
+      for William's taste; and after Billy came, she, too, had objected to what
+      she called &ldquo;that horrid Seaver man.&rdquo; In his heart, Bertram knew that there
+      was good foundation for their objections, so he had avoided Seaver for a
+      time; and for some years, now, the man had been abroad, somewhat to
+      Bertram's relief. To-night, however, Seaver's genial smile and hearty
+      friendliness were like a sudden burst of sunshine on a rainy day&mdash;and
+      Bertram detested rainy days. He was feeling now, too, as if he had just
+      had a whole week of them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I am something of a stranger here,&rdquo; nodded Seaver. &ldquo;But I tell you
+      what, little old Boston looks mighty good to me, all the same. Come on!
+      You're just the fellow we want. I'm on my way now to the old stamping
+      ground. Come&mdash;right about face, old chap, and come with me!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram shook his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sorry&mdash;but I guess I can't, to-night,&rdquo; he sighed. Both gesture and
+      words were unhesitating, but the voice carried the discontent of a small
+      boy, who, while the sun is still shining, has been told to come into the
+      house.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, rats! Yes, you can, too. Come on! Lots of the old crowd will be there&mdash;Griggs,
+      Beebe, Jack Jenkins, and Tully. We need you to complete the show.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jack Jenkins? Is he here?&rdquo; A new eagerness had come into Bertram's voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sure! He came on from New York last night. Great boy, Jenkins! Just back
+      from Paris fairly covered with medals, you know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, so I hear. I haven't seen him for four years.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Better come to-night then.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No-o,&rdquo; began Bertram, with obvious reluctance. &ldquo;It's already nine
+      o'clock, and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nine o'clock!&rdquo; cut in Seaver, with a broad grin. &ldquo;Since when has your
+      limit been nine o'clock? I've seen the time when you didn't mind nine
+      o'clock in the morning, Bertie! What's got&mdash;Oh, I remember. I met
+      another friend of yours in Berlin; chap named Arkwright&mdash;and say,
+      he's some singer, you bet! You're going to hear of him one of these days.
+      Well, he told me all about how you'd settled down now&mdash;son and heir,
+      fireside bliss, pretty wife, and all the fixings. But, I say, Bertie,
+      doesn't she let you out&mdash;<i>any</i>?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense, Seaver!&rdquo; flared Bertram in annoyed wrath.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, then, why don't you come to-night? If you want to see Jenkins
+      you'll have to; he's going back to New York to-morrow.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      For only a brief minute longer did Bertram hesitate; then he turned
+      squarely about with an air of finality.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is he? Well, then, perhaps I will,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I'd hate to miss Jenkins
+      entirely.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good!&rdquo; exclaimed his companion, as they fell into step. &ldquo;Have a cigar?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thanks. Don't mind if I do.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      If Bertram's chin was a little higher and his step a little more decided
+      than usual, it was all merely by way of accompaniment to his thoughts.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Certainly it was right that he should go, and it was sensible. Indeed, it
+      was really almost imperative&mdash;due to Billy, as it were&mdash;after
+      that disagreeable taunt of Seaver's. As if she did not want him to go when
+      and where he pleased! As if she would consent for a moment to figure in
+      the eyes of his friends as a tyrannical wife who objected to her husband's
+      passing a social evening with his friends! To be sure, in this particular
+      case, she might not favor Seaver's presence, but even she would not mind
+      this once&mdash;and, anyhow, it was Jenkins that was the attraction, not
+      Seaver. Besides, he himself was no undeveloped boy now. He was a man,
+      presumedly able to take care of himself. Besides, again, had not Billy
+      herself told him to go out and enjoy the evening without her, as she had
+      to stay with the baby? He would telephone her, of course, that he had met
+      some old friends, and that he might be late; then she would not worry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And forthwith, having settled the matter in his mind, and to his complete
+      satisfaction, Bertram gave his undivided attention to Seaver, who had
+      already plunged into an account of a recent Art Exhibition he had attended
+      in Paris.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXVI. GHOSTS THAT WALKED FOR BERTRAM
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      October proved to be unusually mild, and about the middle of the month,
+      Bertram, after much unselfish urging on the part of Billy, went to a
+      friend's camp in the Adirondacks for a week's stay. He came back with an
+      angry, lugubrious face&mdash;and a broken arm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Bertram! And your right one, too&mdash;the same one you broke
+      before!&rdquo; mourned Billy, tearfully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course,&rdquo; retorted Bertram, trying in vain to give an air of jauntiness
+      to his reply. &ldquo;Didn't want to be too changeable, you know!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But how did you do it, dear?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fell into a silly little hole covered with underbrush. But&mdash;oh,
+      Billy, what's the use? I did it, and I can't undo it&mdash;more's the
+      pity!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course you can't, you poor boy,&rdquo; sympathized Billy; &ldquo;and you sha'n't
+      be tormented with questions. We'll just be thankful 'twas no worse. You
+      can't paint for a while, of course; but we won't mind that. It'll just
+      give Baby and me a chance to have you all to ourselves for a time, and
+      we'll love that!'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, of course,&rdquo; sighed Bertram, so abstractedly that Billy bridled with
+      pretty resentment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I like your enthusiasm, sir,&rdquo; she frowned. &ldquo;I'm afraid you don't
+      appreciate the blessings you do have, young man! Did you realize what I
+      said? I remarked that you could be with <i>Baby</i> and <i>me</i>,&rdquo; she
+      emphasized.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram laughed, and gave his wife an affectionate kiss.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Indeed I do appreciate my blessings, dear&mdash;when those blessings are
+      such treasures as you and Baby, but&mdash;&rdquo; Only his doleful eyes fixed on
+      his injured arm finished his sentence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know, dear, of course, and I understand,&rdquo; murmured Billy, all
+      tenderness at once.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They were not easy for Bertram&mdash;those following days. Once again he
+      was obliged to accept the little intimate personal services that he so
+      disliked. Once again he could do nothing but read, or wander
+      disconsolately into his studio and gaze at his half-finished &ldquo;Face of a
+      Girl.&rdquo; Occasionally, it is true, driven nearly to desperation by the
+      haunting vision in his mind's eye, he picked up a brush and attempted to
+      make his left hand serve his will; but a bare half-dozen irritating,
+      ineffectual strokes were usually enough to make him throw down his brush
+      in disgust. He never could do anything with his left hand, he told himself
+      dejectedly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Many of his hours, of course, he spent with Billy and his son, and they
+      were happy hours, too; but they always came to be restless ones before the
+      day was half over. Billy was always devotion itself to him&mdash;when she
+      was not attending to the baby; he had no fault to find with Billy. And the
+      baby was delightful&mdash;he could find no fault with the baby. But the
+      baby <i>was</i> fretful&mdash;he was teething, Billy said&mdash;and he
+      needed a great deal of attention; so, naturally, Bertram drifted out of
+      the nursery, after a time, and went down into his studio, where were his
+      dear, empty palette, his orderly brushes, and his tantalizing &ldquo;Face of a
+      Girl.&rdquo; From the studio, generally, Bertram went out on to the street.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Sometimes he dropped into a fellow-artist's studio. Sometimes he strolled
+      into a club or café where he knew he would be likely to find some friend
+      who would help him while away a tiresome hour. Bertram's friends quite
+      vied with each other in rendering this sort of aid, so much so, indeed,
+      that&mdash;naturally, perhaps&mdash;Bertram came to call on their services
+      more and more frequently.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Particularly was this the case when, after the splints were removed,
+      Bertram found, as the days passed, that his arm was not improving as it
+      should improve. This not only disappointed and annoyed him, but worried
+      him. He remembered sundry disquieting warnings given by the physician at
+      the time of the former break&mdash;warnings concerning the probable
+      seriousness of a repetition of the injury. To Billy, of course, Bertram
+      said nothing of all this; but just before Christmas he went to see a noted
+      specialist.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      An hour later, almost in front of the learned surgeon's door, Bertram met
+      Bob Seaver.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Great Scott, Bertie, what's up?&rdquo; ejaculated Seaver. &ldquo;You look as if you'd
+      seen a ghost.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have,&rdquo; answered Bertram, with grim bitterness. &ldquo;I've seen the ghost of&mdash;of
+      every 'Face of a Girl' I ever painted.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Gorry! So bad as that? No wonder you look as if you'd been disporting in
+      graveyards,&rdquo; chuckled Seaver, laughing at his own joke &ldquo;What's the matter&mdash;arm
+      on a rampage to day?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He paused for reply, but as Bertram did not answer at once, he resumed,
+      with gay insistence: &ldquo;Come on! You need cheering up. Suppose we go down to
+      Trentini's and see who's there.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right,&rdquo; agreed Bertram, dully. &ldquo;Suit yourself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram was not thinking of Seaver, Trentini's, or whom he might find
+      there. Bertram was thinking of certain words he had heard less than half
+      an hour ago. He was wondering, too, if ever again he could think of
+      anything but those words.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The truth?&rdquo; the great surgeon had said. &ldquo;Well, the truth is&mdash;I'm
+      sorry to tell you the truth, Mr. Henshaw, but if you will have it&mdash;you've
+      painted the last picture you'll ever paint with your right hand, I fear.
+      It's a bad case. This break, coming as it did on top of the serious injury
+      of two or three years ago, was bad enough; but, to make matters worse, the
+      bone was imperfectly set and wrongly treated, which could not be helped,
+      of course, as you were miles away from skilled surgeons at the time of the
+      injury. We'll do the best we can, of course; but&mdash;well, you asked for
+      the truth, you remember; so I had to give it to you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXVII. THE MOTHER&mdash;THE WIFE
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Bertram made up his mind at once that, for the present, at least, he would
+      tell no one what the surgeon had said to him. He had placed himself under
+      the man's care, and there was nothing to do but to take the prescribed
+      treatment and await results as patiently as he could. Meanwhile there was
+      no need to worry Billy, or William, or anybody else with the matter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy was so busy with her holiday plans that she was only vaguely aware
+      of what seemed to be an increase of restlessness on the part of her
+      husband during those days just before Christmas.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Poor dear, is the arm feeling horrid to-day?&rdquo; she asked one morning, when
+      the gloom on her husband's face was deeper than usual.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram frowned and did not answer directly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Lots of good I am these days!&rdquo; he exclaimed, his moody eyes on the armful
+      of many-shaped, many-sized packages she carried. &ldquo;What are those for-the
+      tree?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes; and it's going to be so pretty, Bertram,&rdquo; exulted Billy. &ldquo;And, do
+      you know, Baby positively acts as if he suspected things&mdash;little as
+      he is,&rdquo; she went on eagerly. &ldquo;He's as nervous as a witch. I can't keep him
+      still a minute!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How about his mother?&rdquo; hinted Bertram, with a faint smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laughed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I'm afraid she isn't exactly calm herself,&rdquo; she confessed, as she
+      hurried out of the room with her parcels.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram looked after her longingly, despondently.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wonder what she'd say if she&mdash;knew,&rdquo; he muttered. &ldquo;But she sha'n't
+      know&mdash;till she just has to,&rdquo; he vowed suddenly, under his breath,
+      striding into the hall for his hat and coat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Never had the Strata known such a Christmas as this was planned to be.
+      Cyril, Marie, and the twins were to be there, also Kate, her husband and
+      three children, Paul, Egbert, and little Kate, from the West. On Christmas
+      Day there was to be a big family dinner, with Aunt Hannah down from the
+      Annex. Then, in concession to the extreme youth of the young host and his
+      twin cousins, there was to be an afternoon tree. The shades were to be
+      drawn and the candles lighted, however, so that there might be no loss of
+      effect. In the evening the tree was to be once more loaded with
+      fascinating packages and candy-bags, and this time the Greggorys, Tommy
+      Dunn, and all the rest from the Annex were to have the fun all over again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      From garret to basement the Strata was aflame with holly, and aglitter
+      with tinsel. Nowhere did there seem to be a spot that did not have its bit
+      of tissue paper or its trail of red ribbon. And everything&mdash;holly,
+      ribbon, tissue, and tinsel&mdash;led to the mysteriously closed doors of
+      the great front drawing-room, past which none but Billy and her accredited
+      messengers might venture. No wonder, indeed, that even Baby scented
+      excitement, and that Baby's mother was not exactly calm. No wonder, too,
+      that Bertram, with his helpless right arm, and his heavy heart, felt
+      peculiarly forlorn and &ldquo;out of it.&rdquo; No wonder, also, that he took himself
+      literally out of it with growing frequency.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. and Mrs. Hartwell and little Kate were to stay at the Strata. The
+      boys, Paul and Egbert, were to go to Cyril's. Promptly at the appointed
+      time, two days before Christmas, they arrived. And from that hour until
+      two days after Christmas, when the last bit of holly, ribbon, tissue, and
+      tinsel disappeared from the floor, Billy moved in a whirl of anxious
+      responsibility that was yet filled with fun, frolic, and laughter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a great success, the whole affair. Everybody seemed pleased and
+      happy&mdash;that is, everybody but Bertram; and he very plainly tried to
+      seem pleased and happy. Even Cyril unbent to the extent of not appearing
+      to mind the noise one bit; and Sister Kate (Bertram said) found only the
+      extraordinarily small number of four details to change in the
+      arrangements. Baby obligingly let his teeth-getting go, for the occasion,
+      and he and the twins, Franz and Felix, were the admiration and delight of
+      all. Little Kate, to be sure, was a trifle disconcerting once or twice,
+      but everybody was too absorbed to pay much attention to her. Billy did,
+      however, remember her opening remarks.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, little Kate, do you remember me?&rdquo; Billy had greeted her pleasantly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes,&rdquo; little Kate had answered, with a winning smile. &ldquo;You're my Aunt
+      Billy what married my Uncle Bertram instead of Uncle William as you said
+      you would first.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Everybody laughed, and Billy colored, of course; but little Kate went on
+      eagerly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And I've been wanting just awfully to see you,&rdquo; she announced.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you? I'm glad, I'm sure. I feel highly flattered,&rdquo; smiled Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I have. You see, I wanted to ask you something. Have you ever
+      wished that you <i>had</i> married Uncle William instead of Uncle Bertram,
+      or that you'd tried for Uncle Cyril before Aunty Marie got him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Kate!&rdquo; gasped her horrified mother. &ldquo;I told you&mdash;You see,&rdquo; she broke
+      off, turning to Billy despairingly. &ldquo;She's been pestering me with
+      questions like that ever since she knew she was coming. She never has
+      forgotten the way you changed from one uncle to the other. You may
+      remember; it made a great impression on her at the time.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I&mdash;I remember,&rdquo; stammered Billy, trying to laugh off her
+      embarrassment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you haven't told me yet whether you did wish you'd married Uncle
+      William, or Uncle Cyril,&rdquo; interposed little Kate, persistently.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, no, of course not!&rdquo; exclaimed Billy, with a vivid blush, casting her
+      eyes about for a door of escape, and rejoicing greatly when she spied
+      Delia with the baby coming toward them. &ldquo;There, look, my dear, here's your
+      new cousin, little Bertram!&rdquo; she exclaimed. &ldquo;Don't you want to see him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Little Kate turned dutifully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes'm, Aunt Billy, but I'd rather see the twins. Mother says <i>they're</i>
+      real pretty and cunning.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Er&mdash;y-yes, they are,&rdquo; murmured Billy, on whom the emphasis of the
+      &ldquo;they're&rdquo; had not been lost.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Naturally, as may be supposed, therefore, Billy had not forgotten little
+      Kate's opening remarks.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Immediately after Christmas Mr. Hartwell and the boys went back to their
+      Western home, leaving Mrs. Hartwell and her daughter to make a round of
+      visits to friends in the East. For almost a week after Christmas they
+      remained at the Strata; and it was on the last day of their stay that
+      little Kate asked the question that proved so momentous in results.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy, almost unconsciously, had avoided tête-á-têtes with her small
+      guest. But to-day they were alone together.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aunt Billy,&rdquo; began the little girl, after a meditative gaze into the
+      other's face, &ldquo;you <i>are</i> married to Uncle Bertram, aren't you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I certainly am, my dear,&rdquo; smiled Billy, trying to speak unconcernedly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, then, what makes you forget it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What makes me forget&mdash;Why, child, what a question! What do you mean?
+      I don't forget it!&rdquo; exclaimed Billy, indignantly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then what <i>did</i> mother mean? I heard her tell Uncle William myself&mdash;she
+      didn't know I heard, though&mdash;that she did wish you'd remember you
+      were Uncle Bertram's wife as well as Cousin Bertram's mother.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy flushed scarlet, then grew very white. At that moment Mrs. Hartwell
+      came into the room. Little Kate turned triumphantly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There, she hasn't forgotten, and I knew she hadn't, mother! I asked her
+      just now, and she said she hadn't.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hadn't what?&rdquo; questioned Mrs. Hartwell, looking a little apprehensively
+      at her sister-in-law's white face and angry eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hadn't forgotten that she was Uncle Bertram's wife.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Kate,&rdquo; interposed Billy, steadily meeting her sister-in-law's gaze, &ldquo;will
+      you be good enough to tell me what this child is talking about?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Hartwell sighed, and gave an impatient gesture.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Kate, I've a mind to take you home on the next train,&rdquo; she said to her
+      daughter. &ldquo;Run away, now, down-stairs. Your Aunt Billy and I want to talk.
+      Come, come, hurry! I mean what I say,&rdquo; she added warningly, as she saw
+      unmistakable signs of rebellion on the small young face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wish,&rdquo; pouted little Kate, rising reluctantly, and moving toward the
+      door, &ldquo;that you didn't always send me away just when I wanted most to
+      stay!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, Kate?&rdquo; prompted Billy, as the door closed behind the little girl.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I suppose I'll have to say it now, as long as that child has put her
+      finger in the pie. But I hadn't intended to speak, no matter what I saw. I
+      promised myself I wouldn't, before I came. I know, of course, how Bertram
+      and Cyril, and William, too, say that I'm always interfering in affairs
+      that don't concern me&mdash;though, for that matter, if my own brother's
+      affairs don't concern me, I don't know whose should!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, as I said, I wasn't going to speak this time, no matter what I saw.
+      And I haven't&mdash;except to William, and Cyril, and Aunt Hannah; but I
+      suppose somewhere little Kate got hold of it. It's simply this, Billy. It
+      seems to me it's high time you began to realize that you're Bertram's wife
+      as well as the baby's mother.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That, I am&mdash;I don't think I quite understand,&rdquo; said Billy,
+      unsteadily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I suppose you don't,&rdquo; sighed Kate, &ldquo;though where your eyes are, I
+      don't see&mdash;or, rather, I do see: they're on the baby, <i>always</i>.
+      It's all very well and lovely, Billy, to be a devoted mother, and you
+      certainly are that. I'll say that much for you, and I'll admit I never
+      thought you would be. But <i>can't</i> you see what you're doing to
+      Bertram?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;<i>Doing to Bertram!</i>&mdash;by being a devoted mother to his son!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, doing to Bertram. Can't you see what a change there is in the boy?
+      He doesn't act like himself at all. He's restless and gloomy and entirely
+      out of sorts.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I know; but that's his arm,&rdquo; pleaded Billy. &ldquo;Poor boy&mdash;he's so
+      tired of it!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Kate shook her head decisively.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's more than his arm, Billy. You'd see it yourself if you weren't
+      blinded by your absorption in that baby. Where is Bertram every evening?
+      Where is he daytimes? Do you realize that he's been at home scarcely one
+      evening since I came? And as for the days&mdash;he's almost never here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, Kate, he can't paint now, you know, so of course he doesn't need to
+      stay so closely at home,&rdquo; defended Billy. &ldquo;He goes out to find distraction
+      from himself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, 'distraction,' indeed,&rdquo; sniffed Kate. &ldquo;And where do you suppose he
+      finds it? Do you <i>know</i> where he finds it? I tell you, Billy, Bertram
+      Henshaw is not the sort of man that should find too much 'distraction'
+      outside his home. His tastes and his temperament are altogether too
+      Bohemian, and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy interrupted with a peremptorily upraised hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Please remember, Kate, you are speaking of my husband to his wife; and
+      his wife has perfect confidence in him, and is just a little particular as
+      to what you say.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes; well, I'm speaking of my brother, too, whom I know very well,&rdquo;
+       shrugged Kate. &ldquo;All is, you may remember sometime that I warned you&mdash;that's
+      all. This trusting business is all very pretty; but I think 'twould be a
+      lot prettier, and a vast deal more sensible, if you'd give him a little
+      attention as well as trust, and see if you can't keep him at home a bit
+      more. At least you'll know whom he's with, then. Cyril says he saw him
+      last week with Bob Seaver.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;With&mdash;Bob&mdash;Seaver?&rdquo; faltered Billy, changing color.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. I see you remember him,&rdquo; smiled Kate, not quite agreeably. &ldquo;Perhaps
+      now you'll take some stock in what I've said, and remember it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll remember it, certainly,&rdquo; returned Billy, a little proudly. &ldquo;You've
+      said a good many things to me, in the past, Mrs. Hartwell, and I've
+      remembered them all&mdash;every one.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was Kate's turn to flush, and she did it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I know. And I presume very likely sometimes there <i>hasn't</i> been
+      much foundation for what I've said. I think this time, however, you'll
+      find there is,&rdquo; she finished, with an air of hurt dignity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy made no reply, perhaps because Delia, at that moment, brought in the
+      baby.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Hartwell and little Kate left the Strata the next morning. Until then
+      Billy contrived to keep, before them, a countenance serene, and a manner
+      free from unrest. Even when, after dinner that evening, Bertram put on his
+      hat and coat and went out, Billy refused to meet her sister-in-law's
+      meaning gaze. But in the morning, after they had left the house, Billy did
+      not attempt to deceive herself. Determinedly, then, she set herself to
+      going over in her mind the past months since the baby came; and she was
+      appalled at what she found. Ever in her ears, too, was that feared name,
+      &ldquo;Bob Seaver&rdquo;; and ever before her eyes was that night years ago when, as
+      an eighteen-year-old girl, she had followed Bertram and Bob Seaver into a
+      glittering café at eleven o'clock at night, because Bertram had been
+      drinking and was not himself. She remembered Bertram's face when he had
+      seen her, and what he had said when she begged him to come home. She
+      remembered, too, what the family had said afterward. But she remembered,
+      also, that years later Bertram had told her what that escapade of hers had
+      really done for him, and that he believed he had actually loved her from
+      that moment. After that night, at all events, he had had little to do with
+      Bob Seaver.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And now Seaver was back again, it seemed&mdash;and with Bertram. They had
+      been seen together. But if they had, what could she do? Surely she could
+      hardly now follow them into a public café and demand that Seaver let her
+      husband come home! But she could keep him at home, perhaps. (Billy quite
+      brightened at this thought.) Kate had said that she was so absorbed in
+      Baby that her husband received no attention at all. Billy did not believe
+      this was true; but if it were true, she could at least rectify that
+      mistake. If it were attention that he wanted&mdash;he should want no more.
+      Poor Bertram! No wonder that he had sought distraction outside! When one
+      had a horrid broken arm that would not let one do anything, what else
+      could one do?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Just here Billy suddenly remembered the book, &ldquo;A Talk to Young Wives.&rdquo; If
+      she recollected rightly, there was a chapter that covered the very claim
+      Kate had been making. Billy had not thought of the book for months, but
+      she went at once to get it now. There might be, after all, something in it
+      that would help her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Coming of the First Baby.&rdquo; Billy found the chapter without difficulty
+      and settled herself to read, her countenance alight with interest. In a
+      surprisingly short time, however, a new expression came to her face; and
+      at last a little gasp of dismay fell from her lips. She looked up then,
+      with a startled gaze.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <i>Had</i> her walls possessed eyes and ears all these past months, only
+      to give instructions to an unseen hand that it might write what the eyes
+      and ears had learned? For it was such sentences as these that the
+      conscience-smitten Billy read:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Maternity is apt to work a miracle in a woman's life, but sometimes it
+      spells disaster so far as domestic bliss is concerned. The young mother,
+      wrapped up in the delights and duties of motherhood, utterly forgets that
+      she has a husband. She lives and moves and has her being in the nursery.
+      She thinks baby, talks baby, knows only baby. She refuses to dress up,
+      because it is easier to take care of baby in a frowzy wrapper. She will
+      not go out with her husband for fear something might happen to the baby.
+      She gives up her music because baby won't let her practice. In vain her
+      husband tries to interest her in his own affairs. She has neither eyes nor
+      ears for him, only for baby.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now no man enjoys having his nose put out of joint, even by his own
+      child. He loves his child devotedly, and is proud of him, of course; but
+      that does not keep him from wanting the society of his wife occasionally,
+      nor from longing for her old-time love and sympathetic interest. It is an
+      admirable thing, certainly, for a woman to be a devoted mother; but
+      maternal affection can be carried too far. Husbands have some rights as
+      well as offspring; and the wife who neglects her husband for her babies
+      does so at her peril. Home, with the wife eternally in the nursery, is apt
+      to be a dull and lonely thing to the average husband, so he starts out to
+      find amusement for himself&mdash;and he finds it. Then is the time when
+      the new little life that is so precious, and that should have bound the
+      two more closely together, becomes the wedge that drives them apart.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy did not read any more. With a little sobbing cry she flung the book
+      back into her desk, and began to pull off her wrapper. Her fingers shook.
+      Already she saw herself a Monster, a Wicked Destroyer of Domestic Bliss
+      with her thoughtless absorption in Baby, until he had become that Awful
+      Thing&mdash;a <i>Wedge</i>. And Bertram&mdash;poor Bertram, with his
+      broken arm! She had not played to him, nor sung to him, nor gone out with
+      him. And when had they had one of their good long talks about Bertram's
+      work and plans?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But it should all be changed now. She would play, and sing, and go out
+      with him. She would dress up, too. He should see no more wrappers. She
+      would ask about his work, and seem interested. She <i>was</i> interested.
+      She remembered now, that just before he was hurt, he had told her of a new
+      portrait, and of a new &ldquo;Face of a Girl&rdquo; that he had planned to do. Lately
+      he had said nothing about these. He had seemed discouraged&mdash;and no
+      wonder, with his broken arm! But she would change all that. He should see!
+      And forthwith Billy hurried to her closet to pick out her prettiest house
+      frock.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Long before dinner Billy was ready, waiting in the drawing-room. She had
+      on a pretty little blue silk gown that she knew Bertram liked, and she
+      watched very anxiously for Bertram to come up the steps. She remembered
+      now, with a pang, that he had long since given up his peculiar ring; but
+      she meant to meet him at the door just the same.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram, however, did not come. At a quarter before six he telephoned that
+      he had met some friends, and would dine at the club.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My, my, how pretty we are!&rdquo; exclaimed Uncle William, when they went down
+      to dinner together. &ldquo;New frock?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, no, Uncle William,&rdquo; laughed Billy, a little tremulously. &ldquo;You've
+      seen it dozens of times!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have I?&rdquo; murmured the man. &ldquo;I don't seem to remember it. Too bad Bertram
+      isn't here to see you. Somehow, you look unusually pretty to-night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And Billy's heart ached anew.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy spent the evening practicing&mdash;softly, to be sure, so as not to
+      wake Baby&mdash;but <i>practicing</i>.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As the days passed Billy discovered that it was much easier to say she
+      would &ldquo;change things&rdquo; than it was really to change them. She changed
+      herself, it is true&mdash;her clothes, her habits, her words, and her
+      thoughts; but it was more difficult to change Bertram. In the first place,
+      he was there so little. She was dismayed when she saw how very little,
+      indeed, he was at home&mdash;and she did not like to ask him outright to
+      stay. That was not in accordance with her plans. Besides, the &ldquo;Talk to
+      Young Wives&rdquo; said that indirect influence was much to be preferred,
+      always, to direct persuasion&mdash;which last, indeed, usually failed to
+      produce results.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So Billy &ldquo;dressed up,&rdquo; and practiced, and talked (of anything but the
+      baby), and even hinted shamelessly once or twice that she would like to go
+      to the theater; but all to little avail. True, Bertram brightened up, for
+      a minute, when he came home and found her in a new or a favorite dress,
+      and he told her how pretty she looked. He appeared to like to have her
+      play to him, too, even declaring once or twice that it was quite like old
+      times, yes, it was. But he never noticed her hints about the theater, and
+      he did not seem to like to talk about his work, even a little bit.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy laid this last fact to his injured arm. She decided that he had
+      become blue and discouraged, and that he needed cheering up, especially
+      about his work; so she determinedly and systematically set herself to
+      doing it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She talked of the fine work he had done, and of the still finer work he
+      would yet do, when his arm was well. She told him how proud she was of
+      him, and she let him see how dear his Art was to her, and how badly she
+      would feel if she thought he had really lost all his interest in his work
+      and would never paint again. She questioned him about the new portrait he
+      was to begin as soon as his arm would let him; and she tried to arouse his
+      enthusiasm in the picture he had planned to show in the March Exhibition
+      of the Bohemian Ten, telling him that she was sure his arm would allow him
+      to complete at least one canvas to hang.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In none of this, however, did Bertram appear in the least interested. The
+      one thing, indeed, which he seemed not to want to talk about, was his
+      work; and he responded to her overtures on the subject with only moody
+      silence, or else with almost irritable monosyllables; all of which not
+      only grieved but surprised Billy very much. For, according to the &ldquo;Talk to
+      Young Wives,&rdquo; she was doing exactly what the ideal, sympathetic,
+      interested-in-her-husband's-work wife should do.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When February came, bringing with it no change for the better, Billy was
+      thoroughly frightened. Bertram's arm plainly was not improving. He was
+      more gloomy and restless than ever. He seemed not to want to stay at home
+      at all; and Billy knew now for a certainty that he was spending more and
+      more time with Bob Seaver and &ldquo;the boys.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Poor Billy! Nowhere could she look these days and see happiness. Even the
+      adored baby seemed, at times, almost to give an added pang. Had he not
+      become, according to the &ldquo;Talk to Young Wives&rdquo; that awful thing, a <i>Wedge</i>?
+      The Annex, too, carried its sting; for where was the need of an overflow
+      house for happiness now, when there was no happiness to overflow? Even the
+      little jade idol on Billy's mantel Billy could not bear to see these days,
+      for its once bland smile had become a hideous grin, demanding, &ldquo;Where,
+      now, is your heap plenty velly good luckee?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But, before Bertram, Billy still carried a bravely smiling face, and to
+      him still she talked earnestly and enthusiastically of his work&mdash;which
+      last, as it happened, was the worst course she could have pursued; for the
+      one thing poor Bertram wished to forget, just now, was&mdash;his work.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXVIII. CONSPIRATORS
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Early in February came Arkwright's appearance at the Boston Opera House&mdash;the
+      first since he had sung there as a student a few years before. He was an
+      immediate and an unquestioned success. His portrait adorned the front page
+      of almost every Boston newspaper the next morning, and captious critics
+      vied with each other to do him honor. His full history, from boyhood up,
+      was featured, with special emphasis on his recent triumphs in New York and
+      foreign capitals. He was interviewed as to his opinion on everything from
+      vegetarianism to woman's suffrage; and his preferences as to pies and
+      pastimes were given headline prominence. There was no doubt of it. Mr. M.
+      J. Arkwright was a star.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All Arkwright's old friends, including Billy, Bertram, Cyril, Marie,
+      Calderwell, Alice Greggory, Aunt Hannah, and Tommy Dunn, went to hear him
+      sing; and after the performance he held a miniature reception, with enough
+      adulation to turn his head completely around, he declared deprecatingly.
+      Not until the next evening, however, did he have an opportunity for what
+      he called a real talk with any of his friends; then, in Calderwell's room,
+      he settled back in his chair with a sigh of content.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For a time his own and Calderwell's affairs occupied their attention;
+      then, after a short pause, the tenor asked abruptly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is there anything&mdash;wrong with the Henshaws, Calderwell?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Calderwell came suddenly erect in his chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you! I hoped you'd introduce that subject; though, for that matter,
+      if you hadn't, I should. Yes, there is&mdash;and I'm looking to you, old
+      man, to get them out of it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I?&rdquo; Arkwright sat erect now.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In a way, the expected has happened&mdash;though I know now that I didn't
+      really expect it to happen, in spite of my prophecies. You may remember I
+      was always skeptical on the subject of Bertram's settling down to a
+      domestic hearthstone. I insisted 'twould be the turn of a girl's head and
+      the curve of her cheek that he wanted to paint.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright looked up with a quick frown.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You don't mean that Henshaw has been cad enough to find another&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Calderwell threw up his hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, no, not that! We haven't that to deal with&mdash;yet, thank goodness!
+      There's no woman in it. And, really, when you come right down to it, if
+      ever a fellow had an excuse to seek diversion, Bertram Henshaw has&mdash;poor
+      chap! It's just this. Bertram broke his arm again last October.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, so I hear, and I thought he was looking badly.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He is. It's a bad business. 'Twas improperly set in the first place, and
+      it's not doing well now. In fact, I'm told on pretty good authority that
+      the doctor says he probably will never use it again.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, by George! Calderwell!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. Tough, isn't it? 'Specially when you think of his work, and know&mdash;as
+      I happen to&mdash;that he's particularly dependent on his right hand for
+      everything. He doesn't tell this generally, and I understand Billy and the
+      family know nothing of it&mdash;how hopeless the case is, I mean. Well,
+      naturally, the poor fellow has been pretty thoroughly discouraged, and to
+      get away from himself he's gone back to his old Bohemian habits, spending
+      much of his time with some of his old cronies that are none too good for
+      him&mdash;Seaver, for instance.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bob Seaver? Yes, I know him.&rdquo; Arkwright's lips snapped together crisply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. He said he knew you. That's why I'm counting on your help.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I mean I want you to get Henshaw away from him, and keep him away.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright's face darkened with an angry flush.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Great Scott, Calderwell! What are you talking about? Henshaw is no kid to
+      be toted home, and I'm no nursery governess to do the toting!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Calderwell laughed quietly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No; I don't think any one would take you for a nursery governess,
+      Arkwright, in spite of the fact that you are still known to some of your
+      friends as 'Mary Jane.' But you can sing a song, man, which will promptly
+      give you a through ticket to their innermost sacred circle. In fact, to my
+      certain knowledge, Seaver is already planning a jamboree with you at the
+      right hand of the toastmaster. There's your chance. Once in, stay in&mdash;long
+      enough to get Henshaw out.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, good heavens, Calderwell, it's impossible! What can I do?&rdquo; demanded
+      Arkwright, savagely. &ldquo;I can't walk up to the man, take him by the ear, and
+      say: 'Here, you, sir&mdash;march home!' Neither can I come the
+      'I-am-holier-than-thou' act, and hold up to him the mirror of his
+      transgressions.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, but you can get him out of it <i>some</i> way. You can find a way&mdash;for
+      Billy's sake.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was no answer, and, after a moment, Calderwell went on more quietly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I haven't seen Billy but two or three times since I came back to Boston&mdash;but
+      I don't need to, to know that she's breaking her heart over something. And
+      of course that something is&mdash;Bertram.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was still no answer. Arkwright got up suddenly, and walked to the
+      window.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You see, I'm helpless,&rdquo; resumed Calderwell. &ldquo;I don't paint pictures, nor
+      sing songs, nor write stories, nor dance jigs for a living&mdash;and you
+      have to do one or another to be in with that set. And it's got to be a
+      Johnny-on-the-spot with Bertram. All is, something will have to be done to
+      get him out of the state of mind and body he's in now, or&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright wheeled sharply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When did you say this jamboree was going to be?&rdquo; he demanded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Next week, some time. The date is not settled. They were going to consult
+      you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hm-m,&rdquo; commented Arkwright. And, though his next remark was a complete
+      change of subject, Calderwell gave a contented sigh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      If, when the proposition was first made to him, Arkwright was doubtful of
+      his ability to be a successful &ldquo;Johnny-on-the-spot,&rdquo; he was even more
+      doubtful of it as the days passed, and he was attempting to carry out the
+      suggestion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He had known that he was undertaking a most difficult and delicate task,
+      and he soon began to fear that it was an impossible one, as well. With a
+      dogged persistence, however, he adhered to his purpose, ever on the alert
+      to be more watchful, more tactful, more efficient in emergencies.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Disagreeable as was the task, in a way, in another way it was a great
+      pleasure to him. He was glad of the opportunity to do anything for Billy;
+      and then, too, he was glad of something absorbing enough to take his mind
+      off his own affairs. He told himself, sometimes, that this helping another
+      man to fight his tiger skin was assisting himself to fight his own.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright was trying very hard not to think of Alice Greggory these days.
+      He had come back hoping that he was in a measure &ldquo;cured&rdquo; of his &ldquo;folly,&rdquo;
+       as he termed it; but the first look into Alice Greggory's blue-gray eyes
+      had taught him the fallacy of that idea. In that very first meeting with
+      Alice, he feared that he had revealed his secret, for she was plainly so
+      nervously distant and ill at ease with him that he could but construe her
+      embarrassment and chilly dignity as pity for him and a desire to show him
+      that she had nothing but friendship for him. Since then he had seen but
+      little of her, partly because he did not wish to see her, and partly
+      because his time was so fully occupied. Then, too, in a round-about way he
+      had heard a rumor that Calderwell was engaged to be married; and, though
+      no feminine name had been mentioned in connection with the story,
+      Arkwright had not hesitated to supply in his own mind that of Alice
+      Greggory.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Beginning with the &ldquo;jamboree,&rdquo; which came off quite in accordance with
+      Calderwell's prophecies, Arkwright spent the most of such time as was not
+      given to his professional duties in deliberately cultivating the society
+      of Bertram and his friends. To this extent he met with no difficulty, for
+      he found that M. J. Arkwright, the new star in the operatic firmament, was
+      obviously a welcome comrade. Beyond this it was not so easy. Arkwright
+      wondered, indeed, sometimes, if he were making any progress at all. But
+      still he persevered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He walked with Bertram, he talked with Bertram, unobtrusively he contrived
+      to be near Bertram almost always, when they were together with &ldquo;the boys.&rdquo;
+       Gradually he won from him the story of what the surgeon had said to him,
+      and of how black the future looked in consequence. This established a new
+      bond between them, so potent that Arkwright ventured to test it one day by
+      telling Bertram the story of the tiger skin&mdash;the first tiger skin in
+      his uncle's library years ago, and of how, since then, any difficulty he
+      had encountered he had tried to treat as a tiger skin. In telling the
+      story he was careful to draw no moral for his listener, and to preach no
+      sermon. He told the tale, too, with all possible whimsical lightness of
+      touch, and immediately at its conclusion he changed the subject. But that
+      he had not failed utterly in his design was evidenced a few days later
+      when Bertram grimly declared that he guessed <i>his</i> tiger skin was a
+      lively beast, all right.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The first time Arkwright went home with Bertram, his presence was almost a
+      necessity. Bertram was not quite himself that night. Billy admitted them.
+      She had plainly been watching and waiting. Arkwright never forgot the look
+      on her face as her eyes met his. There was a curious mixture of terror,
+      hurt pride, relief, and shame, overtopped by a fierce loyalty which almost
+      seemed to say aloud the words: &ldquo;Don't you dare to blame him!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright's heart ached with sympathy and admiration at the proudly
+      courageous way in which Billy carried off the next few painful minutes.
+      Even when he bade her good night a little later, only her eyes said &ldquo;thank
+      you.&rdquo; Her lips were dumb.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright often went home with Bertram after that. Not that it was always
+      necessary&mdash;far from it. Some time, indeed, elapsed before he had
+      quite the same excuse again for his presence. But he had found that
+      occasionally he could get Bertram home earlier by adroit suggestions of
+      one kind or another; and more and more frequently he was succeeding in
+      getting him home for a game of chess.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram liked chess, and was a fine player. Since breaking his arm he had
+      turned to games with the feverish eagerness of one who looks for something
+      absorbing to fill an unrestful mind. It was Seaver's skill in chess that
+      had at first attracted Bertram to the man long ago; but Bertram could beat
+      him easily&mdash;too easily for much pleasure in it now. So they did not
+      play chess often these days. Bertram had found that, in spite of his
+      injury, he could still take part in other games, and some of them, if not
+      so intricate as chess, were at least more apt to take his mind off
+      himself, especially if there were a bit of money up to add zest and
+      interest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As it happened, however, Bertram learned one day that Arkwright could play
+      chess&mdash;and play well, too, as he discovered after their first game
+      together. This fact contributed not a little to such success as Arkwright
+      was having in his efforts to wean Bertram from his undesirable companions;
+      for Bertram soon found out that Arkwright was more than a match for
+      himself, and the occasional games he did succeed in winning only whetted
+      his appetite for more. Many an evening now, therefore, was spent by the
+      two men in Bertram's den, with Billy anxiously hovering near, her eyes
+      longingly watching either her husband's absorbed face or the pretty little
+      red and white ivory figures, which seemed to possess so wonderful a power
+      to hold his attention. In spite of her joy at the chessmen's efficacy in
+      keeping Bertram at home, however, she was almost jealous of them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Arkwright, couldn't you show <i>me</i> how to play, sometime?&rdquo; she
+      said wistfully, one evening, when the momentary absence of Bertram had
+      left the two alone together. &ldquo;I used to watch Bertram and Marie play years
+      ago; but I never knew how to play myself. Not that I can see where the fun
+      is in just sitting staring at a chessboard for half an hour at a time,
+      though! But Bertram likes it, and so I&mdash;I want to learn to stare with
+      him. Will you teach me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I should be glad to,&rdquo; smiled Arkwright.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then will you come, maybe, sometimes when Bertram is at the doctor's? He
+      goes every Tuesday and Friday at three o'clock for treatment. I'd rather
+      you came then for two reasons: first, because I don't want Bertram to know
+      I'm learning, till I can play <i>some</i>; and, secondly, because&mdash;because
+      I don't want to take you away&mdash;from him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The last words were spoken very low, and were accompanied by a painful
+      blush. It was the first time Billy had ever hinted to Arkwright, in words,
+      that she understood what he was trying to do.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll come next Tuesday,&rdquo; promised Arkwright, with a cheerfully
+      unobservant air. Then Bertram came in, bringing the book of Chess
+      Problems, for which he had gone up-stairs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0029" id="link2HCH0029">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXIX. CHESS
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Promptly at three o'clock Tuesday afternoon Arkwright appeared at the
+      Strata, and for the next hour Billy did her best to learn the names and
+      the moves of the pretty little ivory men. But at the end of the hour she
+      was almost ready to give up in despair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If there weren't so many kinds, and if they didn't all insist on doing
+      something different, it wouldn't be so bad,&rdquo; she sighed. &ldquo;But how can you
+      be expected to remember which goes diagonal, and which crisscross, and
+      which can't go but one square, and which can skip 'way across the board,
+      'specially when that little pawn-thing can go straight ahead <i>two</i>
+      squares sometimes, and the next minute only one (except when it takes
+      things, and then it goes crooked one square) and when that tiresome little
+      horse tries to go all ways at once, and can jump 'round and hurdle over <i>anybody's</i>
+      head, even the king's&mdash;how can you expect folks to remember? But,
+      then, Bertram remembers,&rdquo; she added, resolutely, &ldquo;so I guess I can.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Whenever possible, after that, Arkwright came on Tuesdays and Fridays,
+      and, in spite of her doubts, Billy did very soon begin to &ldquo;remember.&rdquo;
+       Spurred by her great desire to play with Bertram and surprise him, Billy
+      spared no pains to learn well her lessons. Even among the baby's books and
+      playthings these days might be found a &ldquo;Manual of Chess,&rdquo; for Billy
+      pursued her study at all hours; and some nights even her dreams were of
+      ruined, castles where kings and queens and bishops disported themselves,
+      with pawns for servants, and where a weird knight on horseback used the
+      castle's highest tower for a hurdle, landing always a hundred yards to one
+      side of where he would be expected to come down.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was not long, of course, before Billy could play a game of chess, after
+      a fashion, but she knew just enough to realize that she actually knew
+      nothing; and she knew, too, that until she could play a really good game,
+      her moves would not hold Bertram's attention for one minute. Not at
+      present, therefore, was she willing Bertram should know what she was
+      attempting to do.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy had not yet learned what the great surgeon had said to Bertram. She
+      knew only that his arm was no better, and that he never voluntarily spoke
+      of his painting. Over her now seemed to be hanging a vague horror.
+      Something was the matter. She knew that. But what it was she could not
+      fathom. She realized that Arkwright was trying to help, and her gratitude,
+      though silent, knew no bounds. Not even to Aunt Hannah or Uncle William
+      could she speak of this thing that was troubling her. That they, too,
+      understood, in a measure, she realized. But still she said no word. Billy
+      was wearing a proud little air of aloofness these days that was
+      heart-breaking to those who saw it and read it aright for what it was:
+      loyalty to Bertram, no matter what happened. And so Billy pored over her
+      chessboard feverishly, tirelessly, having ever before her longing eyes the
+      dear time when Bertram, across the table from her, should sit happily
+      staring for half an hour at a move she had made.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Whatever Billy's chess-playing was to signify, however, in her own life,
+      it was destined to play a part in the lives of two friends of hers that
+      was most unexpected.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      During Billy's very first lesson, as it chanced, Alice Greggory called and
+      found Billy and Arkwright so absorbed in their game that they did not at
+      first hear Eliza speak her name.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The quick color that flew to Arkwright's face at sight of herself was
+      construed at once by Alice as embarrassment on his part at being found
+      tête-á-tête with Bertram Henshaw's wife. And she did not like it. She was
+      not pleased that he was there. She was less pleased that he blushed for
+      being there.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It so happened that Alice found him there again several times. Alice gave
+      a piano lesson at two o'clock every Tuesday and Friday afternoon to a
+      little Beacon Street neighbor of Billy's, and she had fallen into the
+      habit of stepping in to see Billy for a few minutes afterward, which
+      brought her there at a little past three, just after the chess lesson was
+      well started.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      If, the first time that Alice Greggory found Arkwright opposite Billy at
+      the chess-table, she was surprised and displeased, the second and third
+      times she was much more so. When it finally came to her one day with
+      sickening illumination, that always the tête-á-têtes were during Bertram's
+      hour at the doctor's, she was appalled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What could it mean? Had Arkwright given up his fight? Was he playing false
+      to himself and to Bertram by trying thus, on the sly, to win the love of
+      his friend's wife? Was this man, whom she had so admired for his brave
+      stand, and to whom all unasked she had given her heart's best love (more
+      the pity of it!)&mdash;was this idol of hers to show feet of clay, after
+      all? She could not believe it. And yet&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Sick at heart, but imbued with the determination of a righteous cause,
+      Alice Greggory resolved, for Billy's sake, to watch and wait. If necessary
+      she should speak to some one&mdash;though to whom she did not know.
+      Billy's happiness should not be put in jeopardy if she could help it.
+      Indeed, no!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As the weeks passed, Alice came to be more and more uneasy, distressed,
+      and grieved. Of Billy she could believe no evil; but of Arkwright she was
+      beginning to think she could believe everything that was dishonorable and
+      despicable. And to believe that of the man she still loved&mdash;no wonder
+      that Alice did not look nor act like herself these days.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Incensed at herself because she did love him, angry at him because he
+      seemed to be proving himself so unworthy of that love, and genuinely
+      frightened at what she thought was the fast-approaching wreck of all
+      happiness for her dear friend, Billy, Alice did not know which way to
+      turn. At the first she had told herself confidently that she would &ldquo;speak
+      to somebody.&rdquo; But, as time passed, she saw the impracticability of that
+      idea. Speak to somebody, indeed! To whom? When? Where? What should she
+      say? Where was her right to say anything? She was not dealing with a
+      parcel of naughty children who had pilfered the cake jar! She was dealing
+      with grown men and women, who, presumedly, knew their own affairs, and
+      who, certainly, would resent any interference from her. On the other hand,
+      could she stand calmly by and see Bertram lose his wife, Arkwright his
+      honor, Billy her happiness, and herself her faith in human nature, all
+      because to do otherwise would be to meddle in other people's business?
+      Apparently she could, and should. At least that seemed to be the rôle
+      which she was expected to play.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was when Alice had reached this unhappy frame of mind that Arkwright
+      himself unexpectedly opened the door for her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The two were alone together in Bertram Henshaw's den. It was Tuesday
+      afternoon. Alice had called to find Billy and Arkwright deep in their
+      usual game of chess. Then a matter of domestic affairs had taken Billy
+      from the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm afraid I'll have to be gone ten minutes, or more,&rdquo; she had said, as
+      she rose from the table reluctantly. &ldquo;But you might be showing Alice the
+      moves, Mr. Arkwright,&rdquo; she had added, with a laugh, as she disappeared.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Shall I teach you the moves?&rdquo; he had smiled, when they were alone
+      together.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Alice's reply had been so indignantly short and sharp that Arkwright,
+      after a moment's pause, had said, with a whimsical smile that yet carried
+      a touch of sadness:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am forced to surmise from your answer that you think it is <i>you</i>
+      who should be teaching <i>me</i> moves. At all events, I seem to have been
+      making some moves lately that have not suited you, judging by your
+      actions. Have I offended you in any way, Alice?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The girl turned with a quick lifting of her head. Alice knew that if ever
+      she were to speak, it must be now. Never again could she hope for such an
+      opportunity as this. Suddenly throwing circumspect caution quite aside,
+      she determined that she would speak. Springing to her feet she crossed the
+      room and seated herself in Billy's chair at the chess-table.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Me! Offend me!&rdquo; she exclaimed, in a low voice. &ldquo;As if I were the one you
+      were offending!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, <i>Alice!</i>&rdquo; murmured the man, in obvious stupefaction.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Alice raised her hand, palm outward.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now don't, <i>please</i> don't pretend you don't know,&rdquo; she begged,
+      almost piteously. &ldquo;Please don't add that to all the rest. Oh, I
+      understand, of course, it's none of my affairs, and I wasn't going to
+      speak,&rdquo; she choked; &ldquo;but, to-day, when you gave me this chance, I had to.
+      At first I couldn't believe it,&rdquo; she plunged on, plainly hurrying against
+      Billy's return. &ldquo;After all you'd told me of how you meant to fight it&mdash;your
+      tiger skin. And I thought it merely <i>happened</i> that you were here
+      alone with her those days I came. Then, when I found out they were <i>always</i>
+      the days Mr. Henshaw was away at the doctor's, I had to believe.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She stopped for breath. Arkwright, who, up to this moment had shown that
+      he was completely mystified as to what she was talking about, suddenly
+      flushed a painful red. He was obviously about to speak, but she prevented
+      him with a quick gesture.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There's a little more I've got to say, please. As if it weren't bad
+      enough to do what you're doing <i>at all</i>, but you must needs take it
+      at such a time as this when&mdash;when her husband <i>isn't</i> doing just
+      what he ought to do, and we all know it&mdash;it's so unfair to take her
+      now, and try to&mdash;to win&mdash;And you aren't even fair with him,&rdquo; she
+      protested tremulously. &ldquo;You pretend to be his friend. You go with him
+      everywhere. It's just as if you were <i>helping</i> to&mdash;to pull him
+      down. You're one with the whole bunch.&rdquo; (The blood suddenly receded from
+      Arkwright's face, leaving it very white; but if Alice saw it, she paid no
+      heed.) &ldquo;Everybody says you are. Then to come here like this, on the sly,
+      when you know he can't be here, I&mdash;Oh, can't you see what you're
+      doing?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a moment's pause, then Arkwright spoke. A deep pain looked from
+      his eyes. He was still very pale, and his mouth had settled into sad
+      lines.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think, perhaps, it may be just as well if I tell you what I <i>am</i>
+      doing&mdash;or, rather, trying to do,&rdquo; he said quietly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then he told her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And so you see,&rdquo; he added, when he had finished the tale, &ldquo;I haven't
+      really accomplished much, after all, and it seems the little I have
+      accomplished has only led to my being misjudged by you, my best friend.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Alice gave a sobbing cry. Her face was scarlet. Horror, shame, and relief
+      struggled for mastery in her countenance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, but I didn't know, I didn't know,&rdquo; she moaned, twisting her hands
+      nervously. &ldquo;And now, when you've been so brave, so true&mdash;for me to
+      accuse you of&mdash;Oh, can you <i>ever</i> forgive me? But you see,
+      knowing that you <i>did</i> care for her, it did look&mdash;&rdquo; She choked
+      into silence, and turned away her head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He glanced at her tenderly, mournfully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he said, after a minute, in a low voice. &ldquo;I can see how it did
+      look; and so I'm going to tell you now something I had meant never to tell
+      you. There really couldn't have been anything in that, you see, for I
+      found out long ago that it was gone&mdash;whatever love there had been for&mdash;Billy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But your&mdash;tiger skin!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes, I thought it was alive,&rdquo; smiled Arkwright, sadly, &ldquo;when I asked
+      you to help me fight it. But one day, very suddenly, I discovered that it
+      was nothing but a dead skin of dreams and memories. But I made another
+      discovery, too. I found that just beyond lay another one, and that was
+      very much alive.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Another one?&rdquo; Alice turned to him in wonder. &ldquo;But you never asked me to
+      help you fight&mdash;that one!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He shook his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No; I couldn't, you see. You couldn't have helped me. You'd only have
+      hindered me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hindered you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. You see, it was my love for&mdash;you, that I was fighting&mdash;then.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Alice gave a low cry and flushed vividly; but Arkwright hurried on, his
+      eyes turned away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I understand. I know. I'm not asking for&mdash;anything. I heard some
+      time ago of your engagement to Calderwell. I've tried many times to say
+      the proper, expected pretty speeches, but&mdash;I couldn't. I will now,
+      though. I do. You have all my tenderest best wishes for your happiness&mdash;dear.
+      If long ago I hadn't been such a blind fool as not to know my own heart&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But&mdash;but there's some mistake,&rdquo; interposed Alice, palpitatingly,
+      with hanging head. &ldquo;I&mdash;I'm not engaged to Mr. Calderwell.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright turned and sent a keen glance into her face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You're&mdash;not?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I heard that Calderwell&mdash;&rdquo; He stopped helplessly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You heard that Mr. Calderwell was engaged, very likely. But&mdash;it so
+      happens he isn't engaged&mdash;to me,&rdquo; murmured Alice, faintly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, long ago you said&mdash;&rdquo; Arkwright paused, his eyes still keenly
+      searching her face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never mind what I said&mdash;long ago,&rdquo; laughed Alice, trying
+      unsuccessfully to meet his gaze. &ldquo;One says lots of things, at times, you
+      know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Into Arkwright's eyes came a new light, a light that plainly needed but a
+      breath to fan it into quick fire.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Alice,&rdquo; he said softly, &ldquo;do you mean that maybe now&mdash;I needn't try
+      to fight&mdash;that other tiger skin?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was no answer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Arkwright reached out a pleading hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Alice, dear, I've loved you so long,&rdquo; he begged unsteadily. &ldquo;Don't you
+      think that sometime, if I was very, very patient, you could just <i>begin</i>&mdash;to
+      care a little for me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Still there was no answer. Then, slowly, Alice shook her head. Her face
+      was turned quite away&mdash;which was a pity, for if Arkwright could have
+      seen the sudden tender mischief in her eyes, his own would not have become
+      so somber.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not even a little bit?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I couldn't ever&mdash;begin,&rdquo; answered a half-smothered voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Alice!&rdquo; cried the man, heart-brokenly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Alice turned now, and for a fleeting instant let him see her eyes, glowing
+      with the love so long kept in relentless exile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I couldn't, because, you see-I began&mdash;long ago,&rdquo; she whispered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Alice!&rdquo; It was the same single word, but spoken with a world of
+      difference, for into it now was crowded all the glory and the wonder of a
+      great love. &ldquo;Alice!&rdquo; breathed the man again; and this time the word was,
+      oh, so tenderly whispered into the little pink and white ear of the girl
+      in his arms.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I got delayed,&rdquo; began Billy, in the doorway.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh-h!&rdquo; she broke off, beating a hushed, but precipitate, retreat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Fully thirty minutes later, Billy came to the door again. This time her
+      approach was heralded by a snatch of song.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I hope you'll excuse my being gone so long,&rdquo; she smiled, as she entered
+      the room where her two guests sat decorously face to face at the
+      chess-table.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, you know you said you'd be gone ten minutes,&rdquo; Arkwright reminded
+      her, politely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I know I did.&rdquo; And Billy, to her credit, did not even smile at the
+      man who did not know ten minutes from fifty.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0030" id="link2HCH0030">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXX. BY A BABY'S HAND
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      After all, it was the baby's hand that did it, as was proper, and perhaps
+      to be expected; for surely, was it not Bertram, Jr.'s place to show his
+      parents that he was, indeed, no Wedge, but a dear and precious Tie binding
+      two loving, loyal hearts more and more closely together? It would seem,
+      indeed, that Bertram, Jr., thought so, perhaps, and very bravely he set
+      about it; though, to carry out his purpose, he had to turn his steps into
+      an unfamiliar way&mdash;a way of pain, and weariness, and danger.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was Arkwright who told Bertram that the baby was very sick, and that
+      Billy wanted him. Bertram went home at once to find a distracted,
+      white-faced Billy, and a twisted, pain-racked little creature, who it was
+      almost impossible to believe was the happy, laughing baby boy he had left
+      that morning.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For the next two weeks nothing was thought of in the silent old Beacon
+      Street house but the tiny little life hovering so near Death's door that
+      twice it appeared to have slipped quite across the threshold. All through
+      those terrible weeks it seemed as if Billy neither ate nor slept; and
+      always at her side, comforting, cheering, and helping wherever possible
+      was Bertram, tender, loving, and marvelously thoughtful.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then came the turning point when the universe itself appeared to hang upon
+      a baby's breath. Gradually, almost imperceptibly, came the fluttering back
+      of the tiny spirit into the longing arms stretched so far, far out to meet
+      and hold it. And the father and the mother, looking into each other's
+      sleepless, dark-ringed eyes, knew that their son was once more theirs to
+      love and cherish.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When two have gone together with a dear one down into the Valley of the
+      Shadow of Death, and have come back, either mourning or rejoicing, they
+      find a different world from the one they had left. Things that were great
+      before seem small, and some things that were small seem great. At least
+      Bertram and Billy found their world thus changed when together they came
+      back bringing their son with them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the long weeks of convalescence, when the healthy rosiness stole bit by
+      bit into the baby's waxen face, and the light of recognition and
+      understanding crept day by day into the baby's eyes, there was many a
+      quiet hour for heart-to-heart talks between the two who so anxiously and
+      joyously hailed every rosy tint and fleeting sparkle. And there was so
+      much to tell, so much to hear, so much to talk about! And always, running
+      through everything, was that golden thread of joy, beside which all else
+      paled&mdash;that they had Baby and each other. As if anything else
+      mattered!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To be sure, there was Bertram's arm. Very early in their talks Billy found
+      out about that. But Billy, with Baby getting well, was not to be daunted,
+      even by this.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense, darling&mdash;not paint again, indeed! Why, Bertram, of course
+      you will,&rdquo; she cried confidently.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, Billy, the doctor said,&rdquo; began Bertram; but Billy would not even
+      listen.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very well, what if he did, dear?&rdquo; she interrupted. &ldquo;What if he did say
+      you couldn't use your right arm much again?&rdquo; Billy's voice broke a little,
+      then quickly steadied into something very much like triumph. &ldquo;You've got
+      your left one!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram shook his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can't paint with that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, you can,&rdquo; insisted Billy, firmly. &ldquo;Why, Bertram, what do you suppose
+      you were given two arms for if not to fight with both of them? And I'm
+      going to be ever so much prouder of what you paint now, because I'll know
+      how splendidly you worked to do it. Besides, there's Baby. As if you
+      weren't ever going to paint for Baby! Why, Bertram, I'm going to have you
+      paint Baby, one of these days. Think how pleased he'll be to see it when
+      he grows up! He's nicer, anyhow, than any old 'Face of a Girl' you ever
+      did. Paint? Why, Bertram, darling, of course you're going to paint, and
+      better than you ever did before!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram shook his head again; but this time he smiled, and patted Billy's
+      cheek with the tip of his forefinger.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As if I could!&rdquo; he disclaimed. But that afternoon he went into his
+      long-deserted studio and hunted up his last unfinished picture. For some
+      time he stood motionless before it; then, with a quick gesture of
+      determination, he got out his palette, paints, and brushes. This time not
+      until he had painted ten, a dozen, a score of strokes, did he drop his
+      brush with a sigh and carefully erase the fresh paint on the canvas. The
+      next day he worked longer, and this time he allowed a little, a very
+      little, of what he had done to remain.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The third day Billy herself found him at his easel.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wonder&mdash;do you suppose I could?&rdquo; he asked fearfully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, dearest, of course you can! Haven't you noticed? Can't you see how
+      much more you can do with your left hand now? You've <i>had</i> to use it,
+      you see. <i>I've</i> seen you do a lot of things with it, lately, that you
+      never used to do at all. And, of course, the more you do with it, the more
+      you can!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know; but that doesn't mean that I can paint with it,&rdquo; sighed Bertram,
+      ruefully eyeing the tiny bit of fresh color his canvas showed for his long
+      afternoon's work.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You wait and see,&rdquo; nodded Billy, with so overwhelming a cheery confidence
+      that Bertram, looking into her glowing face, was conscious of a curious
+      throb of exultation, almost as if already the victory were his.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But it was not always of Bertram's broken arm, nor even of his work that
+      they talked. Bertram, hanging over the baby's crib to assure himself that
+      the rosiness and the sparkle were really growing more apparent every day,
+      used to wonder sometimes how ever in the world he could have been jealous
+      of his son. He said as much one day to Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To Billy it was a most astounding idea.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You mean you were actually jealous of your own baby?&rdquo; she gasped. &ldquo;Why,
+      Bertram, how could&mdash;And was that why you&mdash;you sought distraction
+      and&mdash;Oh, but, Bertram, that was all my f-fault,&rdquo; she quavered
+      remorsefully. &ldquo;I wouldn't play, nor sing, nor go to walk, nor anything;
+      and I wore horrid frowzy wrappers all the time, and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, come, come, Billy,&rdquo; expostulated the man. &ldquo;I'm not going to have you
+      talk like that about <i>my wife!</i>&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I did&mdash;the book said I did,&rdquo; wailed Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The book? Good heavens! Are there any books in this, too?&rdquo; demanded
+      Bertram.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, the same one; the&mdash;the 'Talks to Young Wives,'&rdquo; nodded Billy.
+      And then, because some things had grown small to them, and some others
+      great, they both laughed happily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But even this was not quite all; for one evening, very shyly, Billy
+      brought out the chessboard.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course I can't play well,&rdquo; she faltered; &ldquo;and maybe you don't want to
+      play with me at all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But Bertram, when he found out why she had learned, was very sure he did
+      want very much to play with her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy did not beat, of course. But she did several times experience&mdash;for
+      a few blissful minutes&mdash;the pleasure of seeing Bertram sit
+      motionless, studying the board, because of a move she had made. And
+      though, in the end, her king was ignominiously trapped with not an
+      unguarded square upon which to set his poor distracted foot, the memory of
+      those blissful minutes when she had made Bertram &ldquo;stare&rdquo; more than paid
+      for the final checkmate.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      By the middle of June the baby was well enough to be taken to the beach,
+      and Bertram was so fortunate as to secure the same house they had occupied
+      before. Once again William went down in Maine for his fishing trip, and
+      the Strata was closed. In the beach house Bertram was painting
+      industriously&mdash;with his left hand. Almost he was beginning to feel
+      Billy's enthusiasm. Almost he was believing that he <i>was</i> doing good
+      work. It was not the &ldquo;Face of a Girl,&rdquo; now. It was the face of a baby:
+      smiling, laughing, even crying, sometimes; at other times just gazing
+      straight into your eyes with adorable soberness. Bertram still went into
+      Boston twice a week for treatment, though the treatment itself had
+      changed. The great surgeon had sent him to still another specialist.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There's a chance&mdash;though perhaps a small one,&rdquo; he had said. &ldquo;I'd
+      like you to try it, anyway.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      As the summer advanced, Bertram thought sometimes that he could see a
+      slight improvement in his injured arm; but he tried not to think too much
+      about this. He had thought the same thing before, only to be disappointed
+      in the end. Besides, he was undeniably interested just now in seeing if he
+      <i>could</i> paint with his left hand. Billy was so sure, and she had said
+      that she would be prouder than ever of him, if he could&mdash;and he would
+      like to make Billy proud! Then, too, there was the baby&mdash;he had no
+      idea a baby could be so interesting to paint. He was not sure but that he
+      was going to like to paint babies even better than he had liked to paint
+      his &ldquo;Face of a Girl&rdquo; that had brought him his first fame.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In September the family returned to the Strata. The move was made a little
+      earlier this year on account of Alice Greggory's wedding.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Alice was to be married in the pretty living-room at the Annex, just where
+      Billy herself had been married a few short years before; and Billy had
+      great plans for the wedding&mdash;not all of which she was able to carry
+      out, for Alice, like Marie before her, had very strong objections to being
+      placed under too great obligations.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And you see, really, anyway,&rdquo; she told Billy, &ldquo;I owe the whole thing to
+      you, to begin with&mdash;even my husband.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense! Of course you don't,&rdquo; disputed Billy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I do. If it hadn't been for you I should never have found him again,
+      and of <i>course</i> I shouldn't have had this dear little home to be
+      married in. And I never could have left mother if she hadn't had Aunt
+      Hannah and the Annex which means you. And if I hadn't found Mr. Arkwright,
+      I might never have known how&mdash;how I could go back to my old home (as
+      I am going on my honeymoon trip), and just know that every one of my old
+      friends who shakes hands with me isn't pitying me now, because I'm my
+      father's daughter. And that means you; for you see I never would have
+      known that my father's name was cleared if it hadn't been for you. And&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Alice, please, please,&rdquo; begged Billy, laughingly raising two
+      protesting hands. &ldquo;Why don't you say that it's to me you owe just
+      breathing, and be done with it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I will, then,&rdquo; avowed Alice, doggedly. &ldquo;And it's true, too, for,
+      honestly, my dear, I don't believe I would have been breathing to-day, nor
+      mother, either, if you hadn't found us that morning, and taken us out of
+      those awful rooms.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I? Never! You wouldn't let me take you out,&rdquo; laughed Billy. &ldquo;You proud
+      little thing! Maybe <i>you've</i> forgotten how you turned poor Uncle
+      William and me out into the cold, cold world that morning, just because we
+      dared to aspire to your Lowestoft teapot; but I haven't!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Billy, please, <i>don't</i>,&rdquo; begged Alice, the painful color
+      staining her face. &ldquo;If you knew how I've hated myself since for the way I
+      acted that day&mdash;and, really, you did take us away from there, you
+      know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I didn't. I merely found two good tenants for Mr. and Mrs. Delano,&rdquo;
+       corrected Billy, with a sober face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes, I know all about that,&rdquo; smiled Alice, affectionately; &ldquo;and you
+      got mother and me here to keep Aunt Hannah company and teach Tommy Dunn;
+      and you got Aunt Hannah here to keep us company and take care of Tommy
+      Dunn; and you got Tommy Dunn here so Aunt Hannah and we could have
+      somebody to teach and take care of; and, as for the others,&mdash;&rdquo; But
+      Billy put her hands to her ears and fled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The wedding was to be on the fifteenth. From the West Kate wrote that of
+      course it was none of her affairs, particularly as neither of the
+      interested parties was a relation, but still she should think that for a
+      man in Mr. Arkwright's position, nothing but a church wedding would do at
+      all, as, of course, he did, in a way, belong to the public. Alice,
+      however, declared that perhaps he did belong to the public, when he was
+      Don Somebody-or-other in doublet and hose; but when he was just plain
+      Michael Jeremiah Arkwright in a frock coat he was hers, and she did not
+      propose to make a Grand Opera show of her wedding. And as Arkwright, too,
+      very much disapproved of the church-wedding idea, the two were married in
+      the Annex living-room at noon on the fifteenth as originally planned, in
+      spite of Mrs. Kate Hartwell's letter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was soon after the wedding that Bertram told Billy he wished she would
+      sit for him with Bertram, Jr.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I want to try my hand at you both together,&rdquo; he coaxed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, of course, if you like, dear,&rdquo; agreed Billy, promptly, &ldquo;though I
+      think Baby is just as nice, and even nicer, alone.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Once again all over Bertram's studio began to appear sketches of Billy,
+      this time a glorified, tender Billy, with the wonderful mother-love in her
+      eyes. Then, after several sketches of trial poses, Bertram began his
+      picture of Billy and the baby together.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Even now Bertram was not sure of his work. He knew that he could not yet
+      paint with his old freedom and ease; he knew that his stroke was not so
+      sure, so untrammeled. But he knew, too, that he had gained wonderfully,
+      during the summer, and that he was gaining now, every day. To Billy he
+      said nothing of all this. Even to himself he scarcely put his hope into
+      words; but in his heart he knew that what he was really painting his
+      &ldquo;Mother and Child&rdquo; picture for was the Bohemian Ten Club Exhibition in
+      March&mdash;if he could but put upon canvas the vision that was spurring
+      him on.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And so Bertram worked all through those short winter days, not always upon
+      the one picture, of course, but upon some picture or sketch that would
+      help to give his still uncertain left hand the skill that had belonged to
+      its mate. And always, cheering, encouraging, insisting on victory, was
+      Billy, so that even had Bertram been tempted, sometimes, to give up, he
+      could not have done so&mdash;and faced Billy's grieved, disappointed eyes.
+      And when at last his work was completed, and the pictured mother and child
+      in all their marvelous life and beauty seemed ready to step from the
+      canvas, Billy drew a long ecstatic breath.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Bertram, it <i>is</i>, it is the best work you have ever done.&rdquo; Billy
+      was looking at the baby. Always she had ignored herself as part of the
+      picture. &ldquo;And won't it be fine for the Exhibition!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bertram's hand tightened on the chair-back in front of him. For a moment
+      he could not speak. Then, a bit huskily, he asked:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Would you dare&mdash;risk it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Risk it! Why, Bertram Henshaw, I've meant that picture for the Exhibition
+      from the very first&mdash;only I never dreamed you could get it so
+      perfectly lovely. <i>Now</i> what do you say about Baby being nicer than
+      any old 'Face of a Girl' that you ever did?&rdquo; she triumphed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And Bertram, who, even to himself, had not dared whisper the word
+      exhibition, gave a tremulous laugh that was almost a sob, so overwhelming
+      was his sudden realization of what faith and confidence had meant to
+      Billy, his wife.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      If there was still a lingering doubt in Bertram's mind, it must have been
+      dispelled in less than an hour after the Bohemian Ten Club Exhibition
+      flung open its doors on its opening night. Once again Bertram found his
+      picture the cynosure of all admiring eyes, and himself the center of an
+      enthusiastic group of friends and fellow-artists who vied with each other
+      in hearty words of congratulation. And when, later, the feared critics,
+      whose names and opinions counted for so much in his world, had their say
+      in the daily press and weekly reviews, Bertram knew how surely indeed he
+      had won. And when he read that &ldquo;Henshaw's work shows now a peculiar
+      strength, a sort of reserve power, as it were, which, beautiful as was his
+      former work, it never showed before,&rdquo; he smiled grimly, and said to Billy:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I suppose, now, that was the fighting I did with my good left hand, eh,
+      dear?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But there was yet one more drop that was to make Bertram's cup of joy brim
+      to overflowing. It came just one month after the Exhibition in the shape
+      of a terse dozen words from the doctor. Bertram fairly flew home that day.
+      He had no consciousness of any means of locomotion. He thought he was
+      going to tell his wife at once his great good news; but when he saw her,
+      speech suddenly fled, and all that he could do was to draw her closely to
+      him with his left arm and hide his face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Bertram, dearest, what&mdash;what is it?&rdquo; stammered the thoroughly
+      frightened Billy. &ldquo;Has anything-happened?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, no&mdash;yes&mdash;yes, everything has happened. I mean, it's going
+      to happen,&rdquo; choked the man. &ldquo;Billy, that old chap says that I'm going to
+      have my arm again. Think of it&mdash;my good right arm that I've lost so
+      long!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;<i>Oh, Bertram!</i>&rdquo; breathed Billy. And she, too, fell to sobbing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Later, when speech was more coherent, she faltered:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, anyway, it doesn't make any difference <i>how</i> many beautiful
+      pictures you p-paint, after this, Bertram, I <i>can't</i> be prouder of
+      any than I am of the one your l&mdash;left hand did.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, but I have you to thank for all that, dear.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, you haven't,&rdquo; disputed Billy, blinking teary eyes; &ldquo;but&mdash;&rdquo; she
+      paused, then went on spiritedly, &ldquo;but, anyhow, I&mdash;I don't believe any
+      one&mdash;not even Kate&mdash;can say <i>now</i> that&mdash;that I've been
+      a hindrance to you in your c-career!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hindrance!&rdquo; scoffed Bertram, in a tone that left no room for doubt, and
+      with a kiss that left even less, if possible.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Billy, for still another minute, was silent; then, with a wistfulness that
+      was half playful, half serious, she sighed:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bertram, I believe being married is something like clocks, you know,
+      'specially at the first.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Clocks, dear?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. I was out to Aunt Hannah's to-day. She was fussing with her clock&mdash;the
+      one that strikes half an hour ahead&mdash;and I saw all those quantities
+      of wheels, little and big, that have to go just so, with all the little
+      cogs fitting into all the other little cogs just exactly right. Well,
+      that's like marriage. See? There's such a lot of little cogs in everyday
+      life that have to be fitted so they'll run smoothly&mdash;that have to be
+      adjusted, 'specially at the first.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Billy, what an idea!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But it's so, really, Bertram. Anyhow, I know my cogs were always getting
+      out of place at the first,&rdquo; laughed Billy. &ldquo;And I was like Aunt Hannah's
+      clock, too, always going off half an hour ahead of time. And maybe I shall
+      be so again, sometimes. But, Bertram,&rdquo;&mdash;her voice shook a little&mdash;&ldquo;if
+      you'll just look at my face you'll see that I tell the right time there,
+      just as Aunt Hannah's clock does. I'm sure, always, I'll tell the right
+      time there, even if I do go off half an hour ahead!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As if I didn't know that,&rdquo; answered Bertram, very low and tenderly.
+      &ldquo;Besides, I reckon I have some cogs of my own that need adjusting!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+
+
+
+
+
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+</pre>
+  </body>
+</html>
diff --git a/old/361.txt b/old/361.txt
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index 0000000..a565d24
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/361.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,9937 @@
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Miss Billy Married, by Eleanor H. Porter
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Miss Billy Married
+
+Author: Eleanor H. Porter
+
+Release Date: July 8, 2008 [EBook #361]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MISS BILLY MARRIED ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Charles Keller
+
+
+
+
+
+MISS BILLY--MARRIED
+
+By Eleanor H. Porter
+
+Author Of Pollyanna, Etc.
+
+
+
+TO My Cousin Maud
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+          CHAPTER
+          I.      SOME OPINIONS AND A WEDDING
+          II.     FOR WILLIAM--A HOME
+          III.    BILLY SPEAKS HER MIND
+          IV.     JUST LIKE BILLY
+          V.      TIGER SKINS
+          VI.     "THE PAINTING LOOK"
+          VII.    THE BIG BAD QUARREL
+          VIII.   BILLY CULTIVATES A COMFORTABLE INDIFFERENCE
+          IX.     THE DINNER BILLY TRIED TO GET
+          X.      THE DINNER BILLY GOT
+          XI.     CALDERWELL DOES SOME QUESTIONING
+          XII.    FOR BILLY--SOME ADVICE
+          XIII.   PETE
+          XIV.    WHEN BERTRAM CAME HOME
+          XV.     AFTER THE STORM
+          XVI.    INTO TRAINING FOR MARY ELLEN
+          XVII.   THE EFFICIENCY STAR--AND BILLY
+          XVIII.  BILLY TRIES HER HAND AT "MANAGING"
+          XIX.    A TOUGH NUT TO CRACK FOR CYRIL
+          XX.     ARKWRIGHT'S EYES ARE OPENED
+          XXI.    BILLY TAKES HER TURN AT QUESTIONING
+          XXII.   A DOT AND A DIMPLE
+          XXIII.  BILLY AND THE ENORMOUS RESPONSIBILITY
+          XXIV.   A NIGHT OFF
+          XXV.    "SHOULD AULD ACQUAINTANCE BE FORGOT"
+          XXVI.   GHOSTS THAT WALKED FOR BERTRAM
+          XXVII.  THE MOTHER--THE WIFE
+          XXVIII. CONSPIRATORS
+          XXIX.   CHESS
+          XXX.    BY A BABY'S HAND
+
+
+
+
+
+MISS BILLY--MARRIED
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I. SOME OPINIONS AND A WEDDING
+
+
+"I, Bertram, take thee, Billy," chanted the white-robed clergyman.
+
+"'I, Bertram, take thee, Billy,'" echoed the tall young bridegroom, his
+eyes gravely tender.
+
+"To my wedded wife."
+
+"'To my wedded wife.'" The bridegroom's voice shook a little.
+
+"To have and to hold from this day forward."
+
+"'To have and to hold from this day forward.'" Now the young voice rang
+with triumph. It had grown strong and steady.
+
+"For better for worse."
+
+"'For better for worse.'"
+
+"For richer for poorer," droned the clergyman, with the weariness of
+uncounted repetitions.
+
+"'For richer for poorer,'" avowed the bridegroom, with the decisive
+emphasis of one to whom the words are new and significant.
+
+"In sickness and in health."
+
+"'In sickness and in health.'"
+
+"To love and to cherish."
+
+"'To love and to cherish.'" The younger voice carried infinite
+tenderness now.
+
+"Till death us do part."
+
+"'Till death us do part,'" repeated the bridegroom's lips; but everybody
+knew that what his heart said was: "Now, and through all eternity."
+
+"According to God's holy ordinance."
+
+"'According to God's holy ordinance.'"
+
+"And thereto I plight thee my troth."
+
+"'And thereto I plight thee my troth.'"
+
+There was a faint stir in the room. In one corner a white-haired woman
+blinked tear-wet eyes and pulled a fleecy white shawl more closely about
+her shoulders. Then the minister's voice sounded again.
+
+"I, Billy, take thee, Bertram."
+
+"'I, Billy, take thee, Bertram.'"
+
+This time the echoing voice was a feminine one, low and sweet, but
+clearly distinct, and vibrant with joyous confidence, on through one
+after another of the ever familiar, but ever impressive phrases of the
+service that gives into the hands of one man and of one woman the future
+happiness, each of the other.
+
+
+The wedding was at noon. That evening Mrs. Kate Hartwell, sister of the
+bridegroom, wrote the following letter:
+
+
+BOSTON, July 15th.
+
+"MY DEAR HUSBAND:--Well, it's all over with, and they're married. I
+couldn't do one thing to prevent it. Much as ever as they would even
+listen to what I had to say--and when they knew how I had hurried East
+to say it, too, with only two hours' notice!
+
+"But then, what can you expect? From time immemorial lovers never
+did have any sense; and when those lovers are such irresponsible
+flutterbudgets as Billy and Bertram--!
+
+"And such a wedding! I couldn't do anything with _that_, either, though
+I tried hard. They had it in Billy's living-room at noon, with nothing
+but the sun for light. There was no maid of honor, no bridesmaids, no
+wedding cake, no wedding veil, no presents (except from the family, and
+from that ridiculous Chinese cook of brother William's, Ding Dong, or
+whatever his name is. He tore in just before the wedding ceremony, and
+insisted upon seeing Billy to give her a wretched little green stone
+idol, which he declared would bring her 'heap plenty velly good luckee'
+if she received it before she 'got married.' I wouldn't have the
+hideous, grinning thing around, but William says it's real jade, and
+very valuable, and of course Billy was crazy over it--or pretended to
+be). There was no trousseau, either, and no reception. There was no
+anything but the bridegroom; and when I tell you that Billy actually
+declared that was all she wanted, you will understand how absurdly in
+love she is--in spite of all those weeks and weeks of broken engagement
+when I, at least, supposed she had come to her senses, until I got that
+crazy note from Bertram a week ago saying they were to be married today.
+
+"I can't say that I've got any really satisfactory explanation of the
+matter. Everything has been in such a hubbub, and those two ridiculous
+children have been so afraid they wouldn't be together every minute
+possible, that any really rational conversation with either of them was
+out of the question. When Billy broke the engagement last spring none of
+us knew why she had done it, as you know; and I fancy we shall be almost
+as much in the dark as to why she has--er--mended it now, as you might
+say. As near as I can make out, however, she thought he didn't want her,
+and he thought she didn't want him. I believe matters were still further
+complicated by a girl Bertram was painting, and a young fellow that used
+to sing with Billy--a Mr. Arkwright.
+
+"Anyhow, things came to a head last spring, Billy broke the engagement
+and fled to parts unknown with Aunt Hannah, leaving Bertram here in
+Boston to alternate between stony despair and reckless gayety, according
+to William; and it was while he was in the latter mood that he had that
+awful automobile accident and broke his arm--and almost his neck. He was
+wildly delirious, and called continually for Billy.
+
+"Well, it seems Billy didn't know all this; but a week ago she
+came home, and in some way found out about it, I think through
+Pete--William's old butler, you know. Just exactly what happened I
+can't say, but I do know that she dragged poor old Aunt Hannah down
+to Bertram's at some unearthly hour, and in the rain; and Aunt Hannah
+couldn't do a thing with her. All Billy would say, was, 'Bertram wants
+me.' And Aunt Hannah told me that if I could have seen Billy's face I'd
+have known that she'd have gone to Bertram then if he'd been at the top
+of the Himalaya Mountains, or at the bottom of the China Sea. So perhaps
+it's just as well--for Aunt Hannah's sake, at least--that he was in no
+worse place than on his own couch at home. Anyhow, she went, and in half
+an hour they blandly informed Aunt Hannah that they were going to be
+married to-day.
+
+"Aunt Hannah said she tried to stop that, and get them to put it off
+till October (the original date, you know), but Bertram was obdurate.
+And when he declared he'd marry her the next day if it wasn't for
+the new license law, Aunt Hannah said she gave up for fear he'd get a
+special dispensation, or go to the Governor or the President, or do some
+other dreadful thing. (What a funny old soul Aunt Hannah is!) Bertram
+told _me_ that he should never feel safe till Billy was really his; that
+she'd read something, or hear something, or think something, or get
+a letter from me (as if anything _I_ could say would do any good-or
+harm!), and so break the engagement again.
+
+"Well, she's his now, so I suppose he's satisfied; though, for my part,
+I haven't changed my mind at all. I still say that they are not one bit
+suited to each other, and that matrimony will simply ruin his career.
+Bertram never has loved and never will love any girl long--except to
+paint. But if he simply _would_ get married, why couldn't he have taken
+a nice, sensible domestic girl that would have kept him fed and mended?
+
+"Not but that I'm very fond of Billy, as you know, dear; but imagine
+Billy as a wife--worse yet, a mother! Billy's a dear girl, but she knows
+about as much of real life and its problems as--as our little Kate. A
+more impulsive, irresponsible, regardless-of-consequences young woman
+I never saw. She can play divinely, and write delightful songs, I'll
+acknowledge; but what is that when a man is hungry, or has lost a
+button?
+
+"Billy has had her own way, and had everything she wanted for years
+now--a rather dangerous preparation for marriage, especially marriage
+to a fellow like Bertram who has had _his_ own way and everything _he's_
+wanted for years. Pray, what's going to happen when those ways conflict,
+and neither one gets the thing wanted?
+
+"And think of her ignorance of cooking--but, there! What's the use?
+They're married now, and it can't be helped.
+
+"Mercy, what a letter I've written! But I, had to talk to some one;
+besides, I'd promised I to let you know how matters stood as soon as I
+could. As you see, though, my trip East has been practically useless. I
+saw the wedding, to be sure, but I didn't prevent it, or even postpone
+it--though I meant to do one or the other, else I should never have made
+that tiresome journey half across the continent at two hours' notice.
+
+"However, we shall see what we shall see. As for me, I'm dead tired.
+Good night.
+
+"Affectionately yours,
+
+"KATE."
+
+
+Quite naturally, Mrs. Kate Hartwell was not the only one who was
+thinking that evening of the wedding. In the home of Bertram's brother
+Cyril, Cyril himself was at the piano, but where his thoughts were was
+plain to be seen--or rather, heard; for from under his fingers there
+came the Lohengrin wedding march until all the room seemed filled with
+the scent of orange blossoms, the mistiness of floating veils, and the
+echoing peals of far-away organs heralding the "Fair Bride and Groom."
+
+Over by the table in the glowing circle of the shaded lamp, sat Marie,
+Cyril's wife, a dainty sewing-basket by her side. Her hands, however,
+lay idly across the stocking in her lap.
+
+As the music ceased, she drew a long sigh.
+
+What a perfectly beautiful wedding that was! she breathed.
+
+Cyril whirled about on the piano stool.
+
+"It was a very sensible wedding," he said with emphasis.
+
+"They looked so happy--both of them," went on Marie, dreamily; "so--so
+sort of above and beyond everything about them, as if nothing ever, ever
+could trouble them--_now_."
+
+Cyril lifted his eyebrows.
+
+"Humph! Well, as I said before, it was a very _sensible_ wedding," he
+declared.
+
+This time Marie noticed the emphasis. She laughed, though her eyes
+looked a little troubled.
+
+"I know, dear, of course, what you mean. _I_ thought our wedding was
+beautiful; but I would have made it simpler if I'd realized in time how
+you--you--"
+
+"How I abhorred pink teas and purple pageants," he finished for her,
+with a frowning smile. "Oh, well, I stood it--for the sake of what it
+brought me." His face showed now only the smile; the frown had vanished.
+For a man known for years to his friends as a "hater of women and all
+other confusion," Cyril Henshaw was looking remarkably well-pleased with
+himself.
+
+His wife of less than a year colored as she met his gaze. Hurriedly she
+picked up her needle.
+
+The man laughed happily at her confusion.
+
+"What are you doing? Is that my stocking?" he demanded.
+
+A look, half pain, half reproach, crossed her face.
+
+"Why, Cyril, of course not! You--you told me not to, long ago. You said
+my darns made--bunches.
+
+"Ho! I meant I didn't want to _wear_ them," retorted the man, upon whom
+the tragic wretchedness of that half-sobbed "bunches" had been quite
+lost. "I love to see you _mending_ them," he finished, with an approving
+glance at the pretty little picture of domesticity before him.
+
+A peculiar expression came to Marie's eyes.
+
+"Why, Cyril, you mean you _like_ to have me mend them just for--for the
+sake of seeing me do it, when you _know_ you won't ever wear them?"
+
+"Sure!" nodded the man, imperturbably. Then, with a sudden laugh, he
+asked: "I wonder now, does Billy love to mend socks?"
+
+Marie smiled, but she sighed, too, and shook her head.
+
+"I'm afraid not, Cyril."
+
+"Nor cook?"
+
+Marie laughed outright this time. The vaguely troubled look had fled
+from her eyes
+
+"Oh, Billy's helped me beat eggs and butter sometimes, but I never knew
+her to cook a thing or want to cook a thing, but once; then she spent
+nearly two weeks trying to learn to make puddings--for you."
+
+"For _me!_"
+
+Marie puckered her lips queerly.
+
+"Well, I supposed they were for you at the time. At all events she was
+trying to make them for some one of you boys; probably it was really for
+Bertram, though."
+
+"Humph!" grunted Cyril. Then, after a minute, he observed: "I judge Kate
+thinks Billy'll never make them--for anybody. I'm afraid Sister Kate
+isn't pleased."
+
+"Oh, but Mrs. Hartwell was--was disappointed in the wedding," apologized
+Marie, quickly. "You know she wanted it put off anyway, and she didn't
+like such a simple one.
+
+"Hm-m; as usual Sister Kate forgot it wasn't her funeral--I mean, her
+wedding," retorted Cyril, dryly. "Kate is never happy, you know, unless
+she's managing things."
+
+"Yes, I know," nodded Marie, with a frowning smile of recollection at
+certain features of her own wedding.
+
+"She doesn't approve of Billy's taste in guests, either," remarked
+Cyril, after a moment's silence.
+
+"I thought her guests were lovely," spoke up Marie, in quick defense.
+"Of course, most of her social friends are away--in July; but Billy is
+never a society girl, you know, in spite of the way Society is always
+trying to lionize her and Bertram."
+
+"Oh, of course Kate knows that; but she says it seems as if Billy
+needn't have gone out and gathered in the lame and the halt and the
+blind."
+
+"Nonsense!" cried Marie, with unusual sharpness for her. "I suppose she
+said that just because of Mrs. Greggory's and Tommy Dunn's crutches."
+
+"Well, they didn't make a real festive-looking wedding party, you must
+admit," laughed Cyril; "what with the bridegroom's own arm in a sling,
+too! But who were they all, anyway?"
+
+"Why, you knew Mrs. Greggory and Alice, of course--and Pete," smiled
+Marie. "And wasn't Pete happy? Billy says she'd have had Pete if she had
+no one else; that there wouldn't have been any wedding, anyway, if it
+hadn't been for his telephoning Aunt Hannah that night."
+
+"Yes; Will told me."
+
+"As for Tommy and the others--most of them were those people that Billy
+had at her home last summer for a two weeks' vacation--people, you
+know, too poor to give themselves one, and too proud to accept one from
+ordinary charity. Billy's been following them up and doing little things
+for them ever since--sugarplums and frosting on their cake, she calls
+it; and they adore her, of course. I think it was lovely of her to have
+them, and they did have such a good time! You should have seen Tommy
+when you played that wedding march for Billy to enter the room. His poor
+little face was so transfigured with joy that I almost cried, just to
+look at him. Billy says he loves music--poor little fellow!"
+
+"Well, I hope they'll be happy, in spite of Kate's doleful prophecies.
+Certainly they looked happy enough to-day," declared Cyril, patting a
+yawn as he rose to his feet. "I fancy Will and Aunt Hannah are lonesome,
+though, about now," he added.
+
+"Yes," smiled Marie, mistily, as she gathered up her work. "I know what
+Aunt Hannah's doing. She's helping Rosa put the house to rights, and
+she's stopping to cry over every slipper and handkerchief of Billy's she
+finds. And she'll do that until that funny clock of hers strikes twelve,
+then she'll say 'Oh, my grief and conscience--midnight!' But the next
+minute she'll remember that it's only half-past eleven, after all, and
+she'll send Rosa to bed and sit patting Billy's slipper in her lap till
+it really is midnight by all the other clocks."
+
+Cyril laughed appreciatively.
+
+"Well, I know what Will is doing," he declared.
+
+"Will is in Bertram's den dozing before the fireplace with Spunkie
+curled up in his lap."
+
+As it happened, both these surmises were not far from right. In the
+Strata, the Henshaws' old Beacon Street home, William was sitting before
+the fireplace with the cat in his lap, but he was not dozing. He was
+talking.
+
+"Spunkie," he was saying, "your master, Bertram, got married to-day--and
+to Miss Billy. He'll be bringing her home one of these days--your new
+mistress. And such a mistress! Never did cat or house have a better!
+
+"Just think; for the first time in years this old place is to know the
+touch of a woman's hand--and that's what it hasn't known for almost
+twenty years, except for those few short months six years ago when
+a dark-eyed girl and a little gray kitten (that was Spunk, your
+predecessor, you know) blew in and blew out again before we scarcely
+knew they were here. That girl was Miss Billy, and she was a dear then,
+just as she is now, only now she's coming here to stay. She's coming
+home, Spunkie; and she'll make it a home for you, for me, and for all of
+us. Up to now, you know, it hasn't really been a home, for years--just
+us men, so. It'll be very different, Spunkie, as you'll soon find out.
+Now mind, madam! We must show that we appreciate all this: no tempers,
+no tantrums, no showing of claws, no leaving our coats--either yours or
+mine--on the drawing-room chairs, no tracking in of mud on clean rugs
+and floors! For we're going to have a home, Spunkie--a home!"
+
+At Hillside, Aunt Hannah was, indeed, helping Rosa to put the house to
+rights, as Marie had said. She was crying, too, over a glove she had
+found on Billy's piano; but she was crying over something else, also.
+Not only had she lost Billy, but she had lost her home.
+
+To be sure, nothing had been said during that nightmare of a week of
+hurry and confusion about Aunt Hannah's future; but Aunt Hannah knew
+very well how it must be. This dear little house on the side of Corey
+Hill was Billy's home, and Billy would not need it any longer. It
+would be sold, of course; and she, Aunt Hannah, would go back to a
+"second-story front" and loneliness in some Back Bay boarding-house; and
+a second story front and loneliness would not be easy now, after these
+years of home--and Billy.
+
+No wonder, indeed, that Aunt Hannah sat crying and patting the little
+white glove in her hand. No wonder, too, that--being Aunt Hannah--she
+reached for the shawl near by and put it on, shiveringly. Even July,
+to-night, was cold--to Aunt Hannah.
+
+In yet another home that evening was the wedding of Billy Neilson and
+Bertram Henshaw uppermost in thought and speech. In a certain little
+South-End flat where, in two rented rooms, lived Alice Greggory and
+her crippled mother, Alice was talking to Mr. M. J. Arkwright, commonly
+known to his friends as "Mary Jane," owing to the mystery in which he
+had for so long shrouded his name.
+
+Arkwright to-night was plainly moody and ill at ease.
+
+"You're not listening. You're not listening at all," complained Alice
+Greggory at last, reproachfully.
+
+With a visible effort the man roused himself.
+
+"Indeed I am," he maintained.
+
+"I thought you'd be interested in the wedding. You used to be
+friends--you and Billy." The girl's voice still vibrated with reproach.
+
+There was a moment's silence; then, a little harshly, the man said:
+
+"Perhaps--because I wanted to be more than--a friend--is why you're not
+satisfied with my interest now."
+
+A look that was almost terror came to Alice Greggory's eyes. She flushed
+painfully, then grew very white.
+
+"You mean--"
+
+"Yes," he nodded dully, without looking up. "I cared too much for her. I
+supposed Henshaw was just a friend--till too late."
+
+There was a breathless hush before, a little unsteadily, the girl
+stammered:
+
+"Oh, I'm so sorry--so very sorry! I--I didn't know."
+
+"No, of course you didn't. I've almost told you, though, lots of times;
+you've been so good to me all these weeks." He raised his head now, and
+looked at her, frank comradeship in his eyes.
+
+The girl stirred restlessly. Her eyes swerved a little under his level
+gaze.
+
+"Oh, but I've done nothing--n-nothing," she stammered. Then, at the
+light tap of crutches on a bare floor she turned in obvious relief. "Oh,
+here's mother. She's been in visiting with Mrs. Delano, our landlady.
+Mother, Mr. Arkwright is here."
+
+
+Meanwhile, speeding north as fast as steam could carry them, were the
+bride and groom. The wondrousness of the first hour of their journey
+side by side had become a joyous certitude that always it was to be like
+this now.
+
+"Bertram," began the bride, after a long minute of eloquent silence.
+
+"Yes, love."
+
+"You know our wedding was very different from most weddings."
+
+"Of course it was!"
+
+"Yes, but _really_ it was. Now listen." The bride's voice grew tenderly
+earnest. "I think our marriage is going to be different, too."
+
+"Different?"
+
+"Yes." Billy's tone was emphatic. "There are so many common, everyday
+marriages where--where--Why, Bertram, as if you could ever be to me
+like--like Mr. Carleton is, for instance!"
+
+"Like Mr. Carleton is--to you?" Bertram's voice was frankly puzzled.
+
+"No, no! As Mr. Carleton is to Mrs. Carleton, I mean."
+
+"Oh!" Bertram subsided in relief.
+
+"And the Grahams and Whartons, and the Freddie Agnews, and--and a lot
+of others. Why, Bertram, I've seen the Grahams and the Whartons not even
+speak to each other a whole evening, when they've been at a dinner, or
+something; and I've seen Mrs. Carleton not even seem to know her husband
+came into the room. I don't mean quarrel, dear. Of course we'd never
+_quarrel!_ But I mean I'm sure we shall never get used to--to you being
+you, and I being I."
+
+"Indeed we sha'n't," agreed Bertram, rapturously.
+
+"Ours is going to be such a beautiful marriage!"
+
+"Of course it will be."
+
+"And we'll be so happy!"
+
+"I shall be, and I shall try to make you so."
+
+"As if I could be anything else," sighed Billy, blissfully. "And now we
+_can't_ have any misunderstandings, you see."
+
+"Of course not. Er--what's that?"
+
+"Why, I mean that--that we can't ever repeat hose miserable weeks of
+misunderstanding. Everything is all explained up. I _know_, now, that
+you don't love Miss Winthrop, or just girls--any girl--to paint. You
+love me. Not the tilt of my chin, nor the turn of my head; but _me_."
+
+"I do--just you." Bertram's eyes gave the caress his lips would have
+given had it not been for the presence of the man in the seat across the
+aisle of the sleeping-car.
+
+"And you--you know now that I love you--just you?"
+
+"Not even Arkwright?"
+
+"Not even Arkwright," smiled Billy.
+
+There was the briefest of hesitations; then, a little constrainedly,
+Bertram asked:
+
+"And you said you--you never _had_ cared for Arkwright, didn't you?"
+
+For the second time in her life Billy was thankful that Bertram's
+question had turned upon _her_ love for Arkwright, not Arkwright's love
+for her. In Billy's opinion, a man's unrequited love for a girl was his
+secret, not hers, and was certainly one that the girl had no right
+to tell. Once before Bertram had asked her if she had ever cared for
+Arkwright, and then she had answered emphatically, as she did now:
+
+"Never, dear."
+
+"I thought you said so," murmured Bertram, relaxing a little.
+
+"I did; besides, didn't I tell you?" she went on airily, "I think he'll
+marry Alice Greggory. Alice wrote me all the time I was away, and--oh,
+she didn't say anything definite, I'll admit," confessed Billy, with
+an arch smile; "but she spoke of his being there lots, and they used to
+know each other years ago, you see. There was almost a romance there,
+I think, before the Greggorys lost their money and moved away from all
+their friends."
+
+"Well, he may have her. She's a nice girl--a mighty nice girl," answered
+Bertram, with the unmistakably satisfied air of the man who knows he
+himself possesses the nicest girl of them all.
+
+Billy, reading unerringly the triumph in his voice, grew suddenly
+grave. She regarded her husband with a thoughtful frown; then she drew a
+profound sigh.
+
+"Whew!" laughed Bertram, whimsically. "So soon as this?"
+
+"Bertram!" Billy's voice was tragic.
+
+"Yes, my love." The bridegroom pulled his face into sobriety; then Billy
+spoke, with solemn impressiveness.
+
+"Bertram, I don't know a thing about--cooking--except what I've been
+learning in Rosa's cook-book this last week."
+
+Bertram laughed so loud that the man across the aisle glanced over the
+top of his paper surreptitiously.
+
+"Rosa's cook-book! Is that what you were doing all this week?"
+
+"Yes; that is--I tried so hard to learn something," stammered Billy.
+"But I'm afraid I didn't--much; there were so many things for me to
+think of, you know, with only a week. I believe I _could_ make peach
+fritters, though. They were the last thing I studied."
+
+Bertram laughed again, uproariously; but, at Billy's unchangingly tragic
+face, he grew suddenly very grave and tender.
+
+"Billy, dear, I didn't marry you to--to get a cook," he said gently.
+
+Billy shook her head.
+
+"I know; but Aunt Hannah said that even if I never expected to cook,
+myself, I ought to know how it was done, so to properly oversee it. She
+said that--that no woman, who didn't know how to cook and keep house
+properly, had any business to be a wife. And, Bertram, I did try,
+honestly, all this week. I tried so hard to remember when you sponged
+bread and when you kneaded it."
+
+"I don't ever need--_yours_," cut in Bertram, shamelessly; but he got
+only a deservedly stern glance in return.
+
+"And I repeated over and over again how many cupfuls of flour and
+pinches of salt and spoonfuls of baking-powder went into things; but,
+Bertram, I simply could not keep my mind on it. Everything, everywhere
+was singing to me. And how do you suppose I could remember how many
+pinches of flour and spoonfuls of salt and cupfuls of baking-powder went
+into a loaf of cake when all the while the very teakettle on the stove
+was singing: 'It's all right--Bertram loves me--I'm going to marry
+Bertram!'?"
+
+"You darling!" (In spite of the man across the aisle Bertram did
+almost kiss her this time.) "As if anybody cared how many cupfuls of
+baking-powder went anywhere--with that in your heart!"
+
+"Aunt Hannah says you will--when you're hungry. And Kate said--"
+
+Bertram uttered a sharp word behind his teeth.
+
+"Billy, for heaven's sake don't tell me what Kate said, if you want me
+to stay sane, and not attempt to fight somebody--broken arm, and all.
+Kate _thinks_ she's kind, and I suppose she means well; but--well, she's
+made trouble enough between us already. I've got you now, sweetheart.
+You're mine--all mine--" his voice shook, and dropped to a tender
+whisper--"'till death us do part.'"
+
+"Yes; 'till death us do part,'" breathed Billy.
+
+And then, for a time, they fell silent.
+
+"'I, Bertram, take thee, Billy,'" sang the whirring wheels beneath them,
+to one.
+
+"'I, Billy, take thee, Bertram,'" sang the whirring wheels beneath them,
+to the other. While straight ahead before them both, stretched fair and
+beautiful in their eyes, the wondrous path of life which they were to
+tread together.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II. FOR WILLIAM--A HOME
+
+
+On the first Sunday after the wedding Pete came up-stairs to tell
+his master, William, that Mrs. Stetson wanted to see him in the
+drawing-room.
+
+William went down at once.
+
+"Well, Aunt Hannah," he began, reaching out a cordial hand. "Why, what's
+the matter?" he broke off concernedly, as he caught a clearer view of
+the little old lady's drawn face and troubled eyes.
+
+"William, it's silly, of course," cried Aunt Hannah, tremulously, "but
+I simply had to go to some one. I--I feel so nervous and unsettled!
+Did--did Billy say anything to you--what she was going to do?"
+
+"What she was going to do? About what? What do you mean?"
+
+"About the house--selling it," faltered Aunt Hannah, sinking wearily
+back into her chair.
+
+William frowned thoughtfully.
+
+"Why, no," he answered. "It was all so hurried at the last, you know.
+There was really very little chance to make plans for anything--except
+the wedding," he finished, with a smile.
+
+"Yes, I know," sighed Aunt Hannah. "Everything was in such confusion!
+Still, I didn't know but she might have said something--to you."
+
+"No, she didn't. But I imagine it won't be hard to guess what she'll do.
+When they get back from their trip I fancy she won't lose much time in
+having what things she wants brought down here. Then she'll sell the
+rest and put the house on the market."
+
+"Yes, of--of course," stammered Aunt Hannah, pulling herself hastily to
+a more erect position. "That's what I thought, too. Then don't you think
+we'd better dismiss Rosa and close the house at once?"
+
+"Why--yes, perhaps so. Why not? Then you'd be all settled here when she
+comes home. I'm sure, the sooner you come, the better I'll be pleased,"
+he smiled.
+
+Aunt Hannah turned sharply.
+
+"Here!" she ejaculated. "William Henshaw, you didn't suppose I was
+coming _here_ to live, did you?"
+
+It was William's turn to look amazed.
+
+"Why, of course you're coming here! Where else should you go, pray?"
+
+"Where I was before--before Billy came--to you," returned Aunt Hannah a
+little tremulously, but with a certain dignity. "I shall take a room in
+some quiet boarding-house, of course."
+
+"Nonsense, Aunt Hannah! As if Billy would listen to that! You came
+before; why not come now?"
+
+Aunt Hannah lifted her chin the fraction of an inch.
+
+"You forget. I was needed before. Billy is a married woman now. She
+needs no chaperon."
+
+"Nonsense!" scowled William, again. "Billy will always need you."
+
+Aunt Hannah shook her head mournfully.
+
+"I like to think--she wants me, William, but I know, in my heart, it
+isn't best."
+
+"Why not?"
+
+There was a moment's pause; then, decisively came the answer.
+
+"Because I think young married folks should not have outsiders in the
+home."
+
+William laughed relievedly.
+
+"Oh, so that's it! Well, Aunt Hannah, you're no outsider. Come, run
+right along home and pack your trunk."
+
+Aunt Hannah was plainly almost crying; but she held her ground.
+
+"William, I can't," she reiterated.
+
+"But--Billy is such a child, and--"
+
+For once in her circumspect life Aunt Hannah was guilty of an
+interruption.
+
+"Pardon me, William, she is not a child. She is a woman now, and she has
+a woman's problems to meet."
+
+"Well, then, why don't you help her meet them?" retorted William, still
+with a whimsical smile.
+
+But Aunt Hannah did not smile. For a minute she did not speak; then,
+with her eyes studiously averted, she said:
+
+"William, the first four years of my married life were--were spoiled by
+an outsider in our home. I don't mean to spoil Billy's."
+
+William relaxed visibly. The smile fled from his face.
+
+"Why--Aunt--Hannah!" he exclaimed.
+
+The little old lady turned with a weary sigh.
+
+"Yes, I know. You are shocked, of course. I shouldn't have told you.
+Still, it is all past long ago, and--I wanted to make you understand
+why I can't come. He was my husband's eldest brother--a bachelor. He
+was good and kind, and meant well, I suppose; but--he interfered with
+everything. I was young, and probably headstrong. At all events, there
+was constant friction. He went away once and stayed two whole months. I
+shall never forget the utter freedom and happiness of those months for
+us, with the whole house to ourselves. No, William, I can't come." She
+rose abruptly and turned toward the door. Her eyes were wistful, and
+her face was still drawn with suffering; but her whole frail little self
+quivered plainly with high resolve. "John has Peggy outside. I must go."
+
+"But--but, Aunt Hannah," began William, helplessly.
+
+She lifted a protesting hand.
+
+"No, don't urge me, please. I can't come here. But--I believe I won't
+close the house till Billy gets home, after all," she declared. The
+next moment she was gone, and William, dazedly, from the doorway, was
+watching John help her into Billy's automobile, called by Billy and half
+her friends, "Peggy," short for "Pegasus."
+
+Still dazedly William turned back into the house and dropped himself
+into the nearest chair.
+
+What a curious call it had been! Aunt Hannah had not acted like herself
+at all. Not once had she said "Oh, my grief and conscience!" while the
+things she _had_ said--! Someway, he had never thought of Aunt Hannah as
+being young, and a bride. Still, of course she must have been--once. And
+the reason she gave for not coming there to live--the pitiful story
+of that outsider in her home! But she was no outsider! She was no
+interfering brother of Billy's--
+
+William caught his breath suddenly, and held it suspended. Then he gave
+a low ejaculation and half sprang from his chair.
+
+Spunkie, disturbed from her doze by the fire, uttered a purring
+"me-o-ow," and looked up inquiringly.
+
+For a long minute William gazed dumbly into the cat's yellow, sleepily
+contented eyes; then he said with tragic distinctness:
+
+"Spunkie, it's true: Aunt Hannah isn't Billy's husband's brother, but--I
+am! Do you hear? I _am!_"
+
+"Pur-r-me-ow!" commented Spunkie; and curled herself for another nap.
+
+There was no peace for William after that. In vain he told himself that
+he was no "interfering" brother, and that this was his home and had been
+all his life; in vain did he declare emphatically that he could not go,
+he would not go; that Billy would not wish him to go: always before his
+eyes was the vision of that little bride of years long gone; always in
+his ears was the echo of Aunt Hannah's "I shall never forget the utter
+freedom and happiness of those months for us, with the whole house to
+ourselves." Nor, turn which way he would, could he find anything to
+comfort him. Simply because he was so fearfully looking for it, he found
+it--the thing that had for its theme the wretchedness that might be
+expected from the presence of a third person in the new home.
+
+Poor William! Everywhere he met it--the hint, the word, the story, the
+song, even; and always it added its mite to the woeful whole. Even the
+hoariest of mother-in-law jokes had its sting for him; and, to make his
+cup quite full, he chanced to remember one day what Marie had said when
+he had suggested that she and Cyril come to the Strata to live: "No; I
+think young folks should begin by themselves."
+
+Unhappy, indeed, were these days for William. Like a lost spirit he
+wandered from room to room, touching this, fingering that. For long
+minutes he would stand before some picture, or some treasured bit of old
+mahogany, as if to stamp indelibly upon his mind a thing that was soon
+to be no more. At other times, like a man without a home, he would
+go out into the Common or the Public Garden and sit for hours on some
+bench--thinking.
+
+All this could have but one ending, of course. Before the middle of
+August William summoned Pete to his rooms.
+
+"Oh, Pete, I'm going to move next week," he began nonchalantly. His
+voice sounded as if moving were a pleasurable circumstance that occurred
+in his life regularly once a month. "I'd like you to begin to pack up
+these things, please, to-morrow."
+
+The old servant's mouth fell open.
+
+"You're goin' to--to what, sir?" he stammered.
+
+"Move--_move_, I said." William spoke with unusual harshness.
+
+Pete wet his lips.
+
+"You mean you've sold the old place, sir?--that we--we ain't goin' to
+live here no longer?"
+
+"Sold? Of course not! _I'm_ going to move away; not you."
+
+If Pete could have known what caused the sharpness in his master's
+voice, he would not have been so grieved--or, rather, he would have
+been grieved for a different reason. As it was he could only falter
+miserably:
+
+"_You_ are goin' to move away from here!"
+
+"Yes, yes, man! Why, Pete, what ails you? One would think a body never
+moved before."
+
+"They didn't--not you, sir."
+
+William turned abruptly, so that his face could not be seen. With stern
+deliberation he picked up an elaborately decorated teapot; but the
+valuable bit of Lowestoft shook so in his hand that he set it down at
+once. It clicked sharply against its neighbor, betraying his nervous
+hand.
+
+Pete stirred.
+
+"But, Mr. William," he stammered thickly; "how are you--what'll you do
+without--There doesn't nobody but me know so well about your tea, and
+the two lumps in your coffee; and there's your flannels that you never
+put on till I get 'em out, and the woolen socks that you'd wear all
+summer if I didn't hide 'em. And--and who's goin' to take care of
+these?" he finished, with a glance that encompassed the overflowing
+cabinets and shelves of curios all about him.
+
+His master smiled sadly. An affection that had its inception in his
+boyhood days shone in his eyes. The hand in which the Lowestoft had
+shaken rested now heavily on an old man's bent shoulder--a shoulder that
+straightened itself in unconscious loyalty under the touch.
+
+"Pete, you have spoiled me, and no mistake. I don't expect to find
+another like you. But maybe if I wear the woolen socks too late you'll
+come and hunt up the others for me. Eh?" And, with a smile that was
+meant to be quizzical, William turned and began to shift the teapots
+about again.
+
+"But, Mr. William, why--that is, what will Mr. Bertram and Miss Billy
+do--without you?" ventured the old man.
+
+There was a sudden tinkling crash. On the floor lay the fragments of a
+silver-luster teapot.
+
+The servant exclaimed aloud in dismay, but his master did not even
+glance toward his once treasured possession on the floor.
+
+"Nonsense, Pete!" he was saying in a particularly cheery voice. "Have
+you lived all these years and not found out that newly-married folks
+don't _need_ any one else around? Come, do you suppose we could begin
+to pack these teapots to-night?" he added, a little feverishly. "Aren't
+there some boxes down cellar?"
+
+"I'll see, sir," said Pete, respectfully; but the expression on his face
+as he turned away showed that he was not thinking of teapots--nor of
+boxes in which to pack them.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III. BILLY SPEAKS HER MIND
+
+
+Mr. and Mrs. Bertram Henshaw were expected home the first of September.
+By the thirty-first of August the old Beacon Street homestead facing
+the Public Garden was in spick-and-span order, with Dong Ling in the
+basement hovering over a well-stocked larder, and Pete searching the
+rest of the house for a chair awry, or a bit of dust undiscovered.
+
+Twice before had the Strata--as Bertram long ago dubbed the home of
+his boyhood--been prepared for the coming of Billy, William's namesake:
+once, when it had been decorated with guns and fishing-rods to welcome
+the "boy" who turned out to be a girl; and again when with pink roses
+and sewing-baskets the three brothers got joyously ready for a feminine
+Billy who did not even come at all.
+
+The house had been very different then. It had been, indeed, a "strata,"
+with its distinctive layers of fads and pursuits as represented by
+Bertram and his painting on one floor, William and his curios on
+another, and Cyril with his music on a third. Cyril was gone now. Only
+Pete and his humble belongings occupied the top floor. The floor below,
+too, was silent now, and almost empty save for a rug or two, and a few
+pieces of heavy furniture that William had not cared to take with him
+to his new quarters on top of Beacon Hill. Below this, however, came
+Billy's old rooms, and on these Pete had lavished all his skill and
+devotion.
+
+Freshly laundered curtains were at the windows, dustless rugs were on
+the floor. The old work-basket had been brought down from the top-floor
+storeroom, and the long-closed piano stood invitingly open. In
+a conspicuous place, also, sat the little green god, upon whose
+exquisitely carved shoulders was supposed to rest the "heap plenty velly
+good luckee" of Dong Ling's prophecy.
+
+On the first floor Bertram's old rooms and the drawing-room came in for
+their share of the general overhauling. Even Spunkie did not escape, but
+had to submit to the ignominy of a bath. And then dawned fair and clear
+the first day of September, bringing at five o'clock the bride and
+groom.
+
+Respectfully lined up in the hall to meet them were Pete and Dong Ling:
+Pete with his wrinkled old face alight with joy and excitement; Dong
+Ling grinning and kotowing, and chanting in a high-pitched treble:
+
+"Miss Billee, Miss Billee--plenty much welcome, Miss Billee!"
+
+"Yes, welcome home, Mrs. _Henshaw!_" bowed Bertram, turning at the door,
+with an elaborate flourish that did not in the least hide his tender
+pride in his new wife.
+
+Billy laughed and colored a pretty pink.
+
+"Thank you--all of you," she cried a little unsteadily. "And how good,
+good everything does look to me! Why, where's Uncle William?" she broke
+off, casting hurriedly anxious eyes about her.
+
+"Well, I should say so," echoed Bertram. "Where is he, Pete? He isn't
+sick, is he?"
+
+A quick change crossed the old servant's face. He shook his head dumbly.
+
+Billy gave a gleeful laugh.
+
+"I know--he's asleep!" she caroled, skipping to the bottom of the
+stairway and looking up.
+
+"Ho, Uncle William! Better wake up, sir. The folks have come!"
+
+Pete cleared his throat.
+
+"Mr. William isn't here, Miss--ma'am," he corrected miserably.
+
+Billy smiled, but she frowned, too.
+
+"Not here! Well, I like that," she pouted; "--and when I've brought him
+the most beautiful pair of mirror knobs he ever saw, and all the way
+in my bag, too, so I could give them to him the very first thing," she
+added, darting over to the small bag she had brought in with her. "I'm
+glad I did, too, for our trunks didn't come," she continued laughingly.
+"Still, if he isn't here to receive them--There, Pete, aren't they
+beautiful?" she cried, carefully taking from their wrappings two
+exquisitely decorated porcelain discs mounted on two long spikes.
+"They're Batterseas--the real article. I know enough for that; and
+they're finer than anything he's got. Won't he be pleased?"
+
+"Yes, Miss--ma'am, I mean," stammered the old man.
+
+"These new titles come hard, don't they, Pete?" laughed Bertram.
+
+Pete smiled faintly.
+
+"Never mind, Pete," soothed his new mistress. "You shall call me 'Miss
+Billy' all your life if you want to. Bertram," she added, turning to
+her husband, "I'm going to just run up-stairs and put these in Uncle
+William's rooms so they'll be there when he comes in. We'll see how soon
+he discovers them!"
+
+Before Pete could stop her she was half-way up the first flight of
+stairs. Even then he tried to speak to his young master, to explain
+that Mr. William was not living there; but the words refused to come. He
+could only stand dumbly waiting.
+
+In a minute it came--Billy's sharp, startled cry.
+
+"Bertram! Bertram!"
+
+Bertram sprang for the stairway, but he had not reached the top when he
+met his wife coming down. She was white-faced and trembling.
+
+"Bertram--those rooms--there's not so much as a teapot there! Uncle
+William's--gone!"
+
+"Gone!" Bertram wheeled sharply. "Pete, what is the meaning of this?
+Where is my brother?" To hear him, one would think he suspected the old
+servant of having hidden his master.
+
+Pete lifted a shaking hand and fumbled with his collar.
+
+"He's moved, sir."
+
+"Moved! Oh, you mean to other rooms--to Cyril's." Bertram relaxed
+visibly. "He's upstairs, maybe."
+
+Pete shook his head.
+
+"No, sir. He's moved away--out of the house, sir."
+
+For a brief moment Bertram stared as if he could not believe what his
+ears had heard. Then, step by step, he began to descend the stairs.
+
+"Do you mean--to say--that my brother--has moved-gone away--_left_--his
+_home?_" he demanded.
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+Billy gave a low cry.
+
+"But why--why?" she choked, almost stumbling headlong down the stairway
+in her effort to reach the two men at the bottom. "Pete, why did he go?"
+
+There was no answer.
+
+"Pete,"--Bertram's voice was very sharp--"what is the meaning of this?
+Do you know why my brother left his home?"
+
+The old man wet his lips and swallowed chokingly, but he did not speak.
+
+"I'm waiting, Pete."
+
+Billy laid one hand on the old servant's arm--in the other hand she
+still tightly clutched the mirror knobs.
+
+"Pete, if you do know, won't you tell us, please?" she begged.
+
+Pete looked down at the hand, then up at the troubled young face with
+the beseeching eyes. His own features worked convulsively. With a
+visible effort he cleared his throat.
+
+"I know--what he said," he stammered, his eyes averted.
+
+"What was it?"
+
+There was no answer.
+
+"Look here, Pete, you'll have to tell us, you know," cut in Bertram,
+decisively, "so you might as well do it now as ever."
+
+Once more Pete cleared his throat. This time the words came in a burst
+of desperation.
+
+"Yes, sir. I understand, sir. It was only that he said--he said as how
+young folks didn't _need_ any one else around. So he was goin'."
+
+"Didn't _need_ any one else!" exclaimed Bertram, plainly not
+comprehending.
+
+"Yes, sir. You two bein' married so, now." Pete's eyes were still
+averted.
+
+Billy gave a low cry.
+
+"You mean--because _I_ came?" she demanded.
+
+"Why, yes, Miss--no--that is--" Pete stopped with an appealing glance at
+Bertram.
+
+"Then it was--it _was_--on account of _me_," choked Billy.
+
+Pete looked still more distressed
+
+"No, no!" he faltered. "It was only that he thought you wouldn't want
+him here now."
+
+"Want him here!" ejaculated Bertram.
+
+"Want him here!" echoed Billy, with a sob.
+
+"Pete, where is he?" As she asked the question she dropped the mirror
+knobs into her open bag, and reached for her coat and gloves--she had
+not removed her hat.
+
+Pete gave the address.
+
+"It's just down the street a bit and up the hill," he added excitedly,
+divining her purpose. "It's a sort of a boarding-house, I reckon."
+
+"A _boarding-house_--for Uncle William!" scorned Billy, her eyes ablaze.
+"Come, Bertram, we'll see about that."
+
+Bertram reached out a detaining hand.
+
+"But, dearest, you're so tired," he demurred. "Hadn't we better wait
+till after dinner, or till to-morrow?"
+
+"After dinner! To-morrow!" Billy's eyes blazed anew. "Why, Bertram
+Henshaw, do you think I'd leave that dear man even one minute longer,
+if I could help it, with a notion in his blessed old head that we didn't
+_want_ him?"
+
+"But you said a little while ago you had a headache, dear," still
+objected Bertram. "If you'd just eat your dinner!"
+
+"Dinner!" choked Billy. "I wonder if you think I could eat any dinner
+with Uncle William turned out of his home! I'm going to find Uncle
+William." And she stumbled blindly toward the door.
+
+Bertram reached for his hat. He threw a despairing glance into Pete's
+eyes.
+
+"We'll be back--when we can," he said, with a frown.
+
+"Yes, sir," answered Pete, respectfully. Then, as if impelled by some
+hidden force, he touched his master's arm. "It was that way she looked,
+sir, when she came to _you_--that night last July--with her eyes all
+shining," he whispered.
+
+A tender smile curved Bertram's lips. The frown vanished from his face.
+
+"Bless you, Pete--and bless her, too!" he whispered back. The next
+moment he had hurried after his wife.
+
+The house that bore the number Pete had given proved to have a
+pretentious doorway, and a landlady who, in response to the summons of
+the neat maid, appeared with a most impressive rustle of black silk and
+jet bugles.
+
+No, Mr. William Henshaw was not in his rooms. In fact, he was very
+seldom there. His business, she believed, called him to State Street
+through the day. Outside of that, she had been told, he spent much time
+sitting on a bench in the Common. Doubtless, if they cared to search,
+they could find him there now.
+
+"A bench in the Common, indeed!" stormed Billy, as she and Bertram
+hurried down the wide stone steps. "Uncle William--on a bench!"
+
+"But surely now, dear," ventured her husband, "you'll come home and get
+your dinner!"
+
+Billy turned indignantly.
+
+"And leave Uncle William on a bench in the Common? Indeed, no! Why,
+Bertram, you wouldn't, either," she cried, as she turned resolutely
+toward one of the entrances to the Common.
+
+And Bertram, with the "eyes all shining" still before him, could only
+murmur: "No, of course not, dear!" and follow obediently where she led.
+
+Under ordinary circumstances it would have been a delightful hour for a
+walk. The sun had almost set, and the shadows lay long across the grass.
+The air was cool and unusually bracing for a day so early in September.
+But all this was lost on Bertram. Bertram did not wish to take a walk.
+He was hungry. He wanted his dinner; and he wanted, too, his old home
+with his new wife flitting about the rooms as he had pictured this first
+evening together. He wanted William, of course. Certainly he wanted
+William; but if William would insist on running away and sitting on
+park benches in this ridiculous fashion, he ought to take the
+consequences--until to-morrow.
+
+Five, ten, fifteen minutes passed. Up one path and down another trudged
+the anxious-eyed Billy and her increasingly impatient husband. Then when
+the fifteen weary minutes had become a still more weary half-hour, the
+bonds Bertram had set on his temper snapped.
+
+"Billy," he remonstrated despairingly, "do, please, come home! Don't you
+see how highly improbable it is that we should happen on William if we
+walked like this all night? He might move--change his seat--go home,
+even. He probably has gone home. And surely never before did a bride
+insist on spending the first evening after her return tramping up and
+down a public park for hour after hour like this, looking for any man.
+_Won't_ you come home?"
+
+But Billy had not even heard. With a glad little cry she had darted to
+the side of the humped-up figure of a man alone on a park bench just
+ahead of them.
+
+"Uncle William! Oh, Uncle William, how could you?" she cried, dropping
+herself on to one end of the seat and catching the man's arm in both her
+hands.
+
+"Yes, how could you?" demanded Bertram, with just a touch of irritation,
+dropping himself on to the other end of the seat, and catching the man's
+other arm in his one usable hand.
+
+The bent shoulders and bowed head straightened up with a jerk.
+
+"Well, well, bless my soul! If it isn't our little bride," cried Uncle
+William, fondly. "And the happy bridegroom, too. When did you get home?"
+
+"We haven't got home," retorted Bertram, promptly, before his wife could
+speak. "Oh, we looked in at the door an hour or so back; but we didn't
+stay. We've been hunting for you ever since."
+
+"Nonsense, children!" Uncle William spoke with gay cheeriness; but he
+refused to meet either Billy's or Bertram's eyes.
+
+"Uncle William, how could you do it?" reproached Billy, again.
+
+"Do what?" Uncle William was plainly fencing for time.
+
+"Leave the house like that?"
+
+"Ho! I wanted a change."
+
+"As if we'd believe that!" scoffed Billy.
+
+"All right; let's call it you've had the change, then," laughed Bertram,
+"and we'll send over for your things to-morrow. Come--now let's go home
+to dinner."
+
+William shook his head. He essayed a gay smile.
+
+"Why, I've only just begun. I'm going to stay--oh, I don't know how long
+I'm going to stay," he finished blithely.
+
+Billy lifted her chin a little.
+
+"Uncle William, you aren't playing square. Pete told us what you said
+when you left."
+
+"Eh? What?" William looked up with startled eyes.
+
+"About--about our not _needing_ you. So we know, now, why you left; and
+we _sha'n't stand_ it."
+
+"Pete? That? Oh, that--that's nonsense I--I'll settle with Pete."
+
+Billy laughed softly.
+
+"Poor Pete! Don't. We simply dragged it out of him. And now we're here
+to tell you that we _do_ want you, and that you _must_ come back."
+
+Again William shook his head. A swift shadow crossed his face.
+
+"Thank you, no, children," he said dully.
+
+"You're very kind, but you don't need me. I should be just an interfering
+elder brother. I should spoil your young married life." (William's voice
+now sounded as if he were reciting a well-learned lesson.) "If I went
+away and stayed two months, you'd never forget the utter freedom and joy
+of those two whole months with the house all to yourselves."
+
+"Uncle William," gasped Billy, "what _are_ you talking about?"
+
+"About--about my not going back, of course."
+
+"But you are coming back," cut in Bertram, almost angrily. "Oh, come,
+Will, this is utter nonsense, and you know it! Come, let's go home to
+dinner."
+
+A stern look came to the corners of William's mouth--a look that Bertram
+understood well.
+
+"All right, I'll go to dinner, of course; but I sha'n't stay," said
+William, firmly. "I've thought it all out. I know I'm right. Come, we'll
+go to dinner now, and say no more about it," he finished with a cheery
+smile, as he rose to his feet. Then, to the bride, he added: "Did you
+have a nice trip, little girl?"
+
+Billy, too, had risen, now, but she did not seem to have heard his
+question. In the fast falling twilight her face looked a little white.
+
+"Uncle William," she began very quietly, "do you think for a minute that
+just because I married your brother I am going to live in that house and
+turn you out of the home you've lived in all your life?"
+
+"Nonsense, dear! I'm not turned out. I just go," corrected Uncle
+William, gayly.
+
+With superb disdain Billy brushed this aside.
+
+"Oh, no, you won't," she declared; "but--_I shall_."
+
+"Billy!" gasped Bertram.
+
+"My--my dear!" expostulated William, faintly.
+
+"Uncle William! Bertram! Listen," panted Billy. "I never told you much
+before, but I'm going to, now. Long ago, when I went away with Aunt
+Hannah, your sister Kate showed me how dear the old home was to
+you--how much you thought of it. And she said--she said that I had
+upset everything." (Bertram interjected a sharp word, but Billy paid
+no attention.) "That's why I went; and _I shall go again_--if you
+don't come home to-morrow to stay, Uncle William. Come, now let's go to
+dinner, please. Bertram's hungry," she finished, with a bright smile.
+
+There was a tense moment of silence. William glanced at Bertram; Bertram
+returned the glance--with interest.
+
+"Er--ah--yes; well, we might go to dinner," stammered William, after a
+minute.
+
+"Er--yes," agreed Bertram. And the three fell into step together.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV. "JUST LIKE BILLY"
+
+
+Billy did not leave the Strata this time. Before twenty-four hours had
+passed, the last cherished fragment of Mr. William Henshaw's possessions
+had been carefully carried down the imposing steps of the Beacon
+Hill boarding-house under the disapproving eyes of its bugle-adorned
+mistress, who found herself now with a month's advance rent and two
+vacant "parlors" on her hands. Before another twenty-four hours had
+passed her quondam boarder, with a tired sigh, sank into his favorite
+morris chair in his old familiar rooms, and looked about him with
+contented eyes. Every treasure was in place, from the traditional four
+small stones of his babyhood days to the Batterseas Billy had just
+brought him. Pete, as of yore, was hovering near with a dust-cloth.
+Bertram's gay whistle sounded from the floor below. William Henshaw was
+at home again.
+
+This much accomplished, Billy went to see Aunt Hannah.
+
+Aunt Hannah greeted her affectionately, though with tearfully troubled
+eyes. She was wearing a gray shawl to-day topped with a black one--sure
+sign of unrest, either physical or mental, as all her friends knew.
+
+"I'd begun to think you'd forgotten--me," she faltered, with a poor
+attempt at gayety.
+
+"You've been home three whole days."
+
+"I know, dearie," smiled Billy; "and 'twas a shame. But I have been so
+busy! My trunks came at last, and I've been helping Uncle William get
+settled, too."
+
+Aunt Hannah looked puzzled.
+
+"Uncle William get settled? You mean--he's changed his room?"
+
+Billy laughed oddly, and threw a swift glance into Aunt Hannah's face.
+
+"Well, yes, he did change," she murmured; "but he's moved back now into
+the old quarters. Er--you haven't heard from Uncle William then, lately,
+I take it."
+
+"No." Aunt Hannah shook her head abstractedly. "I did see him once,
+several weeks ago; but I haven't, since. We had quite a talk, then;
+and, Billy, I've been wanting to speak to you," she hurried on, a little
+feverishly. "I didn't like to leave, of course, till you did come home,
+as long as you'd said nothing about your plans; but--"
+
+"Leave!" interposed Billy, dazedly. "Leave where? What do you mean?"
+
+"Why, leave here, of course, dear. I mean. I didn't like to get my room
+while you were away; but I shall now, of course, at once."
+
+"Nonsense, Aunt Hannah! As if I'd let you do that," laughed Billy.
+
+Aunt Hannah stiffened perceptibly. Her lips looked suddenly thin and
+determined. Even the soft little curls above her ears seemed actually to
+bristle with resolution.
+
+"Billy," she began firmly, "we might as well understand each other at
+once. I know your good heart, and I appreciate your kindness. But I can
+not come to live with you. I shall not. It wouldn't be best. I should
+be like an interfering elder brother in your home. I should spoil your
+young married life; and if I went away for two months you'd never forget
+the utter joy and freedom of those two months with the whole house ali
+to yourselves."
+
+At the beginning of this speech Billy's eyes had still carried their
+dancing smile, but as the peroration progressed on to the end, a dawning
+surprise, which soon became a puzzled questioning, drove the smile away.
+Then Billy sat suddenly erect.
+
+"Why, Aunt Hannah, that's exactly what Uncle William--" Billy stopped,
+and regarded Aunt Hannah with quick suspicion. The next moment she burst
+into gleeful laughter.
+
+Aunt Hannah looked grieved, and not a little surprised; but Billy did
+not seem to notice this.
+
+"Oh, oh, Aunt Hannah--you, too! How perfectly funny!" she gurgled. "To
+think you two old blesseds should get your heads together like this!"
+
+Aunt Hannah stirred restively, and pulled the black shawl more closely
+about her.
+
+"Indeed, Billy, I don't know what you mean by that," she sighed, with a
+visible effort at self-control; "but I do know that I can not go to live
+with you."
+
+"Bless your heart, dear, I don't want you to," soothed Billy, with gay
+promptness.
+
+"Oh! O-h-h," stammered Aunt Hannah, surprise, mortification, dismay, and
+a grieved hurt bringing a flood of color to her face. It is one thing to
+refuse a home, and quite another to have a home refused you.
+
+"Oh! O-h-h, Aunt Hannah," cried Billy, turning very red in her turn.
+"Please, _please_ don't look like that. I didn't mean it that way. I do
+want you, dear, only--I want you somewhere else more. I want you--here."
+
+"Here!" Aunt Hannah looked relieved, but unconvinced.
+
+"Yes. Don't you like it here?"
+
+"Like it! Why, I love it, dear. You know I do. But you don't need this
+house now, Billy."
+
+"Oh, yes, I do," retorted Billy, airily. "I'm going to keep it up, and I
+want you here.
+
+"Fiddlededee, Billy! As if I'd let you keep up this house just for me,"
+scorned Aunt Hannah.
+
+"'Tisn't just for you. It's for--for lots of folks."
+
+"My grief and conscience, Billy! What are you talking about?"
+
+Billy laughed, and settled herself more comfortably on the hassock at
+Aunt Hannah's feet.
+
+"Well, I'll tell you. Just now I want it for Tommy Dunn, and the
+Greggorys if I can get them, and maybe one or two others. There'll
+always be somebody. You see, I had thought I'd have them at the Strata."
+
+"Tommy Dunn--at the Strata!"
+
+Billy laughed again ruefully.
+
+"O dear! You sound just like Bertram," she pouted. "He didn't want
+Tommy, either, nor any of the rest of them."
+
+"The rest of them!"
+
+"Well, I could have had a lot more, you know, the Strata is so big,
+especially now that Cyril has gone, and left all those empty rooms.
+_I_ got real enthusiastic, but Bertram didn't. He just laughed and said
+'nonsense!' until he found I was really in earnest; then he--well, he
+said 'nonsense,' then, too--only he didn't laugh," finished Billy, with
+a sigh.
+
+Aunt Hannah regarded her with fond, though slightly exasperated eyes.
+
+"Billy, you are, indeed, a most extraordinary young woman--at times.
+Surely, with you, a body never knows what to expect--except the
+unexpected."
+
+"Why, Aunt Hannah!--and from you, too!" reproached Billy, mischievously;
+but Aunt Hannah had yet more to say.
+
+"Of course Bertram thought it was nonsense. The idea of you, a bride,
+filling up your house with--with people like that! Tommy Dunn, indeed!"
+
+"Oh, Bertram said he liked Tommy all right," sighed Billy; "but he said
+that that didn't mean he wanted him for three meals a day. One would
+think poor Tommy was a breakfast food! So that is when I thought of
+keeping up this house, you see, and that's why I want you here--to take
+charge of it. And you'll do that--for me, won't you?"
+
+Aunt Hannah fell back in her chair.
+
+"Why, y-yes, Billy, of course, if--if you want it. But what an
+extraordinary idea, child!"
+
+Billy shook her head. A deeper color came to her cheeks, and a softer
+glow to her eyes.
+
+"I don't think so, Aunt Hannah. It's only that I'm so happy that some
+of it has just got to overflow somewhere, and this is going to be the
+overflow house--a sort of safety valve for me, you see. I'm going to
+call it the Annex--it will be an annex to our home. And I want to keep
+it full, always, of people who--who can make the best use of all that
+extra happiness that I can't possibly use myself," she finished a little
+tremulously. "Don't you see?"
+
+"Oh, yes, I _see_," replied Aunt Hannah, with a fond shake of the head.
+
+"But, really, listen--it's sensible," urged Billy. "First, there's
+Tommy. His mother died last month. He's at a neighbor's now, but they're
+going to send him to a Home for Crippled Children; and he's grieving his
+heart out over it. I'm going to bring him here to a real home--the kind
+that doesn't begin with a capital letter. He adores music, and he's got
+real talent, I think. Then there's the Greggorys."
+
+Aunt Hannah looked dubious.
+
+"You can't get the Greggorys to--to use any of that happiness, Billy.
+They're too proud."
+
+Billy smiled radiantly.
+
+"I know I can't get them to _use_ it, Aunt Hannah, but I believe I can
+get them to _give_ it," she declared triumphantly. "I shall ask Alice
+Greggory to teach Tommy music, and I shall ask Mrs. Greggory to teach
+him books; and I shall tell them both that I positively need them to
+keep you company."
+
+"Oh, but Billy," bridled Aunt Hannah, with prompt objection.
+
+"Tut, tut!--I know you'll be willing to be thrown as a little bit of a
+sop to the Greggorys' pride," coaxed Billy. "You just wait till I get
+the Overflow Annex in running order. Why, Aunt Hannah, you don't know
+how busy you're going to be handing out all that extra happiness that I
+can't use!"
+
+"You dear child!" Aunt Hannah smiled mistily. The black shawl had fallen
+unheeded to the floor now. "As if anybody ever had any more happiness
+than one's self could use!"
+
+"I have," avowed Billy, promptly, "and it's going to keep growing and
+growing, I know."
+
+"Oh, my grief and conscience, Billy, don't!" exclaimed Aunt Hannah,
+lifting shocked hands of remonstrance. "Rap on wood--do! How can you
+boast like that?"
+
+Billy dimpled roguishly and sprang to her feet.
+
+"Why, Aunt Hannah, I'm ashamed of you! To be superstitious like
+that--you, a good Presbyterian!"
+
+Aunt Hannah subsided shamefacedly.
+
+"Yes, I know, Billy, it is silly; but I just can't help it."
+
+"Oh, but it's worse than silly, Aunt Hannah," teased Billy, with a
+remorseless chuckle. "It's really _heathen!_ Bertram told me once that
+it dates 'way back to the time of the Druids--appealing to the god of
+trees, or something like that--when you rap on wood, you know."
+
+"Ugh!" shuddered Aunt Hannah. "As if I would, Billy! How is Bertram, by
+the by?"
+
+A swift shadow crossed Billy's bright face.
+
+"He's lovely--only his arm."
+
+"His arm! But I thought that was better."
+
+"Oh, it is," drooped Billy, "but it gets along so slowly, and it frets
+him dreadfully. You know he never can do anything with his left hand,
+he says, and he just hates to have things done for him--though Pete and
+Dong Ling are quarreling with each other all the time to do things for
+him, and I'm quarreling with both of them to do them for him myself! By
+the way, Dong Ling is going to leave us next week. Did you know it?"
+
+"Dong Ling--leave!"
+
+"Yes. Oh, he told Bertram long ago he should go when we were married;
+that he had plenty much money, and was going back to China, and not be
+Melican man any longer. But I don't think Bertram thought he'd do it.
+William says Dong Ling went to Pete, however, after we left, and told
+him he wanted to go; that he liked the little Missee plenty well, but
+that there'd be too much hen-talk when she got back, and--"
+
+"Why, the impudent creature!"
+
+Billy laughed merrily.
+
+"Yes; Pete was furious, William says, but Dong Ling didn't mean any
+disrespect, I'm sure. He just wasn't used to having petticoats around,
+and didn't want to take orders from them; that's all."
+
+"But, Billy, what will you do?"
+
+"Oh, Pete's fixed all that lovely," returned Billy, nonchalantly. "You
+know his niece lives over in South Boston, and it seems she's got a
+daughter who's a fine cook and will be glad to come. Mercy! Look at the
+time," she broke off, glancing at the clock. "I shall be late to dinner,
+and Dong Ling loathes anybody who's late to his meals--as I found out to
+my sorrow the night we got home. Good-by, dear. I'll be out soon again
+and fix it all up--about the Annex, you know." And with a bright smile
+she was gone.
+
+"Dear me," sighed Aunt Hannah, stooping to pick up the black shawl;
+"dear me! Of course everything will be all right--there's a girl coming,
+even if Dong Ling is going. But--but--Oh, my grief and conscience, what
+an extraordinary child Billy is, to be sure--but what a dear one!" she
+added, wiping a quick tear from her eye. "An Overflow Annex, indeed, for
+her 'extra happiness'! Now isn't that just like Billy?"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V. TIGER SKINS
+
+
+September passed and October came, bringing with it cool days and clear,
+crisp evenings royally ruled over by a gorgeous harvest moon. According
+to Billy everything was just perfect--except, of course, poor Bertram's
+arm; and even the fact that that gained so slowly was not without its
+advantage (again according to Billy), for it gave Bertram more time to
+be with her.
+
+"You see, dear, as long as you _can't_ paint," she told him earnestly,
+one day, "why, I'm not really hindering you by keeping you with me so
+much."
+
+"You certainly are not," he retorted, with a smile.
+
+"Then I may be just as happy as I like over it," settled Billy,
+comfortably.
+
+"As if you ever could hinder me," he ridiculed.
+
+"Oh, yes, I could," nodded Billy, emphatically. "You forget, sir. That
+was what worried me so. Everybody, even the newspapers and magazines,
+said I _would_ do it, too. They said I'd slay your Art, stifle your
+Ambition, destroy your Inspiration, and be a nuisance generally. And
+Kate said--"
+
+"Yes. Well, never mind what Kate said," interrupted the man, savagely.
+
+Billy laughed, and gave his ear a playful tweak.
+
+"All right; but I'm not going to do it, you know--spoil your career,
+sir. You just wait," she continued dramatically. "The minute your arm
+gets so you can paint, I myself shall conduct you to your studio, thrust
+the brushes into your hand, fill your palette with all the colors of
+the rainbow, and order you to paint, my lord, paint! But--until then I'm
+going to have you all I like," she finished, with a complete change of
+manner, nestling into the ready curve of his good left arm.
+
+"You witch!" laughed the man, fondly. "Why, Billy, you couldn't hinder
+me. You'll _be_ my inspiration, dear, instead of slaying it. You'll see.
+_This_ time Marguerite Winthrop's portrait is going to be a success."
+
+Billy turned quickly.
+
+"Then you are--that is, you haven't--I mean, you're going to--paint it?"
+
+"I just am," avowed the artist. "And this time it'll be a success, too,
+with you to help."
+
+Billy drew in her breath tremulously.
+
+"I didn't know but you'd already started it," she faltered.
+
+He shook his head.
+
+"No. After the other one failed, and Mr. Winthrop asked me to try again,
+I couldn't _then_. I was so troubled over you. That's the time you did
+hinder me," he smiled. "Then came your note breaking the engagement. Of
+course I knew too much to attempt a thing like that portrait then. But
+now--_now_--!" The pause and the emphasis were eloquent.
+
+"Of course, _now_," nodded Billy, brightly, but a little feverishly.
+"And when do you begin?"
+
+"Not till January. Miss Winthrop won't be back till then. I saw J. G.
+last week, and I told him I'd accept his offer to try again."
+
+"What did he say?"
+
+"He gave my left hand a big grip and said: 'Good!--and you'll win out
+this time.'"
+
+"Of course you will," nodded Billy, again, though still a little
+feverishly. "And this time I sha'n't mind a bit if you do stay to
+luncheon, and break engagements with me, sir," she went on, tilting
+her chin archly, "for I shall know it's the portrait and not the sitter
+that's really keeping you. Oh, you'll see what a fine artist's wife I'll
+make!"
+
+"The very best," declared Bertram so ardently that Billy blushed, and
+shook her head in reproof.
+
+"Nonsense! I wasn't fishing. I didn't mean it that way," she protested.
+Then, as he tried to catch her, she laughed and danced teasingly out of
+his reach.
+
+Because Bertram could not paint, therefore, Billy had him quite to
+herself these October days; nor did she hesitate to appropriate him.
+Neither, on his part, was Bertram loath to be appropriated. Like two
+lovers they read and walked and talked together, and like two children,
+sometimes, they romped through the stately old rooms with Spunkie, or
+with Tommy Dunn, who was a frequent guest. Spunkie, be it known, was
+renewing her kittenhood, so potent was the influence of the dangling
+strings and rolling balls that she encountered everywhere; and Tommy
+Dunn, with Billy's help, was learning that not even a pair of crutches
+need keep a lonely little lad from a frolic. Even William, roused from
+his after-dinner doze by peals of laughter, was sometimes inveigled into
+activities that left him breathless, but curiously aglow. While Pete,
+polishing silver in the dining-room down-stairs, smiled indulgently at
+the merry clatter above--and forgot the teasing pain in his side.
+
+But it was not all nonsense with Billy, nor gay laughter. More often
+it was a tender glow in the eyes, a softness in the voice, a radiant
+something like an aura of joy all about her, that told how happy indeed
+were these days for her. There was proof by word of mouth, too--long
+talks with Bertram in the dancing firelight when they laid dear
+plans for the future, and when she tried so hard to make her husband
+understand what a good, good wife she intended to be, and how she meant
+never to let anything come between them.
+
+It was so earnest and serious a Billy by this time that Bertram would
+turn startled, dismayed eyes on his young wife; whereupon, with a very
+Billy-like change of mood, she would give him one of her rare caresses,
+and perhaps sigh:
+
+"Goosey--it's only because I'm so happy, happy, happy! Why, Bertram, if
+it weren't for that Overflow Annex I believe I--I just couldn't live!"
+
+It was Bertram who sighed then, and who prayed fervently in his heart
+that never might he see a real shadow cloud that dear face.
+
+Thus far, certainly, the cares of matrimony had rested anything but
+heavily upon the shapely young shoulders of the new wife. Domestic
+affairs at the Strata moved like a piece of well-oiled machinery.
+Dong Ling, to be sure, was not there; but in his place reigned Pete's
+grandniece, a fresh-faced, capable young woman who (Bertram declared)
+cooked like an angel and minded her own business like a man. Pete, as
+of yore, had full charge of the house; and a casual eye would see few
+changes. Even the brothers themselves saw few, for that matter.
+
+True, at the very first, Billy had donned a ruffled apron and a
+bewitching dust-cap, and had traversed the house from cellar to garret
+with a prettily important air of "managing things," as she suggested
+changes right and left. She had summoned Pete, too, for three mornings
+in succession, and with great dignity had ordered the meals for the day.
+But when Bertram was discovered one evening tugging back his favorite
+chair, and when William had asked if Billy were through using his
+pipe-tray, the young wife had concluded to let things remain about as
+they were. And when William ate no breakfast one morning, and Bertram
+aggrievedly refused dessert that night at dinner, Billy--learning
+through an apologetic Pete that Master William always had to have eggs
+for breakfast no matter what else there was, and that Master Bertram
+never ate boiled rice--gave up planning the meals. True, for three more
+mornings she summoned Pete for "orders," but the orders were nothing
+more nor less than a blithe "Well, Pete, what are we going to have for
+dinner to-day?" By the end of a week even this ceremony was given up,
+and before a month had passed, Billy was little more than a guest in her
+own home, so far as responsibility was concerned.
+
+Billy was not idle, however; far from it. First, there were the
+delightful hours with Bertram. Then there was her music: Billy was
+writing a new song--the best she had ever written, Billy declared.
+
+"Why, Bertram, it can't help being that," she said to her husband, one
+day. "The words just sang themselves to me right out of my heart; and
+the melody just dropped down from the sky. And now, everywhere, I'm
+hearing the most wonderful harmonies. The whole universe is singing to
+me. If only now I can put it on paper what I hear! Then I can make the
+whole universe sing to some one else!"
+
+Even music, however, had to step one side for the wedding calls which
+were beginning to be received, and which must be returned, in spite
+of the occasional rebellion of the young husband. There were the more
+intimate friends to be seen, also, and Cyril and Marie to be visited.
+And always there was the Annex.
+
+The Annex was in fine running order now, and was a source of infinite
+satisfaction to its founder and great happiness to its beneficiaries.
+Tommy Dunn was there, learning wonderful things from books and still
+more wonderful things from the piano in the living-room. Alice Greggory
+and her mother were there, too--the result of much persuasion. Indeed,
+according to Bertram, Billy had been able to fill the Annex only
+by telling each prospective resident that he or she was absolutely
+necessary to the welfare and happiness of every other resident. Not that
+the house was full, either. There were still two unoccupied rooms.
+
+"But then, I'm glad there are," Billy had declared, "for there's sure to
+be some one that I'll want to send there."
+
+"Some _one_, did you say?" Bertram had retorted, meaningly; but his wife
+had disdained to answer this.
+
+Billy herself was frequently at the Annex. She told Aunt Hannah that
+she had to come often to bring the happiness--it accumulated so fast.
+Certainly she always found plenty to do there, whenever she came. There
+was Aunt Hannah to be read to, Mrs. Greggory to be sung to, and Tommy
+Dunn to be listened to; for Tommy Dunn was always quivering with
+eagerness to play her his latest "piece."
+
+Billy knew that some day at the Annex she would meet Mr. M. J.
+Arkwright; and she told herself that she hoped she should.
+
+Billy had not seen Arkwright (except on the stage of the Boston Opera
+House) since the day he had left her presence in white-faced, stony-eyed
+misery after declaring his love for her, and learning of her engagement
+to Bertram. Since then, she knew, he had been much with his old friend,
+Alice Greggory. She did not believe, should she see him now, that he
+would be either white-faced, or stony-eyed. His heart, she was sure,
+had gone where it ought to have gone in the first place--to Alice. Such
+being, in her opinion, the case, she longed to get the embarrassment of
+a first meeting between themselves over with, for, after that, she
+was sure, their old friendship could be renewed, and she would be in a
+position to further this pretty love affair between him and Alice. Very
+decidedly, therefore, Billy wished to meet Arkwright. Very pleased,
+consequently, was she when, one day, coming into the living-room at the
+Annex, she found the man sitting by the fire.
+
+Arkwright was on his feet at once.
+
+"Miss--Mrs. H--Henshaw," he stammered
+
+"Oh, Mr. Arkwright," she cried, with just a shade of nervousness in her
+voice as she advanced, her hand outstretched. "I'm glad to see you."
+
+"Thank you. I wanted to see Miss Greggory," he murmured. Then, as
+the unconscious rudeness of his reply dawned on him, he made matters
+infinitely worse by an attempted apology. "That is, I mean--I didn't
+mean--" he began to stammer miserably.
+
+Some girls might have tossed the floundering man a straw in the shape of
+a light laugh intended to turn aside all embarrassment--but not Billy.
+Billy held out a frankly helping hand that was meant to set the man
+squarely on his feet at her side.
+
+"Mr. Arkwright, don't, please," she begged earnestly. "You and I don't
+need to beat about the bush. I _am_ glad to see you, and I hope you're
+glad to see me. We're going to be the best of friends from now on, I'm
+sure; and some day, soon, you're going to bring Alice to see me, and
+we'll have some music. I left her up-stairs. She'll be down at once,
+I dare say--I met Rosa going up with your card. Good-by," she finished
+with a bright smile, as she turned and walked rapidly from the room.
+
+Outside, on the steps, Billy drew a long breath.
+
+"There," she whispered; "that's over--and well over!" The next minute
+she frowned vexedly. She had missed her glove. "Never mind! I sha'n't go
+back in there for it now, anyway," she decided.
+
+In the living-room, five minutes later, Alice Greggory found only a
+hastily scrawled note waiting for her.
+
+
+"If you'll forgive the unforgivable," she read "you'll forgive me for
+not being here when you come down. 'Circumstances over which I have no
+control have called me away.' May we let it go at that?
+
+"M. J. ARKWRIGHT."
+
+
+As Alice Greggory's amazed, questioning eyes left the note they fell
+upon the long white glove on the floor by the door. Half mechanically
+she crossed the room and picked it up; but almost at once she dropped it
+with a low cry.
+
+"Billy! He--saw--Billy!" Then a flood of understanding dyed her face
+scarlet as she turned and fled to the blessedly unseeing walls of her
+own room.
+
+Not ten minutes later Rosa tapped at her door with a note.
+
+"It's from Mr. Arkwright, Miss. He's downstairs." Rosa's eyes were
+puzzled, and a bit startled.
+
+"Mr. Arkwright!"
+
+"Yes, Miss. He's come again. That is, I didn't know he'd went--but he
+must have, for he's come again now. He wrote something in a little book;
+then he tore it out and gave it to me. He said he'd wait, please, for an
+answer."
+
+"Oh, very well, Rosa."
+
+Miss Greggory took the note and spoke with an elaborate air of
+indifference that was meant to express a calm ignoring of the puzzled
+questioning in the other's eyes. The next moment she read this in
+Arkwright's peculiar scrawl:
+
+
+"If you've already forgiven the unforgivable, you'll do it again, I
+know, and come down-stairs. Won't you, please? I want to see you."
+
+
+Miss Greggory lifted her head with a jerk. Her face was a painful red.
+
+"Tell Mr. Arkwright I can't possibly--" She came to an abrupt pause. Her
+eyes had encountered Rosa's, and in Rosa's eyes the puzzled questioning
+was plainly fast becoming a shrewd suspicion.
+
+There was the briefest of hesitations; then, lightly, Miss Greggory
+tossed the note aside.
+
+"Tell Mr. Arkwright I'll be down at once, please," she directed
+carelessly, as she turned back into the room.
+
+But she was not down at once. She was not down until she had taken time
+to bathe her red eyes, powder her telltale nose, smoothe her ruffled
+hair, and whip herself into the calm, steady-eyed, self-controlled young
+woman that Arkwright finally rose to meet when she came into the room.
+
+"I thought it was only women who were privileged to change their mind,"
+she began brightly; but Arkwright ignored her attempt to conventionalize
+the situation.
+
+"Thank you for coming down," he said, with a weariness that instantly
+drove the forced smile from the girl's lips. "I--I wanted to--to talk to
+you."
+
+"Yes?" She seated herself and motioned him to a chair near her. He took
+the seat, and then fell silent, his eyes out the window.
+
+"I thought you said you--you wanted to talk, she reminded him nervously,
+after a minute.
+
+"I did." He turned with disconcerting abruptness. "Alice, I'm going to
+tell you a story."
+
+"I shall be glad to listen. People always like stories, don't they?"
+
+"Do they?" The somber pain in Arkwright's eyes deepened. Alice Greggory
+did not know it, but he was thinking of another story he had once told
+in that same room. Billy was his listener then, while now--A little
+precipitately he began to speak.
+
+"When I was a very small boy I went to visit my uncle, who, in his young
+days, had been quite a hunter. Before the fireplace in his library was a
+huge tiger skin with a particularly lifelike head. The first time I saw
+it I screamed, and ran and hid. I refused then even to go into the room
+again. My cousins urged, scolded, pleaded, and laughed at me by turns,
+but I was obdurate. I would not go where I could see the fearsome thing
+again, even though it was, as they said, 'nothing but a dead old rug!'
+
+"Finally, one day, my uncle took a hand in the matter. By sheer
+will-power he forced me to go with him straight up to the dreaded
+creature, and stand by its side. He laid one of my shrinking hands on
+the beast's smooth head, and thrust the other one quite into the open
+red mouth with its gleaming teeth.
+
+"'You see,' he said, 'there's absolutely nothing to fear. He can't
+possibly hurt you. Just as if you weren't bigger and finer and stronger
+in every way than that dead thing on the floor!'
+
+"Then, when he had got me to the point where of my own free will I would
+walk up and touch the thing, he drew a lesson for me.
+
+"'Now remember,' he charged me. 'Never run and hide again. Only cowards
+do that. Walk straight up and face the thing. Ten to one you'll find
+it's nothing but a dead skin masquerading as the real thing. Even if it
+isn't if it's alive--face it. Find a weapon and fight it. Know that you
+are going to conquer it and you'll conquer. Never run. Be a man. Men
+don't run, my boy!'"
+
+Arkwright paused, and drew a long breath. He did not look at the girl
+in the opposite chair. If he had looked he would have seen a face
+transfigured.
+
+"Well," he resumed, "I never forgot that tiger skin, nor what it stood
+for, after that day when Uncle Ben thrust my hand into its hideous, but
+harmless, red mouth. Even as a kid I began, then, to try--not to run.
+I've tried ever since But to-day--I did run."
+
+Arkwright's voice had been getting lower and lower. The last three words
+would have been almost inaudible to ears less sensitively alert than
+were Alice Greggory's. For a moment after the words were uttered, only
+the clock's ticking broke the silence; then, with an obvious effort, the
+man roused himself, as if breaking away from some benumbing force that
+held him.
+
+"Alice, I don't need to tell you, after what I said the other night,
+that I loved Billy Neilson. That was bad enough, for I found she was
+pledged to another man. But to-day I discovered something worse: I
+discovered that I loved Billy _Henshaw_--another man's wife. And--I ran.
+But I've come back. I'm going to face the thing. Oh, I'm not deceiving
+myself! This love of mine is no dead tiger skin. It's a beast, alive and
+alert--God pity me!--to destroy my very soul. But I'm going to fight it;
+and--I want you to help me."
+
+The girl gave a half-smothered cry. The man turned, but he could not
+see her face distinctly. Twilight had come, and the room was full of
+shadows. He hesitated, then went on, a little more quietly.
+
+"That's why I've told you all this--so you would help me. And you will,
+won't you?"
+
+There was no answer. Once again he tried to see her face, but it was
+turned now quite away from him.
+
+"You've been a big help already, little girl. Your friendship, your
+comradeship--they've been everything to me. You're not going to make me
+do without them--now?"
+
+"No--oh, no!" The answer was low and a little breathless; but he heard
+it.
+
+"Thank you. I knew you wouldn't." He paused, then rose to his feet. When
+he spoke again his voice carried a note of whimsical lightness that was
+a little forced. "But I must go--else you _will_ take them from me,
+and with good reason. And please don't let your kind heart grieve too
+much--over me. I'm no deep-dyed villain in a melodrama, nor wicked lover
+in a ten-penny novel, you know. I'm just an everyday man in real life;
+and we're going to fight this thing out in everyday living. That's where
+your help is coming in. We'll go together to see Mrs. Bertram Henshaw.
+She's asked us to, and you'll do it, I know. We'll have music and
+everyday talk. We'll see Mrs. Bertram Henshaw in her own home with her
+husband, where she belongs; and--I'm not going to run again. But--I'm
+counting on your help, you know," he smiled a little wistfully, as he
+held out his hand in good-by.
+
+One minute later Alice Greggory, alone, was hurrying up-stairs.
+
+"I can't--I can't--I know I can't," she was whispering wildly. Then,
+in her own room, she faced herself in the mirror. "Yes--you--can, Alice
+Greggory," she asserted, with swift change of voice and manner. "This
+is _your_ tiger skin, and you're going to fight it. Do you
+understand?--fight it! And you're going to win, too. Do you want that
+man to know you--_care_?"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI. "THE PAINTING LOOK"
+
+
+It was toward the last of October that Billy began to notice her
+husband's growing restlessness. Twice, when she had been playing to
+him, she turned to find him testing the suppleness of his injured arm.
+Several times, failing to receive an answer to her questions, she had
+looked up to discover him gazing abstractedly at nothing in particular.
+
+They read and walked and talked together, to be sure, and Bertram's
+devotion to her lightest wish was beyond question; but more and more
+frequently these days Billy found him hovering over his sketches in his
+studio; and once, when he failed to respond to the dinner-bell,
+search revealed him buried in a profound treatise on "The Art of
+Foreshortening."
+
+Then came the day when Billy, after an hour's vain effort to imprison
+within notes a tantalizing melody, captured the truant and rain down to
+the studio to tell Bertram of her victory.
+
+But Bertram did not seem even to hear her. True, he leaped to his feet
+and hurried to meet her, his face radiantly aglow; but she had not
+ceased to speak before he himself was talking.
+
+"Billy, Billy, I've been sketching," he cried. "My hand is almost
+steady. See, some of those lines are all right! I just picked up a
+crayon and--" He stopped abruptly, his eyes on Billy's face. A vaguely
+troubled shadow crossed his own. "Did--did you--were you saying anything
+in--in particular, when you came in?" he stammered.
+
+For a short half-minute Billy looked at her husband without speaking.
+Then, a little queerly, she laughed.
+
+"Oh, no, nothing at all in _particular_," she retorted airily. The next
+moment, with one of her unexpected changes of manner, she darted across
+the room, picked up a palette, and a handful of brushes from the
+long box near it. Advancing toward her husband she held them out
+dramatically. "And now paint, my lord, paint!" she commanded him, with
+stern insistence, as she thrust them into his hands.
+
+Bertram laughed shamefacedly.
+
+"Oh, I say, Billy," he began; but Billy had gone.
+
+Out in the hall Billy was speeding up-stairs, talking fiercely to
+herself.
+
+"We'll, Billy Neilson Henshaw, it's come! Now behave yourself. _That was
+the painting look!_ You know what that means. Remember, he belongs to
+his Art before he does to you. Kate and everybody says so. And you--you
+expected him to tend to you and your silly little songs. Do you want to
+ruin his career? As if now he could spend all his time and give all his
+thoughts to you! But I--I just hate that Art!"
+
+"What did you say, Billy?" asked William, in mild surprise, coming
+around the turn of the balustrade in the hall above. "Were you speaking
+to me, my dear?"
+
+Billy looked up. Her face cleared suddenly, and she laughed--though a
+little ruefully.
+
+"No, Uncle William, I wasn't talking to you," she sighed. "I was
+just--just administering first aid to the injured," she finished, as she
+whisked into her own room.
+
+"Well, well, bless the child! What can she mean by that?" puzzled Uncle
+William, turning to go down the stairway.
+
+Bertram began to paint a very little the next day. He painted still more
+the next, and yet more again the day following. He was like a bird let
+out of a cage, so joyously alive was he. The old sparkle came back to
+his eye, the old gay smile to his lips. Now that they had come back
+Billy realized what she had not been conscious of before: that for
+several weeks past they had not been there; and she wondered which hurt
+the more--that they had not been there before, or that they were there
+now. Then she scolded herself roundly for asking the question at all.
+
+They were not easy--those days for Billy, though always to Bertram she
+managed to show a cheerfully serene face. To Uncle William, also, and to
+Aunt Hannah she showed a smiling countenance; and because she could
+not talk to anybody else of her feelings, she talked to herself. This,
+however, was no new thing for Billy to do From earliest childhood she
+had fought things out in like manner.
+
+"But it's so absurd of you, Billy Henshaw," she berated herself one day,
+when Bertram had become so absorbed in his work that he had forgotten to
+keep his appointment with her for a walk. "Just because you have had his
+constant attention almost every hour since you were married is no reason
+why you should have it every hour now, when his arm is better! Besides,
+it's exactly what you said you wouldn't do--object--to his giving proper
+time to his work."
+
+"But I'm not objecting," stormed the other half of herself. "I'm
+_telling_ him to do it. It's only that he's so--so _pleased_ to do it.
+He doesn't seem to mind a bit being away from me. He's actually happy!"
+
+"Well, don't you want him to be happy in his work? Fie! For shame! A
+fine artist's wife you are. It seems Kate was right, then; you _are_
+going to spoil his career!"
+
+"Ho!" quoth Billy, and tossed her head. Forthwith she crossed the room
+to her piano and plumped herself down hard on to the stool. Then, from
+under her fingers there fell a rollicking melody that seemed to fill the
+room with little dancing feet. Faster and faster sped Billy's fingers;
+swifter and swifter twinkled the little dancing feet. Then a door was
+jerked open, and Bertram's voice called:
+
+"Billy!"
+
+The music stopped instantly. Billy sprang from her seat, her
+eyes eagerly seeking the direction from which had come the voice.
+Perhaps--_perhaps_ Bertram wanted her. Perhaps he was not going to paint
+any longer that morning, after all. "Billy!" called the voice again.
+"Please, do you mind stopping that playing just for a little while? I'm
+a brute, I know, dear, but my brush _will_ try to keep time with that
+crazy little tune of yours, and you know my hand is none too steady,
+anyhow, and when it tries to keep up with that jiggety, jig, jig,
+jiggety, jig, jig--! _Do_ you mind, darling, just--just sewing, or
+doing something still for a while?"
+
+All the light fled from Billy's face, but her voice, when she spoke, was
+the quintessence of cheery indifference.
+
+"Why, no, of course not, dear."
+
+"Thank you. I knew you wouldn't," sighed Bertram. Then the door shut.
+
+For a long minute Billy stood motionless before she glanced at her watch
+and sped to the telephone.
+
+"Is Miss Greggory there, Rosa?" she called when the operator's ring was
+answered.
+
+"Mis' Greggory, the lame one?"
+
+"No; _Miss_ Greggory--Miss Alice."
+
+"Oh! Yes'm."
+
+"Then won't you ask her to come to the telephone, please."
+
+There was a moment's wait, during which Billy's small, well-shod foot
+beat a nervous tattoo on the floor.
+
+"Oh, is that you, Alice?" she called then. "Are you going to be home for
+an hour or two?"
+
+"Why, y-yes; yes, indeed."
+
+"Then I'm coming over. We'll play duets, sing--anything. I want some
+music."
+
+"Do! And--Mr. Arkwright is here. He'll help."
+
+"Mr. Arkwright? You say he's there? Then I won't--Yes, I will, too."
+Billy spoke with renewed firmness. "I'll be there right away. Good-by."
+And she hung up the receiver, and went to tell Pete to order John and
+Peggy at once.
+
+"I suppose I ought to have left Alice and Mr. Arkwright alone together,"
+muttered the young wife feverishly, as she hurriedly prepared for
+departure. "But I'll make it up to them later. I'm going to give them
+lots of chances. But to-day--to-day I just had to go--somewhere!"
+
+At the Annex, with Alice Greggory and Arkwright, Billy sang duets and
+trios, and reveled in a sonorous wilderness of new music to her heart's
+content. Then, rested, refreshed, and at peace with all the world, she
+hurried home to dinner and to Bertram.
+
+"There! I feel better," she sighed, as she took off her hat in her
+own room; "and now I'll go find Bertram. Bless his heart--of course he
+didn't want me to play when he was so busy!"
+
+Billy went straight to the studio, but Bertram was not there. Neither
+was he in William's room, nor anywhere in the house. Down-stairs in
+the dining-room Pete was found looking rather white, leaning back in
+a chair. He struggled at once to his feet, however, as his mistress
+entered the room.
+
+Billy hurried forward with a startled exclamation.
+
+"Why, Pete, what is it? Are you sick?" she cried, her glance
+encompassing the half-set table.
+
+"No, ma'am; oh, no, ma'am!" The old man stumbled forward and began
+to arrange the knives and forks. "It's just a pesky pain--beggin' yer
+pardon--in my side. But I ain't sick. No, Miss--ma'am."
+
+Billy frowned and shook her head. Her eyes were on Pete's palpably
+trembling hands.
+
+"But, Pete, you are sick," she protested. "Let Eliza do that."
+
+Pete drew himself stiffly erect. The color had begun to come back to his
+face.
+
+"There hain't no one set this table much but me for more'n fifty years,
+an' I've got a sort of notion that nobody can do it just ter suit me.
+Besides, I'm better now. It's gone--that pain."
+
+"But, Pete, what is it? How long have you had it?"
+
+"I hain't had it any time, steady. It's the comin' an' goin' kind. It
+seems silly ter mind it at all; only, when it does come, it sort o'
+takes the backbone right out o' my knees, and they double up so's I
+have ter set down. There, ye see? I'm pert as a sparrer, now!" And, with
+stiff celerity, Pete resumed his task.
+
+His mistress still frowned.
+
+"That isn't right, Pete," she demurred, with a slow shake of her head.
+"You should see a doctor."
+
+The old man paled a little. He had seen a doctor, and he had not liked
+what the doctor had told him. In fact, he stubbornly refused to
+believe what the doctor had said. He straightened himself now a little
+aggressively.
+
+"Humph! Beggin' yer pardon, Miss--ma'am, but I don't think much o' them
+doctor chaps."
+
+Billy shook her head again as she smiled and turned away. Then, as if
+casually, she asked:
+
+"Oh, did Mr. Bertram go out, Pete?"
+
+"Yes, Miss; about five o'clock. He said he'd be back to dinner."
+
+"Oh! All right."
+
+From the hall the telephone jangled sharply.
+
+"I'll go," said Pete's mistress, as she turned and hurried up-stairs.
+
+It was Bertram's voice that answered her opening "Hullo."
+
+"Oh, Billy, is that you, dear? Well, you're just the one I wanted. I
+wanted to say--that is, I wanted to ask you--" The speaker cleared
+his throat a little nervously, and began all over again. "The fact is,
+Billy, I've run across a couple of old classmates on from New York, and
+they are very anxious I should stay down to dinner with them. Would you
+mind--very much if I did?"
+
+A cold hand seemed to clutch Billy's heart. She caught her breath with
+a little gasp and tried to speak; but she had to try twice before the
+words came.
+
+"Why, no--no, of course not!" Billy's voice was very high-pitched and a
+little shaky, but it was surpassingly cheerful.
+
+"You sure you won't be--lonesome?" Bertram's voice was vaguely troubled.
+
+"Of course not!"
+
+"You've only to say the word, little girl," came Bertram's anxious tones
+again, "and I won't stay."
+
+Billy swallowed convulsively. If only, only he would _stop_ and leave
+her to herself! As if she were going to own up that _she_ was lonesome
+for _him_--if _he_ was not lonesome for _her!_
+
+"Nonsense! of course you'll stay," called Billy, still in that
+high-pitched, shaky treble. Then, before Bertram could answer, she
+uttered a gay "Good-by!" and hung up the receiver.
+
+Billy had ten whole minutes in which to cry before Pete's gong sounded
+for dinner; but she had only one minute in which to try to efface the
+woefully visible effects of those ten minutes before William tapped at
+her door, and called:
+
+"Gone to sleep, my dear? Dinner's ready. Didn't you hear the gong?"
+
+"Yes, I'm coming, Uncle William." Billy spoke with breezy gayety, and
+threw open the door; but she did not meet Uncle William's eyes. Her head
+was turned away. Her hands were fussing with the hang of her skirt.
+
+"Bertram's dining out, Pete tells me," observed William, with cheerful
+nonchalance, as they went down-stairs together.
+
+Billy bit her lip and looked up sharply. She had been bracing herself to
+meet with disdainful indifference this man's pity--the pity due a poor
+neglected wife whose husband _preferred_ to dine with old classmates
+rather than with herself. Now she found in William's face, not pity, but
+a calm, even jovial, acceptance of the situation as a matter of course.
+She had known she was going to hate that pity; but now, curiously
+enough, she was conscious only of anger that the pity was not
+there--that she might hate it.
+
+She tossed her head a little. So even William--Uncle William--regarded
+this monstrous thing as an insignificant matter of everyday experience.
+Maybe he expected it to occur frequently--every night, or so. Doubtless
+he did expect it to occur every night, or so. Indeed! Very well. As if
+she were going to show _now_ that she cared whether Bertram were there
+or not! They should see.
+
+So with head held high and eyes asparkle, Billy marched into the
+dining-room and took her accustomed place.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII. THE BIG BAD QUARREL
+
+
+It was a brilliant dinner--because Billy made it so. At first William
+met her sallies of wit with mild surprise; but it was not long before
+he rose gallantly to the occasion, and gave back full measure of retort.
+Even Pete twice had to turn his back to hide a smile, and once his hand
+shook so that the tea he was carrying almost spilled. This threatened
+catastrophe, however, seemed to frighten him so much that his face was
+very grave throughout the rest of the dinner.
+
+Still laughing and talking gayly, Billy and Uncle William, after the
+meal was over, ascended to the drawing-room. There, however, the man, in
+spite of the young woman's gay badinage, fell to dozing in the big chair
+before the fire, leaving Billy with only Spunkie for company--Spunkie,
+who, disdaining every effort to entice her into a romp, only winked and
+blinked stupid eyes, and finally curled herself on the rug for a nap.
+
+Billy, left to her own devices, glanced at her watch.
+
+Half-past seven! Time, almost, for Bertram to be coming. He had said
+"dinner"; and, of course, after dinner was over he would be coming
+home--to her. Very well; she would show him that she had at least got
+along without him as well as he had without her. At all events he
+would not find her forlornly sitting with her nose pressed against the
+window-pane! And forthwith Billy established herself in a big chair
+(with its back carefully turned toward the door by which Bertram would
+enter), and opened a book.
+
+Five, ten, fifteen minutes passed. Billy fidgeted in her chair, twisted
+her neck to look out into the hall--and dropped her book with a bang.
+
+Uncle William jerked himself awake, and Spunkie opened sleepy eyes. Then
+both settled themselves for another nap. Billy sighed, picked up
+her book, and flounced back into her chair. But she did not read.
+Disconsolately she sat staring straight ahead--until a quick step on
+the sidewalk outside stirred her into instant action. Assuming a look
+of absorbed interest she twitched the book open and held it before her
+face.... But the step passed by the door: and Billy saw then that her
+book was upside down.
+
+Five, ten, fifteen more minutes passed. Billy still sat, apparently
+reading, though she had not turned a page. The book now, however, was
+right side up. One by one other minutes passed till the great clock in
+the hall struck nine long strokes.
+
+"Well, well, bless my soul!" mumbled Uncle William, resolutely forcing
+himself to wake up. "What time was that?"
+
+"Nine o'clock." Billy spoke with tragic distinctness, yet very
+cheerfully.
+
+"Eh? Only nine?" blinked Uncle William. "I thought it must be ten. Well,
+anyhow, I believe I'll go up-stairs. I seem to be unusually sleepy."
+
+Billy said nothing. "'Only nine,' indeed!" she was thinking wrathfully.
+
+At the door Uncle William turned.
+
+"You're not going to sit up, my dear, of course," he remarked.
+
+For the second time that evening a cold hand seemed to clutch Billy's
+heart.
+
+_Sit up!_ Had it come already to that? Was she even now a wife who had
+need to _sit up_ for her husband?
+
+"I really wouldn't, my dear," advised Uncle William again. "Good night."
+
+"Oh, but I'm not sleepy at all, yet," Billy managed to declare brightly.
+"Good night."
+
+Then Uncle William went up-stairs.
+
+Billy turned to her book, which happened to be one of William's on "Fake
+Antiques."
+
+"'To collect anything, these days, requires expert knowledge, and the
+utmost care and discrimination,'" read Billy's eyes. "So Uncle William
+_expected_ Bertram was going to spend the whole evening as well as stay
+to dinner!" ran Billy's thoughts. "'The enormous quantity of bijouterie,
+Dresden and Battersea enamel ware that is now flooding the market,
+is made on the Continent--and made chiefly for the American trade,'"
+continued the book.
+
+"Well, who cares if it is," snapped Billy, springing to her feet and
+tossing the volume aside. "Spunkie, come here! You've simply got to play
+with me. Do you hear? I want to be gay--_gay_--GAY! He's gay. He's down
+there with those men, where he wants to be. Where he'd _rather_ be than
+be with me! Do you think I want him to come home and find me moping over
+a stupid old book? Not much! I'm going to have him find me gay, too.
+Now, come, Spunkie; hurry--wake up! He'll be here right away, I'm sure."
+And Billy shook a pair of worsted reins, hung with little soft balls,
+full in Spunkie's face.
+
+But Spunkie would not wake up, and Spunkie would not play. She pretended
+to. She bit at the reins, and sank her sharp claws into the dangling
+balls. For a fleeting instant, even, something like mischief gleamed in
+her big yellow eyes. Then the jaws relaxed, the paws turned to velvet,
+and Spunkie's sleek gray head settled slowly back into lazy comfort.
+Spunkie was asleep.
+
+Billy gazed at the cat with reproachful eyes.
+
+"And you, too, Spunkie," she murmured. Then she got to her feet and went
+back to her chair. This time she picked up a magazine and began to turn
+the leaves very fast, one after another.
+
+Half-past nine came, then ten. Pete appeared at the door to get Spunkie,
+and to see that everything was all right for the night.
+
+"Mr. Bertram is not in yet?" he began doubtfully.
+
+Billy shook her head with a bright smile.
+
+"No, Pete. Go to bed. I expect him every minute. Good night."
+
+"Thank you, ma'am. Good night."
+
+The old man picked up the sleepy cat and went down-stairs. A little
+later Billy heard his quiet steps coming back through the hall and
+ascending the stairs. She listened until from away at the top of the
+house she heard his door close. Then she drew a long breath.
+
+Ten o'clock--after ten o'clock, and Bertram not there yet! And was this
+what he called dinner? Did one eat, then, till ten o'clock, when one
+dined with one's friends?
+
+Billy was angry now--very angry. She was too angry to be reasonable.
+This thing that her husband had done seemed monstrous to her, smarting,
+as she was, under the sting of hurt pride and grieved loneliness--the
+state of mind into which she had worked herself. No longer now did she
+wish to be gay when her husband came. No longer did she even pretend to
+assume indifference. Bertram had done wrong. He had been unkind, cruel,
+thoughtless, inconsiderate of her comfort and happiness. Furthermore he
+_did not_ love her as well as she did him or he never, never could have
+done it! She would let him see, when he came, just how hurt and grieved
+she was--and how disappointed, too.
+
+Billy was walking the floor now, back and forth, back and forth.
+
+Half-past ten came, then eleven. As the eleven long strokes reverberated
+through the silent house Billy drew in her breath and held it suspended.
+A new look came to her eyes. A growing terror crept into them and
+culminated in a frightened stare at the clock.
+
+Billy ran then to the great outer door and pulled it open. A cold wind
+stung her face, and caused her to shut the door quickly. Back and forth
+she began to pace the floor again; but in five minutes she had run to
+the door once more. This time she wore a heavy coat of Bertram's which
+she caught up as she passed the hall-rack.
+
+Out on to the broad top step Billy hurried, and peered down the street.
+As far as she could see not a person was in sight. Across the street in
+the Public Garden the wind stirred the gray tree-branches and set them
+to casting weird shadows on the bare, frozen ground. A warning something
+behind her sent Billy scurrying into the house just in time to prevent
+the heavy door's closing and shutting her out, keyless, in the cold.
+
+Half-past eleven came, and again Billy ran to the door. This time she
+put the floor-mat against the casing so that the door could not close.
+Once more she peered wildly up and down the street, and across into the
+deserted, wind-swept Garden.
+
+There was only terror now in Billy's face. The anger was all gone. In
+Billy's mind there was not a shadow of doubt--something had happened to
+Bertram.
+
+Bertram was ill--hurt--dead! And he was so good, so kind, so noble; such
+a dear, dear husband! If only she could see him once. If only she could
+ask his forgiveness for those wicked, unkind, accusing thoughts. If only
+she could tell him again that she did love him. If only--
+
+Far down the street a step rang sharply on the frosty air. A masculine
+figure was hurrying toward the house. Retreating well into the shadow
+of the doorway, Billy watched it, her heart pounding against her side
+in great suffocating throbs. Nearer and nearer strode the approaching
+figure until Billy had almost sprung to meet it with a glad cry--almost,
+but not quite; for the figure neither turned nor paused, but marched
+straight on--and Billy saw then, under the arc light, a brown-bearded
+man who was not Bertram at all.
+
+Three times during the next few minutes did the waiting little bride
+on the doorstep watch with palpitating yearning a shadowy form appear,
+approach--and pass by. At the third heart-breaking disappointment, Billy
+wrung her hands helplessly.
+
+"I don't see how there can be--so many--utterly _useless_ people in the
+world!" she choked. Then, thoroughly chilled and sick at heart, she went
+into the house and closed the door.
+
+Once again, back and forth, back and forth, Billy took up her weary
+vigil. She still wore the heavy coat. She had forgotten to take it off.
+Her face was pitifully white and drawn. Her eyes were wild. One of her
+hands was nervously caressing the rough sleeve of the coat as it hung
+from her shoulder.
+
+
+One--two--three--
+
+Billy gave a sharp cry and ran into the hall.
+
+Yes, it was twelve o'clock. And now, always, all the rest of the
+dreary, useless hours that that clock would tick away through an endless
+existence, she would have to live--without Bertram. If only she could
+see him once more! But she could not. He was dead. He must be dead, now.
+Here it was twelve o'clock, and--
+
+There came a quick step, the click of a key in the lock, then the door
+swung back and Bertram, big, strong, and merry-eyed, stood before her.
+
+"Well, well, hullo," he called jovially. "Why, Billy, what's the matter?"
+he broke off, in quite a different tone of voice.
+
+And then a curious thing happened. Billy, who, a minute before, had been
+seeing only a dear, noble, adorable, _lost_ Bertram, saw now suddenly
+only the man that had stayed _happily_ till midnight with two friends,
+while she--she--
+
+"Matter! Matter!" exclaimed Billy sharply, then. "Is this what you call
+staying to dinner, Bertram Henshaw?"
+
+Bertram stared. A slow red stole to his forehead. It was his first
+experience of coming home to meet angry eyes that questioned his
+behavior--and he did not like it. He had been, perhaps, a little
+conscience-smitten when he saw how late he had stayed; and he had
+intended to say he was sorry, of course. But to be thus sharply
+called to account for a perfectly innocent good time with a couple of
+friends--! To come home and find Billy making a ridiculous scene like
+this--! He--he would not stand for it! He--
+
+Bertram's lips snapped open. The angry retort was almost spoken when
+something in the piteously quivering chin and white, drawn face opposite
+stopped it just in time.
+
+"Why, Billy--darling!" he murmured instead.
+
+It was Billy's turn to change. All the anger melted away before the
+dismayed tenderness in those dear eyes and the grieved hurt in that dear
+voice.
+
+"Well, you--you--I--" Billy began to cry.
+
+It was all right then, of course, for the next minute she was crying on
+Bertram's big, broad shoulder; and in the midst of broken words, kisses,
+gentle pats, and inarticulate croonings, the Big, Bad Quarrel, that had
+been all ready to materialize, faded quite away into nothingness.
+
+"I didn't have such an awfully good time, anyhow," avowed Bertram, when
+speech became rational. "I'd rather have been home with you."
+
+"Nonsense!" blinked Billy, valiantly. "Of course you had a good time;
+and it was perfectly right you should have it, too! And I--I hope you'll
+have it again."
+
+"I sha'n't," emphasized Bertram, promptly, "--not and leave you!"
+
+Billy regarded him with adoring eyes.
+
+"I'll tell you; we'll have 'em come here," she proposed gayly.
+
+"Sure we will," agreed Bertram.
+
+"Yes; sure we will," echoed Billy, with a contented sigh. Then, a little
+breathlessly, she added: "Anyhow, I'll know--where you are. I won't
+think you're--dead!"
+
+"You--blessed--little-goose!" scolded Bertram, punctuating each word
+with a kiss.
+
+Billy drew a long sigh.
+
+"If this is a quarrel I'm going to have them often," she announced
+placidly.
+
+"Billy!" The young husband was plainly aghast.
+
+"Well, I am--because I like the making-up," dimpled Billy, with a
+mischievous twinkle as she broke from his clasp and skipped ahead up the
+stairway.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII. BILLY CULTIVATES A "COMFORTABLE INDIFFERENCE"
+
+
+The next morning, under the uncompromising challenge of a bright sun,
+Billy began to be uneasily suspicious that she had been just a bit
+unreasonable and exacting the night before. To make matters worse she
+chanced to run across a newspaper criticism of a new book bearing the
+ominous title: "When the Honeymoon Wanes A Talk to Young Wives."
+
+Such a title, of course, attracted her supersensitive attention at once;
+and, with a curiously faint feeling, she picked up the paper and began
+to read.
+
+As the most of the criticism was taken up with quotations from the book,
+it was such sentences as these that met her startled eyes:
+
+"Perhaps the first test comes when the young wife awakes to the
+realization that while her husband loves her very much, he can still
+make plans with his old friends which do not include herself.... Then is
+when the foolish wife lets her husband see how hurt she is that he can
+want to be with any one but herself.... Then is when the husband--used
+all his life to independence, perhaps--begins to chafe under these new
+bonds that hold him so fast.... No man likes to be held up at the end of
+a threatened scene and made to give an account of himself.... Before
+a woman has learned to cultivate a comfortable indifference to her
+husband's comings and goings, she is apt to be tyrannical and exacting."
+
+"'Comfortable indifference,' indeed!" stormed Billy to herself. "As if I
+ever could be comfortably indifferent to anything Bertram did!"
+
+She dropped the paper; but there were still other quotations from the
+book there, she knew; and in a moment she was back at the table reading
+them.
+
+"No man, however fondly he loves his wife, likes to feel that she is
+everlastingly peering into the recesses of his mind, and weighing his
+every act to find out if he does or does not love her to-day as well as
+he did yesterday at this time.... Then, when spontaneity is dead, she
+is the chief mourner at its funeral.... A few couples never leave the
+Garden of Eden. They grow old hand in hand. They are the ones who bear
+and forbear; who have learned to adjust themselves to the intimate
+relationship of living together.... A certain amount of liberty, both of
+action and thought, must be allowed on each side.... The family shut in
+upon itself grows so narrow that all interest in the outside world
+is lost.... No two people are ever fitted to fill each other's lives
+entirely. They ought not to try to do it. If they do try, the process is
+belittling to each, and the result, if it is successful, is nothing less
+than a tragedy; for it could not mean the highest ideals, nor the truest
+devotion.... Brushing up against other interests and other personalities
+is good for both husband and wife. Then to each other they bring the
+best of what they have found, and each to the other continues to be new
+and interesting.... The young wife, however, is apt to be jealous of
+everything that turns her husband's attention for one moment away from
+herself. She is jealous of his thoughts, his words, his friends, even
+his business.... But the wife who has learned to be the clinging vine
+when her husband wishes her to cling, and to be the sturdy oak when
+clinging vines would be tiresome, has solved a tremendous problem."
+
+At this point Billy dropped the paper. She flung it down, indeed, a bit
+angrily. There were still a few more words in the criticism, mostly the
+critic's own opinion of the book; but Billy did not care for this. She
+had read quite enough--boo much, in fact. All that sort of talk might
+be very well, even necessary, perhaps (she told herself), for ordinary
+husbands and wives! but for her and Bertram--
+
+Then vividly before her rose those initial quoted words:
+
+"Perhaps the first test comes when the young wife awakes to the
+realization that while her husband loves her very much, he can still
+make plans with his old friends which do not include herself."
+
+Billy frowned, and put her finger to her lips. Was that then, last
+night, a "test"? Had she been "tyrannical and exacting"? Was she
+"everlastingly peering into the recesses" of Bertram's mind and
+"weighing his every act"? Was Bertram already beginning to "chafe" under
+these new bonds that held him?
+
+No, no, never that! She could not believe that. But what if he should
+sometime begin to chafe? What if they two should, in days to come,
+degenerate into just the ordinary, everyday married folk, whom she saw
+about her everywhere, and for whom just such horrid books as this must
+be written? It was unbelievable, unthinkable. And yet, that man had
+said--
+
+With a despairing sigh Billy picked up the paper once more and read
+carefully every word again. When she had finished she stood soberly
+thoughtful, her eyes out of the window.
+
+After all, it was nothing but the same old story. She was exacting.
+She did want her husband's every thought. She _gloried_ in peering into
+every last recess of his mind if she had half a chance. She was jealous
+of his work. She had almost hated his painting--at times. She had held
+him up with a threatened scene only the night before and demanded that
+he should give an account of himself. She had, very likely, been the
+clinging vine when she should have been the sturdy oak.
+
+Very well, then. (Billy lifted her head and threw back her shoulders.)
+He should have no further cause for complaint. She would be an oak. She
+would cultivate that comfortable indifference to his comings and goings.
+She would brush up against other interests and personalities so as to
+be "new" and "interesting" to her husband. She would not be tyrannical,
+exacting, or jealous. She would not threaten scenes, nor peer into
+recesses. Whatever happened, she would not let Bertram begin to chafe
+against those bonds!
+
+Having arrived at this heroic and (to her) eminently satisfactory state
+of mind, Billy turned from the window and fell to work on a piece of
+manuscript music.
+
+"'Brush up against other interests,'" she admonished herself sternly, as
+she reached for her pen.
+
+Theoretically it was beautiful; but practically--
+
+Billy began at once to be that oak. Not an hour after she had first seen
+the fateful notice of "When the Honeymoon Wanes," Bertram's ring sounded
+at the door down-stairs.
+
+Bertram always let himself in with his latchkey; but, from the first
+of Billy's being there, he had given a peculiar ring at the bell which
+would bring his wife flying to welcome him if she were anywhere in the
+house. To-day, when the bell sounded, Billy sprang as usual to her feet,
+with a joyous "There's Bertram!" But the next moment she fell back.
+
+"Tut, tut, Billy Neilson Henshaw! Learn to cultivate a comfortable
+indifference to your husband's comings and goings," she whispered
+fiercely. Then she sat down and fell to work again.
+
+A moment later she heard her husband's voice talking to some one--Pete,
+she surmised. "Here? You say she's here?" Then she heard Bertram's quick
+step on the stairs. The next minute, very quietly, he came to her door.
+
+"Ho!" he ejaculated gayly, as she rose to receive his kiss. "I thought
+I'd find you asleep, when you didn't hear my ring."
+
+Billy reddened a little.
+
+"Oh, no, I wasn't asleep."
+
+"But you didn't hear--" Bertram stopped abruptly, an odd look in his
+eyes. "Maybe you did hear it, though," he corrected.
+
+Billy colored more confusedly. The fact that she looked so distressed
+did not tend to clear Bertram's face.
+
+"Why, of course, Billy, I didn't mean to insist on your coming to meet
+me," he began a little stiffly; but Billy interrupted him.
+
+"Why, Bertram, I just love to go to meet you," she maintained
+indignantly. Then, remembering just in time, she amended: "That is,
+I did love to meet you, until--" With a sudden realization that she
+certainly had not helped matters any, she came to an embarrassed pause.
+
+A puzzled frown showed on Bertram's face.
+
+"You did love to meet me until--" he repeated after her; then his face
+changed. "Billy, you aren't--you _can't_ be laying up last night against
+me!" he reproached her a little irritably.
+
+"Last night? Why, of course not," retorted Billy, in a panic at the
+bare mention of the "test" which--according to "When the Honeymoon
+Wanes"--was at the root of all her misery. Already she thought she
+detected in Bertram's voice signs that he was beginning to chafe against
+those "bonds." "It is a matter of--of the utmost indifference to me what
+time you come home at night, my dear," she finished airily, as she sat
+down to her work again.
+
+Bertram stared; then he frowned, turned on his heel and left the room.
+Bertram, who knew nothing of the "Talk to Young Wives" in the newspaper
+at Billy's feet, was surprised, puzzled, and just a bit angry.
+
+Billy, left alone, jabbed her pen with such force against her paper that
+the note she was making became an unsightly blot.
+
+"Well, if this is what that man calls being 'comfortably indifferent,'
+I'd hate to try the _un_comfortable kind," she muttered with emphasis.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX. THE DINNER BILLY TRIED TO GET
+
+
+Notwithstanding what Billy was disposed to regard as the non-success
+of her first attempt to profit by the "Talk to Young Wives;" she still
+frantically tried to avert the waning of her honeymoon. Assiduously she
+cultivated the prescribed "indifference," and with at least apparent
+enthusiasm she sought the much-to-be-desired "outside interests." That
+is, she did all this when she thought of it when something reminded her
+of the sword of destruction hanging over her happiness. At other times,
+when she was just being happy without question, she was her old self
+impulsive, affectionate, and altogether adorable.
+
+Naturally, under these circumstances, her conduct was somewhat erratic.
+For three days, perhaps, she would fly to the door at her husband's
+ring, and hang upon his every movement. Then, for the next three,
+she would be a veritable will-o'-the-wisp for elusiveness, caring,
+apparently, not one whit whether her husband came or went until poor
+Bertram, at his wit's end, scourged himself with a merciless catechism
+as to what he had done to vex her. Then, perhaps, just when he had
+nerved himself almost to the point of asking her what was the trouble,
+there would come another change, bringing back to him the old Billy,
+joyous, winsome, and devoted, plainly caring nothing for anybody or
+anything but himself. Scarcely, however, would he become sure that it
+was his Billy back again before she was off once more, quite beyond his
+reach, singing with Arkwright and Alice Greggory, playing with Tommy
+Dunn, plunging into some club or church work--anything but being with
+him.
+
+That all this was puzzling and disquieting to Bertram, Billy not once
+suspected. Billy, so far as she was concerned, was but cultivating a
+comfortable indifference, brushing up against outside interests, and
+being an oak.
+
+December passed, and January came, bringing Miss Marguerite Winthrop to
+her Boston home. Bertram's arm was "as good as ever" now, according to
+its owner; and the sittings for the new portrait began at once. This
+left Billy even more to her own devices, for Bertram entered into his
+new work with an enthusiasm born of a glad relief from forced idleness,
+and a consuming eagerness to prove that even though he had failed the
+first time, he could paint a portrait of Marguerite Winthrop that would
+be a credit to himself, a conclusive retort to his critics, and a source
+of pride to his once mortified friends. With his whole heart, therefore,
+he threw himself into the work before him, staying sometimes well into
+the afternoon on the days Miss Winthrop could find time between her
+social engagements to give him a sitting.
+
+It was on such a day, toward the middle of the month, that Billy was
+called to the telephone at half-past twelve o'clock to speak to her
+husband.
+
+"Billy, dear," began Bertram at once, "if you don't mind I'm staying
+to luncheon at Miss Winthrop's kind request. We've changed the
+pose--neither of us was satisfied, you know--but we haven't quite
+settled on the new one. Miss Winthrop has two whole hours this
+afternoon that she can give me if I'll stay; and, of course, under the
+circumstances, I want to do it."
+
+"Of course," echoed Billy. Billy's voice was indomitably cheerful.
+
+"Thank you, dear. I knew you'd understand," sighed Bertram, contentedly.
+"You see, really, two whole hours, so--it's a chance I can't afford to
+lose."
+
+"Of course you can't," echoed Billy, again.
+
+"All right then. Good-by till to-night," called the man.
+
+"Good-by," answered Billy, still cheerfully. As she turned away,
+however, she tossed her head. "A new pose, indeed!" she muttered, with
+some asperity. "Just as if there could be a _new_ pose after all those
+she tried last year!"
+
+Immediately after luncheon Pete and Eliza started for South Boston to
+pay a visit to Eliza's mother, and it was soon after they left the house
+that Bertram called his wife up again.
+
+"Say, dearie, I forgot to tell you," he began, "but I met an old friend
+in the subway this morning, and I--well, I remembered what you said
+about bringing 'em home to dinner next time, so I asked him for
+to-night. Do you mind? It's--"
+
+"Mind? Of course not! I'm glad you did," plunged in Billy, with feverish
+eagerness. (Even now, just the bare mention of anything connected with
+that awful "test" night was enough to set Billy's nerves to tingling.)
+"I want you to always bring them home, Bertram."
+
+"All right, dear. We'll be there at six o'clock then. It's--it's
+Calderwell, this time. You remember Calderwell, of course."
+
+"Not--_Hugh_ Calderwell?" Billy's question was a little faint.
+
+"Sure!" Bertram laughed oddly, and lowered his voice. "I suspect
+_once_ I wouldn't have brought him home to you. I was too jealous. But
+now--well, now maybe I want him to see what he's lost."
+
+"_Bertram!_"
+
+But Bertram only laughed mischievously, and called a gay "Good-by till
+to-night, then!"
+
+Billy, at her end of the wires, hung up the receiver and backed against
+the wall a little palpitatingly.
+
+Calderwell! To dinner--Calderwell! Did she remember Calderwell? Did she,
+indeed! As if one could easily forget the man that, for a year or two,
+had proposed marriage as regularly (and almost as lightly!) as he had
+torn a monthly leaf from his calendar! Besides, was it not he, too, who
+had said that Bertram would never love any girl, _really_; that it would
+be only the tilt of her chin or the turn of her head that he loved--to
+paint? And now he was coming to dinner--and with Bertram.
+
+Very well, he should see! He should see that Bertram _did_ love her;
+_her_--not the tilt of her chin nor the turn of her head. He should
+see how happy they were, what a good wife she made, and how devoted and
+_satisfied_ Bertram was in his home. He should see! And forthwith Billy
+picked up her skirts and tripped up-stairs to select her very prettiest
+house-gown to do honor to the occasion. Up-stairs, however, one thing
+and another delayed her, so that it was four o'clock when she turned her
+attention to her toilet; and it was while she was hesitating whether to
+be stately and impressive in royally sumptuous blue velvet and ermine,
+or cozy and tantalizingly homy{sic} in bronze-gold crepe de Chine and
+swan's-down, that the telephone bell rang again.
+
+Eliza and Pete had not yet returned; so, as before, Billy answered it.
+This time Eliza's shaking voice came to her.
+
+"Is that you, ma'am?"
+
+"Why, yes, Eliza?"
+
+"Yes'm, it's me, ma'am. It's about Uncle Pete. He's give us a turn
+that's 'most scared us out of our wits."
+
+"Pete! You mean he's sick?"
+
+"Yes, ma'am, he was. That is, he is, too--only he's better, now, thank
+goodness," panted Eliza. "But he ain't hisself yet. He's that white and
+shaky! Would you--could you--that is, would you mind if we didn't come
+back till into the evenin', maybe?"
+
+"Why, of course not," cried Pete's mistress, quickly. "Don't come a
+minute before he's able, Eliza. Don't come until to-morrow."
+
+Eliza gave a trembling little laugh.
+
+"Thank you, ma'am; but there wouldn't be no keepin' of Uncle Pete here
+till then. If he could take five steps alone he'd start now. But he
+can't. He says he'll be all right pretty quick, though. He's had 'em
+before--these spells--but never quite so bad as this, I guess; an' he's
+worryin' somethin' turrible 'cause he can't start for home right away."
+
+"Nonsense!" cut in Mrs. Bertram Henshaw.
+
+"Yes'm. I knew you'd feel that way," stammered Eliza, gratefully. "You
+see, I couldn't leave him to come alone, and besides, anyhow, I'd have
+to stay, for mother ain't no more use than a wet dish-rag at such times,
+she's that scared herself. And she ain't very well, too. So if--if you
+_could_ get along--"
+
+"Of course we can! And tell Pete not to worry one bit. I'm so sorry he's
+sick!"
+
+"Thank you, ma'am. Then we'll be there some time this evenin'," sighed
+Eliza.
+
+From the telephone Billy turned away with a troubled face.
+
+"Pete _is_ ill," she was saying to herself. "I don't like the looks of
+it; and he's so faithful he'd come if--" With a little cry Billy
+stopped short. Then, tremblingly, she sank into the nearest chair.
+"Calderwell--and he's coming to _dinner!_" she moaned.
+
+For two benumbed minutes Billy sat staring at nothing. Then she ran to
+the telephone and called the Annex.
+
+Aunt Hannah answered.
+
+"Aunt Hannah, for heaven's sake, if you love me," pleaded Billy, "send
+Rosa down instanter! Pete is sick over to South Boston, and Eliza is
+with him; and Bertram is bringing Hugh Calderwell home to dinner. _Can_
+you spare Rosa?"
+
+"Oh, my grief and conscience, Billy! Of course I can--I mean I
+could--but Rosa isn't here, dear child! It's her day out, you know."
+
+"O dear, of course it is! I might have known, if I'd thought; but Pete
+and Eliza have spoiled me. They never take days out at meal time--both
+together, I mean--until to-night."
+
+"But, my dear child, what will you do?"
+
+"I don't know. I've got to think. I _must_ do something!"
+
+"Of course you must! I'd come over myself if it wasn't for my cold."
+
+"As if I'd let you!"
+
+"There isn't anybody here, only Tommy. Even Alice is gone. Oh, Billy,
+Billy, this only goes to prove what I've always said, that _no_ woman
+_ought_ to be a wife until she's an efficient housekeeper; and--"
+
+"Yes, yes, Aunt Hannah, I know," moaned Billy, frenziedly. "But I am a
+wife, and I'm not an efficient housekeeper; and Hugh Calderwell won't
+wait for me to learn. He's coming to-night. _To-night!_ And I've got to
+do something. Never mind. I'll fix it some way. Good-by!"
+
+"But, Billy, Billy! Oh, my grief and conscience," fluttered Aunt
+Hannah's voice across the wires as Billy snapped the receiver into
+place.
+
+For the second time that day Billy backed palpitatingly against the
+wall. Her eyes sought the clock fearfully.
+
+Fifteen minutes past four. She had an hour and three quarters. She
+could, of course, telephone Bertram to dine Calderwell at a club or some
+hotel. But to do this now, the very first time, when it had been her
+own suggestion that he "bring them home"--no, no, she could not do that!
+Anything but that! Besides, very likely she could not reach Bertram,
+anyway. Doubtless he had left the Winthrops' by this time.
+
+There was Marie. She could telephone Marie. But Marie could not very
+well come just now, she knew; and then, too, there was Cyril to be taken
+into consideration. How Cyril would gibe at the wife who had to call in
+all the neighbors just because her husband was bringing home a friend to
+dinner! How he would--Well, he shouldn't! He should not have the chance.
+So, there!
+
+With a jerk Mrs. Bertram Henshaw pulled herself away from the wall and
+stood erect. Her eyes snapped, and the very poise of her chin spelled
+determination.
+
+Very well, she would show them. Was not Bertram bringing this man home
+because he was proud of her? Mighty proud he would be if she had to call
+in half of Boston to get his dinner for him! Nonsense! She would get
+it herself. Was not this the time, if ever, to be an oak? A vine,
+doubtless, would lean and cling and telephone, and whine "I can't!" But
+not an oak. An oak would hold up its head and say "I can!" An oak would
+go ahead and get that dinner. She would be an oak. She would get that
+dinner.
+
+What if she didn't know how to cook bread and cake and pies and
+things? One did not have to cook bread and cake and pies just to get
+a dinner--meat and potatoes and vegetables! Besides, she _could_ make
+peach fritters. She knew she could. She would show them!
+
+And with actually a bit of song on her lips, Billy skipped up-stairs
+for her ruffled apron and dust-cap--two necessary accompaniments to this
+dinner-getting, in her opinion.
+
+Billy found the apron and dust-cap with no difficulty; but it took fully
+ten of her precious minutes to unearth from its obscure hiding-place the
+blue-and-gold "Bride's Helper" cookbook, one of Aunt Hannah's wedding
+gifts.
+
+On the way to the kitchen, Billy planned her dinner. As was natural,
+perhaps, she chose the things she herself would like to eat.
+
+"I won't attempt anything very elaborate," she said to herself. "It
+would be wiser to have something simple, like chicken pie, perhaps. I
+love chicken pie! And I'll have oyster stew first--that is, after the
+grapefruit. Just oysters boiled in milk must be easier than soup to
+make. I'll begin with grapefruit with a cherry in it, like Pete fixes
+it. Those don't have to be cooked, anyhow. I'll have fish--Bertram loves
+the fish course. Let me see, halibut, I guess, with egg sauce. I won't
+have any roast; nothing but the chicken pie. And I'll have squash and
+onions. I can have a salad, easy--just lettuce and stuff. That doesn't
+have to be cooked. Oh, and the peach fritters, if I get time to make
+them. For dessert--well, maybe I can find a new pie or pudding in the
+cookbook. I want to use that cookbook for something, after hunting all
+this time for it!"
+
+In the kitchen Billy found exquisite neatness, and silence. The first
+brought an approving light to her eyes; but the second, for some
+unapparent reason, filled her heart with vague misgiving. This feeling,
+however, Billy resolutely cast from her as she crossed the room, dropped
+her book on to the table, and turned toward the shining black stove.
+
+There was an excellent fire. Glowing points of light showed that only
+a good draft was needed to make the whole mass of coal red-hot. Billy,
+however, did not know this. Her experience of fires was confined to
+burning wood in open grates--and wood in open grates had to be poked to
+make it red and glowing. With confident alacrity now, therefore, Billy
+caught up the poker, thrust it into the mass of coals and gave them a
+fine stirring up. Then she set back the lid of the stove and went to
+hunt up the ingredients for her dinner.
+
+By the time Billy had searched five minutes and found no chicken, no
+oysters, and no halibut, it occurred to her that her larder was not,
+after all, an open market, and that one's provisions must be especially
+ordered to fit one's needs. As to ordering them now--Billy glanced at
+the clock and shook her head.
+
+"It's almost five, already, and they'd never get here in time," she
+sighed regretfully. "I'll have to have something else."
+
+Billy looked now, not for what she wanted, but for what she could find.
+And she found: some cold roast lamb, at which she turned up her nose; an
+uncooked beefsteak, which she appropriated doubtfully; a raw turnip and
+a head of lettuce, which she hailed with glee; and some beets, potatoes,
+onions, and grapefruit, from all of which she took a generous supply.
+Thus laden she went back to the kitchen.
+
+Spread upon the table they made a brave show.
+
+"Oh, well, I'll have quite a dinner, after all," she triumphed, cocking
+her head happily. "And now for the dessert," she finished, pouncing on
+the cookbook.
+
+It was while she was turning the leaves to find the pies and puddings
+that she ran across the vegetables and found the word "beets" staring
+her in the face. Mechanically she read the line below.
+
+"Winter beets will require three hours to cook. Use hot water."
+
+Billy's startled eyes sought the clock.
+
+Three hours--and it was five, now!
+
+Frenziedly, then, she ran her finger down the page.
+
+"Onions, one and one-half hours. Use hot water. Turnips require a long
+time, but if cut thin they will cook in an hour and a quarter."
+
+"An hour and a quarter, indeed!" she moaned.
+
+"Isn't there anything anywhere that doesn't take forever to cook?"
+
+"Early peas--... green corn--... summer squash--..." mumbled Billy's dry
+lips. "But what do folks eat in January--_January_?"
+
+It was the apparently inoffensive sentence, "New potatoes will boil in
+thirty minutes," that brought fresh terror to Billy's soul, and set her
+to fluttering the cookbook leaves with renewed haste. If it took _new_
+potatoes thirty minutes to cook, how long did it take old ones? In vain
+she searched for the answer. There were plenty of potatoes. They were
+mashed, whipped, scalloped, creamed, fried, and broiled; they were made
+into puffs, croquettes, potato border, and potato snow. For many of
+these they were boiled first--"until tender," one rule said.
+
+"But that doesn't tell me how long it takes to get 'em tender," fumed
+Billy, despairingly. "I suppose they think anybody ought to know
+that--but I don't!" Suddenly her eyes fell once more on the instructions
+for boiling turnips, and her face cleared. "If it helps to cut turnips
+thin, why not potatoes?" she cried. "I _can_ do that, anyhow; and I
+will," she finished, with a sigh of relief, as she caught up half a
+dozen potatoes and hurried into the pantry for a knife. A few minutes
+later, the potatoes, peeled, and cut almost to wafer thinness, were
+dumped into a basin of cold water.
+
+"There! now I guess you'll cook," nodded Billy to the dish in her hand
+as she hurried to the stove.
+
+Chilled by an ominous unresponsiveness, Billy lifted the stove lid and
+peered inside. Only a mass of black and graying coals greeted her. The
+fire was out.
+
+"To think that even you had to go back on me like this!" upbraided
+Billy, eyeing the dismal mass with reproachful gaze.
+
+This disaster, however, as Billy knew, was not so great as it seemed,
+for there was still the gas stove. In the old days, under Dong Ling's
+rule, there had been no gas stove. Dong Ling disapproved of "devil
+stoves" that had "no coalee, no woodee, but burned like hellee." Eliza,
+however, did approve of them; and not long after her arrival, a fine one
+had been put in for her use. So now Billy soon had her potatoes with a
+brisk blaze under them.
+
+In frantic earnest, then, Billy went to work. Brushing the discarded
+onions, turnip, and beets into a pail under the table, she was still
+confronted with the beefsteak, lettuce, and grapefruit. All but the
+beefsteak she pushed to one side with gentle pats.
+
+"You're all right," she nodded to them. "I can use you. You don't have
+to be cooked, bless your hearts! But _you_--!" Billy scowled at
+the beefsteak and ran her finger down the index of the "Bride's
+Helper"--Billy knew how to handle that book now.
+
+"No, you don't--not for me!" she muttered, after a minute, shaking her
+finger at the tenderloin on the table. "I haven't got any 'hot coals,'
+and I thought a 'gridiron' was where they played football; though it
+seems it's some sort of a dish to cook you in, here--but I shouldn't
+know it from a teaspoon, probably, if I should see it. No, sir! It's
+back to the refrigerator for you, and a nice cold sensible roast leg of
+lamb for me, that doesn't have to be cooked. Understand? _Cooked_," she
+finished, as she carried the beefsteak away and took possession of the
+hitherto despised cold lamb.
+
+Once more Billy made a mad search through cupboards and shelves. This
+time she bore back in triumph a can of corn, another of tomatoes, and
+a glass jar of preserved peaches. In the kitchen a cheery bubbling from
+the potatoes on the stove greeted her. Billy's spirits rose with the
+steam.
+
+"There, Spunkie," she said gayly to the cat, who had just uncurled from
+a nap behind the stove. "Tell me I can't get up a dinner! And maybe
+we'll have the peach fritters, too," she chirped. "I've got the
+peach-part, anyway."
+
+But Billy did not have the peach fritters, after all. She got out the
+sugar and the flour, to be sure, and she made a great ado looking up the
+rule; but a hurried glance at the clock sent her into the dining-room to
+set the table, and all thought of the peach fritters was given up.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X. THE DINNER BILLY GOT
+
+
+At five minutes of six Bertram and Calderwell came. Bertram gave his
+peculiar ring and let himself in with his latchkey; but Billy did not
+meet him in the hall, nor in the drawing-room. Excusing himself, Bertram
+hurried up-stairs. Billy was not in her room, nor anywhere on that
+floor. She was not in William's room. Coming down-stairs to the hall
+again, Bertram confronted William, who had just come in.
+
+"Where's Billy?" demanded the young husband, with just a touch of
+irritation, as if he suspected William of having Billy in his pocket.
+
+William stared slightly.
+
+"Why, I don't know. Isn't she here?"
+
+"I'll ask Pete," frowned Bertram.
+
+In the dining-room Bertram found no one, though the table was prettily
+set, and showed half a grapefruit at each place. In the kitchen--in the
+kitchen Bertram found a din of rattling tin, an odor of burned food--, a
+confusion of scattered pots and pans, a frightened cat who peered at him
+from under a littered stove, and a flushed, disheveled young woman in a
+blue dust-cap and ruffled apron, whom he finally recognized as his wife.
+
+"Why, Billy!" he gasped.
+
+Billy, who was struggling with something at the sink, turned sharply.
+
+"Bertram Henshaw," she panted, "I used to think you were wonderful
+because you could paint a picture. I even used to think I was a little
+wonderful because I could write a song. Well, I don't any more! But I'll
+tell you who _is_ wonderful. It's Eliza and Rosa, and all the rest of
+those women who can get a meal on to the table all at once, so it's fit
+to eat!"
+
+"Why, Billy!" gasped Bertram again, falling back to the door he had
+closed behind him. "What in the world does this mean?"
+
+"Mean? It means I'm getting dinner," choked Billy. "Can't you see?"
+
+"But--Pete! Eliza!"
+
+"They're sick--I mean he's sick; and I said I'd do it. I'd be an oak.
+But how did I know there wasn't anything in the house except stuff that
+took hours to cook--only potatoes? And how did I know that _they_ cooked
+in no time, and then got all smushy and wet staying in the water? And
+how did I know that everything else would stick on and burn on till
+you'd used every dish there was in the house to cook 'em in?"
+
+"Why, Billy!" gasped Bertram, for the third time. And then, because
+he had been married only six months instead of six years, he made the
+mistake of trying to argue with a woman whose nerves were already at the
+snapping point. "But, dear, it was so foolish of you to do all this! Why
+didn't you telephone? Why didn't you get somebody?"
+
+Like an irate little tigress, Billy turned at bay.
+
+"Bertram Henshaw," she flamed angrily, "if you don't go up-stairs and
+tend to that man up there, I shall _scream_. Now go! I'll be up when I
+can."
+
+And Bertram went.
+
+It was not so very long, after all, before Billy came in to greet her
+guest. She was not stately and imposing in royally sumptuous blue velvet
+and ermine; nor yet was she cozy and homy in bronze-gold crepe de
+Chine and swan's-down. She was just herself in a pretty little morning
+house gown of blue gingham. She was minus the dust-cap and the ruffled
+apron, but she had a dab of flour on the left cheek, and a smutch of
+crock on her forehead. She had, too, a cut finger on her right hand,
+and a burned thumb on her left. But she was Billy--and being Billy,
+she advanced with a bright smile and held out a cordial hand--not even
+wincing when the cut finger came under Calderwell's hearty clasp.
+
+"I'm glad to see you," she welcomed him. "You'll excuse my not appearing
+sooner, I'm sure, for--didn't Bertram tell you?--I'm playing Bridget
+to-night. But dinner is ready now, and we'll go down, please," she
+smiled, as she laid a light hand on her guest's arm.
+
+Behind her, Bertram, remembering the scene in the kitchen, stared in
+sheer amazement. Bertram, it might be mentioned again, had been married
+six months, not six years.
+
+What Billy had intended to serve for a "simple dinner" that night was:
+grapefruit with cherries, oyster stew, boiled halibut with egg sauce,
+chicken pie, squash, onions, and potatoes, peach fritters, a "lettuce
+and stuff" salad, and some new pie or pudding. What she did serve was:
+grapefruit (without the cherries), cold roast lamb, potatoes (a mush of
+sogginess), tomatoes (canned, and slightly burned), corn (canned, and
+very much burned), lettuce (plain); and for dessert, preserved peaches
+and cake (the latter rather dry and stale). Such was Billy's dinner.
+
+The grapefruit everybody ate. The cold lamb too, met with a hearty
+reception, especially after the potatoes, corn, and tomatoes were
+served--and tasted. Outwardly, through it all, Billy was gayety itself.
+Inwardly she was burning up with anger and mortification. And because
+she was all this, there was, apparently, no limit to her laughter and
+sparkling repartee as she talked with Calderwell, her guest--the guest
+who, according to her original plans, was to be shown how happy she and
+Bertram were, what a good wife she made, and how devoted and _satisfied_
+Bertram was in his home.
+
+William, picking at his dinner--as only a hungry man can pick at a
+dinner that is uneatable--watched Billy with a puzzled, uneasy frown.
+Bertram, choking over the few mouthfuls he ate, marked his wife's
+animated face and Calderwell's absorbed attention, and settled into
+gloomy silence.
+
+But it could not continue forever. The preserved peaches were eaten at
+last, and the stale cake left. (Billy had forgotten the coffee--which
+was just as well, perhaps.) Then the four trailed up-stairs to the
+drawing-room.
+
+At nine o'clock an anxious Eliza and a remorseful, apologetic Pete
+came home and descended to the horror the once orderly kitchen
+and dining-room had become. At ten, Calderwell, with very evident
+reluctance, tore himself away from Billy's gay badinage, and said good
+night. At two minutes past ten, an exhausted, nerve-racked Billy was
+trying to cry on the shoulders of both Uncle William and Bertram at
+once.
+
+"There, there, child, don't! It went off all right," patted Uncle
+William.
+
+"Billy, darling," pleaded Bertram, "please don't cry so! As if I'd ever
+let you step foot in that kitchen again!"
+
+At this Billy raised a tear-wet face, aflame with indignant
+determination.
+
+"As if I'd ever let you keep me _from_ it, Bertram Henshaw, after this!"
+she contested. "I'm not going to do another thing in all my life but
+_cook!_ When I think of the stuff we had to eat, after all the time I
+took to get it, I'm simply crazy! Do you think I'd run the risk of such
+a thing as this ever happening again?"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI. CALDERWELL DOES SOME QUESTIONING
+
+
+On the day after his dinner with Mr. and Mrs. Bertram Henshaw, Hugh
+Calderwell left Boston and did not return until more than a month had
+passed. One of his first acts, when he did come, was to look up Mr. M.
+J. Arkwright at the address which Billy had given him.
+
+Calderwell had not seen Arkwright since they parted in Paris some
+two years before, after a six-months tramp through Europe together.
+Calderwell liked Arkwright then, greatly, and he lost no time now in
+renewing the acquaintance.
+
+The address, as given by Billy, proved to be an attractive but modest
+apartment hotel near the Conservatory of Music; and Calderwell was
+delighted to find Arkwright at home in his comfortable little bachelor
+suite.
+
+Arkwright greeted him most cordially.
+
+"Well, well," he cried, "if it isn't Calderwell! And how's Mont Blanc?
+Or is it the Killarney Lakes this time, or maybe the Sphinx that I
+should inquire for, eh?"
+
+"Guess again," laughed Calderwell, throwing off his heavy coat and
+settling himself comfortably in the inviting-looking morris chair his
+friend pulled forward.
+
+"Sha'n't do it," retorted Arkwright, with a smile. "I never gamble on
+palpable uncertainties, except for a chance throw or two, as I gave
+a minute ago. Your movements are altogether too erratic, and too
+far-reaching, for ordinary mortals to keep track of."
+
+"Well, maybe you're right," grinned Calderwell, appreciatively. "Anyhow,
+you would have lost this time, sure thing, for I've been working."
+
+"Seen the doctor yet?" queried Arkwright, coolly, pushing the cigars
+across the table.
+
+"Thanks--for both," sniffed Calderwell, with a reproachful glance,
+helping himself. "Your good judgment in some matters is still
+unimpaired, I see," he observed, tapping the little gilded band which
+had told him the cigar was an old favorite. "As to other matters,
+however,--you're wrong again, my friend, in your surmise. I am not sick,
+and I have been working."
+
+"So? Well, I'm told they have very good specialists here. Some one
+of them ought to hit your case. Still--how long has it been running?"
+Arkwright's face showed only grave concern.
+
+"Oh, come, let up, Arkwright," snapped Calderwell, striking his match
+alight with a vigorous jerk. "I'll admit I haven't ever given any
+_special_ indication of an absorbing passion for work. But what can you
+expect of a fellow born with a whole dozen silver spoons in his mouth?
+And that's what I was, according to Bertram Henshaw. According to him
+again, it's a wonder I ever tried to feed myself; and perhaps he's
+right--with my mouth already so full."
+
+"I should say so," laughed Arkwright.
+
+"Well, be that as it may. I'm going to feed myself, and I'm going to
+earn my feed, too. I haven't climbed a mountain or paddled a canoe, for
+a year. I've been in Chicago cultivating the acquaintance of John Doe
+and Richard Roe."
+
+"You mean--law?"
+
+"Sure. I studied it here for a while, before that bout of ours a couple
+of years ago. Billy drove me away, then."
+
+"Billy!--er--Mrs. Henshaw?"
+
+"Yes. I thought I told you. She turned down my tenth-dozen proposal so
+emphatically that I lost all interest in Boston and took to the tall
+timber again. But I've come back. A friend of my father's wrote me to
+come on and consider a good opening there was in his law office. I came
+on a month ago, and considered. Then I went back to pack up. Now I've
+come for good, and here I am. You have my history to date. Now tell me
+of yourself. You're looking as fit as a penny from the mint, even though
+you have discarded that 'lovely' brown beard. Was that a concession
+to--er--_Mary Jane_?"
+
+Arkwright lifted a quick hand of protest.
+
+"'Michael Jeremiah,' please. There is no 'Mary Jane,' now," he said a
+bit stiffly.
+
+The other stared a little. Then he gave a low chuckle.
+
+"'Michael Jeremiah,'" he repeated musingly, eyeing the glowing tip of
+his cigar. "And to think how that mysterious 'M. J.' used to tantalize
+me! Do you mean," he added, turning slowly, "that no one calls you 'Mary
+Jane' now?"
+
+"Not if they know what is best for them."
+
+"Oh!" Calderwell noted the smouldering fire in the other's eyes a little
+curiously. "Very well. I'll take the hint--Michael Jeremiah."
+
+"Thanks." Arkwright relaxed a little. "To tell the truth, I've had quite
+enough now--of Mary Jane."
+
+"Very good. So be it," nodded the other, still regarding his friend
+thoughtfully. "But tell me--what of yourself?"
+
+Arkwright shrugged his shoulders.
+
+"There's nothing to tell. You've seen. I'm here."
+
+"Humph! Very pretty," scoffed Calderwell. "Then if _you_ won't tell, I
+_will_. I saw Billy a month ago, you see. It seems you've hit the trail
+for Grand Opera, as you threatened to that night in Paris; but you
+_haven't_ brought up in vaudeville, as you prophesied you would
+do--though, for that matter, judging from the plums some of the stars
+are picking on the vaudeville stage, nowadays, that isn't to be sneezed
+at. But Billy says you've made two or three appearances already on the
+sacred boards themselves--one of them a subscription performance--and
+that you created no end of a sensation."
+
+"Nonsense! I'm merely a student at the Opera School here," scowled
+Arkwright.
+
+"Oh, yes, Billy said you were that, but she also said you wouldn't
+be, long. That you'd already had one good offer--I'm not speaking of
+marriage--and that you were going abroad next summer, and that they were
+all insufferably proud of you."
+
+"Nonsense!" scowled Arkwright, again, coloring like a girl. "That is
+only some of--of Mrs. Henshaw's kind flattery."
+
+Calderwell jerked the cigar from between his lips, and sat suddenly
+forward in his chair.
+
+"Arkwright, tell me about them. How are they making it go?"
+
+Arkwright frowned.
+
+"Who? Make what go?" he asked.
+
+"The Henshaws. Is she happy? Is he--on the square?"
+
+Arkwright's face darkened.
+
+"Well, really," he began; but Calderwell interrupted.
+
+"Oh, come; don't be squeamish. You think I'm butting into what doesn't
+concern me; but I'm not. What concerns Billy does concern me. And if he
+doesn't make her happy, I'll--I'll kill him."
+
+In spite of himself Arkwright laughed. The vehemence of the other's
+words, and the fierceness with which he puffed at his cigar as he fell
+back in his chair were most expressive.
+
+"Well, I don't think you need to load revolvers nor sharpen daggers,
+just yet," he observed grimly.
+
+Calderwell laughed this time, though without much mirth.
+
+"Oh, I'm not in love with Billy, now," he explained. "Please don't think
+I am. I shouldn't see her if I was, of course."
+
+Arkwright changed his position suddenly, bringing his face into the
+shadow. Calderwell talked on without pausing.
+
+"No, I'm not in love with Billy. But Billy's a trump. You know that."
+
+"I do." The words were low, but steadily spoken.
+
+"Of course you do! We all do. And we want her happy. But as for her
+marrying Bertram--you could have bowled me over with a soap bubble when
+I heard she'd done it. Now understand: Bertram is a good fellow, and I
+like him. I've known him all his life, and he's all right. Oh, six or
+eight years ago, to be sure, he got in with a set of fellows--Bob Seaver
+and his clique--that were no good. Went in for Bohemianism, and all that
+rot. It wasn't good for Bertram. He's got the confounded temperament
+that goes with his talent, I suppose--though why a man can't paint a
+picture, or sing a song, and keep his temper and a level head I don't
+see!"
+
+"He can," cut in Arkwright, with curt emphasis.
+
+"Humph! Well, that's what I think. But, about this marriage business.
+Bertram admires a pretty face wherever he sees it--_to paint_, and
+always has. Not but that he's straight as a string with women--I don't
+mean that; but girls are always just so many pictures to be picked up
+on his brushes and transferred to his canvases. And as for his settling
+down and marrying anybody for keeps, right along--Great Scott! imagine
+Bertram Henshaw as a _domestic_ man!"
+
+Arkwright stirred restlessly as he spoke up in quick defense:
+
+"Oh, but he is, I assure you. I--I've seen them in their home
+together--many times. I think they are--very happy." Arkwright spoke
+with decision, though still a little diffidently.
+
+Calderwell was silent. He had picked up the little gilt band he had torn
+from his cigar and was fingering it musingly.
+
+"Yes; I've seen them--once," he said, after a minute. "I took dinner
+with them when I was on, a month ago."
+
+"I heard you did."
+
+At something in Arkwright's voice, Calderwell turned quickly.
+
+"What do you mean? Why do you say it like that?"
+
+Arkwright laughed. The constraint fled from his manner.
+
+"Well, I may as well tell you. You'll hear of it. It's no secret.
+Mrs. Henshaw herself tells of it everywhere. It was her friend, Alice
+Greggory, who told me of it first, however. It seems the cook was gone,
+and the mistress had to get the dinner herself."
+
+"Yes, I know that."
+
+"But you should hear Mrs. Henshaw tell the story now, or Bertram.
+It seems she knew nothing whatever about cooking, and her trials and
+tribulations in getting that dinner on to the table were only one
+degree worse than the dinner itself, according to her story. Didn't
+you--er--notice anything?"
+
+"Notice anything!" exploded Calderwell. "I noticed that Billy was so
+brilliant she fairly radiated sparks; and I noticed that Bertram was so
+glum he--he almost radiated thunderclaps. Then I saw that Billy's high
+spirits were all assumed to cover a threatened burst of tears, and I
+laid it all to him. I thought he'd said something to hurt her; and I
+could have punched him. Great Scott! Was _that_ what ailed them?"
+
+"I reckon it was. Alice says that since then Mrs. Henshaw has fairly
+haunted the kitchen, begging Eliza to teach her everything, _every
+single thing_ she knows!"
+
+Calderwell chuckled.
+
+"If that isn't just like Billy! She never does anything by halves. By
+George, but she was game over that dinner! I can see it all now."
+
+"Alice says she's really learning to cook, in spite of old Pete's
+horror, and Eliza's pleadings not to spoil her pretty hands."
+
+"Then Pete is back all right? What a faithful old soul he is!"
+
+Arkwright frowned slightly.
+
+"Yes, he's faithful, but he isn't all right, by any means. I think he's
+a sick man, myself."
+
+"What makes Billy let him work, then?"
+
+"Let him!" sniffed Arkwright. "I'd like to see you try to stop him! Mrs.
+Henshaw begs and pleads with him to stop, but he scouts the idea. Pete
+is thoroughly and unalterably convinced that the family would starve to
+death if it weren't for him; and Mrs. Henshaw says that she'll admit he
+has some grounds for his opinion when one remembers the condition of the
+kitchen and dining-room the night she presided over them."
+
+"Poor Billy!" chuckled Calderwell. "I'd have gone down into the kitchen
+myself if I'd suspected what was going on."
+
+Arkwright raised his eyebrows.
+
+"Perhaps it's well you didn't--if Bertram's picture of what he found
+there when he went down is a true one. Mrs. Henshaw acknowledges that
+even the cat sought refuge under the stove."
+
+"As if the veriest worm that crawls ever needed to seek refuge from
+Billy!" scoffed Calderwell. "By the way, what's this Annex I hear of?
+Bertram mentioned it, but I couldn't get either of them to tell what
+it was. Billy wouldn't, and Bertram said he couldn't--not with Billy
+shaking her head at him like that. So I had my suspicions. One of
+Billy's pet charities?"
+
+"She doesn't call it that." Arkwright's face and voice softened. "It is
+Hillside. She still keeps it open. She calls it the Annex to her home.
+She's filled it with a crippled woman, a poor little music teacher, a
+lame boy, and Aunt Hannah."
+
+"But how--extraordinary!"
+
+"She doesn't think so. She says it's just an overflow house for the
+extra happiness she can't use."
+
+There was a moment's silence. Calderwell laid down his cigar, pulled out
+his handkerchief, and blew his nose furiously. Then he got to his feet
+and walked to the fireplace. After a minute he turned.
+
+"Well, if she isn't the beat 'em!" he spluttered. "And I had the gall to
+ask you if Henshaw made her--happy! Overflow house, indeed!"
+
+"The best of it is, the way she does it," smiled Arkwright. "They're all
+the sort of people ordinary charity could never reach; and the only way
+she got them there at all was to make each one think that he or she was
+absolutely necessary to the rest of them. Even as it is, they all pay a
+little something toward the running expenses of the house. They
+insisted on that, and Mrs. Henshaw had to let them. I believe her chief
+difficulty now is that she has not less than six people whom she wishes
+to put into the two extra rooms still unoccupied, and she can't make up
+her mind which to take. Her husband says he expects to hear any day of
+an Annexette to the Annex."
+
+"Humph!" grunted Calderwell, as he turned and began to walk up and down
+the room. "Bertram is still painting, I suppose."
+
+"Oh, yes."
+
+"What's he doing now?"
+
+"Several things. He's up to his eyes in work. As you probably have
+heard, he met with a severe accident last summer, and lost the use of
+his right arm for many months. I believe they thought at one time he had
+lost it forever. But it's all right now, and he has several commissions
+for portraits. Alice says he's doing ideal heads again, too."
+
+"Same old 'Face of a Girl'?"
+
+"I suppose so, though Alice didn't say. Of course his special work just
+now is painting the portrait of Miss Marguerite Winthrop. You may have
+heard that he tried it last year and--and didn't make quite a success of
+it."
+
+"Yes. My sister Belle told me. She hears from Billy once in a while.
+Will it be a go, this time?"
+
+"We'll hope so--for everybody's sake. I imagine no one has seen it
+yet--it's not finished; but Alice says--"
+
+Calderwell turned abruptly, a quizzical smile on his face.
+
+"See here, my son," he interposed, "it strikes me that this Alice is
+saying a good deal--to you! Who is she?"
+
+Arkwright gave a light laugh.
+
+"Why, I told you. She is Miss Alice Greggory, Mrs. Henshaw's friend--and
+mine. I have known her for years."
+
+"Hm-m; what is she like?"
+
+"Like? Why, she's like--like herself, of course. You'll have to know
+Alice. She's the salt of the earth--Alice is," smiled Arkwright, rising
+to his feet with a remonstrative gesture, as he saw Calderwell pick up
+his coat. "What's your hurry?"
+
+"Hm-m," commented Calderwell again, ignoring the question. "And when,
+may I ask, do you intend to appropriate this--er--salt--to--er--ah,
+season your own life with, as I might say--eh?"
+
+Arkwright laughed. There was not the slightest trace of embarrassment in
+his face.
+
+"Never. _You're_ on the wrong track, this time. Alice and I are good
+friends--always have been, and always will be, I hope."
+
+"Nothing more?"
+
+"Nothing more. I see her frequently. She is musical, and the Henshaws
+are good enough to ask us there often together. You will meet her,
+doubtless, now, yourself. She is frequently at the Henshaw home."
+
+"Hm-m." Calderwell still eyed his host shrewdly. "Then you'll give me a
+clear field, eh?"
+
+"Certainly." Arkwright's eyes met his friend's gaze without swerving.
+
+"All right. However, I suppose you'll tell me, as I did you, once, that
+a right of way in such a case doesn't mean a thoroughfare for the party
+interested. If my memory serves me, I gave you right of way in Paris to
+win the affections of a certain elusive Miss Billy here in Boston, if
+you could. But I see you didn't seem to improve your opportunities," he
+finished teasingly.
+
+Arkwright stooped, of a sudden, to pick up a bit of paper from the
+floor.
+
+"No," he said quietly. "I didn't seem to improve my opportunities." This
+time he did not meet Calderwell's eyes.
+
+The good-byes had been said when Calderwell turned abruptly at the door.
+
+"Oh, I say, I suppose you're going to that devil's carnival at Jordan
+Hall to-morrow night."
+
+"Devil's carnival! You don't mean--Cyril Henshaw's piano recital!"
+
+"Sure I do," grinned Calderwell, unabashed. "And I'll warrant it'll be
+a devil's carnival, too. Isn't Mr. Cyril Henshaw going to play his own
+music? Oh, I know I'm hopeless, from your standpoint, but I can't help
+it. I like mine with some go in it, and a tune that you can find without
+hunting for it. And I don't like lost spirits gone mad that wail and
+shriek through ten perfectly good minutes, and then die with a gasping
+moan whose home is the tombs. However, you're going, I take it."
+
+"Of course I am," laughed the other. "You couldn't hire Alice to miss
+one shriek of those spirits. Besides, I rather like them myself, you
+know."
+
+"Yes, I suppose you do. You're brought up on it--in your business. But
+me for the 'Merry Widow' and even the hoary 'Jingle Bells' every time!
+However, I'm going to be there--out of respect to the poor fellow's
+family. And, by the way, that's another thing that bowled me
+over--Cyril's marriage. Why, Cyril hates women!"
+
+"Not all women--we'll hope," smiled Arkwright. "Do you know his wife?"
+
+"Not much. I used to see her a little at Billy's. Music teacher, wasn't
+she? Then she's the same sort, I suppose."
+
+"But she isn't," laughed Arkwright. "Oh, she taught music, but that
+was only because of necessity, I take it. She's domestic through and
+through, with an overwhelming passion for making puddings and darning
+socks, I hear. Alice says she believes Mrs. Cyril knows every dish and
+spoon by its Christian name, and that there's never so much as a spool
+of thread out of order in the house."
+
+"But how does Cyril stand it--the trials and tribulations of domestic
+life? Bertram used to declare that the whole Strata was aquiver with
+fear when Cyril was composing, and I remember him as a perfect bear if
+anybody so much as whispered when he was in one of his moods. I never
+forgot the night Bertram and I were up in William's room trying to sing
+'When Johnnie comes marching home,' to the accompaniment of a banjo
+in Bertram's hands, and a guitar in mine. Gorry! it was Hugh that went
+marching home that night."
+
+"Oh, well, from reports I reckon Mrs. Cyril doesn't play either a banjo
+or a guitar," smiled Arkwright. "Alice says she wears rubber heels on
+her shoes, and has put hushers on all the chair-legs, and felt-mats
+between all the plates and saucers. Anyhow, Cyril is building a new
+house, and he looks as if he were in a pretty healthy condition, as
+you'll see to-morrow night."
+
+"Humph! I wish he'd make his music healthy, then," grumbled Calderwell,
+as he opened the door.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII. FOR BILLY--SOME ADVICE
+
+
+February brought busy days. The public opening of the Bohemian Ten Club
+Exhibition was to take place the sixth of March, with a private view
+for invited guests the night before; and it was at this exhibition that
+Bertram planned to show his portrait of Marguerite Winthrop. He also, if
+possible, wished to enter two or three other canvases, upon which he was
+spending all the time he could get.
+
+Bertram felt that he was doing very good work now. The portrait of
+Marguerite Winthrop was coming on finely. The spoiled idol of society
+had at last found a pose and a costume that suited her, and she was
+graciously pleased to give the artist almost as many sittings as he
+wanted. The "elusive something" in her face, which had previously been
+so baffling, was now already caught and held bewitchingly on his canvas.
+He was confident that the portrait would be a success. He was also much
+interested in another piece of work which he intended to show called
+"The Rose." The model for this was a beautiful young girl he had found
+selling flowers with her father in a street booth at the North End.
+
+On the whole, Bertram was very happy these days. He could not, to
+be sure, spend quite so much time with Billy as he wished; but she
+understood, of course, as did he, that his work must come first. He knew
+that she tried to show him that she understood it. At the same time, he
+could not help thinking, occasionally, that Billy did sometimes mind his
+necessary absorption in his painting.
+
+To himself Bertram owned that Billy was, in some ways, a puzzle to him.
+Her conduct was still erratic at times. One day he would seem to be
+everything to her; the next--almost nothing, judging by the ease with
+which she relinquished his society and substituted that of some one
+else: Arkwright, or Calderwell, for instance.
+
+And that was another thing. Bertram was ashamed to hint even to himself
+that he was jealous of either of those men. Surely, after what had
+happened, after Billy's emphatic assertion that she had never loved any
+one but himself, it would seem not only absurd, but disloyal, that
+he should doubt for an instant Billy's entire devotion to him, and
+yet--there were times when he wished he _could_ come home and not
+always find Alice Greggory, Calderwell, Arkwright, or all three of them
+strumming the piano in the drawing-room! At such times, always, though,
+if he did feel impatient, he immediately demanded of himself: "Are you,
+then, the kind of husband that begrudges your wife young companions of
+her own age and tastes to help her while away the hours that you cannot
+possibly spend with her yourself?"
+
+This question, and the answer that his better self always gave to it,
+were usually sufficient to send him into some florists for a bunch of
+violets for Billy, or into a candy shop on a like atoning errand.
+
+As to Billy--Billy, too, was busy these days chief of her concerns
+being, perhaps, attention to that honeymoon of hers, to see that it did
+not wane. At least, the most of her thoughts, and many of her actions,
+centered about that object.
+
+Billy had the book, now--the "Talk to Young Wives." For a time she had
+worked with only the newspaper criticism to guide her; but, coming at
+last to the conclusion that if a little was good, more must be better,
+she had shyly gone into a bookstore one day and, with a pink blush, had
+asked for the book. Since bringing it home she had studied assiduously
+(though never if Bertram was near), keeping it well-hidden, when not in
+use, in a remote corner of her desk.
+
+There was a good deal in the book that Billy did not like, and there
+were some statements that worried her; but yet there was much that she
+tried earnestly to follow. She was still striving to be the oak, and
+she was still eagerly endeavoring to brush up against those necessary
+outside interests. She was so thankful, in this connection, for Alice
+Greggory, and for Arkwright and Hugh Calderwell. It was such a help that
+she had them! They were not only very pleasant and entertaining outside
+interests, but one or another of them was almost always conveniently
+within reach.
+
+Then, too, it pleased her to think that she was furthering the pretty
+love story between Alice and Mr. Arkwright. And she _was_ furthering it.
+She was sure of that. Already she could see how dependent the man was on
+Alice, how he looked to her for approbation, and appealed to her on all
+occasions, exactly as if there was not a move that he wanted to make
+without her presence near him. Billy was very sure, now, of Arkwright.
+She only wished she were as much so of Alice. But Alice troubled her.
+Not but that Alice was kindness itself to the man, either. It was only
+a peculiar something almost like fear, or constraint, that Billy thought
+she saw in Alice's eyes, sometimes, when Arkwright made a particularly
+intimate appeal. There was Calderwell, too. He, also, worried Billy. She
+feared he was going to complicate matters still more by falling in love
+with Alice, himself; and this, certainly, Billy did not want at all. As
+this phase of the matter presented itself, indeed, Billy determined to
+appropriate Calderwell a little more exclusively to herself, when the
+four were together, thus leaving Alice for Arkwright. After all, it was
+rather entertaining--this playing at Cupid's assistant. If she _could_
+not have Bertram all the time, it was fortunate that these outside
+interests were so pleasurable.
+
+Most of the mornings Billy spent in the kitchen, despite the
+remonstrances of both Pete and Eliza. Almost every meal, now, was graced
+with a palatable cake, pudding, or muffin that Billy would proudly claim
+as her handiwork. Pete still served at table, and made strenuous efforts
+to keep up all his old duties; but he was obviously growing weaker, and
+really serious blunders were beginning to be noticeable. Bertram even
+hinted once or twice that perhaps it would be just as well to insist on
+his going; but to this Billy would not give her consent. Even when one
+night his poor old trembling hands spilled half the contents of a soup
+plate over a new and costly evening gown of Billy's own, she still
+refused to have him dismissed.
+
+"Why, Bertram, I wouldn't do it," she declared hotly; "and you wouldn't,
+either. He's been here more than fifty years. It would break his heart.
+He's really too ill to work, and I wish he would go of his own accord,
+of course; but I sha'n't ever tell him to go--not if he spills soup on
+every dress I've got. I'll buy more--and more, if it's necessary. Bless
+his dear old heart! He thinks he's really serving us--and he is, too."
+
+"Oh, yes, you're right, he _is!_" sighed Bertram, with meaning emphasis,
+as he abandoned the argument.
+
+In addition to her "Talk to Young Wives," Billy found herself
+encountering advice and comment on the marriage question from still
+other quarters--from her acquaintances (mostly the feminine ones) right
+and left. Continually she was hearing such words as these:
+
+"Oh, well, what can you expect, Billy? You're an old married woman,
+now."
+
+"Never mind, you'll find he's like all the rest of the husbands. You
+just wait and see!"
+
+"Better begin with a high hand, Billy. Don't let him fool you!"
+
+"Mercy! If I had a husband whose business it was to look at women's
+beautiful eyes, peachy cheeks, and luxurious tresses, I should go
+crazy! It's hard enough to keep a man's eyes on yourself when his daily
+interests are supposed to be just lumps of coal and chunks of ice,
+without flinging him into the very jaws of temptation like asking him to
+paint a pretty girl's picture!"
+
+In response to all this, of course, Billy could but laugh, and blush,
+and toss back some gay reply, with a careless unconcern. But in her
+heart she did not like it. Sometimes she told herself that if there were
+not any advice or comment from anybody--either book or woman--if there
+were not anybody but just Bertram and herself, life would be just one
+long honeymoon forever and forever.
+
+Once or twice Billy was tempted to go to Marie with this honeymoon
+question; but Marie was very busy these days, and very preoccupied. The
+new house that Cyril was building on Corey Hill, not far from the
+Annex, was almost finished, and Marie was immersed in the subject of
+house-furnishings and interior decoration. She was, too, still more
+deeply engrossed in the fashioning of tiny garments of the softest
+linen, lace, and woolen; and there was on her face such a look of
+beatific wonder and joy that Billy did not like to so much as hint that
+there was in the world such a book as "When the Honeymoon Wanes: A Talk
+to Young Wives."
+
+Billy tried valiantly these days not to mind that Bertram's work was so
+absorbing. She tried not to mind that his business dealt, not with lumps
+of coal and chunks of ice, but with beautiful women like Marguerite
+Winthrop who asked him to luncheon, and lovely girls like his model for
+"The Rose" who came freely to his studio and spent hours in the beloved
+presence, being studied for what Bertram declared was absolutely the
+most wonderful poise of head and shoulders that he had ever seen.
+
+Billy tried, also, these days, to so conduct herself that not by any
+chance could Calderwell suspect that sometimes she was jealous of
+Bertram's art. Not for worlds would she have had Calderwell begin to get
+the notion into his head that his old-time prophecy concerning Bertram's
+caring only for the turn of a girl's head or the tilt of her chin--to
+paint, was being fulfilled. Hence, particularly gay and cheerful was
+Billy when Calderwell was near. Nor could it be said that Billy was
+really unhappy at any time. It was only that, on occasion, the very
+depth of her happiness in Bertram's love frightened her, lest it bring
+disaster to herself or Bertram.
+
+Billy still went frequently to the Annex. There were yet two unfilled
+rooms in the house. Billy was hesitating which two of six new friends
+of hers to choose as occupants; and it was one day early in March, after
+she had been talking the matter over with Aunt Hannah, that Aunt Hannah
+said:
+
+"Dear me, Billy, if you had your way I believe you'd open another whole
+house!"
+
+"Do you know?--that's just what I'm thinking of," retorted Billy,
+gravely. Then she laughed at Aunt Hannah's shocked gesture of protest.
+"Oh, well, I don't expect to," she added. "I haven't lived very long,
+but I've lived long enough to know that you can't always do what you
+want to."
+
+"Just as if there were anything _you_ wanted to do that you don't do, my
+dear," reproved Aunt Hannah, mildly.
+
+"Yes, I know." Billy drew in her breath with a little catch. "I have so
+much that is lovely; and that's why I need this house, you know, for the
+overflow," she nodded brightly. Then, with a characteristic change of
+subject, she added: "My, but you should have tasted of the popovers I
+made for breakfast this morning!"
+
+"I should like to," smiled Aunt Hannah. "William says you're getting to
+be quite a cook."
+
+"Well, maybe," conceded Billy, doubtfully. "Oh, I can do some things
+all right; but just wait till Pete and Eliza go away again, and Bertram
+brings home a friend to dinner. That'll tell the tale. I think now I
+could have something besides potato-mush and burned corn--but maybe I
+wouldn't, when the time came. If only I could buy everything I needed to
+cook with, I'd be all right. But I can't, I find."
+
+"Can't buy what you need! What do you mean?"
+
+Billy laughed ruefully.
+
+"Well, every other question I ask Eliza, she says: 'Why, I don't know;
+you have to use your judgment.' Just as if I had any judgment about how
+much salt to use, or what dish to take! Dear me, Aunt Hannah, the man
+that will grow judgment and can it as you would a mess of peas, has got
+his fortune made!"
+
+"What an absurd child you are, Billy," laughed Aunt Hannah. "I used to
+tell Marie--By the way, how is Marie? Have you seen her lately?"
+
+"Oh, yes, I saw her yesterday," twinkled Billy. "She had a book of
+wall-paper samples spread over the back of a chair, two bunches of
+samples of different colored damasks on the table before her, a 'Young
+Mother's Guide' propped open in another chair, and a pair of baby's
+socks in her lap with a roll each of pink, and white, and blue ribbon.
+She spent most of the time, after I had helped her choose the ribbon, in
+asking me if I thought she ought to let the baby cry and bother Cyril,
+or stop its crying and hurt the baby, because her 'Mother's Guide' says
+a certain amount of crying is needed to develop a baby's lungs."
+
+Aunt Hannah laughed, but she frowned, too.
+
+"The idea! I guess Cyril can stand proper crying--and laughing,
+too--from his own child!" she said then, crisply.
+
+"Oh, but Marie is afraid he can't," smiled Billy. "And that's the
+trouble. She says that's the only thing that worries her--Cyril."
+
+"Nonsense!" ejaculated Aunt Hannah.
+
+"Oh, but it isn't nonsense to Marie," retorted Billy. "You should see
+the preparations she's made and the precautions she's taken. Actually,
+when I saw those baby's socks in her lap, I didn't know but she was
+going to put rubber heels on them! They've built the new house with
+deadening felt in all the walls, and Marie's planned the nursery and
+Cyril's den at opposite ends of the house; and she says she shall keep
+the baby there _all_ the time--the nursery, I mean, not the den. She
+says she's going to teach it to be a quiet baby and hate noise. She says
+she thinks she can do it, too."
+
+"Humph!" sniffed Aunt Hannah, scornfully.
+
+"You should have seen Marie's disgust the other day," went on Billy, a
+bit mischievously. "Her Cousin Jane sent on a rattle she'd made herself,
+all soft worsted, with bells inside. It was a dear; but Marie was
+horror-stricken. 'My baby have a rattle?' she cried. 'Why, what would
+Cyril say? As if he could stand a rattle in the house!' And if she
+didn't give that rattle to the janitor's wife that very day, while I was
+there!"
+
+"Humph!" sniffed Aunt Hannah again, as Billy rose to go. "Well, I'm
+thinking Marie has still some things to learn in this world--and Cyril,
+too, for that matter."
+
+"I wouldn't wonder," laughed Billy, giving Aunt Hannah a good-by kiss.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII. PETE
+
+
+Bertram Henshaw had no disquieting forebodings this time concerning his
+portrait of Marguerite Winthrop when the doors of the Bohemian Ten Club
+Exhibition were thrown open to members and invited guests. Just how
+great a popular success it was destined to be, he could not know, of
+course, though he might have suspected it when he began to receive the
+admiring and hearty congratulations of his friends and fellow-artists on
+that first evening.
+
+Nor was the Winthrop portrait the only jewel in his crown on that
+occasion. His marvelously exquisite "The Rose," and his smaller ideal
+picture, "Expectation," came in for scarcely less commendation. There
+was no doubt now. The originator of the famous "Face of a Girl" had come
+into his own again. On all sides this was the verdict, one long-haired
+critic of international fame even claiming openly that Henshaw had
+not only equaled his former best work, but had gone beyond it, in both
+artistry and technique.
+
+It was a brilliant gathering. Society, as usual, in costly evening gowns
+and correct swallow-tails rubbed elbows with names famous in the world
+of Art and Letters. Everywhere were gay laughter and sparkling repartee.
+Even the austere-faced J. G. Winthrop unbent to the extent of grim
+smiles in response to the laudatory comments bestowed upon the pictured
+image of his idol, his beautiful daughter.
+
+As to the great financier's own opinion of the work, no one heard him
+express it except, perhaps, the artist; and all that he got was a grip
+of the hand and a "Good! I knew you'd fetch it this time, my boy!" But
+that was enough. And, indeed, no one who knew the stern old man needed
+to more than look into his face that evening to know of his entire
+satisfaction in this portrait soon to be the most recent, and the most
+cherished addition to his far-famed art collection.
+
+As to Bertram--Bertram was pleased and happy and gratified, of course,
+as was natural; but he was not one whit more so than was Bertram's wife.
+Billy fairly radiated happiness and proud joy. She told Bertram, indeed,
+that if he did anything to make her any prouder, it would take an Annex
+the size of the Boston Opera House to hold her extra happiness.
+
+"Sh-h, Billy! Some one will hear you," protested Bertram, tragically;
+but, in spite of his horrified voice, he did not look displeased.
+
+For the first time Billy met Marguerite Winthrop that evening. At the
+outset there was just a bit of shyness and constraint in the young
+wife's manner. Billy could not forget her old insane jealousy of this
+beautiful girl with the envied name of Marguerite. But it was for only a
+moment, and soon she was her natural, charming self.
+
+Miss Winthrop was fascinated, and she made no pretense of hiding it. She
+even turned to Bertram at last, and cried:
+
+"Surely, now, Mr. Henshaw, you need never go far for a model! Why don't
+you paint your wife?"
+
+Billy colored. Bertram smiled.
+
+"I have," he said. "I have painted her many times. In fact, I have
+painted her so often that she once declared it was only the tilt of her
+chin and the turn of her head that I loved--to paint," he said merrily,
+enjoying Billy's pretty confusion, and not realizing that his words
+really distressed her. "I have a whole studio full of 'Billys' at home."
+
+"Oh, have you, really?" questioned Miss Winthrop, eagerly. "Then mayn't
+I see them? Mayn't I, please, Mrs. Henshaw? I'd so love to!"
+
+"Why, of course you may," murmured both the artist and his wife.
+
+"Thank you. Then I'm coming right away. May I? I'm going to Washington
+next week, you see. Will you let me come to-morrow at--at half-past
+three, then? Will it be quite convenient for you, Mrs. Henshaw?"
+
+"Quite convenient. I shall be glad to see you," smiled Billy. And
+Bertram echoed his wife's cordial permission.
+
+"Thank you. Then I'll be there at half-past three," nodded Miss
+Winthrop, with a smile, as she turned to give place to an admiring
+group, who were waiting to pay their respects to the artist and his
+wife.
+
+There was, after all, that evening, one fly in Billy's ointment.
+
+It fluttered in at the behest of an old acquaintance--one of the "advice
+women," as Billy termed some of her too interested friends.
+
+"Well, they're lovely, perfectly lovely, of course, Mrs. Henshaw," said
+this lady, coming up to say good-night. "But, all the same, I'm
+glad my husband is just a plain lawyer. Look out, my dear, that while
+Mr. Henshaw is stealing all those pretty faces for his canvases--just
+look out that the fair ladies don't turn around and steal his heart
+before you know it. Dear me, but you must be so proud of him!"
+
+"I am," smiled Billy, serenely; and only the jagged split that rent the
+glove on her hand, at that moment, told of the fierce anger behind that
+smile.
+
+"As if I couldn't trust Bertram!" raged Billy passionately to herself,
+stealing a surreptitious glance at her ruined glove. "And as if there
+weren't ever any perfectly happy marriages--even if you don't ever hear
+of them, or read of them!"
+
+Bertram was not home to luncheon on the day following the opening night
+of the Bohemian Ten Club. A matter of business called him away from the
+house early in the morning; but he told his wife that he surely would
+be on hand for Miss Winthrop's call at half-past three o'clock that
+afternoon.
+
+"Yes, do," Billy had urged. "I think she's lovely, but you know her so
+much better than I do that I want you here. Besides, you needn't think
+_I'm_ going to show her all those Billys of yours. I may be vain, but
+I'm not quite vain enough for that, sir!"
+
+"Don't worry," her husband had laughed. "I'll be here."
+
+As it chanced, however, something occurred an hour before half-past
+three o'clock that drove every thought of Miss Winthrop's call from
+Billy's head.
+
+For three days, now, Pete had been at the home of his niece in South
+Boston. He had been forced, finally, to give up and go away. News from
+him the day before had been anything but reassuring, and to-day, Bertram
+being gone, Billy had suggested that Eliza serve a simple luncheon and
+go immediately afterward to South Boston to see how her uncle was. This
+suggestion Eliza had followed, leaving the house at one o'clock.
+
+Shortly after two Calderwell had dropped in to bring Bertram, as he
+expressed it, a bunch of bouquets he had gathered at the picture show
+the night before. He was still in the drawing-room, chatting with Billy,
+when the telephone bell rang.
+
+"If that's Bertram, tell him to come home; he's got company," laughed
+Calderwell, as Billy passed into the hall.
+
+A moment later he heard Billy give a startled cry, followed by a few
+broken words at short intervals. Then, before he could surmise what
+had happened, she was back in the drawing-room again, her eyes full of
+tears.
+
+"It's Pete," she choked. "Eliza says he can't live but a few minutes.
+He wants to see me once more. What shall I do? John's got Peggy out with
+Aunt Hannah and Mrs. Greggory. It was so nice to-day I made them go.
+But I must get there some way--Pete is calling for me. Uncle William is
+going, and I told Eliza where she might reach Bertram; but what shall
+_I_ do? How shall I go?"
+
+Calderwell was on his feet at once.
+
+"I'll get a taxi. Don't worry--we'll get there. Poor old soul--of course
+he wants to see you! Get on your things. I'll have it here in no time,"
+he finished, hurrying to the telephone.
+
+"Oh, Hugh, I'm so glad I've got _you_ here," sobbed Billy, stumbling
+blindly toward the stairway. "I'll be ready in two minutes."
+
+And she was; but neither then, nor a little later when she and
+Calderwell drove hurriedly away from the house, did Billy once remember
+that Miss Marguerite Winthrop was coming to call that afternoon to see
+Mrs. Bertram Henshaw and a roomful of Billy pictures.
+
+Pete was still alive when Calderwell left Billy at the door of the
+modest little home where Eliza's mother lived.
+
+"Yes, you're in time, ma'am," sobbed Eliza; "and, oh, I'm so glad you've
+come. He's been askin' and askin' for ye."
+
+From Eliza Billy learned then that Mr. William was there, but not Mr.
+Bertram. They had not been able to reach Mr. Bertram, or Mr. Cyril.
+
+Billy never forgot the look of reverent adoration that came into Pete's
+eyes as she entered the room where he lay.
+
+"Miss Billy--my Miss Billy! You were so good-to come," he whispered
+faintly.
+
+Billy choked back a sob.
+
+"Of course I'd come, Pete," she said gently, taking one of the thin,
+worn hands into both her soft ones.
+
+It was more than a few minutes that Pete lived. Four o'clock came, and
+five, and he was still with them. Often he opened his eyes and smiled.
+Sometimes he spoke a low word to William or Billy, or to one of the
+weeping women at the foot of the bed. That the presence of his beloved
+master and mistress meant much to him was plain to be seen.
+
+"I'm so sorry," he faltered once, "about that pretty dress--I spoiled,
+Miss Billy. But you know--my hands--"
+
+"I know, I know," soothed Billy; "but don't worry. It wasn't spoiled,
+Pete. It's all fixed now."
+
+"Oh, I'm so glad," sighed the sick man. After another long interval of
+silence he turned to William.
+
+"Them socks--the medium thin ones--you'd oughter be puttin' 'em on soon,
+sir, now. They're in the right-hand corner of the bottom drawer--you
+know."
+
+"Yes, Pete; I'll attend to it," William managed to stammer, after he had
+cleared his throat.
+
+Eliza's turn came next.
+
+"Remember about the coffee," Pete said to her, "--the way Mr. William
+likes it. And always eggs, you know, for--for--" His voice trailed into
+an indistinct murmur, and his eyelids drooped wearily.
+
+One by one the minutes passed. The doctor came and went: there was
+nothing he could do. At half-past five the thin old face became again
+alight with consciousness. There was a good-by message for Bertram, and
+one for Cyril. Aunt Hannah was remembered, and even little Tommy Dunn.
+Then, gradually, a gray shadow crept over the wasted features. The words
+came more brokenly. The mind, plainly, was wandering, for old Pete was
+young again, and around him were the lads he loved, William, Cyril, and
+Bertram. And then, very quietly, soon after the clock struck six, Pete
+fell into the beginning of his long sleep.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV. WHEN BERTRAM CAME HOME
+
+
+It was a little after half-past three o'clock that afternoon when
+Bertram Henshaw hurried up Beacon Street toward his home. He had been
+delayed, and he feared that Miss Winthrop would already have reached the
+house. Mindful of what Billy had said that morning, he knew how his wife
+would fret if he were not there when the guest arrived. The sight
+of what he surmised to be Miss Winthrop's limousine before his door
+hastened his steps still more. But as he reached the house, he was
+surprised to find Miss Winthrop herself turning away from the door.
+
+"Why, Miss Winthrop," he cried, "you're not going _now!_ You can't have
+been here any--yet!"
+
+"Well, no, I--I haven't," retorted the lady, with heightened color and a
+somewhat peculiar emphasis. "My ring wasn't answered."
+
+"Wasn't answered!" Bertram reddened angrily. "Why, what can that mean?
+Where's the maid? Where's my wife? Mrs. Henshaw must be here! She was
+expecting you."
+
+Bertram, in his annoyed amazement, spoke loudly, vehemently. Hence he
+was quite plainly heard by the group of small boys and girls who had
+been improving the mild weather for a frolic on the sidewalk, and who
+had been attracted to his door a moment before by the shining magnet
+of the Winthrop limousine with its resplendently liveried chauffeur. As
+Bertram spoke, one of the small girls, Bessie Bailey, stepped forward
+and piped up a shrill reply.
+
+"She ain't, Mr. Henshaw! She ain't here. I saw her go away just a little
+while ago."
+
+Bertram turned sharply.
+
+"You saw her go away! What do you mean?"
+
+Small Bessie swelled with importance. Bessie was thirteen, in spite of
+her diminutive height. Bessie's mother was dead, and Bessie's caretakers
+were gossiping nurses and servants, who frequently left in her way books
+that were much too old for Bessie to read--but she read them.
+
+"I mean she ain't here--your wife, Mr. Henshaw. She went away. I saw
+her. I guess likely she's eloped, sir."
+
+"Eloped!"
+
+Bessie swelled still more importantly. To her experienced eyes the
+situation contained all the necessary elements for the customary flight
+of the heroine in her story-books, as here, now, was the irate, deserted
+husband.
+
+"Sure! And 'twas just before you came--quite a while before. A big shiny
+black automobile like this drove up--only it wasn't quite such a nice
+one--an' Mrs. Henshaw an' a man came out of your house an' got in, an'
+drove right away _quick!_ They just ran to get into it, too--didn't
+they?" She appealed to her young mates grouped about her.
+
+A chorus of shrill exclamations brought Mr. Bertram Henshaw suddenly
+to his senses. By a desperate effort he hid his angry annoyance as
+he turned to the manifestly embarrassed young woman who was already
+descending the steps.
+
+"My dear Miss Winthrop," he apologized contritely, "I'm sure
+you'll forgive this seeming great rudeness on the part of my wife.
+Notwithstanding the lurid tales of our young friends here, I suspect
+nothing more serious has happened than that my wife has been hastily
+summoned to Aunt Hannah, perhaps. Or, of course, she may not have
+understood that you were coming to-day at half-past three--though I
+thought she did. But I'm so sorry--when you were so kind as to come--"
+Miss Winthrop interrupted with a quick gesture.
+
+"Say no more, I beg of you," she entreated. "Mrs. Henshaw is quite
+excusable, I'm sure. Please don't give it another thought," she
+finished, as with a hurried direction to the man who was holding open
+the door of her car, she stepped inside and bowed her good-byes.
+
+Bertram, with stern self-control, forced himself to walk nonchalantly
+up his steps, leisurely take out his key, and open his door, under the
+interested eyes of Bessie Bailey and her friends; but once beyond their
+hateful stare, his demeanor underwent a complete change. Throwing aside
+his hat and coat, he strode to the telephone.
+
+"Oh, is that you, Aunt Hannah?" he called crisply, a moment later.
+"Well, if Billy's there will you tell her I want to speak to her,
+please?"
+
+"Billy?" answered Aunt Hannah's slow, gentle tones. "Why, my dear boy,
+Billy isn't here!"
+
+"She isn't? Well, when did she leave? She's been there, hasn't she?"
+
+"Why, I don't think so, but I'll see, if you like. Mrs. Greggory and
+I have just this minute come in from an automobile ride. We would have
+stayed longer, but it began to get chilly, and I forgot to take one of
+the shawls that I'd laid out."
+
+"Yes; well, if you will see, please, if Billy has been there, and when
+she left," said Bertram, with grim self-control.
+
+"All right. I'll see," murmured Aunt Hannah. In a few moments her voice
+again sounded across the wires. "Why, no, Bertram, Rosa says she hasn't
+been here since yesterday. Isn't she there somewhere about the house?
+Didn't you know where she was going?"
+
+"Well, no, I didn't--else I shouldn't have been asking you," snapped
+the irate Bertram and hung up the receiver with most rude haste, thereby
+cutting off an astounded "Oh, my grief and conscience!" in the middle of
+it.
+
+The next ten minutes Bertram spent in going through the whole house,
+from garret to basement. Needless to say, he found nothing to enlighten
+him, or to soothe his temper. Four o'clock came, then half-past, and
+five. At five Bertram began to look for Eliza, but in vain. At half-past
+five he watched for William; but William, too, did not come.
+
+Bertram was pacing the floor now, nervously. He was a little frightened,
+but more mortified and angry. That Billy should have allowed Miss
+Winthrop to call by appointment only to find no hostess, no message,
+no maid, even, to answer her ring--it was inexcusable! Impulsiveness,
+unconventionality, and girlish irresponsibility were all very
+delightful, of course--at times; but not now, certainly. Billy was not
+a girl any longer. She was a married woman. _Something_ was due to him,
+her husband! A pretty picture he must have made on those steps, trying
+to apologize for a truant wife, and to laugh off that absurd Bessie
+Bailey's preposterous assertion at the same time! What would Miss
+Winthrop think? What could she think? Bertram fairly ground his teeth
+with chagrin, at the situation in which he found himself.
+
+Nor were matters helped any by the fact that Bertram was hungry.
+Bertram's luncheon had been meager and unsatisfying. That the kitchen
+down-stairs still remained in silent, spotless order instead of being
+astir with the sounds and smells of a good dinner (as it should have
+been) did not improve his temper. Where Billy was he could not imagine.
+He thought, once or twice, of calling up some of her friends; but
+something held him back from that--though he did try to get Marie,
+knowing very well that she was probably over to the new house and would
+not answer. He was not surprised, therefore, when he received no reply
+to his ring.
+
+That there was the slightest truth in Bessie Bailey's absurd "elopement"
+idea, Bertram did not, of course, for an instant believe. The only
+thing that rankled about that was the fact that she had suggested such a
+thing, and that Miss Winthrop and those silly children had heard her. He
+recognized half of Bessie's friends as neighborhood youngsters, and he
+knew very well that there would be many a quiet laugh at his expense
+around various Beacon Street dinner-tables that night. At the thought
+of those dinner-tables, he scowled again. _He_ had no dinner-table--at
+least, he had no dinner on it!
+
+Who the man might be Bertram thought he could easily guess. It was
+either Arkwright or Calderwell, of course; and probably that tiresome
+Alice Greggory was mixed up in it somehow. He did wish Billy--
+
+Six o'clock came, then half-past. Bertram was indeed frightened now, but
+he was more angry, and still more hungry. He had, in fact, reached that
+state of blind unreasonableness said to be peculiar to hungry males from
+time immemorial.
+
+At ten minutes of seven a key clicked in the lock of the outer door, and
+William and Billy entered the hall.
+
+It was almost dark. Bertram could not see their faces. He had not
+lighted the hall at all.
+
+"Well," he began sharply, "is this the way you receive your callers,
+Billy? I came home and found Miss Winthrop just leaving--no one here
+to receive her! Where've you been? Where's Eliza? Where's my dinner?
+Of course I don't mean to scold, Billy, but there is a limit to even
+my patience--and it's reached now. I can't help suggesting that if
+you would tend to your husband and your home a little more, and go
+gallivanting off with Calderwell and Arkwright and Alice Greggory a
+little less, that--Where is Eliza, anyway?" he finished irritably,
+switching on the lights with a snap.
+
+There was a moment of dead silence. At Bertram's first words Billy and
+William had stopped short. Neither had moved since. Now William turned
+and began to speak, but Billy interrupted. She met her husband's gaze
+steadily.
+
+"I will be down at once to get your dinner," she said quietly. "Eliza
+will not come to-night. Pete is dead."
+
+Bertram started forward with a quick cry.
+
+"Dead! Oh, Billy! Then you were--_there!_ Billy!"
+
+But his wife did not apparently hear him. She passed him without turning
+her head, and went on up the stairs, leaving him to meet the sorrowful,
+accusing eyes of William.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV. AFTER THE STORM
+
+
+The young husband's apologies were profuse and abject. Bertram was
+heartily ashamed of himself, and was man enough to acknowledge it.
+Almost on his knees he begged Billy to forgive him; and in a frenzy
+of self-denunciation he followed her down into the kitchen that night,
+piteously beseeching her to speak to him, to just _look_ at him, even,
+so that he might know he was not utterly despised--though he did,
+indeed, deserve to be more than despised, he moaned.
+
+At first Billy did not speak, or even vouchsafe a glance in his
+direction. Very quietly she went about her preparations for a simple
+meal, paying apparently no more attention to Bertram than as if he were
+not there. But that her ears were only seemingly, and not really deaf,
+was shown very clearly a little later, when, at a particularly abject
+wail on the part of the babbling shadow at her heels, Billy choked into
+a little gasp, half laughter, half sob. It was all over then. Bertram
+had her in his arms in a twinkling, while to the floor clattered and
+rolled a knife and a half-peeled baked potato.
+
+Naturally, after that, there could be no more dignified silences on the
+part of the injured wife. There were, instead, half-smiles, tears, sobs,
+a tremulous telling of Pete's going and his messages, followed by a
+tearful listening to Bertram's story of the torture he had endured at
+the hands of Miss Winthrop, Bessie Bailey, and an empty, dinnerless
+house. And thus, in one corner of the kitchen, some time later, a
+hungry, desperate William found them, the half-peeled, cold baked potato
+still at their feet.
+
+Torn between his craving for food and his desire not to interfere with
+any possible peace-making, William was obviously hesitating what to do,
+when Billy glanced up and saw him. She saw, too, at the same time, the
+empty, blazing gas-stove burner, and the pile of half-prepared potatoes,
+to warm which the burner had long since been lighted. With a little cry
+she broke away from her husband's arms.
+
+"Mercy! and here's poor Uncle William, bless his heart, with not a thing
+to eat yet!"
+
+They all got dinner then, together, with many a sigh and quick-coming
+tear as everywhere they met some sad reminder of the gentle old hands
+that would never again minister to their comfort.
+
+It was a silent meal, and little, after all, was eaten, though brave
+attempts at cheerfulness and naturalness were made by all three.
+Bertram, especially, talked, and tried to make sure that the shadow on
+Billy's face was at least not the one his own conduct had brought there.
+
+"For you do--you surely do forgive me, don't you?" he begged, as he
+followed her into the kitchen after the sorry meal was over.
+
+"Why, yes, dear, yes," sighed Billy, trying to smile.
+
+"And you'll forget?"
+
+There was no answer.
+
+"Billy! And you'll forget?" Bertram's voice was insistent, reproachful.
+
+Billy changed color and bit her lip. She looked plainly distressed.
+
+"Billy!" cried the man, still more reproachfully.
+
+"But, Bertram, I can't forget--quite yet," faltered Billy.
+
+Bertram frowned. For a minute he looked as if he were about to take
+up the matter seriously and argue it with her; but the next moment he
+smiled and tossed his head with jaunty playfulness--Bertram, to tell the
+truth, had now had quite enough of what he privately termed "scenes"
+and "heroics"; and, manlike, he was very ardently longing for the old
+easy-going friendliness, with all unpleasantness banished to oblivion.
+
+"Oh, but you'll have to forget," he claimed, with cheery insistence,
+"for you've promised to forgive me--and one can't forgive without
+forgetting. So, there!" he finished, with a smilingly determined
+"now-everything-is-just-as-it-was-before" air.
+
+Billy made no response. She turned hurriedly and began to busy herself
+with the dishes at the sink. In her heart she was wondering: could she
+ever forget what Bertram had said? Would anything ever blot out those
+awful words: "If you would tend to your husband and your home a little
+more, and go gallivanting off with Calderwell and Arkwright and Alice
+Greggory a little less--"? It seemed now that always, for evermore, they
+would ring in her ears; always, for evermore, they would burn deeper and
+deeper into her soul. And not once, in all Bertram's apologies, had he
+referred to them--those words he had uttered. He had not said he did not
+mean them. He had not said he was sorry he spoke them. He had ignored
+them; and he expected that now she, too, would ignore them. As if she
+could!" If you would tend to your husband and your home a little more,
+and go gallivanting off with Calderwell and Arkwright and Alice Greggory
+a little less--" Oh, if only she could, indeed,--forget!
+
+When Billy went up-stairs that night she ran across her "Talk to Young
+Wives" in her desk. With a half-stifled cry she thrust it far back out
+of sight.
+
+"I hate you, I hate you--with all your old talk about 'brushing up
+against outside interests'!" she whispered fiercely. "Well, I've
+'brushed'--and now see what I've got for it!"
+
+Later, however, after Bertram was asleep, Billy crept out of bed and
+got the book. Under the carefully shaded lamp in the adjoining room she
+turned the pages softly till she came to the sentence: "Perhaps it would
+be hard to find a more utterly unreasonable, irritable, irresponsible
+creature than a hungry man." With a long sigh she began to read; and not
+until some minutes later did she close the book, turn off the light, and
+steal back to bed.
+
+During the next three days, until after the funeral at the shabby little
+South Boston house, Eliza spent only about half of each day at the
+Strata. This, much to her distress, left many of the household tasks for
+her young mistress to perform. Billy, however, attacked each new duty
+with a feverish eagerness that seemed to make the performance of it
+very like some glad penance done for past misdeeds. And when--on the
+day after they had laid the old servant in his last resting place--a
+despairing message came from Eliza to the effect that now her mother was
+very ill, and would need her care, Billy promptly told Eliza to stay as
+long as was necessary; that they could get along all right without her.
+
+"But, Billy, what _are_ we going to do?" Bertram demanded, when he heard
+the news. "We must have somebody!"
+
+"_I'm_ going to do it."
+
+"Nonsense! As if you could!" scoffed Bertram.
+
+Billy lifted her chin.
+
+"Couldn't I, indeed," she retorted. "Do you realize, young man, how
+much I've done the last three days? How about those muffins you had this
+morning for breakfast, and that cake last night? And didn't you yourself
+say that you never ate a better pudding than that date puff yesterday
+noon?"
+
+Bertram laughed and shrugged his shoulders.
+
+"My dear love, I'm not questioning your _ability_ to do it," he soothed
+quickly. "Still," he added, with a whimsical smile, "I must remind you
+that Eliza has been here half the time, and that muffins and date puffs,
+however delicious, aren't all there is to running a big house like this.
+Besides, just be sensible, Billy," he went on more seriously, as he
+noted the rebellious gleam coming into his young wife's eyes; "you'd
+know you couldn't do it, if you'd just stop to think. There's the
+Carletons coming to dinner Monday, and my studio Tea to-morrow, to
+say nothing of the Symphony and the opera, and the concerts you'd lose
+because you were too dead tired to go to them. You know how it was with
+that concert yesterday afternoon which Alice Greggory wanted you to go
+to with her."
+
+"I didn't--want--to go," choked Billy, under her breath.
+
+"And there's your music. You haven't done a thing with that for days,
+yet only last week you told me the publishers were hurrying you for that
+last song to complete the group."
+
+"I haven't felt like--writing," stammered Billy, still half under her
+breath.
+
+"Of course you haven't," triumphed Bertram. "You've been too dead tired.
+And that's just what I say. Billy, you _can't_ do it all yourself!"
+
+"But I want to. I want to--to tend to things," faltered Billy, with a
+half-fearful glance into her husband's face.
+
+Billy was hearing very loudly now that accusing "If you'd tend to your
+husband and your home a little more--" Bertram, however, was not hearing
+it, evidently. Indeed, he seemed never to have heard it--much less to
+have spoken it.
+
+"'Tend to things,'" he laughed lightly. "Well, you'll have enough to do
+to tend to the maid, I fancy. Anyhow, we're going to have one. I'll just
+step into one of those--what do you call 'em?--intelligence offices on
+my way down and send one up," he finished, as he gave his wife a good-by
+kiss.
+
+An hour later Billy, struggling with the broom and the drawing-room
+carpet, was called to the telephone. It was her husband's voice that
+came to her.
+
+"Billy, for heaven's sake, take pity on me. Won't you put on your duds
+and come and engage your maid yourself?"
+
+"Why, Bertram, what's the matter?"
+
+"Matter? Holy smoke! Well, I've been to three of those intelligence
+offices--though why they call them that I can't imagine. If ever
+there was a place utterly devoid of intelligence-but never mind! I've
+interviewed four fat ladies, two thin ones, and one medium with a wart.
+I've cheerfully divulged all our family secrets, promised every other
+half-hour out, and taken oath that our household numbers three
+adult members, and no more; but I simply _can't_ remember how many
+handkerchiefs we have in the wash each week. Billy, will you come? Maybe
+you can do something with them. I'm sure you can!"
+
+"Why, of course I'll come," chirped Billy. "Where shall I meet you?"
+
+Bertram gave the street and number.
+
+"Good! I'll be there," promised Billy, as she hung up the receiver.
+
+Quite forgetting the broom in the middle of the drawing-room floor,
+Billy tripped up-stairs to change her dress. On her lips was a gay
+little song. In her heart was joy.
+
+"I rather guess _now_ I'm tending to my husband and my home!" she was
+crowing to herself.
+
+Just as Billy was about to leave the house the telephone bell jangled
+again.
+
+It was Alice Greggory.
+
+"Billy, dear," she called, "can't you come out? Mr. Arkwright and Mr.
+Calderwell are here, and they've brought some new music. We want you.
+Will you come?"
+
+"I can't, dear. Bertram wants me. He's sent for me. I've got some
+_housewifely_ duties to perform to-day," returned Billy, in a voice so
+curiously triumphant that Alice, at her end of the wires, frowned in
+puzzled wonder as she turned away from the telephone.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI. INTO TRAINING FOR MARY ELLEN
+
+
+Bertram told a friend afterwards that he never knew the meaning of the
+word "chaos" until he had seen the Strata during the weeks immediately
+following the laying away of his old servant.
+
+"Every stratum was aquiver with apprehension," he declared; "and there
+was never any telling when the next grand upheaval would rock the whole
+structure to its foundations."
+
+Nor was Bertram so far from being right. It was, indeed, a chaos, as
+none knew better than did Bertram's wife.
+
+Poor Billy! Sorry indeed were these days for Billy; and, as if to make
+her cup of woe full to overflowing, there were Sister Kate's epistolary
+"I told you so," and Aunt Hannah's ever recurring lament: "If only,
+Billy, you were a practical housekeeper yourself, they wouldn't impose
+on you so!"
+
+Aunt Hannah, to be sure, offered Rosa, and Kate, by letter, offered
+advice--plenty of it. But Billy, stung beyond all endurance, and fairly
+radiating hurt pride and dogged determination, disdained all assistance,
+and, with head held high, declared she was getting along very well, very
+well indeed!
+
+And this was the way she "got along."
+
+First came Nora. Nora was a blue-eyed, black-haired Irish girl, the
+sixth that the despairing Billy had interviewed on that fateful morning
+when Bertram had summoned her to his aid. Nora stayed two days. During
+her reign the entire Strata echoed to banged doors, dropped china, and
+slammed furniture. At her departure the Henshaws' possessions were less
+by four cups, two saucers, one plate, one salad bowl, two cut glass
+tumblers, and a teapot--the latter William's choicest bit of Lowestoft.
+
+Olga came next. Olga was a Treasure. She was low-voiced, gentle-eyed,
+and a good cook. She stayed a week. By that time the growing frequency
+of the disappearance of sundry small articles of value and convenience
+led to Billy's making a reluctant search of Olga's room--and to Olga's
+departure; for the room was, indeed, a treasure house, the Treasure
+having gathered unto itself other treasures.
+
+Following Olga came a period of what Bertram called "one night stands,"
+so frequently were the dramatis personae below stairs changed.
+Gretchen drank. Christine knew only four words of English: salt,
+good-by, no, and yes; and Billy found need occasionally of using other
+words. Mary was impertinent and lazy. Jennie could not even boil a
+potato properly, much less cook a dinner. Sarah (colored) was willing
+and pleasant, but insufferably untidy. Bridget was neatness itself, but
+she had no conception of the value of time. Her meals were always from
+thirty to sixty minutes late, and half-cooked at that. Vera sang--when
+she wasn't whistling--and as she was generally off the key, and
+always off the tune, her almost frantic mistress dismissed her before
+twenty-four hours had passed. Then came Mary Ellen.
+
+Mary Ellen began well. She was neat, capable, and obliging; but it
+did not take her long to discover just how much--and how little--her
+mistress really knew of practical housekeeping. Matters and things were
+very different then. Mary Ellen became argumentative, impertinent, and
+domineering. She openly shirked her work, when it pleased her so to do,
+and demanded perquisites and privileges so insolently that even William
+asked Billy one day whether Mary Ellen or Billy herself were the
+mistress of the Strata: and Bertram, with mock humility, inquired how
+_soon_ Mary Ellen would be wanting the house. Billy, in weary despair,
+submitted to this bullying for almost a week; then, in a sudden
+accession of outraged dignity that left Mary Ellen gasping with
+surprise, she told the girl to go.
+
+And thus the days passed. The maids came and the maids went, and, to
+Billy, each one seemed a little worse than the one before. Nowhere
+was there comfort, rest, or peacefulness. The nights were a torture of
+apprehension, and the days an even greater torture of fulfilment. Noise,
+confusion, meals poorly cooked and worse served, dust, disorder, and
+uncertainty. And this was _home_, Billy told herself bitterly. No wonder
+that Bertram telephoned more and more frequently that he had met a
+friend, and was dining in town. No wonder that William pushed back
+his plate almost every meal with his food scarcely touched, and then
+wandered about the house with that hungry, homesick, homeless look that
+nearly broke her heart. No wonder, indeed!
+
+And so it had come. It was true. Aunt Hannah and Kate and the "Talk to
+Young Wives" were right. She had not been fit to marry Bertram. She had
+not been fit to marry anybody. Her honeymoon was not only waning, but
+going into a total eclipse. Had not Bertram already declared that if she
+would tend to her husband and her home a little more--
+
+Billy clenched her small hands and set her round chin squarely.
+
+Very well, she would show them. She would tend to her husband and her
+home. She fancied she could _learn_ to run that house, and run it well!
+And forthwith she descended to the kitchen and told the then reigning
+tormentor that her wages would be paid until the end of the week, but
+that her services would be immediately dispensed with.
+
+Billy was well aware now that housekeeping was a matter of more than
+muffins and date puffs. She could gauge, in a measure, the magnitude of
+the task to which she had set herself. But she did not falter; and very
+systematically she set about making her plans.
+
+With a good stout woman to come in twice a week for the heavier work,
+she believed she could manage by herself very well until Eliza could
+come back. At least she could serve more palatable meals than the most
+of those that had appeared lately; and at least she could try to make a
+home that would not drive Bertram to club dinners, and Uncle William to
+hungry wanderings from room to room. Meanwhile, all the time, she could
+be learning, and in due course she would reach that shining goal of
+Housekeeping Efficiency, short of which--according to Aunt Hannah and
+the "Talk to Young Wives"--no woman need hope for a waneless honeymoon.
+
+So chaotic and erratic had been the household service, and so quietly
+did Billy slip into her new role, that it was not until the second meal
+after the maid's departure that the master of the house discovered what
+had happened. Then, as his wife rose to get some forgotten article, he
+questioned, with uplifted eyebrows:
+
+"Too good to wait upon us, is my lady now, eh?"
+
+"My lady is waiting on you," smiled Billy.
+
+"Yes, I see _this_ lady is," retorted Bertram, grimly; "but I mean our
+real lady in the kitchen. Great Scott, Billy, how long are you going to
+stand this?"
+
+Billy tossed her head airily, though she shook in her shoes. Billy had
+been dreading this moment.
+
+"I'm not standing it. She's gone," responded Billy, cheerfully, resuming
+her seat. "Uncle William, sha'n't I give you some more pudding?"
+
+"Gone, so soon?" groaned Bertram, as William passed his plate, with a
+smiling nod. "Oh, well," went on Bertram, resignedly, "she stayed longer
+than the last one. When is the next one coming?"
+
+"She's already here."
+
+Bertram frowned.
+
+"Here? But--you served the dessert, and--" At something in Billy's
+face, a quick suspicion came into his own. "Billy, you don't mean that
+you--_you_--"
+
+"Yes," she nodded brightly, "that's just what I mean. I'm the next one."
+
+"Nonsense!" exploded Bertram, wrathfully. "Oh, come, Billy, we've been
+all over this before. You know I can't have it."
+
+"Yes, you can. You've got to have it," retorted Billy, still with that
+disarming, airy cheerfulness. "Besides, 'twon't be half so bad as you
+think. Wasn't that a good pudding to-night? Didn't you both come back
+for more? Well, I made it."
+
+"Puddings!" ejaculated Bertram, with an impatient gesture. "Billy,
+as I've said before, it takes something besides puddings to run this
+house."
+
+"Yes, I know it does," dimpled Billy, "and I've got Mrs. Durgin for that
+part. She's coming twice a week, and more, if I need her. Why, dearie,
+you don't know anything about how comfortable you're going to be! I'll
+leave it to Uncle William if--"
+
+But Uncle William had gone. Silently he had slipped from his chair and
+disappeared. Uncle William, it might be mentioned in passing, had never
+quite forgotten Aunt Hannah's fateful call with its dire revelations
+concerning a certain unwanted, superfluous, third-party husband's
+brother. Remembering this, there were times when he thought absence was
+both safest and best. This was one of the times.
+
+"But, Billy, dear," still argued Bertram, irritably, "how can you? You
+don't know how. You've had no experience."
+
+Billy threw back her shoulders. An ominous light came to her eyes. She
+was no longer airily playful.
+
+"That's exactly it, Bertram. I don't know how--but I'm going to learn. I
+haven't had experience--but I'm going to get it. I _can't_ make a worse
+mess of it than we've had ever since Eliza went, anyway!"
+
+"But if you'd get a maid--a good maid," persisted Bertram, feebly.
+
+"I had _one_--Mary Ellen. She was a good maid--until she found out how
+little her mistress knew; then--well, you know what it was then. Do you
+think I'd let that thing happen to me again? No, sir! I'm going into
+training for--my next Mary Ellen!" And with a very majestic air Billy
+rose from the table and began to clear away the dishes.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII. THE EFFICIENCY STAR--AND BILLY
+
+
+Billy was not a young woman that did things by halves. Long ago, in
+the days of her childhood, her Aunt Ella had once said of her: "If only
+Billy didn't go into things all over, so; but whether it's measles or
+mud pies, I always know that she'll be the measliest or the muddiest
+of any child in town!" It could not be expected, therefore, that Billy
+would begin to play her new role now with any lack of enthusiasm. But
+even had she needed any incentive, there was still ever ringing in her
+ears Bertram's accusing: "If you'd tend to your husband and your home
+a little more--" Billy still declared very emphatically that she
+had forgiven Bertram; but she knew, in her heart, that she had not
+forgotten.
+
+Certainly, as the days passed, it could not be said that Billy was not
+tending to her husband and her home. From morning till night, now,
+she tended to nothing else. She seldom touched her piano--save to dust
+it--and she never touched her half-finished song-manuscript, long since
+banished to the oblivion of the music cabinet. She made no calls except
+occasional flying visits to the Annex, or to the pretty new home
+where Marie and Cyril were now delightfully settled. The opera and the
+Symphony were over for the season, but even had they not been, Billy
+could not have attended them. She had no time. Surely she was not
+doing any "gallivanting" now, she told herself sometimes, a little
+aggrievedly.
+
+There was, indeed, no time. From morning until night Billy was busy,
+flying from one task to another. Her ambition to have everything just
+right was equalled only by her dogged determination to "just show them"
+that she could do this thing. At first, of course, hampered as she was
+by ignorance and inexperience, each task consumed about twice as much
+time as was necessary. Yet afterwards, when accustomedness had brought
+its reward of speed, there was still for Billy no time; for increased
+knowledge had only opened the way to other paths, untrodden and
+alluring. Study of cookbooks had led to the study of food values. Billy
+discovered suddenly that potatoes, beef, onions, oranges, and puddings
+were something besides vegetables, meat, fruit, and dessert. They
+possessed attributes known as proteids, fats, and carbohydrates. Faint
+memories of long forgotten school days hinted that these terms had been
+heard before; but never, Billy was sure, had she fully realized what
+they meant.
+
+It was at this juncture that Billy ran across a book entitled "Correct
+Eating for Efficiency." She bought it at once, and carried it home
+in triumph. It proved to be a marvelous book. Billy had not read two
+chapters before she began to wonder how the family had managed to live
+thus far with any sort of success, in the face of their dense ignorance
+and her own criminal carelessness concerning their daily bill of fare.
+
+At dinner that night Billy told Bertram and William of her discovery,
+and, with growing excitement, dilated on the wonderful good that it was
+to bring to them.
+
+"Why, you don't know, you can't imagine what a treasure it is!" she
+exclaimed. "It gives a complete table for the exact balancing of food."
+
+"For what?" demanded Bertram, glancing up.
+
+"The exact balancing of food; and this book says that's the biggest
+problem that modern scientists have to solve."
+
+"Humph!" shrugged Bertram. "Well, you just balance my food to my hunger,
+and I'll agree not to complain."
+
+"Oh, but, Bertram, it's serious, really," urged Billy, looking genuinely
+distressed. "Why, it says that what you eat goes to make up what you
+are. It makes your vital energies. Your brain power and your body
+power come from what you eat. Don't you see? If you're going to paint
+a picture you need something different from what you would if you were
+going to--to saw wood; and what this book tells is--is what I ought to
+give you to make you do each one, I should think, from what I've read
+so far. Now don't you see how important it is? What if I should give you
+the saw-wood kind of a breakfast when you were just going up-stairs to
+paint all day? And what if I should give Uncle William a--a soldier's
+breakfast when all he is going to do is to go down on State Street and
+sit still all day?"
+
+"But--but, my dear," began Uncle William, looking slightly worried,
+"there's my eggs that I _always_ have, you know."
+
+"For heaven's sake, Billy, what _have_ you got hold of now?" demanded
+Bertram, with just a touch of irritation.
+
+Billy laughed merrily.
+
+"Well, I suppose I didn't sound very logical," she admitted. "But the
+book--you just wait. It's in the kitchen. I'm going to get it." And with
+laughing eagerness she ran from the room.
+
+In a moment she had returned, book in hand.
+
+"Now listen. _This_ is the real thing--not my garbled inaccuracies. 'The
+food which we eat serves three purposes: it builds the body substance,
+bone, muscle, etc., it produces heat in the body, and it generates vital
+energy. Nitrogen in different chemical combinations contributes largely
+to the manufacture of body substances; the fats produce heat; and the
+starches and sugars go to make the vital energy. The nitrogenous food
+elements we call proteins; the fats and oils, fats; and the starches and
+sugars (because of the predominance of carbon), we call carbohydrates.
+Now in selecting the diet for the day you should take care to choose
+those foods which give the proteins, fats, and carbohydrates in just the
+right proportion.'"
+
+"Oh, Billy!" groaned Bertram.
+
+"But it's so, Bertram," maintained Billy, anxiously. "And it's every bit
+here. I don't have to guess at it at all. They even give the quantities
+of calories of energy required for different sized men. I'm going
+to measure you both to-morrow; and you must be weighed, too," she
+continued, ignoring the sniffs of remonstrance from her two listeners.
+"Then I'll know just how many calories to give each of you. They say a
+man of average size and weight, and sedentary occupation, should have
+at least 2,000 calories--and some authorities say 3,000--in this
+proportion: proteins, 300 calories, fats, 350 calories, carbohydrates,
+1,350 calories. But you both are taller than five feet five inches, and
+I should think you weighed more than 145 pounds; so I can't tell just
+yet how many calories you will need."
+
+"How many we will need, indeed!" ejaculated Bertram.
+
+"But, my dear, you know I have to have my eggs," began Uncle William
+again, in a worried voice.
+
+"Of course you do, dear; and you shall have them," soothed Billy,
+brightly. "It's only that I'll have to be careful and balance up the
+other things for the day accordingly. Don't you see? Now listen. We'll
+see what eggs are." She turned the leaves rapidly. "Here's the food
+table. It's lovely. It tells everything. I never saw anything so
+wonderful. A--b--c--d--e--here we are. 'Eggs, scrambled or boiled, fats
+and proteins, one egg, 100.' If it's poached it's only 50; but you like
+yours boiled, so we'll have to reckon on the 100. And you always have
+two, so that means 200 calories in fats and proteins. Now, don't you
+see? If you can't have but 300 proteins and 350 fats all day, and you've
+already eaten 200 in your two eggs, that'll leave just--er--450 for all
+the rest of the day,--of fats and proteins, you understand. And you've
+no idea how fast that'll count up. Why, just one serving of butter is
+100 of fats, and eight almonds is another, while a serving of lentils is
+100 of proteins. So you see how it'll go."
+
+"Yes, I see," murmured Uncle William, casting a mournful glance about
+the generously laden table, much as if he were bidding farewell to
+a departing friend. "But if I should want more to eat--" He stopped
+helplessly, and Bertram's aggrieved voice filled the pause.
+
+"Look here, Billy, if you think I'm going to be measured for an egg and
+weighed for an almond, you're much mistaken; because I'm not. I want to
+eat what I like, and as much as I like, whether it's six calories or six
+thousand!"
+
+Billy chuckled, but she raised her hands in pretended shocked protest.
+
+"Six thousand! Mercy! Bertram, I don't know what would happen if you ate
+that quantity; but I'm sure you couldn't paint. You'd just have to saw
+wood and dig ditches to use up all that vital energy."
+
+"Humph!" scoffed Bertram.
+
+"Besides, this is for _efficiency_," went on Billy, with an earnest
+air. "This man owns up that some may think a 2,000 calory ration is
+altogether too small, and he advises such to begin with 3,000 or
+even 3,500--graded, of course, according to a man's size, weight, and
+occupation. But he says one famous man does splendid work on only
+1,800 calories, and another on even 1,600. But that is just a matter of
+chewing. Why, Bertram, you have no idea what perfectly wonderful things
+chewing does."
+
+"Yes, I've heard of that," grunted Bertram; "ten chews to a cherry, and
+sixty to a spoonful of soup. There's an old metronome up-stairs that
+Cyril left. You might bring it down and set it going on the table--so
+many ticks to a mouthful, I suppose. I reckon, with an incentive like
+that to eat, just about two calories would do me. Eh, William?"
+
+"Bertram! Now you're only making fun," chided Billy; "and when it's
+really serious, too. Now listen," she admonished, picking up the
+book again. "'If a man consumes a large amount of meat, and very few
+vegetables, his diet will be too rich in protein, and too lacking in
+carbohydrates. On the other hand, if he consumes great quantities of
+pastry, bread, butter, and tea, his meals will furnish too much energy,
+and not enough building material.' There, Bertram, don't you see?"
+
+"Oh, yes, I see," teased Bertram. "William, better eat what you can
+to-night. I foresee it's the last meal of just _food_ we'll get for some
+time. Hereafter we'll have proteins, fats, and carbohydrates made into
+calory croquettes, and--"
+
+"Bertram!" scolded Billy.
+
+But Bertram would not be silenced.
+
+"Here, just let me take that book," he insisted, dragging the volume
+from Billy's reluctant fingers. "Now, William, listen. Here's your
+breakfast to-morrow morning: strawberries, 100 calories; whole-wheat
+bread, 75 calories; butter, 100 calories (no second helping, mind you,
+or you'd ruin the balance and something would topple); boiled eggs, 200
+calories; cocoa, 100 calories--which all comes to 570 calories. Sounds
+like an English bill of fare with a new kind of foreign money, but
+'tisn't, really, you know. Now for luncheon you can have tomato soup, 50
+calories; potato salad--that's cheap, only 30 calories, and--" But Billy
+pulled the book away then, and in righteous indignation carried it to
+the kitchen.
+
+"You don't deserve anything to eat," she declared with dignity, as she
+returned to the dining-room.
+
+"No?" queried Bertram, his eyebrows uplifted. "Well, as near as I can
+make out we aren't going to get--much."
+
+But Billy did not deign to answer this.
+
+In spite of Bertram's tormenting gibes, Billy did, for some days,
+arrange her meals in accordance with the wonderful table of food given
+in "Correct Eating for Efficiency." To be sure, Bertram, whatever he
+found before him during those days, anxiously asked whether he were
+eating fats, proteins, or carbohydrates; and he worried openly as to the
+possibility of his meal's producing one calory too much or too little,
+thus endangering his "balance."
+
+Billy alternately laughed and scolded, to the unvarying good nature of
+her husband. As it happened, however, even this was not for long, for
+Billy ran across a magazine article on food adulteration; and this so
+filled her with terror lest, in the food served, she were killing her
+family by slow poison, that she forgot all about the proteins, fats,
+and carbohydrates. Her talk these days was of formaldehyde, benzoate of
+soda, and salicylic acid.
+
+Very soon, too, Billy discovered an exclusive Back Bay school for
+instruction in household economics and domestic hygiene. Billy
+investigated it at once, and was immediately aflame with enthusiasm. She
+told Bertram that it taught everything, _everything_ she wanted to know;
+and forthwith she enrolled herself as one of its most devoted pupils, in
+spite of her husband's protests that she knew enough, more than enough,
+already. This school attendance, to her consternation, Billy discovered
+took added time; but in some way she contrived to find it to take.
+
+And so the days passed. Eliza's mother, though better, was still too ill
+for her daughter to leave her. Billy, as the warm weather approached,
+began to look pale and thin. Billy, to tell the truth, was working
+altogether too hard; but she would not admit it, even to herself. At
+first the novelty of the work, and her determination to conquer at all
+costs, had given a fictitious strength to her endurance. Now that the
+novelty had become accustomedness, and the conquering a surety, Billy
+discovered that she had a back that could ache, and limbs that, at
+times, could almost refuse to move from weariness. There was still,
+however, one spur that never failed to urge her to fresh endeavor, and
+to make her, at least temporarily, forget both ache and weariness;
+and that was the comforting thought that now, certainly, even Bertram
+himself must admit that she was tending to her home and her husband.
+
+As to Bertram--Bertram, it is true, had at first uttered frequent and
+vehement protests against his wife's absorption of both mind and body
+in "that plaguy housework," as he termed it. But as the days passed, and
+blessed order superseded chaos, peace followed discord, and delicious,
+well-served meals took the place of the horrors that had been called
+meals in the past, he gradually accepted the change with tranquil
+satisfaction, and forgot to question how it was brought about; though he
+did still, sometimes, rebel because Billy was always too tired, or too
+busy, to go out with him. Of late, however, he had not done even this so
+frequently, for a new "Face of a Girl" had possessed his soul; and all
+his thoughts and most of his time had gone to putting on canvas the
+vision of loveliness that his mind's eye saw.
+
+By June fifteenth the picture was finished. Bertram awoke then to his
+surroundings. He found summer was upon him with no plans made for its
+enjoyment. He found William had started West for a two weeks' business
+trip. But what he did not find one day--at least at first--was his wife,
+when he came home unexpectedly at four o'clock. And Bertram especially
+wanted to find his wife that day, for he had met three people whose
+words had disquieted him not a little. First, Aunt Hannah. She had said:
+
+"Bertram, where is Billy? She hasn't been out to the Annex for a week;
+and the last time she was there she looked sick. I was real worried
+about her."
+
+Cyril had been next.
+
+"Where's Billy?" he had asked abruptly. "Marie says she hasn't seen her
+for two weeks. Marie's afraid she's sick. She says Billy didn't look
+well a bit, when she did see her."
+
+Calderwell had capped the climax. He had said:
+
+"Great Scott, Henshaw, where have you been keeping yourself? And where's
+your wife? Not one of us has caught more than a glimpse of her for
+weeks. She hasn't sung with us, nor played for us, nor let us take her
+anywhere for a month of Sundays. Even Miss Greggory says _she_ hasn't
+seen much of her, and that Billy always says she's too busy to go
+anywhere. But Miss Greggory says she looks pale and thin, and that _she_
+thinks she's worrying too much over running the house. I hope she isn't
+sick!"
+
+"Why, no, Billy isn't sick. Billy's all right," Bertram had answered. He
+had spoken lightly, nonchalantly, with an elaborate air of carelessness;
+but after he had left Calderwell, he had turned his steps abruptly and a
+little hastily toward home.
+
+And he had not found Billy--at least, not at once. He had gone first
+down into the kitchen and dining-room. He remembered then, uneasily,
+that he had always looked for Billy in the kitchen and dining-room, of
+late. To-day, however, she was not there.
+
+On the kitchen table Bertram did see a book wide open, and,
+mechanically, he picked it up. It was a much-thumbed cookbook, and it
+was open where two once-blank pages bore his wife's handwriting. On
+the first page, under the printed heading "Things to Remember," he read
+these sentences:
+
+"That rice swells till every dish in the house is full, and that spinach
+shrinks till you can't find it.
+
+"That beets boil dry if you look out the window.
+
+"That biscuits which look as if they'd been mixed up with a rusty stove
+poker haven't really been so, but have only got too much undissolved
+soda in them."
+
+There were other sentences, but Bertram's eyes chanced to fall on the
+opposite page where the "Things to Remember" had been changed to "Things
+to Forget"; and here Billy had written just four words: "Burns," "cuts,"
+and "yesterday's failures."
+
+Bertram dropped the book then with a spasmodic clearing of his throat,
+and hurriedly resumed his search. When he did find his wife, at last, he
+gave a cry of dismay--she was on her own bed, huddled in a little heap,
+and shaking with sobs.
+
+"Billy! Why, Billy!" he gasped, striding to the bedside.
+
+Billy sat up at once, and hastily wiped her eyes.
+
+"Oh, is it you, B-Bertram? I didn't hear you come in. You--you s-said
+you weren't coming till six o'clock!" she choked.
+
+"Billy, what is the meaning of this?"
+
+"N-nothing. I--I guess I'm just tired."
+
+"What have you been doing?" Bertram spoke sternly, almost sharply. He
+was wondering why he had not noticed before the little hollows in his
+wife's cheeks. "Billy, what have you been doing?"
+
+"Why, n-nothing extra, only some sweeping, and cleaning out the
+refrigerator."
+
+"Sweeping! Cleaning! _You!_ I thought Mrs. Durgin did that."
+
+"She does. I mean she did. But she couldn't come. She broke her
+leg--fell off the stepladder where she was three days ago. So I _had_
+to do it. And to-day, someway, everything went wrong. I burned me, and I
+cut me, and I used two sodas with not any cream of tartar, and I should
+think I didn't know anything, not anything!" And down went Billy's head
+into the pillows again in another burst of sobs.
+
+With gentle yet uncompromising determination, Bertram gathered his
+wife into his arms and carried her to the big chair. There, for a few
+minutes, he soothed and petted her as if she were a tired child--which,
+indeed, she was.
+
+"Billy, this thing has got to stop," he said then. There was a very
+inexorable ring of decision in his voice.
+
+"What thing?"
+
+"This housework business."
+
+Billy sat up with a jerk.
+
+"But, Bertram, it isn't fair. You can't--you mustn't--just because of
+to-day! I _can_ do it. I have done it. I've done it days and days, and
+it's gone beautifully--even if they did say I couldn't!"
+
+"Couldn't what?"
+
+"Be an e-efficient housekeeper."
+
+"Who said you couldn't?"
+
+"Aunt Hannah and K-Kate."
+
+Bertram said a savage word under his breath.
+
+"Holy smoke, Billy! I didn't marry you for a cook or a scrub-lady. If
+you _had_ to do it, that would be another matter, of course; and if we
+did have to do it, we wouldn't have a big house like this for you to do
+it in. But I didn't marry for a cook, and I knew I wasn't getting one
+when I married you."
+
+Billy bridled into instant wrath.
+
+"Well, I like that, Bertram Henshaw! Can't I cook? Haven't I proved that
+I can cook?"
+
+Bertram laughed, and kissed the indignant lips till they quivered into
+an unwilling smile.
+
+"Bless your spunky little heart, of course you have! But that doesn't
+mean that I want you to do it. You see, it so happens that you can do
+other things, too; and I'd rather you did those. Billy, you haven't
+played to me for a week, nor sung to me for a month. You're too tired
+every night to talk, or read together, or go anywhere with me. I married
+for companionship--not cooking and sweeping!"
+
+Billy shook her head stubbornly. Her mouth settled into determined
+lines.
+
+"That's all very well to say. You aren't hungry now, Bertram. But it's
+different when you are, and they said 'twould be."
+
+"Humph! 'They' are Aunt Hannah and Kate, I suppose."
+
+"Yes--and the 'Talk to Young Wives.'"
+
+"The w-what?"
+
+Billy choked a little. She had forgotten that Bertram did not know about
+the "Talk to Young Wives." She wished that she had not mentioned the
+book, but now that she had, she would make the best of it. She drew
+herself up with dignity.
+
+"It's a book; a very nice book. It says lots of things--that have come
+true."
+
+"Where is that book? Let me see it, please."
+
+With visible reluctance Billy got down from her perch on Bertram's knee,
+went to her desk and brought back the book.
+
+Bertram regarded it frowningly, so frowningly that Billy hastened to its
+defense.
+
+"And it's true--what it says in there, and what Aunt Hannah and Kate
+said. It _is_ different when they're hungry! You said yourself if I'd
+tend to my husband and my home a little more, and--"
+
+Bertram looked up with unfeigned amazement.
+
+"I said what?" he demanded.
+
+In a voice shaken with emotion, Billy repeated the fateful words.
+
+"I never--when did I say that?"
+
+"The night Uncle William and I came home from--Pete's."
+
+For a moment Bertram stared dumbly; then a shamed red swept to his
+forehead.
+
+"Billy, _did_ I say that? I ought to be shot if I did. But, Billy, you
+said you'd forgiven me!"
+
+"I did, dear--truly I did; but, don't you see?--it was true. I _hadn't_
+tended to things. So I've been doing it since."
+
+A sudden comprehension illuminated Bertram's face.
+
+"Heavens, Billy! And is that why you haven't been anywhere, or done
+anything? Is that why Calderwell said to-day that you hadn't been with
+them anywhere, and that--Great Scott, Billy! Did you think I was such a
+selfish brute as that?"
+
+"Oh, but when I was going with them I _was_ following the book--I
+thought," quavered Billy; and hurriedly she turned the leaves to a
+carefully marked passage. "It's there--about the outside interests. See?
+I _was_ trying to brush up against them, so that I wouldn't interfere
+with your Art. Then, when you accused me of gallivanting off with--"
+But Bertram swept her back into his arms, and not for some minutes could
+Billy make a coherent speech again.
+
+Then Bertram spoke.
+
+"See here, Billy," he exploded, a little shakily, "if I could get you
+off somewhere on a desert island, where there weren't any Aunt Hannahs
+or Kates, or Talks to Young Wives, I think there'd be a chance to make
+you happy; but--"
+
+"Oh, but there was truth in it," interrupted Billy, sitting erect again.
+"I _didn't_ know how to run a house, and it was perfectly awful while we
+were having all those dreadful maids, one after the other; and no woman
+should be a wife who doesn't know--"
+
+"All right, all right, dear," interrupted Bertram, in his turn. "We'll
+concede that point, if you like. But you _do_ know now. You've got the
+efficient housewife racket down pat even to the last calory your husband
+should be fed; and I'll warrant there isn't a Mary Ellen in Christendom
+who can find a spot of ignorance on you as big as a pinhead! So we'll
+call that settled. What you need now is a good rest; and you're going to
+have it, too. I'm going to have six Mary Ellens here to-morrow morning.
+Six! Do you hear? And all you've got to do is to get your gladdest rags
+together for a trip to Europe with me next month. Because we're going.
+I shall get the tickets to-morrow, _after_ I send the six Mary Ellens
+packing up here. Now come, put on your bonnet. We're going down town to
+dinner."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII. BILLY TRIES HER HAND AT "MANAGING"
+
+
+Bertram did not engage six Mary Ellens the next morning, nor even one,
+as it happened; for that evening, Eliza--who had not been unaware of
+conditions at the Strata--telephoned to say that her mother was so much
+better now she believed she could be spared to come to the Strata for
+several hours each day, if Mrs. Henshaw would like to have her begin in
+that way.
+
+Billy agreed promptly, and declared herself as more than willing to put
+up with such an arrangement. Bertram, it is true, when he heard of
+the plan, rebelled, and asserted that what Billy needed was a rest, an
+entire rest from care and labor. In fact, what he wanted her to do, he
+said, was to gallivant--to gallivant all day long.
+
+"Nonsense!" Billy had laughed, coloring to the tips of her ears.
+"Besides, as for the work, Bertram, with just you and me here, and with
+all my vast experience now, and Eliza here for several hours every day,
+it'll be nothing but play for this little time before we go away. You'll
+see!"
+
+"All right, I'll _see_, then," Bertram had nodded meaningly. "But just
+make sure that it _is_ play for you!"
+
+"I will," laughed Billy; and there the matter had ended.
+
+Eliza began work the next day, and Billy did indeed soon find herself
+"playing" under Bertram's watchful insistence. She resumed her music,
+and brought out of exile the unfinished song. With Bertram she took
+drives and walks; and every two or three days she went to see Aunt
+Hannah and Marie. She was pleasantly busy, too, with plans for her
+coming trip; and it was not long before even the remorseful Bertram had
+to admit that Billy was looking and appearing quite like her old self.
+
+At the Annex Billy found Calderwell and Arkwright, one day. They greeted
+her as if she had just returned from a far country.
+
+"Well, if you aren't the stranger lady," began Calderwell, looking
+frankly pleased to see her. "We'd thought of advertising in the daily
+press somewhat after this fashion: 'Lost, strayed, or stolen, one
+Billy; comrade, good friend, and kind cheerer-up of lonely hearts. Any
+information thankfully received by her bereft, sorrowing friends.'"
+
+Billy joined in the laugh that greeted this sally, but Arkwright
+noticed that she tried to change the subject from her own affairs to
+a discussion of the new song on Alice Greggory's piano. Calderwell,
+however, was not to be silenced.
+
+"The last I heard of this elusive Billy," he resumed, with teasing
+cheerfulness, "she was running down a certain lost calory that had
+slipped away from her husband's breakfast, and--"
+
+Billy wheeled sharply.
+
+"Where did you get hold of that?" she demanded.
+
+"Oh, I didn't," returned the man, defensively. "I never got hold of it
+at all. I never even saw the calory--though, for that matter, I don't
+think I should know one if I did see it! What we feared was, that, in
+hunting the lost calory, you had lost yourself, and--" But Billy would
+hear no more. With her disdainful nose in the air she walked to the
+piano.
+
+"Come, Mr. Arkwright," she said with dignity. "Let's try this song."
+
+Arkwright rose at once and accompanied her to the piano.
+
+They had sung the song through twice when Billy became uneasily aware
+that, on the other side of the room, Calderwell and Alice Greggory were
+softly chuckling over something they had found in a magazine. Billy
+frowned, and twitched the corners of a pile of music, with restless
+fingers.
+
+"I wonder if Alice hasn't got some quartets here somewhere," she
+murmured, her disapproving eyes still bent on the absorbed couple across
+the room.
+
+Arkwright was silent. Billy, throwing a hurried glance into his face,
+thought she detected a somber shadow in his eyes. She thought, too, she
+knew why it was there. So possessed had Billy been, during the early
+winter, of the idea that her special mission in life was to inaugurate
+and foster a love affair between disappointed Mr. Arkwright and lonely
+Alice Greggory, that now she forgot, for a moment, that Arkwright
+himself was quite unaware of her efforts. She thought only that the
+present shadow on his face must be caused by the same thing that brought
+worry to her own heart--the manifest devotion of Calderwell to Alice
+Greggory just now across the room. Instinctively, therefore, as to a
+coworker in a common cause, she turned a disturbed face to the man at
+her side.
+
+"It is, indeed, high time that I looked after something besides lost
+calories," she said significantly. Then, at the evident uncomprehension
+in Arkwright's face, she added: "Has it been going on like this--very
+long?"
+
+Arkwright still, apparently, did not understand.
+
+"Has--what been going on?" he questioned.
+
+"That--over there," answered Billy, impatiently, scarcely knowing
+whether to be more irritated at the threatened miscarriage of her
+cherished plans, or at Arkwright's (to her) wilfully blind insistence
+on her making her meaning more plain. "Has it been going on long--such
+utter devotion?"
+
+As she asked the question Billy turned and looked squarely into
+Arkwright's face. She saw, therefore, the great change that came to it,
+as her meaning became clear to him. Her first feeling was one of
+shocked realization that Arkwright had, indeed, been really blind. Her
+second--she turned away her eyes hurriedly from what she thought she saw
+in the man's countenance.
+
+With an assumedly gay little cry she sprang to her feet.
+
+"Come, come, what are you two children chuckling over?" she demanded,
+crossing the room abruptly. "Didn't you hear me say I wanted you to come
+and sing a quartet?"
+
+Billy blamed herself very much for what she called her stupidity in so
+baldly summoning Arkwright's attention to Calderwell's devotion to Alice
+Greggory. She declared that she ought to have known better, and she
+asked herself if this were the way she was "furthering matters" between
+Alice Greggory and Arkwright.
+
+Billy was really seriously disturbed. She had never quite forgiven
+herself for being so blind to Arkwright's feeling for herself during
+those days when he had not known of her engagement to Bertram. She had
+never forgotten, either, the painful scene when he had hopefully told
+of his love, only to be met with her own shocked repudiation. For long
+weeks after that, his face had haunted her. She had wished, oh,
+so ardently, that she could do something in some way to bring him
+happiness. When, therefore, it had come to her knowledge afterward that
+he was frequently with his old friend, Alice Greggory, she had been so
+glad. It was very easy then to fan hope into conviction that here, in
+this old friend, he had found sweet balm for his wounded heart; and she
+determined at once to do all that she could do to help. So very glowing,
+indeed, was her eagerness in the matter, that it looked suspiciously as
+if she thought, could she but bring this thing about, that old scores
+against herself would be erased.
+
+Billy told herself, virtuously, however, that not only for Arkwright did
+she desire this marriage to take place, but for Alice Greggory. In the
+very nature of things Alice would one day be left alone. She was poor,
+and not very strong. She sorely needed the shielding love and care of
+a good husband. What more natural than that her old-time friend and
+almost-sweetheart, M. J. Arkwright, should be that good husband?
+
+That really it was more Arkwright and less Alice that was being
+considered, however, was proved when the devotion of Calderwell began to
+be first suspected, then known for a fact. Billy's distress at this turn
+of affairs indicated very plainly that it was not just a husband, but a
+certain one particular husband that she desired for Alice Greggory. All
+the more disturbed was she, therefore, when to-day, seeing her three
+friends together again for the first time for some weeks, she discovered
+increased evidence that her worst fears were to be realized. It was to
+be Alice and Calderwell, not Alice and Arkwright. Arkwright was again to
+be disappointed in his dearest hopes.
+
+Telling herself indignantly that it could not be, it _should_ not be,
+Billy determined to remain after the men had gone, and speak to Alice.
+Just what she would say she did not know. Even what she could say, she
+was not sure. But certainly there must be something, some little thing
+that she could say, which would open Alice's eyes to what she was doing,
+and what she ought to do.
+
+It was in this frame of mind, therefore, that Billy, after Arkwright
+and Calderwell had gone, spoke to Alice. She began warily, with assumed
+nonchalance.
+
+"I believe Mr. Arkwright sings better every time I hear him."
+
+There was no answer. Alice was sorting music at the piano.
+
+"Don't you think so?" Billy raised her voice a little.
+
+Alice turned almost with a start.
+
+"What's that? Oh, yes. Well, I don't know; maybe I do."
+
+"You would--if you didn't hear him any oftener than I do," laughed
+Billy. "But then, of course you do hear him oftener."
+
+"I? Oh, no, indeed. Not so very much oftener." Alice had turned back
+to her music. There was a slight embarrassment in her manner. "I
+wonder--where--that new song--is," she murmured.
+
+Billy, who knew very well where the song lay, was not to be diverted.
+
+"Nonsense! As if Mr. Arkwright wasn't always telling how Alice liked
+this song, and didn't like that one, and thought the other the best yet!
+I don't believe he sings a thing that he doesn't first sing to you. For
+that matter, I fancy he asks your opinion of everything, anyway."
+
+"Why, Billy, he doesn't!" exclaimed Alice, a deep red flaming into her
+cheeks. "You know he doesn't."
+
+Billy laughed gleefully. She had not been slow to note the color in her
+friend's face, or to ascribe to it the one meaning she wished to ascribe
+to it. So sure, indeed, was she now that her fears had been groundless,
+that she flung caution to the winds.
+
+"Ho! My dear Alice, you can't expect us all to be blind," she teased.
+"Besides, we all think it's such a lovely arrangement that we're just
+glad to see it. He's such a fine fellow, and we like him so much! We
+couldn't ask for a better husband for you than Mr. Arkwright, and--"
+From sheer amazement at the sudden white horror in Alice Greggory's
+face, Billy stopped short. "Why, Alice!" she faltered then.
+
+With a visible effort Alice forced her trembling lips to speak.
+
+"My husband--_Mr. Arkwright!_ Why, Billy, you couldn't have seen--you
+haven't seen--there's nothing you _could_ see! He isn't--he wasn't--he
+can't be! We--we're nothing but friends, Billy, just good friends!"
+
+Billy, though dismayed, was still not quite convinced.
+
+"Friends! Nonsense! When--"
+
+But Alice interrupted feverishly. Alice, in an agony of fear lest the
+true state of affairs should be suspected, was hiding behind a bulwark
+of pride.
+
+"Now, Billy, please! Say no more. You're quite wrong, entirely. You'll
+never, never hear of my marrying Mr. Arkwright. As I said before, we're
+friends--the best of friends; that is all. We couldn't be anything else,
+possibly!"
+
+Billy, plainly discomfited, fell back; but she threw a sharp glance into
+her friend's flushed countenance.
+
+"You mean--because of--Hugh Calderwell?" she demanded. Then, for the
+second time that afternoon throwing discretion to the winds, she went on
+plaintively: "You won't listen, of course. Girls in love never do. Hugh
+is all right, and I like him; but there's more real solid worth in Mr.
+Arkwright's little finger than there is in Hugh's whole self. And--" But
+a merry peal of laughter from Alice Greggory interrupted.
+
+"And, pray, do you think I'm in love with Hugh Calderwell?" she
+demanded. There was a curious note of something very like relief in her
+voice.
+
+"Well, I didn't know," began Billy, uncertainly.
+
+"Then I'll tell you now," smiled Alice. "I'm not. Furthermore, perhaps
+it's just as well that you should know right now that I don't intend to
+marry--ever."
+
+"Oh, Alice!"
+
+"No." There was determination, and there was still that curious note of
+relief in the girl's voice. It was as if, somewhere, a great danger had
+been avoided. "I have my music. That is enough. I'm not intending to
+marry."
+
+"Oh, but Alice, while I will own up I'm glad it isn't Hugh Calderwell,
+there _is_ Mr. Arkwright, and I did hope--" But Alice shook her head and
+turned resolutely away. At that moment, too, Aunt Hannah came in from
+the street, so Billy could say no more.
+
+Aunt Hannah dropped herself a little wearily into a chair.
+
+"I've just come from Marie's," she said.
+
+"How is she?" asked Billy.
+
+Aunt Hannah smiled, and raised her eyebrows.
+
+"Well, just now she's quite exercised over another rattle--from her
+cousin out West, this time. There were four little silver bells on it,
+and she hasn't got any janitor's wife now to give it to."
+
+Billy laughed softly, but Aunt Hannah had more to say.
+
+"You know she isn't going to allow any toys but Teddy bears and woolly
+lambs, of which, I believe, she has already bought quite an assortment.
+She says they don't rattle or squeak. I declare, when I see the woolen
+pads and rubber hushers that that child has put everywhere all over the
+house, I don't know whether to laugh or cry. And she's so worried! It
+seems Cyril must needs take just this time to start composing a new
+opera or symphony, or something; and never before has she allowed him to
+be interrupted by anything on such an occasion. But what he'll do when
+the baby comes she says she doesn't know, for she says she can't--she
+just can't keep it from bothering him some, she's afraid. As if any
+opera or symphony that ever lived was of more consequence than a man's
+own child!" finished Aunt Hannah, with an indignant sniff, as she
+reached for her shawl.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX. A TOUGH NUT TO CRACK FOR CYRIL
+
+
+It was early in the forenoon of the first day of July that Eliza told
+her mistress that Mrs. Stetson was asking for her at the telephone.
+Eliza's face was not a little troubled.
+
+"I'm afraid, maybe, it isn't good news," she stammered, as her mistress
+hurriedly arose. "She's at Mr. Cyril Henshaw's--Mrs. Stetson is--and she
+seemed so terribly upset about something that there was no making real
+sense out of what she said. But she asked for you, and said to have you
+come quick."
+
+Billy, her own face paling, was already at the telephone.
+
+"Yes, Aunt Hannah. What is it?"
+
+"Oh, my grief and conscience, Billy, if you _can_, come up here, please.
+You must come! _Can't_ you come?"
+
+"Why, yes, of course. But--but--_Marie!_ The--the _baby!_"
+
+A faint groan came across the wires.
+
+"Oh, my grief and conscience, Billy! It isn't _the_ baby. It's _babies!_
+It's twins--boys. Cyril has them now--the nurse hasn't got here yet."
+
+"Twins! _Cyril_ has them!" broke in Billy, hysterically.
+
+"Yes, and they're crying something terrible. We've sent for a second
+nurse to come, too, of course, but she hasn't got here yet, either. And
+those babies--if you could hear them! That's what we want you for, to--"
+
+But Billy was almost laughing now.
+
+"All right, I'll come out--and hear them," she called a bit wildly, as
+she hung up the receiver.
+
+Some little time later, a palpably nervous maid admitted Billy to the
+home of Mr. and Mrs. Cyril Henshaw. Even as the door was opened, Billy
+heard faintly, but unmistakably, the moaning wails of two infants.
+
+"Mrs. Stetson says if you will please to help Mr. Henshaw with the
+babies," stammered the maid, after the preliminary questions and
+answers. "I've been in when I could, and they're all right, only
+they're crying. They're in his den. We had to put them as far away as
+possible--their crying worried Mrs. Henshaw so."
+
+"Yes, I see," murmured Billy. "I'll go to them at once. No, don't
+trouble to come. I know the way. Just tell Mrs. Stetson I'm here,
+please," she finished, as she tossed her hat and gloves on to the hall
+table, and turned to go upstairs.
+
+Billy's feet made no sound on the soft rugs. The crying, however, grew
+louder and louder as she approached the den. Softly she turned the knob
+and pushed open the door. She stopped short, then, at what she saw.
+
+Cyril had not heard her, nor seen her. His back was partly toward the
+door. His coat was off, and his hair stood fiercely on end as if a
+nervous hand had ruffled it. His usually pale face was very red, and
+his forehead showed great drops of perspiration. He was on his feet,
+hovering over the couch, at each end of which lay a rumpled roll of
+linen, lace, and flannel, from which emerged a prodigiously puckered
+little face, two uncertainly waving rose-leaf fists, and a wail of
+protesting rage that was not uncertain in the least.
+
+In one hand Cyril held a Teddy bear, in the other his watch, dangling
+from its fob chain. Both of these he shook feebly, one after the other,
+above the tiny faces.
+
+"Oh, come, come, pretty baby, good baby, hush, hush," he begged
+agitatedly.
+
+In the doorway Billy clapped her hands to her lips and stifled a laugh.
+Billy knew, of course, that what she should do was to go forward at
+once, and help this poor, distracted man; but Billy, just then, was not
+doing what she knew she ought to do.
+
+With a muttered ejaculation (which Billy, to her sorrow, could not
+catch) Cyril laid down the watch and flung the Teddy bear aside. Then,
+in very evident despair, he gingerly picked up one of the rumpled rolls
+of flannel, lace, and linen, and held it straight out before him. After
+a moment's indecision he began awkwardly to jounce it, teeter it, rock
+it back and forth, and to pat it jerkily.
+
+"Oh, come, come, pretty baby, good baby, hush, hush," he begged again,
+frantically.
+
+Perhaps it was the change of position; perhaps it was the novelty of the
+motion, perhaps it was only utter weariness, or lack of breath. Whatever
+the cause, the wailing sobs from the bundle in his arms dwindled
+suddenly to a gentle whisper, then ceased altogether.
+
+With a ray of hope illuminating his drawn countenance, Cyril carefully
+laid the baby down and picked up the other. Almost confidently now he
+began the jouncing and teetering and rocking as before.
+
+"There, there! Oh, come, come, pretty baby, good baby, hush, hush," he
+chanted again.
+
+This time he was not so successful. Perhaps he had lost his skill.
+Perhaps it was merely the world-old difference in babies. At all events,
+this infant did not care for jerks and jounces, and showed it plainly by
+emitting loud and yet louder wails of rage--wails in which his brother
+on the couch speedily joined.
+
+"Oh, come, come, pretty baby, good baby, hush, hush--_confound it_,
+HUSH, I say!" exploded the frightened, weary, baffled, distracted man,
+picking up the other baby, and trying to hold both his sons at once.
+
+Billy hurried forward then, tearfully, remorsefully, her face all
+sympathy, her arms all tenderness.
+
+"Here, Cyril, let me help you," she cried.
+
+Cyril turned abruptly.
+
+"Thank God, _some_ one's come," he groaned, holding out both the babies,
+with an exuberance of generosity. "Billy, you've saved my life!"
+
+Billy laughed tremulously.
+
+"Yes, I've come, Cyril, and I'll help every bit I can; but I don't know
+a thing--not a single thing about them myself. Dear me, aren't they
+cunning? But, Cyril, do they always cry so?"
+
+The father-of-an-hour drew himself stiffly erect.
+
+"Cry? What do you mean? Why shouldn't they cry?" he demanded
+indignantly. "I want you to understand that Doctor Brown said those were
+A number I fine boys! Anyhow, I guess there's no doubt they've got
+lungs all right," he added, with a grim smile, as he pulled out his
+handkerchief and drew it across his perspiring brow.
+
+Billy did not have an opportunity to show Cyril how much or how little
+she knew about babies, for in another minute the maid had appeared with
+the extra nurse; and that young woman, with trained celerity and easy
+confidence, assumed instant command, and speedily had peace and order
+restored.
+
+Cyril, freed from responsibility, cast longing eyes, for a moment, upon
+his work; but the next minute, with a despairing glance about him, he
+turned and fled precipitately.
+
+Billy, following the direction of his eyes, suppressed a smile. On the
+top of Cyril's manuscript music on the table lay a hot-water bottle.
+Draped over the back of his favorite chair was a pink-bordered baby
+blanket. On the piano-stool rested a beribboned and beruffled baby's
+toilet basket. From behind the sofa pillow leered ridiculously the Teddy
+bear, just as it had left Cyril's desperate hand.
+
+No wonder, indeed, that Billy smiled. Billy was thinking of what Marie
+had said not a week before:
+
+"I shall keep the baby, of course, in the nursery. I've been in homes
+where they've had baby things strewn from one end of the house to
+the other; but it won't be that way here. In the first place, I don't
+believe in it; but, even if I did, I'd have to be careful on account
+of Cyril. Imagine Cyril's trying to write his music with a baby in
+the room! No! I shall keep the baby in the nursery, if possible; but
+wherever it is, it won't be anywhere near Cyril's den, anyway."
+
+Billy suppressed many a smile during the days that immediately followed
+the coming of the twins. Some of the smiles, however, refused to be
+suppressed. They became, indeed, shamelessly audible chuckles.
+
+Billy was to sail the tenth, and, naturally, during those early July
+days, her time was pretty much occupied with her preparations for
+departure; but nothing could keep her from frequent, though short,
+visits to the home of her brother-in-law.
+
+The twins were proving themselves to be fine, healthy boys. Two trained
+maids, and two trained nurses ruled the household with a rod of iron. As
+to Cyril--Billy declared that Cyril was learning something every day of
+his life now.
+
+"Oh, yes, he's learning things," she said to Aunt Hannah, one morning;
+"lots of things. For instance: he has his breakfast now, not when he
+wants it, but when the maid wants to give it to him--which is precisely
+at eight o'clock every morning. So he's learning punctuality. And for
+the first time in his life he has discovered the astounding fact that
+there are several things more important in the world than is the special
+piece of music he happens to be composing--chiefly the twins' bath, the
+twins' nap, the twins' airing, and the twins' colic."
+
+Aunt Hannah laughed, though she frowned, too.
+
+"But, surely, Billy, with two nurses and the maids, Cyril doesn't have
+to--to--" She came to a helpless pause.
+
+"Oh, no," laughed Billy; "Cyril doesn't have to really attend to any of
+those things--though I have seen each of the nurses, at different times,
+unhesitatingly thrust a twin into his arms and bid him hold the child
+till she comes back. But it's this way. You see, Marie must be kept
+quiet, and the nursery is very near her room. It worries her terribly
+when either of the children cries. Besides, the little rascals have
+apparently fixed up some sort of labor-union compact with each other, so
+that if one cries for something or nothing, the other promptly joins in
+and helps. So the nurses have got into the habit of picking up the first
+disturber of the peace, and hurrying him to quarters remote; and Cyril's
+den being the most remote of all, they usually fetch up there."
+
+"You mean--they take those babies into Cyril's den--_now_?" Even Aunt
+Hannah was plainly aghast.
+
+"Yes," twinkled Billy. "I fancy their Hygienic Immaculacies approved
+of Cyril's bare floors, undraped windows, and generally knick-knackless
+condition. Anyhow, they've made his den a sort of--of annex to the
+nursery."
+
+"But--but Cyril! What does he say?" stammered the dumfounded Aunt
+Hannah. "Think of Cyril's standing a thing like that! Doesn't he do
+anything--or say anything?"
+
+Billy smiled, and lifted her brows quizzically.
+
+"My dear Aunt Hannah, did you ever know _many_ people to have the
+courage to 'say things' to one of those becapped, beaproned, bespotless
+creatures of loftily superb superiority known as trained nurses?
+Besides, you wouldn't recognize Cyril now. Nobody would. He's as meek
+as Moses, and has been ever since his two young sons were laid in his
+reluctant, trembling arms. He breaks into a cold sweat at nothing, and
+moves about his own home as if he were a stranger and an interloper,
+endured merely on sufferance in this abode of strange women and strange
+babies."
+
+"Nonsense!" scoffed Aunt Hannah.
+
+"But it's so," maintained Billy, merrily. "Now, for instance. You know
+Cyril always has been in the habit of venting his moods on the piano
+(just as I do, only more so) by playing exactly as he feels. Well, as
+near as I can gather, he was at his usual trick the next day after the
+twins arrived; and you can imagine about what sort of music it would be,
+after what he had been through the preceding forty-eight hours.
+
+"Of course I don't know exactly what happened, but Julia--Marie's second
+maid, you know--tells the story. She's been with them long enough to
+know something of the way the whole household always turns on the pivot
+of the master's whims; so she fully appreciated the situation. She
+says she heard him begin to play, and that she never heard such queer,
+creepy, shivery music in her life; but that he hadn't been playing five
+minutes before one of the nurses came into the living-room where Julia
+was dusting, and told her to tell whoever was playing to stop that
+dreadful noise, as they wanted to take the twins in there for their nap.
+
+"'But I didn't do it, ma'am,' Julia says. 'I wa'n't lookin' for losin'
+my place, an' I let the young woman do the job herself. An' she done
+it, pert as you please. An' jest as I was seekin' a hidin'-place for the
+explosion, if Mr. Henshaw didn't come out lookin' a little wild, but as
+meek as a lamb; an' when he sees me he asked wouldn't I please get him a
+cup of coffee, good an' strong. An' I got it.'
+
+"So you see," finished Billy, "Cyril is learning things--lots of
+things."
+
+"Oh, my grief and conscience! I should say he was," half-shivered Aunt
+Hannah. "_Cyril_ looking meek as a lamb, indeed!"
+
+Billy laughed merrily.
+
+"Well, it must be a new experience--for Cyril. For a man whose daily
+existence for years has been rubber-heeled and woolen-padded, and whose
+family from boyhood has stood at attention and saluted if he so much as
+looked at them, it must be quite a change, as things are now. However,
+it'll be different, of course, when Marie is on her feet again."
+
+"Does she know at all how things are going?"
+
+"Not very much, as yet, though I believe she has begun to worry some.
+She confided to me one day that she was glad, of course, that she had
+two darling babies, instead of one; but that she was afraid it might be
+hard, just at first, to teach them both at once to be quiet; for she was
+afraid that while she was teaching one, the other would be sure to cry,
+or do something noisy."
+
+"Do something noisy, indeed!" ejaculated Aunt Hannah.
+
+"As for the real state of affairs, Marie doesn't dream that Cyril's
+sacred den is given over to Teddy bears and baby blankets. All is, I
+hope she'll be measurably strong before she does find it out," laughed
+Billy, as she rose to go.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX. ARKWRIGHT'S EYES ARE OPENED
+
+
+William came back from his business trip the eighth of July, and on the
+ninth Billy and Bertram went to New York. Eliza's mother was so well
+now that Eliza had taken up her old quarters in the Strata, and the
+household affairs were once more running like clockwork. Later in the
+season William would go away for a month's fishing trip, and the house
+would be closed.
+
+Mr. and Mrs. Bertram Henshaw were not expected to return until the first
+of October; but with Eliza to look after the comfort of William, the
+mistress of the house did no worrying. Ever since Pete's going, Eliza
+had said that she preferred to be the only maid, with a charwoman to
+come in for the heavier work; and to this arrangement her mistress had
+willingly consented, for the present.
+
+Marie and the babies were doing finely, and Aunt Hannah's health, and
+affairs at the Annex, were all that could be desired. As Billy, indeed,
+saw it, there was only one flaw to mar her perfect content on this
+holiday trip with Bertram, and that was her disappointment over the very
+evident disaster that had come to her cherished matrimonial plans for
+Arkwright and Alice Greggory. She could not forget Arkwright's face
+that day at the Annex, when she had so foolishly called his attention
+to Calderwell's devotion; and she could not forget, either, Alice
+Greggory's very obvious perturbation a little later, and her
+suspiciously emphatic assertion that she had no intention of marrying
+any one, certainly not Arkwright. As Billy thought of all this now, she
+could not but admit that it did look dark for Arkwright--poor Arkwright,
+whom she, more than any one else in the world, perhaps, had a special
+reason for wishing to see happily married.
+
+There was, then, this one cloud on Billy's horizon as the big boat that
+was to bear her across the water steamed down the harbor that beautiful
+July day.
+
+As it chanced, naturally, perhaps, not only was Billy thinking of
+Arkwright that morning, but Arkwright was thinking of Billy.
+
+Arkwright had thought frequently of Billy during the last few days,
+particularly since that afternoon meeting at the Annex when the four had
+renewed their old good times together. Up to that day Arkwright had been
+trying not to think of Billy. He had been "fighting his tiger skin."
+Sternly he had been forcing himself to meet her, to see her, to talk
+with her, to sing with her, or to pass her by--all with the indifference
+properly expected to be shown in association with Mrs. Bertram Henshaw,
+another man's wife. He had known, of course, that deep down in his
+heart he loved her, always had loved her, and always would love her.
+Hopelessly and drearily he accepted this as a fact even while with all
+his might fighting that tiger skin. So sure was he, indeed, of this, so
+implicitly had he accepted it as an unalterable certainty, that in time
+even his efforts to fight it became almost mechanical and unconscious in
+their stern round of forced indifference.
+
+Then came that day at the Annex--and the discovery: the discovery which
+he had made when Billy called his attention to Calderwell and Alice
+Greggory across the room in the corner; the discovery which had come
+with so blinding a force, and which even now he was tempted to question
+as to its reality; the discovery that not Billy Neilson, nor Mrs.
+Bertram Henshaw, nor even the tender ghost of a lost love held the
+center of his heart--but Alice Greggory.
+
+The first intimation of all this had come with his curious feeling of
+unreasoning hatred and blind indignation toward Calderwell as,
+through Billy's eyes, he had seen the two together. Then had come
+the overwhelming longing to pick up Alice Greggory and run off with
+her--somewhere, anywhere, so that Calderwell could not follow.
+
+At once, however, he had pulled himself up short with the mental cry of
+"Absurd!" What was it to him if Calderwell did care for Alice Greggory?
+Surely he himself was not in love with the girl. He was in love with
+Billy; that is--
+
+It was all confusion then, in his mind, and he was glad indeed when he
+could leave the house. He wanted to be alone. He wanted to think. He
+must, in some way, thrash out this astounding thing that had come to
+him.
+
+Arkwright did not visit the Annex again for some days. Until he was more
+nearly sure of himself and of his feelings, he did not wish to see Alice
+Greggory. It was then that he began to think of Billy, deliberately,
+purposefully, for it must be, of course, that he had made a mistake,
+he told himself. It must be that he did, really, still care for
+Billy--though of course he ought not to.
+
+Arkwright made another discovery then. He learned that, however
+deliberately he started in to think of Billy, he ended every time in
+thinking of Alice. He thought of how good she had been to him, and of
+how faithful she had been in helping him to fight his love for Billy.
+Just here he decided, for a moment, that probably, after all, his
+feeling of anger against Calderwell was merely the fear of losing this
+helpful comradeship that he so needed. Even with himself, however,
+Arkwright could not keep up this farce long, and very soon he admitted
+miserably that it was not the comradeship of Alice Greggory that he
+wanted or needed, but the love.
+
+He knew it now. No longer was there any use in beating about the bush.
+He did love Alice Greggory; but so curiously and unbelievably stupid had
+he been that he had not found it out until now. And now it was too late.
+Had not even Billy called his attention to the fact of Calderwell's
+devotion? Besides, had not he himself, at the very first, told
+Calderwell that he might have a clear field?
+
+Fool that he had been to let another thus lightly step in and win from
+under his very nose what might have been his if he had but known his own
+mind before it was too late!
+
+But was it, after all, quite too late? He and Alice were old friends.
+Away back in their young days in their native town they had been,
+indeed, almost sweethearts, in a boy-and-girl fashion. It would not have
+taken much in those days, he believed, to have made the relationship
+more interesting. But changes had come. Alice had left town, and for
+years they had drifted apart. Then had come Billy, and Billy had found
+Alice, thus bringing about the odd circumstance of their renewing of
+acquaintanceship. Perhaps, at that time, if he had not already
+thought he cared for Billy, there would have been something more than
+acquaintanceship.
+
+But he _had_ thought he cared for Billy all these years; and now, at
+this late day, to wake up and find that he cared for Alice! A pretty
+mess he had made of things! Was he so inconstant then, so fickle? Did he
+not know his own mind five minutes at a time? What would Alice Greggory
+think, even if he found the courage to tell her? What could she think?
+What could anybody think?
+
+Arkwright fairly ground his teeth in impotent wrath--and he did not know
+whether he were the most angry that he did not love Billy, or that he
+had loved Billy, or that he loved somebody else now.
+
+It was while he was in this unenviable frame of mind that he went to
+see Alice. Not that he had planned definitely to speak to her of his
+discovery, nor yet that he had planned not to. He had, indeed, planned
+nothing. For a man usually so decided as to purpose and energetic as
+to action, he was in a most unhappy state of uncertainty and
+changeableness. One thing only was unmistakably clear to him, and that
+was that he must see Alice.
+
+For months, now, he had taken to Alice all his hopes and griefs,
+perplexities and problems; and never had he failed to find comfort
+in the shape of sympathetic understanding and wise counsel. To Alice,
+therefore, now he turned as a matter of course, telling himself vaguely
+that, perhaps, after he had seen Alice, he would feel better.
+
+Just how intimately this particular problem of his concerned Alice
+herself, he did not stop to realize. He did not, indeed, think of it at
+all from Alice's standpoint--until he came face to face with the girl in
+the living-room at the Annex. Then, suddenly, he did. His manner became
+at once, consequently, full of embarrassment and quite devoid of its
+usual frank friendliness.
+
+As it happened, this was perhaps the most unfortunate thing that could
+have occurred, so far as it concerned the attitude of Alice Greggory,
+for thereby innumerable tiny sparks of suspicion that had been
+tormenting the girl for days were instantly fanned into consuming flames
+of conviction.
+
+Alice had not been slow to note Arkwright's prolonged absence from the
+Annex. Coming as it did so soon after her most disconcerting talk with
+Billy in regard to her own relations with him, it had filled her with
+frightened questionings.
+
+If Billy had seen things to make her think of linking their names
+together, perhaps Arkwright himself had heard some such idea put forth
+somewhere, and that was why he was staying away--to show the world that
+there was no foundation for such rumors. Perhaps he was even doing it to
+show _her_ that--
+
+Even in her thoughts Alice could scarcely bring herself to finish the
+sentence. That Arkwright should ever suspect for a moment that she cared
+for him was intolerable. Painfully conscious as she was that she did
+care for him, it was easy to fear that others must be conscious of it,
+too. Had she not already proof that Billy suspected it? Why, then, might
+not it be quite possible, even probable, that Arkwright suspected it,
+also; and, because he did suspect it, had decided that it would be just
+as well, perhaps, if he did not call so often.
+
+In spite of Alice's angry insistence to herself that, after all, this
+could not be the case--that the man _knew_ she understood he still loved
+Billy--she could not help fearing, in the face of Arkwright's unusual
+absence, that it might yet be true. When, therefore, he finally did
+appear, only to become at once obviously embarrassed in her presence,
+her fears instantly became convictions. It was true, then. The man did
+believe she cared for him, and he had been trying to teach her--to save
+her.
+
+To teach her! To save her, indeed! Very well, he should see! And
+forthwith, from that moment, Alice Greggory's chief reason for living
+became to prove to Mr. M. J. Arkwright that he needed not to teach her,
+to save her, nor yet to sympathize with her.
+
+"How do you do?" she greeted him, with a particularly bright smile. "I'm
+sure I _hope_ you are well, such a beautiful day as this."
+
+"Oh, yes, I'm well, I suppose. Still, I have felt better in my life,"
+smiled Arkwright, with some constraint.
+
+"Oh, I'm sorry," murmured the girl, striving so hard to speak with
+impersonal unconcern that she did not notice the inaptness of her reply.
+
+"Eh? Sorry I've felt better, are you?" retorted Arkwright, with nervous
+humor. Then, because he was embarrassed, he said the one thing he had
+meant not to say: "Don't you think I'm quite a stranger? It's been some
+time since I've been here."
+
+Alice, smarting under the sting of what she judged to be the only
+possible cause for his embarrassment, leaped to this new opportunity to
+show her lack of interest.
+
+"Oh, has it?" she murmured carelessly. "Well, I don't know but it has,
+now that I come to think of it."
+
+Arkwright frowned gloomily. A week ago he would have tossed back a
+laughingly aggrieved remark as to her unflattering indifference to his
+presence. Now he was in no mood for such joking. It was too serious a
+matter with him.
+
+"You've been busy, no doubt, with--other matters," he presumed
+forlornly, thinking of Calderwell.
+
+"Yes, I have been busy," assented the girl. "One is always happier,
+I think, to be busy. Not that I meant that I needed the work to _be_
+happy," she added hastily, in a panic lest he think she had a consuming
+sorrow to kill.
+
+"No, of course not," he murmured abstractedly, rising to his feet and
+crossing the room to the piano. Then, with an elaborate air of trying to
+appear very natural, he asked jovially: "Anything new to play to me?"
+
+Alice arose at once.
+
+"Yes. I have a little nocturne that I was playing to Mr. Calderwell last
+night."
+
+"Oh, to Calderwell!" Arkwright had stiffened perceptibly.
+
+"Yes. _He_ didn't like it. I'll play it to you and see what you say,"
+she smiled, seating herself at the piano.
+
+"Well, if he had liked it, it's safe to say I shouldn't," shrugged
+Arkwright.
+
+"Nonsense!" laughed the girl, beginning to appear more like her natural
+self. "I should think you were Mr. Cyril Henshaw! Mr. Calderwell _is_
+partial to ragtime, I'll admit. But there are some good things he
+likes."
+
+"There are, indeed, _some_ good things he likes," returned Arkwright,
+with grim emphasis, his somber eyes fixed on what he believed to be the
+one especial object of Calderwell's affections at the moment.
+
+Alice, unaware both of the melancholy gaze bent upon herself and of the
+cause thereof, laughed again merrily.
+
+"Poor Mr. Calderwell," she cried, as she let her fingers slide into
+soft, introductory chords. "He isn't to blame for not liking what he
+calls our lost spirits that wail. It's just the way he's made."
+
+Arkwright vouchsafed no reply. With an abrupt gesture he turned and
+began to pace the room moodily. At the piano Alice slipped from the
+chords into the nocturne. She played it straight through, then, with a
+charm and skill that brought Arkwright's feet to a pause before it was
+half finished.
+
+"By George, that's great!" he breathed, when the last tone had quivered
+into silence.
+
+"Yes, isn't it--beautiful?" she murmured.
+
+The room was very quiet, and in semi-darkness. The last rays of a late
+June sunset had been filling the room with golden light, but it was gone
+now. Even at the piano by the window, Alice had barely been able to see
+clearly enough to read the notes of her nocturne.
+
+To Arkwright the air still trembled with the exquisite melody that had
+but just left her fingers. A quick fire came to his eyes. He forgot
+everything but that it was Alice there in the half-light by the
+window--Alice, whom he loved. With a low cry he took a swift step toward
+her.
+
+"Alice!"
+
+Instantly the girl was on her feet. But it was not toward him that she
+turned. It was away--resolutely, and with a haste that was strangely
+like terror.
+
+Alice, too, had forgotten, for just a moment. She had let herself drift
+into a dream world where there was nothing but the music she was playing
+and the man she loved. Then the music had stopped, and the man had
+spoken her name.
+
+Alice remembered then. She remembered Billy, whom this man loved. She
+remembered the long days just passed when this man had stayed away,
+presumably to teach _her_--to save _her_. And now, at the sound of his
+voice speaking her name, she had almost bared her heart to him.
+
+No wonder that Alice, with a haste that looked like terror, crossed the
+floor and flooded the room with light.
+
+"Dear me!" she shivered, carefully avoiding Arkwright's eyes. "If Mr.
+Calderwell were here now he'd have some excuse to talk about our lost
+spirits that wail. That _is_ a creepy piece of music when you play it
+in the dark!" And, for fear that he should suspect how her heart was
+aching, she gave a particularly brilliant and joyous smile.
+
+Once again at the mention of Calderwell's name Arkwright stiffened
+perceptibly. The fire left his eyes. For a moment he did not speak;
+then, gravely, he said:
+
+"Calderwell? Yes, perhaps he would; and--you ought to be a judge, I
+should think. You see him quite frequently, don't you?"
+
+"Why, yes, of course. He often comes out here, you know."
+
+"Yes; I had heard that he did--since _you_ came."
+
+His meaning was unmistakable. Alice looked up quickly. A prompt denial
+of his implication was on her lips when the thought came to her that
+perhaps just here lay a sure way to prove to this man before her that
+there was, indeed, no need for him to teach her, to save her, or yet to
+sympathize with her. She could not affirm, of course; but she need not
+deny--yet.
+
+"Nonsense!" she laughed lightly, pleased that she could feel what she
+hoped would pass for a telltale color burning her cheeks. "Come, let
+us try some duets," she proposed, leading the way to the piano. And
+Arkwright, interpreting the apparently embarrassed change of subject
+exactly as she had hoped that he would interpret it, followed her, sick
+at heart.
+
+"'O wert thou in the cauld blast,'" sang Arkwright's lips a few moments
+later.
+
+"I can't tell her now--when I _know_ she cares for Calderwell," gloomily
+ran his thoughts, the while. "It would do no possible good, and would
+only make her unhappy to grieve me."
+
+"'O wert thou in the cauld blast,'" chimed in Alice's alto, low and
+sweet.
+
+"I reckon now he won't be staying away from here any more just to _save_
+me!" ran Alice's thoughts, palpitatingly triumphant.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI. BILLY TAKES HER TURN AT QUESTIONING
+
+
+Arkwright did not call to see Alice Greggory for some days. He did not
+want to see Alice now. He told himself wearily that she could not help
+him fight this tiger skin that lay across his path, The very fact of her
+presence by his side would, indeed, incapacitate himself for fighting.
+So he deliberately stayed away from the Annex until the day before he
+sailed for Germany. Then he went out to say good-by.
+
+Chagrined as he was at what he termed his imbecile stupidity in not
+knowing his own heart all these past months, and convinced, as he also
+was, that Alice and Calderwell cared for each other, he could see no way
+for him but to play the part of a man of kindliness and honor, leaving a
+clear field for his preferred rival, and bringing no shadow of regret to
+mar the happiness of the girl he loved.
+
+As for being his old easy, frank self on this last call, however, that
+was impossible; so Alice found plenty of fuel for her still burning
+fires of suspicion--fires which had, indeed, blazed up anew at this
+second long period of absence on the part of Arkwright. Naturally,
+therefore, the call was anything but a joy and comfort to either one.
+Arkwright was nervous, gloomy, and abnormally gay by turns. Alice was
+nervous and abnormally gay all the time. Then they said good-by and
+Arkwright went away. He sailed the next day, and Alice settled down to
+the summer of study and hard work she had laid out for herself.
+
+
+On the tenth of September Billy came home. She was brown, plump-cheeked,
+and smiling. She declared that she had had a perfectly beautiful time,
+and that there couldn't be anything in the world nicer than the trip
+she and Bertram had taken--just they two together. In answer to Aunt
+Hannah's solicitous inquiries, she asserted that she was all well and
+rested now. But there was a vaguely troubled questioning in her eyes
+that Aunt Hannah did not quite like. Aunt Hannah, however, said nothing
+even to Billy herself about this.
+
+One of the first friends Billy saw after her return was Hugh Calderwell.
+As it happened Bertram was out when he came, so Billy had the first
+half-hour of the call to herself. She was not sorry for this, as it
+gave her a chance to question Calderwell a little concerning Alice
+Greggory--something she had long ago determined to do at the first
+opportunity.
+
+"Now tell me everything--everything about everybody," she began
+diplomatically, settling herself comfortably for a good visit.
+
+"Thank you, I'm well, and have had a passably agreeable summer,
+barring the heat, sundry persistent mosquitoes, several grievous
+disappointments, and a felon on my thumb," he began, with shameless
+imperturbability. "I have been to Revere once, to the circus once,
+to Nantasket three times, and to Keith's and the 'movies' ten times,
+perhaps--to be accurate. I have also--But perhaps there was some one
+else you desired to inquire for," he broke off, turning upon his hostess
+a bland but unsmiling countenance.
+
+"Oh, no, how could there be?" twinkled Billy. "Really, Hugh, I always
+knew you had a pretty good opinion of yourself, but I didn't credit you
+with thinking you were _everybody_. Go on. I'm so interested!"
+
+Hugh chuckled softly; but there was a plaintive tone in his voice as he
+answered.
+
+"Thanks, no. I've rather lost my interest now. Lack of appreciation
+always did discourage me. We'll talk of something else, please. You
+enjoyed your trip?"
+
+"Very much. It just couldn't have been nicer!"
+
+"You were lucky. The heat here has been something fierce!"
+
+"What made you stay?"
+
+"Reasons too numerous, and one too heart-breaking, to mention. Besides,
+you forget," with dignity. "There is my profession. I have joined the
+workers of the world now, you know."
+
+"Oh, fudge, Hugh!" laughed Billy. "You know very well you're as likely
+as not to start for the ends of the earth to-morrow morning!"
+
+Hugh drew himself up.
+
+"I don't seem to succeed in making people understand that I'm serious,"
+he began aggrievedly. "I--" With an expressive flourish of his hands he
+relaxed suddenly, and fell back in his chair. A slow smile came to
+his lips. "Well, Billy, I'll give up. You've hit it," he confessed. "I
+_have_ thought seriously of starting to-morrow morning for _half-way_ to
+the ends of the earth--Panama."
+
+"Hugh!"
+
+"Well, I have. Even this call was to be a good-by--if I went."
+
+"Oh, Hugh! But I really thought--in spite of my teasing--that you had
+settled down, this time."
+
+"Yes, so did I," sighed the man, a little soberly. "But I guess it's
+no use, Billy. Oh, I'm coming back, of course, and link arms again with
+their worthy Highnesses, John Doe and Richard Roe; but just now I've got
+a restless fit on me. I want to see the wheels go 'round. Of course, if
+I had my bread and butter and cigars to earn, 'twould be different. But
+I haven't, and I know I haven't; and I suspect that's where the trouble
+lies. If it wasn't for those natal silver spoons of mine that Bertram
+is always talking about, things might be different. But the spoons are
+there, and always have been; and I know they're all ready to dish out
+mountains to climb and lakes to paddle in, any time I've a mind to say
+the word. So--I just say the word. That's all."
+
+"And you've said it now?"
+
+"Yes, I think so; for a while."
+
+"And--those reasons that _have_ kept you here all summer," ventured
+Billy, "they aren't in--er--commission any longer?"
+
+"No."
+
+Billy hesitated, regarding her companion meditatively. Then, with the
+feeling that she had followed a blind alley to its termination, she
+retreated and made a fresh start.
+
+"Well, you haven't yet told me everything about everybody, you know,"
+she hinted smilingly. "You might begin that--I mean the less important
+everybodies, of course, now that I've heard about you."
+
+"Meaning--"
+
+"Oh, Aunt Hannah, and the Greggorys, and Cyril and Marie, and the twins,
+and Mr. Arkwright, and all the rest."
+
+"But you've had letters, surely."
+
+"Yes, I've had letters from some of them, and I've seen most of them
+since I came back. It's just that I wanted to know _your_ viewpoint of
+what's happened through the summer."
+
+"Very well. Aunt Hannah is as dear as ever, wears just as many shawls,
+and still keeps her clock striking twelve when it's half-past eleven.
+Mrs. Greggory is just as sweet as ever--and a little more frail, I
+fear,--bless her heart! Mr. Arkwright is still abroad, as I presume
+you know. I hear he is doing great stunts over there, and will sing in
+Berlin and Paris this winter. I'm thinking of going across from Panama
+later. If I do I shall look him up. Mr. and Mrs. Cyril are as well as
+could be expected when you realize that they haven't yet settled on a
+pair of names for the twins."
+
+"I know it--and the poor little things three months old, too! I think
+it's a shame. You've heard the reason, I suppose. Cyril declares that
+naming babies is one of the most serious and delicate operations in the
+world, and that, for his part, he thinks people ought to select their
+own names when they've arrived at years of discretion. He wants to
+wait till the twins are eighteen, and then make each of them a birthday
+present of the name of their own choosing."
+
+"Well, if that isn't the limit!" laughed Calderwell. "I'd heard some
+such thing before, but I hadn't supposed it was really so."
+
+"Well, it is. He says he knows more tomboys and enormous fat women named
+'Grace' and 'Lily,' and sweet little mouse-like ladies staggering along
+under a sonorous 'Jerusha Theodosia' or 'Zenobia Jane'; and that if he
+should name the boys 'Franz' and 'Felix' after Schubert and Mendelssohn
+as Marie wants to, they'd as likely as not turn out to be men who hated
+the sound of music and doted on stocks and dry goods."
+
+"Humph!" grunted Calderwell. "I saw Cyril last week, and he said he
+hadn't named the twins yet, but he didn't tell me why. I offered him two
+perfectly good names myself, but he didn't seem interested."
+
+"What were they?"
+
+"Eldad and Bildad."
+
+"Hugh!" protested Billy.
+
+"Well, why not?" bridled the man. "I'm sure those are new and unique,
+and really musical, too--'way ahead of your Franz and Felix."
+
+"But those aren't really names!"
+
+"Indeed they are."
+
+"Where did you get them?"
+
+"Off our family tree, though they're Bible names, Belle says. Perhaps
+you didn't know, but Sister Belle has been making the dirt fly quite
+lively of late around that family tree of ours, and she wrote me some
+of her discoveries. It seems two of the roots, or branches--say, are
+ancestors roots, or branches?--were called Eldad and Bildad. Now I
+thought those names were good enough to pass along, but, as I said
+before, Cyril wasn't interested."
+
+"I should say not," laughed Billy. "But, honestly, Hugh, it's really
+serious. Marie wants them named _something_, but she doesn't say much
+to Cyril. Marie wouldn't really breathe, you know, if she thought Cyril
+disapproved of breathing. And in this case Cyril does not hesitate to
+declare that the boys shall name themselves."
+
+"What a situation!" laughed Calderwell.
+
+"Isn't it? But, do you know, I can sympathize with it, in a way, for
+I've always mourned so over _my_ name. 'Billy' was always such a trial
+to me! Poor Uncle William wasn't the only one that prepared guns and
+fishing rods to entertain the expected boy. I don't know, though, I'm
+afraid if I'd been allowed to select my name I should have been a 'Helen
+Clarabella' all my days, for that was the name I gave all my dolls, with
+'first,' 'second,' 'third,' and so on, added to them for distinction.
+Evidently I thought that 'Helen Clarabella' was the most feminine
+appellation possible, and the most foreign to the despised 'Billy.' So
+you see I can sympathize with Cyril to a certain extent."
+
+"But they must call the little chaps _something_, now," argued Hugh.
+
+Billy gave a sudden merry laugh.
+
+"They do," she gurgled, "and that's the funniest part of it. Oh, Cyril
+doesn't. He always calls them impersonally 'they' or 'it.' He doesn't
+see much of them anyway, now, I understand. Marie was horrified when she
+realized how the nurses had been using his den as a nursery annex and
+she changed all that instanter, when she took charge of things again.
+The twins stay in the nursery now, I'm told. But about the names--the
+nurses, it seems, have got into the way of calling them 'Dot' and
+'Dimple.' One has a dimple in his cheek, and the other is a little
+smaller of the two. Marie is no end distressed, particularly as she
+finds that she herself calls them that; and she says the idea of boys
+being 'Dot' and 'Dimple'!"
+
+"I should say so," laughed Calderwell. "Not I regard that as worse than
+my 'Eldad' and 'Bildad.'"
+
+"I know it, and Alice says--By the way, you haven't mentioned Alice, but
+I suppose you see her occasionally."
+
+Billy paused in evident expectation of a reply. Billy was, in fact,
+quite pluming herself on the adroit casualness with which she had
+introduced the subject nearest her heart.
+
+Calderwell raised his eyebrows.
+
+"Oh, yes, I see her."
+
+"But you hadn't mentioned her."
+
+There was the briefest of pauses; then with a half-quizzical dejection,
+there came the remark:
+
+"You seem to forget. I told you that I stayed here this summer for
+reasons too numerous, and one too heart-breaking, to mention. She was
+the _one_."
+
+"You mean--"
+
+"Yes. The usual thing. She turned me down. Oh, I haven't asked her yet
+as many times as I did you, but--"
+
+"_Hugh!_"
+
+Hugh tossed her a grim smile and went on imperturbably.
+
+"I'm older now, of course, and know more, perhaps. Besides, the finality
+of her remarks was not to be mistaken."
+
+Billy, in spite of her sympathy for Calderwell, was conscious of a throb
+of relief that at least one stumbling-block was removed from Arkwright's
+possible pathway to Alice's heart.
+
+"Did she give any special reason?" hazarded Billy, a shade too
+anxiously.
+
+"Oh, yes. She said she wasn't going to marry anybody--only her music."
+
+"Nonsense!" ejaculated Billy, falling back in her chair a little.
+
+"Yes, I said that, too," gloomed the man; "but it didn't do any good.
+You see, I had known another girl who'd said the same thing once." (He
+did not look up, but a vivid red flamed suddenly into Billy's cheeks.)
+"And she--when the right one came--forgot all about the music, and
+married the man. So I naturally suspected that Alice would do the same
+thing. In fact, I said so to her. I was bold enough to even call the man
+by name--I hadn't been jealous of Arkwright for nothing, you see--but
+she denied it, and flew into such an indignant allegation that there
+wasn't a word of truth in it, that I had to sue for pardon before I got
+anything like peace."
+
+"Oh-h!" said Billy, in a disappointed voice, falling quite back in her
+chair this time.
+
+"And so that's why I'm wanting especially just now to see the wheels go
+'round," smiled Calderwell, a little wistfully. "Oh, I shall get over
+it, I suppose. It isn't the first time, I'll own--but some day I take it
+there will be a last time. Enough of this, however! You haven't told me
+a thing about yourself. How about it? When I come back, are you going
+to give me a dinner cooked by your own fair hands? Going to still play
+Bridget?"
+
+Billy laughed and shook her head.
+
+"No; far from it. Eliza has come back, and her cousin from Vermont is
+coming as second girl to help her. But I _could_ cook a dinner for you
+if I had to now, sir, and it wouldn't be potato-mush and cold lamb," she
+bragged shamelessly, as there sounded Bertram's peculiar ring, and the
+click of his key in the lock.
+
+
+It was the next afternoon that Billy called on Marie. From Marie's,
+Billy went to the Annex, which was very near Cyril's new house; and
+there, in Aunt Hannah's room, she had what she told Bertram afterwards
+was a perfectly lovely visit.
+
+Aunt Hannah, too, enjoyed the visit very much, though yet there was one
+thing that disturbed her--the vaguely troubled look in Billy's eyes,
+which to-day was more apparent than ever. Not until just before Billy
+went home did something occur to give Aunt Hannah a possible clue as to
+what was the meaning of it. That something was a question from Billy.
+
+"Aunt Hannah, why don't I feel like Marie did? why don't I feel like
+everybody does in books and stories? Marie went around with such a
+detached, heavenly, absorbed look in her eyes, before the twins came to
+her home. But I don't. I don't find anything like that in my face,
+when I look in the glass. And I don't feel detached and absorbed and
+heavenly. I'm happy, of course; but I can't help thinking of the dear,
+dear times Bertram and I have together, just we two, and I can't seem to
+imagine it at all with a third person around."
+
+"Billy! _Third person_, indeed!"
+
+"There! I knew 'twould shock you," mourned Billy. "It shocks me. I _want_
+to feel detached and heavenly and absorbed."
+
+"But Billy, dear, think of it--calling your own baby a third person!"
+
+Billy sighed despairingly.
+
+"Yes, I know. And I suppose I might as well own up to the rest of it
+too. I--I'm actually afraid of babies, Aunt Hannah! Well, I am," she
+reiterated, in answer to Aunt Hannah's gasp of disapproval. "I'm not
+used to them at all. I never had any little brothers and sisters, and I
+don't know how to treat babies. I--I'm always afraid they'll break, or
+something. I'm just as afraid of the twins as I can be. How Marie can
+handle them, and toss them about as she does, I don't see."
+
+"Toss them about, indeed!"
+
+"Well, it looks that way to me," sighed Billy. "Anyhow, I know I can
+never get to handle them like that--and that's no way to feel! And
+I'm ashamed of myself because I _can't_ be detached and heavenly and
+absorbed," she added, rising to go. "Everybody always is, it seems, but
+just me."
+
+"Fiddlededee, my dear!" scoffed Aunt Hannah, patting Billy's downcast
+face. "Wait till a year from now, and we'll see about that third-person
+bugaboo you're worrying about. _I'm_ not worrying now; so you'd better
+not!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII. A DOT AND A DIMPLE
+
+
+On the day Cyril Henshaw's twins were six months old, a momentous
+occurrence marked the date with a flaming red letter of remembrance; and
+it all began with a baby's smile.
+
+Cyril, in quest of his wife at about ten o'clock that morning, and not
+finding her, pursued his search even to the nursery--a room he very
+seldom entered. Cyril did not like to go into the nursery. He felt ill
+at ease, and as if he were away from home--and Cyril was known to abhor
+being away from home since he was married. Now that Marie had taken over
+the reins of government again, he had been obliged to see very little
+of those strange women and babies. Not but that he liked the babies, of
+course. They were his sons, and he was proud of them. They should have
+every advantage that college, special training, and travel could give
+them. He quite anticipated what they would be to him--when they really
+knew anything. But, of course, _now_, when they could do nothing but
+cry and wave their absurd little fists, and wobble their heads in so
+fearsome a manner, as if they simply did not know the meaning of the
+word backbone--and, for that matter, of course they didn't--why, he
+could not be expected to be anything but relieved when he had his den to
+himself again, with a reasonable chance of finding his manuscript as
+he had left it, and not cut up into a ridiculous string of paper dolls
+holding hands, as he had once found it, after a visit from a woman with
+a small girl.
+
+Since Marie had been at the helm, however, he had not been troubled in
+such a way. He had, indeed, known almost his old customary peace and
+freedom from interruption, with only an occasional flitting across his
+path of the strange women and babies--though he had realized, of course,
+that they were in the house, especially in the nursery. For that reason,
+therefore, he always avoided the nursery when possible. But to-day he
+wanted his wife, and his wife was not to be found anywhere else in the
+house. So, reluctantly, he turned his steps toward the nursery, and,
+with a frown, knocked and pushed open the door.
+
+"Is Mrs. Henshaw here?" he demanded, not over gently.
+
+Absolute silence greeted his question. The man saw then that there was
+no one in the room save a baby sitting on a mat in the middle of the
+floor, barricaded on all sides with pillows.
+
+With a deeper frown the man turned to go, when a gleeful "Ah--goo!"
+halted his steps midway. He wheeled sharply.
+
+"Er--eh?" he queried, uncertainly eyeing his small son on the floor.
+
+"Ah--goo!" observed the infant (who had been very lonesome), with
+greater emphasis; and this time he sent into his father's eyes the most
+bewitching of smiles.
+
+"Well, by George!" murmured the man, weakly, a dawning amazement driving
+the frown from his face.
+
+"Spgggh--oo--wah!" gurgled the boy, holding out two tiny fists.
+
+A slow smile came to the man's face.
+
+"Well, I'll--be--darned," he muttered half-shamefacedly, wholly
+delightedly. "If the rascal doesn't act as if he--knew me!"
+
+"Ah--goo--spggghh!" grinned the infant, toothlessly, but entrancingly.
+
+With almost a stealthy touch Cyril closed the door back of him, and
+advanced a little dubiously toward his son. His countenance carried a
+mixture of guilt, curiosity, and dogged determination so ludicrous that
+it was a pity none but baby eyes could see it. As if to meet more
+nearly on a level this baffling new acquaintance, Cyril got to his
+knees--somewhat stiffly, it must be confessed--and faced his son.
+
+"Goo--eee--ooo--yah!" crowed the baby now, thrashing legs and arms about
+in a transport of joy at the acquisition of this new playmate.
+
+"Well, well, young man, you--you don't say so!" stammered the
+growingly-proud father, thrusting a plainly timid and unaccustomed
+finger toward his offspring. "So you do know me, eh? Well, who am I?"
+
+"Da--da!" gurgled the boy, triumphantly clutching the outstretched
+finger, and holding on with a tenacity that brought a gleeful chuckle to
+the lips of the man.
+
+"Jove! but aren't you the strong little beggar, though! Needn't tell me
+you don't know a good thing when you see it! So I'm 'da-da,' am I?"
+he went on, unhesitatingly accepting as the pure gold of knowledge the
+shameless imitation vocabulary his son was foisting upon him. "Well, I
+expect I am, and--"
+
+"Oh, Cyril!" The door had opened, and Marie was in the room. If she gave
+a start of surprise at her husband's unaccustomed attitude, she quickly
+controlled herself. "Julia said you wanted me. I must have been going
+down the back stairs when you came up the front, and--"
+
+"Please, Mrs. Henshaw, is it Dot you have in here, or Dimple?" asked a
+new voice, as the second nurse entered by another door.
+
+Before Mrs. Henshaw could answer, Cyril, who had got to his feet, turned
+sharply.
+
+"Is it--_who_?" he demanded.
+
+"Oh! Oh, Mr. Henshaw," stammered the girl. "I beg your pardon. I didn't
+know you were here. It was only that I wanted to know which baby it was.
+We thought we had Dot with us, until--"
+
+"Dot! Dimple!" exploded the man. "Do you mean to say you have given my
+_sons_ the ridiculous names of '_Dot_' and '_Dimple_'?"
+
+"Why, no--yes--well, that is--we had to call them something," faltered
+the nurse, as with a despairing glance at her mistress, she plunged
+through the doorway.
+
+Cyril turned to his wife.
+
+"Marie, what is the meaning of this?" he demanded.
+
+"Why, Cyril, dear, don't--don't get so wrought up," she begged. "It's
+only as Mary said, we _had_ to call them something, and--"
+
+"Wrought up, indeed!" interrupted Cyril, savagely. "Who wouldn't be?
+'Dot' and 'Dimple'! Great Scott! One would think those boys were a
+couple of kittens or puppies; that they didn't know anything--didn't
+have any brains! But they have--if the other is anything like this one,
+at least," he declared, pointing to his son on the floor, who, at
+this opportune moment joined in the conversation to the extent of an
+appropriate "Ah--goo--da--da!"
+
+"There, hear that, will you?" triumphed the father. "What did I tell
+you? That's the way he's been going on ever since I came into the room;
+The little rascal knows me--so soon!"
+
+Marie clapped her fingers to her lips and turned her back suddenly,
+with a spasmodic little cough; but her husband, if he noticed the
+interruption, paid no heed.
+
+"Dot and Dimple, indeed!" he went on wrathfully. "That settles it. We'll
+name those boys to-day, Marie, _to-day!_ Not once again will I let the
+sun go down on a Dot and a Dimple under my roof."
+
+Marie turned with a quick little cry of happiness.
+
+"Oh, Cyril, I'm so glad! I've so wanted to have them named, you know!
+And shall we call them Franz and Felix, as we'd talked?"
+
+"Franz, Felix, John, James, Paul, Charles--anything, so it's sane and
+sensible! I'd even adopt Calderwell's absurd Bildad and--er--Tomdad, or
+whatever it was, rather than have those poor little chaps insulted a
+day longer with a 'Dot' and a 'Dimple.' Great Scott!" And, entirely
+forgetting what he had come to the nursery for, Cyril strode from the
+room.
+
+"Ah--goo--spggggh!" commented baby from the middle of the floor.
+
+
+It was on a very windy March day that Bertram Henshaw's son, Bertram,
+Jr., arrived at the Strata. Billy went so far into the Valley of the
+Shadow of Death for her baby that it was some days before she realized
+in all its importance the presence of the new member of her family. Even
+when the days had become weeks, and Bertram, Jr., was a month and a
+half old, the extreme lassitude and weariness of his young mother was a
+source of ever-growing anxiety to her family and friends. Billy was so
+unlike herself, they all said.
+
+"If something could only rouse her," suggested the Henshaw's old
+family physician one day. "A certain sort of mental shock--if not too
+severe--would do the deed, I think, and with no injury--only benefit.
+Her physical condition is in just the state that needs a stimulus to
+stir it into new life and vigor."
+
+As it happened, this was said on a certain Monday. Two days later
+Bertram's sister Kate, on her way with her husband to Mr. Hartwell's old
+home in Vermont, stopped over in Boston for a two days' visit. She made
+her headquarters at Cyril's home, but very naturally she went, without
+much delay, to pay her respects to Bertram, Jr.
+
+"Mr. Hartwell's brother isn't well," she explained to Billy, after
+the greetings were over. "You know he's the only one left there, since
+Mother and Father Hartwell came West. We shall go right on up to Vermont
+in a couple of days, but we just had to stay over long enough to see the
+baby; and we hadn't ever seen the twins, either, you know. By the way,
+how perfectly ridiculous Cyril is over those boys!"
+
+"Is he?" smiled Billy, faintly.
+
+"Yes. One would think there were never any babies born before, to hear
+him talk. He thinks they're the most wonderful things in the world--and
+they are cunning little fellows, I'll admit. But Cyril thinks they
+_know_ so much," went on Kate, laughingly. "He's always bragging of
+something one or the other of them has done. Think of it--_Cyril!_ Marie
+says it all started from the time last January when he discovered the
+nurses had been calling them Dot and Dimple."
+
+"Yes, I know," smiled Billy again, faintly, lifting a thin, white, very
+un-Billy-like hand to her head.
+
+Kate frowned, and regarded her sister-in-law thoughtfully.
+
+"Mercy! how you look, Billy!" she exclaimed, with cheerful tactlessness.
+"They said you did, but, I declare, you look worse than I thought."
+
+Billy's pale face reddened perceptibly.
+
+"Nonsense! It's just that I'm so--so tired," she insisted. "I shall be
+all right soon. How did you leave the children?"
+
+"Well, and happy--'specially little Kate, because mother was going away.
+Kate is mistress, you know, when I'm gone, and she takes herself very
+seriously."
+
+"Mistress! A little thing like her! Why, she can't be more than ten or
+eleven," murmured Billy.
+
+"She isn't. She was ten last month. But you'd think she was forty, the
+airs she gives herself, sometimes. Oh, of course there's Nora, and the
+cook, and Miss Winton, the governess, there to really manage things,
+and Mother Hartwell is just around the corner; but little Kate _thinks_
+she's managing, so she's happy."
+
+Billy suppressed a smile. Billy was thinking that little Kate came
+naturally by at least one of her traits.
+
+"Really, that child is impossible, sometimes," resumed Mrs. Hartwell,
+with a sigh. "You know the absurd things she was always saying two or
+three years ago, when we came on to Cyril's wedding."
+
+"Yes, I remember."
+
+"Well, I thought she would get over it. But she doesn't. She's worse, if
+anything; and sometimes her insight, or intuition, or whatever you may
+call it, is positively uncanny. I never know what she's going to remark
+next, when I take her anywhere; but it's safe to say, whatever it is,
+it'll be unexpected and _usually_ embarrassing to somebody. And--is
+that the baby?" broke off Mrs. Hartwell, as a cooing laugh and a woman's
+voice came from the next room.
+
+"Yes. The nurse has just brought him in, I think," said Billy.
+
+"Then I'll go right now and see him," rejoined Kate, rising to her feet
+and hurrying into the next room.
+
+Left alone, Billy lay back wearily in her reclining-chair. She wondered
+why Kate always tired her so. She wished she had had on her blue kimono,
+then perhaps Kate would not have thought she looked so badly. Blue was
+always more becoming to her than--
+
+Billy turned her head suddenly. From the next room had come Kate's
+clear-cut, decisive voice.
+
+"Oh, no, I don't think he looks a bit like his father. That little
+snubby nose was never the Henshaw nose."
+
+Billy drew in her breath sharply, and pulled herself half erect in her
+chair. From the next room came Kate's voice again, after a low murmur
+from the nurse.
+
+"Oh, but he isn't, I tell you. He isn't one bit of a Henshaw baby! The
+Henshaw babies are always _pretty_ ones. They have more hair, and they
+look--well, different."
+
+Billy gave a low cry, and struggled to her feet.
+
+"Oh, no," spoke up Kate, in answer to another indistinct something from
+the nurse. "I don't think he's near as pretty as the twins. Of
+course the twins are a good deal older, but they have such a _bright_
+look,--and they did have, from the very first. I saw it in their tiniest
+baby pictures. But this baby--"
+
+"_This_ baby is _mine_, please," cut in a tremulous, but resolute voice;
+and Mrs. Hartwell turned to confront Bertram, Jr.'s mother, manifestly
+weak and trembling, but no less manifestly blazing-eyed and determined.
+
+"Why, Billy!" expostulated Mrs. Hartwell, as Billy stumbled forward and
+snatched the child into her arms.
+
+"Perhaps he doesn't look like the Henshaw babies. Perhaps he isn't as
+pretty as the twins. Perhaps he hasn't much hair, and does have a snub
+nose. He's my baby just the same, and I shall not stay calmly by and see
+him abused! Besides, _I_ think he's prettier than the twins ever thought
+of being; and he's got all the hair I want him to have, and his nose
+is just exactly what a baby's nose ought to be!" And, with a superb
+gesture, Billy turned and bore the baby away.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII. BILLY AND THE ENORMOUS RESPONSIBILITY
+
+
+When the doctor heard from the nurse of Mrs. Hartwell's visit and what
+had come of it, he only gave a discreet smile, as befitted himself and
+the occasion; but to his wife privately, that night, the doctor said,
+when he had finished telling the story:
+
+"And I couldn't have prescribed a better pill if I'd tried!"
+
+"_Pill_--Mrs. Hartwell! Oh, Harold," reproved the doctor's wife, mildly.
+
+But the doctor only chuckled the more, and said:
+
+"You wait and see."
+
+If Billy's friends were worried before because of her lassitude and lack
+of ambition, they were almost as worried now over her amazing alertness
+and insistent activity. Day by day, almost hour by hour, she seemed to
+gain in strength; and every bit she acquired she promptly tested almost
+to the breaking point, so plainly eager was she to be well and strong.
+And always, from morning until night, and again from night until
+morning, the pivot of her existence, around which swung all thoughts,
+words, actions, and plans, was the sturdy little plump-cheeked,
+firm-fleshed atom of humanity known as Bertram, Jr. Even Aunt Hannah
+remonstrated with her at last.
+
+"But, Billy, dear," she exclaimed, "one would almost get the idea that
+you thought there wasn't a thing in the world but that baby!"
+
+Billy laughed.
+
+"Well, do you know, sometimes I 'most think there isn't," she retorted
+unblushingly.
+
+"Billy!" protested Aunt Hannah; then, a little severely, she demanded:
+"And who was it that just last September was calling this same
+only-object-in-the-world a third person in your home?"
+
+"Third person, indeed! Aunt Hannah, did I? Did I really say such a
+dreadful thing as that? But I didn't know, then, of course. I couldn't
+know how perfectly wonderful a baby is, especially such a baby as
+Bertram, Jr., is. Why, Aunt Hannah, that little thing knows a whole lot
+already. He's known me for weeks; I know he has. And ages and ages ago
+he began to give me little smiles when he saw me. They were smiles--real
+smiles! Oh, yes, I know nurse said they weren't smiles at the first,"
+admitted Billy, in answer to Aunt Hannah's doubting expression. "I know
+nurse said it was only wind on his stomach. Think of it--wind on his
+stomach! Just as if I didn't know the difference between my own baby's
+smile and wind on his stomach! And you don't know how soon he began to
+follow my moving finger with his eyes!"
+
+"Yes, I tried that one day, I remember," observed Aunt Hannah demurely.
+"I moved my finger. He looked at the ceiling--_fixedly_."
+
+"Well, probably he _wanted_ to look at the ceiling, then," defended the
+young mother, promptly. "I'm sure I wouldn't give a snap for a baby if
+he didn't sometimes have a mind of his own, and exercise it!"
+
+"Oh, Billy, Billy," laughed Aunt Hannah, with a shake of her head as
+Billy turned away, chin uptilted.
+
+By the time Bertram, Jr., was three months old, Billy was unmistakably
+her old happy, merry self, strong and well. Affairs at the Strata once
+more were moving as by clockwork--only this time it was a baby's hand
+that set the clock, and that wound it, too.
+
+Billy told her husband very earnestly that now they had entered upon a
+period of Enormous Responsibility. The Life, Character, and Destiny of a
+Human Soul was intrusted to their care, and they must be Wise, Faithful,
+and Efficient. They must be at once Proud and Humble at this their Great
+Opportunity. They must Observe, Learn, and Practice. First and foremost
+in their eyes must always be this wonderful Important Trust.
+
+Bertram laughed at first very heartily at Billy's instructions, which,
+he declared, were so bristling with capitals that he could fairly see
+them drop from her lips. Then, when he found how really very much in
+earnest she was, and how hurt she was at his levity, he managed to pull
+his face into something like sobriety while she talked to him, though he
+did persist in dropping kisses on her cheeks, her chin, her finger-tips,
+her hair, and the little pink lobes of her ears--"just by way of
+punctuation" to her sentences, he said. And he told her that he wasn't
+really slighting her lips, only that they moved so fast he could not
+catch them. Whereat Billy pouted, and told him severely that he was a
+bad, naughty boy, and that he did not deserve to be the father of the
+dearest, most wonderful baby in the world.
+
+"No, I know I don't," beamed Bertram, with cheerful unrepentance; "but I
+am, just the same," he finished triumphantly. And this time he contrived
+to find his wife's lips.
+
+"Oh, Bertram," sighed Billy, despairingly.
+
+"You're an old dear, of course, and one just can't be cross with you;
+but you don't, you just _don't_ realize your Immense Responsibility."
+
+"Oh, yes, I do," maintained Bertram so seriously that even Billy herself
+almost believed him.
+
+In spite of his assertions, however, it must be confessed that Bertram
+was much more inclined to regard the new member of his family as just
+his son rather than as an Important Trust; and there is little doubt
+that he liked to toss him in the air and hear his gleeful crows of
+delight, without any bother of Observing him at all. As to the Life and
+Character and Destiny intrusted to his care, it is to be feared that
+Bertram just plain gloried in his son, poked him in the ribs, and
+chuckled him under the chin whenever he pleased, and gave never so much
+as a thought to Character and Destiny. It is to be feared, too, that he
+was Proud without being Humble, and that the only Opportunity he really
+appreciated was the chance to show off his wife and baby to some less
+fortunate fellow-man.
+
+But not so Billy. Billy joined a Mothers' Club and entered a class in
+Child Training with an elaborate system of Charts, Rules, and Tests. She
+subscribed to each new "Mothers' Helper," and the like, that she came
+across, devouring each and every one with an eagerness that was tempered
+only by a vague uneasiness at finding so many differences of opinion
+among Those Who Knew.
+
+Undeniably Billy, if not Bertram, was indeed realizing the Enormous
+Responsibility, and was keeping ever before her the Important Trust.
+
+In June Bertram took a cottage at the South Shore, and by the time the
+really hot weather arrived the family were well settled. It was only an
+hour away from Boston, and easy of access, but William said he guessed
+he would not go; he would stay in Boston, sleeping at the house, and
+getting his meals at the club, until the middle of July, when he was
+going down in Maine for his usual fishing trip, which he had planned to
+take a little earlier than usual this year.
+
+"But you'll be so lonesome, Uncle William," Billy demurred, "in this
+great house all alone!"
+
+"Oh, no, I sha'n't," rejoined Uncle William. "I shall only be sleeping
+here, you know," he finished, with a slightly peculiar smile.
+
+It was well, perhaps, that Billy did not exactly realize the
+significance of that smile, nor the unconscious emphasis on the word
+"sleeping," for it would have troubled her not a little.
+
+William, to tell the truth, was quite anticipating that sleeping.
+William's nights had not been exactly restful since the baby came. His
+evenings, too, had not been the peaceful things they were wont to be.
+
+Some of Billy's Rules and Tests were strenuously objected to on the part
+of her small son, and the young man did not hesitate to show it. Billy
+said that it was good for the baby to cry, that it developed his lungs;
+but William was very sure that it was not good for _him_. Certainly,
+when the baby did cry, William never could help hovering near the center
+of disturbance, and he always _had_ to remind Billy that it might be a
+pin, you know, or some cruel thing that was hurting. As if he, William,
+a great strong man, could sit calmly by and smoke a pipe, or lie in his
+comfortable bed and sleep, while that blessed little baby was crying
+his heart out like that! Of course, if one did not _know_ he was
+crying--Hence William's anticipation of those quiet, restful nights when
+he could not know it.
+
+Very soon after Billy's arrival at the cottage, Aunt Hannah and Alice
+Greggory came down for a day's visit. Aunt Hannah had been away from
+Boston for several weeks, so it was some time since she had seen the
+baby.
+
+"My, but hasn't he grown!" she exclaimed, picking the baby up and
+stooping to give him a snuggling kiss. The next instant she almost
+dropped the little fellow, so startling had been Billy's cry.
+
+"No, no, wait, Aunt Hannah, please," Billy was entreating, hurrying to
+the little corner cupboard. In a moment she was back with a small bottle
+and a bit of antiseptic cotton. "We always sterilize our lips now before
+we kiss him--it's so much safer, you know."
+
+Aunt Hannah sat down limply, the baby still in her arms.
+
+"Fiddlededee, Billy! What an absurd idea! What have you got in that
+bottle?"
+
+"Why, Aunt Hannah, it's just a little simple listerine," bridled Billy,
+"and it isn't absurd at all. It's very sensible. My 'Hygienic Guide for
+Mothers' says--"
+
+"Well, I suppose I may kiss his hand," interposed Aunt Hannah, just a
+little curtly, "without subjecting myself to a City Hospital treatment!"
+
+Billy laughed shamefacedly, but she still held her ground.
+
+"No, you can't--nor even his foot. He might get them in his mouth. Aunt
+Hannah, why does a baby think that everything, from his own toes to his
+father's watch fob and the plush balls on a caller's wrist-bag, is made
+to eat? As if I could sterilize everything, and keep him from getting
+hold of germs somewhere!"
+
+"You'll have to have a germ-proof room for him," laughed Alice Greggory,
+playfully snapping her fingers at the baby in Aunt Hannah's lap.
+
+Billy turned eagerly.
+
+"Oh, did you read about that, too?" she cried. "I thought it was _so_
+interesting, and I wondered if I could do it."
+
+Alice stared frankly.
+
+"You don't mean to say they actually _have_ such things," she
+challenged.
+
+"Well, I read about them in a magazine," asserted Billy, "--how you
+could have a germ-proof room. They said it was very simple, too. Just
+pasteurize the air, you know, by heating it to one hundred and ten
+and one-half degrees Fahrenheit for seventeen and one-half minutes. I
+remember just the figures."
+
+"Simple, indeed! It sounds so," scoffed Aunt Hannah, with uplifted
+eyebrows.
+
+"Oh, well, I couldn't do it, of course," admitted Billy, regretfully.
+"Bertram never'd stand for that in the world. He's always rushing in to
+show the baby off to every Tom, Dick and Harry and his wife that comes;
+and of course if you opened the nursery door, that would let in those
+germ things, and you _couldn't_ very well pasteurize your callers by
+heating them to one hundred and ten and one-half degrees for seventeen
+and one-half minutes! I don't see how you could manage such a room,
+anyway, unless you had a system of--of rooms like locks, same as they do
+for water in canals."
+
+"Oh, my grief and conscience--locks, indeed!" almost groaned Aunt
+Hannah. "Here, Alice, will you please take this child--that is, if you
+have a germ-proof certificate about you to show to his mother. I want to
+take off my bonnet and gloves."
+
+"Take him? Of course I'll take him," laughed Alice; "and right under his
+mother's nose, too," she added, with a playful grimace at Billy. "And
+we'll make pat-a-cakes, and send the little pigs to market, and have
+such a beautiful time that we'll forget there ever was such a thing in
+the world as an old germ. Eh, babykins?"
+
+"Babykins" cooed his unqualified approval of this plan; but his mother
+looked troubled.
+
+"That's all right, Alice. You may play with him," she frowned
+doubtfully; "but you mustn't do it long, you know--not over five
+minutes."
+
+"Five minutes! Well, I like that, when I've come all the way from Boston
+purposely to see him," pouted Alice. "What's the matter now? Time for
+his nap?"
+
+"Oh, no, not for--thirteen minutes," replied Billy, consulting the watch
+at her belt. "But we never play with Baby more than five minutes at a
+time. My 'Scientific Care of Infants' says it isn't wise; that with some
+babies it's positively dangerous, until after they're six months old.
+It makes them nervous, and forces their mind, you know," she explained
+anxiously. "So of course we'd want to be careful. Bertram, Jr., isn't
+quite four, yet."
+
+"Why, yes, of course," murmured Alice, politely, stopping a pat-a-cake
+before it was half baked.
+
+The infant, as if suspecting that he was being deprived of his lawful
+baby rights, began to fret and whimper.
+
+"Poor itty sing," crooned Aunt Hannah, who, having divested herself of
+bonnet and gloves, came hurriedly forward with outstretched hands. "Do
+they just 'buse 'em? Come here to your old auntie, sweetems, and we'll
+go walkee. I saw a bow-wow--such a tunnin' ickey wickey bow-wow on the
+steps when I came in. Come, we go see ickey wickey bow-wow?"
+
+"Aunt Hannah, _please!_" protested Billy, both hands upraised in horror.
+"_Won't_ you say 'dog,' and leave out that dreadful 'ickey wickey'? Of
+course he can't understand things now, really, but we never know when
+he'll begin to, and we aren't ever going to let him hear baby-talk at
+all, if we can help it. And truly, when you come to think of it, it is
+absurd to expect a child to talk sensibly and rationally on the mental
+diet of 'moo-moos' and 'choo-choos' served out to them. Our Professor of
+Metaphysics and Ideology in our Child Study Course says that nothing is
+so receptive and plastic as the Mind of a Little Child, and that it is
+perfectly appalling how we fill it with trivial absurdities that haven't
+even the virtue of being accurate. So that's why we're trying to be so
+careful with Baby. You didn't mind my speaking, I know, Aunt Hannah."
+
+"Oh, no, of course not, Billy," retorted Aunt Hannah, a little tartly,
+and with a touch of sarcasm most unlike her gentle self. "I'm sure
+I shouldn't wish to fill this infant's plastic mind with anything so
+appalling as trivial inaccuracies. May I be pardoned for suggesting,
+however," she went on as the baby's whimper threatened to become a lusty
+wail, "that this young gentleman cries as if he were sleepy and hungry?"
+
+"Yes, he is," admitted Billy.
+
+"Well, doesn't your system of scientific training allow him to be given
+such trivial absurdities as food and naps?" inquired the lady, mildly.
+
+"Of course it does, Aunt Hannah," retorted Billy, laughing in spite of
+herself. "And it's almost time now. There are only a few more minutes to
+wait."
+
+"Few more minutes to wait, indeed!" scorned Aunt Hannah. "I suppose the
+poor little fellow might cry and cry, and you wouldn't set that clock
+ahead by a teeny weeny minute!"
+
+"Certainly not," said the young mother, decisively. "My 'Daily Guide for
+Mothers' says that a time for everything and everything in its time, is
+the very A B C and whole alphabet of Right Training. He does everything
+by the clock, and to the minute," declared Billy, proudly.
+
+Aunt Hannah sniffed, obviously skeptical and rebellious. Alice Greggory
+laughed.
+
+"Aunt Hannah looks as if she'd like to bring down her clock that strikes
+half an hour ahead," she said mischievously; but Aunt Hannah did not
+deign to answer this.
+
+"How long do you rock him?" she demanded of Billy. "I suppose I may do
+that, mayn't I?"
+
+"Mercy, I don't rock him at all, Aunt Hannah," exclaimed Billy.
+
+"Nor sing to him?"
+
+"Certainly not."
+
+"But you did--before I went away. I remember that you did."
+
+"Yes, I know I did," admitted Billy, "and I had an awful time, too.
+Some evenings, every single one of us, even to Uncle William, had to
+try before we could get him off to sleep. But that was before I got my
+'Efficiency of Mother and Child,' or my 'Scientific Training,' and, oh,
+lots of others. You see, I didn't know a thing then, and I loved to rock
+him, so I did it--though the nurse said it wasn't good for him; but I
+didn't believe _her_. I've had an awful time changing; but I've done it.
+I just put him in his little crib, or his carriage, and after a while
+he goes to sleep. Sometimes, now, he doesn't cry hardly any. I'm afraid,
+to-day, though, he will," she worried.
+
+"Yes, I'm afraid he will," almost screamed Aunt Hannah, in order to make
+herself heard above Bertram, Jr., who, by this time, was voicing his
+opinion of matters and things in no uncertain manner.
+
+It was not, after all, so very long before peace and order reigned; and,
+in due course, Bertram, Jr., in his carriage, lay fast asleep. Then,
+while Aunt Hannah went to Billy's room for a short rest, Billy and Alice
+went out on to the wide veranda which faced the wonderful expanse of sky
+and sea.
+
+"Now tell me of yourself," commanded Billy, almost at once. "It's been
+ages since I've heard or seen a thing of you."
+
+"There's nothing to tell."
+
+"Nonsense! But there must be," insisted Billy. "You know it's months
+since I've seen anything of you, hardly."
+
+"I know. We feel quite neglected at the Annex," said Alice.
+
+"But I don't go anywhere," defended Billy. "I can't. There isn't time."
+
+"Even to bring us the extra happiness?" smiled Alice.
+
+A quick change came to Billy's face. Her eyes glowed deeply.
+
+"No; though I've had so much that ought to have gone--such loads
+and loads of extra happiness, which I couldn't possibly use myself!
+Sometimes I'm so happy, Alice, that--that I'm just frightened. It
+doesn't seem as if anybody ought to be so happy."
+
+"Oh, Billy, dear," demurred Alice, her eyes filling suddenly with tears.
+
+"Well, I've got the Annex. I'm glad I've got that for the overflow,
+anyway," resumed Billy, trying to steady her voice. "I've sent a whole
+lot of happiness up there mentally, if I haven't actually carried it; so
+I'm sure you must have got it. Now tell me of yourself."
+
+"There's nothing to tell," insisted Alice, as before.
+
+"You're working as hard as ever?"
+
+"Yes--harder."
+
+"New pupils?"
+
+"Yes, and some concert engagements--good ones, for next season.
+Accompaniments, you know."
+
+Billy nodded.
+
+"Yes; I've heard of you already twice, lately, in that line, and very
+flatteringly, too."
+
+"Have you? Well, that's good."
+
+"Hm-m." There was a moment's silence, then, abruptly, Billy changed the
+subject. "I had a letter from Belle Calderwell, yesterday." She paused
+expectantly, but there was no comment.
+
+"You don't seem interested," she frowned, after a minute.
+
+Alice laughed.
+
+"Pardon me, but--I don't know the Lady, you see. Was it a good letter?"
+
+"You know her brother."
+
+"Very true." Alice's cheeks showed a deeper color. "Did she say anything
+of him?"
+
+"Yes. She said he was coming back to Boston next winter."
+
+"Indeed!"
+
+"Yes. She says that this time he declares he really _is_ going to settle
+down to work," murmured Billy, demurely, with a sidelong glance at her
+companion. "She says he's engaged to be married--one of her friends over
+there."
+
+There was no reply. Alice appeared to be absorbed in watching a tiny
+white sail far out at sea.
+
+Again Billy was silent. Then, with studied carelessness, she said:
+
+"Yes, and you know Mr. Arkwright, too. She told of him."
+
+"Yes? Well, what of him?" Alice's voice was studiedly indifferent.
+
+"Oh, there was quite a lot of him. Belle had just been to hear him
+sing, and then her brother had introduced him to her. She thinks he's
+perfectly wonderful, in every way, I should judge. In fact, she simply
+raved over him. It seems that while we've been hearing nothing from him
+all winter, he's been winning no end of laurels for himself in Paris and
+Berlin. He's been studying, too, of course, as well as singing; and
+now he's got a chance to sing somewhere--create a role, or
+something--Belle said she wasn't quite clear on the matter herself, but
+it was a perfectly splendid chance, and one that was a fine feather in
+his cap."
+
+"Then he won't be coming home--that is, to Boston--at all this winter,
+probably," said Alice, with a cheerfulness that sounded just a little
+forced.
+
+"Not until February. But he is coming then. He's been engaged for six
+performances with the Boston Opera Company--as a star tenor, mind you!
+Isn't that splendid?"
+
+"Indeed it is," murmured Alice.
+
+"Belle writes that Hugh says he's improved wonderfully, and that even he
+can see that his singing is marvelous. He says Paris is wild over him;
+but--for my part, I wish he'd come home and stay here where he belongs,"
+finished Billy, a bit petulantly.
+
+"Why, why, Billy!" murmured her friend, a curiously startled look coming
+into her eyes.
+
+"Well, I do," maintained Billy; then, recklessly, she added: "I had such
+beautiful plans for him, once, Alice. Oh, if you only could have cared
+for him, you'd have made such a splendid couple!"
+
+A vivid scarlet flew to Alice's face.
+
+"Nonsense!" she cried, getting quickly to her feet and bending over
+one of the flower boxes along the veranda railing. "Mr. Arkwright
+never thought of marrying me--and I'm not going to marry anybody but my
+music."
+
+Billy sighed despairingly.
+
+"I know that's what you say now; but if--" She stopped abruptly. Around
+the turn of the veranda had appeared Aunt Hannah, wheeling Bertram, Jr.,
+still asleep in his carriage.
+
+"I came out the other door," she explained softly. "And it was so lovely
+I just had to go in and get the baby. I thought it would be so nice for
+him to finish his nap out here."
+
+Billy arose with a troubled frown.
+
+"But, Aunt Hannah, he mustn't--he can't stay out here. I'm sorry, but
+we'll have to take him back."
+
+Aunt Hannah's eyes grew mutinous.
+
+"But I thought the outdoor air was just the thing for him. I'm sure your
+scientific hygienic nonsense says _that!_"
+
+"They do--they did--that is, some of them do," acknowledged Billy,
+worriedly; "but they differ, so! And the one I'm going by now says that
+Baby should always sleep in an _even_ temperature--seventy degrees, if
+possible; and that's exactly what the room in there was, when I left
+him. It's not the same out here, I'm sure. In fact I looked at the
+thermometer to see, just before I came out myself. So, Aunt Hannah, I'm
+afraid I'll have to take him back."
+
+"But you used to have him sleep out of doors all the time, on that
+little balcony out of your room," argued Aunt Hannah, still plainly
+unconvinced.
+
+"Yes, I know I did. I was following the other man's rules, then. As I
+said, if only they wouldn't differ so! Of course I want the best; but
+it's so hard to always know the best, and--"
+
+At this very inopportune moment Master Bertram took occasion to wake
+up, which brought even a deeper wrinkle of worry to his fond mother's
+forehead; for she said that, according to the clock, he should have been
+sleeping exactly ten and one-half more minutes, and that of course he
+couldn't commence the next thing until those ten and one-half minutes
+were up, or else his entire schedule for the day would be shattered.
+So what she should do with him for those should-have-been-sleeping ten
+minutes and a half, she did not know. All of which drew from Aunt Hannah
+the astounding exclamation of:
+
+"Oh, my grief and conscience, Billy, if you aren't the--the limit!"
+Which, indeed, she must have been, to have brought circumspect Aunt
+Hannah to the point of actually using slang.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV. A NIGHT OFF
+
+
+The Henshaw family did not return to the Strata until late in September.
+Billy said that the sea air seemed to agree so well with the baby it
+would be a pity to change until the weather became really too cool at
+the shore to be comfortable.
+
+William came back from his fishing trip in August, and resumed his old
+habit of sleeping at the house and taking his meals at the club. To be
+sure, for a week he went back and forth between the city and the beach
+house; but it happened to be a time when Bertram, Jr., was cutting a
+tooth, and this so wore upon William's sympathy--William still could not
+help insisting it _might_ be a pin--that he concluded peace lay only in
+flight. So he went back to the Strata.
+
+Bertram had stayed at the cottage all summer, painting industriously.
+Heretofore he had taken more of a vacation through the summer months,
+but this year there seemed to be nothing for him to do but to paint. He
+did not like to go away on a trip and leave Billy, and she declared she
+could not take the baby nor leave him, and that she did not need any
+trip, anyway.
+
+"All right, then, we'll just stay at the beach, and have a fine vacation
+together," he had answered her.
+
+As Bertram saw it, however, he could detect very little "vacation"
+to it. Billy had no time for anything but the baby. When she was not
+actually engaged in caring for it, she was studying how to care for it.
+Never had she been sweeter or dearer, and never had Bertram loved her
+half so well. He was proud, too, of her devotion, and of her triumphant
+success as a mother; but he did wish that sometimes, just once in a
+while, she would remember she was a wife, and pay a little attention to
+him, her husband.
+
+Bertram was ashamed to own it, even to himself, but he was feeling just
+a little abused that summer; and he knew that, in his heart, he was
+actually getting jealous of his own son, in spite of his adoration of
+the little fellow. He told himself defensively that it was not to be
+expected that he should not want the love of his wife, the attentions of
+his wife, and the companionship of his wife--a part of the time. It was
+nothing more than natural that occasionally he should like to see her
+show some interest in subjects not mentioned in Mothers' Guides and
+Scientific Trainings of Infants; and he did not believe he could be
+blamed for wanting his residence to be a home for himself as well as a
+nursery for his offspring.
+
+Even while he thus discontentedly argued with himself, however, Bertram
+called himself a selfish brute just to think such things when he had
+so dear and loving a wife as Billy, and so fine and splendid a baby as
+Bertram, Jr. He told himself, too, that very likely when they were back
+in their own house again, and when motherhood was not so new to her,
+Billy would not be so absorbed in the baby. She would return to her old
+interest in her husband, her music, her friends, and her own personal
+appearance. Meanwhile there was always, of course, for him, his
+painting. So he would paint, accepting gladly what crumbs of attention
+fell from the baby's table, and trust to the future to make Billy none
+the less a mother, perhaps, but a little more the wife.
+
+Just how confidently he was counting on this coming change, Bertram
+hardly realized himself; but certainly the family was scarcely settled
+at the Strata before the husband gayly proposed one evening that he and
+Billy should go to the theater to see "Romeo and Juliet."
+
+Billy was clearly both surprised and shocked.
+
+"Why, Bertram, I can't--you know I can't!" she exclaimed reprovingly.
+
+Bertram's heart sank; but he kept a brave front.
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"What a question! As if I'd leave Baby!"
+
+"But, Billy, dear, you'd be gone less than three hours, and you say
+Delia's the most careful of nurses."
+
+Billy's forehead puckered into an anxious frown.
+
+"I can't help it. Something might happen to him, Bertram. I couldn't be
+happy a minute."
+
+"But, dearest, aren't you _ever_ going to leave him?" demanded the young
+husband, forlornly.
+
+"Why, yes, of course, when it's reasonable and necessary. I went out to
+the Annex yesterday afternoon. I was gone almost two whole hours."
+
+"Well, did anything happen?"
+
+"N-no; but then I telephoned, you see, several times, so I _knew_
+everything was all right."
+
+"Oh, well, if that's all you want, I could telephone, you know, between
+every act," suggested Bertram, with a sarcasm that was quite lost on the
+earnest young mother.
+
+"Y-yes, you could do that, couldn't you?" conceded Billy; "and, of
+course, I _haven't_ been anywhere much, lately."
+
+"Indeed I could," agreed Bertram, with a promptness that carefully hid
+his surprise at her literal acceptance of what he had proposed as a huge
+joke. "Come, is it a go? Shall I telephone to see if I can get seats?"
+
+"You think Baby'll surely be all right?"
+
+"I certainly do."
+
+"And you'll telephone home between every act?"
+
+"I will." Bertram's voice sounded almost as if he were repeating the
+marriage service.
+
+"And we'll come straight home afterwards as fast as John and Peggy can
+bring us?"
+
+"Certainly."
+
+"Then I think--I'll--go," breathed Billy, tremulously, plainly showing
+what a momentous concession she thought she was making. "I do love
+'Romeo and Juliet,' and I haven't seen it for ages!"
+
+"Good! Then I'll find out about the tickets," cried Bertram, so elated
+at the prospect of having an old-time evening out with his wife that
+even the half-hourly telephones did not seem too great a price to pay.
+
+When the time came, they were a little late in starting. Baby
+was fretful, and though Billy usually laid him in his crib and
+unhesitatingly left the room, insisting that he should go to sleep by
+himself in accordance with the most approved rules in her Scientific
+Training; yet to-night she could not bring herself to the point of
+leaving the house until he was quiet. Hurried as they were when they
+did start, Billy was conscious of Bertram's frowning disapproval of her
+frock.
+
+"You don't like it, of course, dear, and I don't blame you," she smiled
+remorsefully.
+
+"Oh, I like it--that is, I did, when it was new," rejoined her husband,
+with apologetic frankness. "But, dear, didn't you have anything else?
+This looks almost--well, mussy, you know."
+
+"No--well, yes, maybe there were others," admitted Billy; "but this
+was the quickest and easiest to get into, and it all came just as I
+was getting Baby ready for bed, you know. I am a fright, though, I'll
+acknowledge, so far as clothes go. I haven't had time to get a thing
+since Baby came. I must get something right away, I suppose."
+
+"Yes, indeed," declared Bertram, with emphasis, hurrying his wife into
+the waiting automobile.
+
+Billy had to apologize again at the theater, for the curtain had already
+risen on the ancient quarrel between the houses of Capulet and Montague,
+and Billy knew her husband's special abhorrence of tardy arrivals.
+Later, though, when well established in their seats, Billy's mind was
+plainly not with the players on the stage.
+
+"Do you suppose Baby _is_ all right?" she whispered, after a time.
+
+"Sh-h! Of course he is, dear!"
+
+There was a brief silence, during which Billy peered at her program in
+the semi-darkness. Then she nudged her husband's arm ecstatically.
+
+"Bertram, I couldn't have chosen a better play if I'd tried. There
+are _five_ acts! I'd forgotten there were so many. That means you can
+telephone four times!"
+
+"Yes, dear." Bertram's voice was sternly cheerful.
+
+"You must be sure they tell you exactly how Baby is."
+
+"All right, dear. Sh-h! Here's Romeo."
+
+Billy subsided. She even clapped a little in spasmodic enthusiasm.
+Presently she peered at her program again.
+
+"There wouldn't be time, I suppose, to telephone between the scenes,"
+she hazarded wistfully. "There are sixteen of those!"
+
+"Well, hardly! Billy, you aren't paying one bit of attention to the
+play!"
+
+"Why, of course I am," whispered Billy, indignantly. "I think it's
+perfectly lovely, and I'm perfectly contented, too--since I found
+out about those five acts, and as long as I _can't_ have the sixteen
+scenes," she added, settling back in her seat.
+
+As if to prove that she was interested in the play, her next whisper,
+some time later, had to do with one of the characters on the stage.
+
+"Who's that--the nurse? Mercy! We wouldn't want her for Baby, would we?"
+
+In spite of himself Bertram chuckled this time. Billy, too, laughed at
+herself. Then, resolutely, she settled into her seat again.
+
+The curtain was not fairly down on the first act before Billy had laid
+an urgent hand on her husband's arm.
+
+"Now, remember; ask if he's waked up, or anything," she directed. "And
+be sure to say I'll come right home if they need me. Now hurry."
+
+"Yes, dear." Bertram rose with alacrity. "I'll be back right away."
+
+"Oh, but I don't want you to hurry _too_ much," she called after him,
+softly. "I want you to take plenty of time to ask questions."
+
+"All right," nodded Bertram, with a quizzical smile, as he turned away.
+
+Obediently Bertram asked all the question she could think of, then came
+back to his wife. There was nothing in his report that even Billy could
+disapprove of, or worry about; and with almost a contented look on her
+face she turned toward the stage as the curtain went up on the second
+act.
+
+"I love this balcony scene," she sighed happily.
+
+Romeo, however, had not half finished his impassioned love-making when
+Billy clutched her husband's arm almost fiercely.
+
+"Bertram," she fairly hissed in a tragic whisper, "I've just happened
+to think! Won't it be awful when Baby falls in love? I know I shall just
+hate that girl for taking him away from me!"
+
+"Sh-h! _Billy!_" expostulated her husband, choking with half-stifled
+laughter. "That woman in front heard you, I know she did!"
+
+"Well, I shall," sighed Billy, mournfully, turning back to the stage.
+
+   "'Good night, good night! parting is such sweet sorrow,
+     That I shall say good night, till it be morrow,"'
+
+sighed Juliet passionately to her Romeo.
+
+"Mercy! I hope not," whispered Billy flippantly in Bertram's ear. "I'm
+sure I don't want to stay here till to-morrow! I want to go home and see
+Baby."
+
+"_Billy!_" pleaded Bertram so despairingly, that Billy, really
+conscience-smitten, sat back in her seat and remained, for the rest of
+the act, very quiet indeed.
+
+Deceived by her apparent tranquillity, Bertram turned as the curtain
+went down.
+
+"Now, Billy, surely you don't think it'll be necessary to telephone so
+soon as this again," he ventured.
+
+Billy's countenance fell.
+
+"But, Bertram, you _said_ you would! Of course if you aren't willing
+to--but I've been counting on hearing all through this horrid long act,
+and--"
+
+"Goodness me, Billy, I'll telephone every minute for you, of course, if
+you want me to," cried Bertram, springing to his feet, and trying not to
+show his impatience.
+
+He was back more promptly this time.
+
+"Everything O. K.," he smiled reassuringly into Billy's anxious eyes.
+"Delia said she'd just been up, and the little chap was sound asleep."
+
+To the man's unbounded surprise, his wife grew actually white.
+
+"Up! Up!" she exclaimed. "Do you mean that Delia went down-stairs to
+_stay_, and left my baby up there alone?"
+
+"But, Billy, she said he was all right," murmured Bertram, softly,
+casting uneasy sidelong glances at his too interested neighbors.
+
+"'All right'! Perhaps he was, _then_--but he may not be, later. Delia
+should stay in the next room all the time, where she could hear the
+least thing."
+
+"Yes, dear, she will, I'm sure, if you tell her to," soothed Bertram,
+quickly. "It'll be all right next time."
+
+Billy shook her head. She was obviously near to crying.
+
+"But, Bertram, I can't stand it to sit here enjoying myself all safe and
+comfortable, and know that Baby is _alone_ up there in that great big
+room! Please, _please_ won't you go and telephone Delia to go up _now_
+and stay there?"
+
+Bertram, weary, sorely tried, and increasingly aware of those annoyingly
+interested neighbors, was on the point of saying a very decided no; but
+a glance into Billy's pleading eyes settled it. Without a word he went
+back to the telephone.
+
+The curtain was up when he slipped into his seat, very red of face. In
+answer to Billy's hurried whisper he shook his head; but in the short
+pause between the first and second scenes he said, in a low voice:
+
+"I'm sorry, Billy, but I couldn't get the house at all."
+
+"Couldn't get them! But you'd just been talking with them!"
+
+"That's exactly it, probably. I had just telephoned, so they weren't
+watching for the bell. Anyhow, I couldn't get them."
+
+"Then you didn't get Delia at all!"
+
+"Of course not."
+
+"And Baby is still--all alone!"
+
+"But he's all right, dear. Delia's keeping watch of him."
+
+For a moment there was silence; then, with clear decisiveness came
+Billy's voice.
+
+"Bertram, I am going home."
+
+"Billy!"
+
+"I am."
+
+"Billy, for heaven's sake don't be a silly goose! The play's half over
+already. We'll soon be going, anyway."
+
+Billy's lips came together in a thin little determined line.
+
+"Bertram, I am going home now, please," she said. "You needn't come with
+me; I can go alone."
+
+Bertram said two words under his breath which it was just as well,
+perhaps, that Billy--and the neighbors--did not hear; then he gathered
+up their wraps and, with Billy, stalked out of the theater.
+
+At home everything was found to be absolutely as it should be.
+Bertram, Jr., was peacefully sleeping, and Delia, who had come up from
+downstairs, was sewing in the next room.
+
+"There, you see," observed Bertram, a little sourly.
+
+Billy drew a long, contented sigh.
+
+"Yes, I see; everything is all right. But that's exactly what I wanted
+to do, Bertram, you know--to _see for myself_," she finished happily.
+
+And Bertram, looking at her rapt face as she hovered over the baby's
+crib, called himself a brute and a beast to mind _anything_ that could
+make Billy look like that.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV. "SHOULD AULD ACQUAINTANCE BE FORGOT"
+
+
+Bertram did not ask Billy very soon again to go to the theater. For some
+days, indeed, he did not ask her to do anything. Then, one evening, he
+did beg for some music.
+
+"Billy, you haven't played to me or sung to me since I could remember,"
+he complained. "I want some music."
+
+Billy gave a merry laugh and wriggled her fingers experimentally.
+
+"Mercy, Bertram! I don't believe I could play a note. You know I'm all
+out of practice."
+
+"But why _don't_ you practice?"
+
+"Why, Bertram, I can't. In the first place I don't seem to have any time
+except when Baby's asleep; and I can't play then-I'd wake him up."
+
+Bertram sighed irritably, rose to his feet, and began to walk up and
+down the room. He came to a pause at last, his eyes bent a trifle
+disapprovingly on his wife.
+
+"Billy, dear, _don't_ you wear anything but those wrapper things
+nowadays?" he asked plaintively.
+
+Again Billy laughed. But this time a troubled frown followed the laugh.
+
+"I know, Bertram, I suppose they do look dowdy, sometimes," she
+confessed; "but, you see, I hate to wear a really good dress--Baby
+rumples them up so; and I'm usually in a hurry to get to him mornings,
+and these are so easy to slip into, and so much more comfortable for me
+to handle him in!"
+
+"Yes, of course, of course; I see," mumbled Bertram, listlessly taking
+up his walk again.
+
+Billy, after a moment's silence, began to talk animatedly. Baby had done
+a wonderfully cunning thing that morning, and Billy had not had a chance
+yet to tell Bertram. Baby was growing more and more cunning anyway,
+these days, and there were several things she believed she had not told
+him; so she told them now.
+
+Bertram listened politely, interestedly. He told himself that he _was_
+interested, too. Of course he was interested in the doings of his own
+child! But he still walked up and down the room a little restlessly,
+coming to a halt at last by the window, across which the shade had not
+been drawn.
+
+"Billy," he cried suddenly, with his old boyish eagerness, "there's
+a glorious moon. Come on! Let's take a little walk--a real
+fellow-and-his-best-girl walk! Will you?"
+
+"Mercy! dear, I couldn't," cried Billy springing to her feet. "I'd love
+to, though, if I could," she added hastily, as she saw disappointment
+cloud her husband's face. "But I told Delia she might go out. It isn't
+her regular evening, of course, but I told her I didn't mind staying
+with Baby a bit. So I'll have to go right up now. She'll be going soon.
+But, dear, you go and take your walk. It'll do you good. Then you can
+come back and tell me all about it--only you must come in quietly, so
+not to wake the baby," she finished, giving her husband an affectionate
+kiss, as she left the room.
+
+After a disconsolate five minutes of solitude, Bertram got his hat and
+coat and went out for his walk--but he told himself he did not expect to
+enjoy it.
+
+Bertram Henshaw knew that the old rebellious jealousy of the summer had
+him fast in its grip. He was heartily ashamed of himself, but he could
+not help it. He wanted Billy, and he wanted her then. He wanted to talk
+to her. He wanted to tell her about a new portrait commission he had
+just obtained; and he wanted to ask her what she thought of the idea of
+a brand-new "Face of a Girl" for the Bohemian Ten Exhibition next March.
+He wanted--but then, what would be the use? She would listen, of course,
+but he would know by the very looks of her face that she would not be
+really thinking of what he was saying; and he would be willing to wager
+his best canvas that in the very first pause she would tell about the
+baby's newest tooth or latest toy. Not but that he liked to hear about
+the little fellow, of course; and not but that he was proud as Punch
+of him, too; but that he would like sometimes to hear Billy talk of
+something else. The sweetest melody in the world, if dinned into one's
+ears day and night, became something to be fled from.
+
+And Billy ought to talk of something else, too! Bertram, Jr., wonderful
+as he was, really was not the only thing in the world, or even the only
+baby; and other people--outsiders, their friends--had a right to
+expect that sometimes other matters might be considered--their own, for
+instance. But Billy seemed to have forgotten this. No matter whether
+the subject of conversation had to do with the latest novel or a trip
+to Europe, under Billy's guidance it invariably led straight to Baby's
+Jack-and-Jill book, or to a perambulator journey in the Public Garden.
+If it had not been so serious, it would have been really funny the way
+all roads led straight to one goal. He himself, when alone with Billy,
+had started the most unusual and foreign subjects, sometimes, just to
+see if there were not somewhere a little bypath that did not bring up in
+his own nursery. He never, however, found one.
+
+But it was not funny; it was serious. Was this glorious gift on
+parenthood to which he had looked forward as the crowning joy of his
+existence, to be nothing but a tragedy that would finally wreck his
+domestic happiness? It could not be. It must not be. He must be patient,
+and wait. Billy loved him. He was sure she did. By and by this obsession
+of motherhood, which had her so fast in its grasp, would relax. She
+would remember that her husband had rights as well as her child. Once
+again she would give him the companionship, love, and sympathetic
+interest so dear to him. Meanwhile there was his work. He must bury
+himself in that. And fortunate, indeed, he was, he told himself, that he
+had something so absorbing.
+
+It was at this point in his meditations that Bertram rounded a corner
+and came face to face with a man who stopped him short with a jovial:
+
+"Isn't it--by George, it is Bertie Henshaw! Well, what do you think of
+that for luck?--and me only two days home from 'Gay Paree'!"
+
+"Oh, Seaver! How are you? You _are_ a stranger!" Bertram's voice and
+handshake were a bit more cordial than they would have been had he not
+at the moment been feeling so abused and forlorn. In the old days he had
+liked this Bob Seaver well. Seaver was an artist like himself, and was
+good company always. But Seaver and his crowd were a little too Bohemian
+for William's taste; and after Billy came, she, too, had objected to
+what she called "that horrid Seaver man." In his heart, Bertram knew
+that there was good foundation for their objections, so he had avoided
+Seaver for a time; and for some years, now, the man had been abroad,
+somewhat to Bertram's relief. To-night, however, Seaver's genial smile
+and hearty friendliness were like a sudden burst of sunshine on a rainy
+day--and Bertram detested rainy days. He was feeling now, too, as if he
+had just had a whole week of them.
+
+"Yes, I am something of a stranger here," nodded Seaver. "But I tell you
+what, little old Boston looks mighty good to me, all the same. Come on!
+You're just the fellow we want. I'm on my way now to the old stamping
+ground. Come--right about face, old chap, and come with me!"
+
+Bertram shook his head.
+
+"Sorry--but I guess I can't, to-night," he sighed. Both gesture and
+words were unhesitating, but the voice carried the discontent of a small
+boy, who, while the sun is still shining, has been told to come into the
+house.
+
+"Oh, rats! Yes, you can, too. Come on! Lots of the old crowd will be
+there--Griggs, Beebe, Jack Jenkins, and Tully. We need you to complete
+the show."
+
+"Jack Jenkins? Is he here?" A new eagerness had come into Bertram's
+voice.
+
+"Sure! He came on from New York last night. Great boy, Jenkins! Just
+back from Paris fairly covered with medals, you know."
+
+"Yes, so I hear. I haven't seen him for four years."
+
+"Better come to-night then."
+
+"No-o," began Bertram, with obvious reluctance. "It's already nine
+o'clock, and--"
+
+"Nine o'clock!" cut in Seaver, with a broad grin. "Since when has your
+limit been nine o'clock? I've seen the time when you didn't mind nine
+o'clock in the morning, Bertie! What's got--Oh, I remember. I met
+another friend of yours in Berlin; chap named Arkwright--and say, he's
+some singer, you bet! You're going to hear of him one of these days.
+Well, he told me all about how you'd settled down now--son and heir,
+fireside bliss, pretty wife, and all the fixings. But, I say, Bertie,
+doesn't she let you out--_any_?"
+
+"Nonsense, Seaver!" flared Bertram in annoyed wrath.
+
+"Well, then, why don't you come to-night? If you want to see Jenkins
+you'll have to; he's going back to New York to-morrow."
+
+For only a brief minute longer did Bertram hesitate; then he turned
+squarely about with an air of finality.
+
+"Is he? Well, then, perhaps I will," he said. "I'd hate to miss Jenkins
+entirely."
+
+"Good!" exclaimed his companion, as they fell into step. "Have a cigar?"
+
+"Thanks. Don't mind if I do."
+
+If Bertram's chin was a little higher and his step a little more decided
+than usual, it was all merely by way of accompaniment to his thoughts.
+
+Certainly it was right that he should go, and it was sensible. Indeed,
+it was really almost imperative--due to Billy, as it were--after that
+disagreeable taunt of Seaver's. As if she did not want him to go when
+and where he pleased! As if she would consent for a moment to figure
+in the eyes of his friends as a tyrannical wife who objected to her
+husband's passing a social evening with his friends! To be sure, in this
+particular case, she might not favor Seaver's presence, but even she
+would not mind this once--and, anyhow, it was Jenkins that was the
+attraction, not Seaver. Besides, he himself was no undeveloped boy now.
+He was a man, presumedly able to take care of himself. Besides, again,
+had not Billy herself told him to go out and enjoy the evening without
+her, as she had to stay with the baby? He would telephone her, of
+course, that he had met some old friends, and that he might be late;
+then she would not worry.
+
+And forthwith, having settled the matter in his mind, and to his
+complete satisfaction, Bertram gave his undivided attention to Seaver,
+who had already plunged into an account of a recent Art Exhibition he
+had attended in Paris.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI. GHOSTS THAT WALKED FOR BERTRAM
+
+
+October proved to be unusually mild, and about the middle of the month,
+Bertram, after much unselfish urging on the part of Billy, went to a
+friend's camp in the Adirondacks for a week's stay. He came back with an
+angry, lugubrious face--and a broken arm.
+
+"Oh, Bertram! And your right one, too--the same one you broke before!"
+mourned Billy, tearfully.
+
+"Of course," retorted Bertram, trying in vain to give an air of
+jauntiness to his reply. "Didn't want to be too changeable, you know!"
+
+"But how did you do it, dear?"
+
+"Fell into a silly little hole covered with underbrush. But--oh, Billy,
+what's the use? I did it, and I can't undo it--more's the pity!"
+
+"Of course you can't, you poor boy," sympathized Billy; "and you sha'n't
+be tormented with questions. We'll just be thankful 'twas no worse. You
+can't paint for a while, of course; but we won't mind that. It'll just
+give Baby and me a chance to have you all to ourselves for a time, and
+we'll love that!'
+
+"Yes, of course," sighed Bertram, so abstractedly that Billy bridled
+with pretty resentment.
+
+"Well, I like your enthusiasm, sir," she frowned. "I'm afraid you don't
+appreciate the blessings you do have, young man! Did you realize what
+I said? I remarked that you could be with _Baby_ and _me_," she
+emphasized.
+
+Bertram laughed, and gave his wife an affectionate kiss.
+
+"Indeed I do appreciate my blessings, dear--when those blessings are
+such treasures as you and Baby, but--" Only his doleful eyes fixed on
+his injured arm finished his sentence.
+
+"I know, dear, of course, and I understand," murmured Billy, all
+tenderness at once.
+
+
+They were not easy for Bertram--those following days. Once again he
+was obliged to accept the little intimate personal services that he
+so disliked. Once again he could do nothing but read, or wander
+disconsolately into his studio and gaze at his half-finished "Face of
+a Girl." Occasionally, it is true, driven nearly to desperation by the
+haunting vision in his mind's eye, he picked up a brush and attempted
+to make his left hand serve his will; but a bare half-dozen irritating,
+ineffectual strokes were usually enough to make him throw down his
+brush in disgust. He never could do anything with his left hand, he told
+himself dejectedly.
+
+Many of his hours, of course, he spent with Billy and his son, and they
+were happy hours, too; but they always came to be restless ones before
+the day was half over. Billy was always devotion itself to him--when she
+was not attending to the baby; he had no fault to find with Billy. And
+the baby was delightful--he could find no fault with the baby. But the
+baby _was_ fretful--he was teething, Billy said--and he needed a great
+deal of attention; so, naturally, Bertram drifted out of the nursery,
+after a time, and went down into his studio, where were his dear, empty
+palette, his orderly brushes, and his tantalizing "Face of a Girl." From
+the studio, generally, Bertram went out on to the street.
+
+Sometimes he dropped into a fellow-artist's studio. Sometimes he
+strolled into a club or cafe where he knew he would be likely to find
+some friend who would help him while away a tiresome hour. Bertram's
+friends quite vied with each other in rendering this sort of aid, so
+much so, indeed, that--naturally, perhaps--Bertram came to call on their
+services more and more frequently.
+
+Particularly was this the case when, after the splints were removed,
+Bertram found, as the days passed, that his arm was not improving as it
+should improve. This not only disappointed and annoyed him, but worried
+him. He remembered sundry disquieting warnings given by the physician
+at the time of the former break--warnings concerning the probable
+seriousness of a repetition of the injury. To Billy, of course, Bertram
+said nothing of all this; but just before Christmas he went to see a
+noted specialist.
+
+An hour later, almost in front of the learned surgeon's door, Bertram
+met Bob Seaver.
+
+"Great Scott, Bertie, what's up?" ejaculated Seaver. "You look as if
+you'd seen a ghost."
+
+"I have," answered Bertram, with grim bitterness. "I've seen the ghost
+of--of every 'Face of a Girl' I ever painted."
+
+"Gorry! So bad as that? No wonder you look as if you'd been disporting
+in graveyards," chuckled Seaver, laughing at his own joke "What's the
+matter--arm on a rampage to day?"
+
+He paused for reply, but as Bertram did not answer at once, he resumed,
+with gay insistence: "Come on! You need cheering up. Suppose we go down
+to Trentini's and see who's there."
+
+"All right," agreed Bertram, dully. "Suit yourself."
+
+Bertram was not thinking of Seaver, Trentini's, or whom he might find
+there. Bertram was thinking of certain words he had heard less than
+half an hour ago. He was wondering, too, if ever again he could think of
+anything but those words.
+
+"The truth?" the great surgeon had said. "Well, the truth is--I'm sorry
+to tell you the truth, Mr. Henshaw, but if you will have it--you've
+painted the last picture you'll ever paint with your right hand, I fear.
+It's a bad case. This break, coming as it did on top of the serious
+injury of two or three years ago, was bad enough; but, to make matters
+worse, the bone was imperfectly set and wrongly treated, which could not
+be helped, of course, as you were miles away from skilled surgeons at
+the time of the injury. We'll do the best we can, of course; but--well,
+you asked for the truth, you remember; so I had to give it to you."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII. THE MOTHER--THE WIFE
+
+
+Bertram made up his mind at once that, for the present, at least,
+he would tell no one what the surgeon had said to him. He had placed
+himself under the man's care, and there was nothing to do but to take
+the prescribed treatment and await results as patiently as he could.
+Meanwhile there was no need to worry Billy, or William, or anybody else
+with the matter.
+
+Billy was so busy with her holiday plans that she was only vaguely aware
+of what seemed to be an increase of restlessness on the part of her
+husband during those days just before Christmas.
+
+"Poor dear, is the arm feeling horrid to-day?" she asked one morning,
+when the gloom on her husband's face was deeper than usual.
+
+Bertram frowned and did not answer directly.
+
+"Lots of good I am these days!" he exclaimed, his moody eyes on the
+armful of many-shaped, many-sized packages she carried. "What are those
+for-the tree?"
+
+"Yes; and it's going to be so pretty, Bertram," exulted Billy. "And, do
+you know, Baby positively acts as if he suspected things--little as he
+is," she went on eagerly. "He's as nervous as a witch. I can't keep him
+still a minute!"
+
+"How about his mother?" hinted Bertram, with a faint smile.
+
+Billy laughed.
+
+"Well, I'm afraid she isn't exactly calm herself," she confessed, as she
+hurried out of the room with her parcels.
+
+Bertram looked after her longingly, despondently.
+
+"I wonder what she'd say if she--knew," he muttered. "But she sha'n't
+know--till she just has to," he vowed suddenly, under his breath,
+striding into the hall for his hat and coat.
+
+Never had the Strata known such a Christmas as this was planned to be.
+Cyril, Marie, and the twins were to be there, also Kate, her husband
+and three children, Paul, Egbert, and little Kate, from the West. On
+Christmas Day there was to be a big family dinner, with Aunt Hannah down
+from the Annex. Then, in concession to the extreme youth of the young
+host and his twin cousins, there was to be an afternoon tree. The shades
+were to be drawn and the candles lighted, however, so that there might
+be no loss of effect. In the evening the tree was to be once more loaded
+with fascinating packages and candy-bags, and this time the Greggorys,
+Tommy Dunn, and all the rest from the Annex were to have the fun all
+over again.
+
+From garret to basement the Strata was aflame with holly, and aglitter
+with tinsel. Nowhere did there seem to be a spot that did not have its
+bit of tissue paper or its trail of red ribbon. And everything--holly,
+ribbon, tissue, and tinsel--led to the mysteriously closed doors of the
+great front drawing-room, past which none but Billy and her accredited
+messengers might venture. No wonder, indeed, that even Baby scented
+excitement, and that Baby's mother was not exactly calm. No wonder, too,
+that Bertram, with his helpless right arm, and his heavy heart, felt
+peculiarly forlorn and "out of it." No wonder, also, that he took
+himself literally out of it with growing frequency.
+
+Mr. and Mrs. Hartwell and little Kate were to stay at the Strata. The
+boys, Paul and Egbert, were to go to Cyril's. Promptly at the appointed
+time, two days before Christmas, they arrived. And from that hour until
+two days after Christmas, when the last bit of holly, ribbon, tissue,
+and tinsel disappeared from the floor, Billy moved in a whirl of anxious
+responsibility that was yet filled with fun, frolic, and laughter.
+
+It was a great success, the whole affair. Everybody seemed pleased and
+happy--that is, everybody but Bertram; and he very plainly tried to seem
+pleased and happy. Even Cyril unbent to the extent of not appearing to
+mind the noise one bit; and Sister Kate (Bertram said) found only
+the extraordinarily small number of four details to change in the
+arrangements. Baby obligingly let his teeth-getting go, for the
+occasion, and he and the twins, Franz and Felix, were the admiration and
+delight of all. Little Kate, to be sure, was a trifle disconcerting once
+or twice, but everybody was too absorbed to pay much attention to her.
+Billy did, however, remember her opening remarks.
+
+"Well, little Kate, do you remember me?" Billy had greeted her
+pleasantly.
+
+"Oh, yes," little Kate had answered, with a winning smile. "You're my
+Aunt Billy what married my Uncle Bertram instead of Uncle William as you
+said you would first."
+
+Everybody laughed, and Billy colored, of course; but little Kate went on
+eagerly:
+
+"And I've been wanting just awfully to see you," she announced.
+
+"Have you? I'm glad, I'm sure. I feel highly flattered," smiled Billy.
+
+"Well, I have. You see, I wanted to ask you something. Have you ever
+wished that you _had_ married Uncle William instead of Uncle Bertram, or
+that you'd tried for Uncle Cyril before Aunty Marie got him?"
+
+"Kate!" gasped her horrified mother. "I told you--You see," she broke
+off, turning to Billy despairingly. "She's been pestering me with
+questions like that ever since she knew she was coming. She never has
+forgotten the way you changed from one uncle to the other. You may
+remember; it made a great impression on her at the time."
+
+"Yes, I--I remember," stammered Billy, trying to laugh off her
+embarrassment.
+
+"But you haven't told me yet whether you did wish you'd married Uncle
+William, or Uncle Cyril," interposed little Kate, persistently.
+
+"No, no, of course not!" exclaimed Billy, with a vivid blush, casting
+her eyes about for a door of escape, and rejoicing greatly when she
+spied Delia with the baby coming toward them. "There, look, my dear,
+here's your new cousin, little Bertram!" she exclaimed. "Don't you want
+to see him?"
+
+Little Kate turned dutifully.
+
+"Yes'm, Aunt Billy, but I'd rather see the twins. Mother says _they're_
+real pretty and cunning."
+
+"Er--y-yes, they are," murmured Billy, on whom the emphasis of the
+"they're" had not been lost.
+
+Naturally, as may be supposed, therefore, Billy had not forgotten little
+Kate's opening remarks.
+
+Immediately after Christmas Mr. Hartwell and the boys went back to their
+Western home, leaving Mrs. Hartwell and her daughter to make a round of
+visits to friends in the East. For almost a week after Christmas they
+remained at the Strata; and it was on the last day of their stay that
+little Kate asked the question that proved so momentous in results.
+
+Billy, almost unconsciously, had avoided tete-a-tetes with her
+small guest. But to-day they were alone together.
+
+"Aunt Billy," began the little girl, after a meditative gaze into the
+other's face, "you _are_ married to Uncle Bertram, aren't you?"
+
+"I certainly am, my dear," smiled Billy, trying to speak unconcernedly.
+
+"Well, then, what makes you forget it?"
+
+"What makes me forget--Why, child, what a question! What do you mean? I
+don't forget it!" exclaimed Billy, indignantly.
+
+"Then what _did_ mother mean? I heard her tell Uncle William myself--she
+didn't know I heard, though--that she did wish you'd remember you were
+Uncle Bertram's wife as well as Cousin Bertram's mother."
+
+Billy flushed scarlet, then grew very white. At that moment Mrs.
+Hartwell came into the room. Little Kate turned triumphantly.
+
+"There, she hasn't forgotten, and I knew she hadn't, mother! I asked her
+just now, and she said she hadn't."
+
+"Hadn't what?" questioned Mrs. Hartwell, looking a little apprehensively
+at her sister-in-law's white face and angry eyes.
+
+"Hadn't forgotten that she was Uncle Bertram's wife."
+
+"Kate," interposed Billy, steadily meeting her sister-in-law's gaze,
+"will you be good enough to tell me what this child is talking about?"
+
+Mrs. Hartwell sighed, and gave an impatient gesture.
+
+"Kate, I've a mind to take you home on the next train," she said to her
+daughter. "Run away, now, down-stairs. Your Aunt Billy and I want to
+talk. Come, come, hurry! I mean what I say," she added warningly, as she
+saw unmistakable signs of rebellion on the small young face.
+
+"I wish," pouted little Kate, rising reluctantly, and moving toward the
+door, "that you didn't always send me away just when I wanted most to
+stay!"
+
+"Well, Kate?" prompted Billy, as the door closed behind the little girl.
+
+"Yes, I suppose I'll have to say it now, as long as that child has put
+her finger in the pie. But I hadn't intended to speak, no matter what I
+saw. I promised myself I wouldn't, before I came. I know, of course, how
+Bertram and Cyril, and William, too, say that I'm always interfering
+in affairs that don't concern me--though, for that matter, if my own
+brother's affairs don't concern me, I don't know whose should!
+
+"But, as I said, I wasn't going to speak this time, no matter what I
+saw. And I haven't--except to William, and Cyril, and Aunt Hannah; but
+I suppose somewhere little Kate got hold of it. It's simply this, Billy.
+It seems to me it's high time you began to realize that you're Bertram's
+wife as well as the baby's mother."
+
+"That, I am--I don't think I quite understand," said Billy, unsteadily.
+
+"No, I suppose you don't," sighed Kate, "though where your eyes are, I
+don't see--or, rather, I do see: they're on the baby, _always_. It's all
+very well and lovely, Billy, to be a devoted mother, and you certainly
+are that. I'll say that much for you, and I'll admit I never thought you
+would be. But _can't_ you see what you're doing to Bertram?"
+
+"_Doing to Bertram!_--by being a devoted mother to his son!"
+
+"Yes, doing to Bertram. Can't you see what a change there is in the
+boy? He doesn't act like himself at all. He's restless and gloomy and
+entirely out of sorts."
+
+"Yes, I know; but that's his arm," pleaded Billy. "Poor boy--he's so
+tired of it!"
+
+Kate shook her head decisively.
+
+"It's more than his arm, Billy. You'd see it yourself if you weren't
+blinded by your absorption in that baby. Where is Bertram every evening?
+Where is he daytimes? Do you realize that he's been at home scarcely one
+evening since I came? And as for the days--he's almost never here."
+
+"But, Kate, he can't paint now, you know, so of course he doesn't
+need to stay so closely at home," defended Billy. "He goes out to find
+distraction from himself."
+
+"Yes, 'distraction,' indeed," sniffed Kate. "And where do you suppose
+he finds it? Do you _know_ where he finds it? I tell you, Billy, Bertram
+Henshaw is not the sort of man that should find too much 'distraction'
+outside his home. His tastes and his temperament are altogether too
+Bohemian, and--"
+
+Billy interrupted with a peremptorily upraised hand.
+
+"Please remember, Kate, you are speaking of my husband to his wife; and
+his wife has perfect confidence in him, and is just a little particular
+as to what you say."
+
+"Yes; well, I'm speaking of my brother, too, whom I know very well,"
+shrugged Kate. "All is, you may remember sometime that I warned
+you--that's all. This trusting business is all very pretty; but I think
+'twould be a lot prettier, and a vast deal more sensible, if you'd give
+him a little attention as well as trust, and see if you can't keep him
+at home a bit more. At least you'll know whom he's with, then. Cyril
+says he saw him last week with Bob Seaver."
+
+"With--Bob--Seaver?" faltered Billy, changing color.
+
+"Yes. I see you remember him," smiled Kate, not quite agreeably.
+"Perhaps now you'll take some stock in what I've said, and remember it."
+
+"I'll remember it, certainly," returned Billy, a little proudly. "You've
+said a good many things to me, in the past, Mrs. Hartwell, and I've
+remembered them all--every one."
+
+It was Kate's turn to flush, and she did it.
+
+"Yes, I know. And I presume very likely sometimes there _hasn't_ been
+much foundation for what I've said. I think this time, however, you'll
+find there is," she finished, with an air of hurt dignity.
+
+Billy made no reply, perhaps because Delia, at that moment, brought in
+the baby.
+
+Mrs. Hartwell and little Kate left the Strata the next morning. Until
+then Billy contrived to keep, before them, a countenance serene, and a
+manner free from unrest. Even when, after dinner that evening, Bertram
+put on his hat and coat and went out, Billy refused to meet her
+sister-in-law's meaning gaze. But in the morning, after they had left
+the house, Billy did not attempt to deceive herself. Determinedly, then,
+she set herself to going over in her mind the past months since the baby
+came; and she was appalled at what she found. Ever in her ears, too, was
+that feared name, "Bob Seaver"; and ever before her eyes was that night
+years ago when, as an eighteen-year-old girl, she had followed Bertram
+and Bob Seaver into a glittering cafe at eleven o'clock at night,
+because Bertram had been drinking and was not himself. She remembered
+Bertram's face when he had seen her, and what he had said when she
+begged him to come home. She remembered, too, what the family had said
+afterward. But she remembered, also, that years later Bertram had told
+her what that escapade of hers had really done for him, and that he
+believed he had actually loved her from that moment. After that night,
+at all events, he had had little to do with Bob Seaver.
+
+And now Seaver was back again, it seemed--and with Bertram. They had
+been seen together. But if they had, what could she do? Surely she could
+hardly now follow them into a public cafe and demand that Seaver let
+her husband come home! But she could keep him at home, perhaps. (Billy
+quite brightened at this thought.) Kate had said that she was so
+absorbed in Baby that her husband received no attention at all. Billy
+did not believe this was true; but if it were true, she could at least
+rectify that mistake. If it were attention that he wanted--he should
+want no more. Poor Bertram! No wonder that he had sought distraction
+outside! When one had a horrid broken arm that would not let one do
+anything, what else could one do?
+
+Just here Billy suddenly remembered the book, "A Talk to Young Wives."
+If she recollected rightly, there was a chapter that covered the very
+claim Kate had been making. Billy had not thought of the book for
+months, but she went at once to get it now. There might be, after all,
+something in it that would help her.
+
+"The Coming of the First Baby." Billy found the chapter without
+difficulty and settled herself to read, her countenance alight with
+interest. In a surprisingly short time, however, a new expression came
+to her face; and at last a little gasp of dismay fell from her lips. She
+looked up then, with a startled gaze.
+
+_Had_ her walls possessed eyes and ears all these past months, only to
+give instructions to an unseen hand that it might write what the eyes
+and ears had learned? For it was such sentences as these that the
+conscience-smitten Billy read:
+
+"Maternity is apt to work a miracle in a woman's life, but sometimes it
+spells disaster so far as domestic bliss is concerned. The young mother,
+wrapped up in the delights and duties of motherhood, utterly forgets
+that she has a husband. She lives and moves and has her being in the
+nursery. She thinks baby, talks baby, knows only baby. She refuses to
+dress up, because it is easier to take care of baby in a frowzy wrapper.
+She will not go out with her husband for fear something might happen to
+the baby. She gives up her music because baby won't let her practice.
+In vain her husband tries to interest her in his own affairs. She has
+neither eyes nor ears for him, only for baby.
+
+"Now no man enjoys having his nose put out of joint, even by his own
+child. He loves his child devotedly, and is proud of him, of course;
+but that does not keep him from wanting the society of his wife
+occasionally, nor from longing for her old-time love and sympathetic
+interest. It is an admirable thing, certainly, for a woman to be a
+devoted mother; but maternal affection can be carried too far. Husbands
+have some rights as well as offspring; and the wife who neglects
+her husband for her babies does so at her peril. Home, with the wife
+eternally in the nursery, is apt to be a dull and lonely thing to the
+average husband, so he starts out to find amusement for himself--and he
+finds it. Then is the time when the new little life that is so precious,
+and that should have bound the two more closely together, becomes the
+wedge that drives them apart."
+
+Billy did not read any more. With a little sobbing cry she flung the
+book back into her desk, and began to pull off her wrapper. Her fingers
+shook. Already she saw herself a Monster, a Wicked Destroyer of Domestic
+Bliss with her thoughtless absorption in Baby, until he had become that
+Awful Thing--a _Wedge_. And Bertram--poor Bertram, with his broken arm!
+She had not played to him, nor sung to him, nor gone out with him. And
+when had they had one of their good long talks about Bertram's work and
+plans?
+
+But it should all be changed now. She would play, and sing, and go out
+with him. She would dress up, too. He should see no more wrappers. She
+would ask about his work, and seem interested. She _was_ interested. She
+remembered now, that just before he was hurt, he had told her of a
+new portrait, and of a new "Face of a Girl" that he had planned to do.
+Lately he had said nothing about these. He had seemed discouraged--and
+no wonder, with his broken arm! But she would change all that. He should
+see! And forthwith Billy hurried to her closet to pick out her prettiest
+house frock.
+
+Long before dinner Billy was ready, waiting in the drawing-room. She had
+on a pretty little blue silk gown that she knew Bertram liked, and she
+watched very anxiously for Bertram to come up the steps. She remembered
+now, with a pang, that he had long since given up his peculiar ring; but
+she meant to meet him at the door just the same.
+
+Bertram, however, did not come. At a quarter before six he telephoned
+that he had met some friends, and would dine at the club.
+
+"My, my, how pretty we are!" exclaimed Uncle William, when they went
+down to dinner together. "New frock?"
+
+"Why, no, Uncle William," laughed Billy, a little tremulously. "You've
+seen it dozens of times!"
+
+"Have I?" murmured the man. "I don't seem to remember it. Too bad
+Bertram isn't here to see you. Somehow, you look unusually pretty
+to-night."
+
+And Billy's heart ached anew.
+
+Billy spent the evening practicing--softly, to be sure, so as not to
+wake Baby--but _practicing_.
+
+As the days passed Billy discovered that it was much easier to say she
+would "change things" than it was really to change them. She changed
+herself, it is true--her clothes, her habits, her words, and her
+thoughts; but it was more difficult to change Bertram. In the first
+place, he was there so little. She was dismayed when she saw how very
+little, indeed, he was at home--and she did not like to ask him outright
+to stay. That was not in accordance with her plans. Besides, the "Talk
+to Young Wives" said that indirect influence was much to be preferred,
+always, to direct persuasion--which last, indeed, usually failed to
+produce results.
+
+So Billy "dressed up," and practiced, and talked (of anything but the
+baby), and even hinted shamelessly once or twice that she would like to
+go to the theater; but all to little avail. True, Bertram brightened
+up, for a minute, when he came home and found her in a new or a favorite
+dress, and he told her how pretty she looked. He appeared to like to
+have her play to him, too, even declaring once or twice that it was
+quite like old times, yes, it was. But he never noticed her hints about
+the theater, and he did not seem to like to talk about his work, even a
+little bit.
+
+Billy laid this last fact to his injured arm. She decided that he had
+become blue and discouraged, and that he needed cheering up, especially
+about his work; so she determinedly and systematically set herself to
+doing it.
+
+She talked of the fine work he had done, and of the still finer work he
+would yet do, when his arm was well. She told him how proud she was of
+him, and she let him see how dear his Art was to her, and how badly she
+would feel if she thought he had really lost all his interest in his
+work and would never paint again. She questioned him about the new
+portrait he was to begin as soon as his arm would let him; and she tried
+to arouse his enthusiasm in the picture he had planned to show in the
+March Exhibition of the Bohemian Ten, telling him that she was sure his
+arm would allow him to complete at least one canvas to hang.
+
+In none of this, however, did Bertram appear in the least interested.
+The one thing, indeed, which he seemed not to want to talk about, was
+his work; and he responded to her overtures on the subject with only
+moody silence, or else with almost irritable monosyllables; all of which
+not only grieved but surprised Billy very much. For, according to
+the "Talk to Young Wives," she was doing exactly what the ideal,
+sympathetic, interested-in-her-husband's-work wife should do.
+
+When February came, bringing with it no change for the better, Billy was
+thoroughly frightened. Bertram's arm plainly was not improving. He was
+more gloomy and restless than ever. He seemed not to want to stay at
+home at all; and Billy knew now for a certainty that he was spending
+more and more time with Bob Seaver and "the boys."
+
+Poor Billy! Nowhere could she look these days and see happiness. Even
+the adored baby seemed, at times, almost to give an added pang. Had he
+not become, according to the "Talk to Young Wives" that awful thing, a
+_Wedge_? The Annex, too, carried its sting; for where was the need of
+an overflow house for happiness now, when there was no happiness to
+overflow? Even the little jade idol on Billy's mantel Billy could not
+bear to see these days, for its once bland smile had become a hideous
+grin, demanding, "Where, now, is your heap plenty velly good luckee?"
+
+But, before Bertram, Billy still carried a bravely smiling face, and to
+him still she talked earnestly and enthusiastically of his work--which
+last, as it happened, was the worst course she could have pursued; for
+the one thing poor Bertram wished to forget, just now, was--his work.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVIII. CONSPIRATORS
+
+
+Early in February came Arkwright's appearance at the Boston Opera
+House--the first since he had sung there as a student a few years
+before. He was an immediate and an unquestioned success. His portrait
+adorned the front page of almost every Boston newspaper the next
+morning, and captious critics vied with each other to do him honor. His
+full history, from boyhood up, was featured, with special emphasis on
+his recent triumphs in New York and foreign capitals. He was interviewed
+as to his opinion on everything from vegetarianism to woman's suffrage;
+and his preferences as to pies and pastimes were given headline
+prominence. There was no doubt of it. Mr. M. J. Arkwright was a star.
+
+All Arkwright's old friends, including Billy, Bertram, Cyril, Marie,
+Calderwell, Alice Greggory, Aunt Hannah, and Tommy Dunn, went to hear
+him sing; and after the performance he held a miniature reception,
+with enough adulation to turn his head completely around, he declared
+deprecatingly. Not until the next evening, however, did he have an
+opportunity for what he called a real talk with any of his friends;
+then, in Calderwell's room, he settled back in his chair with a sigh of
+content.
+
+For a time his own and Calderwell's affairs occupied their attention;
+then, after a short pause, the tenor asked abruptly:
+
+"Is there anything--wrong with the Henshaws, Calderwell?"
+
+Calderwell came suddenly erect in his chair.
+
+"Thank you! I hoped you'd introduce that subject; though, for that
+matter, if you hadn't, I should. Yes, there is--and I'm looking to you,
+old man, to get them out of it."
+
+"I?" Arkwright sat erect now.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"What do you mean?"
+
+"In a way, the expected has happened--though I know now that I didn't
+really expect it to happen, in spite of my prophecies. You may remember
+I was always skeptical on the subject of Bertram's settling down to a
+domestic hearthstone. I insisted 'twould be the turn of a girl's head
+and the curve of her cheek that he wanted to paint."
+
+Arkwright looked up with a quick frown.
+
+"You don't mean that Henshaw has been cad enough to find another--"
+
+Calderwell threw up his hand.
+
+"No, no, not that! We haven't that to deal with--yet, thank goodness!
+There's no woman in it. And, really, when you come right down to it, if
+ever a fellow had an excuse to seek diversion, Bertram Henshaw has--poor
+chap! It's just this. Bertram broke his arm again last October."
+
+"Yes, so I hear, and I thought he was looking badly."
+
+"He is. It's a bad business. 'Twas improperly set in the first place,
+and it's not doing well now. In fact, I'm told on pretty good authority
+that the doctor says he probably will never use it again."
+
+"Oh, by George! Calderwell!"
+
+"Yes. Tough, isn't it? 'Specially when you think of his work, and
+know--as I happen to--that he's particularly dependent on his right hand
+for everything. He doesn't tell this generally, and I understand Billy
+and the family know nothing of it--how hopeless the case is, I mean.
+Well, naturally, the poor fellow has been pretty thoroughly discouraged,
+and to get away from himself he's gone back to his old Bohemian habits,
+spending much of his time with some of his old cronies that are none too
+good for him--Seaver, for instance."
+
+"Bob Seaver? Yes, I know him." Arkwright's lips snapped together
+crisply.
+
+"Yes. He said he knew you. That's why I'm counting on your help."
+
+"What do you mean?"
+
+"I mean I want you to get Henshaw away from him, and keep him away."
+
+Arkwright's face darkened with an angry flush.
+
+"Great Scott, Calderwell! What are you talking about? Henshaw is no kid
+to be toted home, and I'm no nursery governess to do the toting!"
+
+Calderwell laughed quietly.
+
+"No; I don't think any one would take you for a nursery governess,
+Arkwright, in spite of the fact that you are still known to some of
+your friends as 'Mary Jane.' But you can sing a song, man, which will
+promptly give you a through ticket to their innermost sacred circle.
+In fact, to my certain knowledge, Seaver is already planning a jamboree
+with you at the right hand of the toastmaster. There's your chance. Once
+in, stay in--long enough to get Henshaw out."
+
+"But, good heavens, Calderwell, it's impossible! What can I do?"
+demanded Arkwright, savagely. "I can't walk up to the man, take him by
+the ear, and say: 'Here, you, sir--march home!' Neither can I come
+the 'I-am-holier-than-thou' act, and hold up to him the mirror of his
+transgressions."
+
+"No, but you can get him out of it _some_ way. You can find a way--for
+Billy's sake."
+
+There was no answer, and, after a moment, Calderwell went on more
+quietly.
+
+"I haven't seen Billy but two or three times since I came back to
+Boston--but I don't need to, to know that she's breaking her heart over
+something. And of course that something is--Bertram."
+
+There was still no answer. Arkwright got up suddenly, and walked to the
+window.
+
+"You see, I'm helpless," resumed Calderwell. "I don't paint pictures,
+nor sing songs, nor write stories, nor dance jigs for a living--and you
+have to do one or another to be in with that set. And it's got to be a
+Johnny-on-the-spot with Bertram. All is, something will have to be done
+to get him out of the state of mind and body he's in now, or--"
+
+Arkwright wheeled sharply.
+
+"When did you say this jamboree was going to be?" he demanded.
+
+"Next week, some time. The date is not settled. They were going to
+consult you."
+
+"Hm-m," commented Arkwright. And, though his next remark was a complete
+change of subject, Calderwell gave a contented sigh.
+
+
+If, when the proposition was first made to him, Arkwright was doubtful
+of his ability to be a successful "Johnny-on-the-spot," he was even more
+doubtful of it as the days passed, and he was attempting to carry out
+the suggestion.
+
+He had known that he was undertaking a most difficult and delicate task,
+and he soon began to fear that it was an impossible one, as well. With
+a dogged persistence, however, he adhered to his purpose, ever on the
+alert to be more watchful, more tactful, more efficient in emergencies.
+
+Disagreeable as was the task, in a way, in another way it was a great
+pleasure to him. He was glad of the opportunity to do anything for
+Billy; and then, too, he was glad of something absorbing enough to take
+his mind off his own affairs. He told himself, sometimes, that this
+helping another man to fight his tiger skin was assisting himself to
+fight his own.
+
+Arkwright was trying very hard not to think of Alice Greggory these
+days. He had come back hoping that he was in a measure "cured" of his
+"folly," as he termed it; but the first look into Alice Greggory's
+blue-gray eyes had taught him the fallacy of that idea. In that very
+first meeting with Alice, he feared that he had revealed his secret, for
+she was plainly so nervously distant and ill at ease with him that he
+could but construe her embarrassment and chilly dignity as pity for him
+and a desire to show him that she had nothing but friendship for him.
+Since then he had seen but little of her, partly because he did not wish
+to see her, and partly because his time was so fully occupied. Then,
+too, in a round-about way he had heard a rumor that Calderwell was
+engaged to be married; and, though no feminine name had been mentioned
+in connection with the story, Arkwright had not hesitated to supply in
+his own mind that of Alice Greggory.
+
+Beginning with the "jamboree," which came off quite in accordance with
+Calderwell's prophecies, Arkwright spent the most of such time as was
+not given to his professional duties in deliberately cultivating the
+society of Bertram and his friends. To this extent he met with no
+difficulty, for he found that M. J. Arkwright, the new star in the
+operatic firmament, was obviously a welcome comrade. Beyond this it was
+not so easy. Arkwright wondered, indeed, sometimes, if he were making
+any progress at all. But still he persevered.
+
+He walked with Bertram, he talked with Bertram, unobtrusively he
+contrived to be near Bertram almost always, when they were together with
+"the boys." Gradually he won from him the story of what the surgeon had
+said to him, and of how black the future looked in consequence. This
+established a new bond between them, so potent that Arkwright ventured
+to test it one day by telling Bertram the story of the tiger skin--the
+first tiger skin in his uncle's library years ago, and of how, since
+then, any difficulty he had encountered he had tried to treat as a
+tiger skin. In telling the story he was careful to draw no moral for
+his listener, and to preach no sermon. He told the tale, too, with all
+possible whimsical lightness of touch, and immediately at its conclusion
+he changed the subject. But that he had not failed utterly in his design
+was evidenced a few days later when Bertram grimly declared that he
+guessed _his_ tiger skin was a lively beast, all right.
+
+The first time Arkwright went home with Bertram, his presence was almost
+a necessity. Bertram was not quite himself that night. Billy admitted
+them. She had plainly been watching and waiting. Arkwright never forgot
+the look on her face as her eyes met his. There was a curious mixture
+of terror, hurt pride, relief, and shame, overtopped by a fierce loyalty
+which almost seemed to say aloud the words: "Don't you dare to blame
+him!"
+
+Arkwright's heart ached with sympathy and admiration at the proudly
+courageous way in which Billy carried off the next few painful minutes.
+Even when he bade her good night a little later, only her eyes said
+"thank you." Her lips were dumb.
+
+Arkwright often went home with Bertram after that. Not that it was
+always necessary--far from it. Some time, indeed, elapsed before he
+had quite the same excuse again for his presence. But he had found that
+occasionally he could get Bertram home earlier by adroit suggestions of
+one kind or another; and more and more frequently he was succeeding in
+getting him home for a game of chess.
+
+Bertram liked chess, and was a fine player. Since breaking his arm he
+had turned to games with the feverish eagerness of one who looks for
+something absorbing to fill an unrestful mind. It was Seaver's skill
+in chess that had at first attracted Bertram to the man long ago; but
+Bertram could beat him easily--too easily for much pleasure in it now.
+So they did not play chess often these days. Bertram had found that, in
+spite of his injury, he could still take part in other games, and some
+of them, if not so intricate as chess, were at least more apt to take
+his mind off himself, especially if there were a bit of money up to add
+zest and interest.
+
+As it happened, however, Bertram learned one day that Arkwright could
+play chess--and play well, too, as he discovered after their first
+game together. This fact contributed not a little to such success as
+Arkwright was having in his efforts to wean Bertram from his undesirable
+companions; for Bertram soon found out that Arkwright was more than a
+match for himself, and the occasional games he did succeed in winning
+only whetted his appetite for more. Many an evening now, therefore, was
+spent by the two men in Bertram's den, with Billy anxiously hovering
+near, her eyes longingly watching either her husband's absorbed face or
+the pretty little red and white ivory figures, which seemed to possess
+so wonderful a power to hold his attention. In spite of her joy at the
+chessmen's efficacy in keeping Bertram at home, however, she was almost
+jealous of them.
+
+"Mr. Arkwright, couldn't you show _me_ how to play, sometime?" she said
+wistfully, one evening, when the momentary absence of Bertram had left
+the two alone together. "I used to watch Bertram and Marie play years
+ago; but I never knew how to play myself. Not that I can see where the
+fun is in just sitting staring at a chessboard for half an hour at a
+time, though! But Bertram likes it, and so I--I want to learn to stare
+with him. Will you teach me?"
+
+"I should be glad to," smiled Arkwright.
+
+"Then will you come, maybe, sometimes when Bertram is at the doctor's?
+He goes every Tuesday and Friday at three o'clock for treatment. I'd
+rather you came then for two reasons: first, because I don't want
+Bertram to know I'm learning, till I can play _some_; and, secondly,
+because--because I don't want to take you away--from him."
+
+The last words were spoken very low, and were accompanied by a painful
+blush. It was the first time Billy had ever hinted to Arkwright, in
+words, that she understood what he was trying to do.
+
+"I'll come next Tuesday," promised Arkwright, with a cheerfully
+unobservant air. Then Bertram came in, bringing the book of Chess
+Problems, for which he had gone up-stairs.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIX. CHESS
+
+
+Promptly at three o'clock Tuesday afternoon Arkwright appeared at the
+Strata, and for the next hour Billy did her best to learn the names and
+the moves of the pretty little ivory men. But at the end of the hour she
+was almost ready to give up in despair.
+
+"If there weren't so many kinds, and if they didn't all insist on doing
+something different, it wouldn't be so bad," she sighed. "But how can
+you be expected to remember which goes diagonal, and which crisscross,
+and which can't go but one square, and which can skip 'way across the
+board, 'specially when that little pawn-thing can go straight ahead
+_two_ squares sometimes, and the next minute only one (except when
+it takes things, and then it goes crooked one square) and when that
+tiresome little horse tries to go all ways at once, and can jump 'round
+and hurdle over _anybody's_ head, even the king's--how can you expect
+folks to remember? But, then, Bertram remembers," she added, resolutely,
+"so I guess I can."
+
+Whenever possible, after that, Arkwright came on Tuesdays and Fridays,
+and, in spite of her doubts, Billy did very soon begin to "remember."
+Spurred by her great desire to play with Bertram and surprise him, Billy
+spared no pains to learn well her lessons. Even among the baby's books
+and playthings these days might be found a "Manual of Chess," for Billy
+pursued her study at all hours; and some nights even her dreams were of
+ruined, castles where kings and queens and bishops disported themselves,
+with pawns for servants, and where a weird knight on horseback used the
+castle's highest tower for a hurdle, landing always a hundred yards to
+one side of where he would be expected to come down.
+
+It was not long, of course, before Billy could play a game of chess,
+after a fashion, but she knew just enough to realize that she actually
+knew nothing; and she knew, too, that until she could play a really good
+game, her moves would not hold Bertram's attention for one minute. Not
+at present, therefore, was she willing Bertram should know what she was
+attempting to do.
+
+Billy had not yet learned what the great surgeon had said to Bertram.
+She knew only that his arm was no better, and that he never voluntarily
+spoke of his painting. Over her now seemed to be hanging a vague horror.
+Something was the matter. She knew that. But what it was she could
+not fathom. She realized that Arkwright was trying to help, and her
+gratitude, though silent, knew no bounds. Not even to Aunt Hannah or
+Uncle William could she speak of this thing that was troubling her. That
+they, too, understood, in a measure, she realized. But still she said no
+word. Billy was wearing a proud little air of aloofness these days that
+was heart-breaking to those who saw it and read it aright for what it
+was: loyalty to Bertram, no matter what happened. And so Billy pored
+over her chessboard feverishly, tirelessly, having ever before her
+longing eyes the dear time when Bertram, across the table from her,
+should sit happily staring for half an hour at a move she had made.
+
+Whatever Billy's chess-playing was to signify, however, in her own life,
+it was destined to play a part in the lives of two friends of hers that
+was most unexpected.
+
+During Billy's very first lesson, as it chanced, Alice Greggory called
+and found Billy and Arkwright so absorbed in their game that they did
+not at first hear Eliza speak her name.
+
+The quick color that flew to Arkwright's face at sight of herself was
+construed at once by Alice as embarrassment on his part at being found
+tete-a-tete with Bertram Henshaw's wife. And she did not like
+it. She was not pleased that he was there. She was less pleased that he
+blushed for being there.
+
+It so happened that Alice found him there again several times. Alice
+gave a piano lesson at two o'clock every Tuesday and Friday afternoon to
+a little Beacon Street neighbor of Billy's, and she had fallen into the
+habit of stepping in to see Billy for a few minutes afterward, which
+brought her there at a little past three, just after the chess lesson
+was well started.
+
+If, the first time that Alice Greggory found Arkwright opposite Billy at
+the chess-table, she was surprised and displeased, the second and third
+times she was much more so. When it finally came to her one day with
+sickening illumination, that always the tete-a-tetes were
+during Bertram's hour at the doctor's, she was appalled.
+
+What could it mean? Had Arkwright given up his fight? Was he playing
+false to himself and to Bertram by trying thus, on the sly, to win the
+love of his friend's wife? Was this man, whom she had so admired for his
+brave stand, and to whom all unasked she had given her heart's best
+love (more the pity of it!)--was this idol of hers to show feet of clay,
+after all? She could not believe it. And yet--
+
+Sick at heart, but imbued with the determination of a righteous cause,
+Alice Greggory resolved, for Billy's sake, to watch and wait. If
+necessary she should speak to some one--though to whom she did not know.
+Billy's happiness should not be put in jeopardy if she could help it.
+Indeed, no!
+
+As the weeks passed, Alice came to be more and more uneasy, distressed,
+and grieved. Of Billy she could believe no evil; but of Arkwright
+she was beginning to think she could believe everything that was
+dishonorable and despicable. And to believe that of the man she still
+loved--no wonder that Alice did not look nor act like herself these
+days.
+
+Incensed at herself because she did love him, angry at him because he
+seemed to be proving himself so unworthy of that love, and genuinely
+frightened at what she thought was the fast-approaching wreck of all
+happiness for her dear friend, Billy, Alice did not know which way
+to turn. At the first she had told herself confidently that she would
+"speak to somebody." But, as time passed, she saw the impracticability
+of that idea. Speak to somebody, indeed! To whom? When? Where? What
+should she say? Where was her right to say anything? She was not dealing
+with a parcel of naughty children who had pilfered the cake jar! She
+was dealing with grown men and women, who, presumedly, knew their own
+affairs, and who, certainly, would resent any interference from her. On
+the other hand, could she stand calmly by and see Bertram lose his wife,
+Arkwright his honor, Billy her happiness, and herself her faith in human
+nature, all because to do otherwise would be to meddle in other people's
+business? Apparently she could, and should. At least that seemed to be
+the role which she was expected to play.
+
+It was when Alice had reached this unhappy frame of mind that Arkwright
+himself unexpectedly opened the door for her.
+
+The two were alone together in Bertram Henshaw's den. It was Tuesday
+afternoon. Alice had called to find Billy and Arkwright deep in their
+usual game of chess. Then a matter of domestic affairs had taken Billy
+from the room.
+
+"I'm afraid I'll have to be gone ten minutes, or more," she had said, as
+she rose from the table reluctantly. "But you might be showing Alice the
+moves, Mr. Arkwright," she had added, with a laugh, as she disappeared.
+
+"Shall I teach you the moves?" he had smiled, when they were alone
+together.
+
+Alice's reply had been so indignantly short and sharp that Arkwright,
+after a moment's pause, had said, with a whimsical smile that yet
+carried a touch of sadness:
+
+"I am forced to surmise from your answer that you think it is _you_ who
+should be teaching _me_ moves. At all events, I seem to have been making
+some moves lately that have not suited you, judging by your actions.
+Have I offended you in any way, Alice?"
+
+The girl turned with a quick lifting of her head. Alice knew that if
+ever she were to speak, it must be now. Never again could she hope for
+such an opportunity as this. Suddenly throwing circumspect caution quite
+aside, she determined that she would speak. Springing to her feet she
+crossed the room and seated herself in Billy's chair at the chess-table.
+
+"Me! Offend me!" she exclaimed, in a low voice. "As if I were the one
+you were offending!"
+
+"Why, _Alice!_" murmured the man, in obvious stupefaction.
+
+Alice raised her hand, palm outward.
+
+"Now don't, _please_ don't pretend you don't know," she begged, almost
+piteously. "Please don't add that to all the rest. Oh, I understand,
+of course, it's none of my affairs, and I wasn't going to speak," she
+choked; "but, to-day, when you gave me this chance, I had to. At first
+I couldn't believe it," she plunged on, plainly hurrying against Billy's
+return. "After all you'd told me of how you meant to fight it--your
+tiger skin. And I thought it merely _happened_ that you were here alone
+with her those days I came. Then, when I found out they were _always_
+the days Mr. Henshaw was away at the doctor's, I had to believe."
+
+She stopped for breath. Arkwright, who, up to this moment had shown that
+he was completely mystified as to what she was talking about, suddenly
+flushed a painful red. He was obviously about to speak, but she
+prevented him with a quick gesture.
+
+"There's a little more I've got to say, please. As if it weren't bad
+enough to do what you're doing _at all_, but you must needs take it at
+such a time as this when--when her husband _isn't_ doing just what he
+ought to do, and we all know it--it's so unfair to take her now, and
+try to--to win--And you aren't even fair with him," she protested
+tremulously. "You pretend to be his friend. You go with him everywhere.
+It's just as if you were _helping_ to--to pull him down. You're one with
+the whole bunch." (The blood suddenly receded from Arkwright's
+face, leaving it very white; but if Alice saw it, she paid no heed.)
+"Everybody says you are. Then to come here like this, on the sly, when
+you know he can't be here, I--Oh, can't you see what you're doing?"
+
+There was a moment's pause, then Arkwright spoke. A deep pain looked
+from his eyes. He was still very pale, and his mouth had settled into
+sad lines.
+
+"I think, perhaps, it may be just as well if I tell you what I _am_
+doing--or, rather, trying to do," he said quietly.
+
+Then he told her.
+
+"And so you see," he added, when he had finished the tale, "I haven't
+really accomplished much, after all, and it seems the little I have
+accomplished has only led to my being misjudged by you, my best friend."
+
+Alice gave a sobbing cry. Her face was scarlet. Horror, shame, and
+relief struggled for mastery in her countenance.
+
+"Oh, but I didn't know, I didn't know," she moaned, twisting her hands
+nervously. "And now, when you've been so brave, so true--for me to
+accuse you of--Oh, can you _ever_ forgive me? But you see, knowing that
+you _did_ care for her, it did look--" She choked into silence, and
+turned away her head.
+
+He glanced at her tenderly, mournfully.
+
+"Yes," he said, after a minute, in a low voice. "I can see how it did
+look; and so I'm going to tell you now something I had meant never to
+tell you. There really couldn't have been anything in that, you see,
+for I found out long ago that it was gone--whatever love there had been
+for--Billy."
+
+"But your--tiger skin!"
+
+"Oh, yes, I thought it was alive," smiled Arkwright, sadly, "when I
+asked you to help me fight it. But one day, very suddenly, I discovered
+that it was nothing but a dead skin of dreams and memories. But I made
+another discovery, too. I found that just beyond lay another one, and
+that was very much alive."
+
+"Another one?" Alice turned to him in wonder. "But you never asked me to
+help you fight--that one!"
+
+He shook his head.
+
+"No; I couldn't, you see. You couldn't have helped me. You'd only have
+hindered me."
+
+"Hindered you?"
+
+"Yes. You see, it was my love for--you, that I was fighting--then."
+
+Alice gave a low cry and flushed vividly; but Arkwright hurried on, his
+eyes turned away.
+
+"Oh, I understand. I know. I'm not asking for--anything. I heard some
+time ago of your engagement to Calderwell. I've tried many times to
+say the proper, expected pretty speeches, but--I couldn't. I will
+now, though. I do. You have all my tenderest best wishes for your
+happiness--dear. If long ago I hadn't been such a blind fool as not to
+know my own heart--"
+
+"But--but there's some mistake," interposed Alice, palpitatingly, with
+hanging head. "I--I'm not engaged to Mr. Calderwell."
+
+Arkwright turned and sent a keen glance into her face.
+
+"You're--not?"
+
+"No."
+
+"But I heard that Calderwell--" He stopped helplessly.
+
+"You heard that Mr. Calderwell was engaged, very likely. But--it so
+happens he isn't engaged--to me," murmured Alice, faintly.
+
+"But, long ago you said--" Arkwright paused, his eyes still keenly
+searching her face.
+
+"Never mind what I said--long ago," laughed Alice, trying unsuccessfully
+to meet his gaze. "One says lots of things, at times, you know."
+
+Into Arkwright's eyes came a new light, a light that plainly needed but
+a breath to fan it into quick fire.
+
+"Alice," he said softly, "do you mean that maybe now--I needn't try to
+fight--that other tiger skin?"
+
+There was no answer.
+
+Arkwright reached out a pleading hand.
+
+"Alice, dear, I've loved you so long," he begged unsteadily. "Don't
+you think that sometime, if I was very, very patient, you could just
+_begin_--to care a little for me?"
+
+Still there was no answer. Then, slowly, Alice shook her head. Her face
+was turned quite away--which was a pity, for if Arkwright could have
+seen the sudden tender mischief in her eyes, his own would not have
+become so somber.
+
+"Not even a little bit?"
+
+"I couldn't ever--begin," answered a half-smothered voice.
+
+"Alice!" cried the man, heart-brokenly.
+
+Alice turned now, and for a fleeting instant let him see her eyes,
+glowing with the love so long kept in relentless exile.
+
+"I couldn't, because, you see-I began--long ago," she whispered.
+
+"Alice!" It was the same single word, but spoken with a world of
+difference, for into it now was crowded all the glory and the wonder of
+a great love. "Alice!" breathed the man again; and this time the word
+was, oh, so tenderly whispered into the little pink and white ear of the
+girl in his arms.
+
+"I got delayed," began Billy, in the doorway.
+
+"Oh-h!" she broke off, beating a hushed, but precipitate, retreat.
+
+Fully thirty minutes later, Billy came to the door again. This time her
+approach was heralded by a snatch of song.
+
+"I hope you'll excuse my being gone so long," she smiled, as she
+entered the room where her two guests sat decorously face to face at the
+chess-table.
+
+"Well, you know you said you'd be gone ten minutes," Arkwright reminded
+her, politely.
+
+"Yes, I know I did." And Billy, to her credit, did not even smile at the
+man who did not know ten minutes from fifty.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXX. BY A BABY'S HAND
+
+
+After all, it was the baby's hand that did it, as was proper, and
+perhaps to be expected; for surely, was it not Bertram, Jr.'s place to
+show his parents that he was, indeed, no Wedge, but a dear and precious
+Tie binding two loving, loyal hearts more and more closely together?
+It would seem, indeed, that Bertram, Jr., thought so, perhaps, and very
+bravely he set about it; though, to carry out his purpose, he had to
+turn his steps into an unfamiliar way--a way of pain, and weariness, and
+danger.
+
+It was Arkwright who told Bertram that the baby was very sick, and
+that Billy wanted him. Bertram went home at once to find a distracted,
+white-faced Billy, and a twisted, pain-racked little creature, who it
+was almost impossible to believe was the happy, laughing baby boy he had
+left that morning.
+
+For the next two weeks nothing was thought of in the silent old Beacon
+Street house but the tiny little life hovering so near Death's door
+that twice it appeared to have slipped quite across the threshold.
+All through those terrible weeks it seemed as if Billy neither ate
+nor slept; and always at her side, comforting, cheering, and helping
+wherever possible was Bertram, tender, loving, and marvelously
+thoughtful.
+
+Then came the turning point when the universe itself appeared to
+hang upon a baby's breath. Gradually, almost imperceptibly, came the
+fluttering back of the tiny spirit into the longing arms stretched so
+far, far out to meet and hold it. And the father and the mother, looking
+into each other's sleepless, dark-ringed eyes, knew that their son was
+once more theirs to love and cherish.
+
+When two have gone together with a dear one down into the Valley of the
+Shadow of Death, and have come back, either mourning or rejoicing, they
+find a different world from the one they had left. Things that were
+great before seem small, and some things that were small seem great.
+At least Bertram and Billy found their world thus changed when together
+they came back bringing their son with them.
+
+In the long weeks of convalescence, when the healthy rosiness stole
+bit by bit into the baby's waxen face, and the light of recognition and
+understanding crept day by day into the baby's eyes, there was many a
+quiet hour for heart-to-heart talks between the two who so anxiously and
+joyously hailed every rosy tint and fleeting sparkle. And there was
+so much to tell, so much to hear, so much to talk about! And always,
+running through everything, was that golden thread of joy, beside which
+all else paled--that they had Baby and each other. As if anything else
+mattered!
+
+To be sure, there was Bertram's arm. Very early in their talks Billy
+found out about that. But Billy, with Baby getting well, was not to be
+daunted, even by this.
+
+"Nonsense, darling--not paint again, indeed! Why, Bertram, of course you
+will," she cried confidently.
+
+"But, Billy, the doctor said," began Bertram; but Billy would not even
+listen.
+
+"Very well, what if he did, dear?" she interrupted. "What if he did
+say you couldn't use your right arm much again?" Billy's voice broke
+a little, then quickly steadied into something very much like triumph.
+"You've got your left one!"
+
+Bertram shook his head.
+
+"I can't paint with that."
+
+"Yes, you can," insisted Billy, firmly. "Why, Bertram, what do you
+suppose you were given two arms for if not to fight with both of them?
+And I'm going to be ever so much prouder of what you paint now, because
+I'll know how splendidly you worked to do it. Besides, there's Baby. As
+if you weren't ever going to paint for Baby! Why, Bertram, I'm going to
+have you paint Baby, one of these days. Think how pleased he'll be to
+see it when he grows up! He's nicer, anyhow, than any old 'Face of a
+Girl' you ever did. Paint? Why, Bertram, darling, of course you're going
+to paint, and better than you ever did before!"
+
+Bertram shook his head again; but this time he smiled, and patted
+Billy's cheek with the tip of his forefinger.
+
+"As if I could!" he disclaimed. But that afternoon he went into his
+long-deserted studio and hunted up his last unfinished picture. For
+some time he stood motionless before it; then, with a quick gesture of
+determination, he got out his palette, paints, and brushes. This time
+not until he had painted ten, a dozen, a score of strokes, did he drop
+his brush with a sigh and carefully erase the fresh paint on the canvas.
+The next day he worked longer, and this time he allowed a little, a very
+little, of what he had done to remain.
+
+The third day Billy herself found him at his easel.
+
+"I wonder--do you suppose I could?" he asked fearfully.
+
+"Why, dearest, of course you can! Haven't you noticed? Can't you see how
+much more you can do with your left hand now? You've _had_ to use it,
+you see. _I've_ seen you do a lot of things with it, lately, that you
+never used to do at all. And, of course, the more you do with it, the
+more you can!"
+
+"I know; but that doesn't mean that I can paint with it," sighed
+Bertram, ruefully eyeing the tiny bit of fresh color his canvas showed
+for his long afternoon's work.
+
+"You wait and see," nodded Billy, with so overwhelming a cheery
+confidence that Bertram, looking into her glowing face, was conscious
+of a curious throb of exultation, almost as if already the victory were
+his.
+
+But it was not always of Bertram's broken arm, nor even of his work that
+they talked. Bertram, hanging over the baby's crib to assure himself
+that the rosiness and the sparkle were really growing more apparent
+every day, used to wonder sometimes how ever in the world he could have
+been jealous of his son. He said as much one day to Billy.
+
+To Billy it was a most astounding idea.
+
+"You mean you were actually jealous of your own baby?" she gasped.
+"Why, Bertram, how could--And was that why you--you sought distraction
+and--Oh, but, Bertram, that was all my f-fault," she quavered
+remorsefully. "I wouldn't play, nor sing, nor go to walk, nor anything;
+and I wore horrid frowzy wrappers all the time, and--"
+
+"Oh, come, come, Billy," expostulated the man. "I'm not going to have
+you talk like that about _my wife!_"
+
+"But I did--the book said I did," wailed Billy.
+
+"The book? Good heavens! Are there any books in this, too?" demanded
+Bertram.
+
+"Yes, the same one; the--the 'Talks to Young Wives,'" nodded Billy.
+And then, because some things had grown small to them, and some others
+great, they both laughed happily.
+
+But even this was not quite all; for one evening, very shyly, Billy
+brought out the chessboard.
+
+"Of course I can't play well," she faltered; "and maybe you don't want
+to play with me at all."
+
+But Bertram, when he found out why she had learned, was very sure he did
+want very much to play with her.
+
+Billy did not beat, of course. But she did several times experience--for
+a few blissful minutes--the pleasure of seeing Bertram sit motionless,
+studying the board, because of a move she had made. And though, in the
+end, her king was ignominiously trapped with not an unguarded square
+upon which to set his poor distracted foot, the memory of those blissful
+minutes when she had made Bertram "stare" more than paid for the final
+checkmate.
+
+By the middle of June the baby was well enough to be taken to the
+beach, and Bertram was so fortunate as to secure the same house they had
+occupied before. Once again William went down in Maine for his fishing
+trip, and the Strata was closed. In the beach house Bertram was painting
+industriously--with his left hand. Almost he was beginning to feel
+Billy's enthusiasm. Almost he was believing that he _was_ doing good
+work. It was not the "Face of a Girl," now. It was the face of a baby:
+smiling, laughing, even crying, sometimes; at other times just gazing
+straight into your eyes with adorable soberness. Bertram still went
+into Boston twice a week for treatment, though the treatment itself had
+changed. The great surgeon had sent him to still another specialist.
+
+"There's a chance--though perhaps a small one," he had said. "I'd like
+you to try it, anyway."
+
+As the summer advanced, Bertram thought sometimes that he could see a
+slight improvement in his injured arm; but he tried not to think too
+much about this. He had thought the same thing before, only to be
+disappointed in the end. Besides, he was undeniably interested just now
+in seeing if he _could_ paint with his left hand. Billy was so sure,
+and she had said that she would be prouder than ever of him, if he
+could--and he would like to make Billy proud! Then, too, there was the
+baby--he had no idea a baby could be so interesting to paint. He was not
+sure but that he was going to like to paint babies even better than he
+had liked to paint his "Face of a Girl" that had brought him his first
+fame.
+
+In September the family returned to the Strata. The move was made a
+little earlier this year on account of Alice Greggory's wedding.
+
+Alice was to be married in the pretty living-room at the Annex, just
+where Billy herself had been married a few short years before; and Billy
+had great plans for the wedding--not all of which she was able to carry
+out, for Alice, like Marie before her, had very strong objections to
+being placed under too great obligations.
+
+"And you see, really, anyway," she told Billy, "I owe the whole thing to
+you, to begin with--even my husband."
+
+"Nonsense! Of course you don't," disputed Billy.
+
+"But I do. If it hadn't been for you I should never have found him
+again, and of _course_ I shouldn't have had this dear little home to be
+married in. And I never could have left mother if she hadn't had
+Aunt Hannah and the Annex which means you. And if I hadn't found Mr.
+Arkwright, I might never have known how--how I could go back to my old
+home (as I am going on my honeymoon trip), and just know that every one
+of my old friends who shakes hands with me isn't pitying me now, because
+I'm my father's daughter. And that means you; for you see I never would
+have known that my father's name was cleared if it hadn't been for you.
+And--"
+
+"Oh, Alice, please, please," begged Billy, laughingly raising two
+protesting hands. "Why don't you say that it's to me you owe just
+breathing, and be done with it?"
+
+"Well, I will, then," avowed Alice, doggedly. "And it's true, too, for,
+honestly, my dear, I don't believe I would have been breathing to-day,
+nor mother, either, if you hadn't found us that morning, and taken us
+out of those awful rooms."
+
+"I? Never! You wouldn't let me take you out," laughed Billy. "You proud
+little thing! Maybe _you've_ forgotten how you turned poor Uncle William
+and me out into the cold, cold world that morning, just because we dared
+to aspire to your Lowestoft teapot; but I haven't!"
+
+"Oh, Billy, please, _don't_," begged Alice, the painful color staining
+her face. "If you knew how I've hated myself since for the way I acted
+that day--and, really, you did take us away from there, you know."
+
+"No, I didn't. I merely found two good tenants for Mr. and Mrs. Delano,"
+corrected Billy, with a sober face.
+
+"Oh, yes, I know all about that," smiled Alice, affectionately; "and you
+got mother and me here to keep Aunt Hannah company and teach Tommy Dunn;
+and you got Aunt Hannah here to keep us company and take care of Tommy
+Dunn; and you got Tommy Dunn here so Aunt Hannah and we could have
+somebody to teach and take care of; and, as for the others,--" But Billy
+put her hands to her ears and fled.
+
+The wedding was to be on the fifteenth. From the West Kate wrote that
+of course it was none of her affairs, particularly as neither of the
+interested parties was a relation, but still she should think that for
+a man in Mr. Arkwright's position, nothing but a church wedding would
+do at all, as, of course, he did, in a way, belong to the public. Alice,
+however, declared that perhaps he did belong to the public, when he was
+Don Somebody-or-other in doublet and hose; but when he was just plain
+Michael Jeremiah Arkwright in a frock coat he was hers, and she did not
+propose to make a Grand Opera show of her wedding. And as Arkwright,
+too, very much disapproved of the church-wedding idea, the two were
+married in the Annex living-room at noon on the fifteenth as originally
+planned, in spite of Mrs. Kate Hartwell's letter.
+
+It was soon after the wedding that Bertram told Billy he wished she
+would sit for him with Bertram, Jr.
+
+"I want to try my hand at you both together," he coaxed.
+
+"Why, of course, if you like, dear," agreed Billy, promptly, "though I
+think Baby is just as nice, and even nicer, alone."
+
+Once again all over Bertram's studio began to appear sketches of Billy,
+this time a glorified, tender Billy, with the wonderful mother-love in
+her eyes. Then, after several sketches of trial poses, Bertram began his
+picture of Billy and the baby together.
+
+Even now Bertram was not sure of his work. He knew that he could not yet
+paint with his old freedom and ease; he knew that his stroke was not so
+sure, so untrammeled. But he knew, too, that he had gained wonderfully,
+during the summer, and that he was gaining now, every day. To Billy he
+said nothing of all this. Even to himself he scarcely put his hope into
+words; but in his heart he knew that what he was really painting his
+"Mother and Child" picture for was the Bohemian Ten Club Exhibition in
+March--if he could but put upon canvas the vision that was spurring him
+on.
+
+And so Bertram worked all through those short winter days, not always
+upon the one picture, of course, but upon some picture or sketch that
+would help to give his still uncertain left hand the skill that had
+belonged to its mate. And always, cheering, encouraging, insisting on
+victory, was Billy, so that even had Bertram been tempted, sometimes,
+to give up, he could not have done so--and faced Billy's grieved,
+disappointed eyes. And when at last his work was completed, and the
+pictured mother and child in all their marvelous life and beauty seemed
+ready to step from the canvas, Billy drew a long ecstatic breath.
+
+"Oh, Bertram, it _is_, it is the best work you have ever done." Billy
+was looking at the baby. Always she had ignored herself as part of the
+picture. "And won't it be fine for the Exhibition!"
+
+Bertram's hand tightened on the chair-back in front of him. For a moment
+he could not speak. Then, a bit huskily, he asked:
+
+"Would you dare--risk it?"
+
+"Risk it! Why, Bertram Henshaw, I've meant that picture for the
+Exhibition from the very first--only I never dreamed you could get it so
+perfectly lovely. _Now_ what do you say about Baby being nicer than any
+old 'Face of a Girl' that you ever did?" she triumphed.
+
+And Bertram, who, even to himself, had not dared whisper the
+word exhibition, gave a tremulous laugh that was almost a sob, so
+overwhelming was his sudden realization of what faith and confidence had
+meant to Billy, his wife.
+
+If there was still a lingering doubt in Bertram's mind, it must
+have been dispelled in less than an hour after the Bohemian Ten Club
+Exhibition flung open its doors on its opening night. Once again Bertram
+found his picture the cynosure of all admiring eyes, and himself the
+center of an enthusiastic group of friends and fellow-artists who vied
+with each other in hearty words of congratulation. And when, later,
+the feared critics, whose names and opinions counted for so much in his
+world, had their say in the daily press and weekly reviews, Bertram
+knew how surely indeed he had won. And when he read that "Henshaw's
+work shows now a peculiar strength, a sort of reserve power, as it were,
+which, beautiful as was his former work, it never showed before," he
+smiled grimly, and said to Billy:
+
+"I suppose, now, that was the fighting I did with my good left hand, eh,
+dear?"
+
+But there was yet one more drop that was to make Bertram's cup of joy
+brim to overflowing. It came just one month after the Exhibition in the
+shape of a terse dozen words from the doctor. Bertram fairly flew home
+that day. He had no consciousness of any means of locomotion. He thought
+he was going to tell his wife at once his great good news; but when he
+saw her, speech suddenly fled, and all that he could do was to draw her
+closely to him with his left arm and hide his face.
+
+"Why, Bertram, dearest, what--what is it?" stammered the thoroughly
+frightened Billy. "Has anything-happened?"
+
+"No, no--yes--yes, everything has happened. I mean, it's going to
+happen," choked the man. "Billy, that old chap says that I'm going to
+have my arm again. Think of it--my good right arm that I've lost so
+long!"
+
+"_Oh, Bertram!_" breathed Billy. And she, too, fell to sobbing.
+
+Later, when speech was more coherent, she faltered:
+
+"Well, anyway, it doesn't make any difference _how_ many beautiful
+pictures you p-paint, after this, Bertram, I _can't_ be prouder of any
+than I am of the one your l--left hand did."
+
+"Oh, but I have you to thank for all that, dear."
+
+"No, you haven't," disputed Billy, blinking teary eyes; "but--" she
+paused, then went on spiritedly, "but, anyhow, I--I don't believe any
+one--not even Kate--can say _now_ that--that I've been a hindrance to
+you in your c-career!"
+
+"Hindrance!" scoffed Bertram, in a tone that left no room for doubt, and
+with a kiss that left even less, if possible.
+
+Billy, for still another minute, was silent; then, with a wistfulness
+that was half playful, half serious, she sighed:
+
+"Bertram, I believe being married is something like clocks, you know,
+'specially at the first."
+
+"Clocks, dear?"
+
+"Yes. I was out to Aunt Hannah's to-day. She was fussing with her
+clock--the one that strikes half an hour ahead--and I saw all those
+quantities of wheels, little and big, that have to go just so, with
+all the little cogs fitting into all the other little cogs just exactly
+right. Well, that's like marriage. See? There's such a lot of
+little cogs in everyday life that have to be fitted so they'll run
+smoothly--that have to be adjusted, 'specially at the first."
+
+"Oh, Billy, what an idea!"
+
+"But it's so, really, Bertram. Anyhow, I know my cogs were always
+getting out of place at the first," laughed Billy. "And I was like Aunt
+Hannah's clock, too, always going off half an hour ahead of time. And
+maybe I shall be so again, sometimes. But, Bertram,"--her voice shook a
+little--"if you'll just look at my face you'll see that I tell the right
+time there, just as Aunt Hannah's clock does. I'm sure, always, I'll
+tell the right time there, even if I do go off half an hour ahead!"
+
+"As if I didn't know that," answered Bertram, very low and tenderly.
+"Besides, I reckon I have some cogs of my own that need adjusting!"
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Miss Billy Married, by Eleanor H. Porter
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diff --git a/old/361.zip b/old/361.zip
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+********The Project Gutenberg Etext of Miss Billy Married*******
+by Eleanor H. Porter
+
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+Miss Billy Married
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+November, 1995  [Etext #361]
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+ 
+
+
+MISS BILLY--
+MARRIED
+
+BY
+ELEANOR H. PORTER
+
+AUTHOR OF
+POLLYANNA, Etc.
+
+
+
+TO
+My Cousin Maud
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+CHAPTER                                     
+I.      SOME OPINIONS AND A WEDDING
+II.     FOR WILLIAM--A HOME
+III.    BILLY SPEAKS HER MIND
+IV.     JUST LIKE BILLY
+V.      TIGER SKINS
+VI.     ``THE PAINTING LOOK''
+VII.    THE BIG BAD QUARREL
+VIII.   BILLY CULTIVATES A COMFORTABLE INDIFFERENCE''
+IX.     THE DINNER BILLY TRIED TO GET
+X.      THE DINNER BILLY GOT
+XI.     CALDERWELL DOES SOME QUESTIONING
+XII.    FOR BILLY--SOME ADVICE
+XIII.   PETE
+XIV.    WHEN BERTRAM CAME HOME
+XV.     AFTER THE STORM
+XVI.    INTO TRAINING FOR MARY ELLEN
+XVII.   THE EFFICIENCY STAR--AND BILLY
+XVIII.  BILLY TRIES HER HAND AT ``MANAGING''
+XIX.    A TOUGH NUT TO CRACK FOR CYRIL
+XX.     ARKWRIGHT'S EYES ARE OPENED
+XXI.    BILLY TAKES HER TURN AT QUESTIONING
+XXII.   A DOT AND A DIMPLE
+XXIII.  BILLY AND THE ENORMOUS RESPONSIBILITY 
+XXIV.   A NIGHT OFF
+XXV.    ``SHOULD AULD ACQUAINTANCE BE FORGOT''
+XXVI.   GHOSTS THAT WALKED FOR BERTRAM
+XXVII.  THE MOTHER--THE WIFE
+XXVIII. CONSPIRATORS
+XXIX.   CHESS
+XXX.    BY A BABY'S HAND
+
+
+
+Miss Billy--Married
+
+----
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+SOME OPINIONS AND A WEDDING
+
+
+``I, Bertram, take thee, Billy,'' chanted the
+white-robed clergyman.
+
+`` `I, Bertram, take thee, Billy,' '' echoed the
+tall young bridegroom, his eyes gravely tender.
+
+``To my wedded wife.''
+
+`` `To my wedded wife.' ''  The bridegroom's
+voice shook a little.
+
+``To have and to hold from this day forward.''
+
+`` `To have and to hold from this day
+forward.' ''  Now the young voice rang with 
+triumph.  It had grown strong and steady.
+
+``For better for worse.''
+
+`` `For better for worse.' ''
+
+``For richer for poorer,'' droned the clergyman,
+with the weariness of uncounted repetitions.
+
+`` `For richer for poorer,' '' avowed the
+bridegroom, with the decisive emphasis of one to
+whom the words are new and significant.
+
+``In sickness and in health.''
+
+`` `In sickness and in health.' ''
+
+``To love and to cherish.''
+
+`` `To love and to cherish.' ''  The younger
+voice carried infinite tenderness now.
+
+``Till death us do part.''
+
+`` `Till death us do part,' '' repeated the
+bridegroom's lips; but everybody knew that what his
+heart said was:  ``Now, and through all eternity.''
+
+``According to God's holy ordinance.''
+
+`` `According to God's holy ordinance.' ''
+
+``And thereto I plight thee my troth.''
+
+`` `And thereto I plight thee my troth.' ''
+
+There was a faint stir in the room.  In one
+corner a white-haired woman blinked tear-wet
+eyes and pulled a fleecy white shawl more closely
+about her shoulders.  Then the minister's voice
+sounded again.
+
+``I, Billy, take thee, Bertram.''
+
+`` `I, Billy, take thee, Bertram.' ''
+
+This time the echoing voice was a feminine one,
+low and sweet, but clearly distinct, and vibrant
+with joyous confidence, on through one after another
+of the ever familiar, but ever impressive
+phrases of the service that gives into the hands
+of one man and of one woman the future happiness,
+each of the other.
+
+
+The wedding was at noon.  That evening Mrs.
+Kate Hartwell, sister of the bridegroom, wrote
+the following letter:
+
+                    BOSTON, July 15th.
+
+``MY DEAR HUSBAND:--Well, it's all over
+with, and they're married.  I couldn't do one
+thing to prevent it.  Much as ever as they would
+even listen to what I had to say--and when
+they knew how I had hurried East to say it, too,
+with only two hours' notice!
+
+``But then, what can you expect?  From time
+immemorial lovers never did have any sense;
+and when those lovers are such irresponsible
+flutterbudgets as Billy and Bertram--!
+
+``And such a wedding!  I couldn't do anything
+with _that_, either, though I tried hard.  They had
+it in Billy's living-room at noon, with nothing
+but the sun for light.  There was no maid of honor,
+no bridesmaids, no wedding cake, no wedding
+veil, no presents (except from the family, and from
+that ridiculous Chinese cook of brother William's,
+Ding Dong, or whatever his name is.  He tore in
+just before the wedding ceremony, and insisted
+upon seeing Billy to give her a wretched little
+green stone idol, which he declared would bring
+her `heap plenty velly good luckee' if she
+received it before she `got married.'  I wouldn't
+have the hideous, grinning thing around, but
+William says it's real jade, and very valuable, and
+of course Billy was crazy over it--or pretended
+to be).  There was no trousseau, either, and no
+reception.  There was no anything but the bridegroom;
+and when I tell you that Billy actually
+declared that was all she wanted, you will understand
+how absurdly in love she is--in spite of all
+those weeks and weeks of broken engagement
+when I, at least, supposed she had come to her
+senses, until I got that crazy note from Bertram
+a week ago saying they were to be married today.
+
+``I can't say that I've got any really
+satisfactory explanation of the matter.  Everything has
+been in such a hubbub, and those two ridiculous
+children have been so afraid they wouldn't be
+together every minute possible, that any really
+rational conversation with either of them was out
+of the question.  When Billy broke the engagement
+last spring none of us knew why she had done
+it, as you know; and I fancy we shall be almost
+as much in the dark as to why she has--er--mended
+it now, as you might say.  As near as I
+can make out, however, she thought he didn't
+want her, and he thought she didn't want him.  I
+believe matters were still further complicated by
+a girl Bertram was painting, and a young fellow
+that used to sing with Billy--a Mr. Arkwright.
+
+``Anyhow, things came to a head last spring,
+Billy broke the engagement and fled to parts unknown
+with Aunt Hannah, leaving Bertram here
+in Boston to alternate between stony despair and
+reckless gayety, according to William; and it was
+while he was in the latter mood that he had that
+awful automobile accident and broke his arm--
+and almost his neck.  He was wildly delirious,
+and called continually for Billy.
+
+``Well, it seems Billy didn't know all this;
+but a week ago she came home, and in some way
+found out about it, I think through Pete--William's
+old butler, you know.  Just exactly what
+happened I can't say, but I do know that she
+dragged poor old Aunt Hannah down to Bertram's
+at some unearthly hour, and in the rain;
+and Aunt Hannah couldn't do a thing with her. 
+All Billy would say, was, `Bertram wants me.' 
+And Aunt Hannah told me that if I could have
+seen Billy's face I'd have known that she'd have
+gone to Bertram then if he'd been at the top of
+the Himalaya Mountains, or at the bottom of the
+China Sea.  So perhaps it's just as well--for
+Aunt Hannah's sake, at least--that he was in
+no worse place than on his own couch at home. 
+Anyhow, she went, and in half an hour they
+blandly informed Aunt Hannah that they were
+going to be married to-day.
+
+``Aunt Hannah said she tried to stop that, and
+get them to put it off till October (the original
+date, you know), but Bertram was obdurate. 
+And when he declared he'd marry her the next
+day if it wasn't for the new license law, Aunt
+Hannah said she gave up for fear he'd get a special
+dispensation, or go to the Governor or the President,
+or do some other dreadful thing.  (What a
+funny old soul Aunt Hannah is!)  Bertram told
+_me_ that he should never feel safe till Billy was
+really his; that she'd read something, or hear
+something, or think something, or get a letter
+from me (as if anything _I_ could say would do
+any good-or harm!), and so break the engagement
+again.
+
+``Well, she's his now, so I suppose he's
+satisfied; though, for my part, I haven't changed my
+mind at all.  I still say that they are not one bit
+suited to each other, and that matrimony will
+simply ruin his career.  Bertram never has loved
+and never will love any girl long--except to
+paint.  But if he simply _would_ get married, why
+couldn't he have taken a nice, sensible domestic
+girl that would have kept him fed and
+mended?
+
+``Not but that I'm very fond of Billy, as you
+know, dear; but imagine Billy as a wife--worse
+yet, a mother!  Billy's a dear girl, but she knows
+about as much of real life and its problems as--
+as our little Kate.  A more impulsive, irresponsible,
+regardless-of-consequences young woman I
+never saw.  She can play divinely, and write
+delightful songs, I'll acknowledge; but what is that
+when a man is hungry, or has lost a button?
+
+``Billy has had her own way, and had everything
+she wanted for years now--a rather dangerous
+preparation for marriage, especially marriage
+to a fellow like Bertram who has had _his_
+own way and everything _he's_ wanted for years. 
+Pray, what's going to happen when those ways
+conflict, and neither one gets the thing wanted?
+
+``And think of her ignorance of cooking--but,
+there!  What's the use?  They're married now,
+and it can't be helped.
+
+``Mercy, what a letter I've written!  But I,
+had to talk to some one; besides, I'd promised I
+to let you know how matters stood as soon as I
+could.  As you see, though, my trip East has been
+practically useless.  I saw the wedding, to be
+sure, but I didn't prevent it, or even postpone
+it--though I meant to do one or the other, else
+I should never have made that tiresome journey
+half across the continent at two hours' notice.
+
+``However, we shall see what we shall see.  As
+for me, I'm dead tired.  Good night.
+               ``Affectionately yours,
+                         ``KATE.''
+
+
+Quite naturally, Mrs. Kate Hartwell was not
+the only one who was thinking that evening of
+the wedding.  In the home of Bertram's brother
+Cyril, Cyril himself was at the piano, but where
+his thoughts were was plain to be seen--or
+rather, heard; for from under his fingers there
+came the Lohengrin wedding march until all the
+room seemed filled with the scent of orange
+blossoms, the mistiness of floating veils, and the
+echoing peals of far-away organs heralding the
+``Fair Bride and Groom.''
+
+Over by the table in the glowing circle of the
+shaded lamp, sat Marie, Cyril's wife, a dainty
+sewing-basket by her side.  Her hands, however,
+lay idly across the stocking in her lap.
+
+As the music ceased, she drew a long sigh.
+
+What a perfectly beautiful wedding that
+was! she breathed.
+
+Cyril whirled about on the piano stool.
+
+``It was a very sensible wedding,'' he said with
+emphasis.
+
+``They looked so happy--both of them,''
+went on Marie, dreamily; ``so--so sort of above
+and beyond everything about them, as if nothing
+ever, ever could trouble them--_now_.''
+
+Cyril lifted his eyebrows.
+
+``Humph!  Well, as I said before, it was a very
+_sensible_ wedding,'' he declared.
+
+This time Marie noticed the emphasis.  She
+laughed, though her eyes looked a little troubled.
+
+``I know, dear, of course, what you mean.  _I_
+thought our wedding was beautiful; but I would
+have made it simpler if I'd realized in time how
+you--you--''
+
+``How I abhorred pink teas and purple
+pageants,'' he finished for her, with a frowning
+smile.  ``Oh, well, I stood it--for the sake of
+what it brought me.''  His face showed now only
+the smile; the frown had vanished.  For a man
+known for years to his friends as a ``hater of
+women and all other confusion,'' Cyril Henshaw
+was looking remarkably well-pleased with himself.
+
+His wife of less than a year colored as she
+met his gaze.  Hurriedly she picked up her
+needle.
+
+The man laughed happily at her confusion.
+
+``What are you doing?  Is that my stocking?''
+he demanded.
+
+A look, half pain, half reproach, crossed her
+face.
+
+``Why, Cyril, of course not!  You--you told
+me not to, long ago.  You said my darns made--
+bunches.
+
+``Ho!  I meant I didn't want to _wear_ them,''
+retorted the man, upon whom the tragic wretchedness
+of that half-sobbed ``bunches'' had been
+quite lost.  ``I love to see you _mending_ them,''
+he finished, with an approving glance at the
+pretty little picture of domesticity before him.
+
+A peculiar expression came to Marie's eyes.
+
+Why, Cyril, you mean you _like_ to have me
+mend them just for--for the sake of seeing me
+do it, when you _know_ you won't ever wear
+them?''
+
+``Sure!'' nodded the man, imperturbably. 
+Then, with a sudden laugh, he asked:  ``I wonder
+now, does Billy love to mend socks?''
+
+Marie smiled, but she sighed, too, and shook
+her head.
+
+``I'm afraid not, Cyril.''
+
+``Nor cook?''
+
+Marie laughed outright this time.  The vaguely
+troubled look had fled from her eyes
+
+``Oh, Billy's helped me beat eggs and butter
+sometimes, but I never knew her to cook a thing
+or want to cook a thing, but once; then she
+spent nearly two weeks trying to learn to make
+puddings--for you.''
+
+``For _me!_''
+
+Marie puckered her lips queerly.
+
+``Well, I supposed they were for you at the
+time.  At all events she was trying to make them
+for some one of you boys; probably it was really
+for Bertram, though.''
+
+``Humph!'' grunted Cyril.  Then, after a
+minute, he observed:  ``I judge Kate thinks
+Billy'll never make them--for anybody.  I'm
+afraid Sister Kate isn't pleased.''
+
+``Oh, but Mrs. Hartwell was--was disappointed
+in the wedding,'' apologized Marie,
+quickly.  ``You know she wanted it put off
+anyway, and she didn't like such a simple one.
+
+``Hm-m; as usual Sister Kate forgot it wasn't
+her funeral--I mean, her wedding,'' retorted
+Cyril, dryly.  ``Kate is never happy, you know,
+unless she's managing things.''
+
+``Yes, I know,'' nodded Marie, with a frowning
+smile of recollection at certain features of her own
+wedding.
+
+``She doesn't approve of Billy's taste in guests,
+either,'' remarked Cyril, after a moment's silence.
+
+``I thought her guests were lovely,'' spoke up
+Marie, in quick defense.  ``Of course, most of
+her social friends are away--in July; but Billy
+is never a society girl, you know, in spite of the
+way Society is always trying to lionize her and
+Bertram.''
+
+``Oh, of course Kate knows that; but she says
+it seems as if Billy needn't have gone out and
+gathered in the lame and the halt and the blind.''
+
+``Nonsense!'' cried Marie, with unusual sharpness
+for her.  ``I suppose she said that just because
+of Mrs. Greggory's and Tommy Dunn's
+crutches.''
+
+``Well, they didn't make a real festive-looking
+wedding party, you must admit,'' laughed Cyril;
+``what with the bridegroom's own arm in a sling,
+too!  But who were they all, anyway?''
+
+``Why, you knew Mrs. Greggory and Alice, of
+course--and Pete,'' smiled Marie.  ``And wasn't
+Pete happy?  Billy says she'd have had Pete if
+she had no one else; that there wouldn't have
+been any wedding, anyway, if it hadn't been for
+his telephoning Aunt Hannah that night.''
+
+``Yes; Will told me.''
+
+``As for Tommy and the others--most of
+them were those people that Billy had at her
+home last summer for a two weeks' vacation--
+people, you know, too poor to give themselves
+one, and too proud to accept one from ordinary
+charity.  Billy's been following them up and
+doing little things for them ever since--sugarplums
+and frosting on their cake, she calls it; and they
+adore her, of course.  I think it was lovely of her
+to have them, and they did have such a good
+time!  You should have seen Tommy when you
+played that wedding march for Billy to enter the
+room.  His poor little face was so transfigured
+with joy that I almost cried, just to look at him. 
+Billy says he loves music--poor little fellow!''
+
+``Well, I hope they'll be happy, in spite of
+Kate's doleful prophecies.  Certainly they looked
+happy enough to-day,'' declared Cyril, patting a
+yawn as he rose to his feet.  ``I fancy Will and
+Aunt Hannah are lonesome, though, about now,''
+he added.
+
+``Yes,'' smiled Marie, mistily, as she gathered
+up her work.  ``I know what Aunt Hannah's
+doing.  She's helping Rosa put the house to
+rights, and she's stopping to cry over every slipper
+and handkerchief of Billy's she finds.  And she'll
+do that until that funny clock of hers strikes
+twelve, then she'll say `Oh, my grief and
+conscience--midnight!'  But the next minute she'll
+remember that it's only half-past eleven, after
+all, and she'll send Rosa to bed and sit patting
+Billy's slipper in her lap till it really is midnight
+by all the other clocks.''
+
+Cyril laughed appreciatively.
+
+``Well, I know what Will is doing,'' he declared.
+
+``Will is in Bertram's den dozing before the
+fireplace with Spunkie curled up in his lap.''
+
+As it happened, both these surmises were not
+far from right.  In the Strata, the Henshaws' old
+Beacon Street home, William was sitting before
+the fireplace with the cat in his lap, but he was
+not dozing.  He was talking.
+
+``Spunkie,'' he was saying, ``your master,
+Bertram, got married to-day--and to Miss
+Billy.  He'll be bringing her home one of these
+days--your new mistress.  And such a mistress! 
+Never did cat or house have a better!
+
+``Just think; for the first time in years this old
+place is to know the touch of a woman's hand
+--and that's what it hasn't known for almost
+twenty years, except for those few short months
+six years ago when a dark-eyed girl and a little
+gray kitten (that was Spunk, your predecessor,
+you know) blew in and blew out again before we
+scarcely knew they were here.  That girl was
+Miss Billy, and she was a dear then, just as she is
+now, only now she's coming here to stay.  She's
+coming home, Spunkie; and she'll make it a
+home for you, for me, and for all of us.  Up to
+now, you know, it hasn't really been a home, for
+years--just us men, so.  It'll be very different,
+Spunkie, as you'll soon find out.  Now mind,
+madam!  We must show that we appreciate all
+this: no tempers, no tantrums, no showing of
+claws, no leaving our coats--either yours or
+mine--on the drawing-room chairs, no tracking
+in of mud on clean rugs and floors!  For we're
+going to have a home, Spunkie--a home!''
+
+At Hillside, Aunt Hannah was, indeed, helping
+Rosa to put the house to rights, as Marie had
+said.  She was crying, too, over a glove she had
+found on Billy's piano; but she was crying over
+something else, also.  Not only had she lost Billy,
+but she had lost her home.
+
+To be sure, nothing had been said during that
+nightmare of a week of hurry and confusion about
+Aunt Hannah's future; but Aunt Hannah knew
+very well how it must be.  This dear little house
+on the side of Corey Hill was Billy's home, and
+Billy would not need it any longer.  It would be
+sold, of course; and she, Aunt Hannah, would go
+back to a ``second-story front'' and loneliness in
+some Back Bay boarding-house; and a second
+story front and loneliness would not be easy now,
+after these years of home--and Billy.
+
+No wonder, indeed, that Aunt Hannah sat
+crying and patting the little white glove in her
+hand.  No wonder, too, that--being Aunt Hannah--
+she reached for the shawl near by and
+put it on, shiveringly.  Even July, to-night, was
+cold--to Aunt Hannah.
+
+In yet another home that evening was the
+wedding of Billy Neilson and Bertram Henshaw
+uppermost in thought and speech.  In a certain
+little South-End flat where, in two rented rooms,
+lived Alice Greggory and her crippled mother,
+Alice was talking to Mr. M. J. Arkwright,
+commonly known to his friends as ``Mary Jane,''
+owing to the mystery in which he had for so long
+shrouded his name.
+
+Arkwright to-night was plainly moody and ill
+at ease.
+
+``You're not listening.  You're not listening at
+all,'' complained Alice Greggory at last, reproachfully.
+
+With a visible effort the man roused himself.
+
+``Indeed I am,'' he maintained.
+
+``I thought you'd be interested in the
+wedding.  You used to be friends--you and Billy.'' 
+The girl's voice still vibrated with reproach.
+
+There was a moment's silence; then, a little
+harshly, the man said:
+
+``Perhaps--because I wanted to be more
+than--a friend--is why you're not satisfied with
+my interest now.''
+
+A look that was almost terror came to Alice
+Greggory's eyes.  She flushed painfully, then
+grew very white.
+
+``You mean--''
+
+``Yes,'' he nodded dully, without looking up. 
+``I cared too much for her.  I supposed Henshaw
+was just a friend--till too late.''
+
+There was a breathless hush before, a little
+unsteadily, the girl stammered:
+
+``Oh, I'm so sorry--so very sorry!  I--I
+didn't know.''
+
+``No, of course you didn't.  I've almost told
+you, though, lots of times; you've been so good
+to me all these weeks.''  He raised his head now,
+and looked at her, frank comradeship in his
+eyes.
+
+The girl stirred restlessly.  Her eyes swerved
+a little under his level gaze.
+
+``Oh, but I've done nothing--n-nothing,'' she
+stammered.  Then, at the light tap of crutches
+on a bare floor she turned in obvious relief. 
+``Oh, here's mother.  She's been in visiting with
+Mrs. Delano, our landlady.  Mother, Mr. Arkwright
+is here.''
+
+
+Meanwhile, speeding north as fast as steam
+could carry them, were the bride and groom. 
+The wondrousness of the first hour of their journey
+side by side had become a joyous certitude
+that always it was to be like this now.
+
+``Bertram,'' began the bride, after a long
+minute of eloquent silence.
+
+``Yes, love.''
+
+``You know our wedding was very different
+from most weddings.''
+
+``Of course it was!''
+
+``Yes, but _really_ it was.  Now listen.''  The
+bride's voice grew tenderly earnest.  ``I think
+our marriage is going to be different, too.''
+
+``Different?''
+
+``Yes.''  Billy's tone was emphatic.  ``There
+are so many common, everyday marriages where
+--where--  Why, Bertram, as if you could ever
+be to me like--like Mr. Carleton is, for instance!''
+
+``Like Mr. Carleton is--to you?'' Bertram's
+voice was frankly puzzled.
+
+``No, no!  As Mr. Carleton is to Mrs. Carleton,
+I mean.''
+
+``Oh!'' Bertram subsided in relief.
+
+``And the Grahams and Whartons, and the
+Freddie Agnews, and--and a lot of others. 
+Why, Bertram, I've seen the Grahams and the
+Whartons not even speak to each other a whole
+evening, when they've been at a dinner, or
+something; and I've seen Mrs. Carleton not even
+seem to know her husband came into the room. 
+I don't mean quarrel, dear.  Of course we'd never
+_quarrel!_  But I mean I'm sure we shall never
+get used to--to you being you, and I being I.''
+
+``Indeed we sha'n't,'' agreed Bertram, rapturously.
+
+``Ours is going to be such a beautiful marriage!''
+
+``Of course it will be.''
+
+``And we'll be so happy!''
+
+``I shall be, and I shall try to make you so.''
+
+``As if I could be anything else,'' sighed Billy,
+blissfully.  ``And now we _can't_ have any
+misunderstandings, you see.''
+
+``Of course not.  Er--what's that?''
+
+``Why, I mean that--that we can't ever repeat 
+hose miserable weeks of misunderstanding. 
+Everything is all explained up.  I _know_, now,
+that you don't love Miss Winthrop, or just girls
+--any girl--to paint.  You love me.  Not the
+tilt of my chin, nor the turn of my head; but
+_me_.''
+
+``I do--just you.''  Bertram's eyes gave the
+caress his lips would have given had it not been
+for the presence of the man in the seat across the
+aisle of the sleeping-car.
+
+``And you--you know now that I love you
+--just you?''
+
+``Not even Arkwright?''
+
+``Not even Arkwright,'' smiled Billy.
+
+There was the briefest of hesitations; then, a
+little constrainedly, Bertram asked:
+
+``And you said you--you never _had_ cared for
+Arkwright, didn't you?''
+
+For the second time in her life Billy was
+thankful that Bertram's question had turned upon _her_
+love for Arkwright, not Arkwright's love for her. 
+In Billy's opinion, a man's unrequited love for a
+girl was his secret, not hers, and was certainly
+one that the girl had no right to tell.  Once
+before Bertram had asked her if she had ever
+cared for Arkwright, and then she had answered
+emphatically, as she did now:
+
+``Never, dear.''
+
+``I thought you said so,'' murmured Bertram,
+relaxing a little.
+
+``I did; besides, didn't I tell you?'' she went
+on airily, ``I think he'll marry Alice Greggory. 
+Alice wrote me all the time I was away, and--
+oh, she didn't say anything definite, I'll admit,''
+confessed Billy, with an arch smile; ``but she
+spoke of his being there lots, and they used to
+know each other years ago, you see.  There was
+almost a romance there, I think, before the
+Greggorys lost their money and moved away from all
+their friends.''
+
+``Well, he may have her.  She's a nice girl--
+a mighty nice girl,'' answered Bertram, with the
+unmistakably satisfied air of the man who knows
+he himself possesses the nicest girl of them all.
+
+Billy, reading unerringly the triumph in his
+voice, grew suddenly grave.  She regarded her
+husband with a thoughtful frown; then she drew
+a profound sigh.
+
+``Whew!'' laughed Bertram, whimsically.  ``So
+soon as this?''
+
+``Bertram!''  Billy's voice was tragic.
+
+``Yes, my love.''  The bridegroom pulled his
+face into sobriety; then Billy spoke, with solemn
+impressiveness.
+
+``Bertram, I don't know a thing about--
+cooking--except what I've been learning in
+Rosa's cook-book this last week.''
+
+Bertram laughed so loud that the man across
+the aisle glanced over the top of his paper
+surreptitiously.
+
+``Rosa's cook-book!  Is that what you were
+doing all this week?''
+
+``Yes; that is--I tried so hard to learn
+something,'' stammered Billy.  ``But I'm
+afraid I didn't--much; there were so many
+things for me to think of, you know, with
+only a week.  I believe I _could_ make peach
+fritters, though.  They were the last thing I
+studied.''
+
+Bertram laughed again, uproariously; but, at
+Billy's unchangingly tragic face, he grew
+suddenly very grave and tender.
+
+``Billy, dear, I didn't marry you to--to get a
+cook,'' he said gently.
+
+Billy shook her head.
+
+``I know; but Aunt Hannah said that even if
+I never expected to cook, myself, I ought to know
+how it was done, so to properly oversee it.  She
+said that--that no woman, who didn't know how
+to cook and keep house properly, had any business
+to be a wife.  And, Bertram, I did try, honestly,
+all this week.  I tried so hard to remember when
+you sponged bread and when you kneaded it.''
+
+``I don't ever need--_yours_,'' cut in Bertram,
+shamelessly; but he got only a deservedly stern
+glance in return.
+
+``And I repeated over and over again how
+many cupfuls of flour and pinches of salt and
+spoonfuls of baking-powder went into things;
+but, Bertram, I simply could not keep my mind
+on it.  Everything, everywhere was singing to
+me.  And how do you suppose I could remember
+how many pinches of flour and spoonfuls of salt
+and cupfuls of baking-powder went into a loaf
+of cake when all the while the very teakettle on
+the stove was singing:  `It's all right--Bertram
+loves me--I'm going to marry Bertram!'?''
+
+``You darling!''  (In spite of the man across
+the aisle Bertram did almost kiss her this time.) 
+``As if anybody cared how many cupfuls of
+baking-powder went anywhere--with that in
+your heart!''
+
+``Aunt Hannah says you will--when you're
+hungry.  And Kate said--''
+
+Bertram uttered a sharp word behind his teeth.
+
+``Billy, for heaven's sake don't tell me what
+Kate said, if you want me to stay sane, and not
+attempt to fight somebody--broken arm, and
+all.  Kate _thinks_ she's kind, and I suppose she
+means well; but--well, she's made trouble
+enough between us already.  I've got you now,
+sweetheart.  You're mine--all mine--'' his
+voice shook, and dropped to a tender whisper--
+`` `till death us do part.' ''
+
+``Yes; `till death us do part,' '' breathed Billy.
+
+And then, for a time, they fell silent.
+
+`` `I, Bertram, take thee, Billy,' '' sang the
+whirring wheels beneath them, to one.
+
+`` `I, Billy, take thee, Bertram,' '' sang the
+whirring wheels beneath them, to the other. 
+While straight ahead before them both, stretched
+fair and beautiful in their eyes, the wondrous
+path of life which they were to tread together.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+FOR WILLIAM--A HOME
+
+
+On the first Sunday after the wedding Pete
+came up-stairs to tell his master, William, that
+Mrs. Stetson wanted to see him in the drawing-
+room.
+
+William went down at once.
+
+``Well, Aunt Hannah,'' he began, reaching out
+a cordial hand.  ``Why, what's the matter?'' he
+broke off concernedly, as he caught a clearer view
+of the little old lady's drawn face and troubled
+eyes.
+
+``William, it's silly, of course,'' cried Aunt
+Hannah, tremulously, ``but I simply had to go
+to some one.  I--I feel so nervous and
+unsettled!  Did--did Billy say anything to you--
+what she was going to do?''
+
+``What she was going to do?  About what? 
+What do you mean?''
+
+``About the house--selling it,'' faltered Aunt
+Hannah, sinking wearily back into her chair.
+
+William frowned thoughtfully.
+
+``Why, no,'' he answered.  ``It was all so
+hurried at the last, you know.  There was really
+very little chance to make plans for anything--
+except the wedding,'' he finished, with a smile.
+
+``Yes, I know,'' sighed Aunt Hannah.  ``Everything
+was in such confusion!  Still, I didn't know
+but she might have said something--to you.''
+
+``No, she didn't.  But I imagine it won't be
+hard to guess what she'll do.  When they get
+back from their trip I fancy she won't lose much
+time in having what things she wants brought
+down here.  Then she'll sell the rest and put the
+house on the market.''
+
+``Yes, of--of course,'' stammered Aunt Hannah,
+pulling herself hastily to a more erect position. 
+``That's what I thought, too.  Then don't
+you think we'd better dismiss Rosa and close the
+house at once?''
+
+``Why--yes, perhaps so.  Why not?  Then
+you'd be all settled here when she comes home. 
+I'm sure, the sooner you come, the better I'll be
+pleased,'' he smiled.
+
+Aunt Hannah turned sharply.
+
+``Here!'' she ejaculated.  ``William Henshaw,
+you didn't suppose I was coming _here_ to live,
+did you?''
+
+It was William's turn to look amazed.
+
+``Why, of course you're coming here!  Where
+else should you go, pray?''
+
+``Where I was before--before Billy came--to
+you,'' returned Aunt Hannah a little tremulously,
+but with a certain dignity.  ``I shall take a room
+in some quiet boarding-house, of course.''
+
+``Nonsense, Aunt Hannah!  As if Billy would
+listen to that!  You came before; why not come
+now?''
+
+Aunt Hannah lifted her chin the fraction of an
+inch.
+
+``You forget.  I was needed before.  Billy is a
+married woman now.  She needs no chaperon.''
+
+``Nonsense!'' scowled William, again.  ``Billy
+will always need you.''
+
+Aunt Hannah shook her head mournfully.
+
+``I like to think--she wants me, William,
+but I know, in my heart, it isn't best.''
+
+``Why not?''
+
+There was a moment's pause; then, decisively
+came the answer.
+
+``Because I think young married folks should
+not have outsiders in the home.''
+
+William laughed relievedly.
+
+``Oh, so that's it!  Well, Aunt Hannah, you're
+no outsider.  Come, run right along home and
+pack your trunk.''
+
+Aunt Hannah was plainly almost crying; but
+she held her ground.
+
+``William, I can't,'' she reiterated.
+
+``But--Billy is such a child, and--''
+
+For once in her circumspect life Aunt Hannah
+was guilty of an interruption.
+
+``Pardon me, William, she is not a child.  She
+is a woman now, and she has a woman's problems
+to meet.''
+
+``Well, then, why don't you help her meet
+them?'' retorted William, still with a whimsical
+smile.
+
+But Aunt Hannah did not smile.  For a minute
+she did not speak; then, with her eyes studiously
+averted, she said:
+
+``William, the first four years of my married
+life were--were spoiled by an outsider in our
+home.  I don't mean to spoil Billy's.''
+
+William relaxed visibly.  The smile fled from
+his face.
+
+``Why--Aunt--Hannah!'' he exclaimed.
+
+The little old lady turned with a weary sigh.
+
+``Yes, I know.  You are shocked, of course.
+I shouldn't have told you.  Still, it is all past
+long ago, and--I wanted to make you understand
+why I can't come.  He was my husband's
+eldest brother--a bachelor.  He was good and
+kind, and meant well, I suppose; but--he
+interfered with everything.  I was young, and
+probably headstrong.  At all events, there was
+constant friction.  He went away once and
+stayed two whole months.  I shall never forget
+the utter freedom and happiness of those months
+for us, with the whole house to ourselves.  No,
+William, I can't come.''  She rose abruptly and
+turned toward the door.  Her eyes were wistful,
+and her face was still drawn with suffering; but
+her whole frail little self quivered plainly with
+high resolve.  ``John has Peggy outside.  I must
+go.''
+
+``But--but, Aunt Hannah,'' began William,
+helplessly.
+
+She lifted a protesting hand.
+
+``No, don't urge me, please.  I can't come here. 
+But--I believe I won't close the house till Billy
+gets home, after all,'' she declared.  The next
+moment she was gone, and William, dazedly,
+from the doorway, was watching John help her
+into Billy's automobile, called by Billy and half
+her friends, ``Peggy,'' short for ``Pegasus.''
+
+Still dazedly William turned back into the
+house and dropped himself into the nearest chair.
+
+What a curious call it had been!  Aunt Hannah
+had not acted like herself at all.  Not once had
+she said ``Oh, my grief and conscience!'' while
+the things she _had_ said--!  Someway, he had
+never thought of Aunt Hannah as being young,
+and a bride.  Still, of course she must have been
+--once.  And the reason she gave for not coming
+there to live--the pitiful story of that outsider
+in her home!  But she was no outsider!  She was
+no interfering brother of Billy's--
+
+William caught his breath suddenly, and held
+it suspended.  Then he gave a low ejaculation
+and half sprang from his chair.
+
+Spunkie, disturbed from her doze by the fire,
+uttered a purring ``me-o-ow,'' and looked up inquiringly.
+
+For a long minute William gazed dumbly into
+the cat's yellow, sleepily contented eyes; then he
+said with tragic distinctness:
+
+``Spunkie, it's true:  Aunt Hannah isn't Billy's
+husband's brother, but--I am!  Do you hear? 
+I _am!_''
+
+``Pur-r-me-ow!'' commented Spunkie; and
+curled herself for another nap.
+
+There was no peace for William after that.  In
+vain he told himself that he was no ``interfering''
+brother, and that this was his home and
+had been all his life; in vain did he declare
+emphatically that he could not go, he would not go;
+that Billy would not wish him to go: always before
+his eyes was the vision of that little bride of
+years long gone; always in his ears was the echo
+of Aunt Hannah's ``I shall never forget the utter
+freedom and happiness of those months for us,
+with the whole house to ourselves.''  Nor, turn
+which way he would, could he find anything to
+comfort him.  Simply because he was so fearfully
+looking for it, he found it--the thing that had
+for its theme the wretchedness that might be
+expected from the presence of a third person in the
+new home.
+
+Poor William!  Everywhere he met it--the
+hint, the word, the story, the song, even; and
+always it added its mite to the woeful whole. 
+Even the hoariest of mother-in-law jokes had its
+sting for him; and, to make his cup quite full, he
+chanced to remember one day what Marie had
+said when he had suggested that she and Cyril
+come to the Strata to live:  ``No; I think young
+folks should begin by themselves.''
+
+Unhappy, indeed, were these days for William. 
+Like a lost spirit he wandered from room
+to room, touching this, fingering that.  For long
+minutes he would stand before some picture, or
+some treasured bit of old mahogany, as if to
+stamp indelibly upon his mind a thing that was
+soon to be no more.  At other times, like a man
+without a home, he would go out into the Common
+or the Public Garden and sit for hours on
+some bench--thinking.
+
+All this could have but one ending, of course. 
+Before the middle of August William summoned
+Pete to his rooms.
+
+``Oh, Pete, I'm going to move next week,''
+he began nonchalantly.  His voice sounded as if
+moving were a pleasurable circumstance that
+occurred in his life regularly once a month.  ``I'd
+like you to begin to pack up these things, please,
+to-morrow.''
+
+The old servant's mouth fell open.
+
+``You're goin' to--to what, sir?'' he stammered.
+
+``Move--_move_, I said.''  William spoke with
+unusual harshness.
+
+Pete wet his lips.
+
+``You mean you've sold the old place, sir?--
+that we--we ain't goin' to live here no longer?''
+
+``Sold?  Of course not!  _I'm_ going to move
+away; not you.''
+
+If Pete could have known what caused the
+sharpness in his master's voice, he would not
+have been so grieved--or, rather, he would have
+been grieved for a different reason.  As it was he
+could only falter miserably:
+
+``_You_ are goin' to move away from here!''
+
+``Yes, yes, man!  Why, Pete, what ails you? 
+One would think a body never moved before.''
+
+``They didn't--not you, sir.''
+
+William turned abruptly, so that his face could
+not be seen.  With stern deliberation he picked
+up an elaborately decorated teapot; but the
+valuable bit of Lowestoft shook so in his hand
+that he set it down at once.  It clicked sharply
+against its neighbor, betraying his nervous hand.
+
+Pete stirred.
+
+``But, Mr. William,'' he stammered thickly;
+``how are you--what'll you do without--  There
+doesn't nobody but me know so well about your
+tea, and the two lumps in your coffee; and
+there's your flannels that you never put on till I
+get 'em out, and the woolen socks that you'd
+wear all summer if I didn't hide 'em.  And--
+and who's goin' to take care of these?'' he
+finished, with a glance that encompassed the
+overflowing cabinets and shelves of curios all about
+him.
+
+His master smiled sadly.  An affection that had
+its inception in his boyhood days shone in his
+eyes.  The hand in which the Lowestoft had
+shaken rested now heavily on an old man's bent
+shoulder--a shoulder that straightened itself in
+unconscious loyalty under the touch.
+
+``Pete, you have spoiled me, and no mistake. 
+I don't expect to find another like you.  But
+maybe if I wear the woolen socks too late you'll
+come and hunt up the others for me.  Eh?'' 
+And, with a smile that was meant to be quizzical,
+William turned and began to shift the teapots
+about again.
+
+``But, Mr. William, why--that is, what will
+Mr. Bertram and Miss Billy do--without you?''
+ventured the old man.
+
+There was a sudden tinkling crash.  On the
+floor lay the fragments of a silver-luster teapot.
+
+The servant exclaimed aloud in dismay, but
+his master did not even glance toward his once
+treasured possession on the floor.
+
+``Nonsense, Pete!'' he was saying in a
+particularly cheery voice.  ``Have you lived all these
+years and not found out that newly-married
+folks don't _need_ any one else around?  Come,
+do you suppose we could begin to pack these
+teapots to-night?'' he added, a little feverishly. 
+``Aren't there some boxes down cellar?''
+
+``I'll see, sir,'' said Pete, respectfully; but the
+expression on his face as he turned away showed
+that he was not thinking of teapots--nor of
+boxes in which to pack them.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+BILLY SPEAKS HER MIND
+
+
+Mr. and Mrs. Bertram Henshaw were expected
+home the first of September.  By the thirty-first
+of August the old Beacon Street homestead facing
+the Public Garden was in spick-and-span order,
+with Dong Ling in the basement hovering over a
+well-stocked larder, and Pete searching the rest
+of the house for a chair awry, or a bit of dust
+undiscovered.
+
+Twice before had the Strata--as Bertram
+long ago dubbed the home of his boyhood--
+been prepared for the coming of Billy, William's
+namesake: once, when it had been decorated
+with guns and fishing-rods to welcome the ``boy''
+who turned out to be a girl; and again when
+with pink roses and sewing-baskets the three
+brothers got joyously ready for a feminine Billy
+who did not even come at all.
+
+The house had been very different then.  It
+had been, indeed, a ``strata,'' with its distinctive
+layers of fads and pursuits as represented by
+Bertram and his painting on one floor, William
+and his curios on another, and Cyril with his
+music on a third.  Cyril was gone now.  Only
+Pete and his humble belongings occupied the top
+floor.  The floor below, too, was silent now, and
+almost empty save for a rug or two, and a few
+pieces of heavy furniture that William had not
+cared to take with him to his new quarters on
+top of Beacon Hill.  Below this, however, came
+Billy's old rooms, and on these Pete had lavished
+all his skill and devotion.
+
+Freshly laundered curtains were at the windows,
+dustless rugs were on the floor.  The old
+work-basket had been brought down from the
+top-floor storeroom, and the long-closed piano
+stood invitingly open.  In a conspicuous place,
+also, sat the little green god, upon whose
+exquisitely carved shoulders was supposed to rest the
+``heap plenty velly good luckee'' of Dong Ling's
+prophecy.
+
+On the first floor Bertram's old rooms and the
+drawing-room came in for their share of the
+general overhauling.  Even Spunkie did not escape,
+but had to submit to the ignominy of a
+bath.  And then dawned fair and clear the first
+day of September, bringing at five o'clock the
+bride and groom.
+
+Respectfully lined up in the hall to meet them
+were Pete and Dong Ling:  Pete with his wrinkled
+old face alight with joy and excitement; Dong
+Ling grinning and kotowing, and chanting in a
+high-pitched treble:
+
+``Miss Billee, Miss Billee--plenty much welcome,
+Miss Billee!''
+
+``Yes, welcome home, Mrs. _Henshaw!_'' bowed
+Bertram, turning at the door, with an elaborate
+flourish that did not in the least hide his tender
+pride in his new wife.
+
+Billy laughed and colored a pretty pink.
+
+``Thank you--all of you,'' she cried a little
+unsteadily.  ``And how good, good everything
+does look to me!  Why, where's Uncle William?''
+she broke off, casting hurriedly anxious eyes
+about her.
+
+``Well, I should say so,'' echoed Bertram. 
+``Where is he, Pete?  He isn't sick, is he?''
+
+A quick change crossed the old servant's face. 
+He shook his head dumbly.
+
+Billy gave a gleeful laugh.
+
+``I know--he's asleep!'' she caroled, skipping
+to the bottom of the stairway and looking up
+
+``Ho, Uncle William!  Better wake up, sir.  The
+folks have come!''
+
+Pete cleared his throat.
+
+``Mr. William isn't here, Miss--ma'am,'' he
+corrected miserably.
+
+Billy smiled, but she frowned, too.
+
+``Not here! Well,  I like that,'' she pouted;
+``--and when I've brought him the most beautiful
+pair of mirror knobs he ever saw, and all the
+way in my bag, too, so I could give them to him
+the very first thing,'' she added, darting over to
+the small bag she had brought in with her.  ``I'm
+glad I did, too, for our trunks didn't come,'' she
+continued laughingly.  ``Still, if he isn't here to
+receive them--  There, Pete, aren't they beautiful?''
+she cried, carefully taking from their wrappings
+two exquisitely decorated porcelain discs
+mounted on two long spikes.  ``They're Batterseas--
+the real article.  I know enough for
+that; and they're finer than anything he's got. 
+Won't he be pleased?''
+
+``Yes, Miss--ma'am, I mean,'' stammered
+the old man.
+
+``These new titles come hard, don't they,
+Pete?'' laughed Bertram.
+
+Pete smiled faintly.
+
+``Never mind, Pete,'' soothed his new mistress. 
+``You shall call me `Miss Billy' all your life if
+you want to.  Bertram,'' she added, turning to
+her husband, ``I'm going to just run up-stairs
+and put these in Uncle William's rooms so they'll
+be there when he comes in.  We'll see how soon
+he discovers them!''
+
+Before Pete could stop her she was half-way
+up the first flight of stairs.  Even then he tried
+to speak to his young master, to explain that
+Mr. William was not living there; but the words
+refused to come.  He could only stand dumbly
+waiting.
+
+In a minute it came--Billy's sharp, startled
+cry.
+
+``Bertram!  Bertram!''
+
+Bertram sprang for the stairway, but he had
+not reached the top when he met his wife coming
+down.  She was white-faced and trembling.
+
+``Bertram--those rooms--there's not so
+much as a teapot there!  Uncle William's--
+gone!''
+
+``Gone!''  Bertram wheeled sharply.  ``Pete,
+what is the meaning of this?  Where is my
+brother?''  To hear him, one would think he
+suspected the old servant of having hidden his
+master.
+
+Pete lifted a shaking hand and fumbled with
+his collar.
+
+``He's moved, sir.''
+
+``Moved!  Oh, you mean to other rooms--to
+Cyril's.''  Bertram relaxed visibly.  ``He's
+upstairs, maybe.''
+
+Pete shook his head.
+
+``No.  sir.  He's moved away--out of the
+house, sir.''
+
+For a brief moment Bertram stared as if he
+could not believe what his ears had heard.  Then,
+step by step, he began to descend the stairs.
+
+``Do you mean--to say--that my brother
+--has moved-gone away--_left_--his _home?_''
+he demanded.
+
+``Yes, sir.''
+
+Billy gave a low cry.
+
+``But why--why?'' she choked, almost stumbling
+headlong down the stairway in her effort
+to reach the two men at the bottom.  ``Pete,
+why did he go?''
+
+There was no answer.
+
+``Pete,''--Bertram's voice was very sharp--
+``what is the meaning of this?  Do you know
+why my brother left his home?''
+
+The old man wet his lips and swallowed chokingly,
+but he did not speak.
+
+``I'm waiting, Pete.''
+
+Billy laid one hand on the old servant's arm
+--in the other hand she still tightly clutched the
+mirror knobs.
+
+``Pete, if you do know, won't you tell us,
+please?'' she begged.
+
+Pete looked down at the hand, then up at the
+troubled young face with the beseeching eyes. 
+His own features worked convulsively.  With a
+visible effort he cleared his throat.
+
+``I know--what he said,'' he stammered, his
+eyes averted.
+
+``What was it?''
+
+There was no answer.
+
+``Look here, Pete, you'll have to tell us, you
+know,'' cut in Bertram, decisively, ``so you might
+as well do it now as ever.''
+
+Once more Pete cleared his throat.  This time
+the words came in a burst of desperation.
+
+``Yes, sir.  I understand, sir.  It was only that
+he said--he said as how young folks didn't _need_
+any one else around.  So he was goin'.''
+
+``Didn't _need_ any one else!'' exclaimed Bertram,
+plainly not comprehending.
+
+``Yes, sir.  You two bein' married so, now.''
+Pete's eyes were still averted.
+
+Billy gave a low cry.
+
+``You mean--because _I_ came?'' she demanded.
+
+``Why, yes, Miss--no--that is--'' Pete
+stopped with an appealing glance at Bertram.
+
+``Then it was--it _was_--on account of _me_,''
+choked Billy.
+
+Pete looked still more distressed
+
+``No, no!'' he faltered.  ``It was only that
+he thought you wouldn't want him here now.''
+
+``Want him here!'' ejaculated Bertram.
+
+``Want him here!'' echoed Billy, with a sob.
+
+``Pete, where is he?'' As she asked the question
+she dropped the mirror knobs into her open bag,
+and reached for her coat and gloves--she had
+not removed her hat.
+
+Pete gave the address.
+
+``It's just down the street a bit and up the
+hill,'' he added excitedly, divining her purpose. 
+``It's a sort of a boarding-house, I reckon.''
+
+``A _boarding-house_--for Uncle William!''
+scorned Billy, her eyes ablaze.  ``Come, Bertram,
+we'll see about that.''
+
+Bertram reached out a detaining hand.
+
+``But, dearest, you're so tired,'' he demurred. 
+``Hadn't we better wait till after dinner, or till
+to-morrow?''
+
+``After dinner!  To-morrow!''  Billy's eyes
+blazed anew.  ``Why, Bertram Henshaw, do
+you think I'd leave that dear man even one
+minute longer, if I could help it, with a notion in
+his blessed old head that we didn't _want_ him?''
+
+``But you said a little while ago you had a
+headache, dear,'' still objected Bertram.  ``If
+you'd just eat your dinner!''
+
+``Dinner!'' choked Billy.  ``I wonder if you
+think I could eat any dinner with Uncle William
+turned out of his home!  I'm going to find Uncle
+William.''  And she stumbled blindly toward the
+door.
+
+Bertram reached for his hat.  He threw a
+despairing glance into Pete's eyes.
+
+``We'll be back--when we can,'' he said, with
+a frown.
+
+``Yes, sir,'' answered Pete, respectfully.  Then,
+as if impelled by some hidden force, he touched
+his master's arm.  ``It was that way she looked,
+sir, when she came to _you_--that night last
+July--with her eyes all shining,'' he whispered.
+
+A tender smile curved Bertram's lips.  The
+frown vanished from his face.
+
+``Bless you, Pete--and bless her, too!'' he
+whispered back.  The next moment he had hurried
+after his wife.
+
+The house that bore the number Pete had
+given proved to have a pretentious doorway, and
+a landlady who, in response to the summons of
+the neat maid, appeared with a most impressive
+rustle of black silk and jet bugles.
+
+No, Mr. William Henshaw was not in his
+rooms.  In fact, he was very seldom there.  His
+business, she believed, called him to State Street
+through the day.  Outside of that, she had been
+told, he spent much time sitting on a bench in
+the Common.  Doubtless, if they cared to search,
+they could find him there now.
+
+``A bench in the Common, indeed!'' stormed
+Billy, as she and Bertram hurried down the wide
+stone steps.  ``Uncle William--on a bench!''
+
+``But surely now, dear,'' ventured her
+husband, ``you'll come home and get your
+dinner!''
+
+Billy turned indignantly.
+
+``And leave Uncle William on a bench in the
+Common?  Indeed, no!  Why, Bertram, you
+wouldn't, either,'' she cried, as she turned
+resolutely toward one of the entrances to the Common.
+
+And Bertram, with the ``eyes all shining''
+still before him, could only murmur:  ``No, of
+course not, dear!'' and follow obediently where
+she led.
+
+Under ordinary circumstances it would have
+been a delightful hour for a walk.  The sun had
+almost set, and the shadows lay long across the
+grass.  The air was cool and unusually bracing
+for a day so early in September.  But all this
+was lost on Bertram.  Bertram did not wish to
+take a walk.  He was hungry.  He wanted his
+dinner; and he wanted, too, his old home with
+his new wife flitting about the rooms as he had
+pictured this first evening together.  He wanted
+William, of course.  Certainly he wanted William;
+but if William would insist on running away
+and sitting on park benches in this ridiculous
+fashion, he ought to take the consequences--
+until to-morrow.
+
+Five, ten, fifteen minutes passed.  Up one path
+and down another trudged the anxious-eyed Billy
+and her increasingly impatient husband.  Then
+when the fifteen weary minutes had become a
+still more weary half-hour, the bonds Bertram
+had set on his temper snapped.
+
+``Billy,'' he remonstrated despairingly, ``do,
+please, come home!  Don't you see how highly
+improbable it is that we should happen on William
+if we walked like this all night?  He might
+move--change his seat--go home, even.  He
+probably has gone home.  And surely never before
+did a bride insist on spending the first evening
+after her return tramping up and down a public
+park for hour after hour like this, looking for any
+man.  _Won't_ you come home?''
+
+But Billy had not even heard.  With a glad little
+cry she had darted to the side of the humped-up
+figure of a man alone on a park bench just ahead
+of them.
+
+``Uncle William!  Oh, Uncle William, how
+could you?'' she cried, dropping herself on to
+one end of the seat and catching the man's arm
+in both her hands.
+
+``Yes, how could you?'' demanded Bertram,
+with just a touch of irritation, dropping himself
+on to the other end of the seat, and catching
+the man's other arm in his one usable
+hand.
+
+The bent shoulders and bowed head straightened
+up with a jerk.
+
+``Well, well, bless my soul!  If it isn't our little
+bride,'' cried Uncle William, fondly.  ``And the
+happy bridegroom, too.  When did you get
+home?''
+
+``We haven't got home,'' retorted Bertram,
+promptly, before his wife could speak.  ``Oh, we
+looked in at the door an hour or so back; but we
+didn't stay.  We've been hunting for you ever
+since.''
+
+``Nonsense, children!'' Uncle William spoke
+with gay cheeriness; but he refused to meet
+either Billy's or Bertram's eyes.
+
+``Uncle William, how could you do it?''
+reproached Billy, again.
+
+``Do what?'' Uncle William was plainly
+fencing for time.
+
+``Leave the house like that?''
+
+``Ho! I wanted a change.''
+
+``As if we'd believe that!'' scoffed Billy.
+
+``All right; let's call it you've had the change,
+then,'' laughed Bertram, ``and we'll send over
+for your things to-morrow.  Come--now let's
+go home to dinner.''
+
+William shook his head.  He essayed a gay
+smile.
+
+``Why, I've only just begun.  I'm going to
+stay--oh, I don't know how long I'm going to
+stay,'' he finished blithely.
+
+Billy lifted her chin a little.
+
+``Uncle William, you aren't playing square. 
+Pete told us what you said when you left.''
+
+``Eh?  What?'' William looked up with
+startled eyes.
+
+``About--about our not _needing_ you.  So we
+know, now, why you left; and we _sha'n't stand_
+it.''
+
+``Pete?  That?  Oh, that--that's nonsense
+I--I'll settle with Pete.''
+
+Billy laughed softly.
+
+``Poor Pete!  Don't.  We simply dragged it
+out of him.  And now we're here to tell you that
+we _do_ want you, and that you _must_ come back.''
+
+Again William shook his head.  A swift shadow
+crossed his face.
+
+``Thank you, no, children,'' he said dully.
+
+You're very kind, but you don't need me.  I
+should be just an interfering elder brother.  I
+should spoil your young married life.''  (William's
+voice now sounded as if he were reciting a well-
+learned lesson.)''  If I went away and stayed two
+months, you'd never forget the utter freedom and
+joy of those two whole months with the house all
+to yourselves.''
+
+``Uncle William,'' gasped Billy, ``what _are_
+you talking about?''
+
+``About--about my not going back, of course.''
+
+``But you are coming back,'' cut in Bertram,
+almost angrily.  ``Oh, come, Will, this is utter
+nonsense, and you know it!  Come, let's go home
+to dinner.''
+
+A stern look came to the corners of William's
+mouth--a look that Bertram understood well.
+
+``All right, I'll go to dinner, of course; but
+I sha'n't stay,'' said William, firmly.  ``I've
+thought it all out.  I know I'm right.  Come,
+we'll go to dinner now, and say no more about
+it,'' he finished with a cheery smile, as he rose to
+his feet.  Then, to the bride, he added:  ``Did
+you have a nice trip, little girl?''
+
+Billy, too, had risen, now, but she did not
+seem to have heard his question.  In the fast
+falling twilight her face looked a little white.
+
+``Uncle William,'' she began very quietly, ``do
+you think for a minute that just because I married
+your brother I am going to live in that house
+and turn you out of the home you've lived in all
+your life?''
+
+``Nonsense, dear!  I'm not turned out.  I just
+go,'' corrected Uncle William, gayly.
+
+With superb disdain Billy brushed this aside.
+
+``Oh, no, you won't,'' she declared; ``but--
+_I shall_.''
+
+``Billy!'' gasped Bertram.
+
+``My--my dear!'' expostulated William,
+faintly.
+
+``Uncle William!  Bertram!  Listen,'' panted
+Billy.  ``I never told you much before, but I'm
+going to, now.  Long ago, when I went away with
+Aunt Hannah, your sister Kate showed me how
+dear the old home was to you--how much you
+thought of it.  And she said--she said that I had
+upset everything.''  (Bertram interjected a sharp
+word, but Billy paid no attention.)  ``That's
+why I went; and _I shall go again_--if you don't
+come home to-morrow to stay, Uncle William.
+Come, now let's go to dinner, please.  Bertram's
+hungry,'' she finished, with a bright smile.
+
+There was a tense moment of silence.  William
+glanced at Bertram; Bertram returned the glance
+--with interest.
+
+``Er--ah--yes; well, we might go to dinner,''
+stammered William, after a minute.
+
+``Er--yes,'' agreed Bertram.  And the three
+fell into step together.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+``JUST LIKE BILLY''
+
+
+Billy did not leave the Strata this time. 
+Before twenty-four hours had passed, the last
+cherished fragment of Mr. William Henshaw's
+possessions had been carefully carried down the
+imposing steps of the Beacon Hill boarding-house
+under the disapproving eyes of its bugle-adorned
+mistress, who found herself now with a month's
+advance rent and two vacant ``parlors'' on her
+hands.  Before another twenty-four hours had
+passed her quondam boarder, with a tired sigh,
+sank into his favorite morris chair in his old
+familiar rooms, and looked about him with contented
+eyes.  Every treasure was in place, from
+the traditional four small stones of his babyhood
+days to the Batterseas Billy had just brought him. 
+Pete, as of yore, was hovering near with a dust-
+cloth.  Bertram's gay whistle sounded from the
+floor below.  William Henshaw was at home again.
+
+This much accomplished, Billy went to see
+Aunt Hannah.
+
+Aunt Hannah greeted her affectionately, though
+with tearfully troubled eyes.  She was wearing
+a gray shawl to-day topped with a black one--
+sure sign of unrest, either physical or mental, as
+all her friends knew.
+
+``I'd begun to think you'd forgotten--me,''
+she faltered, with a poor attempt at gayety.
+
+``You've been home three whole days.''
+
+``I know, dearie,'' smiled Billy; ``and 'twas
+a shame.  But I have been so busy!  My trunks
+came at last, and I've been helping Uncle William
+get settled, too.''
+
+Aunt Hannah looked puzzled.
+
+``Uncle William get settled?  You mean--
+he's changed his room?''
+
+Billy laughed oddly, and threw a swift glance
+into Aunt Hannah's face.
+
+``Well, yes, he did change,'' she murmured;
+``but he's moved back now into the old quarters. 
+Er--you haven't heard from Uncle William
+then, lately, I take it.''
+
+``No.''  Aunt Hannah shook her head
+abstractedly.  ``I did see him once, several weeks
+ago; but I haven't, since.  We had quite a talk,
+then; and, Billy, I've been wanting to speak to
+you,'' she hurried on, a little feverishly.  ``I
+didn't like to leave, of course, till you did come
+home, as long as you'd said nothing about your
+plans; but--''
+
+``Leave!'' interposed Billy, dazedly.  ``Leave
+where?  What do you mean?''
+
+``Why, leave here, of course, dear.  I mean. 
+I didn't like to get my room while you were
+away; but I shall now, of course, at once.''
+
+``Nonsense, Aunt Hannah!  As if I'd let you
+do that,'' laughed Billy.
+
+Aunt Hannah stiffened perceptibly.  Her lips
+looked suddenly thin and determined.  Even the
+soft little curls above her ears seemed actually
+to bristle with resolution.
+
+``Billy,'' she began firmly, ``we might as well
+understand each other at once.  I know your
+good heart, and I appreciate your kindness.  But
+I can not come to live with you.  I shall not.  It
+wouldn't be best.  I should be like an interfering
+elder brother in your home.  I should spoil your
+young married life; and if I went away for two
+months you'd never forget the utter joy and
+freedom of those two months with the whole
+house ali to yourselves.''
+
+At the beginning of this speech Billy's eyes
+had still carried their dancing smile, but as the
+peroration progressed on to the end, a dawning
+surprise, which soon became a puzzled questioning,
+drove the smile away.  Then Billy sat suddenly erect.
+
+``Why, Aunt Hannah, that's exactly what
+Uncle William--''  Billy stopped, and regarded
+Aunt Hannah with quick suspicion.  The next
+moment she burst into gleeful laughter.
+
+Aunt Hannah looked grieved, and not a little
+surprised; but Billy did not seem to notice
+this.
+
+``Oh, oh, Aunt Hannah--you, too!  How
+perfectly funny!'' she gurgled.  ``To think you
+two old blesseds should get your heads together
+like this!''
+
+Aunt Hannah stirred restively, and pulled the
+black shawl more closely about her.
+
+``Indeed, Billy, I don't know what you mean
+by that,'' she sighed, with a visible effort at self-
+control; ``but I do know that I can not go to live
+with you.''
+
+``Bless your heart, dear, I don't want you to,''
+soothed Billy, with gay promptness.
+
+``Oh!  O-h-h,'' stammered Aunt Hannah, surprise,
+mortification, dismay, and a grieved hurt
+bringing a flood of color to her face.  It is one
+thing to refuse a home, and quite another to have
+a home refused you.
+
+``Oh!  O-h-h, Aunt Hannah,'' cried Billy,
+turning very red in her turn.  ``Please, _please_ don't
+look like that.  I didn't mean it that way.  I do
+want you, dear, only--I want you somewhere
+else more.  I want you--here.''
+
+``Here!''  Aunt Hannah looked relieved, but
+unconvinced.
+
+``Yes.  Don't you like it here?''
+
+``Like it!  Why, I love it, dear.  You know I
+do.  But you don't need this house now, Billy.''
+
+``Oh, yes, I do,'' retorted Billy, airily.  ``I'm
+going to keep it up, and I want you here.
+
+``Fiddlededee, Billy!  As if I'd let you keep up
+this house just for me,'' scorned Aunt Hannah.
+
+`` 'Tisn't just for you.  It's for--for lots of
+folks.''
+
+``My grief and conscience, Billy!  What are
+you talking about?''
+
+Billy laughed, and settled herself more
+comfortably on the hassock at Aunt Hannah's feet.
+
+``Well, I'll tell you.  Just now I want it for
+Tommy Dunn, and the Greggorys if I can get
+them, and maybe one or two others.  There'll
+always be somebody.  You see, I had thought
+I'd have them at the Strata.''
+
+``Tommy Dunn--at the Strata!''
+
+Billy laughed again ruefully.
+
+``O dear!  You sound just like Bertram,'' she
+pouted.  ``He didn't want Tommy, either, nor
+any of the rest of them.''
+
+``The rest of them!''
+
+``Well, I could have had a lot more, you know,
+the Strata is so big, especially now that Cyril
+has gone, and left all those empty rooms.  _I_ got
+real enthusiastic, but Bertram didn't.  He just
+laughed and said `nonsense!' until he found I
+was really in earnest; then he--well, he said
+`nonsense,' then, too--only he didn't laugh,''
+finished Billy, with a sigh.
+
+Aunt Hannah regarded her with fond, though
+slightly exasperated eyes.
+
+``Billy, you are, indeed, a most extraordinary
+young woman--at times.  Surely, with you, a
+body never knows what to expect--except the
+unexpected.''
+
+``Why, Aunt Hannah!--and from you, too!''
+reproached Billy, mischievously; but Aunt Hannah
+had yet more to say.
+
+``Of course Bertram thought it was nonsense. 
+The idea of you, a bride, filling up your house
+with--with people like that!  Tommy Dunn,
+indeed!''
+
+``Oh, Bertram said he liked Tommy all right,''
+sighed Billy; ``but he said that that didn't mean
+he wanted him for three meals a day.  One would
+think poor Tommy was a breakfast food!  So
+that is when I thought of keeping up this house,
+you see, and that's why I want you here--to
+take charge of it.  And you'll do that--for me,
+won't you?''
+
+Aunt Hannah fell back in her chair.
+
+Why, y-yes, Billy, of course, if--if you want
+it.  But what an extraordinary idea, child!''
+
+Billy shook her head.  A deeper color came to
+her cheeks, and a softer glow to her eyes.
+
+``I don't think so, Aunt Hannah.  It's only
+that I'm so happy that some of it has just got to
+overflow somewhere, and this is going to be the
+overflow house--a sort of safety valve for me,
+you see.  I'm going to call it the Annex--it will
+be an annex to our home.  And I want to keep it
+full, always, of people who--who can make the
+best use of all that extra happiness that I can't
+possibly use myself,'' she finished a little
+tremulously.  ``Don't you see?''
+
+``Oh, yes, I _see_,'' replied Aunt Hannah, with a
+fond shake of the head.
+
+``But, really, listen--it's sensible,'' urged
+Billy.  ``First, there's Tommy.  His mother died
+last month.  He's at a neighbor's now, but they're
+going to send him to a Home for Crippled Children;
+and he's grieving his heart out over it. 
+I'm going to bring him here to a real home--
+the kind that doesn't begin with a capital letter. 
+He adores music, and he's got real talent, I think. 
+Then there's the Greggorys.''
+
+Aunt Hannah looked dubious.
+
+``You can't get the Greggorys to--to use any
+of that happiness, Billy.  They're too proud.''
+
+Billy smiled radiantly.
+
+``I know I can't get them to _use_ it, Aunt
+Hannah, but I believe I can get them to _give_ it,''
+she declared triumphantly.  ``I shall ask Alice
+Greggory to teach Tommy music, and I shall
+ask Mrs. Greggory to teach him books; and I
+shall tell them both that I positively need them
+to keep you company.''
+
+``Oh, but Billy,'' bridled Aunt Hannah, with
+prompt objection.
+
+``Tut, tut!--I know you'll be willing to be
+thrown as a little bit of a sop to the Greggorys'
+pride,'' coaxed Billy.  ``You just wait till I get
+the Overflow Annex in running order.  Why,
+Aunt Hannah, you don't know how busy you're
+going to be handing out all that extra happiness
+that I can't use!''
+
+``You dear child!'' Aunt Hannah smiled
+mistily.  The black shawl had fallen unheeded
+to the floor now.  ``As if anybody ever had any
+more happiness than one's self could use!''
+
+``I have,'' avowed Billy, promptly, ``and it's
+going to keep growing and growing, I know.''
+
+``Oh, my grief and conscience, Billy, don't!''
+exclaimed Aunt Hannah, lifting shocked hands of
+remonstrance.  ``Rap on wood--do!  How can
+you boast like that?''
+
+Billy dimpled roguishly and sprang to her feet{.??}
+
+``Why, Aunt Hannah, I'm ashamed of you! 
+To be superstitious like that--you, a good
+Presbyterian!''
+
+Aunt Hannah subsided shamefacedly.
+
+``Yes, I know, Billy, it is silly; but I just can't
+help it.''
+
+``Oh, but it's worse than silly, Aunt Hannah,''
+teased Billy, with a remorseless chuckle.  ``It's
+really _heathen!_  Bertram told me once that it
+dates 'way back to the time of the Druids--
+appealing to the god of trees, or something like that
+--when you rap on wood, you know.''
+
+``Ugh!'' shuddered Aunt Hannah.  ``As if
+I would, Billy!  How is Bertram, by the by?''
+
+A swift shadow crossed Billy's bright face.
+
+``He's lovely--only his arm.''
+
+``His arm!  But I thought that was better.''
+
+``Oh, it is,'' drooped Billy, ``but it gets along
+so slowly, and it frets him dreadfully.  You know
+he never can do anything with his left hand, he
+says, and he just hates to have things done for
+him--though Pete and Dong Ling are quarreling
+with each other all the time to do things for
+him, and I'm quarreling with both of them to do
+them for him myself!  By the way, Dong Ling
+is going to leave us next week.  Did you know
+it?''
+
+``Dong Ling--leave!''
+
+``Yes.  Oh, he told Bertram long ago he
+should go when we were married; that he had
+plenty much money, and was going back to China,
+and not be Melican man any longer.  But I don't
+think Bertram thought he'd do it.  William says
+Dong Ling went to Pete, however, after we left,
+and told him he wanted to go; that he liked the
+little Missee plenty well, but that there'd be too
+much hen-talk when she got back, and--''
+
+``Why, the impudent creature!''
+
+Billy laughed merrily.
+
+``Yes; Pete was furious, William says, but
+Dong Ling didn't mean any disrespect, I'm sure. 
+He just wasn't used to having petticoats around,
+and didn't want to take orders from them; that's
+all.''
+
+``But, Billy, what will you do?''
+
+``Oh, Pete's fixed all that lovely,'' returned
+Billy, nonchalantly.  ``You know his niece lives
+over in South Boston, and it seems she's got a
+daughter who's a fine cook and will be glad to
+come.  Mercy!  Look at the time,'' she broke off,
+glancing at the clock.  ``I shall be late to dinner,
+and Dong Ling loathes anybody who's late to his
+meals--as I found out to my sorrow the night
+we got home.  Good-by, dear.  I'll be out soon
+again and fix it all up--about the Annex, you
+know.''  And with a bright smile she was gone.
+
+``Dear me,'' sighed Aunt Hannah, stooping to
+pick up the black shawl; ``dear me!  Of course
+everything will be all right--there's a girl coming,
+even if Dong Ling is going.  But--but--
+Oh, my grief and conscience, what an extraordinary
+child Billy is, to be sure--but what a dear
+one!'' she added, wiping a quick tear from her
+eye.  ``An Overflow Annex, indeed, for her `extra
+happiness'!  Now isn't that just like Billy?''
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+TIGER SKINS
+
+
+September passed and October came, bringing
+with it cool days and clear, crisp evenings royally
+ruled over by a gorgeous harvest moon.  According
+to Billy everything was just perfect--except,
+of course, poor Bertram's arm; and even the
+fact that that gained so slowly was not without
+its advantage (again according to Billy), for it
+gave Bertram more time to be with her.
+
+``You see, dear, as long as you _can't_ paint,'' she
+told him earnestly, one day, ``why, I'm not
+really hindering you by keeping you with me so
+much.''
+
+``You certainly are not,'' he retorted, with a
+smile.
+
+``Then I may be just as happy as I like over
+it,'' settled Billy, comfortably.
+
+``As if you ever could hinder me,'' he ridiculed.
+
+``Oh, yes, I could,'' nodded Billy, emphatically. 
+``You forget, sir.  That was what worried
+me so.  Everybody, even the newspapers and
+magazines, said I _would_ do it, too.  They said I'd
+slay your Art, stifle your Ambition, destroy your
+Inspiration, and be a nuisance generally.  And
+Kate said--''
+
+``Yes.  Well, never mind what Kate said,''
+interrupted the man, savagely.
+
+Billy laughed, and gave his ear a playful
+tweak.
+
+``All right; but I'm not going to do it, you
+know--spoil your career, sir.  You just wait,''
+she continued dramatically.  ``The minute your
+arm gets so you can paint, I myself shall conduct
+you to your studio, thrust the brushes into your
+hand, fill your palette with all the colors of the
+rainbow, and order you to paint, my lord, paint! 
+But--until then I'm going to have you all I
+like,'' she finished, with a complete change of
+manner, nestling into the ready curve of his good
+left arm.
+
+``You witch!'' laughed the man, fondly. 
+``Why, Billy, you couldn't hinder me.  You'll _be_
+my inspiration, dear, instead of slaying it.  You'll
+see.  _This_ time Marguerite Winthrop's portrait
+is going to be a success.''
+
+Billy turned quickly.
+
+``Then you are--that is, you haven't--I
+mean, you're going to--paint it?''
+
+``I just am,'' avowed the artist.  ``And this
+time it'll be a success, too, with you to help.''
+
+Billy drew in her breath tremulously.
+
+``I didn't know but you'd already started it,''
+she faltered.
+
+He shook his head.
+
+``No.  After the other one failed, and Mr.
+Winthrop asked me to try again, I couldn't _then_. 
+I was so troubled over you.  That's the time you
+did hinder me,'' he smiled.  ``Then came your
+note breaking the engagement.  Of course I knew
+too much to attempt a thing like that portrait
+then.  But now--_now_--!''  The pause and the
+emphasis were eloquent.
+
+``Of course, _now_,'' nodded Billy, brightly, but
+a little feverishly.  ``And when do you begin?''
+
+``Not till January.  Miss Winthrop won't be
+back till then.  I saw J. G. last week, and I told
+him I'd accept his offer to try again.''
+
+``What did he say?''
+
+``He gave my left hand a big grip and said:
+`Good!--and you'll win out this time.' ''
+
+``Of course you will,'' nodded Billy, again,
+though still a little feverishly.  ``And this time
+I sha'n't mind a bit if you do stay to luncheon,
+and break engagements with me, sir,'' she went
+on, tilting her chin archly, ``for I shall know it's
+the portrait and not the sitter that's really
+keeping you.  Oh, you'll see what a fine artist's wife
+I'll make!''
+
+``The very best,'' declared Bertram so ardently
+that Billy blushed, and shook her head in reproof.
+
+``Nonsense!  I wasn't fishing.  I didn't mean it
+that way,'' she protested.  Then, as he tried to
+catch her, she laughed and danced teasingly out
+of his reach.
+
+Because Bertram could not paint, therefore,
+Billy had him quite to herself these October days;
+nor did she hesitate to appropriate him.  Neither,
+on his part, was Bertram loath to be appropriated. 
+Like two lovers they read and walked and talked
+together, and like two children, sometimes, they
+romped through the stately old rooms with
+Spunkie, or with Tommy Dunn, who was a frequent
+guest.  Spunkie, be it known, was renewing
+her kittenhood, so potent was the influence of
+the dangling strings and rolling balls that she
+encountered everywhere; and Tommy Dunn, with
+Billy's help, was learning that not even a pair
+of crutches need keep a lonely little lad from a
+frolic.  Even William, roused from his after-
+dinner doze by peals of laughter, was sometimes
+inveigled into activities that left him breathless,
+but curiously aglow.  While Pete, polishing silver
+in the dining-room down-stairs, smiled indulgently
+at the merry clatter above--and forgot
+the teasing pain in his side.
+
+But it was not all nonsense with Billy, nor gay
+laughter.  More often it was a tender glow in the
+eyes, a softness in the voice, a radiant something
+like an aura of joy all about her, that told how
+happy indeed were these days for her.  There
+was proof by word of mouth, too--long talks
+with Bertram in the dancing firelight when they
+laid dear plans for the future, and when she tried
+so hard to make her husband understand what a
+good, good wife she intended to be, and how she
+meant never to let anything come between them.
+
+It was so earnest and serious a Billy by this
+time that Bertram would turn startled, dismayed
+eyes on his young wife; whereupon, with a very
+Billy-like change of mood, she would give him
+one of her rare caresses, and perhaps sigh:
+
+``Goosey--it's only because I'm so happy,
+happy, happy!  Why, Bertram, if it weren't for
+that Overflow Annex I believe I--I just couldn't
+live!
+
+It was Bertram who sighed then, and who
+prayed fervently in his heart that never might he
+see a real shadow cloud that dear face.
+
+Thus far, certainly, the cares of matrimony
+had rested anything but heavily upon the shapely
+young shoulders of the new wife.  Domestic affairs
+at the Strata moved like a piece of well-oiled
+machinery.  Dong Ling, to be sure, was not there;
+but in his place reigned Pete's grandniece, a fresh-
+faced, capable young woman who (Bertram
+declared) cooked like an angel and minded her own
+business like a man.  Pete, as of yore, had full
+charge of the house; and a casual eye would see
+few changes.  Even the brothers themselves saw
+few, for that matter.
+
+True, at the very first, Billy had donned a
+ruffled apron and a bewitching dust-cap, and had
+traversed the house from cellar to garret with a
+prettily important air of ``managing things,'' as
+she suggested changes right and left.  She had
+summoned Pete, too, for three mornings in
+succession, and with great dignity had ordered the
+meals for the day.  But when Bertram was
+discovered one evening tugging back his favorite
+chair, and when William had asked if Billy were
+through using his pipe-tray, the young wife had
+concluded to let things remain about as they
+were.  And when William ate no breakfast one
+morning, and Bertram aggrievedly refused dessert
+that night at dinner, Billy--learning through an
+apologetic Pete that Master William always had
+to have eggs for breakfast no matter what else
+there was, and that Master Bertram never ate
+boiled rice--gave up planning the meals.  True,
+for three more mornings she summoned Pete for
+``orders,'' but the orders were nothing more nor
+less than a blithe ``Well, Pete, what are we going
+to have for dinner to-day?''  By the end of a
+week even this ceremony was given up, and before
+a month had passed, Billy was little more
+than a guest in her own home, so far as
+responsibility was concerned.
+
+Billy was not idle, however; far from it.  First,
+there were the delightful hours with Bertram. 
+Then there was her music:  Billy was writing a
+new song--the best she had ever written, Billy
+declared.
+
+``Why, Bertram, it can't help being that,'' she
+said to her husband, one day.  ``The words just
+sang themselves to me right out of my heart;
+and the melody just dropped down from the sky. 
+And now, everywhere, I'm hearing the most
+wonderful harmonies.  The whole universe is
+singing to me.  If only now I can put it on paper
+what I hear!  Then I can make the whole
+universe sing to some one else!''
+
+Even music, however, had to step one side for
+the wedding calls which were beginning to be
+received, and which must be returned, in spite
+of the occasional rebellion of the young husband. 
+There were the more intimate friends to be seen,
+also, and Cyril and Marie to be visited.  And
+always there was the Annex.
+
+The Annex was in fine running order now, and
+was a source of infinite satisfaction to its founder
+and great happiness to its beneficiaries.  Tommy
+Dunn was there, learning wonderful things from
+books and still more wonderful things from the
+piano in the living-room.  Alice Greggory and
+her mother were there, too--the result of much
+persuasion.  Indeed, according to Bertram, Billy
+had been able to fill the Annex only by telling
+each prospective resident that he or she was
+absolutely necessary to the welfare and happiness
+of every other resident.  Not that the house was
+full, either.  There were still two unoccupied
+rooms.
+
+``But then, I'm glad there are,'' Billy had
+declared, ``for there's sure to be some one that I'll
+want to send there.''
+
+``Some _one_, did you say?'' Bertram had retorted,
+meaningly; but his wife had disdained to
+answer this.
+
+Billy herself was frequently at the Annex. 
+She told Aunt Hannah that she had to come often
+to bring the happiness--it accumulated so fast. 
+Certainly she always found plenty to do there,
+whenever she came.  There was Aunt Hannah to
+be read to, Mrs. Greggory to be sung to, and
+Tommy Dunn to be listened to; for Tommy
+Dunn was always quivering with eagerness to
+play her his latest ``piece.''
+
+Billy knew that some day at the Annex she
+would meet Mr. M. J. Arkwright; and she told
+herself that she hoped she should.
+
+Billy had not seen Arkwright (except on the
+stage of the Boston Opera House) since the day
+he had left her presence in white-faced, stony-
+eyed misery after declaring his love for her, and
+learning of her engagement to Bertram.  Since
+then, she knew, he had been much with his old
+friend, Alice Greggory.  She did not believe,
+should she see him now, that he would be either
+white-faced, or stony-eyed.  His heart, she was
+sure, had gone where it ought to have gone in the
+first place--to Alice.  Such being, in her opinion,
+the case, she longed to get the embarrassment
+of a first meeting between themselves over
+with, for, after that, she was sure, their old
+friendship could be renewed, and she would be in a
+position to further this pretty love affair between
+him and Alice.  Very decidedly, therefore, Billy
+wished to meet Arkwright.  Very pleased, consequently,
+was she when, one day, coming into the
+living-room at the Annex, she found the man
+sitting by the fire.
+
+Arkwright was on his feet at once.
+
+``Miss--Mrs. H--Henshaw,'' he stammered
+
+``Oh, Mr. Arkwright,'' she cried, with just a
+shade of nervousness in her voice as she advanced,
+her hand outstretched.  ``I'm glad to see you.''
+
+``Thank you.  I wanted to see Miss Greggory,''
+he murmured.  Then, as the unconscious rudeness
+of his reply dawned on him, he made matters
+infinitely worse by an attempted apology.  ``That
+is, I mean--I didn't mean--'' he began to
+stammer miserably.
+
+Some girls might have tossed the floundering
+man a straw in the shape of a light laugh intended
+to turn aside all embarrassment--but not Billy. 
+Billy held out a frankly helping hand that was
+meant to set the man squarely on his feet at her
+side.
+
+``Mr. Arkwright, don't, please,'' she begged
+earnestly.  ``You and I don't need to beat about
+the bush.  I _am_ glad to see you, and I hope you're
+glad to see me.  We're going to be the best of
+friends from now on, I'm sure; and some day,
+soon, you're going to bring Alice to see me, and
+we'll have some music.  I left her up-stairs.  She'll
+be down at once, I dare say--I met Rosa going
+up with your card.  Good-by,'' she finished with
+a bright smile, as she turned and walked rapidly
+from the room.
+
+Outside, on the steps, Billy drew a long
+breath.
+
+``There,'' she whispered; ``that's over--and
+well over!''  The next minute she frowned vexedly. 
+She had missed her glove.  ``Never mind!
+I sha'n't go back in there for it now, anyway,''
+she decided.
+
+In the living-room, five minutes later, Alice
+Greggory found only a hastily scrawled note
+waiting for her.
+
+
+``If you'll forgive the unforgivable,'' she read
+``you'll forgive me for not being here when you
+come down.  `Circumstances over which I have
+no control have called me away.'  May we let
+it go at that?
+                    M. J. ARKWRIGHT.
+
+
+As Alice Greggory's amazed, questioning eyes
+left the note they fell upon the long white glove
+on the floor by the door.  Half mechanically she
+crossed the room and picked it up; but almost at
+once she dropped it with a low cry.
+
+``Billy!  He--saw--Billy!''  Then a flood
+of understanding dyed her face scarlet as she
+turned and fled to the blessedly unseeing walls
+of her own room.
+
+Not ten minutes later Rosa tapped at her door
+with a note.
+
+``It's from Mr. Arkwright, Miss.  He's downstairs.'' 
+Rosa's eyes were puzzled, and a bit
+startled.
+
+``Mr. Arkwright!''
+
+``Yes, Miss.  He's come again.  That is, I
+didn't know he'd went--but he must have, for
+he's come again now.  He wrote something in a
+little book; then he tore it out and gave it to me. 
+He said he'd wait, please, for an answer.''
+
+``Oh, very well, Rosa.''
+
+Miss Greggory took the note and spoke with
+an elaborate air of indifference that was meant to
+express a calm ignoring of the puzzled questioning
+in the other's eyes.  The next moment she read
+this in Arkwright's peculiar scrawl:
+
+
+``If you've already forgiven the unforgivable,
+you'll do it again, I know, and come down-stairs. 
+Won't you, please?  I want to see you.''
+
+
+Miss Greggory lifted her head with a jerk. 
+Her face was a painful red.
+
+``Tell Mr. Arkwright I can't possibly--''  She
+came to an abrupt pause.  Her eyes had encountered
+Rosa's, and in Rosa's eyes the puzzled questioning
+was plainly fast becoming a shrewd suspicion.
+
+There was the briefest of hesitations; then,
+lightly, Miss Greggory tossed the note aside.
+
+``Tell Mr. Arkwright I'll be down at once,
+please,'' she directed carelessly, as she turned
+back into the room.
+
+But she was not down at once.  She was not
+down until she had taken time to bathe her red
+eyes, powder her telltale nose, smoothe her ruffled
+hair, and whip herself into the calm, steady-eyed,
+self-controlled young woman that Arkwright
+finally rose to meet when she came into the room.
+
+``I thought it was only women who were privileged
+to change their mind,'' she began brightly;
+but Arkwright ignored her attempt to conventionalize
+the situation.
+
+``Thank you for coming down,'' he said, with
+a weariness that instantly drove the forced smile
+from the girl's lips.  ``I--I wanted to--to talk
+to you.''
+
+``Yes?''  She seated herself and motioned him
+to a chair near her.  He took the seat, and then
+fell silent, his eyes out the window.
+
+``I thought you said you--you wanted to
+talk, she reminded him nervously, after a
+minute.
+
+``I did.''  He turned with disconcerting abruptness. 
+``Alice, I'm going to tell you a story.''
+
+I shall be glad to listen.  People always like
+stories, don't they?''
+
+``Do they?''  The somber pain in Arkwright's
+eyes deepened.  Alice Greggory did not know it,
+but he was thinking of another story he had once
+told in that same room.  Billy was his listener
+then, while now--  A little precipitately he began
+to speak.
+
+``When I was a very small boy I went to visit
+my uncle, who, in his young days, had been quite
+a hunter.  Before the fireplace in his library was
+a huge tiger skin with a particularly lifelike head. 
+The first time I saw it I screamed, and ran and
+hid.  I refused then even to go into the room
+again.  My cousins urged, scolded, pleaded, and
+laughed at me by turns, but I was obdurate.  I
+would not go where I could see the fearsome thing
+again, even though it was, as they said, `nothing
+but a dead old rug!'
+
+``Finally, one day, my uncle took a hand in the
+matter.  By sheer will-power he forced me to go
+with him straight up to the dreaded creature, and
+stand by its side.  He laid one of my shrinking
+hands on the beast's smooth head, and thrust
+the other one quite into the open red mouth with
+its gleaming teeth.
+
+`` `You see,' he said, `there's absolutely nothing
+to fear.  He can't possibly hurt you.  Just as
+if you weren't bigger and finer and stronger in
+every way than that dead thing on the floor!'
+
+``Then, when he had got me to the point where
+of my own free will I would walk up and touch
+the thing, he drew a lesson for me.
+
+`` `Now remember,' he charged me.  `Never
+run and hide again.  Only cowards do that. 
+Walk straight up and face the thing.  Ten to one
+you'll find it's nothing but a dead skin masquerading
+as the real thing.  Even if it isn't if it's
+alive--face it.  Find a weapon and fight it. 
+Know that you are going to conquer it and
+you'll conquer.  Never run.  Be a man.  Men
+don't run, my boy!' ''
+
+Arkwright paused, and drew a long breath.  He
+did not look at the girl in the opposite chair.  If
+he had looked he would have seen a face transfigured.
+
+``Well,'' he resumed, ``I never forgot that tiger
+skin, nor what it stood for, after that day when
+Uncle Ben thrust my hand into its hideous, but
+harmless, red mouth.  Even as a kid I began,
+then, to try--not to run.  I've tried ever since
+But to-day--I did run.''
+
+Arkwright's voice had been getting lower and
+lower.  The last three words would have been
+almost inaudible to ears less sensitively alert than
+were Alice Greggory's.  For a moment after the
+words were uttered, only the clock's ticking broke
+the silence; then, with an obvious effort, the man
+roused himself, as if breaking away from some
+benumbing force that held him.
+
+``Alice, I don't need to tell you, after what I
+said the other night, that I loved Billy Neilson. 
+That was bad enough, for I found she was pledged
+to another man.  But to-day I discovered something
+worse:  I discovered that I loved Billy _Henshaw_--
+another man's wife.  And--I ran.  But
+I've come back.  I'm going to face the thing.  Oh,
+I'm not deceiving myself!  This love of mine is
+no dead tiger skin.  It's a beast, alive and alert
+--God pity me!--to destroy my very soul.  But
+I'm going to fight it; and--I want you to help
+me.''
+
+The girl gave a half-smothered cry.  The man
+turned, but he could not see her face distinctly. 
+Twilight had come, and the room was full of
+shadows.  He hesitated, then went on, a little
+more quietly.
+
+``That's why I've told you all this--so you
+would help me.  And you will, won't you?''
+
+There was no answer.  Once again he tried to
+see her face, but it was turned now quite away
+from him.
+
+``You've been a big help already, little girl. 
+Your friendship, your comradeship--they've
+been everything to me.  You're not going to make
+me do without them--now?''
+
+``No--oh, no!'' The answer was low and a
+little breathless; but he heard it.
+
+``Thank you.  I knew you wouldn't.''  He
+paused, then rose to his feet.  When he spoke
+again his voice carried a note of whimsical
+lightness that was a little forced.  ``But I must go--
+else you _will_ take them from me, and with good
+reason.  And please don't let your kind heart
+grieve too much--over me.  I'm no deep-dyed
+villain in a melodrama, nor wicked lover in a ten-
+penny novel, you know.  I'm just an everyday
+man in real life; and we're going to fight this thing
+out in everyday living.  That's where your help
+is coming in.  We'll go together to see Mrs. Bertram
+Henshaw.  She's asked us to, and you'll do
+it, I know.  We'll have music and everyday talk. 
+We'll see Mrs. Bertram Henshaw in her own home
+with her husband, where she belongs; and--I'm
+not going to run again.  But--I'm counting on
+your help, you know,'' he smiled a little wistfully,
+as he held out his hand in good-by.
+
+One minute later Alice Greggory, alone, was
+hurrying up-stairs.
+
+``I can't--I can't--I know I can't,'' she was
+whispering wildly.  Then, in her own room, she
+faced herself in the mirror.  ``Yes--you--can,
+Alice Greggory,'' she asserted, with swift change
+of voice and manner.  ``This is _your_ tiger skin,
+and you're going to fight it.  Do you understand? 
+--fight it!  And you're going to win, too.  Do you
+want that man to know you--_care_?''
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+``THE PAINTING LOOK''
+
+
+It was toward the last of October that Billy
+began to notice her husband's growing restlessness. 
+Twice, when she had been playing to him,
+she turned to find him testing the suppleness of
+his injured arm.  Several times, failing to receive
+an answer to her questions, she had looked up to
+discover him gazing abstractedly at nothing in
+particular.
+
+They read and walked and talked together, to
+be sure, and Bertram's devotion to her lightest
+wish was beyond question; but more and more
+frequently these days Billy found him hovering
+over his sketches in his studio; and once, when he
+failed to respond to the dinner-bell, search
+revealed him buried in a profound treatise on ``The
+Art of Foreshortening.''
+
+Then came the day when Billy, after an hour's
+vain effort to imprison within notes a tantalizing
+melody, captured the truant and rain down to the
+studio to tell Bertram of her victory.
+
+But Bertram did not seem even to hear her.
+True, he leaped to his feet and hurried to meet her,
+his face radiantly aglow; but she had not ceased
+to speak before he himself was talking.
+
+``Billy, Billy, I've been sketching,'' he cried. 
+``My hand is almost steady.  See, some of those
+lines are all right!  I just picked up a crayon
+and--''  He stopped abruptly, his eyes on Billy's
+face.  A vaguely troubled shadow crossed his
+own.  ``Did--did you--were you saying anything
+in--in particular, when you came in?'' he
+stammered.
+
+For a short half-minute Billy looked at her
+husband without speaking.  Then, a little queerly,
+she laughed.
+
+``Oh, no, nothing at all in _particular_,'' she
+retorted airily.  The next moment, with one of her
+unexpected changes of manner, she darted across
+the room, picked up a palette, and a handful of
+brushes from the long box near it.  Advancing
+toward her husband she held them out dramatically. 
+``And now paint, my lord, paint!'' she
+commanded him, with stern insistence, as she
+thrust them into his hands.
+
+Bertram laughed shamefacedly.
+
+``Oh, I say, Billy,'' he began; but Billy had
+gone.
+
+Out in the hall Billy was speeding up-stairs,
+talking fiercely to herself.
+
+``We'll, Billy Neilson Henshaw, it's come! 
+Now behave yourself.  _That was the painting look!_ 
+You know what that means.  Remember, he belongs
+to his Art before he does to you.  Kate and
+everybody says so.  And you--you expected
+him to tend to you and your silly little songs.  Do
+you want to ruin his career?  As if now he could
+spend all his time and give all his thoughts to
+you!  But I--I just hate that Art!''
+
+``What did you say, Billy?'' asked William, in
+mild surprise, coming around the turn of the
+balustrade in the hall above.  ``Were you speaking
+to me, my dear?''
+
+Billy looked up.  Her face cleared suddenly,
+and she laughed--though a little ruefully.
+
+``No, Uncle William, I wasn't talking to you,''
+she sighed.  ``I was just--just administering
+first aid to the injured,'' she finished, as she
+whisked into her own room.
+
+``Well, well, bless the child!  What can she
+mean by that?'' puzzled Uncle William, turning
+to go down the stairway.
+
+Bertram began to paint a very little the next
+day.  He painted still more the next, and yet more
+again the day following.  He was like a bird let
+out of a cage, so joyously alive was he.  The old
+sparkle came back to his eye, the old gay smile to
+his lips.  Now that they had come back Billy
+realized what she had not been conscious of
+before: that for several weeks past they had not
+been there; and she wondered which hurt the
+more--that they had not been there before, or
+that they were there now.  Then she scolded
+herself roundly for asking the question at all.
+
+They were not easy--those days for Billy,
+though always to Bertram she managed to show
+a cheerfully serene face.  To Uncle William, also,
+and to Aunt Hannah she showed a smiling countenance;
+and because she could not talk to anybody
+else of her feelings, she talked to herself. 
+This, however, was no new thing for Billy to do
+From earliest childhood she had fought things out
+in like manner.
+
+``But it's so absurd of you, Billy Henshaw,''
+she berated herself one day, when Bertram had
+become so absorbed in his work that he had
+forgotten to keep his appointment with her for a
+walk.  ``Just because you have had his constant
+attention almost every hour since you were married
+is no reason why you should have it every
+hour now, when his arm is better!  Besides, it's
+exactly what you said you wouldn't do--object--
+to his giving proper time to his work.''
+
+``But I'm not objecting,'' stormed the other
+half of herself.  ``I'm _telling_ him to do it.  It's
+only that he's so--so _pleased_ to do it.  He doesn't
+seem to mind a bit being away from me.  He's
+actually happy!''
+
+``Well, don't you want him to be happy in his
+work?  Fie!  For shame!  A fine artist's wife you
+are.  It seems Kate was right, then; you _are_ going
+to spoil his career!''
+
+``Ho!'' quoth Billy, and tossed her head. 
+Forthwith she crossed the room to her piano and
+plumped herself down hard on to the stool.  Then,
+from under her fingers there fell a rollicking melody
+that seemed to fill the room with little dancing
+feet.  Faster and faster sped Billy's fingers;
+swifter and swifter twinkled the little dancing
+feet.  Then a door was jerked open, and Bertram's
+voice called:
+
+``Billy!''
+
+The music stopped instantly.  Billy sprang from
+her seat, her eyes eagerly seeking the direction
+from which had come the voice.  Perhaps--_perhaps_
+Bertram wanted her.  Perhaps he was not
+going to paint any longer that morning, after all. 
+``Billy!'' called the voice again.  ``Please, do
+you mind stopping that playing just for a little
+while?  I'm a brute, I know, dear, but my brush
+_will_ try to keep time with that crazy little tune of
+yours, and you know my hand is none too steady,
+anyhow, and when it tries to keep up with that
+jiggety, jig, jig, jiggety, jig, jig--!  _Do_ you mind,,
+darling, just--just sewing, or doing something
+still for a while?''
+
+All the light fled from Billy's face, but her voice,
+when she spoke, was the quintessence of cheery
+indifference.
+
+``Why, no, of course not, dear.''
+
+``Thank you.  I knew you wouldn't,'' sighed
+Bertram.  Then the door shut.
+
+For a long minute Billy stood motionless before
+she glanced at her watch and sped to the telephone.
+
+``Is Miss Greggory there, Rosa?'' she called
+when the operator's ring was answered.
+
+``Mis' Greggory, the lame one?''
+
+``No; _Miss_ Greggory--Miss Alice.''
+
+``Oh!  Yes'm.''
+
+``Then won't you ask her to come to the telephone,
+please.''
+
+There was a moment's wait, during which Billy's
+small, well-shod foot beat a nervous tattoo on
+the floor.
+
+``Oh, is that you, Alice?'' she called then. 
+``Are you going to be home for an hour or two?''
+
+``Why, y-yes; yes, indeed.''
+
+``Then I'm coming over.  We'll play duets,
+sing--anything.  I want some music.''
+
+``Do!  And--Mr. Arkwright is here.  He'll
+help.''
+
+``Mr. Arkwright?  You say he's there?  Then
+I won't--  Yes, I will, too.''  Billy spoke with
+renewed firmness.  ``I'll be there right away. 
+Good-by.''  And she hung up the receiver, and
+went to tell Pete to order John and Peggy at once.
+
+``I suppose I ought to have left Alice and Mr.
+Arkwright alone together,'' muttered the young
+wife feverishly, as she hurriedly prepared for
+departure.  ``But I'll make it up to them later. 
+I'm going to give them lots of chances.  But to-
+day--to-day I just had to go--somewhere!''
+
+At the Annex, with Alice Greggory and
+Arkwright, Billy sang duets and trios, and reveled in
+a sonorous wilderness of new music to her heart's
+content.  Then, rested, refreshed, and at peace
+with all the world, she hurried home to dinner
+and to Bertram.
+
+``There!  I feel better,'' she sighed, as she took
+off her hat in her own room; ``and now I'll go
+find Bertram.  Bless his heart--of course he
+didn't want me to play when he was so busy!''
+
+Billy went straight to the studio, but Bertram
+was not there.  Neither was he in William's room,
+nor anywhere in the house.  Down-stairs in the
+dining-room Pete was found looking rather white,
+leaning back in a chair.  He struggled at once to
+his feet, however, as his mistress entered the
+room.
+
+Billy hurried forward with a startled exclamation.
+
+``Why, Pete, what is it?  Are you sick?'' she
+cried, her glance encompassing the half-set table.
+
+``No, ma'am; oh, no, ma'am!''  The old man
+stumbled forward and began to arrange the knives
+and forks.  ``It's just a pesky pain--beggin'
+yer pardon--in my side.  But I ain't sick.  No,
+Miss--ma'am.''
+
+Billy frowned and shook her head.  Her eyes
+were on Pete's palpably trembling hands.
+
+``But, Pete, you are sick,'' she protested.  ``Let
+Eliza do that.''
+
+Pete drew himself stiffly erect.  The color had
+begun to come back to his face.
+
+``There hain't no one set this table much but
+me for more'n fifty years, an' I've got a sort of
+notion that nobody can do it just ter suit me. 
+Besides, I'm better now.  It's gone--that pain.''
+
+``But, Pete, what is it?  How long have you
+had it?''
+
+``I hain't had it any time, steady.  It's the
+comin' an' goin' kind.  It seems silly ter mind it
+at all; only, when it does come, it sort o' takes
+the backbone right out o' my knees, and they
+double up so's I have ter set down.  There, ye
+see?  I'm pert as a sparrer, now!''  And, with
+stiff celerity, Pete resumed his task.
+
+His mistress still frowned.
+
+``That isn't right, Pete,'' she demurred, with
+a slow shake of her head.  ``You should see a
+doctor.''
+
+The old man paled a little.  He had seen a
+doctor, and he had not liked what the doctor
+had told him.  In fact, he stubbornly refused to
+believe what the doctor had said.  He straightened
+himself now a little aggressively.
+
+``Humph!  Beggin' yer pardon, Miss--ma'am,
+but I don't think much o' them doctor chaps.''
+
+Billy shook her head again as she smiled
+and turned away.  Then, as if casually, she
+asked:
+
+``Oh, did Mr. Bertram go out, Pete?''
+
+``Yes, Miss; about five o'clock.  He said he'd
+be back to dinner.''
+
+``Oh!  All right.''
+
+From the hall the telephone jangled sharply.
+
+``I'll go,'' said Pete's mistress, as she turned
+and hurried up-stairs.
+
+It was Bertram's voice that answered her
+opening ``Hullo.''
+
+``Oh, Billy, is that you, dear?  Well, you're
+just the one I wanted.  I wanted to say--that
+is, I wanted to ask you--''  The speaker cleared
+his throat a little nervously, and began all over
+again.  ``The fact is, Billy, I've run across a
+couple of old classmates on from New York, and
+they are very anxious I should stay down to dinner
+with them.  Would you mind--very much if I
+did?''
+
+A cold hand seemed to clutch Billy's heart. 
+She caught her breath with a little gasp and tried
+to speak; but she had to try twice before the
+words came.
+
+``Why, no--no, of course not!'' Billy's voice
+was very high-pitched and a little shaky, but it
+was surpassingly cheerful.
+
+``You sure you won't be--lonesome?'' Bertram's
+voice was vaguely troubled.
+
+``Of course not!''
+
+``You've only to say the word, little girl,''
+came Bertram's anxious tones again, ``and I
+won't stay.''
+
+Billy swallowed convulsively.  If only, only he
+would _stop_ and leave her to herself!  As if she were
+going to own up that _she_ was lonesome for _him_--
+if _he_ was not lonesome for _her!_
+
+``Nonsense! of course you'll stay,'' called Billy,
+still in that high-pitched, shaky treble.  Then,
+before Bertram could answer, she uttered a gay
+``Good-by!'' and hung up the receiver.
+
+Billy had ten whole minutes in which to cry
+before Pete's gong sounded for dinner; but she
+had only one minute in which to try to efface
+the woefully visible effects of those ten minutes
+before William tapped at her door, and called:
+
+``Gone to sleep, my dear?  Dinner's ready. 
+Didn't you hear the gong?''
+
+``Yes, I'm coming, Uncle William.''  Billy
+spoke with breezy gayety, and threw open the
+door; but she did not meet Uncle William's eyes. 
+Her head was turned away.  Her hands were
+fussing with the hang of her skirt.
+
+``Bertram's dining out, Pete tells me,'' observed
+William, with cheerful nonchalance, as they went
+down-stairs together.
+
+Billy bit her lip and looked up sharply.  She
+had been bracing herself to meet with disdainful
+indifference this man's pity--the pity due a poor
+neglected wife whose husband _preferred_ to dine
+with old classmates rather than with herself. 
+Now she found in William's face, not pity, but a
+calm, even jovial, acceptance of the situation as a
+matter of course.  She had known she was going
+to hate that pity; but now, curiously enough, she
+was conscious only of anger that the pity was
+not there--that she might hate it.
+
+She tossed her head a little.  So even William
+--Uncle William--regarded this monstrous thing
+as an insignificant matter of everyday experience. 
+Maybe he expected it to occur frequently--every
+night, or so.  Doubtless he did expect it to occur
+every night, or so.  Indeed!  Very well.  As if she
+were going to show _now_ that she cared whether
+Bertram were there or not!  They should see.
+
+So with head held high and eyes asparkle, Billy
+marched into the dining-room and took her accustomed place.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+THE BIG BAD QUARREL
+
+
+It was a brilliant dinner--because Billy made
+it so.  At first William met her sallies of wit with
+mild surprise; but it was not long before he rose
+gallantly to the occasion, and gave back full
+measure of retort.  Even Pete twice had to turn
+his back to hide a smile, and once his hand shook
+so that the tea he was carrying almost spilled. 
+This threatened catastrophe, however, seemed to
+frighten him so much that his face was very grave
+throughout the rest of the dinner.
+
+Still laughing and talking gayly, Billy and
+Uncle William, after the meal was over, ascended
+to the drawing-room.  There, however, the man,
+in spite of the young woman's gay badinage, fell
+to dozing in the big chair before the fire, leaving
+Billy with only Spunkie for company--Spunkie,
+who, disdaining every effort to entice her into a
+romp, only winked and blinked stupid eyes, and
+finally curled herself on the rug for a nap.
+
+Billy, left to her own devices, glanced at her
+watch.
+
+Half-past seven!  Time, almost, for Bertram
+to be coming.  He had said ``dinner''; and, of
+course, after dinner was over he would be coming
+home--to her.  Very well; she would show him
+that she had at least got along without him as
+well as he had without her.  At all events he
+would not find her forlornly sitting with her nose
+pressed against the window-pane!  And forthwith
+Billy established herself in a big chair (with its
+back carefully turned toward the door by which
+Bertram would enter), and opened a book.
+
+Five, ten, fifteen minutes passed.  Billy
+fidgeted in her chair, twisted her neck to look out
+into the hall--and dropped her book with a
+bang.
+
+Uncle William jerked himself awake, and
+Spunkie opened sleepy eyes.  Then both settled
+themselves for another nap.  Billy sighed, picked
+up her book, and flounced back into her chair. 
+But she did not read.  Disconsolately she sat
+staring straight ahead--until a quick step on
+the sidewalk outside stirred her into instant action. 
+Assuming a look of absorbed interest she twitched
+the book open and held it before her face. . . . 
+But the step passed by the door: and Billy saw
+then that her book was upside down.
+
+Five, ten, fifteen more minutes passed.  Billy
+still sat, apparently reading, though she had not
+turned a page.  The book now, however, was
+right side up.  One by one other minutes passed
+till the great clock in the hall struck nine long
+strokes.
+
+``Well, well, bless my soul!'' mumbled Uncle
+William, resolutely forcing himself to wake up. 
+``What time was that?''
+
+``Nine o'clock.''  Billy spoke with tragic
+distinctness, yet very cheerfully.
+
+``Eh?  Only nine?'' blinked Uncle William. 
+``I thought it must be ten.  Well, anyhow, I
+believe I'll go up-stairs.  I seem to be unusually
+sleepy.''
+
+Billy said nothing.  `` `Only nine,' indeed!''
+she was thinking wrathfully.
+
+At the door Uncle William turned.
+
+``You're not going to sit up, my dear, of
+course,'' he remarked.
+
+For the second time that evening a cold hand
+seemed to clutch Billy's heart.
+
+_Sit up!_  Had it come already to that?  Was
+she even now a wife who had need to _sit up_ for
+her husband?
+
+``I really wouldn't, my dear,'' advised Uncle
+William again.  ``Good night.''
+
+``Oh, but I'm not sleepy at all, yet,'' Billy
+managed to declare brightly.  ``Good night.''
+
+Then Uncle William went up-stairs.
+
+Billy turned to her book, which happened to
+be one of William's on ``Fake Antiques.''
+
+`` `To collect anything, these days, requires
+expert knowledge, and the utmost care and
+discrimination,' '' read Billy's eyes.  ``So Uncle
+William _expected_ Bertram was going to spend the
+whole evening as well as stay to dinner!'' ran
+Billy's thoughts.  `` `The enormous quantity of
+bijouterie, Dresden and Battersea enamel ware
+that is now flooding the market, is made on the
+Continent--and made chiefly for the American
+trade,' '' continued the book.
+
+``Well, who cares if it is,'' snapped Billy, springing
+to her feet and tossing the volume aside. 
+``Spunkie, come here!  You've simply got to
+play with me.  Do you hear?  I want to be gay
+--_gay_--GAY!  He's gay.  He's down there with
+those men, where he wants to be.  Where he'd
+_rather_ be than be with me!  Do you think I want
+him to come home and find me moping over a
+stupid old book?  Not much!  I'm going to have
+him find me gay, too.  Now, come, Spunkie;
+hurry--wake up!  He'll be here right away, I'm
+sure.''  And Billy shook a pair of worsted reins,
+hung with little soft balls, full in Spunkie's face.
+
+But Spunkie would not wake up, and Spunkie
+would not play.  She pretended to.  She bit at
+the reins, and sank her sharp claws into the
+dangling balls.  For a fleeting instant, even,
+something like mischief gleamed in her big yellow eyes. 
+Then the jaws relaxed, the paws turned to velvet,
+and Spunkie's sleek gray head settled slowly back
+into lazy comfort.  Spunkie was asleep.
+
+Billy gazed at the cat with reproachful eyes.
+
+``And you, too, Spunkie,'' she murmured. 
+Then she got to her feet and went back to her
+chair.  This time she picked up a magazine and
+began to turn the leaves very fast, one after another.
+
+Half-past nine came, then ten.  Pete appeared
+at the door to get Spunkie, and to see that everything
+was all right for the night.
+
+``Mr. Bertram is not in yet?'' he began doubtfully.
+
+Billy shook her head with a bright smile.
+
+``No, Pete.  Go to bed.  I expect him every
+minute.  Good night.''
+
+``Thank you, ma'am.  Good night.''
+
+The old man picked up the sleepy cat and went
+down-stairs.  A little later Billy heard his quiet
+steps coming back through the hall and ascending
+the stairs.  She listened until from away at the
+top of the house she heard his door close.  Then
+she drew a long breath.
+
+Ten o'clock--after ten o'clock, and Bertram
+not there yet!  And was this what he called dinner? 
+Did one eat, then, till ten o'clock, when one
+dined with one's friends?
+
+Billy was angry now--very angry.  She was
+too angry to be reasonable.  This thing that her
+husband had done seemed monstrous to her,
+smarting, as she was, under the sting of hurt
+pride and grieved loneliness--the state of mind
+into which she had worked herself.  No longer
+now did she wish to be gay when her husband
+came.  No longer did she even pretend to assume
+indifference.  Bertram had done wrong.  He had
+been unkind, cruel, thoughtless, inconsiderate of
+her comfort and happiness.  Furthermore he _did
+not_ love her as well as she did him or he never,
+never could have done it!  She would let him see,
+when he came, just how hurt and grieved she was
+--and how disappointed, too.
+
+Billy was walking the floor now, back and forth,
+back and forth.
+
+Half-past ten came, then eleven.  As the eleven
+long strokes reverberated through the silent
+house Billy drew in her breath and held it suspended. 
+A new look came to her eyes.  A growing
+terror crept into them and culminated in a
+frightened stare at the clock.
+
+Billy ran then to the great outer door and pulled
+it open.  A cold wind stung her face, and caused
+her to shut the door quickly.  Back and forth she
+began to pace the floor again; but in five minutes
+she had run to the door once more.  This time
+she wore a heavy coat of Bertram's which she
+caught up as she passed the hall-rack.
+
+Out on to the broad top step Billy hurried, and
+peered down the street.  As far as she could see
+not a person was in sight.  Across the street in
+the Public Garden the wind stirred the gray
+tree-branches and set them to casting weird
+shadows on the bare, frozen ground.  A warning
+something behind her sent Billy scurrying into
+the house just in time to prevent the heavy door's
+closing and shutting her out, keyless, in the cold.
+
+Half-past eleven came, and again Billy ran to
+the door.  This time she put the floor-mat against
+the casing so that the door could not close.  Once
+more she peered wildly up and down the street,
+and across into the deserted, wind-swept Garden.
+
+There was only terror now in Billy's face.  The
+anger was all gone.  In Billy's mind there was not
+a shadow of doubt--something had happened to
+Bertram.
+
+Bertram was ill--hurt--dead!  And he was
+so good, so kind, so noble; such a dear, dear
+husband!  If only she could see him once.  If only
+she could ask his forgiveness for those wicked,
+unkind, accusing thoughts.  If only she could
+tell him again that she did love him.  If only--
+
+Far down the street a step rang sharply on the
+frosty air.  A masculine figure was hurrying toward
+the house.  Retreating well into the shadow of the
+doorway, Billy watched it, her heart pounding
+against her side in great suffocating throbs. 
+Nearer and nearer strode the approaching figure
+until Billy had almost sprung to meet it with a
+glad cry--almost, but not quite; for the figure
+neither turned nor paused, but marched straight
+on--and Billy saw then, under the arc light, a
+brown-bearded man who was not Bertram at all.
+
+Three times during the next few minutes did
+the waiting little bride on the doorstep watch
+with palpitating yearning a shadowy form appear,
+approach--and pass by.  At the third
+heart-breaking disappointment, Billy wrung her
+hands helplessly.
+
+``I don't see how there can be--so many--
+utterly _useless_ people in the world!'' she choked. 
+Then, thoroughly chilled and sick at heart, she
+went into the house and closed the door.
+
+Once again, back and forth, back and forth,
+Billy took up her weary vigil.  She still wore the
+heavy coat.  She had forgotten to take it off. 
+Her face was pitifully white and drawn.  Her
+eyes were wild.  One of her hands was nervously
+caressing the rough sleeve of the coat as it hung
+from her shoulder.
+
+
+One--two--three--
+
+Billy gave a sharp cry and ran into the hall.
+
+Yes, it was twelve o'clock.  And now, always,
+all the rest of the dreary, useless hours that that
+clock would tick away through an endless existence,
+she would have to live--without Bertram. 
+If only she could see him once more!  But she
+could not.  He was dead.  He must be dead, now. 
+Here it was twelve o'clock, and--
+
+There came a quick step, the click of a key in
+the lock, then the door swung back and Bertram,
+big, strong, and merry-eyed, stood before her.
+
+``Well, well, hullo,'' he called jovially.  Why,
+Billy, what's the matter?'' he broke off, in quite
+a different tone of voice.
+
+And then a curious thing happened.  Billy,
+who, a minute before, had been seeing only a dear,
+noble, adorable, _lost_ Bertram, saw now suddenly
+only the man that had stayed _happily_ till midnight
+with two friends, while she--she--
+
+``Matter!  Matter!'' exclaimed Billy sharply,
+then.  ``Is this what you call staying to dinner,
+Bertram Henshaw?''
+
+Bertram stared.  A slow red stole to his
+forehead.  It was his first experience of coming home
+to meet angry eyes that questioned his behavior
+--and he did not like it.  He had been, perhaps,
+a little conscience-smitten when he saw how late
+he had stayed; and he had intended to say he
+was sorry, of course.  But to be thus sharply
+called to account for a perfectly innocent good
+time with a couple of friends--!  To come home
+and find Billy making a ridiculous scene like
+this--!  He--he would not stand for it!  He--
+
+Bertram's lips snapped open.  The angry retort
+was almost spoken when something in the piteously
+quivering chin and white, drawn face opposite
+stopped it just in time.
+
+``Why, Billy--darling!'' he murmured instead.
+
+It was Billy's turn to change.  All the anger
+melted away before the dismayed tenderness in
+those dear eyes and the grieved hurt in that dear
+voice.
+
+``Well, you--you--I--'' Billy began to cry.
+
+It was all right then, of course, for the next
+minute she was crying on Bertram's big, broad
+shoulder; and in the midst of broken words,
+kisses, gentle pats, and inarticulate croonings,
+the Big, Bad Quarrel, that had been all ready to
+materialize, faded quite away into nothingness.
+
+``I didn't have such an awfully good time, anyhow,
+avowed Bertram, when speech became
+rational.  ``I'd rather have been home with you.''
+
+``Nonsense!'' blinked Billy, valiantly.  ``Of
+course you had a good time; and it was perfectly
+right you should have it, too!  And I--I hope
+you'll have it again.''
+
+``I sha'n't,'' emphasized Bertram, promptly,
+``--not and leave you!''
+
+Billy regarded him with adoring eyes.
+
+``I'll tell you; we'll have 'em come here,'' she
+proposed gayly.
+
+``Sure we will,'' agreed Bertram.
+
+``Yes; sure we will,'' echoed Billy, with a
+contented sigh.  Then, a little breathlessly, she
+added:  ``Anyhow, I'll know--where you are. 
+I won't think you're--dead!''
+
+``You--blessed--little-goose!'' scolded
+Bertram, punctuating each word with a kiss.
+
+Billy drew a long sigh.
+
+``If this is a quarrel I'm going to have them
+often,'' she announced placidly.
+
+``Billy!''  The young husband was plainly
+aghast.
+
+``Well, I am--because I like the making-up,
+dimpled Billy, with a mischievous twinkle as she
+broke from his clasp and skipped ahead up the
+stairway.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+BILLY CULTIVATES A ``COMFORTABLE INDIFFERENCE''
+
+
+The next morning, under the uncompromising
+challenge of a bright sun, Billy began to be
+uneasily suspicious that she had been just a bit
+unreasonable and exacting the night before.  To
+make matters worse she chanced to run across a
+newspaper criticism of a new book bearing the
+ominous title:  ``When the Honeymoon Wanes
+A Talk to Young Wives.''
+
+Such a title, of course, attracted her
+supersensitive attention at once; and, with a curiously
+faint feeling, she picked up the paper and began to
+read.
+
+As the most of the criticism was taken up with
+quotations from the book, it was such sentences
+as these that met her startled eyes:
+
+``Perhaps the first test comes when the young
+wife awakes to the realization that while her husband
+loves her very much, he can still make
+plans with his old friends which do not include
+herself. . . .  Then is when the foolish wife lets
+her husband see how hurt she is that he can want
+to be with any one but herself. . . .  Then is
+when the husband--used all his life to independence,
+perhaps--begins to chafe under these new
+bonds that hold him so fast. . . .  No man likes
+to be held up at the end of a threatened scene and
+made to give an account of himself. . . .  Before
+a woman has learned to cultivate a comfortable
+indifference to her husband's comings and goings,
+she is apt to be tyrannical and exacting.''
+
+`` `Comfortable indifference,' indeed!'' stormed
+Billy to herself.  ``As if I ever could be comfortably
+indifferent to anything Bertram did!''
+
+She dropped the paper; but there were still
+other quotations from the book there, she knew;
+and in a moment she was back at the table reading them.
+
+``No man, however fondly he loves his wife,
+likes to feel that she is everlastingly peering into
+the recesses of his mind, and weighing his every
+act to find out if he does or does not love her to-
+day as well as he did yesterday at this time. . . . 
+Then, when spontaneity is dead, she is the chief
+mourner at its funeral. . . .  A few couples never
+leave the Garden of Eden.  They grow old hand
+in hand.  They are the ones who bear and forbear;
+who have learned to adjust themselves to
+the intimate relationship of living together. . . . 
+A certain amount of liberty, both of action and
+thought, must be allowed on each side. . . .  The
+family shut in upon itself grows so narrow that all
+interest in the outside world is lost. . . .  No
+two people are ever fitted to fill each other's
+lives entirely.  They ought not to try to do it. 
+If they do try, the process is belittling to each,
+and the result, if it is successful, is nothing less
+than a tragedy; for it could not mean the highest
+ideals, nor the truest devotion. . . .  Brushing up
+against other interests and other personalities is
+good for both husband and wife.  Then to each
+other they bring the best of what they have
+found, and each to the other continues to be new
+and interesting. . . .  The young wife, however,
+is apt to be jealous of everything that turns her
+husband's attention for one moment away from
+herself.  She is jealous of his thoughts, his words,
+his friends, even his business. . . .  But the wife
+who has learned to be the clinging vine when her
+husband wishes her to cling, and to be the sturdy
+oak when clinging vines would be tiresome, has
+solved a tremendous problem.''
+
+At this point Billy dropped the paper.  She
+flung it down, indeed, a bit angrily.  There were
+still a few more words in the criticism, mostly the
+critic's own opinion of the book; but Billy did
+not care for this.  She had read quite enough--
+boo much, in fact.  All that sort of talk might be
+very well, even necessary, perhaps (she told herself),
+for ordinary husbands and wives! but for
+her and Bertram--
+
+Then vividly before her rose those initial quoted
+words:
+
+``Perhaps the first test comes when the young
+wife awakes to the realization that while her husband
+loves her very much, he can still make
+plans with his old friends which do not include
+herself.''
+
+Billy frowned, and put her finger to her lips. 
+Was that then, last night, a ``test''?  Had she
+been ``tyrannical and exacting''?  Was she
+``everlastingly peering into the recesses'' of Bertram's
+mind and ``weighing his every act''? 
+Was Bertram already beginning to ``chafe''
+under these new bonds that held him?
+
+No, no, never that!  She could not believe that. 
+But what if he should sometime begin to chafe? 
+What if they two should, in days to come,
+degenerate into just the ordinary, everyday married
+folk, whom she saw about her everywhere, and
+for whom just such horrid books as this must be
+written?  It was unbelievable, unthinkable.  And
+yet, that man had said--
+
+With a despairing sigh Billy picked up the paper
+once more and read carefully every word again. 
+When she had finished she stood soberly thoughtful,
+her eyes out of the window.
+
+After all, it was nothing but the same old story. 
+She was exacting.  She did want her husband's
+every thought.  She _gloried_ in peering into every
+last recess of his mind if she had half a chance. 
+She was jealous of his work.  She had almost
+hated his painting--at times.  She had held him
+up with a threatened scene only the night before
+and demanded that he should give an account
+of himself.  She had, very likely, been the clinging
+vine when she should have been the sturdy
+oak.
+
+Very well, then.  (Billy lifted her head and
+threw back her shoulders.)  He should have no
+further cause for complaint.  She would be an
+oak.  She would cultivate that comfortable
+indifference to his comings and goings.  She would
+brush up against other interests and personalities
+so as to be ``new'' and ``interesting'' to her
+husband.  She would not be tyrannical, exacting,
+or jealous.  She would not threaten scenes, nor
+peer into recesses.  Whatever happened, she
+would not let Bertram begin to chafe against
+those bonds!
+
+Having arrived at this heroic and (to her)
+eminently satisfactory state of mind, Billy turned
+from the window and fell to work on a piece of
+manuscript music.
+
+`` `Brush up against other interests,' '' she
+admonished herself sternly, as she reached for her
+pen.
+
+Theoretically it was beautiful; but practically--
+
+Billy began at once to be that oak.  Not an
+hour after she had first seen the fateful notice of
+``When the Honeymoon Wanes,'' Bertram's ring
+sounded at the door down-stairs.
+
+Bertram always let himself in with his latchkey;
+but, from the first of Billy's being there, he
+had given a peculiar ring at the bell which would
+bring his wife flying to welcome him if she were
+anywhere in the house.  To-day, when the bell
+sounded, Billy sprang as usual to her feet, with a
+joyous ``There's Bertram!''  But the next moment
+she fell back.
+
+``Tut, tut, Billy Neilson Henshaw!  Learn to
+cultivate a comfortable indifference to your
+husband's comings and goings,'' she whispered
+fiercely.  Then she sat down and fell to work again.
+
+A moment later she heard her husband's voice
+talking to some one--Pete, she surmised.  ``Here? 
+You say she's here?''  Then she heard Bertram's
+quick step on the stairs.  The next minute, very
+quietly, he came to her door.
+
+``Ho!'' he ejaculated gayly, as she rose to
+receive his kiss.  ``I thought I'd find you asleep,
+when you didn't hear my ring.''
+
+Billy reddened a little.
+
+``Oh, no, I wasn't asleep.''
+
+``But you didn't hear--'' Bertram stopped
+abruptly, an odd look in his eyes.  ``Maybe you
+did hear it, though,'' he corrected.
+
+Billy colored more confusedly.  The fact that
+she looked so distressed did not tend to clear
+Bertram's face.
+
+``Why, of course, Billy, I didn't mean to insist
+on your coming to meet me,'' he began a little
+stiffly; but Billy interrupted him.
+
+``Why, Bertram, I just love to go to meet you,''
+she maintained indignantly.  Then, remembering
+just in time, she amended:  ``That is, I did love
+to meet you, until--''  With a sudden realization
+that she certainly had not helped matters any,
+she came to an embarrassed pause.
+
+A puzzled frown showed on Bertram's face.
+
+``You did love to meet me until--'' he repeated
+after her; then his face changed.  ``Billy,
+you aren't--you _can't_ be laying up last night
+against me!'' he reproached her a little irritably.
+
+``Last night?  Why, of course not,'' retorted
+Billy, in a panic at the bare mention of the
+``test'' which--according to ``When the Honeymoon
+Wanes''--was at the root of all her misery. 
+Already she thought she detected in Bertram's
+voice signs that he was beginning to chafe
+against those ``bonds.''  ``It is a matter of--
+of the utmost indifference to me what time you
+come home at night, my dear,'' she finished airily,
+as she sat down to her work again.
+
+Bertram stared; then he frowned, turned on
+his heel and left the room.  Bertram, who knew
+nothing of the ``Talk to Young Wives'' in the
+newspaper at Billy's feet, was surprised, puzzled,
+and just a bit angry.
+
+Billy, left alone, jabbed her pen with such force
+against her paper that the note she was making
+became an unsightly blot.
+
+``Well, if this is what that man calls being
+`comfortably indifferent,' I'd hate to try the
+_un_comfortable kind,'' she muttered with emphasis.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+THE DINNER BILLY TRIED TO GET
+
+
+Notwithstanding what Billy was disposed to
+regard as the non-success of her first attempt to
+profit by the ``Talk to Young Wives;'' she still
+frantically tried to avert the waning of her honeymoon. 
+Assiduously she cultivated the prescribed
+``indifference,'' and with at least apparent enthusiasm
+she sought the much-to-be-desired ``outside
+interests.''  That is, she did all this when she
+thought of it when something reminded her
+of the sword of destruction hanging over her
+happiness.  At other times, when she was just being
+happy without question, she was her old self
+impulsive, affectionate, and altogether adorable.
+
+Naturally, under these circumstances, her conduct
+was somewhat erratic.  For three days, perhaps,
+she would fly to the door at her husband's
+ring, and hang upon his every movement.  Then,
+for the next three, she would be a veritable will-o'-
+the-wisp for elusiveness, caring, apparently, not
+one whit whether her husband came or went
+until poor Bertram, at his wit's end, scourged
+himself with a merciless catechism as to what he
+had done to vex her.  Then, perhaps, just when
+he had nerved himself almost to the point of asking
+her what was the trouble, there would come
+another change, bringing back to him the old
+Billy, joyous, winsome, and devoted, plainly
+caring nothing for anybody or anything but
+himself.  Scarcely, however, would he become sure
+that it was his Billy back again before she was off
+once more, quite beyond his reach, singing with
+Arkwright and Alice Greggory, playing with
+Tommy Dunn, plunging into some club or church
+work--anything but being with him.
+
+That all this was puzzling and disquieting to
+Bertram, Billy not once suspected.  Billy, so far
+as she was concerned, was but cultivating a
+comfortable indifference, brushing up against outside
+interests, and being an oak.
+
+December passed, and January came, bringing
+Miss Marguerite Winthrop to her Boston home. 
+Bertram's arm was ``as good as ever'' now,
+according to its owner; and the sittings for the new
+portrait began at once.  This left Billy even more
+to her own devices, for Bertram entered into his
+new work with an enthusiasm born of a glad relief
+from forced idleness, and a consuming eagerness
+to prove that even though he had failed the first
+time, he could paint a portrait of Marguerite
+Winthrop that would be a credit to himself, a
+conclusive retort to his critics, and a source of
+pride to his once mortified friends.  With his
+whole heart, therefore, he threw himself into the
+work before him, staying sometimes well into the
+afternoon on the days Miss Winthrop could find
+time between her social engagements to give him
+a sitting.
+
+It was on such a day, toward the middle of the
+month, that Billy was called to the telephone at
+half-past twelve o'clock to speak to her husband.
+
+``Billy, dear,'' began Bertram at once, ``if you
+don't mind I'm staying to luncheon at Miss Winthrop's
+kind request.  We've changed the pose--
+neither of us was satisfied, you know--but we
+haven't quite settled on the new one.  Miss
+Winthrop has two whole hours this afternoon that
+she can give me if I'll stay; and, of course, under
+the circumstances, I want to do it.''
+
+``Of course,'' echoed Billy.  Billy's voice was
+indomitably cheerful.
+
+``Thank you, dear.  I knew you'd understand,''
+sighed Bertram, contentedly.  ``You see, really,
+two whole hours, so--it's a chance I can't afford
+to lose.''
+
+``Of course you can't,'' echoed Billy, again.
+
+``All right then.  Good-by till to-night,'' called
+the man.
+
+``Good-by,'' answered Billy, still cheerfully. 
+As she turned away, however, she tossed her head. 
+``A new pose, indeed!'' she muttered, with some
+asperity.  ``Just as if there could be a _new_ pose
+after all those she tried last year!''
+
+Immediately after luncheon Pete and Eliza
+started for South Boston to pay a visit to Eliza's
+mother, and it was soon after they left the house
+that Bertram called his wife up again.
+
+``Say, dearie, I forgot to tell you,'' he began,
+``but I met an old friend in the subway this
+morning, and I--well, I remembered what you
+said about bringing 'em home to dinner next
+time, so I asked him for to-night.  Do you mind? 
+It's--''
+
+``Mind?  Of course not!  I'm glad you did,''
+plunged in Billy, with feverish eagerness.  (Even
+now, just the bare mention of anything connected
+with that awful ``test'' night was enough to set
+Billy's nerves to tingling.)  ``I want you to always
+bring them home, Bertram.''
+
+``All right, dear.  We'll be there at six o'clock
+then.  It's--it's Calderwell, this time.  You
+remember Calderwell, of course.''
+
+``Not--_Hugh_ Calderwell?'' Billy's question
+was a little faint.
+
+``Sure!'' Bertram laughed oddly, and lowered
+his voice.  ``I suspect _once_ I wouldn't have
+brought him home to you.  I was too jealous. 
+But now--well, now maybe I want him to see
+what he's lost.''
+
+``_Bertram!_''
+
+But Bertram only laughed mischievously, and
+called a gay ``Good-by till to-night, then!''
+
+Billy, at her end of the wires, hung up the
+receiver and backed against the wall a little
+palpitatingly.
+
+Calderwell!  To dinner--Calderwell!  Did
+she remember Calderwell?  Did she, indeed!  As
+if one could easily forget the man that, for a year
+or two, had proposed marriage as regularly (and
+almost as lightly!) as he had torn a monthly leaf
+from his calendar!  Besides, was it not he, too,
+who had said that Bertram would never love any
+girl, _really_; that it would be only the tilt of her
+chin or the turn of her head that he loved--to
+paint?  And now he was coming to dinner--and
+with Bertram.
+
+Very well, he should see!  He should see that
+Bertram _did_ love her; _her_--not the tilt of her
+chin nor the turn of her head.  He should see how
+happy they were, what a good wife she made, and
+how devoted and _satisfied_ Bertram was in his
+home.  He should see!  And forthwith Billy
+picked up her skirts and tripped up-stairs to select
+her very prettiest house-gown to do honor to the
+occasion.  Up-stairs, however, one thing and another
+delayed her, so that it was four o'clock when
+she turned her attention to her toilet; and it was
+while she was hesitating whether to be stately
+and impressive in royally sumptuous blue velvet
+and ermine, or cozy and tantalizingly homy{sic} in
+bronze-gold cr<e^>pe de Chine and swan's-down,
+that the telephone bell rang again.
+
+Eliza and Pete had not yet returned; so, as
+before, Billy answered it.  This time Eliza's
+shaking voice came to her.
+
+``Is that you, ma'am?''
+
+``Why, yes, Eliza?''
+
+``Yes'm, it's me, ma'am.  It's about Uncle
+Pete.  He's give us a turn that's 'most scared us
+out of our wits.''
+
+``Pete!  You mean he's sick?''
+
+``Yes, ma'am, he was.  That is, he is, too--
+only he's better, now, thank goodness,'' panted
+Eliza.  ``But he ain't hisself yet.  He's that white
+and shaky!  Would you--could you--that is,
+would you mind if we didn't come back till into
+the evenin', maybe?''
+
+``Why, of course not,'' cried Pete's mistress,
+quickly.  ``Don't come a minute before he's able,
+Eliza.  Don't come until to-morrow.''
+
+Eliza gave a trembling little laugh.
+
+``Thank you, ma'am; but there wouldn't be
+no keepin' of Uncle Pete here till then.  If he
+could take five steps alone he'd start now.  But
+he can't.  He says he'll be all right pretty quick,
+though.  He's had 'em before--these spells--
+but never quite so bad as this, I guess; an' he's
+worryin' somethin' turrible 'cause he can't start
+for home right away.''
+
+``Nonsense!'' cut in Mrs. Bertram Henshaw.
+
+``Yes'm.  I knew you'd feel that way,''
+stammered Eliza, gratefully.  ``You see, I couldn't
+leave him to come alone, and besides, anyhow,
+I'd have to stay, for mother ain't no more use
+than a wet dish-rag at such times, she's that
+scared herself.  And she ain't very well, too.  So
+if--if you _could_ get along--''
+
+``Of course we can!  And tell Pete not to
+worry one bit.  I'm so sorry he's sick!''
+
+``Thank you, ma'am.  Then we'll be there
+some time this evenin','' sighed Eliza.
+
+From the telephone Billy turned away with a
+troubled face.
+
+``Pete _is_ ill,'' she was saying to herself.  ``I
+don't like the looks of it; and he's so faithful he'd
+come if--''  With a little cry Billy stopped
+short.  Then, tremblingly, she sank into the
+nearest chair.  ``Calderwell--and he's coming to
+_dinner!_'' she moaned.
+
+For two benumbed minutes Billy sat staring
+at nothing.  Then she ran to the telephone and
+called the Annex.
+
+Aunt Hannah answered.
+
+``Aunt Hannah, for heaven's sake, if you love
+me,'' pleaded Billy, ``send Rosa down instanter! 
+Pete is sick over to South Boston, and Eliza is
+with him; and Bertram is bringing Hugh Calderwell
+home to dinner.  _Can_ you spare Rosa?''
+
+``Oh, my grief and conscience, Billy!  Of course
+I can--I mean I could--but Rosa isn't here,
+dear child!  It's her day out, you know.''
+
+``O dear, of course it is!  I might have known,
+if I'd thought; but Pete and Eliza have spoiled
+me.  They never take days out at meal time--
+both together, I mean--until to-night.''
+
+``But, my dear child, what will you do?''
+
+``I don't know.  I've got to think.  I _must_ do
+something!''
+
+``Of course you must!  I'd come over myself
+if it wasn't for my cold.''
+
+``As if I'd let you!''
+
+``There isn't anybody here, only Tommy. 
+Even Alice is gone.  Oh, Billy, Billy, this only
+goes to prove what I've always said, that _no_
+woman _ought_ to be a wife until she's an efficient
+housekeeper; and--''
+
+``Yes, yes, Aunt Hannah, I know,'' moaned
+Billy, frenziedly.  ``But I am a wife, and I'm not
+an efficient housekeeper; and Hugh Calderwell
+won't wait for me to learn.  He's coming to-night.
+_To-night!_  And I've got to do something.  Never
+mind.  I'll fix it some way.  Good-by!''
+
+``But, Billy, Billy!  Oh, my grief and conscience,''
+fluttered Aunt Hannah's voice across
+the wires as Billy snapped the receiver into
+place.
+
+For the second time that day Billy backed
+palpitatingly against the wall.  Her eyes sought
+the clock fearfully.
+
+Fifteen minutes past four.  She had an hour and
+three quarters.  She could, of course, telephone
+Bertram to dine Calderwell at a club or some
+hotel.  But to do this now, the very first time,
+when it had been her own suggestion that he
+``bring them home''--no, no, she could not do
+that!  Anything but that!  Besides, very likely
+she could not reach Bertram, anyway.  Doubtless
+he had left the Winthrops' by this time.
+
+There was Marie.  She could telephone Marie. 
+But Marie could not very well come just now, she
+knew; and then, too, there was Cyril to be taken
+into consideration.  How Cyril would gibe at the
+wife who had to call in all the neighbors just
+because her husband was bringing home a friend
+to dinner!  How he would--  Well, he shouldn't! 
+He should not have the chance.  So, there!
+
+With a jerk Mrs. Bertram Henshaw pulled
+herself away from the wall and stood erect.  Her
+eyes snapped, and the very poise of her chin
+spelled determination.
+
+Very well, she would show them.  Was not
+Bertram bringing this man home because he was
+proud of her?  Mighty proud he would be if she
+had to call in half of Boston to get his dinner for
+him!  Nonsense!  She would get it herself.  Was
+not this the time, if ever, to be an oak?  A vine,
+doubtless, would lean and cling and telephone,
+and whine ``I can't!''  But not an oak.  An oak
+would hold up its head and say ``I can!''  An
+oak would go ahead and get that dinner.  She
+would be an oak.  She would get that dinner.
+
+What if she didn't know how to cook bread and
+cake and pies and things?  One did not have to
+cook bread and cake and pies just to get a dinner
+--meat and potatoes and vegetables!  Besides,
+she _could_ make peach fritters.  She knew she
+could.  She would show them!
+
+And with actually a bit of song on her lips, Billy
+skipped up-stairs for her ruffled apron and dust-
+cap--two necessary accompaniments to this
+dinner-getting, in her opinion.
+
+Billy found the apron and dust-cap with no
+difficulty; but it took fully ten of her precious
+minutes to unearth from its obscure hiding-place
+the blue-and-gold ``Bride's Helper'' cookbook,
+one of Aunt Hannah's wedding gifts.
+
+On the way to the kitchen, Billy planned her
+dinner.  As was natural, perhaps, she chose the
+things she herself would like to eat.
+
+``I won't attempt anything very elaborate,''
+she said to herself.  ``It would be wiser to have
+something simple, like chicken pie, perhaps.  I
+love chicken pie!  And I'll have oyster stew first
+--that is, after the grapefruit.  Just oysters
+boiled in milk must be easier than soup to make. 
+I'll begin with grapefruit with a cherry in it, like
+Pete fixes it.  Those don't have to be cooked,
+anyhow.  I'll have fish--Bertram loves the fish
+course.  Let me see, halibut, I guess, with egg
+sauce.  I won't have any roast; nothing but the
+chicken pie.  And I'll have squash and onions. 
+I can have a salad, easy--just lettuce and stuff. 
+That doesn't have to be cooked.  Oh, and the
+peach fritters, if I get time to make them.  For
+dessert--well, maybe I can find a new pie or
+pudding in the cookbook.  I want to use that
+cookbook for something, after hunting all this
+time for it!''
+
+In the kitchen Billy found exquisite neatness,
+and silence.  The first brought an approving light
+to her eyes; but the second, for some unapparent
+reason, filled her heart with vague misgiving.
+This feeling, however, Billy resolutely cast from
+her as she crossed the room, dropped her book
+on to the table, and turned toward the shining
+black stove.
+
+There was an excellent fire.  Glowing points
+of light showed that only a good draft was needed
+to make the whole mass of coal red-hot.  Billy,
+however, did not know this.  Her experience of
+fires was confined to burning wood in open grates
+--and wood in open grates had to be poked to
+make it red and glowing.  With confident alacrity
+now, therefore, Billy caught up the poker, thrust
+it into the mass of coals and gave them a fine
+stirring up.  Then she set back the lid of the
+stove and went to hunt up the ingredients for
+her dinner.
+
+By the time Billy had searched five minutes
+and found no chicken, no oysters, and no halibut,
+it occurred to her that her larder was not,
+after all, an open market, and that one's provisions
+must be especially ordered to fit one's needs. 
+As to ordering them now--Billy glanced at the
+clock and shook her head.
+
+``It's almost five, already, and they'd never
+get here in time,'' she sighed regretfully.  ``I'll
+have to have something else.''
+
+Billy looked now, not for what she wanted, but
+for what she could find.  And she found: some
+cold roast lamb, at which she turned up her nose;
+an uncooked beefsteak, which she appropriated
+doubtfully; a raw turnip and a head of lettuce,
+which she hailed with glee; and some beets,
+potatoes, onions, and grapefruit, from all of which
+she took a generous supply.  Thus laden she
+went back to the kitchen.
+
+Spread upon the table they made a brave
+show.
+
+``Oh, well, I'll have quite a dinner, after all,''
+she triumphed, cocking her head happily.  ``And
+now for the dessert,'' she finished, pouncing on
+the cookbook.
+
+It was while she was turning the leaves to find
+the pies and puddings that she ran across the
+vegetables and found the word ``beets'' staring
+her in the face.  Mechanically she read the line
+below.
+
+``Winter beets will require three hours to cook. 
+Use hot water.''
+
+Billy's startled eyes sought the clock.
+
+Three hours--and it was five, now!
+
+Frenziedly, then, she ran her finger down the
+page.
+
+``Onions, one and one-half hours.  Use hot
+water.  Turnips require a long time, but if cut
+thin they will cook in an hour and a quarter.''
+
+``An hour and a quarter, indeed!'' she moaned.
+
+``Isn't there anything anywhere that doesn't
+take forever to cook?''
+
+``Early peas-- . . . green corn-- . . . summer
+squash-- . . .'' mumbled Billy's dry lips. 
+``But what do folks eat in January--_January_?''
+
+It was the apparently inoffensive sentence,
+``New potatoes will boil in thirty minutes,''
+that brought fresh terror to Billy's soul, and set
+her to fluttering the cookbook leaves with renewed
+haste.  If it took _new_ potatoes thirty minutes
+to cook, how long did it take old ones?  In
+vain she searched for the answer.  There were
+plenty of potatoes.  They were mashed, whipped,
+scalloped, creamed, fried, and broiled; they were
+made into puffs, croquettes, potato border, and
+potato snow.  For many of these they were boiled
+first--``until tender,'' one rule said.
+
+``But that doesn't tell me how long it takes to
+get 'em tender,'' fumed Billy, despairingly.  ``I
+suppose they think anybody ought to know that
+--but I don't!''  Suddenly her eyes fell once more
+on the instructions for boiling turnips, and her
+face cleared.  ``If it helps to cut turnips thin,
+why not potatoes?'' she cried.  ``I _can_ do that,
+anyhow; and I will,'' she finished, with a sigh of
+relief, as she caught up half a dozen potatoes and
+hurried into the pantry for a knife.  A few minutes
+later, the potatoes, peeled, and cut almost to
+wafer thinness, were dumped into a basin of cold
+water.
+
+``There! now I guess you'll cook,'' nodded
+Billy to the dish in her hand as she hurried to the
+stove.
+
+Chilled by an ominous unresponsiveness, Billy
+lifted the stove lid and peered inside.  Only a mass
+of black and graying coals greeted her.  The fire
+was out.
+
+``To think that even you had to go back on me
+like this!'' upbraided Billy, eyeing the dismal
+mass with reproachful gaze.
+
+This disaster, however, as Billy knew, was not
+so great as it seemed, for there was still the gas
+stove.  In the old days, under Dong Ling's rule,
+there had been no gas stove.  Dong Ling disapproved
+of ``devil stoves'' that had ``no coalee,
+no woodee, but burned like hellee.''  Eliza,
+however, did approve of them; and not long after her
+arrival, a fine one had been put in for her use.  So
+now Billy soon had her potatoes with a brisk
+blaze under them.
+
+In frantic earnest, then, Billy went to work. 
+Brushing the discarded onions, turnip, and beets
+into a pail under the table, she was still confronted
+with the beefsteak, lettuce, and grapefruit. 
+All but the beefsteak she pushed to one side
+with gentle pats.
+
+``You're all right,'' she nodded to them.  ``I
+can use you.  You don't have to be cooked,
+bless your hearts!  But _you_--!'' Billy scowled
+at the beefsteak and ran her finger down the index
+of the ``Bride's Helper''--Billy knew how to
+handle that book now.
+
+``No, you don't--not for me!'' she muttered,
+after a minute, shaking her finger at the
+tenderloin on the table.  ``I haven't got any `hot
+coals,' and I thought a `gridiron' was where they
+played football; though it seems it's some sort
+of a dish to cook you in, here--but I shouldn't
+know it from a teaspoon, probably, if I should
+see it.  No, sir!  It's back to the refrigerator for
+you, and a nice cold sensible roast leg of lamb for
+me, that doesn't have to be cooked.  Understand? 
+_Cooked_,'' she finished, as she carried the
+beefsteak away and took possession of the hitherto
+despised cold lamb.
+
+Once more Billy made a mad search through
+cupboards and shelves.  This time she bore back
+in triumph a can of corn, another of tomatoes, and
+a glass jar of preserved peaches.  In the kitchen
+a cheery bubbling from the potatoes on the stove
+greeted her.  Billy's spirits rose with the steam.
+
+``There, Spunkie,'' she said gayly to the cat,
+who had just uncurled from a nap behind the
+stove.  ``Tell me I can't get up a dinner!  And
+maybe we'll have the peach fritters, too, ``she
+chirped.  ``I've got the peach-part, anyway.''
+
+But Billy did not have the peach fritters, after
+all.  She got out the sugar and the flour, to be
+sure, and she made a great ado looking up the
+rule; but a hurried glance at the clock sent her
+into the dining-room to set the table, and all
+thought of the peach fritters was given up.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+THE DINNER BILLY GOT
+
+
+At five minutes of six Bertram and Calderwell
+came.  Bertram gave his peculiar ring and let
+himself in with his latchkey; but Billy did not
+meet him in the hall, nor in the drawing-room. 
+Excusing himself, Bertram hurried up-stairs. 
+Billy was not in her room, nor anywhere on that
+floor.  She was not in William's room.  Coming
+down-stairs to the hall again, Bertram confronted
+William, who had just come in.
+
+``Where's Billy?'' demanded the young husband,
+with just a touch of irritation, as if he
+suspected William of having Billy in his pocket.
+
+William stared slightly.
+
+``Why, I don't know.  Isn't she here?''
+
+``I'll ask Pete,'' frowned Bertram.
+
+In the dining-room Bertram found no one,
+though the table was prettily set, and showed
+half a grapefruit at each place.  In the kitchen
+--in the kitchen Bertram found a din of rattling
+tin, an odor of burned food--, a confusion of
+scattered pots and pans, a frightened cat who peered
+at him from under a littered stove, and a flushed,
+disheveled young woman in a blue dust-cap and
+ruffled apron, whom he finally recognized as his
+wife.
+
+``Why, Billy!'' he gasped.
+
+Billy, who was struggling with something at
+the sink, turned sharply.
+
+``Bertram Henshaw,'' she panted, ``I used to
+think you were wonderful because you could
+paint a picture.  I even used to think I was a
+little wonderful because I could write a song. 
+Well, I don't any more!  But I'll tell you who _is_
+wonderful.  It's Eliza and Rosa, and all the rest
+of those women who can get a meal on to the
+table all at once, so it's fit to eat!''
+
+``Why, Billy!'' gasped Bertram again, falling
+back to the door he had closed behind him. 
+``What in the world does this mean?''
+
+``Mean?  It means I'm getting dinner,'' choked
+Billy.  ``Can't you see?''
+
+``But--Pete!  Eliza!''
+
+``They're sick--I mean he's sick; and I said
+I'd do it.  I'd be an oak.  But how did I know
+there wasn't anything in the house except stuff
+that took hours to cook--only potatoes?  And
+how did I know that _they_ cooked in no time, and
+then got all smushy and wet staying in the water? 
+And how did I know that everything else would
+stick on and burn on till you'd used every dish
+there was in the house to cook 'em in?''
+
+``Why, Billy!'' gasped Bertram, for the third
+time.  And then, because he had been married
+only six months instead of six years, he made the
+mistake of trying to argue with a woman whose
+nerves were already at the snapping point. 
+``But, dear, it was so foolish of you to do all this! 
+Why didn't you telephone?  Why didn't you get
+somebody?''
+
+Like an irate little tigress, Billy turned at bay.
+
+``Bertram Henshaw,'' she flamed angrily, ``if
+you don't go up-stairs and tend to that man up
+there, I shall _scream_.  Now go!  I'll be up when I
+can.''
+
+And Bertram went.
+
+It was not so very long, after all, before Billy
+came in to greet her guest.  She was not stately
+and imposing in royally sumptuous blue velvet
+and ermine; nor yet was she cozy and homy in
+bronze-gold cr<e^>pe de Chine and swan's-down. 
+She was just herself in a pretty little morning
+house gown of blue gingham.  She was minus the
+dust-cap and the ruffled apron, but she had a dab
+of flour on the left cheek, and a smutch of crock
+on her forehead.  She had, too, a cut finger on her
+right hand, and a burned thumb on her left.  But
+she was Billy--and being Billy, she advanced
+with a bright smile and held out a cordial hand--
+not even wincing when the cut finger came under
+Calderwell's hearty clasp.
+
+``I'm glad to see you,'' she welcomed him. 
+``You'll excuse my not appearing sooner, I'm
+sure, for--didn't Bertram tell you?--I'm playing
+Bridget to-night.  But dinner is ready now,
+and we'll go down, please,'' she smiled, as she
+laid a light hand on her guest's arm.
+
+Behind her, Bertram, remembering the scene
+in the kitchen, stared in sheer amazement.  Bertram,
+it might be mentioned again, had been
+married six months, not six years.
+
+What Billy had intended to serve for a ``simple
+dinner'' that night was: grapefruit with cherries,
+oyster stew, boiled halibut with egg sauce, chicken
+pie, squash, onions, and potatoes, peach fritters,
+a ``lettuce and stuff'' salad, and some new pie
+or pudding.  What she did serve was: grapefruit
+(without the cherries), cold roast lamb, potatoes
+(a mush of sogginess), tomatoes (canned, and
+slightly burned), corn (canned, and very much
+burned), lettuce (plain); and for dessert, preserved
+peaches and cake (the latter rather dry and
+stale).  Such was Billy's dinner.
+
+The grapefruit everybody ate.  The cold lamb
+too, met with a hearty reception, especially after
+the potatoes, corn, and tomatoes were served--
+and tasted.  Outwardly, through it all, Billy was
+gayety itself.  Inwardly she was burning up with
+anger and mortification.  And because she was
+all this, there was, apparently, no limit to her
+laughter and sparkling repartee as she talked
+with Calderwell, her guest--the guest who,
+according to her original plans, was to be shown how
+happy she and Bertram were, what a good wife
+she made, and how devoted and _satisfied_ Bertram
+was in his home.
+
+William, picking at his dinner--as only a
+hungry man can pick at a dinner that is uneatable--
+watched Billy with a puzzled, uneasy
+frown.  Bertram, choking over the few mouthfuls
+he ate, marked his wife's animated face and
+Calderwell's absorbed attention, and settled into
+gloomy silence.
+
+But it could not continue forever.  The preserved
+peaches were eaten at last, and the stale
+cake left.  (Billy had forgotten the coffee--
+which was just as well, perhaps.)  Then the four
+trailed up-stairs to the drawing-room.
+
+At nine o'clock an anxious Eliza and a remorseful,
+apologetic Pete came home and descended
+to the horror the once orderly kitchen and dining-
+room had become.  At ten, Calderwell, with very
+evident reluctance, tore himself away from Billy's
+gay badinage, and said good night.  At two
+minutes past ten, an exhausted, nerve-racked Billy
+was trying to cry on the shoulders of both Uncle
+William and Bertram at once.
+
+``There, there, child, don't!  It went off all
+right,'' patted Uncle William.
+
+``Billy, darling,'' pleaded Bertram, ``please
+don't cry so!  As if I'd ever let you step foot in
+that kitchen again!''
+
+At this Billy raised a tear-wet face, aflame with
+indignant determination.
+
+``As if I'd ever let you keep me _from_ it, Bertram
+Henshaw, after this!'' she contested.  ``I'm
+not going to do another thing in all my life but
+_cook!_  When I think of the stuff we had to eat,
+after all the time I took to get it, I'm simply crazy! 
+Do you think I'd run the risk of such a thing as
+this ever happening again?''
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+CALDERWELL DOES SOME QUESTIONING
+
+
+On the day after his dinner with Mr. and Mrs.
+Bertram Henshaw, Hugh Calderwell left Boston
+and did not return until more than a month had
+passed.  One of his first acts, when he did come,
+was to look up Mr. M. J. Arkwright at the address
+which Billy had given him.
+
+Calderwell had not seen Arkwright since they
+parted in Paris some two years before, after a six-
+months tramp through Europe together.  Calderwell
+liked Arkwright then, greatly, and he lost
+no time now in renewing the acquaintance.
+
+The address, as given by Billy, proved to be an
+attractive but modest apartment hotel near the
+Conservatory of Music; and Calderwell was
+delighted to find Arkwright at home in his
+comfortable little bachelor suite.
+
+Arkwright greeted him most cordially.
+
+``Well, well,'' he cried, ``if it isn't Calderwell! 
+And how's Mont Blanc?  Or is it the Killarney
+Lakes this time, or maybe the Sphinx that I
+should inquire for, eh?''
+
+``Guess again,'' laughed Calderwell, throwing
+off his heavy coat and settling himself comfortably
+in the inviting-looking morris chair his
+friend pulled forward.
+
+``Sha'n't do it,'' retorted Arkwright, with a
+smile.  ``I never gamble on palpable uncertainties,
+except for a chance throw or two, as I gave
+a minute ago.  Your movements are altogether
+too erratic, and too far-reaching, for ordinary
+mortals to keep track of.''
+
+``Well, maybe you're right,'' grinned Calderwell,
+appreciatively.  ``Anyhow, you would have
+lost this time, sure thing, for I've been working.''
+
+``Seen the doctor yet?'' queried Arkwright,
+coolly, pushing the cigars across the table.
+
+``Thanks--for both,'' sniffed Calderwell, with
+a reproachful glance, helping himself.  ``Your
+good judgment in some matters is still unimpaired,
+I see,'' he observed, tapping the little gilded band
+which had told him the cigar was an old favorite. 
+``As to other matters, however,--you're wrong
+again, my friend, in your surmise.  I am not sick,
+and I have been working.''
+
+``So?  Well, I'm told they have very good
+specialists here.  Some one of them ought to
+hit your case.  Still--how long has it been
+running?''  Arkwright's face showed only grave
+concern.
+
+``Oh, come, let up, Arkwright,'' snapped
+Calderwell, striking his match alight with a vigorous
+jerk.  ``I'll admit I haven't ever given any _special_
+indication of an absorbing passion for work.  But
+what can you expect of a fellow born with a
+whole dozen silver spoons in his mouth?  And
+that's what I was, according to Bertram Henshaw. 
+According to him again, it's a wonder I
+ever tried to feed myself; and perhaps he's right
+--with my mouth already so full.''
+
+``I should say so,'' laughed Arkwright.
+
+``Well, be that as it may.  I'm going to feed
+myself, and I'm going to earn my feed, too.  I
+haven't climbed a mountain or paddled a canoe,
+for a year.  I've been in Chicago cultivating the
+acquaintance of John Doe and Richard Roe.''
+
+``You mean--law?''
+
+``Sure.  I studied it here for a while, before
+that bout of ours a couple of years ago.  Billy
+drove me away, then.''
+
+``Billy!--er--Mrs. Henshaw?''
+
+``Yes.  I thought I told you.  She turned down
+my tenth-dozen proposal so emphatically that I
+lost all interest in Boston and took to the tall
+timber again.  But I've come back.  A friend of
+my father's wrote me to come on and consider a
+good opening there was in his law office.  I came
+on a month ago, and considered.  Then I went
+back to pack up.  Now I've come for good, and
+here I am.  You have my history to date.  Now
+tell me of yourself.  You're looking as fit as a
+penny from the mint, even though you have
+discarded that `lovely' brown beard.  Was that
+a concession to--er--_Mary Jane_?''
+
+Arkwright lifted a quick hand of protest.
+
+`` `Michael Jeremiah,' please.  There is no
+`Mary Jane,' now,'' he said a bit stiffly.
+
+The other stared a little.  Then he gave a low
+chuckle.
+
+`` `Michael Jeremiah,' '' he repeated musingly,
+eyeing the glowing tip of his cigar.  ``And to
+think how that mysterious `M. J.' used to
+tantalize me!  Do you mean,'' he added, turning
+slowly, ``that no one calls you `Mary Jane'
+now?''
+
+``Not if they know what is best for them.''
+
+``Oh!'' Calderwell noted the smouldering fire
+in the other's eyes a little curiously.  ``Very
+well.  I'll take the hint--Michael Jeremiah.''
+
+``Thanks.''  Arkwright relaxed a little.  ``To
+tell the truth, I've had quite enough now--of
+Mary Jane.''
+
+``Very good.  So be it,'' nodded the other, still
+regarding his friend thoughtfully.  ``But tell me
+--what of yourself?''
+
+Arkwright shrugged his shoulders.
+
+``There's nothing to tell.  You've seen.  I'm
+here.''
+
+``Humph!  Very pretty,'' scoffed Calderwell. 
+``Then if _you_ won't tell, I _will_.  I saw Billy a
+month ago, you see.  It seems you've hit the trail
+for Grand Opera, as you threatened to that night
+in Paris; but you _haven't_ brought up in vaudeville,
+as you prophesied you would do--though, for
+that matter, judging from the plums some of the
+stars are picking on the vaudeville stage, nowadays,
+that isn't to be sneezed at.  But Billy says
+you've made two or three appearances already on
+the sacred boards themselves--one of them a
+subscription performance--and that you created
+no end of a sensation.''
+
+``Nonsense!  I'm merely a student at the Opera
+School here,'' scowled Arkwright.
+
+``Oh, yes, Billy said you were that, but she also
+said you wouldn't be, long.  That you'd already
+had one good offer--I'm not speaking of marriage--
+and that you were going abroad next
+summer, and that they were all insufferably
+proud of you.''
+
+``Nonsense!'' scowled Arkwright, again, coloring
+like a girl.  ``That is only some of--of Mrs.
+Henshaw's kind flattery.''
+
+Calderwell jerked the cigar from between his
+lips, and sat suddenly forward in his chair.
+
+``Arkwright, tell me about them.  How are
+they making it go?''
+
+Arkwright frowned.
+
+``Who?  Make what go?'' he asked.
+
+``The Henshaws.  Is she happy?  Is he--on
+the square?''
+
+Arkwright's face darkened.
+
+``Well, really,'' he began; but Calderwell interrupted.
+
+``Oh, come; don't be squeamish.  You think
+I'm butting into what doesn't concern me; but
+I'm not.  What concerns Billy does concern me. 
+And if he doesn't make her happy, I'll--I'll kill
+him.''
+
+In spite of himself Arkwright laughed.  The
+vehemence of the other's words, and the fierceness
+with which he puffed at his cigar as he fell
+back in his chair were most expressive
+
+``Well, I don't think you need to load revolvers
+nor sharpen daggers, just yet,'' he observed grimly.
+
+Calderwell laughed this time, though without
+much mirth.
+
+``Oh, I'm not in love with Billy, now,'' he
+explained.  ``Please don't think I am.  I shouldn't
+see her if I was, of course.''
+
+Arkwright changed his position suddenly, bringing
+his face into the shadow.  Calderwell talked
+on without pausing.
+
+``No, I'm not in love with Billy.  But Billy's
+a trump.  You know that.''
+
+``I do.''  The words were low, but steadily
+spoken.
+
+``Of course you do!  We all do.  And we want
+her happy.  But as for her marrying Bertram--
+you could have bowled me over with a soap bubble
+when I heard she'd done it.  Now understand:
+Bertram is a good fellow, and I like him.  I've
+known him all his life, and he's all right.  Oh, six
+or eight years ago, to be sure, he got in with a set
+of fellows--Bob Seaver and his clique--that
+were no good.  Went in for Bohemianism, and
+all that rot.  It wasn't good for Bertram.  He's
+got the confounded temperament that goes with
+his talent, I suppose--though why a man can't
+paint a picture, or sing a song, and keep his temper
+and a level head I don't see!''
+
+``He can,'' cut in Arkwright, with curt emphasis.
+
+``Humph!  Well, that's what I think.  But,
+about this marriage business.  Bertram admires
+a pretty face wherever he sees it--_to paint_, and
+always has.  Not but that he's straight as
+a string with women--I don't mean that;
+but girls are always just so many pictures to be
+picked up on his brushes and transferred to his
+canvases.  And as for his settling down and
+marrying anybody for keeps, right along--Great
+Scott! imagine Bertram Henshaw as a _domestic_
+man!''
+
+Arkwright stirred restlessly as he spoke up in
+quick defense:
+
+``Oh, but he is, I assure you.  I--I've seen
+them in their home together--many times.  I
+think they are--very happy.''  Arkwright spoke
+with decision, though still a little diffidently.
+
+Calderwell was silent.  He had picked up the
+little gilt band he had torn from his cigar and was
+fingering it musingly.
+
+``Yes; I've seen them--once,'' he said, after
+a minute.  ``I took dinner with them when I was
+on, a month ago.''
+
+``I heard you did.''
+
+At something in Arkwright's voice, Calderwell
+turned quickly.
+
+``What do you mean?  Why do you say it like
+that?''
+
+Arkwright laughed.  The constraint fled from
+his manner.
+
+``Well, I may as well tell you.  You'll hear of
+it.  It's no secret.  Mrs. Henshaw herself tells of
+it everywhere.  It was her friend, Alice Greggory,
+who told me of it first, however.  It seems
+the cook was gone, and the mistress had to get
+the dinner herself.''
+
+``Yes, I know that.''
+
+``But you should hear Mrs. Henshaw tell the
+story now, or Bertram.  It seems she knew nothing
+whatever about cooking, and her trials and
+tribulations in getting that dinner on to the
+table were only one degree worse than the dinner
+itself, according to her story.  Didn't you--er
+--notice anything?''
+
+``Notice anything!'' exploded Calderwell.  ``I
+noticed that Billy was so brilliant she fairly
+radiated sparks; and I noticed that Bertram was
+so glum he--he almost radiated thunderclaps. 
+Then I saw that Billy's high spirits were all
+assumed to cover a threatened burst of tears,
+and I laid it all to him.  I thought he'd said
+something to hurt her; and I could have punched
+him.  Great Scott!  Was _that_ what ailed them?''
+
+``I reckon it was.  Alice says that since then
+Mrs. Henshaw has fairly haunted the kitchen,
+begging Eliza to teach her everything, _every single
+thing_ she knows!''
+
+Calderwell chuckled.
+
+``If that isn't just like Billy!  She never does
+anything by halves.  By George, but she was
+game over that dinner!  I can see it all now.''
+
+``Alice says she's really learning to cook, in
+spite of old Pete's horror, and Eliza's pleadings
+not to spoil her pretty hands.''
+
+``Then Pete is back all right?  What a faithful
+old soul he is!''
+
+Arkwright frowned slightly.
+
+``Yes, he's faithful, but he isn't all right, by
+any means.  I think he's a sick man, myself.''
+
+``What makes Billy let him work, then?''
+
+``Let him!'' sniffed Arkwright.  ``I'd like to
+see you try to stop him!  Mrs. Henshaw begs and
+pleads with him to stop, but he scouts the idea. 
+Pete is thoroughly and unalterably convinced
+that the family would starve to death if it weren't
+for him; and Mrs. Henshaw says that she'll
+admit he has some grounds for his opinion when
+one remembers the condition of the kitchen and
+dining-room the night she presided over them.''
+
+``Poor Billy!'' chuckled Calderwell.  ``I'd
+have gone down into the kitchen myself if I'd
+suspected what was going on.''
+
+Arkwright raised his eyebrows.
+
+``Perhaps it's well you didn't--if Bertram's
+picture of what he found there when he went
+down is a true one.  Mrs. Henshaw acknowledges
+that even the cat sought refuge under the stove.''
+
+``As if the veriest worm that crawls ever needed
+to seek refuge from Billy!'' scoffed Calderwell. 
+``By the way, what's this Annex I hear of?  Bertram
+mentioned it, but I couldn't get either of
+them to tell what it was.  Billy wouldn't, and
+Bertram said he couldn't--not with Billy shaking
+her head at him like that.  So I had my suspicions. 
+One of Billy's pet charities?''
+
+``She doesn't call it that.''  Arkwright's face
+and voice softened.  ``It is Hillside.  She still
+keeps it open.  She calls it the Annex to her
+home.  She's filled it with a crippled woman, a
+poor little music teacher, a lame boy, and Aunt
+Hannah.''
+
+``But how--extraordinary!''
+
+``She doesn't think so.  She says it's just an
+overflow house for the extra happiness she can't
+use.''
+
+There was a moment's silence.  Calderwell laid
+down his cigar, pulled out his handkerchief, and
+blew his nose furiously.  Then he got to his feet
+and walked to the fireplace.  After a minute he
+turned.
+
+``Well, if she isn't the beat 'em!'' he spluttered. 
+``And I had the gall to ask you if Henshaw made
+her--happy!  Overflow house, indeed!''
+
+``The best of it is, the way she does it,'' smiled
+Arkwright.  ``They're all the sort of people
+ordinary charity could never reach; and the only
+way she got them there at all was to make each
+one think that he or she was absolutely necessary
+to the rest of them.  Even as it is, they all pay
+a little something toward the running expenses
+of the house.  They insisted on that, and Mrs.
+Henshaw had to let them.  I believe her chief
+difficulty now is that she has not less than six
+people whom she wishes to put into the two extra
+rooms still unoccupied, and she can't make up
+her mind which to take.  Her husband says he
+expects to hear any day of an Annexette to the
+Annex.''
+
+``Humph!'' grunted Calderwell, as he turned
+and began to walk up and down the room.  ``Bertram
+is still painting, I suppose.''
+
+``Oh, yes.''
+
+``What's he doing now?''
+
+``Several things.  He's up to his eyes in work. 
+As you probably have heard, he met with a
+severe accident last summer, and lost the use of
+his right arm for many months.  I believe they
+thought at one time he had lost it forever.  But
+it's all right now, and he has several commissions
+for portraits.  Alice says he's doing ideal heads
+again, too.''
+
+``Same old `Face of a Girl'?''
+
+``I suppose so, though Alice didn't say.  Of
+course his special work just now is painting the
+portrait of Miss Marguerite Winthrop.  You
+may have heard that he tried it last year and
+--and didn't make quite a success of it.''
+
+``Yes.  My sister Belle told me.  She hears
+from Billy once in a while.  Will it be a go, this
+time?''
+
+``We'll hope so--for everybody's sake.  I
+imagine no one has seen it yet--it's not finished;
+but Alice says--''
+
+Calderwell turned abruptly, a quizzical smile
+on his face.
+
+``See here, my son,'' he interposed, ``it strikes
+me that this Alice is saying a good deal--to you! 
+Who is she?''
+
+Arkwright gave a light laugh.
+
+``Why, I told you.  She is Miss Alice Greggory,
+Mrs. Henshaw's friend--and mine.  I
+have known her for years.''
+
+``Hm-m; what is she like?''
+
+``Like?  Why, she's like--like herself, of
+course.  You'll have to know Alice.  She's the
+salt of the earth--Alice is,'' smiled Arkwright,
+rising to his feet with a remonstrative gesture,
+as he saw Calderwell pick up his coat.  ``What's
+your hurry?''
+
+``Hm-m,'' commented Calderwell again,
+ignoring the question.  ``And when, may I ask,
+do you intend to appropriate this--er--salt
+--to--er--ah--season your own life with,
+as I might say--eh?''
+
+Arkwright laughed.  There was not the slightest
+trace of embarrassment in his face.
+
+``Never.  _You're_ on the wrong track, this time. 
+Alice and I are good friends--always have been,
+and always will be, I hope.''
+
+``Nothing more?''
+
+``Nothing more.  I see her frequently.  She is
+musical, and the Henshaws are good enough to
+ask us there often together.  You will meet her,
+doubtless, now, yourself.  She is frequently at
+the Henshaw home.''
+
+``Hm-m.''  Calderwell still eyed his host
+shrewdly.  ``Then you'll give me a clear field,
+eh?''
+
+``Certainly.''  Arkwright's eyes met his friend's
+gaze without swerving.
+
+``All right.  However, I suppose you'll tell me,
+as I did you, once, that a right of way in such a
+case doesn't mean a thoroughfare for the party
+interested.  If my memory serves me, I gave
+you right of way in Paris to win the affections
+of a certain elusive Miss Billy here in
+Boston, if you could.  But I see you didn't
+seem to improve your opportunities,'' he finished
+teasingly.
+
+Arkwright stooped, of a sudden, to pick up a
+bit of paper from the floor.
+
+``No,'' he said quietly.  ``I didn't seem to
+improve my opportunities.''  This time he did
+not meet Calderwell's eyes.
+
+The good-byes had been said when Calderwell
+turned abruptly at the door.
+
+``Oh, I say, I suppose you're going to that
+devil's carnival at Jordan Hall to-morrow night.''
+
+``Devil's carnival!  You don't mean--Cyril
+Henshaw's piano recital!''
+
+``Sure I do,'' grinned Calderwell, unabashed. 
+``And I'll warrant it'll be a devil's carnival, too. 
+Isn't Mr. Cyril Henshaw going to play his own
+music?  Oh, I know I'm hopeless, from your
+standpoint, but I can't help it.  I like mine with
+some go in it, and a tune that you can find without
+hunting for it.  And I don't like lost spirits
+gone mad that wail and shriek through ten perfectly
+good minutes, and then die with a gasping
+moan whose home is the tombs.  However, you're
+going, I take it.''
+
+``Of course I am,'' laughed the other.  ``You
+couldn't hire Alice to miss one shriek of those
+spirits.  Besides, I rather like them myself, you
+know.''
+
+``Yes, I suppose you do.  You're brought up
+on it--in your business.  But me for the `Merry
+Widow' and even the hoary `Jingle Bells' every
+time!  However, I'm going to be there--out of
+respect to the poor fellow's family.  And, by the
+way, that's another thing that bowled me over
+--Cyril's marriage.  Why, Cyril hates women!''
+
+``Not all women--we'll hope,'' smiled Arkwright. 
+``Do you know his wife?''
+
+``Not much.  I used to see her a little at Billy's. 
+Music teacher, wasn't she?  Then she's the same
+sort, I suppose.''
+
+``But she isn't,'' laughed Arkwright.  Oh,
+she taught music, but that was only because of
+necessity, I take it.  She's domestic through and
+through, with an overwhelming passion for
+making puddings and darning socks, I hear.  Alice
+says she believes Mrs. Cyril knows every dish
+and spoon by its Christian name, and that there's
+never so much as a spool of thread out of order
+in the house.''
+
+``But how does Cyril stand it--the trials and
+tribulations of domestic life?  Bertram used to
+declare that the whole Strata was aquiver with
+fear when Cyril was composing, and I remember
+him as a perfect bear if anybody so much as
+whispered when he was in one of his moods.  I
+never forgot the night Bertram and I were up in
+William's room trying to sing `When Johnnie
+comes marching home,' to the accompaniment
+of a banjo in Bertram's hands, and a guitar in
+mine.  Gorry! it was Hugh that went marching
+home that night.''
+
+``Oh, well, from reports I reckon Mrs. Cyril
+doesn't play either a banjo or a guitar,'' smiled
+Arkwright.  ``Alice says she wears rubber heels
+on her shoes, and has put hushers on all the chair-
+legs, and felt-mats between all the plates and
+saucers.  Anyhow, Cyril is building a new house,
+and he looks as if he were in a pretty healthy
+condition, as you'll see to-morrow night.''
+
+``Humph!  I wish he'd make his music healthy,
+then,'' grumbled Calderwell, as he opened the
+door.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+FOR BILLY--SOME ADVICE
+
+
+February brought busy days.  The public
+opening of the Bohemian Ten Club Exhibition
+was to take place the sixth of March, with a
+private view for invited guests the night before;
+and it was at this exhibition that Bertram planned
+to show his portrait of Marguerite Winthrop. 
+He also, if possible, wished to enter two or three
+other canvases, upon which he was spending all
+the time he could get.
+
+Bertram felt that he was doing very good work
+now.  The portrait of Marguerite Winthrop was
+coming on finely.  The spoiled idol of society had
+at last found a pose and a costume that suited her,
+and she was graciously pleased to give the artist
+almost as many sittings as he wanted.  The
+``elusive something'' in her face, which had
+previously been so baffling, was now already caught
+and held bewitchingly on his canvas.  He was
+confident that the portrait would be a success. 
+He was also much interested in another piece of
+work which he intended to show called ``The
+Rose.''  The model for this was a beautiful young
+girl he had found selling flowers with her father
+in a street booth at the North End.
+
+On the whole, Bertram was very happy these
+days.  He could not, to be sure, spend quite so
+much time with Billy as he wished; but she
+understood, of course, as did he, that his work must
+come first.  He knew that she tried to show him
+that she understood it.  At the same time, he
+could not help thinking, occasionally, that Billy
+did sometimes mind his necessary absorption in
+his painting.
+
+To himself Bertram owned that Billy was, in
+some ways, a puzzle to him.  Her conduct was
+still erratic at times.  One day he would seem to
+be everything to her; the next--almost nothing,
+judging by the ease with which she relinquished
+his society and substituted that of some one else:
+Arkwright, or Calderwell, for instance.
+
+And that was another thing.  Bertram was
+ashamed to hint even to himself that he was
+jealous of either of those men.  Surely, after what
+had happened, after Billy's emphatic assertion
+that she had never loved any one but himself,
+it would seem not only absurd, but disloyal, that
+he should doubt for an instant Billy's entire
+devotion to him, and yet--there were times when
+he wished he _could_ come home and not always
+find Alice Greggory, Calderwell, Arkwright, or
+all three of them strumming the piano in the
+drawing-room!  At such times, always, though,
+if he did feel impatient, he immediately demanded
+of himself:  ``Are you, then, the kind of husband
+that begrudges your wife young companions of
+her own age and tastes to help her while away the
+hours that you cannot possibly spend with her
+yourself?''
+
+This question, and the answer that his better
+self always gave to it, were usually sufficient to
+send him into some florists for a bunch of violets
+for Billy, or into a candy shop on a like atoning
+errand.
+
+As to Billy--Billy, too, was busy these days
+chief of her concerns being, perhaps, attention
+to that honeymoon of hers, to see that it did
+not wane.  At least, the most of her thoughts,
+and many of her actions, centered about that
+object.
+
+Billy had the book, now--the ``Talk to Young
+Wives.''  For a time she had worked with only
+the newspaper criticism to guide her; but, coming
+at last to the conclusion that if a little was good,
+more must be better, she had shyly gone into a
+bookstore one day and, with a pink blush, had
+asked for the book.  Since bringing it home she
+had studied assiduously (though never if Bertram
+was near), keeping it well-hidden, when not in
+use, in a remote corner of her desk.
+
+There was a good deal in the book that Billy
+did not like, and there were some statements that
+worried her; but yet there was much that she
+tried earnestly to follow.  She was still striving
+to be the oak, and she was still eagerly endeavoring
+to brush up against those necessary outside
+interests.  She was so thankful, in this connection,
+for Alice Greggory, and for Arkwright and Hugh
+Calderwell.  It was such a help that she had
+them!  They were not only very pleasant and
+entertaining outside interests, but one or another
+of them was almost always conveniently within
+reach.
+
+Then, too, it pleased her to think that she was
+furthering the pretty love story between Alice
+and Mr. Arkwright.  And she _was_ furthering it. 
+She was sure of that.  Already she could see how
+dependent the man was on Alice, how he looked
+to her for approbation, and appealed to her on
+all occasions, exactly as if there was not a move
+that he wanted to make without her presence
+near him.  Billy was very sure, now, of Arkwright. 
+She only wished she were as much so of Alice. 
+But Alice troubled her.  Not but that Alice was
+kindness itself to the man, either.  It was only a
+peculiar something almost like fear, or constraint,
+that Billy thought she saw in Alice's eyes, sometimes,
+when Arkwright made a particularly intimate
+appeal.  There was Calderwell, too.  He,
+also, worried Billy.  She feared he was going to
+complicate matters still more by falling in love
+with Alice, himself; and this, certainly, Billy did
+not want at all.  As this phase of the matter
+presented itself, indeed, Billy determined to
+appropriate Calderwell a little more exclusively to
+herself, when the four were together, thus leaving
+Alice for Arkwright.  After all, it was rather
+entertaining--this playing at Cupid's assistant. 
+If she _could_ not have Bertram all the time, it was
+fortunate that these outside interests were so
+pleasurable.
+
+Most of the mornings Billy spent in the kitchen,
+despite the remonstrances of both Pete and Eliza. 
+Almost every meal, now, was graced with a palatable
+cake, pudding, or muffin that Billy would
+proudly claim as her handiwork.  Pete still served
+at table, and made strenuous efforts to keep up
+all his old duties; but he was obviously growing
+weaker, and really serious blunders were beginning
+to be noticeable.  Bertram even hinted once
+or twice that perhaps it would be just as well to
+insist on his going; but to this Billy would not
+give her consent.  Even when one night his poor
+old trembling hands spilled half the contents of
+a soup plate over a new and costly evening gown
+of Billy's own, she still refused to have him dismissed.
+
+``Why, Bertram, I wouldn't do it,'' she declared
+hotly; ``and you wouldn't, either.  He's been
+here more than fifty years.  It would break his
+heart.  He's really too ill to work, and I wish he
+would go of his own accord, of course; but I
+sha'n't ever tell him to go--not if he spills soup
+on every dress I've got.  I'll buy more--and more,
+if it's necessary.  Bless his dear old heart!  He
+thinks he's really serving us--and he is, too.''
+
+``Oh, yes, you're right, he _is!_'' sighed Bertram,
+with meaning emphasis, as he abandoned the
+argument.
+
+In addition to her ``Talk to Young Wives,''
+Billy found herself encountering advice and comment
+on the marriage question from still other
+quarters--from her acquaintances (mostly the
+feminine ones) right and left.  Continually she
+was hearing such words as these:
+
+``Oh, well, what can you expect, Billy?  You're
+an old married woman, now.''
+
+``Never mind, you'll find he's like all the rest
+of the husbands.  You just wait and see!''
+
+``Better begin with a high hand, Billy.  Don't
+let him fool you!''
+
+``Mercy!  If I had a husband whose business
+it was to look at women's beautiful eyes, peachy
+cheeks, and luxurious tresses, I should go crazy! 
+It's hard enough to keep a man's eyes on yourself
+when his daily interests are supposed to be
+just lumps of coal and chunks of ice, without
+flinging him into the very jaws of temptation
+like asking him to paint a pretty girl's picture!''
+
+In response to all this, of course, Billy could
+but laugh, and blush, and toss back some gay reply,
+with a careless unconcern.  But in her heart
+she did not like it.  Sometimes she told herself
+that if there were not any advice or comment from
+anybody--either book or woman--if there
+were not anybody but just Bertram and herself,
+life would be just one long honeymoon forever
+and forever.
+
+Once or twice Billy was tempted to go to Marie
+with this honeymoon question; but Marie was
+very busy these days, and very preoccupied.  The
+new house that Cyril was building on Corey Hill,
+not far from the Annex, was almost finished, and
+Marie was immersed in the subject of house-
+furnishings and interior decoration.  She was,
+too, still more deeply engrossed in the fashioning
+of tiny garments of the softest linen, lace, and
+woolen; and there was on her face such a look of
+beatific wonder and joy that Billy did not like to
+so much as hint that there was in the world such
+a book as ``When the Honeymoon Wanes:  A
+Talk to Young Wives.''
+
+Billy tried valiantly these days not to mind
+that Bertram's work was so absorbing.  She tried
+not to mind that his business dealt, not with
+lumps of coal and chunks of ice, but with beautiful
+women like Marguerite Winthrop who asked
+him to luncheon, and lovely girls like his model
+for ``The Rose'' who came freely to his studio
+and spent hours in the beloved presence, being
+studied for what Bertram declared was absolutely
+the most wonderful poise of head and
+shoulders that he had ever seen.
+
+Billy tried, also, these days, to so conduct
+herself that not by any chance could Calderwell
+suspect that sometimes she was jealous of Bertram's
+art.  Not for worlds would she have had
+Calderwell begin to get the notion into his head
+that his old-time prophecy concerning Bertram's
+caring only for the turn of a girl's head or the
+tilt of her chin--to paint, was being fulfilled. 
+Hence, particularly gay and cheerful was Billy
+when Calderwell was near.  Nor could it be said
+that Billy was really unhappy at any time.  It
+was only that, on occasion, the very depth of her
+happiness in Bertram's love frightened her, lest
+it bring disaster to herself or Bertram.
+
+Billy still went frequently to the Annex.  There
+were yet two unfilled rooms in the house.  Billy
+was hesitating which two of six new friends of
+hers to choose as occupants; and it was one day
+early in March, after she had been talking the
+matter over with Aunt Hannah, that Aunt
+Hannah said:
+
+``Dear me, Billy, if you had your way I believe
+you'd open another whole house!''
+
+``Do you know?--that's just what I'm thinking
+of,'' retorted Billy, gravely.  Then she laughed
+at Aunt Hannah's shocked gesture of protest. 
+``Oh, well, I don't expect to,'' she added.  ``I
+haven't lived very long, but I've lived long enough
+to know that you can't always do what you
+want to.''
+
+``Just as if there were anything _you_ wanted to
+do that you don't do, my dear,'' reproved Aunt
+Hannah, mildly.
+
+``Yes, I know.''  Billy drew in her breath with
+a little catch.  ``I have so much that is lovely;
+and that's why I need this house, you know, for
+the overflow,'' she nodded brightly.  Then, with
+a characteristic change of subject, she added: 
+``My, but you should have tasted of the popovers
+I made for breakfast this morning!''
+
+``I should like to,'' smiled Aunt Hannah. 
+``William says you're getting to be quite a cook.''
+
+``Well, maybe,'' conceded Billy, doubtfully. 
+``Oh, I can do some things all right; but just
+wait till Pete and Eliza go away again, and Bertram
+brings home a friend to dinner.  That'll
+tell the tale.  I think now I could have something
+besides potato-mush and burned corn--but
+maybe I wouldn't, when the time came.  If only
+I could buy everything I needed to cook with,
+I'd be all right.  But I can't, I find.''
+
+``Can't buy what you need!  What do you
+mean?''
+
+Billy laughed ruefully.
+
+``Well, every other question I ask Eliza, she
+says:  `Why, I don't know; you have to use
+your judgment.'  Just as if I had any judgment
+about how much salt to use, or what dish to take! 
+Dear me, Aunt Hannah, the man that will grow
+judgment and can it as you would a mess of peas,
+has got his fortune made!''
+
+``What an absurd child you are, Billy,'' laughed
+Aunt Hannah.  ``I used to tell Marie--  By the
+way, how is Marie?  Have you seen her lately?''
+
+``Oh, yes, I saw her yesterday,'' twinkled Billy. 
+``She had a book of wall-paper samples spread
+over the back of a chair, two bunches of samples
+of different colored damasks on the table before
+her, a `Young Mother's Guide' propped open
+in another chair, and a pair of baby's socks in
+her lap with a roll each of pink, and white, and
+blue ribbon.  She spent most of the time, after
+I had helped her choose the ribbon, in asking me
+if I thought she ought to let the baby cry and
+bother Cyril, or stop its crying and hurt the
+baby, because her `Mother's Guide' says a certain
+amount of crying is needed to develop a baby's
+lungs.''
+
+Aunt Hannah laughed, but she frowned, too.
+
+``The idea!  I guess Cyril can stand proper
+crying--and laughing, too--from his own
+child!'' she said then, crisply.
+
+``Oh, but Marie is afraid he can't,'' smiled
+Billy.  ``And that's the trouble.  She says that's
+the only thing that worries her--Cyril.''
+
+``Nonsense!'' ejaculated Aunt Hannah.
+
+``Oh, but it isn't nonsense to Marie,'' retorted
+Billy.  ``You should see the preparations she's
+made and the precautions she's taken.  Actually,
+when I saw those baby's socks in her lap, I didn't
+know but she was going to put rubber heels on
+them!  They've built the new house with deadening
+felt in all the walls, and Marie's planned
+the nursery and Cyril's den at opposite ends of
+the house; and she says she shall keep the baby
+there _all_ the time--the nursery, I mean, not the
+den.  She says she's going to teach it to be a quiet
+baby and hate noise.  She says she thinks she
+can do it, too.''
+
+``Humph!'' sniffed Aunt Hannah, scornfully.
+
+``You should have seen Marie's disgust the
+other day,'' went on Billy, a bit mischievously. 
+``Her Cousin Jane sent on a rattle she'd made
+herself, all soft worsted, with bells inside.  It
+was a dear; but Marie was horror-stricken. 
+`My baby have a rattle?' she cried.  `Why,
+what would Cyril say?  As if he could stand a
+rattle in the house!'  And if she didn't give that
+rattle to the janitor's wife that very day, while
+I was there!''
+
+``Humph!'' sniffed Aunt Hannah again, as
+Billy rose to go.  ``Well, I'm thinking Marie has
+still some things to learn in this world--and
+Cyril, too, for that matter.''
+
+``I wouldn't wonder,'' laughed Billy, giving
+Aunt Hannah a good-by kiss.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+PETE
+
+
+Bertram Henshaw had no disquieting forebodings
+this time concerning his portrait of Marguerite
+Winthrop when the doors of the Bohemian
+Ten Club Exhibition were thrown open to members
+and invited guests.  Just how great a popular
+success it was destined to be, he could not know,
+of course, though he might have suspected it
+when he began to receive the admiring and hearty
+congratulations of his friends and fellow-artists
+on that first evening.
+
+Nor was the Winthrop portrait the only jewel
+in his crown on that occasion.  His marvelously
+exquisite ``The Rose,'' and his smaller ideal
+picture, ``Expectation,'' came in for scarcely less
+commendation.  There was no doubt now.  The
+originator of the famous ``Face of a Girl'' had
+come into his own again.  On all sides this was
+the verdict, one long-haired critic of international
+fame even claiming openly that Henshaw had not
+only equaled his former best work, but had gone
+beyond it, in both artistry and technique.
+
+It was a brilliant gathering.  Society, as usual,
+in costly evening gowns and correct swallow-tails
+rubbed elbows with names famous in the world of
+Art and Letters.  Everywhere were gay laughter
+and sparkling repartee.  Even the austere-faced
+J. G. Winthrop unbent to the extent of grim smiles
+in response to the laudatory comments bestowed
+upon the pictured image of his idol, his beautiful
+daughter.
+
+As to the great financier's own opinion of the
+work, no one heard him express it except, perhaps,
+the artist; and all that he got was a grip of the
+hand and a ``Good!  I knew you'd fetch it this
+time, my boy!''  But that was enough.  And,
+indeed, no one who knew the stern old man needed
+to more than look into his face that evening to
+know of his entire satisfaction in this portrait
+soon to be the most recent, and the most cherished
+addition to his far-famed art collection.
+
+As to Bertram--Bertram was pleased and
+happy and gratified, of course, as was natural;
+but he was not one whit more so than was Bertram's
+wife.  Billy fairly radiated happiness and
+proud joy.  She told Bertram, indeed, that if he
+did anything to make her any prouder, it would
+take an Annex the size of the Boston Opera House
+to hold her extra happiness.
+
+``Sh-h, Billy!  Some one will hear you,''
+protested Bertram, tragically; but, in spite of his
+horrified voice, he did not look displeased.
+
+For the first time Billy met Marguerite
+Winthrop that evening.  At the outset there was just
+a bit of shyness and constraint in the young wife's
+manner.  Billy could not forget her old insane
+jealousy of this beautiful girl with the envied
+name of Marguerite.  But it was for only a moment,
+and soon she was her natural, charming self.
+
+Miss Winthrop was fascinated, and she made
+no pretense of hiding it.  She even turned to
+Bertram at last, and cried:
+
+``Surely, now, Mr. Henshaw, you need never
+go far for a model!  Why don't you paint your
+wife?''
+
+Billy colored.  Bertram smiled.
+
+``I have,'' he said.  ``I have painted her many
+times.  In fact, I have painted her so often that
+she once declared it was only the tilt of her chin
+and the turn of her head that I loved--to
+paint,'' he said merrily, enjoying Billy's pretty
+confusion, and not realizing that his words really
+distressed her.  ``I have a whole studio full of
+`Billys' at home.''
+
+``Oh, have you, really?'' questioned Miss
+Winthrop, eagerly.  ``Then mayn't I see them? 
+Mayn't I, please, Mrs. Henshaw?  I'd so love
+to!''
+
+``Why, of course you may,'' murmured both
+the artist and his wife.
+
+``Thank you.  Then I'm coming right away. 
+May I?  I'm going to Washington next week,
+you see.  Will you let me come to-morrow at--
+at half-past three, then?  Will it be quite
+convenient for you, Mrs. Henshaw?''
+
+``Quite convenient.  I shall be glad to see
+you,'' smiled Billy.  And Bertram echoed his
+wife's cordial permission.
+
+``Thank you.  Then I'll be there at half-past
+three,'' nodded Miss Winthrop, with a smile, as
+she turned to give place to an admiring group,
+who were waiting to pay their respects to the
+artist and his wife.
+
+There was, after all, that evening, one fly in
+Billy's ointment.
+
+It fluttered in at the behest of an old
+acquaintance--one of the ``advice women,'' as
+Billy termed some of her too interested
+friends.
+
+``Well, they're lovely, perfectly lovely, of
+course, Mrs. Henshaw,'' said this lady, coming up
+to say good-night.  ``But, all the samee{sic}, I'm
+glad my husband is just a plain lawyer.  Look
+out, my dear, that while Mr. Henshaw is stealing
+all those pretty faces for his canvases--just look
+out that the fair ladies don't turn around and steal
+his heart before you know it.  Dear me, but you
+must be so proud of him!''
+
+``I am,'' smiled Billy, serenely; and only the
+jagged split that rent the glove on her hand, at
+that moment, told of the fierce anger behind that
+smile.
+
+``As if I couldn't trust Bertram!'' raged Billy
+passionately to herself, stealing a surreptitious
+glance at her ruined glove.  ``And as if there
+weren't ever any perfectly happy marriages--
+even if you don't ever hear of them, or read of
+them!''
+
+Bertram was not home to luncheon on the day
+following the opening night of the Bohemian Ten
+Club.  A matter of business called him away
+from the house early in the morning; but he
+told his wife that he surely would be on hand for
+Miss Winthrop's call at half-past three o'clock
+that afternoon.
+
+``Yes, do,'' Billy had urged.  ``I think she's
+lovely, but you know her so much better than I
+do that I want you here.  Besides, you needn't
+think _I'm_ going to show her all those Billys of
+yours.  I may be vain, but I'm not quite vain
+enough for that, sir!''
+
+``Don't worry,'' her husband had laughed. 
+``I'll be here.''
+
+As it chanced, however, something occurred
+an hour before half-past three o'clock that drove
+every thought of Miss Winthrop's call from
+Billy's head.
+
+For three days, now, Pete had been at the home
+of his niece in South Boston.  He had been forced,
+finally, to give up and go away.  News from him
+the day before had been anything but reassuring,
+and to-day, Bertram being gone, Billy had suggested
+that Eliza serve a simple luncheon and go
+immediately afterward to South Boston to see
+how her uncle was.  This suggestion Eliza had
+followed, leaving the house at one o'clock.
+
+Shortly after two Calderwell had dropped in
+to bring Bertram, as he expressed it, a bunch of
+bouquets he had gathered at the picture show
+the night before.  He was still in the drawing-
+room, chatting with Billy, when the telephone
+bell rang.
+
+``If that's Bertram, tell him to come home;
+he's got company,'' laughed Calderwell, as Billy
+passed into the hall.
+
+A moment later he heard Billy give a startled
+cry, followed by a few broken words at short
+intervals.  Then, before he could surmise what had
+happened, she was back in the drawing-room
+again, her eyes full of tears.
+
+``It's Pete,'' she choked.  ``Eliza says he can't
+live but a few minutes.  He wants to see me once
+more.  What shall I do?  John's got Peggy out
+with Aunt Hannah and Mrs. Greggory.  It was so
+nice to-day I made them go.  But I must get
+there some way--Pete is calling for me.  Uncle
+William is going, and I told Eliza where she might
+reach Bertram; but what shall _I_ do?  How shall
+I go?''
+
+Calderwell was on his feet at once.
+
+``I'll get a taxi.  Don't worry--we'll get
+there.  Poor old soul--of course he wants to see
+you!  Get on your things.  I'll have it here in no
+time,'' he finished, hurrying to the telephone.
+
+``Oh, Hugh, I'm so glad I've got _you_ here,''
+sobbed Billy, stumbling blindly toward the
+stairway.  ``I'll be ready in two minutes.''
+
+And she was; but neither then, nor a little later
+when she and Calderwell drove hurriedly away
+from the house, did Billy once remember that
+Miss Marguerite Winthrop was coming to call
+that afternoon to see Mrs. Bertram Henshaw and
+a roomful of Billy pictures.
+
+Pete was still alive when Calderwell left Billy
+at the door of the modest little home where
+Eliza's mother lived.
+
+``Yes, you're in time, ma'am,'' sobbed Eliza;
+``and, oh, I'm so glad you've come.  He's been
+askin' and askin' for ye.''
+
+From Eliza Billy learned then that Mr. William
+was there, but not Mr. Bertram.  They had not
+been able to reach Mr. Bertram, or Mr. Cyril.
+
+Billy never forgot the look of reverent adoration
+that came into Pete's eyes as she entered the
+room where he lay.
+
+``Miss Billy--my Miss Billy!  You were so
+good-to come,'' he whispered faintly.
+
+Billy choked back a sob.
+
+``Of course I'd come, Pete,'' she said gently,
+taking one of the thin, worn hands into both her
+soft ones.
+
+It was more than a few minutes that Pete lived. 
+Four o'clock came, and five, and he was still with
+them.  Often he opened his eyes and smiled. 
+Sometimes he spoke a low word to William or
+Billy, or to one of the weeping women at the foot
+of the bed.  That the presence of his beloved
+master and mistress meant much to him was
+plain to be seen.
+
+``I'm so sorry,'' he faltered once, ``about that
+pretty dress--I spoiled, Miss Billy.  But you
+know--my hands--''
+
+``I know, I know,'' soothed Billy; ``but don't
+worry.  It wasn't spoiled, Pete.  It's all fixed
+now.''
+
+``Oh, I'm so glad,'' sighed the sick man.  After
+another long interval of silence he turned to
+William.
+
+``Them socks--the medium thin ones--you'd
+oughter be puttin' 'em on soon, sir, now.  They're
+in the right-hand corner of the bottom drawer--
+you know.''
+
+``Yes, Pete; I'll attend to it,'' William managed
+to stammer, after he had cleared his throat.
+
+Eliza's turn came next.
+
+``Remember about the coffee,'' Pete said to
+her, ``--the way Mr. William likes it.  And always
+eggs, you know, for--for--''  His voice
+trailed into an indistinct murmur, and his eyelids
+drooped wearily.
+
+One by one the minutes passed.  The doctor
+came and went: there was nothing he could do. 
+At half-past five the thin old face became again
+alight with consciousness.  There was a good-by
+message for Bertram, and one for Cyril.  Aunt
+Hannah was remembered, and even little Tommy
+Dunn.  Then, gradually, a gray shadow crept
+over the wasted features.  The words came more
+brokenly.  The mind, plainly, was wandering,
+for old Pete was young again, and around him
+were the lads he loved, William, Cyril, and
+Bertram.  And then, very quietly, soon after the
+clock struck six, Pete fell into the beginning of
+his long sleep.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+WHEN BERTRAM CAME HOME
+
+
+It was a little after half-past three o'clock that
+afternoon when Bertram Henshaw hurried up
+Beacon Street toward his home.  He had been
+delayed, and he feared that Miss Winthrop would
+already have reached the house.  Mindful of
+what Billy had said that morning, he knew how
+his wife would fret if he were not there when the
+guest arrived.  The sight of what he surmised to
+be Miss Winthrop's limousine before his door
+hastened his steps still more.  But as he reached
+the house, he was surprised to find Miss Winthrop
+herself turning away from the door.
+
+``Why, Miss Winthrop,'' he cried, ``you're not
+going _now!_  You can't have been here any--yet!''
+
+``Well, no, I--I haven't,'' retorted the lady,
+with heightened color and a somewhat peculiar
+emphasis.  ``My ring wasn't answered.''
+
+``Wasn't answered!'' Bertram reddened
+angrily.  ``Why, what can that mean?  Where's
+the maid?  Where's my wife?  Mrs. Henshaw
+must be here!  She was expecting you.''
+
+Bertram, in his annoyed amazement, spoke
+loudly, vehemently.  Hence he was quite plainly
+heard by the group of small boys and girls who
+had been improving the mild weather for a frolic
+on the sidewalk, and who had been attracted to
+his door a moment before by the shining magnet
+of the Winthrop limousine with its resplendently
+liveried chauffeur.  As Bertram spoke, one of
+the small girls, Bessie Bailey, stepped forward and
+piped up a shrill reply.
+
+``She ain't, Mr. Henshaw!  She ain't here. 
+I saw her go away just a little while ago.''
+
+Bertram turned sharply.
+
+``You saw her go away!  What do you mean?''
+
+Small Bessie swelled with importance.  Bessie
+was thirteen, in spite of her diminutive height. 
+Bessie's mother was dead, and Bessie's caretakers
+were gossiping nurses and servants, who
+frequently left in her way books that were much
+too old for Bessie to read--but she read them.
+
+``I mean she ain't here--your wife, Mr. Henshaw. 
+She went away.  I saw her.  I guess likely
+she's eloped, sir.''
+
+``Eloped!''
+
+Bessie swelled still more importantly.  To her
+experienced eyes the situation contained all the
+necessary elements for the customary flight of
+the heroine in her story-books, as here, now,
+was the irate, deserted husband.
+
+``Sure!  And 'twas just before you came--
+quite a while before.  A big shiny black automobile
+like this drove up--only it wasn't quite
+such a nice one--an' Mrs. Henshaw an' a man
+came out of your house an' got in, an' drove
+right away _quick!_  They just ran to get into it,
+too--didn't they?''  She appealed to her young
+mates grouped about her.
+
+A chorus of shrill exclamations brought Mr.
+Bertram Henshaw suddenly to his senses.  By a
+desperate effort he hid his angry annoyance as
+he turned to the manifestly embarrassed young
+woman who was already descending the steps.
+
+``My dear Miss Winthrop,'' he apologized
+contritely, ``I'm sure you'll forgive this seeming
+great rudeness on the part of my wife.  Notwithstanding
+the lurid tales of our young friends here,
+I suspect nothing more serious has happened
+than that my wife has been hastily summoned to
+Aunt Hannah, perhaps.  Or, of course, she may
+not have understood that you were coming to-day
+at half-past three--though I thought she did. 
+But I'm so sorry--when you were so kind as to
+come--''  Miss Winthrop interrupted with a
+quick gesture.
+
+``Say no more, I beg of you,'' she entreated. 
+``Mrs. Henshaw is quite excusable, I'm sure. 
+Please don't give it another thought,'' she
+finished, as with a hurried direction to the man who
+was holding open the door of her car, she stepped
+inside and bowed her good-byes.
+
+Bertram, with stern self-control, forced
+himself to walk nonchalantly up his steps, leisurely
+take out his key, and open his door, under the
+interested eyes of Bessie Bailey and her friends;
+but once beyond their hateful stare, his demeanor
+underwent a complete change.  Throwing aside
+his hat and coat, he strode to the telephone.
+
+``Oh, is that you, Aunt Hannah?'' he called
+crisply, a moment later.  ``Well, if Billy's there
+will you tell her I want to speak to her,
+please?''
+
+``Billy?'' answered Aunt Hannah's slow, gentle
+tones.  ``Why, my dear boy, Billy isn't here!''
+
+``She isn't?  Well, when did she leave?  She's
+been there, hasn't she?''
+
+``Why, I don't think so, but I'll see, if you
+like.  Mrs. Greggory and I have just this minute
+come in from an automobile ride.  We would
+have stayed longer, but it began to get chilly, and
+I forgot to take one of the shawls that I'd laid
+out.''
+
+``Yes; well, if you will see, please, if Billy has
+been there, and when she left,'' said Bertram,
+with grim self-control.
+
+``All right.  I'll see,'' murmured Aunt Hannah. 
+In a few moments her voice again sounded across
+the wires.  ``Why, no, Bertram, Rosa says she
+hasn't been here since yesterday.  Isn't she there
+somewhere about the house?  Didn't you know
+where she was going?''
+
+``Well, no, I didn't--else I shouldn't have
+been asking you,'' snapped the irate Bertram
+and hung up the receiver with most rude haste,
+thereby cutting off an astounded ``Oh, my grief
+and conscience!'' in the middle of it.
+
+The next ten minutes Bertram spent in going
+through the whole house, from garret to basement. 
+Needless to say, he found nothing to
+enlighten him, or to soothe his temper.  Four
+o'clock came, then half-past, and five.  At five
+Bertram began to look for Eliza, but in vain. 
+At half-past five he watched for William; but
+William, too, did not come.
+
+Bertram was pacing the floor now, nervously. 
+He was a little frightened, but more mortified
+and angry.  That Billy should have allowed Miss
+Winthrop to call by appointment only to find
+no hostess, no message, no maid, even, to answer
+her ring--it was inexcusable!  Impulsiveness,
+unconventionality, and girlish irresponsibility were
+all very delightful, of course--at times; but
+not now, certainly.  Billy was not a girl any
+longer.  She was a married woman.  _Something_
+was due to him, her husband!  A pretty picture
+he must have made on those steps, trying to
+apologize for a truant wife, and to laugh off that
+absurd Bessie Bailey's preposterous assertion at
+the same time!  What would Miss Winthrop
+think?  What could she think?  Bertram fairly
+ground his teeth with chagrin, at the situation
+in which he found himself.
+
+Nor were matters helped any by the fact that
+Bertram was hungry.  Bertram's luncheon had
+been meager and unsatisfying.  That the kitchen
+down-stairs still remained in silent, spotless order
+instead of being astir with the sounds and smells
+of a good dinner (as it should have been) did not
+improve his temper.  Where Billy was he could
+not imagine.  He thought, once or twice, of
+calling up some of her friends; but something
+held him back from that--though he did try to
+get Marie, knowing very well that she was probably
+over to the new house and would not answer. 
+He was not surprised, therefore, when he received
+no reply to his ring.
+
+That there was the slightest truth in Bessie
+Bailey's absurd ``elopement'' idea, Bertram did
+not, of course, for an instant believe.  The only
+thing that rankled about that was the fact that
+she had suggested such a thing, and that Miss
+Winthrop and those silly children had heard
+her.  He recognized half of Bessie's friends as
+neighborhood youngsters, and he knew very well
+that there would be many a quiet laugh at his
+expense around various Beacon Street dinner-
+tables that night.  At the thought of those
+dinner-tables, he scowled again.  _He_ had no
+dinner-table--at least, he had no dinner on it!
+
+Who the man might be Bertram thought he
+could easily guess.  It was either Arkwright or
+Calderwell, of course; and probably that tiresome
+Alice Greggory was mixed up in it somehow. 
+He did wish Billy--
+
+Six o'clock came, then half-past.  Bertram was
+indeed frightened now, but he was more angry,
+and still more hungry.  He had, in fact, reached
+that state of blind unreasonableness said to be
+peculiar to hungry males from time immemorial.
+
+At ten minutes of seven a key clicked in the
+lock of the outer door, and William and Billy
+entered the hall.
+
+It was almost dark.  Bertram could not see
+their faces.  He had not lighted the hall at all.
+
+``Well,'' he began sharply, ``is this the way
+you receive your callers, Billy?  I came home
+and found Miss Winthrop just leaving--no one
+here to receive her!  Where've you been?  Where's
+Eliza?  Where's my dinner?  Of course I don't
+mean to scold, Billy, but there is a limit to even
+my patience--and it's reached now.  I can't
+help suggesting that if you would tend to your
+husband and your home a little more, and go
+gallivanting off with Calderwell and Arkwright
+and Alice Greggory a little less, that--  Where is
+Eliza, anyway?'' he finished irritably, switching
+on the lights with a snap.
+
+There was a moment of dead silence.  At
+Bertram's first words Billy and William had
+stopped short.  Neither had moved since.  Now
+William turned and began to speak, but Billy
+interrupted.  She met her husband's gaze steadily.
+
+``I will be down at once to get your dinner,''
+she said quietly.  ``Eliza will not come to-night. 
+Pete is dead.''
+
+Bertram started forward with a quick cry.
+
+``Dead!  Oh, Billy!  Then you were--_there!_ 
+Billy!''
+
+But his wife did not apparently hear him.  She
+passed him without turning her head, and went
+on up the stairs, leaving him to meet the sorrowful,
+accusing eyes of William.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+AFTER THE STORM
+
+
+The young husband's apologies were profuse
+and abject.  Bertram was heartily ashamed of
+himself, and was man enough to acknowledge it. 
+Almost on his knees he begged Billy to forgive
+him; and in a frenzy of self-denunciation he
+followed her down into the kitchen that night,
+piteously beseeching her to speak to him, to just
+_look_ at him, even, so that he might know he was
+not utterly despised--though he did, indeed,
+deserve to be more than despised, he moaned.
+
+At first Billy did not speak, or even vouchsafe
+a glance in his direction.  Very quietly she went
+about her preparations for a simple meal, paying
+apparently no more attention to Bertram than as
+if he were not there.  But that her ears were only
+seemingly, and not really deaf, was shown very
+clearly a little later, when, at a particularly abject
+wail on the part of the babbling shadow at her
+heels, Billy choked into a little gasp, half laughter,
+half sob.  It was all over then.  Bertram had
+her in his arms in a twinkling, while to the floor
+clattered and rolled a knife and a half-peeled
+baked potato.
+
+Naturally, after that, there could be no more
+dignified silences on the part of the injured wife. 
+There were, instead, half-smiles, tears, sobs, a
+tremulous telling of Pete's going and his messages,
+followed by a tearful listening to Bertram's story
+of the torture he had endured at the hands of
+Miss Winthrop, Bessie Bailey, and an empty,
+dinnerless house.  And thus, in one corner of the
+kitchen, some time later, a hungry, desperate
+William found them, the half-peeled, cold baked
+potato still at their feet.
+
+Torn between his craving for food and his
+desire not to interfere with any possible peace-
+making, William was obviously hesitating what
+to do, when Billy glanced up and saw him.  She
+saw, too, at the same time, the empty, blazing
+gas-stove burner, and the pile of half-prepared
+potatoes, to warm which the burner had long
+since been lighted.  With a little cry she broke
+away from her husband's arms.
+
+``Mercy! and here's poor Uncle William,
+bless his heart, with not a thing to eat yet!''
+
+They all got dinner then, together, with many
+a sigh and quick-coming tear as everywhere they
+met some sad reminder of the gentle old hands
+that would never again minister to their comfort.
+
+It was a silent meal, and little, after all, was
+eaten, though brave attempts at cheerfulness
+and naturalness were made by all three.  Bertram,
+especially, talked, and tried to make sure
+that the shadow on Billy's face was at least not
+the one his own conduct had brought there.
+
+``For you do--you surely do forgive me, don't
+you?'' he begged, as he followed her into the
+kitchen after the sorry meal was over.
+
+``Why, yes, dear, yes,'' sighed Billy, trying to
+smile.
+
+``And you'll forget?''
+
+There was no answer.
+
+``Billy!  And you'll forget?'' Bertram's voice
+was insistent, reproachful.
+
+Billy changed color and bit her lip.  She looked
+plainly distressed.
+
+``Billy!'' cried the man, still more reproachfully.
+
+``But, Bertram, I can't forget--quite yet,''
+faltered Billy.
+
+Bertram frowned.  For a minute he looked as
+if he were about to take up the matter seriously
+and argue it with her; but the next moment he
+smiled and tossed his head with jaunty playfulness--
+Bertram, to tell the truth, had now had
+quite enough of what he privately termed
+``scenes'' and ``heroics''; and, manlike, he was
+very ardently longing for the old easy-going
+friendliness, with all unpleasantness banished to
+oblivion.
+
+``Oh, but you'll have to forget,'' he claimed,
+with cheery insistence, ``for you've promised to
+forgive me--and one can't forgive without forgetting. 
+So, there!'' he finished, with a smilingly
+determined ``now-everything-is-just-as-it-was-before'' air.
+
+Billy made no response.  She turned hurriedly
+and began to busy herself with the dishes at the
+sink.  In her heart she was wondering: could
+she ever forget what Bertram had said?  Would
+anything ever blot out those awful words:  ``If
+you would tend to your husband and your home
+a little more, and go gallivanting off with Calderwell
+and Arkwright and Alice Greggory a little
+less--''?  It seemed now that always, for evermore,
+they would ring in her ears; always, for
+evermore, they would burn deeper and deeper
+into her soul.  And not once, in all Bertram's
+apologies, had he referred to them--those words
+he had uttered.  He had not said he did not mean
+them.  He had not said he was sorry he spoke
+them.  He had ignored them; and he expected
+that now she, too, would ignore them.  As if
+she could!''  If you would tend to your husband
+and your home a little more, and go gallivanting
+off with Calderwell and Arkwright and Alice
+Greggory a little less--''  Oh, if only she could,
+indeed,--forget!
+
+When Billy went up-stairs that night she ran
+across her ``Talk to Young Wives'' in her desk. 
+With a half-stifled cry she thrust it far back out
+of sight.
+
+``I hate you, I hate you--with all your old
+talk about `brushing up against outside interests'!''
+she whispered fiercely.  ``Well, I've
+`brushed'--and now see what I've got for it!''
+
+Later, however, after Bertram was asleep, Billy
+crept out of bed and got the book.  Under the
+carefully shaded lamp in the adjoining room she
+turned the pages softly till she came to the sentence: 
+``Perhaps it would be hard to find a more
+utterly unreasonable, irritable, irresponsible creature
+than a hungry man.''  With a long sigh she
+began to read; and not until some minutes later
+did she close the book, turn off the light, and steal
+back to bed.
+
+During the next three days, until after the
+funeral at the shabby little South Boston house,
+Eliza spent only about half of each day at the
+Strata.  This, much to her distress, left many of
+the household tasks for her young mistress to
+perform.  Billy, however, attacked each new duty
+with a feverish eagerness that seemed to make the
+performance of it very like some glad penance
+done for past misdeeds.  And when--on the day
+after they had laid the old servant in his last
+resting place--a despairing message came from
+Eliza to the effect that now her mother was very
+ill, and would need her care, Billy promptly told
+Eliza to stay as long as was necessary; that they
+could get along all right without her.
+
+``But, Billy, what _are_ we going to do?''
+Bertram demanded, when he heard the news.  ``We
+must have somebody!''
+
+``_I'm_ going to do it.''
+
+``Nonsense!  As if you could!'' scoffed Bertram.
+
+Billy lifted her chin.
+
+``Couldn't I, indeed,'' she retorted.  ``Do you
+realize, young man, how much I've done the last
+three days?  How about those muffins you had
+this morning for breakfast, and that cake last
+night?  And didn't you yourself say that you
+never ate a better pudding than that date puff
+yesterday noon?''
+
+Bertram laughed and shrugged his shoulders.
+
+``My dear love, I'm not questioning your
+_ability_ to do it,'' he soothed quickly.  ``Still,'' he
+added, with a whimsical smile, ``I must remind
+you that Eliza has been here half the time, and
+that muffins and date puffs, however delicious,
+aren't all there is to running a big house like this. 
+Besides, just be sensible, Billy,'' he went on more
+seriously, as he noted the rebellious gleam coming
+into his young wife's eyes; ``you'd know you
+couldn't do it, if you'd just stop to think.  There's
+the Carletons coming to dinner Monday, and my
+studio Tea to-morrow, to say nothing of the
+Symphony and the opera, and the concerts you'd
+lose because you were too dead tired to go to them. 
+You know how it was with that concert yesterday
+afternoon which Alice Greggory wanted you
+to go to with her.''
+
+``I didn't--want--to go,'' choked Billy,
+under her breath.
+
+``And there's your music.  You haven't done
+a thing with that for days, yet only last week
+you told me the publishers were hurrying you for
+that last song to complete the group.''
+
+``I haven't felt like--writing,'' stammered
+Billy, still half under her breath.
+
+``Of course you haven't,'' triumphed Bertram. 
+``You've been too dead tired.  And that's just
+what I say.  Billy, you _can't_ do it all yourself!''
+
+``But I want to.  I want to--to tend to
+things,'' faltered Billy, with a half-fearful glance
+into her husband's face.
+
+Billy was hearing very loudly now that accusing
+``If you'd tend to your husband and your home
+a little more--''  Bertram, however, was not
+hearing it, evidently.  Indeed, he seemed never
+to have heard it--much less to have spoken it.
+
+`` `Tend to things,' '' he laughed lightly. 
+``Well, you'll have enough to do to tend to the
+maid, I fancy.  Anyhow, we're going to have one. 
+I'll just step into one of those--what do you call
+'em?--intelligence offices on my way down and
+send one up,'' he finished, as he gave his wife a
+good-by kiss.
+
+An hour later Billy, struggling with the broom
+and the drawing-room carpet, was called to the
+telephone.  It was her husband's voice that came
+to her.
+
+``Billy, for heaven's sake, take pity on me. 
+Won't you put on your duds and come and engage
+your maid yourself?''
+
+``Why, Bertram, what's the matter?''
+
+``Matter?  Holy smoke!  Well, I've been to
+three of those intelligence offices--though why
+they call them that I can't imagine.  If ever there
+was a place utterly devoid of intelligence-but
+never mind!  I've interviewed four fat ladies,
+two thin ones, and one medium with a wart.  I've
+cheerfully divulged all our family secrets, promised
+every other half-hour out, and taken oath
+that our household numbers three adult members,
+and no more; but I simply _can't_ remember
+how many handkerchiefs we have in the wash
+each week.  Billy, will you come?  Maybe you
+can do something with them.  I'm sure you
+can!''
+
+``Why, of course I'll come,'' chirped Billy. 
+``Where shall I meet you?''
+
+Bertram gave the street and number.
+
+``Good!  I'll be there,'' promised Billy, as she
+hung up the receiver.
+
+Quite forgetting the broom in the middle of the
+drawing-room floor, Billy tripped up-stairs to
+change her dress.  On her lips was a gay little
+song.  In her heart was joy.
+
+``I rather guess _now_ I'm tending to my husband
+and my home!'' she was crowing to herself.
+
+Just as Billy was about to leave the house the
+telephone bell jangled again.
+
+It was Alice Greggory.
+
+``Billy, dear,'' she called, ``can't you come
+out?  Mr. Arkwright and Mr. Calderwell are
+here, and they've brought some new music.  We
+want you.  Will you come?''
+
+``I can't, dear.  Bertram wants me.  He's sent
+for me.  I've got some _housewifely_ duties to perform
+to-day,'' returned Billy, in a voice so curiously
+triumphant that Alice, at her end of the
+wires, frowned in puzzled wonder as she turned
+away from the telephone.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+INTO TRAINING FOR MARY ELLEN
+
+
+Bertram told a friend afterwards that he never
+knew the meaning of the word ``chaos'' until he
+had seen the Strata during the weeks immediately
+following the laying away of his old servant.
+
+``Every stratum was aquiver with apprehension,''
+he declared; ``and there was never any
+telling when the next grand upheaval would rock
+the whole structure to its foundations.''
+
+Nor was Bertram so far from being right.  It
+was, indeed, a chaos, as none knew better than
+did Bertram's wife.
+
+Poor Billy!  Sorry indeed were these days for
+Billy; and, as if to make her cup of woe full to
+overflowing, there were Sister Kate's epistolary
+``I told you so,'' and Aunt Hannah's ever
+recurring lament:  ``If only, Billy, you were a
+practical housekeeper yourself, they wouldn't
+impose on you so!''
+
+Aunt Hannah, to be sure, offered Rosa, and
+Kate, by letter, offered advice--plenty of it. 
+But Billy, stung beyond all endurance, and fairly
+radiating hurt pride and dogged determination,
+disdained all assistance, and, with head held high,
+declared she was getting along very well, very
+well indeed!
+
+And this was the way she ``got along.''
+
+First came Nora.  Nora was a blue-eyed, black-
+haired Irish girl, the sixth that the despairing
+Billy had interviewed on that fateful morning
+when Bertram had summoned her to his aid. 
+Nora stayed two days.  During her reign the
+entire Strata echoed to banged doors, dropped
+china, and slammed furniture.  At her departure
+the Henshaws' possessions were less by four cups,
+two saucers, one plate, one salad bowl, two cut
+glass tumblers, and a teapot--the latter William's
+choicest bit of Lowestoft.
+
+Olga came next.  Olga was a Treasure.  She
+was low-voiced, gentle-eyed, and a good cook. 
+She stayed a week.  By that time the growing
+frequency of the disappearance of sundry small
+articles of value and convenience led to Billy's
+making a reluctant search of Olga's room--and
+to Olga's departure; for the room was, indeed, a
+treasure house, the Treasure having gathered
+unto itself other treasures.
+
+Following Olga came a period of what Bertram
+called ``one night stands,'' so frequently were the
+dramatis person<ae> below stairs changed.  Gretchen
+drank.  Christine knew only four words of English:
+salt, good-by, no, and yes; and Billy found
+need occasionally of using other words.  Mary
+was impertinent and lazy.  Jennie could not even
+boil a potato properly, much less cook a dinner. 
+Sarah (colored) was willing and pleasant, but
+insufferably untidy.  Bridget was neatness itself,
+but she had no conception of the value of time. 
+Her meals were always from thirty to sixty
+minutes late, and half-cooked at that.  Vera
+sang--when she wasn't whistling--and as she
+was generally off the key, and always off the
+tune, her almost frantic mistress dismissed her
+before twenty-four hours had passed.  Then came
+Mary Ellen.
+
+Mary Ellen began well.  She was neat, capable,
+and obliging; but it did not take her long to
+discover just how much--and how little--her
+mistress really knew of practical housekeeping. 
+Matters and things were very different then. 
+Mary Ellen became argumentative, impertinent,
+and domineering.  She openly shirked her work,
+when it pleased her so to do, and demanded
+perquisites and privileges so insolently that even
+William asked Billy one day whether Mary Ellen
+or Billy herself were the mistress of the Strata:
+and Bertram, with mock humility, inquired how
+_soon_ Mary Ellen would be wanting the house.
+Billy, in weary despair, submitted to this bullying
+for almost a week; then, in a sudden accession
+of outraged dignity that left Mary Ellen gasping
+with surprise, she told the girl to go.
+
+And thus the days passed.  The maids came
+and the maids went, and, to Billy, each one seemed
+a little worse than the one before.  Nowhere was
+there comfort, rest, or peacefulness.  The nights
+were a torture of apprehension, and the days an
+even greater torture of fulfilment.  Noise, confusion,
+meals poorly cooked and worse served, dust,
+disorder, and uncertainty.  And this was _home_,
+Billy told herself bitterly.  No wonder that Bertram
+telephoned more and more frequently that
+he had met a friend, and was dining in town.  No
+wonder that William pushed back his plate almost
+every meal with his food scarcely touched, and
+then wandered about the house with that hungry,
+homesick, homeless look that nearly broke her
+heart.  No wonder, indeed!
+
+And so it had come.  It was true.  Aunt Hannah
+and Kate and the ``Talk to Young Wives''
+were right.  She had not been fit to marry Bertram. 
+She had not been fit to marry anybody. 
+Her honeymoon was not only waning, but going
+into a total eclipse.  Had not Bertram already
+declared that if she would tend to her husband
+and her home a little more--
+
+Billy clenched her small hands and set her
+round chin squarely.
+
+Very well, she would show them.  She would
+tend to her husband and her home.  She fancied
+she could _learn_ to run that house, and run it well! 
+And forthwith she descended to the kitchen and
+told the then reigning tormentor that her wages
+would be paid until the end of the week, but
+that her services would be immediately dispensed
+with.
+
+Billy was well aware now that housekeeping
+was a matter of more than muffins and date puffs. 
+She could gauge, in a measure, the magnitude of
+the task to which she had set herself.  But she
+did not falter; and very systematically she set
+about making her plans.
+
+With a good stout woman to come in twice a
+week for the heavier work, she believed she could
+manage by herself very well until Eliza could come
+back.  At least she could serve more palatable
+meals than the most of those that had appeared
+lately; and at least she could try to make a home
+that would not drive Bertram to club dinners,
+and Uncle William to hungry wanderings from
+room to room.  Meanwhile, all the time, she could
+be learning, and in due course she would reach
+that shining goal of Housekeeping Efficiency,
+short of which--according to Aunt Hannah and
+the ``Talk to Young Wives''--no woman need
+hope for a waneless honeymoon.
+
+So chaotic and erratic had been the household
+service, and so quietly did Billy slip into her new
+role, that it was not until the second meal after
+the maid's departure that the master of the house
+discovered what had happened.  Then, as his
+wife rose to get some forgotten article, he questioned,
+with uplifted eyebrows:
+
+``Too good to wait upon us, is my lady now,
+eh?''
+
+``My lady is waiting on you,'' smiled Billy.
+
+``Yes, I see _this_ lady is,'' retorted Bertram,
+grimly; ``but I mean our real lady in the kitchen. 
+Great Scott, Billy, how long are you going to
+stand this?''
+
+Billy tossed her head airily, though she shook
+in her shoes.  Billy had been dreading this moment.
+
+``I'm not standing it.  She's gone,'' responded
+Billy, cheerfully, resuming her seat.  ``Uncle
+William, sha'n't I give you some more pudding?''
+
+``Gone, so soon?'' groaned Bertram, as William
+passed his plate, with a smiling nod.  ``Oh,
+well,'' went on Bertram, resignedly, ``she stayed
+longer than the last one.  When is the next one
+coming?''
+
+``She's already here.''
+
+Bertram frowned.
+
+``Here?  But--you served the dessert, and--'' 
+At something in Billy's face, a quick suspicion
+came into his own.  ``Billy, you don't mean that
+you--_you_--''
+
+``Yes,'' she nodded brightly, ``that's just what
+I mean.  I'm the next one.''
+
+``Nonsense!'' exploded Bertram, wrathfully. 
+``Oh, come, Billy, we've been all over this
+before.  You know I can't have it.''
+
+``Yes, you can.  You've got to have it,''
+retorted Billy, still with that disarming, airy
+cheerfulness.  ``Besides, 'twon't be half so bad as you
+think.  Wasn't that a good pudding to-night?
+
+Didn't you both come back for more?  Well, I
+made it.''
+
+``Puddings!'' ejaculated Bertram, with an
+impatient gesture.  ``Billy, as I've said before, it takes
+something besides puddings to run this house.''
+
+``Yes, I know it does,'' dimpled Billy, ``and
+I've got Mrs. Durgin for that part.  She's coming
+twice a week, and more, if I need her.  Why,
+dearie, you don't know anything about how
+comfortable you're going to be!  I'll leave it to
+Uncle William if--''
+
+But Uncle William had gone.  Silently he had
+slipped from his chair and disappeared.  Uncle
+William, it might be mentioned in passing, had
+never quite forgotten Aunt Hannah's fateful call
+with its dire revelations concerning a certain
+unwanted, superfluous, third-party husband's
+brother.  Remembering this, there were times
+when he thought absence was both safest and
+best.  This was one of the times.
+
+``But, Billy, dear,'' still argued Bertram,
+irritably, ``how can you?  You don't know how. 
+You've had no experience.''
+
+Billy threw back her shoulders.  An ominous
+light came to her eyes.  She was no longer airily
+playful.
+
+``That's exactly it, Bertram.  I don't know
+how--but I'm going to learn.  I haven't had
+experience--but I'm going to get it.  I _can't_
+make a worse mess of it than we've had ever
+since Eliza went, anyway!''
+
+``But if you'd get a maid--a good maid,''
+persisted Bertram, feebly.
+
+``I had _one_--Mary Ellen.  She was a good
+maid--until she found out how little her mistress
+knew; then--well, you know what it was
+then.  Do you think I'd let that thing happen to
+me again?  No, sir!  I'm going into training for
+--my next Mary Ellen!''  And with a very
+majestic air Billy rose from the table and began
+to clear away the dishes.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+THE EFFICIENCY STAR--AND BILLY
+
+
+Billy was not a young woman that did things
+by halves.  Long ago, in the days of her childhood,
+her Aunt Ella had once said of her:  ``If
+only Billy didn't go into things all over, so; but
+whether it's measles or mud pies, I always know
+that she'll be the measliest or the muddiest of any
+child in town!''  It could not be expected, therefore,
+that Billy would begin to play her new r<o^>le
+now with any lack of enthusiasm.  But even had
+she needed any incentive, there was still ever
+ringing in her ears Bertram's accusing:  ``If you'd
+tend to your husband and your home a little
+more--''  Billy still declared very emphatically
+that she had forgiven Bertram; but she knew, in
+her heart, that she had not forgotten.
+
+Certainly, as the days passed, it could not be
+said that Billy was not tending to her husband
+and her home.  From morning till night, now,
+she tended to nothing else.  She seldom touched
+her piano--save to dust it--and she never
+touched her half-finished song-manuscript, long
+since banished to the oblivion of the music
+cabinet.  She made no calls except occasional flying
+visits to the Annex, or to the pretty new home
+where Marie and Cyril were now delightfully
+settled.  The opera and the Symphony were over
+for the season, but even had they not been, Billy
+could not have attended them.  She had no time. 
+Surely she was not doing any ``gallivanting''
+now, she told herself sometimes, a little aggrievedly.
+
+There was, indeed, no time.  From morning
+until night Billy was busy, flying from one task
+to another.  Her ambition to have everything
+just right was equalled only by her dogged
+determination to ``just show them'' that she could do
+this thing.  At first, of course, hampered as she
+was by ignorance and inexperience, each task
+consumed about twice as much time as was necessary. 
+Yet afterwards, when accustomedness had
+brought its reward of speed, there was still for
+Billy no time; for increased knowledge had only
+opened the way to other paths, untrodden and
+alluring.  Study of cookbooks had led to the
+study of food values.  Billy discovered suddenly
+that potatoes, beef, onions, oranges, and
+puddings were something besides vegetables, meat,
+fruit, and dessert.  They possessed attributes
+known as proteids, fats, and carbohydrates. 
+Faint memories of long forgotten school days
+hinted that these terms had been heard before;
+but never, Billy was sure, had she fully realized
+what they meant.
+
+It was at this juncture that Billy ran across a
+book entitled ``Correct Eating for Efficiency.'' 
+She bought it at once, and carried it home in
+triumph.  It proved to be a marvelous book. 
+Billy had not read two chapters before she began
+to wonder how the family had managed to live
+thus far with any sort of success, in the face of
+their dense ignorance and her own criminal carelessness
+concerning their daily bill of fare.
+
+At dinner that night Billy told Bertram and
+William of her discovery, and, with growing
+excitement, dilated on the wonderful good that it
+was to bring to them.
+
+``Why, you don't know, you can't imagine
+what a treasure it is!'' she exclaimed.  ``It gives
+a complete table for the exact balancing of food.''
+
+``For what?'' demanded Bertram, glancing up.
+
+``The exact balancing of food; and this book
+says that's the biggest problem that modern scientists
+have to solve.''
+
+``Humph!'' shrugged Bertram.  ``Well, you
+just balance my food to my hunger, and I'll agree
+not to complain.''
+
+``Oh, but, Bertram, it's serious, really,'' urged
+Billy, looking genuinely distressed.  ``Why, it
+says that what you eat goes to make up what you
+are.  It makes your vital energies.  Your brain
+power and your body power come from what you
+eat.  Don't you see?  If you're going to paint a
+picture you need something different from what
+you would if you were going to--to saw wood;
+and what this book tells is--is what I ought to
+give you to make you do each one, I should think,
+from what I've read so far.  Now don't you see
+how important it is?  What if I should give you
+the saw-wood kind of a breakfast when you were
+just going up-stairs to paint all day?  And what
+if I should give Uncle William a--a soldier's
+breakfast when all he is going to do is to go down
+on State Street and sit still all day?''
+
+``But--but, my dear,'' began Uncle William,
+looking slightly worried, ``there's my eggs that
+I _always_ have, you know.''
+
+``For heaven's sake, Billy, what _have_ you got
+hold of now?'' demanded Bertram, with just a
+touch of irritation.
+
+Billy laughed merrily.
+
+``Well, I suppose I didn't sound very logical,''
+she admitted.  ``But the book--you just wait. 
+It's in the kitchen.  I'm going to get it.''  And
+with laughing eagerness she ran from the room.
+
+In a moment she had returned, book in hand.
+
+``Now listen.  _This_ is the real thing--not
+my garbled inaccuracies.  `The food which we
+eat serves three purposes: it builds the body
+substance, bone, muscle, etc., it produces heat in
+the body, and it generates vital energy.  Nitrogen
+in different chemical combinations contributes
+largely to the manufacture of body substances;
+the fats produce heat; and the starches and
+sugars go to make the vital energy.  The nitrogenous
+food elements we call proteins; the fats
+and oils, fats; and the starches and sugars
+(because of the predominance of carbon), we call
+carbohydrates.  Now in selecting the diet for the
+day you should take care to choose those foods
+which give the proteins, fats, and carbohydrates
+in just the right proportion.' ''
+
+``Oh, Billy!'' groaned Bertram.
+
+``But it's so, Bertram,'' maintained Billy,
+anxiously.  ``And it's every bit here.  I don't
+have to guess at it at all.  They even give the
+quantities of calories of energy required for
+different sized men.  I'm going to measure you
+both to-morrow; and you must be weighed, too,''
+she continued, ignoring the sniffs of remonstrance
+from her two listeners.  ``Then I'll know just
+how many calories to give each of you.  They say
+a man of average size and weight, and sedentary
+occupation, should have at least 2,000 calories--
+and some authorities say 3,000--in this proportion:
+proteins, 300 calories, fats, 350 calories,
+carbohydrates, 1,350 calories.  But you both are
+taller than five feet five inches, and I should think
+you weighed more than 145 pounds; so I can't
+tell just yet how many calories you will need.''
+
+``How many we will need, indeed!'' ejaculated
+Bertram.
+
+``But, my dear, you know I have to have my
+eggs,'' began Uncle William again, in a worried
+voice.
+
+``Of course you do, dear; and you shall have
+them,'' soothed Billy, brightly.  ``It's only that
+I'll have to be careful and balance up the other
+things for the day accordingly.  Don't you see? 
+Now listen.  We'll see what eggs are.''  She
+turned the leaves rapidly.  ``Here's the food
+table.  It's lovely.  It tells everything.  I never
+saw anything so wonderful.  A--b--c--d--e
+--here we are.  `Eggs, scrambled or boiled, fats
+and proteins, one egg, 100.'  If it's poached it's
+only 50; but you like yours boiled, so we'll have
+to reckon on the 100.  And you always have
+two, so that means 200 calories in fats and
+proteins.  Now, don't you see?  If you can't have
+but 300 proteins and 350 fats all day, and you've
+already eaten 200 in your two eggs, that'll leave
+just--er--450 for all the rest of the day,--of
+fats and proteins, you understand.  And you've
+no idea how fast that'll count up.  Why, just one
+serving of butter is 100 of fats, and eight almonds
+is another, while a serving of lentils is 100 of
+proteins.  So you see how it'll go.''
+
+``Yes, I see,'' murmured Uncle William, casting
+a mournful glance about the generously laden
+table, much as if he were bidding farewell to a
+departing friend.  ``But if I should want more
+to eat--''  He stopped helplessly, and Bertram's
+aggrieved voice filled the pause.
+
+``Look here, Billy, if you think I'm going to
+be measured for an egg and weighed for an almond,
+you're much mistaken; because I'm not. 
+I want to eat what I like, and as much as I like,
+whether it's six calories or six thousand!''
+
+Billy chuckled, but she raised her hands in
+pretended shocked protest.
+
+``Six thousand!  Mercy!  Bertram, I don't
+know what would happen if you ate that quantity;
+but I'm sure you couldn't paint.  You'd
+just have to saw wood and dig ditches to use up
+all that vital energy.''
+
+``Humph!'' scoffed Bertram.
+
+``Besides, this is for _efficiency_,'' went on Billy,
+with an earnest air.  ``This man owns up that
+some may think a 2,000 calory ration is altogether
+too small, and he advises such to begin with
+3,000 or even 3,500--graded, of course, according
+to a man's size, weight, and occupation.  But
+he says one famous man does splendid work on
+only 1,800 calories, and another on even 1,600. 
+But that is just a matter of chewing.  Why,
+Bertram, you have no idea what perfectly wonderful
+things chewing does.''
+
+``Yes, I've heard of that,'' grunted Bertram;
+``ten chews to a cherry, and sixty to a spoonful
+of soup.  There's an old metronome up-stairs
+that Cyril left.  You might bring it down and
+set it going on the table--so many ticks to a
+mouthful, I suppose.  I reckon, with an incentive
+like that to eat, just about two calories would
+do me.  Eh, William?''
+
+``Bertram!  Now you're only making fun,''
+chided Billy; ``and when it's really serious, too. 
+Now listen,'' she admonished, picking up the
+book again.  `` `If a man consumes a large
+amount of meat, and very few vegetables, his
+diet will be too rich in protein, and too lacking in
+carbohydrates.  On the other hand, if he consumes
+great quantities of pastry, bread, butter,
+and tea, his meals will furnish too much energy,
+and not enough building material.'  There, Bertram,
+don't you see?''
+
+``Oh, yes, I see,'' teased Bertram.  ``William,
+better eat what you can to-night.  I foresee it's
+the last meal of just _food_ we'll get for some time. 
+Hereafter we'll have proteins, fats, and
+carbohydrates made into calory croquettes, and--''
+
+``Bertram!'' scolded Billy.
+
+But Bertram would not be silenced.
+
+``Here, just let me take that book,'' he insisted,
+dragging the volume from Billy's reluctant fingers. 
+``Now, William, listen.  Here's your breakfast
+to-morrow morning: strawberries, 100 calories;
+whole-wheat bread, 75 calories; butter, 100
+calories (no second helping, mind you, or you'd
+ruin the balance and something would topple);
+boiled eggs, 200 calories; cocoa, 100 calories--
+which all comes to 570 calories.  Sounds like an
+English bill of fare with a new kind of foreign
+money, but 'tisn't, really, you know.  Now for
+luncheon you can have tomato soup, 50 calories;
+potato salad--that's cheap, only 30 calories,
+and--''  But Billy pulled the book away then,
+and in righteous indignation carried it to the
+kitchen.
+
+``You don't deserve anything to eat,'' she
+declared with dignity, as she returned to the dining-
+room.
+
+``No?'' queried Bertram, his eyebrows
+uplifted.  ``Well, as near as I can make out we
+aren't going to get--much.''
+
+But Billy did not deign to answer this.
+
+In spite of Bertram's tormenting gibes, Billy
+did, for some days, arrange her meals in accordance
+with the wonderful table of food given in
+``Correct Eating for Efficiency.''  To be sure,
+Bertram, whatever he found before him during
+those days, anxiously asked whether he were
+eating fats, proteins, or carbohydrates; and he
+worried openly as to the possibility of his meal's
+producing one calory too much or too little, thus
+endangering his ``balance.''
+
+Billy alternately laughed and scolded, to the
+unvarying good nature of her husband.  As it
+happened, however, even this was not for long,
+for Billy ran across a magazine article on food
+adulteration; and this so filled her with terror
+lest, in the food served, she were killing her
+family by slow poison, that she forgot all about
+the proteins, fats, and carbohydrates.  Her talk
+these days was of formaldehyde, benzoate of
+soda, and salicylic acid.
+
+Very soon, too, Billy discovered an exclusive
+Back Bay school for instruction in household
+economics and domestic hygiene.  Billy investigated
+it at once, and was immediately aflame with
+enthusiasm.  She told Bertram that it taught
+everything, _everything_ she wanted to know; and
+forthwith she enrolled herself as one of its most
+devoted pupils, in spite of her husband's protests
+that she knew enough, more than enough, already. 
+This school attendance, to her consternation,
+Billy discovered took added time; but in some
+way she contrived to find it to take.
+
+And so the days passed.  Eliza's mother, though
+better, was still too ill for her daughter to leave
+her.  Billy, as the warm weather approached,
+began to look pale and thin.  Billy, to tell the
+truth, was working altogether too hard; but she
+would not admit it, even to herself.  At first the
+novelty of the work, and her determination to
+conquer at all costs, had given a fictitious strength
+to her endurance.  Now that the novelty had
+become accustomedness, and the conquering a
+surety, Billy discovered that she had a back that
+could ache, and limbs that, at times, could almost
+refuse to move from weariness.  There was still,
+however, one spur that never failed to urge her
+to fresh endeavor, and to make her, at least
+temporarily, forget both ache and weariness; and
+that was the comforting thought that now,
+certainly, even Bertram himself must admit that
+she was tending to her home and her husband.
+
+As to Bertram--Bertram, it is true, had at
+first uttered frequent and vehement protests
+against his wife's absorption of both mind and
+body in ``that plaguy housework,'' as he termed
+it.  But as the days passed, and blessed order
+superseded chaos, peace followed discord, and
+delicious, well-served meals took the place of the
+horrors that had been called meals in the past, he
+gradually accepted the change with tranquil
+satisfaction, and forgot to question how it was
+brought about; though he did still, sometimes,
+rebel because Billy was always too tired, or too
+busy, to go out with him.  Of late, however, he
+had not done even this so frequently, for a new
+``Face of a Girl'' had possessed his soul; and all
+his thoughts and most of his time had gone to
+putting on canvas the vision of loveliness that his
+mind's eye saw.
+
+By June fifteenth the picture was finished. 
+Bertram awoke then to his surroundings.  He
+found summer was upon him with no plans made
+for its enjoyment.  He found William had started
+West for a two weeks' business trip.  But what he
+did not find one day--at least at first--was his
+wife, when he came home unexpectedly at four
+o'clock.  And Bertram especially wanted to find
+his wife that day, for he had met three people
+whose words had disquieted him not a little. 
+First, Aunt Hannah.  She had said:
+
+``Bertram, where is Billy?  She hasn't been
+out to the Annex for a week; and the last time she
+was there she looked sick.  I was real worried
+about her.''
+
+Cyril had been next.
+
+``Where's Billy?'' he had asked abruptly. 
+``Marie says she hasn't seen her for two weeks. 
+Marie's afraid she's sick.  She says Billy didn't
+look well a bit, when she did see her.''
+
+Calderwell had capped the climax.  He had
+said:
+
+``Great Scott, Henshaw, where have you been
+keeping yourself?  And where's your wife?  Not
+one of us has caught more than a glimpse of her
+for weeks.  She hasn't sung with us, nor played
+for us, nor let us take her anywhere for a month
+of Sundays.  Even Miss Greggory says _she_ hasn't
+seen much of her, and that Billy always says
+she's too busy to go anywhere.  But Miss Greggory
+says she looks pale and thin, and that _she_
+thinks she's worrying too much over running the
+house.  I hope she isn't sick!''
+
+``Why, no, Billy isn't sick.  Billy's all right,''
+Bertram had answered.  He had spoken lightly,
+nonchalantly, with an elaborate air of carelessness;
+but after he had left Calderwell, he had
+turned his steps abruptly and a little hastily
+toward home.
+
+And he had not found Billy--at least, not at
+once.  He had gone first down into the kitchen
+and dining-room.  He remembered then, uneasily,
+that he had always looked for Billy in the kitchen
+and dining-room, of late.  To-day, however, she
+was not there.
+
+On the kitchen table Bertram did see a book
+wide open, and, mechanically, he picked it up. 
+It was a much-thumbed cookbook, and it was
+open where two once-blank pages bore his wife's
+handwriting.  On the first page, under the printed
+heading ``Things to Remember,'' he read these
+sentences:
+
+``That rice swells till every dish in the house
+is full, and that spinach shrinks till you can't
+find it.
+
+``That beets boil dry if you look out the window.
+
+``That biscuits which look as if they'd been
+mixed up with a rusty stove poker haven't really
+been so, but have only got too much undissolved
+soda in them.''
+
+There were other sentences, but Bertram's eyes
+chanced to fall on the opposite page where the
+``Things to Remember'' had been changed to
+``Things to Forget''; and here Billy had written
+just four words:  ``Burns,'' ``cuts,'' and
+``yesterday's failures.''
+
+Bertram dropped the book then with a spasmodic
+clearing of his throat, and hurriedly resumed
+his search.  When he did find his wife, at
+last, he gave a cry of dismay--she was on her
+own bed, huddled in a little heap, and shaking
+with sobs.
+
+``Billy!  Why, Billy!'' he gasped, striding to
+the bedside.
+
+Billy sat up at once, and hastily wiped her eyes.
+
+``Oh, is it you, B-Bertram? I didn't hear you
+come in.  You--you s-said you weren't coming
+till six o'clock!'' she choked.
+
+``Billy, what is the meaning of this?''
+
+``N-nothing.  I--I guess I'm just tired.''
+
+``What have you been doing?'' Bertram spoke
+sternly, almost sharply.  He was wondering why
+he had not noticed before the little hollows in
+his wife's cheeks.  ``Billy, what have you been
+doing?''
+
+``Why, n-nothing extra, only some sweeping,
+and cleaning out the refrigerator.''
+
+``Sweeping!  Cleaning!  _You!_  I thought Mrs.
+Durgin did that.''
+
+``She does.  I mean she did.  But she couldn't
+come.  She broke her leg--fell off the stepladder
+where she was three days ago.  So I _had_ to do it. 
+And to-day, someway, everything went wrong. 
+I burned me, and I cut me, and I used two sodas
+with not any cream of tartar, and I should think
+I didn't know anything, not anything!''  And
+down went Billy's head into the pillows again in
+another burst of sobs.
+
+With gentle yet uncompromising determination,
+Bertram gathered his wife into his arms and carried
+her to the big chair.  There, for a few minutes,
+he soothed and petted her as if she were a
+tired child--which, indeed, she was.
+
+``Billy, this thing has got to stop,'' he said then. 
+There was a very inexorable ring of decision in his
+voice.
+
+``What thing?''
+
+``This housework business.''
+
+Billy sat up with a jerk.
+
+``But, Bertram, it isn't fair.  You can't--you
+mustn't--just because of to-day!  I _can_ do it. 
+I have done it.  I've done it days and days, and
+it's gone beautifully--even if they did say I
+couldn't!''
+
+``Couldn't what?''
+
+``Be an e-efficient housekeeper.''
+
+``Who said you couldn't?''
+
+``Aunt Hannah and K-Kate.''
+
+Bertram said a savage word under his breath.
+
+``Holy smoke, Billy!  I didn't marry you for a
+cook or a scrub-lady.  If you _had_ to do it, that
+would be another matter, of course; and if we did
+have to do it, we wouldn't have a big house like
+this for you to do it in.  But I didn't marry for a
+cook, and I knew I wasn't getting one when I
+married you.''
+
+Billy bridled into instant wrath.
+
+``Well, I like that, Bertram Henshaw!  Can't
+I cook?  Haven't I proved that I can cook?''
+
+Bertram laughed, and kissed the indignant lips
+till they quivered into an unwilling smile.
+
+``Bless your spunky little heart, of course you
+have!  But that doesn't mean that I want you
+to do it.  You see, it so happens that you can do
+other things, too; and I'd rather you did those. 
+Billy, you haven't played to me for a week, nor
+sung to me for a month.  You're too tired every
+night to talk, or read together, or go anywhere
+with me.  I married for companionship--not
+cooking and sweeping!''
+
+Billy shook her head stubbornly.  Her mouth
+settled into determined lines.
+
+``That's all very well to say.  You aren't
+hungry now, Bertram.  But it's different when
+you are, and they said 'twould be.''
+
+``Humph!  `They' are Aunt Hannah and
+Kate, I suppose.''
+
+``Yes--and the `Talk to Young Wives.' ''
+
+``The w-what?''
+
+Billy choked a little.  She had forgotten that
+Bertram did not know about the ``Talk to Young
+Wives.''  She wished that she had not mentioned
+the book, but now that she had, she would make
+the best of it.  She drew herself up with dignity.
+
+``It's a book; a very nice book.  It says lots
+of things--that have come true.''
+
+``Where is that book?  Let me see it, please.''
+
+With visible reluctance Billy got down from her
+perch on Bertram's knee, went to her desk and
+brought back the book.
+
+Bertram regarded it frowningly, so frowningly
+that Billy hastened to its defense.
+
+``And it's true--what it says in there, and
+what Aunt Hannah and Kate said.  It _is_ different
+when they're hungry!  You said yourself if I'd
+tend to my husband and my home a little more,
+and--''
+
+Bertram looked up with unfeigned amazement.
+
+``I said what?'' he demanded.
+
+In a voice shaken with emotion, Billy repeated
+the fateful words.
+
+``I never--when did I say that?''
+
+``The night Uncle William and I came home
+from--Pete's.''
+
+For a moment Bertram stared dumbly; then a
+shamed red swept to his forehead.
+
+``Billy, _did_ I say that?  I ought to be shot if
+I did.  But, Billy, you said you'd forgiven
+me!''
+
+``I did, dear--truly I did; but, don't you see?
+--it was true.  I _hadn't_ tended to things.  So I've
+been doing it since.''
+
+A sudden comprehension illuminated Bertram's
+face.
+
+``Heavens, Billy!  And is that why you haven't
+been anywhere, or done anything?  Is that why
+Calderwell said to-day that you hadn't been with
+them anywhere, and that--  Great Scott, Billy! 
+Did you think I was such a selfish brute as
+that?''
+
+``Oh, but when I was going with them I _was_
+following the book--I thought,'' quavered Billy;
+and hurriedly she turned the leaves to a carefully
+marked passage.  ``It's there--about the outside
+interests.  See?  I _was_ trying to brush up
+against them, so that I wouldn't interfere with
+your Art.  Then, when you accused me of
+gallivanting off with--''  But Bertram swept her
+back into his arms, and not for some minutes
+could Billy make a coherent speech again.
+
+Then Bertram spoke.
+
+``See here, Billy,'' he exploded, a little shakily,
+``if I could get you off somewhere on a desert
+island, where there weren't any Aunt Hannahs or
+Kates, or Talks to Young Wives, I think there'd
+be a chance to make you happy; but--''
+
+``Oh, but there was truth in it,'' interrupted
+Billy, sitting erect again.  ``I _didn't_ know how to
+run a house, and it was perfectly awful while we
+were having all those dreadful maids, one after
+the other; and no woman should be a wife who
+doesn't know--''
+
+``All right, all right, dear,'' interrupted
+Bertram, in his turn.  ``We'll concede that point, if
+you like.  But you _do_ know now.  You've got
+the efficient housewife racket down pat even to the
+last calory your husband should be fed; and I'll
+warrant there isn't a Mary Ellen in Christendom
+who can find a spot of ignorance on you as big as
+a pinhead!  So we'll call that settled.  What you
+need now is a good rest; and you're going to have
+it, too.  I'm going to have six Mary Ellens here
+to-morrow morning.  Six!  Do you hear?  And
+all you've got to do is to get your gladdest rags
+together for a trip to Europe with me next month. 
+Because we're going.  I shall get the tickets to-
+morrow, _after_ I send the six Mary Ellens packing
+up here.  Now come, put on your bonnet.  We're
+going down town to dinner.''
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+BILLY TRIES HER HAND AT ``MANAGING''
+
+
+Bertram did not engage six Mary Ellens the
+next morning, nor even one, as it happened; for
+that evening, Eliza--who had not been unaware
+of conditions at the Strata--telephoned to say
+that her mother was so much better now she
+believed she could be spared to come to the Strata
+for several hours each day, if Mrs. Henshaw
+would like to have her begin in that way.
+
+Billy agreed promptly, and declared herself
+as more than willing to put up with such an
+arrangement.  Bertram, it is true, when he heard
+of the plan, rebelled, and asserted that what Billy
+needed was a rest, an entire rest from care and
+labor.  In fact, what he wanted her to do, he said,
+was to gallivant--to gallivant all day long.
+
+``Nonsense!'' Billy had laughed, coloring to
+the tips of her ears.  ``Besides, as for the work,
+Bertram, with just you and me here, and with all
+my vast experience now, and Eliza here for several
+hours every day, it'll be nothing but play for this
+little time before we go away.  You'll see!''
+
+``All right, I'll _see_, then,'' Bertram had nodded
+meaningly.  ``But just make sure that it _is_ play
+for you!''
+
+``I will,'' laughed Billy; and there the matter
+had ended.
+
+Eliza began work the next day, and Billy did
+indeed soon find herself ``playing'' under
+Bertram's watchful insistence.  She resumed her
+music, and brought out of exile the unfinished
+song.  With Bertram she took drives and walks;
+and every two or three days she went to see
+Aunt Hannah and Marie.  She was pleasantly
+busy, too, with plans for her coming trip; and
+it was not long before even the remorseful
+Bertram had to admit that Billy was looking and
+appearing quite like her old self.
+
+At the Annex Billy found Calderwell and
+Arkwright, one day.  They greeted her as if she had
+just returned from a far country.
+
+``Well, if you aren't the stranger lady,'' began
+Calderwell, looking frankly pleased to see her. 
+``We'd thought of advertising in the daily press
+somewhat after this fashion:  `Lost, strayed, or
+stolen, one Billy; comrade, good friend, and kind
+cheerer-up of lonely hearts.  Any information
+thankfully received by her bereft, sorrowing
+friends.' ''
+
+Billy joined in the laugh that greeted this sally,
+but Arkwright noticed that she tried to change
+the subject from her own affairs to a discussion
+of the new song on Alice Greggory's piano. 
+Calderwell, however, was not to be silenced.
+
+``The last I heard of this elusive Billy,'' he
+resumed, with teasing cheerfulness, ``she was running
+down a certain lost calory that had slipped
+away from her husband's breakfast, and--''
+
+Billy wheeled sharply.
+
+``Where did you get hold of that?'' she demanded.
+
+``Oh, I didn't,'' returned the man, defensively. 
+``I never got hold of it at all.  I never even saw
+the calory--though, for that matter, I don't
+think I should know one if I did see it!  What we
+feared was, that, in hunting the lost calory, you
+had lost yourself, and--''  But Billy would hear
+no more.  With her disdainful nose in the air she
+walked to the piano.
+
+``Come, Mr. Arkwright,'' she said with dignity. 
+``Let's try this song.''
+
+Arkwright rose at once and accompanied her
+to the piano.
+
+They had sung the song through twice when
+Billy became uneasily aware that, on the other
+side of the room, Calderwell and Alice Greggory
+were softly chuckling over something they had
+found in a magazine.  Billy frowned, and twitched
+the corners of a pile of music, with restless fingers.
+
+``I wonder if Alice hasn't got some quartets
+here somewhere,'' she murmured, her disapproving
+eyes still bent on the absorbed couple across
+the room.
+
+Arkwright was silent.  Billy, throwing a
+hurried glance into his face, thought she detected
+a somber shadow in his eyes.  She thought, too,
+she knew why it was there.  So possessed had
+Billy been, during the early winter, of the idea
+that her special mission in life was to inaugurate
+and foster a love affair between disappointed Mr.
+Arkwright and lonely Alice Greggory, that now
+she forgot, for a moment, that Arkwright himself
+was quite unaware of her efforts.  She thought
+only that the present shadow on his face must
+be caused by the same thing that brought worry
+to her own heart--the manifest devotion of
+Calderwell to Alice Greggory just now across the
+room.  Instinctively, therefore, as to a coworker
+in a common cause, she turned a disturbed face
+to the man at her side.
+
+``It is, indeed, high time that I looked after
+something besides lost calories,'' she said
+significantly.  Then, at the evident uncomprehension
+in Arkwright's face, she added:  ``Has it
+been going on like this--very long?''
+
+Arkwright still, apparently, did not understand.
+
+``Has--what been going on?'' he questioned.
+
+``That--over there,'' answered Billy,
+impatiently, scarcely knowing whether to be more
+irritated at the threatened miscarriage of her
+cherished plans, or at Arkwright's (to her)
+wilfully blind insistence on her making her meaning
+more plain.  ``Has it been going on long--such
+utter devotion?''
+
+As she asked the question Billy turned and
+looked squarely into Arkwright's face.  She saw,
+therefore, the great change that came to it, as
+her meaning became clear to him.  Her first
+feeling was one of shocked realization that
+Arkwright had, indeed, been really blind.  Her
+second--she turned away her eyes hurriedly from
+what she thought she saw in the man's countenance.
+
+With an assumedly gay little cry she sprang to
+her feet.
+
+``Come, come, what are you two children
+chuckling over?'' she demanded, crossing the
+room abruptly.  ``Didn't you hear me say I
+wanted you to come and sing a quartet?''
+
+Billy blamed herself very much for what she
+called her stupidity in so baldly summoning
+Arkwright's attention to Calderwell's devotion to
+Alice Greggory.  She declared that she ought to
+have known better, and she asked herself if this
+were the way she was ``furthering matters''
+between Alice Greggory and Arkwright.
+
+Billy was really seriously disturbed.  She had
+never quite forgiven herself for being so blind to
+Arkwright's feeling for herself during those days
+when he had not known of her engagement to
+Bertram.  She had never forgotten, either, the
+painful scene when he had hopefully told of his
+love, only to be met with her own shocked
+repudiation.  For long weeks after that, his face had
+haunted her.  She had wished, oh, so ardently,
+that she could do something in some way to bring
+him happiness.  When, therefore, it had come to
+her knowledge afterward that he was frequently
+with his old friend, Alice Greggory, she had been
+so glad.  It was very easy then to fan hope into
+conviction that here, in this old friend, he had
+found sweet balm for his wounded heart; and she
+determined at once to do all that she could do to
+help.  So very glowing, indeed, was her eagerness
+in the matter, that it looked suspiciously as if she
+thought, could she but bring this thing about,
+that old scores against herself would be erased.
+
+Billy told herself, virtuously, however, that
+not only for Arkwright did she desire this marriage
+to take place, but for Alice Greggory.  In
+the very nature of things Alice would one day be
+left alone.  She was poor, and not very strong. 
+She sorely needed the shielding love and care of a
+good husband.  What more natural than that her
+old-time friend and almost-sweetheart, M. J.
+Arkwright, should be that good husband?
+
+That really it was more Arkwright and less
+Alice that was being considered, however, was
+proved when the devotion of Calderwell began to
+be first suspected, then known for a fact.  Billy's
+distress at this turn of affairs indicated very
+plainly that it was not just a husband, but a
+certain one particular husband that she desired
+for Alice Greggory.  All the more disturbed was
+she, therefore, when to-day, seeing her three
+friends together again for the first time for some
+weeks, she discovered increased evidence that her
+worst fears were to be realized.  It was to be
+Alice and Calderwell, not Alice and Arkwright. 
+Arkwright was again to be disappointed in his
+dearest hopes.
+
+Telling herself indignantly that it could not
+be, it _should_ not be, Billy determined to remain
+after the men had gone, and speak to Alice.  Just
+what she would say she did not know.  Even
+what she could say, she was not sure.  But
+certainly there must be something, some little thing
+that she could say, which would open Alice's eyes
+to what she was doing, and what she ought to
+do.
+
+It was in this frame of mind, therefore, that
+Billy, after Arkwright and Calderwell had gone,
+spoke to Alice.  She began warily, with assumed
+nonchalance.
+
+``I believe Mr. Arkwright sings better every
+time I hear him.''
+
+There was no answer.  Alice was sorting music
+at the piano.
+
+``Don't you think so?'' Billy raised her voice
+a little.
+
+Alice turned almost with a start.
+
+``What's that?  Oh, yes.  Well, I don't know;
+maybe I do.''
+
+``You would--if you didn't hear him any
+oftener than I do,'' laughed Billy.  ``But then,
+of course you do hear him oftener.''
+
+``I?  Oh, no, indeed.  Not so very much
+oftener.''  Alice had turned back to her music. 
+There was a slight embarrassment in her manner. 
+``I wonder--where--that new song--is,'' she
+murmured.
+
+Billy, who knew very well where the song lay,
+was not to be diverted.
+
+``Nonsense!  As if Mr. Arkwright wasn't
+always telling how Alice liked this song, and didn't
+like that one, and thought the other the best yet! 
+I don't believe he sings a thing that he doesn't
+first sing to you.  For that matter, I fancy he
+asks your opinion of everything, anyway.''
+
+``Why, Billy, he doesn't!'' exclaimed Alice, a
+deep red flaming into her cheeks.  ``You know he
+doesn't.''
+
+Billy laughed gleefully.  She had not been slow
+to note the color in her friend's face, or to ascribe
+to it the one meaning she wished to ascribe to it. 
+So sure, indeed, was she now that her fears had
+been groundless, that she flung caution to the
+winds.
+
+``Ho!  My dear Alice, you can't expect us all
+to be blind,'' she teased.  ``Besides, we all think
+it's such a lovely arrangement that we're just
+glad to see it.  He's such a fine fellow, and we like
+him so much!  We couldn't ask for a better husband
+for you than Mr. Arkwright, and--''  From
+sheer amazement at the sudden white horror
+in Alice Greggory's face, Billy stopped short. 
+``Why, Alice!'' she faltered then.
+
+With a visible effort Alice forced her trembling
+lips to speak.
+
+``My husband--_Mr. Arkwright!_  Why, Billy,
+you couldn't have seen--you haven't seen--
+there's nothing you _could_ see!  He isn't--he
+wasn't--he can't be!  We--we're nothing but
+friends, Billy, just good friends!''
+
+Billy, though dismayed, was still not quite
+convinced.
+
+``Friends!  Nonsense!  When--''
+
+But Alice interrupted feverishly.  Alice, in an
+agony of fear lest the true state of affairs should
+be suspected, was hiding behind a bulwark of
+pride.
+
+``Now, Billy, please!  Say no more.  You're
+quite wrong, entirely.  You'll never, never hear of
+my marrying Mr. Arkwright.  As I said before,
+we're friends--the best of friends; that is all. 
+We couldn't be anything else, possibly!''
+
+Billy, plainly discomfited, fell back; but she
+threw a sharp glance into her friend's flushed
+countenance.
+
+``You mean--because of--Hugh Calderwell?''
+she demanded.  Then, for the second time
+that afternoon throwing discretion to the winds,
+she went on plaintively:  ``You won't listen, of
+course.  Girls in love never do.  Hugh is all right,
+and I like him; but there's more real solid worth
+in Mr. Arkwright's little finger than there is in
+Hugh's whole self.  And--''  But a merry peal
+of laughter from Alice Greggory interrupted.
+
+``And, pray, do you think I'm in love with
+Hugh Calderwell?'' she demanded.  There was
+a curious note of something very like relief in her
+voice.
+
+``Well, I didn't know,'' began Billy, uncertainly.
+
+``Then I'll tell you now,'' smiled Alice.  ``I'm
+not.  Furthermore, perhaps it's just as well that
+you should know right now that I don't intend
+to marry--ever.''
+
+``Oh, Alice!''
+
+``No.''  There was determination, and there
+was still that curious note of relief in the girl's
+voice.  It was as if, somewhere, a great danger
+had been avoided.  ``I have my music.  That is
+enough.  I'm not intending to marry.''
+
+``Oh, but Alice, while I will own up I'm glad it
+isn't Hugh Calderwell, there _is_ Mr. Arkwright,
+and I did hope--''  But Alice shook her head
+and turned resolutely away.  At that moment,
+too, Aunt Hannah came in from the street, so
+Billy could say no more.
+
+Aunt Hannah dropped herself a little wearily
+into a chair.
+
+``I've just come from Marie's,'' she said.
+
+``How is she?'' asked Billy.
+
+Aunt Hannah smiled, and raised her eyebrows.
+
+``Well, just now she's quite exercised over
+another rattle--from her cousin out West, this
+time.  There were four little silver bells on it,
+and she hasn't got any janitor's wife now to give
+it to.''
+
+Billy laughed softly, but Aunt Hannah had
+more to say.
+
+``You know she isn't going to allow any toys
+but Teddy bears and woolly lambs, of which, I
+believe, she has already bought quite an assortment. 
+She says they don't rattle or squeak.  I
+declare, when I see the woolen pads and rubber
+hushers that that child has put everywhere all
+over the house, I don't know whether to laugh
+or cry.  And she's so worried!  It seems Cyril
+must needs take just this time to start composing
+a new opera or symphony, or something; and
+never before has she allowed him to be interrupted
+by anything on such an occasion.  But what he'll
+do when the baby comes she says she doesn't
+know, for she says she can't--she just can't keep
+it from bothering him some, she's afraid.  As if
+any opera or symphony that ever lived was of
+more consequence than a man's own child!''
+finished Aunt Hannah, with an indignant sniff, as
+she reached for her shawl.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX
+
+A TOUGH NUT TO CRACK FOR CYRIL
+
+
+It was early in the forenoon of the first day of
+July that Eliza told her mistress that Mrs.
+Stetson was asking for her at the telephone.  Eliza's
+face was not a little troubled.
+
+``I'm afraid, maybe, it isn't good news,'' she
+stammered, as her mistress hurriedly arose. 
+``She's at Mr. Cyril Henshaw's--Mrs. Stetson
+is--and she seemed so terribly upset about something
+that there was no making real sense out of
+what she said.  But she asked for you, and said
+to have you come quick.''
+
+Billy, her own face paling, was already at the
+telephone.
+
+``Yes, Aunt Hannah.  What is it?''
+
+``Oh, my grief and conscience, Billy, if you
+_can_, come up here, please.  You must come! 
+_Can't_ you come?''
+
+``Why, yes, of course.  But--but--_Marie!_ 
+The--the _baby!_''
+
+A faint groan came across the wires.
+
+``Oh, my grief and conscience, Billy!  It isn't
+_the_ baby.  It's _babies!_  It's twins--boys.  Cyril
+has them now--the nurse hasn't got here yet.''
+
+``Twins!  _Cyril_ has them!'' broke in Billy,
+hysterically.
+
+``Yes, and they're crying something terrible. 
+We've sent for a second nurse to come, too, of
+course, but she hasn't got here yet, either.  And
+those babies--if you could hear them!  That's
+what we want you for, to--''
+
+But Billy was almost laughing now.
+
+``All right, I'll come out--and hear them,''
+she called a bit wildly, as she hung up the receiver.
+
+Some little time later, a palpably nervous maid
+admitted Billy to the home of Mr. and Mrs. Cyril
+Henshaw.  Even as the door was opened, Billy
+heard faintly, but unmistakably, the moaning
+wails of two infants.
+
+``Mrs. Stetson says if you will please to help
+Mr. Henshaw with the babies,'' stammered the
+maid, after the preliminary questions and
+answers.  ``I've been in when I could, and they're
+all right, only they're crying.  They're in his den. 
+We had to put them as far away as possible--
+their crying worried Mrs. Henshaw so.''
+
+``Yes, I see,'' murmured Billy.  ``I'll go to
+them at once.  No, don't trouble to come.  I
+know the way.  Just tell Mrs. Stetson I'm here,
+please,'' she finished, as she tossed her hat and
+gloves on to the hall table, and turned to go upstairs.
+
+Billy's feet made no sound on the soft rugs. 
+The crying, however, grew louder and louder as
+she approached the den.  Softly she turned the
+knob and pushed open the door.  She stopped
+short, then, at what she saw.
+
+Cyril had not heard her, nor seen her.  His
+back was partly toward the door.  His coat was
+off, and his hair stood fiercely on end as if a
+nervous hand had ruffled it.  His usually pale face
+was very red, and his forehead showed great drops
+of perspiration.  He was on his feet, hovering
+over the couch, at each end of which lay a rumpled
+roll of linen, lace, and flannel, from which emerged
+a prodigiously puckered little face, two uncertainly
+waving rose-leaf fists, and a wail of protesting
+rage that was not uncertain in the least.
+
+In one hand Cyril held a Teddy bear, in the
+other his watch, dangling from its fob chain. 
+Both of these he shook feebly, one after the other,
+above the tiny faces.
+
+``Oh, come, come, pretty baby, good baby,
+hush, hush,'' he begged agitatedly.
+
+In the doorway Billy clapped her hands to her
+lips and stifled a laugh.  Billy knew, of course,
+that what she should do was to go forward at
+once, and help this poor, distracted man; but
+Billy, just then, was not doing what she knew
+she ought to do.
+
+With a muttered ejaculation (which Billy, to
+her sorrow, could not catch) Cyril laid down the
+watch and flung the Teddy bear aside.  Then, in
+very evident despair, he gingerly picked up one
+of the rumpled rolls of flannel, lace, and linen,
+and held it straight out before him.  After a
+moment's indecision he began awkwardly to jounce
+it, teeter it, rock it back and forth, and to pat it
+jerkily.
+
+``Oh, come, come, pretty baby, good baby,
+hush, hush,'' he begged again, frantically.
+
+Perhaps it was the change of position; perhaps
+it was the novelty of the motion, perhaps it was
+only utter weariness, or lack of breath.  Whatever
+the cause, the wailing sobs from the bundle
+in his arms dwindled suddenly to a gentle whisper,
+then ceased altogether.
+
+With a ray of hope illuminating his drawn
+countenance, Cyril carefully laid the baby down and
+picked up the other.  Almost confidently now he
+began the jouncing and teetering and rocking
+as before.
+
+``There, there!  Oh, come, come, pretty baby,
+good baby, hush, hush,'' he chanted again.
+
+This time he was not so successful.  Perhaps
+he had lost his skill.  Perhaps it was merely the
+world-old difference in babies.  At all events, this
+infant did not care for jerks and jounces, and
+showed it plainly by emitting loud and yet louder
+wails of rage--wails in which his brother on the
+couch speedily joined.
+
+``Oh, come, come, pretty baby, good baby,
+hush, hush--_confound it_, HUSH, I say!'' exploded
+the frightened, weary, baffled, distracted man,
+picking up the other baby, and trying to hold
+both his sons at once.
+
+Billy hurried forward then, tearfully, remorsefully,
+her face all sympathy, her arms all tenderness.
+
+``Here, Cyril, let me help you,'' she cried.
+
+Cyril turned abruptly.
+
+``Thank God, _some_ one's come,'' he groaned,
+holding out both the babies, with an exuberance
+of generosity.  ``Billy, you've saved my life!''
+
+Billy laughed tremulously.
+
+``Yes, I've come, Cyril, and I'll help every bit
+I can; but I don't know a thing--not a single
+thing about them myself.  Dear me, aren't they
+cunning?  But, Cyril, do they always cry so?''
+
+The father-of-an-hour drew himself stiffly erect.
+
+``Cry?  What do you mean?  Why shouldn't
+they cry?'' he demanded indignantly.  ``I want
+you to understand that Doctor Brown said those
+were A number I fine boys!  Anyhow, I guess
+there's no doubt they've got lungs all right,'' he
+added, with a grim smile, as he pulled out his
+handkerchief and drew it across his perspiring
+brow.
+
+Billy did not have an opportunity to show Cyril
+how much or how little she knew about babies,
+for in another minute the maid had appeared
+with the extra nurse; and that young woman,
+with trained celerity and easy confidence,
+assumed instant command, and speedily had peace
+and order restored.
+
+Cyril, freed from responsibility, cast longing
+eyes, for a moment, upon his work; but the next
+minute, with a despairing glance about him, he
+turned and fled precipitately.
+
+Billy, following the direction of his eyes,
+suppressed a smile.  On the top of Cyril's manuscript
+music on the table lay a hot-water bottle.  Draped
+over the back of his favorite chair was a pink-
+bordered baby blanket.  On the piano-stool rested
+a beribboned and beruffled baby's toilet basket. 
+From behind the sofa pillow leered ridiculously
+the Teddy bear, just as it had left Cyril's
+desperate hand.
+
+No wonder, indeed, that Billy smiled.  Billy
+was thinking of what Marie had said not a week
+before:
+
+``I shall keep the baby, of course, in the nursery. 
+I've been in homes where they've had baby
+things strewn from one end of the house to the
+other; but it won't be that way here.  In the first
+place, I don't believe in it; but, even if I did, I'd
+have to be careful on account of Cyril.  Imagine
+Cyril's trying to write his music with a baby in
+the room!  No!  I shall keep the baby in the
+nursery, if possible; but wherever it is, it won't
+be anywhere near Cyril's den, anyway.''
+
+Billy suppressed many a smile during the days
+that immediately followed the coming of the
+twins.  Some of the smiles, however, refused to
+be suppressed.  They became, indeed, shamelessly
+audible chuckles.
+
+Billy was to sail the tenth, and, naturally,
+during those early July days, her time was pretty
+much occupied with her preparations for departure;
+but nothing could keep her from frequent,
+though short, visits to the home of her brother-
+in-law.
+
+The twins were proving themselves to be fine,
+healthy boys.  Two trained maids, and two
+trained nurses ruled the household with a rod of
+iron.  As to Cyril--Billy declared that Cyril
+was learning something every day of his life now.
+
+``Oh, yes, he's learning things,'' she said to
+Aunt Hannah, one morning; ``lots of things. 
+For instance: he has his breakfast now, not when
+he wants it, but when the maid wants to give it
+to him--which is precisely at eight o'clock every
+morning.  So he's learning punctuality.  And for
+the first time in his life he has discovered the
+astounding fact that there are several things
+more important in the world than is the special
+piece of music he happens to be composing--
+chiefly the twins' bath, the twins' nap, the twins'
+airing, and the twins' colic.''
+
+Aunt Hannah laughed, though she frowned,
+too.
+
+``But, surely, Billy, with two nurses and the
+maids, Cyril doesn't have to--to--''  She
+came to a helpless pause.
+
+``Oh, no,'' laughed Billy; ``Cyril doesn't have
+to really attend to any of those things--though
+I have seen each of the nurses, at different times,
+unhesitatingly thrust a twin into his arms and
+bid him hold the child till she comes back.  But
+it's this way.  You see, Marie must be kept quiet,
+and the nursery is very near her room.  It worries
+her terribly when either of the children cries. 
+Besides, the little rascals have apparently fixed up
+some sort of labor-union compact with each other,
+so that if one cries for something or nothing, the
+other promptly joins in and helps.  So the nurses
+have got into the habit of picking up the first
+disturber of the peace, and hurrying him to
+quarters remote; and Cyril's den being the most
+remote of all, they usually fetch up there.''
+
+``You mean--they take those babies into
+Cyril's den--_now_?''  Even Aunt Hannah was
+plainly aghast.
+
+``Yes,'' twinkled Billy.  ``I fancy their
+Hygienic Immaculacies approved of Cyril's bare
+floors, undraped windows, and generally knick-
+knackless condition.  Anyhow, they've made his
+den a sort of--of annex to the nursery.''
+
+``But--but Cyril!  What does he say?''
+stammered the dumfounded Aunt Hannah.  ``Think
+of Cyril's standing a thing like that!  Doesn't he
+do anything--or say anything?''
+
+Billy smiled, and lifted her brows quizzically.
+
+``My dear Aunt Hannah, did you ever know
+_many_ people to have the courage to `say things'
+to one of those becapped, beaproned, bespotless
+creatures of loftily superb superiority known as
+trained nurses?  Besides, you wouldn't recognize
+Cyril now.  Nobody would.  He's as meek as
+Moses, and has been ever since his two young sons
+were laid in his reluctant, trembling arms.  He
+breaks into a cold sweat at nothing, and moves
+about his own home as if he were a stranger and
+an interloper, endured merely on sufferance in
+this abode of strange women and strange babies.''
+
+``Nonsense!'' scoffed Aunt Hannah.
+
+``But it's so,'' maintained Billy, merrily. 
+``Now, for instance.  You know Cyril always
+has been in the habit of venting his moods on the
+piano (just as I do, only more so) by playing
+exactly as he feels.  Well, as near as I can gather,
+he was at his usual trick the next day after the
+twins arrived; and you can imagine about what
+sort of music it would be, after what he had been
+through the preceding forty-eight hours.
+
+``Of course I don't know exactly what
+happened, but Julia--Marie's second maid, you
+know--tells the story.  She's been with them
+long enough to know something of the way the
+whole household always turns on the pivot of
+the master's whims; so she fully appreciated the
+situation.  She says she heard him begin to play,
+and that she never heard such queer, creepy,
+shivery music in her life; but that he hadn't been
+playing five minutes before one of the nurses
+came into the living-room where Julia was dusting,
+and told her to tell whoever was playing to
+stop that dreadful noise, as they wanted to take
+the twins in there for their nap.
+
+`` `But I didn't do it, ma'am,' Julia says.  `I
+wa'n't lookin' for losin' my place, an' I let the
+young woman do the job herself.  An' she done
+it, pert as you please.  An' jest as I was seekin'
+a hidin'-place for the explosion, if Mr. Henshaw
+didn't come out lookin' a little wild, but as meek
+as a lamb; an' when he sees me he asked wouldn't
+I please get him a cup of coffee, good an' strong. 
+An' I got it.'
+
+``So you see,'' finished Billy, ``Cyril is
+learning things--lots of things.''
+
+``Oh, my grief and conscience!  I should say
+he was,'' half-shivered Aunt Hannah.  ``_Cyril_
+looking meek as a lamb, indeed!''
+
+Billy laughed merrily.
+
+``Well, it must be a new experience--for
+Cyril.  For a man whose daily existence for years
+has been rubber-heeled and woolen-padded, and
+whose family from boyhood has stood at attention
+and saluted if he so much as looked at them,
+it must be quite a change, as things are now. 
+However, it'll be different, of course, when Marie
+is on her feet again.''
+
+``Does she know at all how things are going?''
+
+``Not very much, as yet, though I believe she
+has begun to worry some.  She confided to me
+one day that she was glad, of course, that she
+had two darling babies, instead of one; but
+that she was afraid it might be hard, just at first,
+to teach them both at once to be quiet; for
+she was afraid that while she was teaching one,
+the other would be sure to cry, or do something
+noisy.''
+
+``Do something noisy, indeed!'' ejaculated
+Aunt Hannah.
+
+``As for the real state of affairs, Marie doesn't
+dream that Cyril's sacred den is given over to
+Teddy bears and baby blankets.  All is, I hope
+she'll be measurably strong before she does find
+it out,'' laughed Billy, as she rose to go.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX
+
+ARKWRIGHT'S EYES ARE OPENED
+
+
+William came back from his business trip the
+eighth of July, and on the ninth Billy and Bertram
+went to New York.  Eliza's mother was so
+well now that Eliza had taken up her old quarters
+in the Strata, and the household affairs were
+once more running like clockwork.  Later in the
+season William would go away for a month's
+fishing trip, and the house would be closed.
+
+Mr. and Mrs. Bertram Henshaw were not
+expected to return until the first of October; but
+with Eliza to look after the comfort of William,
+the mistress of the house did no worrying.  Ever
+since Pete's going, Eliza had said that she
+preferred to be the only maid, with a charwoman to
+come in for the heavier work; and to this arrangement
+her mistress had willingly consented, for the
+present.
+
+Marie and the babies were doing finely, and
+Aunt Hannah's health, and affairs at the Annex,
+were all that could be desired.  As Billy, indeed,
+saw it, there was only one flaw to mar her perfect
+content on this holiday trip with Bertram, and
+that was her disappointment over the very evident
+disaster that had come to her cherished
+matrimonial plans for Arkwright and Alice
+Greggory.  She could not forget Arkwright's face that
+day at the Annex, when she had so foolishly called
+his attention to Calderwell's devotion; and she
+could not forget, either, Alice Greggory's very
+obvious perturbation a little later, and her
+suspiciously emphatic assertion that she had no
+intention of marrying any one, certainly not
+Arkwright.  As Billy thought of all this now, she
+could not but admit that it did look dark for
+Arkwright--poor Arkwright, whom she, more
+than any one else in the world, perhaps, had a
+special reason for wishing to see happily married.
+
+There was, then, this one cloud on Billy's
+horizon as the big boat that was to bear her across
+the water steamed down the harbor that beautiful
+July day.
+
+As it chanced, naturally, perhaps, not only was
+Billy thinking of Arkwright that morning, but
+Arkwright was thinking of Billy.
+
+Arkwright had thought frequently of Billy
+during the last few days, particularly since that
+afternoon meeting at the Annex when the four
+had renewed their old good times together.  Up
+to that day Arkwright had been trying not to
+think of Billy.  He had been ``fighting his tiger
+skin.''  Sternly he had been forcing himself to
+meet her, to see her, to talk with her, to sing with
+her, or to pass her by--all with the indifference
+properly expected to be shown in association with
+Mrs. Bertram Henshaw, another man's wife.  He
+had known, of course, that deep down in his heart
+he loved her, always had loved her, and always
+would love her.  Hopelessly and drearily he
+accepted this as a fact even while with all his might
+fighting that tiger skin.  So sure was he, indeed,
+of this, so implicitly had he accepted it as an
+unalterable certainty, that in time even his efforts
+to fight it became almost mechanical and unconscious
+in their stern round of forced indifference.
+
+Then came that day at the Annex--and the
+discovery: the discovery which he had made
+when Billy called his attention to Calderwell and
+Alice Greggory across the room in the corner;
+the discovery which had come with so blinding a
+force, and which even now he was tempted to
+question as to its reality; the discovery that not
+Billy Neilson, nor Mrs. Bertram Henshaw, nor
+even the tender ghost of a lost love held the
+center of his heart--but Alice Greggory.
+
+The first intimation of all this had come with
+his curious feeling of unreasoning hatred and
+blind indignation toward Calderwell as, through
+Billy's eyes, he had seen the two together.  Then
+had come the overwhelming longing to pick up
+Alice Greggory and run off with her--somewhere,
+anywhere, so that Calderwell could not follow.
+
+At once, however, he had pulled himself up
+short with the mental cry of ``Absurd!''  What
+was it to him if Calderwell did care for Alice
+Greggory?  Surely he himself was not in love
+with the girl.  He was in love with Billy; that
+is--
+
+It was all confusion then, in his mind, and he
+was glad indeed when he could leave the house. 
+He wanted to be alone.  He wanted to think. 
+He must, in some way, thrash out this astounding
+thing that had come to him.
+
+Arkwright did not visit the Annex again for
+some days.  Until he was more nearly sure of
+himself and of his feelings, he did not wish to see
+Alice Greggory.  It was then that he began to
+think of Billy, deliberately, purposefully, for it
+must be, of course, that he had made a mistake,
+he told himself.  It must be that he did, really,
+still care for Billy--though of course he ought
+not to.
+
+Arkwright made another discovery then.  He
+learned that, however deliberately he started in
+to think of Billy, he ended every time in thinking
+of Alice.  He thought of how good she had been
+to him, and of how faithful she had been in helping
+him to fight his love for Billy.  Just here he
+decided, for a moment, that probably, after all,
+his feeling of anger against Calderwell was merely
+the fear of losing this helpful comradeship that
+he so needed.  Even with himself, however, Arkwright
+could not keep up this farce long, and very
+soon he admitted miserably that it was not the
+comradeship of Alice Greggory that he wanted or
+needed, but the love.
+
+He knew it now.  No longer was there any use
+in beating about the bush.  He did love Alice
+Greggory; but so curiously and unbelievably
+stupid had he been that he had not found it out
+until now.  And now it was too late.  Had not
+even Billy called his attention to the fact of
+Calderwell's devotion?  Besides, had not he himself,
+at the very first, told Calderwell that he
+might have a clear field?
+
+Fool that he had been to let another thus lightly
+step in and win from under his very nose what
+might have been his if he had but known his own
+mind before it was too late!
+
+But was it, after all, quite too late?  He and
+Alice were old friends.  Away back in their young
+days in their native town they had been, indeed,
+almost sweethearts, in a boy-and-girl fashion. 
+It would not have taken much in those days, he
+believed, to have made the relationship more
+interesting.  But changes had come.  Alice had
+left town, and for years they had drifted apart. 
+Then had come Billy, and Billy had found Alice,
+thus bringing about the odd circumstance of their
+renewing of acquaintanceship.  Perhaps, at that
+time, if he had not already thought he cared for
+Billy, there would have been something more
+than acquaintanceship.
+
+But he _had_ thought he cared for Billy all these
+years; and now, at this late day, to wake up and
+find that he cared for Alice!  A pretty mess he
+had made of things!  Was he so inconstant then,
+so fickle?  Did he not know his own mind five
+minutes at a time?  What would Alice Greggory
+think, even if he found the courage to tell her? 
+What could she think?  What could anybody
+think?
+
+Arkwright fairly ground his teeth in impotent
+wrath--and he did not know whether he were
+the most angry that he did not love Billy, or that
+he had loved Billy, or that he loved somebody else
+now.
+
+It was while he was in this unenviable frame of
+mind that he went to see Alice.  Not that he had
+planned definitely to speak to her of his discovery,
+nor yet that he had planned not to.  He had,
+indeed, planned nothing.  For a man usually so
+decided as to purpose and energetic as to action,
+he was in a most unhappy state of uncertainty
+and changeableness.  One thing only was unmistakably
+clear to him, and that was that he must
+see Alice.
+
+For months, now, he had taken to Alice all his
+hopes and griefs, perplexities and problems; and
+never had he failed to find comfort in the shape
+of sympathetic understanding and wise counsel. 
+To Alice, therefore, now he turned as a matter of
+course, telling himself vaguely that, perhaps,
+after he had seen Alice, he would feel better.
+
+Just how intimately this particular problem of
+his concerned Alice herself, he did not stop to
+realize.  He did not, indeed, think of it at all from
+Alice's standpoint--until he came face to face
+with the girl in the living-room at the Annex. 
+Then, suddenly, he did.  His manner became at
+once, consequently, full of embarrassment and
+quite devoid of its usual frank friendliness.
+
+As it happened, this was perhaps the most
+unfortunate thing that could have occurred, so far
+as it concerned the attitude of Alice Greggory,
+for thereby innumerable tiny sparks of suspicion
+that had been tormenting the girl for days were
+instantly fanned into consuming flames of conviction.
+
+Alice had not been slow to note Arkwright's
+prolonged absence from the Annex.  Coming as
+it did so soon after her most disconcerting talk
+with Billy in regard to her own relations with
+him, it had filled her with frightened questionings.
+
+If Billy had seen things to make her think of
+linking their names together, perhaps Arkwright
+himself had heard some such idea put forth
+somewhere, and that was why he was staying
+away--to show the world that there was no
+foundation for such rumors.  Perhaps he was
+even doing it to show _her_ that--
+
+Even in her thoughts Alice could scarcely
+bring herself to finish the sentence.  That Arkwright
+should ever suspect for a moment that
+she cared for him was intolerable.  Painfully
+conscious as she was that she did care for him,
+it was easy to fear that others must be conscious
+of it, too.  Had she not already proof that Billy
+suspected it?  Why, then, might not it be quite
+possible, even probable, that Arkwright suspected
+it, also; and, because he did suspect it, had
+decided that it would be just as well, perhaps, if
+he did not call so often.
+
+In spite of Alice's angry insistence to herself
+that, after all, this could not be the case--
+that the man _knew_ she understood he still loved
+Billy--she could not help fearing, in the face
+of Arkwright's unusual absence, that it might
+yet be true.  When, therefore, he finally did
+appear, only to become at once obviously embarrassed
+in her presence, her fears instantly became
+convictions.  It was true, then.  The man
+did believe she cared for him, and he had been
+trying to teach her--to save her.
+
+To teach her!  To save her, indeed!  Very
+well, he should see!  And forthwith, from that
+moment, Alice Greggory's chief reason for living
+became to prove to Mr. M. J. Arkwright that
+he needed not to teach her, to save her, nor yet
+to sympathize with her.
+
+``How do you do?'' she greeted him, with a
+particularly bright smile.  ``I'm sure I _hope_ you
+are well, such a beautiful day as this.''
+
+``Oh, yes, I'm well, I suppose.  Still, I have
+felt better in my life,'' smiled Arkwright, with
+some constraint.
+
+``Oh, I'm sorry,'' murmured the girl, striving
+so hard to speak with impersonal unconcern that
+she did not notice the inaptness of her reply.
+
+``Eh?  Sorry I've felt better, are you?''
+retorted Arkwright, with nervous humor.  Then,
+because he was embarrassed, he said the one
+thing he had meant not to say:  ``Don't you think
+I'm quite a stranger?  It's been some time since
+I've been here.''
+
+Alice, smarting under the sting of what she
+judged to be the only possible cause for his
+embarrassment, leaped to this new opportunity to
+show her lack of interest.
+
+``Oh, has it?'' she murmured carelessly. 
+``Well, I don't know but it has, now that I come
+to think of it.''
+
+Arkwright frowned gloomily.  A week ago he
+would have tossed back a laughingly aggrieved
+remark as to her unflattering indifference to his
+presence.  Now he was in no mood for such
+joking.  It was too serious a matter with him.
+
+``You've been busy, no doubt, with--other
+matters,'' he presumed forlornly, thinking of
+Calderwell.
+
+``Yes, I have been busy,'' assented the girl. 
+``One is always happier, I think, to be busy. 
+Not that I meant that I needed the work to _be_
+happy,'' she added hastily, in a panic lest he
+think she had a consuming sorrow to kill.
+
+``No, of course not,'' he murmured abstractedly,
+rising to his feet and crossing the room to
+the piano.  Then, with an elaborate air of trying
+to appear very natural, he asked jovially: 
+``Anything new to play to me?''
+
+Alice arose at once.
+
+``Yes.  I have a little nocturne that I was
+playing to Mr. Calderwell last night.''
+
+``Oh, to Calderwell!'' Arkwright had stiffened
+perceptibly.
+
+``Yes.  _He_ didn't like it.  I'll play it to you
+and see what you say,'' she smiled, seating herself
+at the piano.
+
+``Well, if he had liked it, it's safe to say I
+shouldn't,'' shrugged Arkwright.
+
+``Nonsense!'' laughed the girl, beginning to
+appear more like her natural self.  ``I should
+think you were Mr. Cyril Henshaw!  Mr. Calderwell
+_is_ partial to ragtime, I'll admit.  But there
+are some good things he likes.''
+
+``There are, indeed, _some_ good things he likes,''
+returned Arkwright, with grim emphasis, his
+somber eyes fixed on what he believed to be the
+one especial object of Calderwell's affections at
+the moment.
+
+Alice, unaware both of the melancholy gaze
+bent upon herself and of the cause thereof,
+laughed again merrily.
+
+``Poor Mr. Calderwell,'' she cried, as she let her
+fingers slide into soft, introductory chords.  ``He
+isn't to blame for not liking what he calls our lost
+spirits that wail.  It's just the way he's made.''
+
+Arkwright vouchsafed no reply.  With an
+abrupt gesture he turned and began to pace the
+room moodily.  At the piano Alice slipped from
+the chords into the nocturne.  She played it
+straight through, then, with a charm and skill
+that brought Arkwright's feet to a pause before
+it was half finished.
+
+``By George, that's great!'' he breathed, when
+the last tone had quivered into silence.
+
+``Yes, isn't it--beautiful?'' she murmured.
+
+The room was very quiet, and in semi-darkness. 
+The last rays of a late June sunset had been filling
+the room with golden light, but it was gone now. 
+Even at the piano by the window, Alice had barely
+been able to see clearly enough to read the notes
+of her nocturne.
+
+To Arkwright the air still trembled with the
+exquisite melody that had but just left her fingers. 
+A quick fire came to his eyes.  He forgot everything
+but that it was Alice there in the half-light
+by the window--Alice, whom he loved.  With a
+low cry he took a swift step toward her.
+
+``Alice!''
+
+Instantly the girl was on her feet.  But it was
+not toward him that she turned.  It was away--
+resolutely, and with a haste that was strangely
+like terror.
+
+Alice, too, had forgotten, for just a moment. 
+She had let herself drift into a dream world where
+there was nothing but the music she was playing
+and the man she loved.  Then the music had
+stopped, and the man had spoken her name.
+
+Alice remembered then.  She remembered Billy,
+whom this man loved.  She remembered the long
+days just passed when this man had stayed away,
+presumably to teach _her_--to save _her_.  And
+now, at the sound of his voice speaking her name,
+she had almost bared her heart to him.
+
+No wonder that Alice, with a haste that looked
+like terror, crossed the floor and flooded the room
+with light.
+
+``Dear me!'' she shivered, carefully avoiding
+Arkwright's eyes.  ``If Mr. Calderwell were here
+now he'd have some excuse to talk about our lost
+spirits that wail.  That _is_ a creepy piece of music
+when you play it in the dark!''  And, for fear
+that he should suspect how her heart was aching,
+she gave a particularly brilliant and joyous smile.
+
+Once again at the mention of Calderwell's name
+Arkwright stiffened perceptibly.  The fire left
+his eyes.  For a moment he did not speak; then,
+gravely, he said:
+
+``Calderwell?  Yes, perhaps he would; and--
+you ought to be a judge, I should think.  You see
+him quite frequently, don't you?''
+
+``Why, yes, of course.  He often comes out
+here, you know.''
+
+``Yes; I had heard that he did--since _you_
+came.''
+
+His meaning was unmistakable.  Alice looked
+up quickly.  A prompt denial of his implication
+was on her lips when the thought came to her
+that perhaps just here lay a sure way to prove to
+this man before her that there was, indeed, no
+need for him to teach her, to save her, or yet to
+sympathize with her.  She could not affirm, of
+course; but she need not deny--yet.
+
+``Nonsense!'' she laughed lightly, pleased that
+she could feel what she hoped would pass for a
+telltale color burning her cheeks.  ``Come, let
+us try some duets,'' she proposed, leading the
+way to the piano.  And Arkwright, interpreting
+the apparently embarrassed change of subject
+exactly as she had hoped that he would interpret
+it, followed her, sick at heart.
+
+`` `O wert thou in the cauld blast,' '' sang
+Arkwright's lips a few moments later.
+
+``I can't tell her now--when I _know_ she cares
+for Calderwell,'' gloomily ran his thoughts, the
+while.  ``It would do no possible good, and would
+only make her unhappy to grieve me.''
+
+`` `O wert thou in the cauld blast,' '' chimed
+in Alice's alto, low and sweet.
+
+``I reckon now he won't be staying away from
+here any more just to _save_ me!'' ran Alice's
+thoughts, palpitatingly triumphant.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI
+
+BILLY TAKES HER TURN AT QUESTIONING
+
+
+Arkwright did not call to see Alice Greggory
+for some days.  He did not want to see Alice now. 
+He told himself wearily that she could not help
+him fight this tiger skin that lay across his path,
+The very fact of her presence by his side would,
+indeed, incapacitate himself for fighting.  So he
+deliberately stayed away from the Annex until
+the day before he sailed for Germany.  Then he
+went out to say good-by.
+
+Chagrined as he was at what he termed his
+imbecile stupidity in not knowing his own heart all
+these past months, and convinced, as he also was,
+that Alice and Calderwell cared for each other,
+he could see no way for him but to play the part
+of a man of kindliness and honor, leaving a clear
+field for his preferred rival, and bringing no
+shadow of regret to mar the happiness of the girl
+he loved.
+
+As for being his old easy, frank self on this last
+call, however, that was impossible; so Alice found
+plenty of fuel for her still burning fires of
+suspicion--fires which had, indeed, blazed up anew
+at this second long period of absence on the part
+of Arkwright.  Naturally, therefore, the call was
+anything but a joy and comfort to either one. 
+Arkwright was nervous, gloomy, and abnormally
+gay by turns.  Alice was nervous and abnormally
+gay all the time.  Then they said good-by and
+Arkwright went away.  He sailed the next day,
+and Alice settled down to the summer of study
+and hard work she had laid out for herself.
+
+
+On the tenth of September Billy came home. 
+She was brown, plump-cheeked, and smiling.  She
+declared that she had had a perfectly beautiful
+time, and that there couldn't be anything in the
+world nicer than the trip she and Bertram had
+taken--just they two together.  In answer to
+Aunt Hannah's solicitous inquiries, she asserted
+that she was all well and rested now.  But there
+was a vaguely troubled questioning in her eyes
+that Aunt Hannah did not quite like.  Aunt
+Hannah, however, said nothing even to Billy
+herself about this.
+
+One of the first friends Billy saw after her return
+was Hugh Calderwell.  As it happened Bertram
+was out when he came, so Billy had the first half-
+hour of the call to herself.  She was not sorry for
+this, as it gave her a chance to question Calderwell
+a little concerning Alice Greggory--something
+she had long ago determined to do at the
+first opportunity.
+
+``Now tell me everything--everything about
+everybody,'' she began diplomatically, settling
+herself comfortably for a good visit.
+
+``Thank you, I'm well, and have had a
+passably agreeable summer, barring the heat, sundry
+persistent mosquitoes, several grievous disappointments,
+and a felon on my thumb,'' he began, with
+shameless imperturbability.  ``I have been to
+Revere once, to the circus once, to Nantasket
+three times, and to Keith's and the `movies' ten
+times, perhaps--to be accurate.  I have also--
+But perhaps there was some one else you desired
+to inquire for,'' he broke off, turning upon
+his hostess a bland but unsmiling countenance.
+
+``Oh, no, how could there be?'' twinkled Billy. 
+``Really, Hugh, I always knew you had a pretty
+good opinion of yourself, but I didn't credit you
+with thinking you were _everybody_.  Go on.  I'm
+so interested!''
+
+Hugh chuckled softly; but there was a plaintive
+tone in his voice as he answered.
+
+``Thanks, no.  I've rather lost my interest
+now.  Lack of appreciation always did discourage
+me.  We'll talk of something else, please.  You
+enjoyed your trip?''
+
+``Very much.  It just couldn't have been
+nicer!''
+
+``You were lucky.  The heat here has been
+something fierce!''
+
+``What made you stay?''
+
+``Reasons too numerous, and one too heart-
+breaking, to mention.  Besides, you forget,'' with
+dignity.  ``There is my profession.  I have joined
+the workers of the world now, you know.''
+
+``Oh, fudge, Hugh!'' laughed Billy.  ``You
+know very well you're as likely as not to start
+for the ends of the earth to-morrow morning!''
+
+Hugh drew himself up.
+
+``I don't seem to succeed in making people
+understand that I'm serious,'' he began aggrievedly. 
+``I--''  With an expressive flourish
+of his hands he relaxed suddenly, and fell back
+in his chair.  A slow smile came to his lips. 
+``Well, Billy, I'll give up.  You've hit it,'' he
+confessed.  ``I _have_ thought seriously of starting to-
+morrow morning for _half-way_ to the ends of the
+earth--Panama.''
+
+``Hugh!''
+
+``Well, I have.  Even this call was to be a
+good-by--if I went.''
+
+``Oh, Hugh!  But I really thought--in spite
+of my teasing--that you had settled down, this
+time.''
+
+``Yes, so did I,'' sighed the man, a little soberly. 
+``But I guess it's no use, Billy.  Oh, I'm coming
+back, of course, and link arms again with their
+worthy Highnesses, John Doe and Richard Roe;
+but just now I've got a restless fit on me.  I want
+to see the wheels go 'round.  Of course, if I had
+my bread and butter and cigars to earn, 'twould
+be different.  But I haven't, and I know I haven't;
+and I suspect that's where the trouble lies.  If it
+wasn't for those natal silver spoons of mine that
+Bertram is always talking about, things might be
+different.  But the spoons are there, and always
+have been; and I know they're all ready to dish
+out mountains to climb and lakes to paddle in,
+any time I've a mind to say the word.  So--I
+just say the word.  That's all.''
+
+``And you've said it now?''
+
+``Yes, I think so; for a while.''
+
+``And--those reasons that _have_ kept you here
+all summer,'' ventured Billy, ``they aren't in--
+er--commission any longer?''
+
+``No.''
+
+Billy hesitated, regarding her companion
+meditatively.  Then, with the feeling that she had
+followed a blind alley to its termination, she
+retreated and made a fresh start.
+
+``Well, you haven't yet told me everything
+about everybody, you know,'' she hinted
+smilingly.  ``You might begin that--I mean the
+less important everybodies, of course, now that
+I've heard about you.''
+
+``Meaning--''
+
+``Oh, Aunt Hannah, and the Greggorys, and
+Cyril and Marie, and the twins, and Mr. Arkwright,
+and all the rest.''
+
+``But you've had letters, surely.''
+
+``Yes, I've had letters from some of them, and
+I've seen most of them since I came back.  It's
+just that I wanted to know _your_ viewpoint of
+what's happened through the summer.''
+
+``Very well.  Aunt Hannah is as dear as ever,
+wears just as many shawls, and still keeps her
+clock striking twelve when it's half-past eleven. 
+Mrs. Greggory is just as sweet as ever--and a
+little more frail, I fear,--bless her heart!  Mr.
+Arkwright is still abroad, as I presume you know. 
+I hear he is doing great stunts over there, and
+will sing in Berlin and Paris this winter.  I'm
+thinking of going across from Panama later.  If
+I do I shall look him up.  Mr. and Mrs. Cyril
+are as well as could be expected when you realize
+that they haven't yet settled on a pair of names
+for the twins.''
+
+``I know it--and the poor little things three
+months old, too!  I think it's a shame.  You've
+heard the reason, I suppose.  Cyril declares that
+naming babies is one of the most serious and
+delicate operations in the world, and that, for his
+part, he thinks people ought to select their own
+names when they've arrived at years of discretion. 
+He wants to wait till the twins are eighteen,
+and then make each of them a birthday present
+of the name of their own choosing.''
+
+``Well, if that isn't the limit!'' laughed
+Calderwell.  ``I'd heard some such thing before, but
+I hadn't supposed it was really so.''
+
+``Well, it is.  He says he knows more tomboys
+and enormous fat women named `Grace' and
+`Lily,' and sweet little mouse-like ladies staggering
+along under a sonorous `Jerusha Theodosia'
+or `Zenobia Jane'; and that if he should name
+the boys `Franz' and `Felix' after Schubert
+and Mendelssohn as Marie wants to, they'd as
+likely as not turn out to be men who hated the
+sound of music and doted on stocks and dry
+goods.''
+
+``Humph!'' grunted Calderwell.  ``I saw Cyril
+last week, and he said he hadn't named the twins
+yet, but he didn't tell me why.  I offered him
+two perfectly good names myself, but he didn't
+seem interested.''
+
+``What were they?''
+
+``Eldad and Bildad.''
+
+``Hugh!'' protested Billy.
+
+``Well, why not?'' bridled the man.  ``I'm
+sure those are new and unique, and really musical,
+too--'way ahead of your Franz and Felix.''
+
+``But those aren't really names!''
+
+``Indeed they are.''
+
+``Where did you get them?''
+
+``Off our family tree, though they're Bible
+names, Belle says.  Perhaps you didn't know, but
+Sister Belle has been making the dirt fly quite
+lively of late around that family tree of ours, and
+she wrote me some of her discoveries.  It seems
+two of the roots, or branches--say, are ancestors
+roots, or branches?--were called Eldad and
+Bildad.  Now I thought those names were good
+enough to pass along, but, as I said before, Cyril
+wasn't interested.''
+
+``I should say not,'' laughed Billy.  ``But,
+honestly, Hugh, it's really serious.  Marie wants
+them named _something_, but she doesn't say much
+to Cyril.  Marie wouldn't really breathe, you
+know, if she thought Cyril disapproved of breathing. 
+And in this case Cyril does not hesitate to
+declare that the boys shall name themselves.''
+
+``What a situation!'' laughed Calderwell.
+
+``Isn't it?  But, do you know, I can
+sympathize with it, in a way, for I've always mourned
+so over _my_ name.  `Billy' was always such a
+trial to me!  Poor Uncle William wasn't the only
+one that prepared guns and fishing rods to entertain
+the expected boy.  I don't know, though,
+I'm afraid if I'd been allowed to select my name
+I should have been a `Helen Clarabella' all my
+days, for that was the name I gave all my dolls,
+with `first,' `second,' `third,' and so on, added
+to them for distinction.  Evidently I thought that
+`Helen Clarabella' was the most feminine
+appellation possible, and the most foreign to the
+despised `Billy.'  So you see I can sympathize
+with Cyril to a certain extent.''
+
+``But they must call the little chaps _something_,
+now,'' argued Hugh.
+
+Billy gave a sudden merry laugh.
+
+``They do,'' she gurgled, ``and that's the funniest
+part of it.  Oh, Cyril doesn't.  He always calls
+them impersonally `they' or `it.'  He doesn't
+see much of them anyway, now, I understand. 
+Marie was horrified when she realized how the
+nurses had been using his den as a nursery annex
+and she changed all that instanter, when she took
+charge of things again.  The twins stay in the
+nursery now, I'm told.  But about the names--
+the nurses, it seems, have got into the way of
+calling them `Dot' and `Dimple.'  One has a
+dimple in his cheek, and the other is a little smaller
+of the two.  Marie is no end distressed, particularly
+as she finds that she herself calls them that;
+and she says the idea of boys being `Dot' and
+`Dimple'!''
+
+``I should say so,'' laughed Calderwell.  ``Not
+I regard that as worse than my `Eldad' and
+`Bildad.' ''
+
+``I know it, and Alice says--  By the way,
+you haven't mentioned Alice, but I suppose you
+see her occasionally.''
+
+Billy paused in evident expectation of a reply. 
+Billy was, in fact, quite pluming herself on the
+adroit casualness with which she had introduced
+the subject nearest her heart.
+
+Calderwell raised his eyebrows.
+
+``Oh, yes, I see her.''
+
+``But you hadn't mentioned her.''
+
+There was the briefest of pauses; then with a
+half-quizzical dejection, there came the remark:
+
+``You seem to forget.  I told you that I stayed
+here this summer for reasons too numerous, and
+one too heart-breaking, to mention.  She was
+the _one_.''
+
+``You mean--''
+
+``Yes.  The usual thing.  She turned me down. 
+Oh, I haven't asked her yet as many times as I
+did you, but--''
+
+``_Hugh!_''
+
+Hugh tossed her a grim smile and went on
+imperturbably.
+
+``I'm older now, of course, and know more,
+perhaps.  Besides, the finality of her remarks was
+not to be mistaken.''
+
+Billy, in spite of her sympathy for Calderwell,
+was conscious of a throb of relief that at least one
+stumbling-block was removed from Arkwright's
+possible pathway to Alice's heart.
+
+``Did she give any special reason?'' hazarded
+Billy, a shade too anxiously.
+
+``Oh, yes.  She said she wasn't going to marry
+anybody--only her music.''
+
+``Nonsense!'' ejaculated Billy, falling back in
+her chair a little.
+
+``Yes, I said that, too,'' gloomed the man;
+``but it didn't do any good.  You see, I had
+known another girl who'd said the same thing
+once.''  (He did not look up, but a vivid red
+flamed suddenly into Billy's cheeks.)  ``And she
+--when the right one came--forgot all about
+the music, and married the man.  So I naturally
+suspected that Alice would do the same thing. 
+In fact, I said so to her.  I was bold enough to
+even call the man by name--I hadn't been
+jealous of Arkwright for nothing, you see--but
+she denied it, and flew into such an indignant
+allegation that there wasn't a word of truth in it,
+that I had to sue for pardon before I got
+anything like peace.''
+
+``Oh-h!'' said Billy, in a disappointed voice,
+falling quite back in her chair this time.
+
+``And so that's why I'm wanting especially
+just now to see the wheels go 'round,'' smiled
+Calderwell, a little wistfully.  ``Oh, I shall get
+over it, I suppose.  It isn't the first time, I'll
+own--but some day I take it there will be a last
+time.  Enough of this, however!  You haven't
+told me a thing about yourself.  How about it? 
+When I come back, are you going to give me a
+dinner cooked by your own fair hands?  Going
+to still play Bridget?''
+
+Billy laughed and shook her head.
+
+``No; far from it.  Eliza has come back, and
+her cousin from Vermont is coming as second girl
+to help her.  But I _could_ cook a dinner for you if
+I had to now, sir, and it wouldn't be potato-mush
+and cold lamb,'' she bragged shamelessly, as there
+sounded Bertram's peculiar ring, and the click of
+his key in the lock.
+
+
+It was the next afternoon that Billy called on
+Marie.  From Marie's, Billy went to the Annex,
+which was very near Cyril's new house; and there,
+in Aunt Hannah's room, she had what she told
+Bertram afterwards was a perfectly lovely visit.
+
+Aunt Hannah, too, enjoyed the visit very much,
+though yet there was one thing that disturbed
+her--the vaguely troubled look in Billy's eyes,
+which to-day was more apparent than ever.  Not
+until just before Billy went home did something
+occur to give Aunt Hannah a possible clue as to
+what was the meaning of it.  That something
+was a question from Billy.
+
+``Aunt Hannah, why don't I feel like Marie
+did? why don't I feel like everybody does in
+books and stories?  Marie went around with such
+a detached, heavenly, absorbed look in her eyes,
+before the twins came to her home.  But I don't. 
+I don't find anything like that in my face, when I
+look in the glass.  And I don't feel detached and
+absorbed and heavenly.  I'm happy, of course;
+but I can't help thinking of the dear, dear times
+Bertram and I have together, just we two, and I
+can't seem to imagine it at all with a third person
+around.''
+
+``Billy!  _Third person_, indeed!''
+
+``There!  I knew 'twould shock you,'' mourned
+Billy.  It shocks me.  I _want_ to feel detached
+and heavenly and absorbed.''
+
+``But Billy, dear, think of it--calling your
+own baby a third person!''
+
+Billy sighed despairingly.
+
+``Yes, I know.  And I suppose I might as well
+own up to the rest of it too.  I--I'm actually afraid
+of babies, Aunt Hannah!  Well, I am,'' she
+reiterated, in answer to Aunt Hannah's gasp of
+disapproval.  ``I'm not used to them at all.  I never
+had any little brothers and sisters, and I don't
+know how to treat babies.  I--I'm always afraid
+they'll break, or something.  I'm just as afraid
+of the twins as I can be.  How Marie can handle
+them, and toss them about as she does, I don't
+see.''
+
+``Toss them about, indeed!''
+
+``Well, it looks that way to me,'' sighed Billy. 
+``Anyhow, I know I can never get to handle them
+like that--and that's no way to feel!  And I'm
+ashamed of myself because I _can't_ be detached
+and heavenly and absorbed,'' she added, rising
+to go.  ``Everybody always is, it seems, but just
+me.''
+
+``Fiddlededee, my dear!'' scoffed Aunt Hannah,
+patting Billy's downcast face.  ``Wait till a
+year from now, and we'll see about that third-
+person bugaboo you're worrying about.  _I'm_
+not worrying now; so you'd better not!''
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII
+
+A DOT AND A DIMPLE
+
+
+On the day Cyril Henshaw's twins were six
+months old, a momentous occurrence marked the
+date with a flaming red letter of remembrance;
+and it all began with a baby's smile.
+
+Cyril, in quest of his wife at about ten o'clock
+that morning, and not finding her, pursued his
+search even to the nursery--a room he very
+seldom entered.  Cyril did not like to go into the
+nursery.  He felt ill at ease, and as if he were
+away from home--and Cyril was known to abhor
+being away from home since he was married. 
+Now that Marie had taken over the reins of
+government again, he had been obliged to see very
+little of those strange women and babies.  Not
+but that he liked the babies, of course.  They were
+his sons, and he was proud of them.  They should
+have every advantage that college, special training,
+and travel could give them.  He quite
+anticipated what they would be to him--when
+they really knew anything.  But, of course, _now_,
+when they could do nothing but cry and wave
+their absurd little fists, and wobble their heads
+in so fearsome a manner, as if they simply did
+not know the meaning of the word backbone--
+and, for that matter, of course they didn't--
+why, he could not be expected to be anything
+but relieved when he had his den to himself again,
+with a reasonable chance of finding his manuscript
+as he had left it, and not cut up into a ridiculous
+string of paper dolls holding hands, as he had
+once found it, after a visit from a woman with a
+small girl.
+
+Since Marie had been at the helm, however,
+he had not been troubled in such a way.  He had,
+indeed, known almost his old customary peace
+and freedom from interruption, with only an
+occasional flitting across his path of the strange
+women and babies--though he had realized, of
+course, that they were in the house, especially in
+the nursery.  For that reason, therefore, he always
+avoided the nursery when possible.  But to-day
+he wanted his wife, and his wife was not to be
+found anywhere else in the house.  So, reluctantly,
+he turned his steps toward the nursery, and, with
+a frown, knocked and pushed open the door.
+
+``Is Mrs. Henshaw here?'' he demanded, not
+over gently.
+
+Absolute silence greeted his question.  The man
+saw then that there was no one in the room save
+a baby sitting on a mat in the middle of the floor,
+barricaded on all sides with pillows.
+
+With a deeper frown the man turned to go, when
+a gleeful ``Ah--goo!'' halted his steps midway. 
+He wheeled sharply.
+
+``Er--eh?'' he queried, uncertainly eyeing
+his small son on the floor.
+
+``Ah--goo!'' observed the infant (who had
+been very lonesome), with greater emphasis; and
+this time he sent into his father's eyes the most
+bewitching of smiles.
+
+``Well, by George!'' murmured the man,
+weakly, a dawning amazement driving the frown
+from his face.
+
+``Spgggh--oo--wah!'' gurgled the boy, holding
+out two tiny fists.
+
+A slow smile came to the man's face.
+
+``Well, I'll--be--darned,'' he muttered half-
+shamefacedly, wholly delightedly.  ``If the rascal
+doesn't act as if he--knew me!''
+
+``Ah--goo--spggghh!'' grinned the infant,
+toothlessly, but entrancingly.
+
+With almost a stealthy touch Cyril closed the
+door back of him, and advanced a little dubiously
+toward his son.  His countenance carried a mixture
+of guilt, curiosity, and dogged determination
+so ludicrous that it was a pity none but baby eyes
+could see it.  As if to meet more nearly on a level
+this baffling new acquaintance, Cyril got to his
+knees--somewhat stiffly, it must be confessed
+--and faced his son.
+
+``Goo--eee--ooo--yah!'' crowed the baby
+now, thrashing legs and arms about in a transport
+of joy at the acquisition of this new playmate.
+
+``Well, well, young man, you--you don't say
+so!'' stammered the growingly-proud father,
+thrusting a plainly timid and unaccustomed finger
+toward his offspring.  ``So you do know me,
+eh?  Well, who am I?''
+
+``Da--da!'' gurgled the boy, triumphantly
+clutching the outstretched finger, and holding on
+with a tenacity that brought a gleeful chuckle to
+the lips of the man.
+
+``Jove! but aren't you the strong little beggar,
+though!  Needn't tell me you don't know a good
+thing when you see it!  So I'm `da-da,' am I?''
+he went on, unhesitatingly accepting as the pure
+gold of knowledge the shameless imitation vocabulary
+his son was foisting upon him.  ``Well, I
+expect I am, and--''
+
+``Oh, Cyril!''  The door had opened, and
+Marie was in the room.  If she gave a start of
+surprise at her husband's unaccustomed attitude,
+she quickly controlled herself.  ``Julia said you
+wanted me.  I must have been going down the
+back stairs when you came up the front, and--''
+
+``Please, Mrs. Henshaw, is it Dot you have in
+here, or Dimple?'' asked a new voice, as the second
+nurse entered by another door.
+
+Before Mrs. Henshaw could answer, Cyril, who
+had got to his feet, turned sharply.
+
+``Is it--_who_?'' he demanded.
+
+``Oh!  Oh, Mr. Henshaw,'' stammered the girl. 
+``I beg your pardon.  I didn't know you were here. 
+It was only that I wanted to know which baby it
+was.  We thought we had Dot with us, until--''
+
+``Dot!  Dimple!'' exploded the man.  ``Do
+you mean to say you have given my _sons_ the
+ridiculous names of `_Dot_' and `_Dimple_'?''
+
+``Why, no--yes--well, that is--we had to
+call them something,'' faltered the nurse, as with
+a despairing glance at her mistress, she plunged
+through the doorway.
+
+Cyril turned to his wife.
+
+``Marie, what is the meaning of this?'' he demanded.
+
+``Why, Cyril, dear, don't--don't get so
+wrought up,'' she begged.  It's only as Mary said,
+we _had_ to call them something, and--''
+
+``Wrought up, indeed!'' interrupted Cyril,
+savagely.  ``Who wouldn't be?  `Dot' and `Dimple'! 
+Great Scott!  One would think those boys
+were a couple of kittens or puppies; that they
+didn't know anything--didn't have any brains! 
+But they have--if the other is anything like this
+one, at least,'' he declared, pointing to his son on
+the floor, who, at this opportune moment joined
+in the conversation to the extent of an appropriate
+``Ah--goo--da--da!''
+
+``There, hear that, will you?'' triumphed the
+father.  ``What did I tell you?  That's the way
+he's been going on ever since I came into the
+room; The little rascal knows me--so soon!''
+
+Marie clapped her fingers to her lips and turned
+her back suddenly, with a spasmodic little cough;
+but her husband, if he noticed the interruption,
+paid no heed.
+
+``Dot and Dimple, indeed!'' he went on
+wrathfully.  ``That settles it.  We'll name those boys
+to-day, Marie, _to-day!_  Not once again will I let
+the sun go down on a Dot and a Dimple under
+my roof.''
+
+Marie turned with a quick little cry of happiness.
+
+``Oh, Cyril, I'm so glad!  I've so wanted to
+have them named, you know!  And shall we call
+them Franz and Felix, as we'd talked?''
+
+``Franz, Felix, John, James, Paul, Charles--
+anything, so it's sane and sensible!  I'd even
+adopt Calderwell's absurd Bildad and--er--
+Tomdad, or whatever it was, rather than have
+those poor little chaps insulted a day longer with
+a `Dot' and a `Dimple.'  Great Scott!''  And,
+entirely forgetting what he had come to the
+nursery for, Cyril strode from the room.
+
+``Ah--goo--spggggh!'' commented baby
+from the middle of the floor.
+
+
+It was on a very windy March day that Bertram
+Henshaw's son, Bertram, Jr., arrived at
+the Strata.  Billy went so far into the Valley of
+the Shadow of Death for her baby that it was
+some days before she realized in all its importance
+the presence of the new member of her
+family.  Even when the days had become weeks,
+and Bertram, Jr., was a month and a half old,
+the extreme lassitude and weariness of his young
+mother was a source of ever-growing anxiety to
+her family and friends.  Billy was so unlike herself,
+they all said.
+
+``If something could only rouse her,''
+suggested the Henshaw's old family physician one
+day.  ``A certain sort of mental shock--if not
+too severe--would do the deed, I think, and
+with no injury--only benefit.  Her physical
+condition is in just the state that needs a stimulus
+to stir it into new life and vigor.''
+
+As it happened, this was said on a certain
+Monday.  Two days later Bertram's sister Kate, on
+her way with her husband to Mr. Hartwell's old
+home in Vermont, stopped over in Boston for a
+two days' visit.  She made her headquarters at
+Cyril's home, but very naturally she went, without
+much delay, to pay her respects to Bertram, Jr.
+
+``Mr. Hartwell's brother isn't well,'' she
+explained to Billy, after the greetings were over. 
+``You know he's the only one left there, since
+Mother and Father Hartwell came West.  We
+shall go right on up to Vermont in a couple of
+days, but we just had to stay over long enough
+to see the baby; and we hadn't ever seen the
+twins, either, you know.  By the way, how perfectly
+ridiculous Cyril is over those boys!''
+
+``Is he?'' smiled Billy, faintly.
+
+``Yes.  One would think there were never any
+babies born before, to hear him talk.  He thinks
+they're the most wonderful things in the world--
+and they are cunning little fellows, I'll admit. 
+But Cyril thinks they _know_ so much,'' went on
+Kate, laughingly.  ``He's always bragging of
+something one or the other of them has done. 
+Think of it--_Cyril!_  Marie says it all started
+from the time last January when he discovered
+the nurses had been calling them Dot and Dimple.''
+
+``Yes, I know,'' smiled Billy again, faintly,
+lifting a thin, white, very un-Billy-like hand to
+her head.
+
+Kate frowned, and regarded her sister-in-law
+thoughtfully.
+
+``Mercy! how you look, Billy!'' she exclaimed,
+with cheerful tactlessness.  ``They said you did,
+but, I declare, you look worse than I thought.''
+
+Billy's pale face reddened perceptibly.
+
+``Nonsense!  It's just that I'm so--so tired,''
+she insisted.  ``I shall be all right soon.  How
+did you leave the children?''
+
+``Well, and happy--'specially little Kate,
+because mother was going away.  Kate is mistress,
+you know, when I'm gone, and she takes
+herself very seriously.''
+
+``Mistress!  A little thing like her!  Why, she
+can't be more than ten or eleven,'' murmured
+Billy.
+
+``She isn't.  She was ten last month.  But
+you'd think she was forty, the airs she gives
+herself, sometimes.  Oh, of course there's Nora, and
+the cook, and Miss Winton, the governess, there
+to really manage things, and Mother Hartwell
+is just around the corner; but little Kate _thinks_
+she's managing, so she's happy.''
+
+Billy suppressed a smile.  Billy was thinking
+that little Kate came naturally by at least one
+of her traits.
+
+``Really, that child is impossible, sometimes,''
+resumed Mrs. Hartwell, with a sigh.  ``You
+know the absurd things she was always saying
+two or three years ago, when we came on to
+Cyril's wedding.''
+
+``Yes, I remember.''
+
+``Well, I thought she would get over it.  But
+she doesn't.  She's worse, if anything; and sometimes
+her insight, or intuition, or whatever you
+may call it, is positively uncanny.  I never know
+what she's going to remark next, when I take her
+anywhere; but it's safe to say, whatever it is, it'll
+be unexpected and _usually_ embarrassing to somebody. 
+And--is that the baby?'' broke off Mrs.
+Hartwell, as a cooing laugh and a woman's voice
+came from the next room.
+
+``Yes.  The nurse has just brought him in, I
+think,'' said Billy.
+
+``Then I'll go right now and see him,''
+rejoined Kate, rising to her feet and hurrying into
+the next room.
+
+Left alone, Billy lay back wearily in her
+reclining-chair.  She wondered why Kate always
+tired her so.  She wished she had had on her blue
+kimono, then perhaps Kate would not have
+thought she looked so badly.  Blue was always
+more becoming to her than--
+
+Billy turned her head suddenly.  From the
+next room had come Kate's clear-cut, decisive
+voice.
+
+``Oh, no, I don't think he looks a bit like his
+father.  That little snubby nose was never the
+Henshaw nose.''
+
+Billy drew in her breath sharply, and pulled
+herself half erect in her chair.  From the next
+room came Kate's voice again, after a low murmur
+from the nurse.
+
+``Oh, but he isn't, I tell you.  He isn't one bit
+of a Henshaw baby!  The Henshaw babies are
+always _pretty_ ones.  They have more hair, and
+they look--well, different.''
+
+Billy gave a low cry, and struggled to her feet.
+
+``Oh, no,'' spoke up Kate, in answer to
+another indistinct something from the nurse.  ``I
+don't think he's near as pretty as the twins.  Of
+course the twins are a good deal older, but they
+have such a _bright_ look,--and they did have,
+from the very first.  I saw it in their tiniest baby
+pictures.  But this baby--''
+
+``_This_ baby is _mine_, please,'' cut in a
+tremulous, but resolute voice; and Mrs. Hartwell
+turned to confront Bertram, Jr.'s mother,
+manifestly weak and trembling, but no less
+manifestly blazing-eyed and determined.
+
+``Why, Billy!'' expostulated Mrs. Hartwell,
+as Billy stumbled forward and snatched the child
+into her arms.
+
+``Perhaps he doesn't look like the Henshaw
+babies.  Perhaps he isn't as pretty as the twins. 
+Perhaps he hasn't much hair, and does have a
+snub nose.  He's my baby just the same, and I
+shall not stay calmly by and see him abused! 
+Besides, _I_ think he's prettier than the twins ever
+thought of being; and he's got all the hair I want
+him to have, and his nose is just exactly what a
+baby's nose ought to be!''  And, with a superb
+gesture, Billy turned and bore the baby away.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII
+
+BILLY AND THE ENORMOUS RESPONSIBILITY
+
+
+When the doctor heard from the nurse of Mrs.
+Hartwell's visit and what had come of it, he only
+gave a discreet smile, as befitted himself and the
+occasion; but to his wife privately, that night,
+the doctor said, when he had finished telling the
+story:
+
+``And I couldn't have prescribed a better pill
+if I'd tried!''
+
+``_Pill_--Mrs. Hartwell!  Oh, Harold,'' reproved
+the doctor's wife, mildly.
+
+But the doctor only chuckled the more, and
+said:
+
+``You wait and see.''
+
+If Billy's friends were worried before because
+of her lassitude and lack of ambition, they were
+almost as worried now over her amazing alertness
+and insistent activity.  Day by day, almost hour
+by hour, she seemed to gain in strength; and every
+bit she acquired she promptly tested almost to
+the breaking point, so plainly eager was she to
+be well and strong.  And always, from morning
+until night, and again from night until morning,
+the pivot of her existence, around which swung
+all thoughts, words, actions, and plans, was the
+sturdy little plump-cheeked, firm-fleshed atom
+of humanity known as Bertram, Jr.  Even Aunt
+Hannah remonstrated with her at last.
+
+``But, Billy, dear,'' she exclaimed, ``one would
+almost get the idea that you thought there wasn't
+a thing in the world but that baby!''
+
+Billy laughed.
+
+``Well, do you know, sometimes I 'most think
+there isn't,'' she retorted unblushingly.
+
+``Billy!'' protested Aunt Hannah; then, a
+little severely, she demanded:  ``And who was it
+that just last September was calling this same
+only-object-in-the-world a third person in your
+home?''
+
+``Third person, indeed!  Aunt Hannah, did I? 
+Did I really say such a dreadful thing as that? 
+But I didn't know, then, of course.  I couldn't
+know how perfectly wonderful a baby is, especially
+such a baby as Bertram, Jr., is.  Why, Aunt Hannah,
+that little thing knows a whole lot already. 
+He's known me for weeks; I know he has.  And
+ages and ages ago he began to give me little smiles
+when he saw me.  They were smiles--real smiles! 
+Oh, yes, I know nurse said they weren't smiles at
+the first,'' admitted Billy, in answer to Aunt
+Hannah's doubting expression.  ``I know nurse said
+it was only wind on his stomach.  Think of it--
+wind on his stomach!  Just as if I didn't know the
+difference between my own baby's smile and wind
+on his stomach!  And you don't know how soon
+he began to follow my moving finger with his
+eyes!''
+
+``Yes, I tried that one day, I remember,''
+observed Aunt Hannah demurely.  ``I moved my
+finger.  He looked at the ceiling--_fixedly_.''
+
+``Well, probably he _wanted_ to look at the
+ceiling, then,'' defended the young mother, promptly. 
+``I'm sure I wouldn't give a snap for a baby if he
+didn't sometimes have a mind of his own, and
+exercise it!''
+
+``Oh, Billy, Billy,'' laughed Aunt Hannah,
+with a shake of her head as Billy turned away,
+chin uptilted.
+
+By the time Bertram, Jr., was three months
+old, Billy was unmistakably her old happy, merry
+self, strong and well.  Affairs at the Strata once
+more were moving as by clockwork--only this
+time it was a baby's hand that set the clock, and
+that wound it, too.
+
+Billy told her husband very earnestly that now
+they had entered upon a period of Enormous
+Responsibility.  The Life, Character, and Destiny
+of a Human Soul was intrusted to their care, and
+they must be Wise, Faithful, and Efficient.  They
+must be at once Proud and Humble at this
+their Great Opportunity.  They must Observe,
+Learn, and Practice.  First and foremost in their
+eyes must always be this wonderful Important
+Trust.
+
+Bertram laughed at first very heartily at Billy's
+instructions, which, he declared, were so bristling
+with capitals that he could fairly see them drop
+from her lips.  Then, when he found how really
+very much in earnest she was, and how hurt she
+was at his levity, he managed to pull his face into
+something like sobriety while she talked to him,
+though he did persist in dropping kisses on her
+cheeks, her chin, her finger-tips, her hair, and the
+little pink lobes of her ears--``just by way of
+punctuation'' to her sentences, he said.  And he
+told her that he wasn't really slighting her lips,
+only that they moved so fast he could not catch
+them.  Whereat Billy pouted, and told him severely
+that he was a bad, naughty boy, and that
+he did not deserve to be the father of the dearest,
+most wonderful baby in the world.
+
+``No, I know I don't,'' beamed Bertram, with
+cheerful unrepentance; ``but I am, just the same,''
+he finished triumphantly.  And this time he contrived
+to find his wife's lips.
+
+``Oh, Bertram,'' sighed Billy, despairingly. 
+
+``You're an old dear, of course, and one just
+can't be cross with you; but you don't, you just
+_don't_ realize your Immense Responsibility.''
+
+``Oh, yes, I do,'' maintained Bertram so
+seriously that even Billy herself almost believed
+him.
+
+In spite of his assertions, however, it must be
+confessed that Bertram was much more inclined
+to regard the new member of his family as just
+his son rather than as an Important Trust; and
+there is little doubt that he liked to toss him in
+the air and hear his gleeful crows of delight,
+without any bother of Observing him at all.  As
+to the Life and Character and Destiny intrusted
+to his care, it is to be feared that Bertram just
+plain gloried in his son, poked him in the ribs,
+and chuckled him under the chin whenever he
+pleased, and gave never so much as a thought to
+Character and Destiny.  It is to be feared, too,
+that he was Proud without being Humble, and
+that the only Opportunity he really appreciated
+was the chance to show off his wife and baby to
+some less fortunate fellow-man.
+
+But not so Billy.  Billy joined a Mothers' Club
+and entered a class in Child Training with an
+elaborate system of Charts, Rules, and Tests.
+She subscribed to each new ``Mothers' Helper,''
+and the like, that she came across, devouring each
+and every one with an eagerness that was
+tempered only by a vague uneasiness at finding so
+many differences of opinion among Those Who
+Knew.
+
+Undeniably Billy, if not Bertram, was indeed
+realizing the Enormous Responsibility, and was
+keeping ever before her the Important Trust.
+
+In June Bertram took a cottage at the South
+Shore, and by the time the really hot weather arrived
+the family were well settled.  It was only
+an hour away from Boston, and easy of access,
+but William said he guessed he would not go; he
+would stay in Boston, sleeping at the house, and
+getting his meals at the club, until the middle of
+July, when he was going down in Maine for his
+usual fishing trip, which he had planned to take
+a little earlier than usual this year.
+
+``But you'll be so lonesome, Uncle William,''
+Billy demurred, ``in this great house all alone!''
+
+``Oh, no, I sha'n't,'' rejoined Uncle William. 
+``I shall only be sleeping here, you know,'' he
+finished.  with a slightly peculiar smile.
+
+It was well, perhaps, that Billy did not exactly
+realize the significance of that smile, nor the
+unconscious emphasis on the word ``sleeping,'' for
+it would have troubled her not a little.
+
+William, to tell the truth, was quite anticipating
+that sleeping.  William's nights had not been
+exactly restful since the baby came.  His evenings,
+too, had not been the peaceful things they
+were wont to be.
+
+Some of Billy's Rules and Tests were strenuously
+objected to on the part of her small son,
+and the young man did not hesitate to show it. 
+Billy said that it was good for the baby to cry,
+that it developed his lungs; but William was very
+sure that it was not good for _him_.  Certainly,
+when the baby did cry, William never could help
+hovering near the center of disturbance, and he
+always _had_ to remind Billy that it might be a pin,
+you know, or some cruel thing that was hurting. 
+As if he, William, a great strong man, could sit
+calmly by and smoke a pipe, or lie in his comfortable
+bed and sleep, while that blessed little baby
+was crying his heart out like that!  Of course, if
+one did not _know_ he was crying--  Hence William's
+anticipation of those quiet, restful nights
+when he could not know it.
+
+Very soon after Billy's arrival at the cottage,
+Aunt Hannah and Alice Greggory came down for
+a day's visit.  Aunt Hannah had been away from
+Boston for several weeks, so it was some time
+since she had seen the baby.
+
+``My, but hasn't he grown!'' she exclaimed,
+picking the baby up and stooping to give him a
+snuggling kiss.  The next instant she almost
+dropped the little fellow, so startling had been
+Billy's cry.
+
+``No, no, wait, Aunt Hannah, please,'' Billy
+was entreating, hurrying to the little corner
+cupboard.  In a moment she was back with a small
+bottle and a bit of antiseptic cotton.  ``We
+always sterilize our lips now before we kiss him--
+it's so much safer, you know.''
+
+Aunt Hannah sat down limply, the baby still
+in her arms.
+
+``Fiddlededee, Billy!  What an absurd idea! 
+What have you got in that bottle?''
+
+``Why, Aunt Hannah, it's just a little simple
+listerine,'' bridled Billy, ``and it isn't absurd at
+all.  It's very sensible.  My `Hygienic Guide for
+Mothers' says--''
+
+``Well, I suppose I may kiss his hand,'' interposed
+Aunt Hannah, just a little curtly, ``without
+subjecting myself to a City Hospital treatment!''
+
+Billy laughed shamefacedly, but she still held
+her ground.
+
+``No, you can't--nor even his foot.  He might
+get them in his mouth.  Aunt Hannah, why does
+a baby think that everything, from his own toes
+to his father's watch fob and the plush balls on a
+caller's wrist-bag, is made to eat?  As if I could
+sterilize everything, and keep him from getting
+hold of germs somewhere!''
+
+``You'll have to have a germ-proof room for
+him,'' laughed Alice Greggory, playfully snapping
+her fingers at the baby in Aunt Hannah's
+lap.
+
+Billy turned eagerly.
+
+``Oh, did you read about that, too?'' she
+cried.  ``I thought it was _so_ interesting, and I
+wondered if I could do it.''
+
+Alice stared frankly.
+
+``You don't mean to say they actually _have_
+such things,'' she challenged.
+
+``Well, I read about them in a magazine,''
+asserted Billy, ``--how you could have a germ-
+proof room.  They said it was very simple, too. 
+Just pasteurize the air, you know, by heating it
+to one hundred and ten and one-half degrees
+Fahrenheit for seventeen and one-half minutes.  I
+remember just the figures.''
+
+``Simple, indeed!  It sounds so,'' scoffed Aunt
+Hannah, with uplifted eyebrows.
+
+``Oh, well, I couldn't do it, of course,'' admitted
+Billy, regretfully.  ``Bertram never'd stand for
+that in the world.  He's always rushing in to show
+the baby off to every Tom, Dick and Harry and
+his wife that comes; and of course if you opened
+the nursery door, that would let in those germ
+things, and you _couldn't_ very well pasteurize your
+callers by heating them to one hundred and ten
+and one-half degrees for seventeen and one-half
+minutes!  I don't see how you could manage such
+a room, anyway, unless you had a system of--
+of rooms like locks, same as they do for water in
+canals.''
+
+``Oh, my grief and conscience--locks,
+indeed!'' almost groaned Aunt Hannah.  ``Here,
+Alice, will you please take this child--that is, if
+you have a germ-proof certificate about you to
+show to his mother.  I want to take off my bonnet
+and gloves.''
+
+``Take him?  Of course I'll take him,'' laughed
+Alice; ``and right under his mother's nose, too,''
+she added, with a playful grimace at Billy.  ``And
+we'll make pat-a-cakes, and send the little pigs
+to market, and have such a beautiful time that
+we'll forget there ever was such a thing in the
+world as an old germ.  Eh, babykins?''
+
+``Babykins'' cooed his unqualified approval
+of this plan; but his mother looked troubled.
+
+``That's all right, Alice.  You may play with
+him,'' she frowned doubtfully; ``but you mustn't
+do it long, you know--not over five minutes.''
+
+``Five minutes!  Well, I like that, when I've
+come all the way from Boston purposely to see
+him,'' pouted Alice.  ``What's the matter now? 
+Time for his nap?''
+
+``Oh, no, not for--thirteen minutes,'' replied
+Billy, consulting the watch at her belt.  ``But
+we never play with Baby more than five minutes
+at a time.  My `Scientific Care of Infants' says
+it isn't wise; that with some babies it's positively
+dangerous, until after they're six months old.  It
+makes them nervous, and forces their mind, you
+know,'' she explained anxiously.  ``So of course
+we'd want to be careful.  Bertram, Jr., isn't quite
+four, yet.''
+
+``Why, yes, of course,'' murmured Alice,
+politely, stopping a pat-a-cake before it was half
+baked.
+
+The infant, as if suspecting that he was being
+deprived of his lawful baby rights, began to fret
+and whimper.
+
+``Poor itty sing,'' crooned Aunt Hannah, who,
+having divested herself of bonnet and gloves,
+came hurriedly forward with outstretched hands. 
+``Do they just 'buse 'em?  Come here to your old
+auntie, sweetems, and we'll go walkee.  I saw a
+bow-wow--such a tunnin' ickey wickey bow-
+wow on the steps when I came in.  Come, we go
+see ickey wickey bow-wow?''
+
+``Aunt Hannah, _please!_'' protested Billy, both
+hands upraised in horror.  ``_Won't_ you say `dog,'
+and leave out that dreadful `ickey wickey'? 
+Of course he can't understand things now, really,
+but we never know when he'll begin to, and we
+aren't ever going to let him hear baby-talk at all,
+if we can help it.  And truly, when you come to
+think of it, it is absurd to expect a child to talk
+sensibly and rationally on the mental diet of
+`moo-moos' and `choo-choos' served out to
+them.  Our Professor of Metaphysics and Ideology
+in our Child Study Course says that nothing
+is so receptive and plastic as the Mind of a Little
+Child, and that it is perfectly appalling how we
+fill it with trivial absurdities that haven't even
+the virtue of being accurate.  So that's why we're
+trying to be so careful with Baby.  You didn't
+mind my speaking, I know, Aunt Hannah.''
+
+``Oh, no, of course not, Billy,'' retorted Aunt
+Hannah, a little tartly, and with a touch of sarcasm
+most unlike her gentle self.  ``I'm sure I
+shouldn't wish to fill this infant's plastic mind
+with anything so appalling as trivial inaccuracies. 
+May I be pardoned for suggesting, however,''
+she went on as the baby's whimper threatened to
+become a lusty wail, ``that this young gentleman
+cries as if he were sleepy and hungry?''
+
+``Yes, he is,'' admitted Billy.
+
+``Well, doesn't your system of scientific training
+allow him to be given such trivial absurdities
+as food and naps?'' inquired the lady, mildly.
+
+``Of course it does, Aunt Hannah,'' retorted
+Billy, laughing in spite of herself.  ``And it's
+almost time now.  There are only a few more
+minutes to wait.''
+
+``Few more minutes to wait, indeed!'' scorned
+Aunt Hannah.  ``I suppose the poor little fellow
+might cry and cry, and you wouldn't set that
+clock ahead by a teeny weeny minute!''
+
+``Certainly not,'' said the young mother,
+decisively.  ``My `Daily Guide for Mothers' says
+that a time for everything and everything in its
+time, is the very A B C and whole alphabet of
+Right Training.  He does everything by the clock,
+and to the minute,'' declared Billy, proudly.
+
+Aunt Hannah sniffed, obviously skeptical and
+rebellious.  Alice Greggory laughed.
+
+``Aunt Hannah looks as if she'd like to bring
+down her clock that strikes half an hour ahead,''
+she said mischievously; but Aunt Hannah did not
+deign to answer this.
+
+``How long do you rock him?'' she demanded
+of Billy.  ``I suppose I may do that, mayn't I?''
+
+``Mercy, I don't rock him at all, Aunt
+Hannah,'' exclaimed Billy.
+
+``Nor sing to him?''
+
+``Certainly not.''
+
+``But you did--before I went away.  I
+remember that you did.''
+
+``Yes, I know I did,'' admitted Billy, ``and I
+had an awful time, too.  Some evenings, every
+single one of us, even to Uncle William, had to
+try before we could get him off to sleep.  But that
+was before I got my `Efficiency of Mother and
+Child,' or my `Scientific Training,' and, oh, lots
+of others.  You see, I didn't know a thing then,
+and I loved to rock him, so I did it--though the
+nurse said it wasn't good for him; but I didn't
+believe _her_.  I've had an awful time changing; but
+I've done it.  I just put him in his little crib, or
+his carriage, and after a while he goes to sleep. 
+Sometimes, now, he doesn't cry hardly any.  I'm
+afraid, to-day, though, he will,'' she worried.
+
+``Yes, I'm afraid he will,'' almost screamed
+Aunt Hannah, in order to make herself heard
+above Bertram, Jr., who, by this time, was voicing
+his opinion of matters and things in no uncertain
+manner.
+
+It was not, after all, so very long before peace
+and order reigned; and, in due course, Bertram,
+Jr., in his carriage, lay fast asleep.  Then, while
+Aunt Hannah went to Billy's room for a short
+rest, Billy and Alice went out on to the wide
+veranda which faced the wonderful expanse of sky
+and sea.
+
+``Now tell me of yourself,'' commanded Billy,
+almost at once.  ``It's been ages since I've heard
+or seen a thing of you.''
+
+``There's nothing to tell.''
+
+``Nonsense!  But there must be,'' insisted
+Billy.  ``You know it's months since I've seen
+anything of you, hardly.''
+
+``I know.  We feel quite neglected at the
+Annex,'' said Alice.
+
+``But I don't go anywhere,'' defended Billy. 
+``I can't.  There isn't time.''
+
+``Even to bring us the extra happiness?''
+smiled Alice.
+
+A quick change came to Billy's face.  Her eyes
+glowed deeply.
+
+``No; though I've had so much that ought to
+have gone--such loads and loads of extra happiness,
+which I couldn't possibly use myself! 
+Sometimes I'm so happy, Alice, that--that I'm
+just frightened.  It doesn't seem as if anybody
+ought to be so happy.''
+
+``Oh, Billy, dear,'' demurred Alice, her eyes
+filling suddenly with tears.
+
+``Well, I've got the Annex.  I'm glad I've got
+that for the overflow, anyway,'' resumed Billy,
+trying to steady her voice.  ``I've sent a whole
+lot of happiness up there mentally, if I haven't
+actually carried it; so I'm sure you must have
+got it.  Now tell me of yourself.''
+
+``There's nothing to tell,'' insisted Alice, as
+before.
+
+``You're working as hard as ever?''
+
+``Yes--harder.''
+
+``New pupils?''
+
+``Yes, and some concert engagements--good
+ones, for next season.  Accompaniments, you
+know.''
+
+Billy nodded.
+
+``Yes; I've heard of you already twice, lately,
+in that line, and very flatteringly, too.''
+
+``Have you?  Well, that's good.''
+
+``Hm-m.''  There was a moment's silence,
+then, abruptly, Billy changed the subject.  ``I
+had a letter from Belle Calderwell, yesterday.'' 
+She paused expectantly, but there was no comment.
+
+``You don't seem interested,'' she frowned,
+after a minute.
+
+Alice laughed.
+
+``Pardon me, but--I don't know the Lady,
+you see.  Was it a good letter?''
+
+``You know her brother.''
+
+``Very true.''  Alice's cheeks showed a deeper
+color.  ``Did she say anything of him?''
+
+``Yes.  She said he was coming back to Boston
+next winter.''
+
+``Indeed!''
+
+``Yes.  She says that this time he declares he
+really _is_ going to settle down to work,'' murmured
+Billy, demurely, with a sidelong glance at her
+companion.  ``She says he's engaged to be married
+--one of her friends over there.''
+
+There was no reply.  Alice appeared to be
+absorbed in watching a tiny white sail far out at sea.
+
+Again Billy was silent.  Then, with studied
+carelessness, she said:
+
+``Yes, and you know Mr. Arkwright, too.  She
+told of him.''
+
+``Yes?  Well, what of him?'' Alice's voice
+was studiedly indifferent.
+
+``Oh, there was quite a lot of him.  Belle had
+just been to hear him sing, and then her brother
+had introduced him to her.  She thinks he's perfectly
+wonderful, in every way, I should judge. 
+In fact, she simply raved over him.  It seems that
+while we've been hearing nothing from him all
+winter, he's been winning no end of laurels for
+himself in Paris and Berlin.  He's been studying,
+too, of course, as well as singing; and now he's
+got a chance to sing somewhere--create a r<o^>le, or
+something--Belle said she wasn't quite clear on
+the matter herself, but it was a perfectly splendid
+chance, and one that was a fine feather in his cap.''
+
+``Then he won't be coming home--that is,
+to Boston--at all this winter, probably,'' said
+Alice, with a cheerfulness that sounded just a
+little forced.
+
+``Not until February.  But he is coming then. 
+He's been engaged for six performances with the
+Boston Opera Company--as a star tenor, mind
+you!  Isn't that splendid?''
+
+``Indeed it is,'' murmured Alice.
+
+``Belle writes that Hugh says he's improved
+wonderfully, and that even he can see that his
+singing is marvelous.  He says Paris is wild over
+him; but--for my part, I wish he'd come home
+and stay here where he belongs,'' finished Billy,
+a bit petulantly.
+
+``Why, why, Billy!'' murmured her friend, a
+curiously startled look coming into her eyes.
+
+``Well, I do,'' maintained Billy; then,
+recklessly, she added:  ``I had such beautiful plans
+for him, once, Alice.  Oh, if you only could have
+cared for him, you'd have made such a splendid
+couple!''
+
+A vivid scarlet flew to Alice's face.
+
+``Nonsense!'' she cried, getting quickly to
+her feet and bending over one of the flower boxes
+along the veranda railing.  ``Mr. Arkwright
+never thought of marrying me--and I'm not
+going to marry anybody but my music.''
+
+Billy sighed despairingly.
+
+``I know that's what you say now; but if--'' 
+She stopped abruptly.  Around the turn of the
+veranda had appeared Aunt Hannah, wheeling
+Bertram, Jr., still asleep in his carriage.
+
+``I came out the other door,'' she explained
+softly.  ``And it was so lovely I just had to go
+in and get the baby.  I thought it would be so
+nice for him to finish his nap out here.''
+
+Billy arose with a troubled frown.
+
+``But, Aunt Hannah, he mustn't--he can't
+stay out here.  I'm sorry, but we'll have to take
+him back.''
+
+Aunt Hannah's eyes grew mutinous.
+
+``But I thought the outdoor air was just the
+thing for him.  I'm sure your scientific hygienic
+nonsense says _that!_''
+
+``They do--they did--that is, some of them
+do,'' acknowledged Billy, worriedly; ``but they
+differ, so!  And the one I'm going by now says
+that Baby should always sleep in an _even_
+temperature--seventy degrees, if possible; and that's
+exactly what the room in there was, when I left
+him.  It's not the same out here, I'm sure.  In
+fact I looked at the thermometer to see, just
+before I came out myself.  So, Aunt Hannah, I'm
+afraid I'll have to take him back.''
+
+``But you used to have him sleep out of doors
+all the time, on that little balcony out of your
+room,'' argued Aunt Hannah, still plainly unconvinced.
+
+``Yes, I know I did.  I was following the other
+man's rules, then.  As I said, if only they wouldn't
+differ so!  Of course I want the best; but it's so
+hard to always know the best, and--''
+
+At this very inopportune moment Master Bertram
+took occasion to wake up, which brought
+even a deeper wrinkle of worry to his fond mother's
+forehead; for she said that, according to the
+clock, he should have been sleeping exactly ten
+and one-half more minutes, and that of course he
+couldn't commence the next thing until those ten
+and one-half minutes were up, or else his entire
+schedule for the day would be shattered.  So what
+she should do with him for those should-have-
+been-sleeping ten minutes and a half, she did not
+know.  All of which drew from Aunt Hannah
+the astounding exclamation of:
+
+``Oh, my grief and conscience, Billy, if you
+aren't the--the limit!''  Which, indeed, she
+must have been, to have brought circumspect
+Aunt Hannah to the point of actually using slang.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV
+
+A NIGHT OFF
+
+
+The Henshaw family did not return to the
+Strata until late in September.  Billy said that
+the sea air seemed to agree so well with the baby
+it would be a pity to change until the weather
+became really too cool at the shore to be comfortable.
+
+William came back from his fishing trip in
+August, and resumed his old habit of sleeping at the
+house and taking his meals at the club.  To be
+sure, for a week he went back and forth between
+the city and the beach house; but it happened
+to be a time when Bertram, Jr., was cutting a
+tooth, and this so wore upon William's sympathy--
+William still could not help insisting
+it _might_ be a pin--that he concluded peace lay
+only in flight.  So he went back to the Strata.
+
+Bertram had stayed at the cottage all summer,
+painting industriously.  Heretofore he had taken
+more of a vacation through the summer months,
+but this year there seemed to be nothing for him
+to do but to paint.  He did not like to go away
+on a trip and leave Billy, and she declared she
+could not take the baby nor leave him, and that
+she did not need any trip, anyway.
+
+``All right, then, we'll just stay at the beach,
+and have a fine vacation together,'' he had answered her.
+
+As Bertram saw it, however, he could detect
+very little ``vacation'' to it.  Billy had no time
+for anything but the baby.  When she was not
+actually engaged in caring for it, she was studying
+how to care for it.  Never had she been
+sweeter or dearer, and never had Bertram loved
+her half so well.  He was proud, too, of her
+devotion, and of her triumphant success as a mother;
+but he did wish that sometimes, just once in a
+while, she would remember she was a wife, and
+pay a little attention to him, her husband.
+
+Bertram was ashamed to own it, even to
+himself, but he was feeling just a little abused that
+summer; and he knew that, in his heart, he was
+actually getting jealous of his own son, in spite
+of his adoration of the little fellow.  He told
+himself defensively that it was not to be expected
+that he should not want the love of his wife, the
+attentions of his wife, and the companionship
+of his wife--a part of the time.  It was nothing
+more than natural that occasionally he should like
+to see her show some interest in subjects not
+mentioned in Mothers' Guides and Scientific
+Trainings of Infants; and he did not believe he
+could be blamed for wanting his residence to be
+a home for himself as well as a nursery for his
+offspring.
+
+Even while he thus discontentedly argued with
+himself, however, Bertram called himself a selfish
+brute just to think such things when he had
+so dear and loving a wife as Billy, and so fine and
+splendid a baby as Bertram, Jr.  He told himself,
+too, that very likely when they were back in
+their own house again, and when motherhood
+was not so new to her, Billy would not be so
+absorbed in the baby.  She would return to her old
+interest in her husband, her music, her friends,
+and her own personal appearance.  Meanwhile
+there was always, of course, for him, his
+painting.  So he would paint, accepting gladly what
+crumbs of attention fell from the baby's table,
+and trust to the future to make Billy none the
+less a mother, perhaps, but a little more the
+wife.
+
+Just how confidently he was counting on this
+coming change, Bertram hardly realized himself;
+but certainly the family was scarcely settled at
+the Strata before the husband gayly proposed
+one evening that he and Billy should go to the
+theater to see ``Romeo and Juliet.''
+
+Billy was clearly both surprised and shocked.
+
+``Why, Bertram, I can't--you know I can't!''
+she exclaimed reprovingly.
+
+Bertram's heart sank; but he kept a brave
+front.
+
+``Why not?''
+
+``What a question!  As if I'd leave Baby!''
+
+``But, Billy, dear, you'd be gone less than three
+hours, and you say Delia's the most careful of
+nurses.''
+
+Billy's forehead puckered into an anxious
+frown.
+
+``I can't help it.  Something might happen
+to him, Bertram.  I couldn't be happy a minute.''
+
+``But, dearest, aren't you _ever_ going to leave
+him?'' demanded the young husband, forlornly.
+
+``Why, yes, of course, when it's reasonable
+and necessary.  I went out to the Annex yesterday
+afternoon.  I was gone almost two whole
+hours.''
+
+``Well, did anything happen?''
+
+``N-no; but then I telephoned, you see,
+several times, so I _knew_ everything was all right.''
+
+``Oh, well, if that's all you want, I could
+telephone, you know, between every act,'' suggested
+Bertram, with a sarcasm that was quite lost on
+the earnest young mother.
+
+``Y-yes, you could do that, couldn't you?''
+conceded Billy; ``and, of course, I _haven't_ been
+anywhere much, lately.''
+
+``Indeed I could,'' agreed Bertram, with a
+promptness that carefully hid his surprise at her
+literal acceptance of what he had proposed as a
+huge joke.  ``Come, is it a go?  Shall I telephone
+to see if I can get seats?''
+
+``You think Baby'll surely be all right?''
+
+``I certainly do.''
+
+``And you'll telephone home between every
+act?''
+
+``I will.''  Bertram's voice sounded almost as
+if he were repeating the marriage service.
+
+``And we'll come straight home afterwards as
+fast as John and Peggy can bring us?''
+
+``Certainly.''
+
+``Then I think--I'll--go,'' breathed Billy,
+tremulously, plainly showing what a momentous
+concession she thought she was making.  ``I do
+love `Romeo and Juliet,' and I haven't seen it
+for ages!''
+
+``Good!  Then I'll find out about the tickets,''
+cried Bertram, so elated at the prospect of having
+an old-time evening out with his wife that
+even the half-hourly telephones did not seem too
+great a price to pay.
+
+When the time came, they were a little late in
+starting.  Baby was fretful, and though Billy
+usually laid him in his crib and unhesitatingly
+left the room, insisting that he should go to sleep
+by himself in accordance with the most approved
+rules in her Scientific Training; yet to-night she
+could not bring herself to the point of leaving the
+house until he was quiet.  Hurried as they were
+when they did start, Billy was conscious of Bertram's
+frowning disapproval of her frock.
+
+``You don't like it, of course, dear, and I don't
+blame you,'' she smiled remorsefully.
+
+``Oh, I like it--that is, I did, when it was
+new,'' rejoined her husband, with apologetic
+frankness.  ``But, dear, didn't you have anything
+else?  This looks almost--well, mussy,
+you know.''
+
+``No--well, yes, maybe there were others,''
+admitted Billy; ``but this was the quickest and
+easiest to get into, and it all came just as I was
+getting Baby ready for bed, you know.  I am a
+fright, though, I'll acknowledge, so far as clothes
+go.  I haven't had time to get a thing since Baby
+came.  I must get something right away, I suppose.''
+
+``Yes, indeed,'' declared Bertram, with
+emphasis, hurrying his wife into the waiting automobile.
+
+Billy had to apologize again at the theater, for
+the curtain had already risen on the ancient quarrel
+between the houses of Capulet and Montague,
+and Billy knew her husband's special abhorrence
+of tardy arrivals.  Later, though, when well
+established in their seats, Billy's mind was plainly
+not with the players on the stage.
+
+``Do you suppose Baby _is_ all right?'' she
+whispered, after a time.
+
+``Sh-h!  Of course he is, dear!''
+
+There was a brief silence, during which Billy
+peered at her program in the semi-darkness. 
+Then she nudged her husband's arm ecstatically.
+
+``Bertram, I couldn't have chosen a better
+play if I'd tried.  There are _five_ acts!  I'd forgotten
+there were so many.  That means you can
+telephone four times!''
+
+``Yes, dear.''  Bertram's voice was sternly
+cheerful.
+
+``You must be sure they tell you exactly how
+Baby is.''
+
+``All right, dear.  Sh-h!  Here's Romeo.''
+
+Billy subsided.  She even clapped a little in
+spasmodic enthusiasm.  Presently she peered at
+her program again.
+
+``There wouldn't be time, I suppose, to telephone
+between the scenes,'' she hazarded wistfully. 
+``There are sixteen of those!''
+
+``Well, hardly!  Billy, you aren't paying one
+bit of attention to the play!''
+
+``Why, of course I am,'' whispered Billy,
+indignantly.  ``I think it's perfectly lovely, and
+I'm perfectly contented, too--since I found out
+about those five acts, and as long as I _can't_ have
+the sixteen scenes,'' she added, settling back in
+her seat.
+
+As if to prove that she was interested in the
+play, her next whisper, some time later, had to
+do with one of the characters on the stage.
+
+``Who's that--the nurse?  Mercy!  We
+wouldn't want her for Baby, would we?''
+
+In spite of himself Bertram chuckled this time. 
+Billy, too, laughed at herself.  Then, resolutely,
+she settled into her seat again.
+
+The curtain was not fairly down on the first
+act before Billy had laid an urgent hand on her
+husband's arm.
+
+``Now, remember; ask if he's waked up, or
+anything,'' she directed.  ``And be sure to say I'll
+come right home if they need me.  Now hurry.''
+
+``Yes, dear.''  Bertram rose with alacrity. 
+``I'll be back right away.''
+
+``Oh, but I don't want you to hurry _too_ much,''
+she called after him, softly.  ``I want you to take
+plenty of time to ask questions.''
+
+``All right,'' nodded Bertram, with a quizzical
+smile, as he turned away.
+
+Obediently Bertram asked all the question
+she could think of, then came back to his wife. 
+There was nothing in his report that even Billy
+could disapprove of, or worry about; and with
+almost a contented look on her face she turned
+toward the stage as the curtain went up on the
+second act.
+
+``I love this balcony scene,'' she sighed happily.
+
+Romeo, however, had not half finished his
+impassioned love-making when Billy clutched her
+husband's arm almost fiercely.
+
+``Bertram,'' she fairly hissed in a tragic
+whisper, ``I've just happened to think!  Won't it be
+awful when Baby falls in love?  I know I shall
+just hate that girl for taking him away from me!''
+
+``Sh-h!  _Billy!_'' expostulated her husband,
+choking with half-stifled laughter.  ``That woman
+in front heard you, I know she did!''
+
+``Well, I shall,'' sighed Billy, mournfully,
+turning back to the stage.
+
+     `` `Good night, good night! parting is such sweet sorrow,
+         That I shall say good night, till it be morrow,'''
+
+sighed Juliet passionately to her Romeo.
+
+``Mercy!  I hope not,'' whispered Billy flippantly
+in Bertram's ear.  ``I'm sure I don't want
+to stay here till to-morrow!  I want to go home
+and see Baby.''
+
+``_Billy!_'' pleaded Bertram so despairingly,
+that Billy, really conscience-smitten, sat back in
+her seat and remained, for the rest of the act,
+very quiet indeed.
+
+Deceived by her apparent tranquillity, Bertram
+turned as the curtain went down.
+
+``Now, Billy, surely you don't think it'll be
+necessary to telephone so soon as this again,'' he
+ventured.
+
+Billy's countenance fell.
+
+``But, Bertram, you _said_ you would!  Of course
+if you aren't willing to--but I've been counting on
+hearing all through this horrid long act, and--''
+
+``Goodness me, Billy, I'll telephone every
+minute for you, of course, if you want me to,''
+cried Bertram, springing to his feet, and trying
+not to show his impatience.
+
+He was back more promptly this time.
+
+``Everything 0. K.,'' he smiled reassuringly
+into Billy's anxious eyes.  ``Delia said she'd just
+been up, and the little chap was sound asleep.''
+
+To the man's unbounded surprise, his wife
+grew actually white.
+
+``Up!  Up!'' she exclaimed.  ``Do you mean
+that Delia went down-stairs to _stay_, and left my
+baby up there alone?''
+
+``But, Billy, she said he was all right,''
+murmured Bertram, softly, casting uneasy sidelong
+glances at his too interested neighbors.
+
+`` `All right'!  Perhaps he was, _then_--but he
+may not be, later.  Delia should stay in the next
+room all the time, where she could hear the least
+thing.''
+
+``Yes, dear, she will, I'm sure, if you tell her
+to,'' soothed Bertram, quickly.  ``It'll be all
+right next time.''
+
+Billy shook her head.  She was obviously near
+to crying.
+
+``But, Bertram, I can't stand it to sit here
+enjoying myself all safe and comfortable, and know
+that Baby is _alone_ up there in that great big room! 
+Please, _please_ won't you go and telephone Delia
+to go up _now_ and stay there?''
+
+Bertram, weary, sorely tried, and increasingly
+aware of those annoyingly interested neighbors,
+was on the point of saying a very decided no; but
+a glance into Billy's pleading eyes settled it. 
+Without a word he went back to the telephone.
+
+The curtain was up when he slipped into his
+seat, very red of face.  In answer to Billy's hurried
+whisper he shook his head; but in the short
+pause between the first and second scenes he said,
+in a low voice:
+
+``I'm sorry, Billy, but I couldn't get the house
+at all.''
+
+``Couldn't get them!  But you'd just been
+talking with them!''
+
+``That's exactly it, probably.  I had just
+telephoned, so they weren't watching for the bell. 
+Anyhow, I couldn't get them.''
+
+``Then you didn't get Delia at all!''
+
+``Of course not.''
+
+``And Baby is still--all alone!''
+
+``But he's all right, dear.  Delia's keeping
+watch of him.''
+
+For a moment there was silence; then, with
+clear decisiveness carne Billy's voice.
+
+``Bertram, I am going home.''
+
+``Billy!''
+
+``I am.''
+
+``Billy, for heaven's sake don't be a silly goose! 
+The play's half over already.  We'll soon be going,
+anyway.''
+
+Billy's lips came together in a thin little
+determined line.
+
+``Bertram, I am going home now, please,'' she
+said.  ``You needn't come with me; I can go
+alone.''
+
+Bertram said two words under his breath which
+it was just as well, perhaps, that Billy--and the
+neighbors--did not hear; then he gathered up
+their wraps and, with Billy, stalked out of the
+theater.
+
+At home everything was found to be absolutely
+as it should be.  Bertram, Jr., was peacefully
+sleeping, and Delia, who had come up from
+downstairs, was sewing in the next room.
+
+``There, you see,'' observed Bertram, a little
+sourly.
+
+Billy drew a long, contented sigh.
+
+``Yes, I see; everything is all right.  But that's
+exactly what I wanted to do, Bertram, you know
+--to _see for myself_,'' she finished happily.
+
+And Bertram, looking at her rapt face as she
+hovered over the baby's crib, called himself a
+brute and a beast to mind _anything_ that could
+make Billy look like that.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV
+
+
+``SHOULD AULD ACQUAINTANCE BE FORGOT''
+
+
+Bertram did not ask Billy very soon again to
+go to the theater.  For some days, indeed, he did
+not ask her to do anything.  Then, one evening,
+he did beg for some music.
+
+``Billy, you haven't played to me or sung to
+me since I could remember,'' he complained.  ``I
+want some music.''
+
+Billy gave a merry laugh and wriggled her
+fingers experimentally.
+
+``Mercy, Bertram!  I don't believe I could
+play a note.  You know I'm all out of practice.''
+
+``But why _don't_ you practice?''
+
+``Why, Bertram, I can't.  In the first place I
+don't seem to have any time except when Baby's
+asleep; and I can't play then-I'd wake him
+up.''
+
+Bertram sighed irritably, rose to his feet, and
+began to walk up and down the room.  He came
+to a pause at last, his eyes bent a trifle
+disapprovingly on his wife.
+
+``Billy, dear, _don't_ you wear anything but
+those wrapper things nowadays?'' he asked plaintively.
+
+Again Billy laughed.  But this time a troubled
+frown followed the laugh.
+
+``I know, Bertram, I suppose they do look
+dowdy, sometimes,'' she confessed; ``but, you
+see, I hate to wear a really good dress--Baby
+rumples them up so; and I'm usually in a hurry
+to get to him mornings, and these are so easy to
+slip into, and so much more comfortable for me
+to handle him in!''
+
+``Yes, of course, of course; I see,'' mumbled
+Bertram, listlessly taking up his walk again.
+
+Billy, after a moment's silence, began to talk
+animatedly.  Baby had done a wonderfully cunning
+thing that morning, and Billy had not had
+a chance yet to tell Bertram.  Baby was growing
+more and more cunning anyway, these days,
+and there were several things she believed she
+had not told him; so she told them now.
+
+Bertram listened politely, interestedly.  He
+told himself that he _was_ interested, too.  Of
+course he was interested in the doings of his own
+child!  But he still walked up and down the room
+a little restlessly, coming to a halt at last by the
+window, across which the shade had not been
+drawn.
+
+``Billy,'' he cried suddenly, with his old
+boyish eagerness, ``there's a glorious moon.  Come
+on!  Let's take a little walk--a real fellow-and-
+his-best-girl walk!  Will you?''
+
+``Mercy! dear, I couldn't,'' cried Billy
+springing to her feet.  ``I'd love to, though, if I could,''
+she added hastily, as she saw disappointment
+cloud her husband's face.  ``But I told Delia she
+might go out.  It isn't her regular evening, of
+course, but I told her I didn't mind staying with
+Baby a bit.  So I'll have to go right up now. 
+She'll be going soon.  But, dear, you go and take
+your walk.  It'll do you good.  Then you can
+come back and tell me all about it--only you
+must come in quietly, so not to wake the baby,''
+she finished, giving her husband an affectionate
+kiss, as she left the room.
+
+After a disconsolate five minutes of solitude,
+Bertram got his hat and coat and went out for
+his walk--but he told himself he did not expect
+to enjoy it.
+
+Bertram Henshaw knew that the old rebellious
+jealousy of the summer had him fast in its grip. 
+He was heartily ashamed of himself, but he could
+not help it.  He wanted Billy, and he wanted her
+then.  He wanted to talk to her.  He wanted to
+tell her about a new portrait commission he had
+just obtained; and he wanted to ask her what she
+thought of the idea of a brand-new ``Face of a
+Girl'' for the Bohemian Ten Exhibition next
+March.  He wanted--but then, what would be
+the use?  She would listen, of course, but he
+would know by the very looks of her face that
+she would not be really thinking of what he was
+saying; and he would be willing to wager his best
+canvas that in the very first pause she would tell
+about the baby's newest tooth or latest toy.  Not
+but that he liked to hear about the little fellow,
+of course; and not but that he was proud as Punch
+of him, too; but that he would like sometimes to
+hear Billy talk of something else.  The sweetest
+melody in the world, if dinned into one's ears day
+and night, became something to be fled from.
+
+And Billy ought to talk of something else, too! 
+Bertram, Jr., wonderful as he was, really was not
+the only thing in the world, or even the only baby;
+and other people--outsiders, their friends--
+had a right to expect that sometimes other
+matters might be considered--their own, for
+instance.  But Billy seemed to have forgotten this. 
+No matter whether the subject of conversation
+had to do with the latest novel or a trip to Europe,
+under Billy's guidance it invariably led straight
+to Baby's Jack-and-Jill book, or to a perambulator
+journey in the Public Garden.  If it had not
+been so serious, it would have been really funny
+the way all roads led straight to one goal.  He
+himself, when alone with Billy, had started the
+most unusual and foreign subjects, sometimes,
+just to see if there were not somewhere a little
+bypath that did not bring up in his own nursery. 
+He never, however, found one.
+
+But it was not funny; it was serious.  Was this
+glorious gift on parenthood to which he had looked
+forward as the crowning joy of his existence, to
+be nothing but a tragedy that would finally wreck
+his domestic happiness?  It could not be.  It
+must not be.  He must he patient, and wait. 
+Billy loved him.  He was sure she did.  By and
+by this obsession of motherhood, which had her
+so fast in its grasp, would relax.  She would
+remember that her husband had rights as well as
+her child.  Once again she would give him the
+companionship, love, and sympathetic interest
+so dear to him.  Meanwhile there was his work. 
+He must bury himself in that.  And fortunate,
+indeed, he was, he told himself, that he had
+something so absorbing.
+
+It was at this point in his meditations that
+Bertram rounded a corner and came face to face
+with a man who stopped him short with a
+jovial:
+
+``Isn't it--by George, it is Bertie Henshaw! 
+Well, what do you think of that for luck?--and
+me only two days home from `Gay Paree'!''
+
+``Oh, Seaver!  How are you?  You _are_ a stranger!''
+Bertram's voice and handshake were a bit
+more cordial than they would have been had he
+not at the moment been feeling so abused and
+forlorn.  In the old days he had liked this Bob Seaver
+well.  Seaver was an artist like himself, and was
+good company always.  But Seaver and his crowd
+were a little too Bohemian for William's taste;
+and after Billy came, she, too, had objected to
+what she called ``that horrid Seaver man.''  In
+his heart, Bertram knew that there was good
+foundation for their objections, so he had avoided
+Seaver for a time; and for some years, now, the
+man had been abroad, somewhat to Bertram's
+relief.  To-night, however, Seaver's genial smile
+and hearty friendliness were like a sudden burst
+of sunshine on a rainy day--and Bertram detested
+rainy days.  He was feeling now, too, as
+if he had just had a whole week of them.
+
+``Yes, I am something of a stranger here,''
+nodded Seaver.  ``But I tell you what, little old
+Boston looks mighty good to me, all the same. 
+Come on!  You're just the fellow we want.  I'm
+on my way now to the old stamping ground. 
+Come--right about face, old chap, and come with
+me!''
+
+Bertram shook his head.
+
+``Sorry--but I guess I can't, to-night,'' he
+sighed.  Both gesture and words were unhesitating,
+but the voice carried the discontent of a
+small boy, who, while the sun is still shining, has
+been told to come into the house.
+
+``Oh, rats!  Yes, you can, too.  Come on! 
+Lots of the old crowd will be there--Griggs,
+Beebe, Jack Jenkins, and Tully.  We need you
+to complete the show.''
+
+``Jack Jenkins?  Is he here?''  A new eagerness
+had come into Bertram's voice.
+
+``Sure!  He came on from New York last night. 
+Great boy, Jenkins!  Just back from Paris fairly
+covered with medals, you know.''
+
+``Yes, so I hear.  I haven't seen him for four
+years.''
+
+``Better come to-night then.''
+
+``No-o,'' began Bertram, with obvious
+reluctance.  ``It's already nine o'clock, and--''
+
+``Nine o'clock!'' cut in Seaver, with a broad
+grin.  ``Since when has your limit been nine
+o'clock?  I've seen the time when you didn't mind
+nine o'clock in the morning, Bertie!  What's
+got--  Oh, I remember.  I met another friend
+of yours in Berlin; chap named Arkwright--
+and say, he's some singer, you bet!  You're
+going to hear of him one of these days.  Well, he
+told me all about how you'd settled down now--
+son and heir, fireside bliss, pretty wife, and all
+the fixings.  But, I say, Bertie, doesn't she let
+you out--_any_?''
+
+``Nonsense, Seaver!'' flared Bertram in
+annoyed wrath.
+
+``Well, then, why don't you come to-night? 
+If you want to see Jenkins you'll have to; he's
+going back to New York to-morrow.''
+
+For only a brief minute longer did Bertram
+hesitate; then he turned squarely about with an
+air of finality.
+
+``Is he?  Well, then, perhaps I will,'' he said. 
+``I'd hate to miss Jenkins entirely.''
+
+``Good!'' exclaimed his companion, as they
+fell into step.  ``Have a cigar?''
+
+``Thanks.  Don't mind if I do.''
+
+If Bertram's chin was a little higher and his
+step a little more decided than usual, it was all
+merely by way of accompaniment to his thoughts.
+
+Certainly it was right that he should go, and
+it was sensible.  Indeed, it was really almost
+imperative--due to Billy, as it were--after that
+disagreeable taunt of Seaver's.  As if she did not
+want him to go when and where he pleased!  As
+if she would consent for a moment to figure in
+the eyes of his friends as a tyrannical wife who
+objected to her husband's passing a social evening
+with his friends! To be sure, in this particular
+case, she might not favor Seaver's presence,
+but even she would not mind this once--
+and, anyhow, it was Jenkins that was the attraction,
+not Seaver.  Besides, he himself was no
+undeveloped boy now.  He was a man, presumedly
+able to take care of himself.  Besides, again, had
+not Billy herself told him to go out and enjoy the
+evening without her, as she had to stay with the
+baby?  He would telephone her, of course, that
+he had met some old friends, and that he might
+be late; then she would not worry.
+
+And forthwith, having settled the matter in
+his mind, and to his complete satisfaction, Bertram
+gave his undivided attention to Seaver, who
+had already plunged into an account of a recent
+Art Exhibition he had attended in Paris.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI
+
+GHOSTS THAT WALKED FOR BERTRAM
+
+
+October proved to be unusually mild, and
+about the middle of the month, Bertram, after
+much unselfish urging on the part of Billy, went
+to a friend's camp in the Adirondacks for a week's
+stay.  He came back with an angry, lugubrious
+face--and a broken arm.
+
+``Oh, Bertram!  And your right one, too--
+the same one you broke before!'' mourned Billy,
+tearfully.
+
+``Of course,'' retorted Bertram, trying in vain
+to give an air of jauntiness to his reply.  ``Didn't
+want to be too changeable, you know!''
+
+``But how did you do it, dear?''
+
+``Fell into a silly little hole covered with
+underbrush.  But--oh, Billy, what's the use?  I
+did it, and I can't undo it--more's the pity!''
+
+``Of course you can't, you poor boy,''
+sympathized Billy; ``and you sha'n't be tormented with
+questions.  We'll just be thankful 'twas no worse. 
+You can't paint for a while, of course; but we
+won't mind that.  It'll just give Baby and me a
+chance to have you all to ourselves for a time,
+and we'll love that!'
+
+``Yes, of course,'' sighed Bertram, so abstractedly
+that Billy bridled with pretty resentment.
+
+``Well, I like your enthusiasm, sir,'' she frowned. 
+``I'm afraid you don't appreciate the blessings
+you do have, young man!  Did you realize what
+I said?  I remarked that you could be with _Baby_
+and _me_,'' she emphasized.
+
+Bertram laughed, and gave his wife an affectionate
+kiss.
+
+``Indeed I do appreciate my blessings, dear--
+when those blessings are such treasures as you
+and Baby, but--''  Only his doleful eyes fixed
+on his injured arm finished his sentence.
+
+``I know, dear, of course, and I understand,''
+murmured Billy, all tenderness at once.
+
+
+They were not easy for Bertram--those following
+days.  Once again he was obliged to accept
+the little intimate personal services that he
+so disliked.  Once again he could do nothing but
+read, or wander disconsolately into his studio
+and gaze at his half-finished ``Face of a Girl.'' 
+Occasionally, it is true, driven nearly to desperation
+by the haunting vision in his mind's eye, he
+picked up a brush and attempted to make his
+left hand serve his will; but a bare half-dozen
+irritating, ineffectual strokes were usually enough
+to make him throw down his brush in disgust. 
+He never could do anything with his left hand,
+he told himself dejectedly.
+
+Many of his hours, of course, he spent with
+Billy and his son, and they were happy hours,
+too; but they always came to be restless ones
+before the day was half over.  Billy was always
+devotion itself to him--when she was not
+attending to the baby; he had no fault to find with
+Billy.  And the baby was delightful--he could
+find no fault with the baby.  But the baby _was_
+fretful--he was teething, Billy said--and he
+needed a great deal of attention; so, naturally,
+Bertram drifted out of the nursery, after a time,
+and went down into his studio, where were his
+dear, empty palette, his orderly brushes, and
+his tantalizing ``Face of a Girl.''  From the
+studio, generally, Bertram went out on to the street.
+
+Sometimes he dropped into a fellow-artist's
+studio.  Sometimes he strolled into a club or
+caf<e'> where he knew he would be likely to find
+some friend who would help him while away a
+tiresome hour.  Bertram's friends quite vied with
+each other in rendering this sort of aid, so much
+so, indeed, that--naturally, perhaps--Bertram
+came to call on their services more and more
+frequently.
+
+Particularly was this the case when, after the
+splints were removed, Bertram found, as the days
+passed, that his arm was not improving as it
+should improve.  This not only disappointed and
+annoyed him, but worried him.  He remembered
+sundry disquieting warnings given by the physician
+at the time of the former break--warnings
+concerning the probable seriousness of a repetition
+of the injury.  To Billy, of course, Bertram
+said nothing of all this; but just before Christmas
+he went to see a noted specialist.
+
+An hour later, almost in front of the learned
+surgeon's door, Bertram met Bob Seaver.
+
+``Great Scott, Bertie, what's up?'' ejaculated
+Seaver.  ``You look as if you'd seen a ghost.''
+
+``I have,'' answered Bertram, with grim
+bitterness.  ``I've seen the ghost of--of every `Face
+of a Girl' I ever painted.''
+
+``Gorry!  So bad as that?  No wonder you
+look as if you'd been disporting in graveyards,''
+chuckled Seaver, laughing at his own joke
+``What's the matter--arm on a rampage to
+day?''
+
+He paused for reply, but as Bertram did not
+answer at once, he resumed, with gay insistence: 
+``Come on!  You need cheering up.  Suppose
+we go down to Trentini's and see who's
+there.''
+
+``All right,'' agreed Bertram, dully.  ``Suit
+yourself.''
+
+Bertram was not thinking of Seaver, Trentini's,
+or whom he might find there.  Bertram was thinking
+of certain words he had heard less than half
+an hour ago.  He was wondering, too, if ever
+again he could think of anything but those words.
+
+``The truth?'' the great surgeon had said. 
+``Well, the truth is--I'm sorry to tell you the
+truth, Mr. Henshaw, but if you will have it--
+you've painted the last picture you'll ever paint
+with your right hand, I fear.  It's a bad case. 
+This break, coming as it did on top of the serious
+injury of two or three years ago, was bad enough;
+but, to make matters worse, the bone was imperfectly
+set and wrongly treated, which could not
+be helped, of course, as you were miles away from
+skilled surgeons at the time of the injury.  We'll
+do the best we can, of course; but--well, you
+asked for the truth, you remember; so I had to
+give it to you.''
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII
+
+THE MOTHER--THE WIFE
+
+
+Bertram made up his mind at once that, for
+the present, at least, he would tell no one what
+the surgeon had said to him.  He had placed
+himself under the man's care, and there was nothing
+to do but to take the prescribed treatment
+and await results as patiently as he could. 
+Meanwhile there was no need to worry Billy, or
+William, or anybody else with the matter.
+
+Billy was so busy with her holiday plans that
+she was only vaguely aware of what seemed to
+be an increase of restlessness on the part of her
+husband during those days just before Christmas.
+
+``Poor dear, is the arm feeling horrid to-day?''
+she asked one morning, when the gloom on her
+husband's face was deeper than usual.
+
+Bertram frowned and did not answer directly.
+
+``Lots of good I am these days!'' he exclaimed,
+his moody eyes on the armful of many-shaped,
+many-sized packages she carried.  ``What are
+those for-the tree?''
+
+``Yes; and it's going to be so pretty, Bertram,''
+exulted Billy.  ``And, do you know, Baby
+positively acts as if he suspected things--little as
+he is,'' she went on eagerly.  ``He's as nervous
+as a witch.  I can't keep him still a minute!''
+
+``How about his mother?'' hinted Bertram,
+with a faint smile.
+
+Billy laughed.
+
+``Well, I'm afraid she isn't exactly calm
+herself,'' she confessed, as she hurried out of the
+room with her parcels.
+
+Bertram looked after her longingly, despondently.
+
+``I wonder what she'd say if she--knew,''
+he muttered.  ``But she sha'n't know--till she
+just has to,'' he vowed suddenly, under his breath,
+striding into the hall for his hat and coat.
+
+Never had the Strata known such a Christmas
+as this was planned to be.  Cyril, Marie, and the
+twins were to be there, also Kate, her husband
+and three children, Paul, Egbert, and little Kate,
+from the West.  On Christmas Day there was
+to be a big family dinner, with Aunt Hannah
+down from the Annex.  Then, in concession to
+the extreme youth of the young host and his twin
+cousins, there was to be an afternoon tree.  The
+shades were to be drawn and the candles lighted,
+however, so that there might be no loss of effect. 
+In the evening the tree was to be once more loaded
+with fascinating packages and candy-bags, and
+this time the Greggorys, Tommy Dunn, and all
+the rest from the Annex were to have the fun all
+over again.
+
+From garret to basement the Strata was aflame
+with holly, and aglitter with tinsel.  Nowhere
+did there seem to be a spot that did not have its
+bit of tissue paper or its trail of red ribbon.  And
+everything--holly, ribbon, tissue, and tinsel--
+led to the mysteriously closed doors of the great
+front drawing-room, past which none but Billy
+and her accredited messengers might venture. 
+No wonder, indeed, that even Baby scented
+excitement, and that Baby's mother was not
+exactly calm.  No wonder, too, that Bertram, with
+his helpless right arm, and his heavy heart, felt
+peculiarly forlorn and ``out of it.''  No wonder,
+also, that he took himself literally out of it with
+growing frequency.
+
+Mr. and Mrs. Hartwell and little Kate were
+to stay at the Strata.  The boys, Paul and
+Egbert, were to go to Cyril's.  Promptly at the
+appointed time, two days before Christmas, they
+arrived.  And from that hour until two days after
+Christmas, when the last bit of holly, ribbon,
+tissue, and tinsel disappeared from the floor,
+Billy moved in a whirl of anxious responsibility
+that was yet filled with fun, frolic, and laughter.
+
+It was a great success, the whole affair. 
+Everybody seemed pleased and happy--that is,
+everybody but Bertram; and he very plainly tried to
+seem pleased and happy.  Even Cyril unbent to
+the extent of not appearing to mind the noise
+one bit; and Sister Kate (Bertram said) found
+only the extraordinarily small number of four
+details to change in the arrangements.  Baby
+obligingly let his teeth-getting go, for the
+occasion, and he and the twins, Franz and Felix, were
+the admiration and delight of all.  Little Kate,
+to be sure, was a trifle disconcerting once or twice,
+but everybody was too absorbed to pay much
+attention to her.  Billy did, however, remember
+her opening remarks.
+
+``Well, little Kate, do you remember me?''
+Billy had greeted her pleasantly.
+
+``Oh, yes,'' little Kate had answered, with a
+winning smile.  ``You're my Aunt Billy what
+married my Uncle Bertram instead of Uncle
+William as you said you would first.''
+
+Everybody laughed, and Billy colored, of
+course; but little Kate went on eagerly:
+
+``And I've been wanting just awfully to see
+you,'' she announced.
+
+``Have you?  I'm glad, I'm sure.  I feel highly
+flattered,'' smiled Billy.
+
+``Well, I have.  You see, I wanted to ask you
+something.  Have you ever wished that you _had_
+married Uncle William instead of Uncle Bertram,
+or that you'd tried for Uncle Cyril before Aunty
+Marie got him?''
+
+``Kate!'' gasped her horrified mother.  ``I
+told you--  You see,'' she broke off, turning to
+Billy despairingly.  ``She's been pestering me
+with questions like that ever since she knew she
+was coming.  She never has forgotten the way
+you changed from one uncle to the other.  You
+may remember; it made a great impression on
+her at the time.''
+
+``Yes, I--I remember,'' stammered Billy,
+trying to laugh off her embarrassment.
+
+``But you haven't told me yet whether you
+did wish you'd married Uncle William, or Uncle
+Cyril,'' interposed little Kate, persistently.
+
+``No, no, of course not!'' exclaimed Billy,
+with a vivid blush, casting her eyes about for a
+door of escape, and rejoicing greatly when she
+spied Delia with the baby coming toward them. 
+``There, look, my dear, here's your new cousin,
+little Bertram!'' she exclaimed.  ``Don't you
+want to see him?''
+
+Little Kate turned dutifully.
+
+``Yes'm, Aunt Billy, but I'd rather see the
+twins.  Mother says _they're_ real pretty and cunning.''
+
+``Er--y-yes, they are,'' murmured Billy, on
+whom the emphasis of the ``they're'' had not
+been lost.
+
+Naturally, as may be supposed, therefore,
+Billy had not forgotten little Kate's opening remarks.
+
+Immediately after Christmas Mr. Hartwell
+and the boys went back to their Western home,
+leaving Mrs. Hartwell and her daughter to make
+a round of visits to friends in the East.  For
+almost a week after Christmas they remained at
+the Strata; and it was on the last day of their
+stay that little Kate asked the question that
+proved so momentous in results.
+
+Billy, almost unconsciously, had avoided t<e^>te-
+<a!>-t<e^>tes with her small guest.  But to-day they
+were alone together.
+
+``Aunt Billy,'' began the little girl, after a
+meditative gaze into the other's face, ``you _are_
+married to Uncle Bertram, aren't you?''
+
+``I certainly am, my dear,'' smiled Billy,
+trying to speak unconcernedly.
+
+``Well, then, what makes you forget it?''
+
+``What makes me forget--  Why, child, what
+a question!  What do you mean?  I don't forget
+it!'' exclaimed Billy, indignantly.
+
+``Then what _did_ mother mean?  I heard her
+tell Uncle William myself--she didn't know I
+heard, though--that she did wish you'd remember
+you were Uncle Bertram's wife as well as
+Cousin Bertram's mother.''
+
+Billy flushed scarlet, then grew very white. 
+At that moment Mrs. Hartwell came into the
+room.  Little Kate turned triumphantly.
+
+``There, she hasn't forgotten, and I knew she
+hadn't, mother!  I asked her just now, and she
+said she hadn't.''
+
+``Hadn't what?'' questioned Mrs. Hartwell,
+looking a little apprehensively at her sister-in-
+law's white face and angry eyes.
+
+``Hadn't forgotten that she was Uncle Bertram's
+wife.''
+
+``Kate,'' interposed Billy, steadily meeting
+her sister-in-law's gaze, ``will you be good enough
+to tell me what this child is talking about?''
+
+Mrs. Hartwell sighed, and gave an impatient
+gesture.
+
+``Kate, I've a mind to take you home on the
+next train,'' she said to her daughter.  ``Run
+away, now, down-stairs.  Your Aunt Billy and I
+want to talk.  Come, come, hurry!  I mean what
+I say,'' she added warningly, as she saw unmistakable
+signs of rebellion on the small young
+face.
+
+``I wish,'' pouted little Kate, rising reluctantly,
+and moving toward the door, ``that you
+didn't always send me away just when I wanted
+most to stay!''
+
+``Well, Kate?'' prompted Billy, as the door
+closed behind the little girl.
+
+``Yes, I suppose I'll have to say it now, as
+long as that child has put her finger in the pie. 
+But I hadn't intended to speak, no matter what
+I saw.  I promised myself I wouldn't, before I
+came.  I know, of course, how Bertram and Cyril,
+and William, too, say that I'm always interfering
+in affairs that don't concern me--though,
+for that matter, if my own brother's affairs don't
+concern me, I don't know whose should!
+
+``But, as I said, I wasn't going to speak this
+time, no matter what I saw.  And I haven't--
+except to William, and Cyril, and Aunt Hannah;
+but I suppose somewhere little Kate got
+hold of it.  It's simply this, Billy.  It seems
+to me it's high time you began to realize that
+you're Bertram's wife as well as the baby's
+mother.''
+
+``That, I am--  I don't think I quite understand,''
+said Billy, unsteadily.
+
+``No, I suppose you don't,'' sighed Kate,
+``though where your eyes are, I don't see--or,
+rather, I do see: they're on the baby, _always_. 
+It's all very well and lovely, Billy, to be a devoted
+mother, and you certainly are that.  I'll
+say that much for you, and I'll admit I never
+thought you would be.  But _can't_ you see what
+you're doing to Bertram?''
+
+``_Doing to Bertram!_--by being a devoted
+mother to his son!''
+
+``Yes, doing to Bertram.  Can't you see what
+a change there is in the boy?  He doesn't act
+like himself at all.  He's restless and gloomy and
+entirely out of sorts.''
+
+``Yes, I know; but that's his arm,'' pleaded
+Billy.  ``Poor boy--he's so tired of it!''
+
+Kate shook her head decisively.
+
+``It's more than his arm, Billy.  You'd see
+it yourself if you weren't blinded by your
+absorption in that baby.  Where is Bertram every
+evening?  Where is he daytimes?  Do you realize
+that he's been at home scarcely one evening
+since I came?  And as for the days--he's almost
+never here.''
+
+``But, Kate, he can't paint now, you know,
+so of course he doesn't need to stay so closely
+at home,'' defended Billy.  ``He goes out to find
+distraction from himself.''
+
+``Yes, `distraction,' indeed,'' sniffed Kate. 
+``And where do you suppose he finds it?  Do
+you _know_ where he finds it?  I tell you, Billy,
+Bertram Henshaw is not the sort of man that
+should find too much `distraction' outside his
+home.  His tastes and his temperament are
+altogether too Bohemian, and--''
+
+Billy interrupted with a peremptorily upraised
+hand.
+
+``Please remember, Kate, you are speaking
+of my husband to his wife; and his wife has perfect
+confidence in him, and is just a little particular
+as to what you say.''
+
+``Yes; well, I'm speaking of my brother, too,
+whom I know very well,'' shrugged Kate.  ``All
+is, you may remember sometime that I warned
+you--that's all.  This trusting business is all
+very pretty; but I think 'twould be a lot prettier,
+and a vast deal more sensible, if you'd give him
+a little attention as well as trust, and see if you
+can't keep him at home a bit more.  At least
+you'll know whom he's with, then.  Cyril says
+he saw him last week with Bob Seaver.''
+
+``With--Bob--Seaver?'' faltered Billy,
+changing color.
+
+``Yes.  I see you remember him,'' smiled
+Kate, not quite agreeably.  ``Perhaps now
+you'll take some stock in what I've said, and
+remember it.''
+
+``I'll remember it, certainly,'' returned Billy,
+a little proudly.  ``You've said a good many
+things to me, in the past, Mrs. Hartwell, and
+I've remembered them all--every one.''
+
+It was Kate's turn to flush, and she did it.
+
+``Yes, I know.  And I presume very likely
+sometimes there _hasn't_ been much foundation
+for what I've said.  I think this time, however,
+you'll find there is,'' she finished, with an air of
+hurt dignity.
+
+Billy made no reply, perhaps because Delia,
+at that moment, brought in the baby.
+
+Mrs. Hartwell and little Kate left the Strata
+the next morning.  Until then Billy contrived
+to keep, before them, a countenance serene, and
+a manner free from unrest.  Even when, after
+dinner that evening, Bertram put on his hat and
+coat and went out, Billy refused to meet her sister-
+in-law's meaning gaze.  But in the morning,
+after they had left the house, Billy did not
+attempt to deceive herself.  Determinedly, then,
+she set herself to going over in her mind the past
+months since the baby came; and she was appalled
+at what she found.  Ever in her ears, too,
+was that feared name, ``Bob Seaver''; and ever
+before her eyes was that night years ago when,
+as an eighteen-year-old girl, she had followed
+Bertram and Bob Seaver into a glittering caf<e'>
+at eleven o'clock at night, because Bertram had
+been drinking and was not himself.  She remembered
+Bertram's face when he had seen her, and
+what he had said when she begged him to come
+home.  She remembered, too, what the family
+had said afterward.  But she remembered, also,
+that years later Bertram had told her what that
+escapade of hers had really done for him, and
+that he believed he had actually loved her from
+that moment.  After that night, at all events,
+he had had little to do with Bob Seaver.
+
+And now Seaver was back again, it seemed--
+and with Bertram.  They had been seen together. 
+But if they had, what could she do?  Surely she
+could hardly now follow them into a public caf<e'>
+and demand that Seaver let her husband come
+home!  But she could keep him at home, perhaps. 
+(Billy quite brightened at this thought.)  Kate
+had said that she was so absorbed in Baby that
+her husband received no attention at all.  Billy
+did not believe this was true; but if it were true,
+she could at least rectify that mistake.  If it were
+attention that he wanted--he should want no
+more.  Poor Bertram!  No wonder that he had
+sought distraction outside!  When one had a
+horrid broken arm that would not let one do anything,
+what else could one do?
+
+Just here Billy suddenly remembered the book,
+``A Talk to Young Wives.''  If she recollected
+rightly, there was a chapter that covered the very
+claim Kate had been making.  Billy had not
+thought of the book for months, but she went
+at once to get it now.  There might be, after all,
+something in it that would help her.
+
+``The Coming of the First Baby.''  Billy
+found the chapter without difficulty and settled
+herself to read, her countenance alight with
+interest.  In a surprisingly short time, however,
+a new expression came to her face; and at last a
+little gasp of dismay fell from her lips.  She looked
+up then, with a startled gaze.
+
+_Had_ her walls possessed eyes and ears all
+these past months, only to give instructions to
+an unseen hand that it might write what the
+eyes and ears had learned?  For it was such
+sentences as these that the conscience-smitten
+Billy read:
+
+``Maternity is apt to work a miracle in a woman's
+life, but sometimes it spells disaster so far
+as domestic bliss is concerned.  The young mother,
+wrapped up in the delights and duties of motherhood,
+utterly forgets that she has a husband. 
+She lives and moves and has her being in the
+nursery.  She thinks baby, talks baby, knows
+only baby.  She refuses to dress up, because it
+is easier to take care of baby in a frowzy wrapper. 
+She will not go out with her husband for fear
+something might happen to the baby.  She gives
+up her music because baby won't let her practice. 
+In vain her husband tries to interest her
+in his own affairs.  She has neither eyes nor ears
+for him, only for baby.
+
+``Now no man enjoys having his nose put out
+of joint, even by his own child.  He loves his
+child devotedly, and is proud of him, of course;
+but that does not keep him from wanting the society
+of his wife occasionally, nor from longing
+for her old-time love and sympathetic interest. 
+It is an admirable thing, certainly, for a woman
+to be a devoted mother; but maternal affection
+can be carried too far.  Husbands have some
+rights as well as offspring; and the wife who
+neglects her husband for her babies does so at her
+peril.  Home, with the wife eternally in the
+nursery, is apt to be a dull and lonely thing to the
+average husband, so he starts out to find amusement
+for himself--and he finds it.  Then is the
+time when the new little life that is so precious,
+and that should have bound the two more closely
+together, becomes the wedge that drives them
+apart.''
+
+Billy did not read any more.  With a little
+sobbing cry she flung the book back into her
+desk, and began to pull off her wrapper.  Her
+fingers shook.  Already she saw herself a Monster,
+a Wicked Destroyer of Domestic Bliss with
+her thoughtless absorption in Baby, until he had
+become that Awful Thing--a _Wedge_.  And Bertram--
+poor Bertram, with his broken arm!  She
+had not played to him, nor sung to him, nor gone
+out with him.  And when had they had one of
+their good long talks about Bertram's work and
+plans?
+
+But it should all be changed now.  She would
+play, and sing, and go out with him.  She would
+dress up, too.  He should see no more wrappers. 
+She would ask about his work, and seem
+interested.  She _was_ interested.  She remembered
+now, that just before he was hurt, he had told
+her of a new portrait, and of a new ``Face of a
+Girl'' that he had planned to do.  Lately he had
+said nothing about these.  He had seemed
+discouraged--and no wonder, with his broken arm! 
+But she would change all that.  He should see! 
+And forthwith Billy hurried to her closet to pick
+out her prettiest house frock.
+
+Long before dinner Billy was ready, waiting in
+the drawing-room.  She had on a pretty little blue
+silk gown that she knew Bertram liked, and she
+watched very anxiously for Bertram to come up the
+steps.  She remembered now, with a pang, that he
+had long since given up his peculiar ring; but she
+meant to meet him at the door just the same.
+
+Bertram, however, did not come.  At a quarter
+before six he telephoned that he had met some
+friends, and would dine at the club.
+
+``My, my, how pretty we are!'' exclaimed
+Uncle William, when they went down to dinner
+together.  ``New frock?''
+
+``Why, no, Uncle William,'' laughed Billy, a
+little tremulously.  ``You've seen it dozens of
+times!''
+
+``Have I?'' murmured the man.  ``I don't
+seem to remember it.  Too bad Bertram isn't
+here to see you.  Somehow, you look unusually
+pretty to-night.''
+
+And Billy's heart ached anew.
+
+Billy spent the evening practicing--softly,
+to be sure, so as not to wake Baby--but _practicing_.
+
+As the days passed Billy discovered that it
+was much easier to say she would ``change
+things'' than it was really to change them.  She
+changed herself, it is true--her clothes, her
+habits, her words, and her thoughts; but it was
+more difficult to change Bertram.  In the first
+place, he was there so little.  She was dismayed
+when she saw how very little, indeed, he was at
+home--and she did not like to ask him outright
+to stay.  That was not in accordance with her
+plans.  Besides, the ``Talk to Young Wives''
+said that indirect influence was much to be
+preferred, always, to direct persuasion--which
+last, indeed, usually failed to produce results.
+
+So Billy ``dressed up,'' and practiced, and
+talked (of anything but the baby), and even
+hinted shamelessly once or twice that she would
+like to go to the theater; but all to little avail. 
+True, Bertram brightened up, for a minute, when
+he came home and found her in a new or a favorite
+dress, and he told her how pretty she looked. 
+He appeared to like to have her play to him, too,
+even declaring once or twice that it was quite
+like old times, yes, it was.  But he never noticed
+her hints about the theater, and he did not seem
+to like to talk about his work, even a little bit.
+
+Billy laid this last fact to his injured arm.  She
+decided that he had become blue and discouraged,
+and that he needed cheering up, especially
+about his work; so she determinedly and
+systematically set herself to doing it.
+
+She talked of the fine work he had done, and
+of the still finer work he would yet do, when his
+arm was well.  She told him how proud she was
+of him, and she let him see how dear his Art was
+to her, and how badly she would feel if she thought
+he had really lost all his interest in his work and
+would never paint again.  She questioned him
+about the new portrait he was to begin as soon
+as his arm would let him; and she tried to arouse
+his enthusiasm in the picture he had planned to
+show in the March Exhibition of the Bohemian
+Ten, telling him that she was sure his arm would
+allow him to complete at least one canvas to hang.
+
+In none of this, however, did Bertram appear
+in the least interested.  The one thing, indeed,
+which he seemed not to want to talk about, was
+his work; and he responded to her overtures on
+the subject with only moody silence, or else with
+almost irritable monosyllables; all of which not
+only grieved but surprised Billy very much.  For,
+according to the ``Talk to Young Wives,'' she
+was doing exactly what the ideal, sympathetic,
+interested-in-her-husband's-work wife should do.
+
+When February came, bringing with it no
+change for the better, Billy was thoroughly
+frightened.  Bertram's arm plainly was not
+improving.  He was more gloomy and restless than
+ever.  He seemed not to want to stay at home
+at all; and Billy knew now for a certainty that he
+was spending more and more time with Bob
+Seaver and ``the boys.''
+
+Poor Billy!  Nowhere could she look these days
+and see happiness.  Even the adored baby seemed,
+at times, almost to give an added pang.  Had he
+not become, according to the ``Talk to Young
+Wives'' that awful thing, a _Wedge_?  The Annex,
+too, carried its sting; for where was the need of
+an overflow house for happiness now, when there
+was no happiness to overflow?  Even the little
+jade idol on Billy's mantel Billy could not bear
+to see these days, for its once bland smile had
+become a hideous grin, demanding, ``Where,
+now, is your heap plenty velly good luckee?''
+
+But, before Bertram, Billy still carried a bravely
+smiling face, and to him still she talked earnestly
+and enthusiastically of his work--which last,
+as it happened, was the worst course she could
+have pursued; for the one thing poor Bertram
+wished to forget, just now, was--his work.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVIII
+
+CONSPIRATORS
+
+
+Early in February came Arkwright's appearance
+at the Boston Opera House--the first since
+he had sung there as a student a few years before. 
+He was an immediate and an unquestioned success. 
+His portrait adorned the front page of almost
+every Boston newspaper the next morning,
+and captious critics vied with each other to do
+him honor.  His full history, from boyhood up,
+was featured, with special emphasis on his recent
+triumphs in New York and foreign capitals.  He
+was interviewed as to his opinion on everything
+from vegetarianism to woman's suffrage; and
+his preferences as to pies and pastimes were given
+headline prominence.  There was no doubt of it. 
+Mr. M. J. Arkwright was a star.
+
+All Arkwright's old friends, including Billy,
+Bertram, Cyril, Marie, Calderwell, Alice Greggory,
+Aunt Hannah, and Tommy Dunn, went to
+hear him sing; and after the performance he held
+a miniature reception, with enough adulation to
+turn his head completely around, he declared
+deprecatingly.  Not until the next evening, however,
+did he have an opportunity for what he
+called a real talk with any of his friends; then,
+in Calderwell's room, he settled back in his chair
+with a sigh of content.
+
+For a time his own and Calderwell's affairs
+occupied their attention; then, after a short pause,
+the tenor asked abruptly:
+
+``Is there anything--wrong with the Henshaws,
+Calderwell?''
+
+Calderwell came suddenly erect in his chair.
+
+``Thank you!  I hoped you'd introduce that
+subject; though, for that matter, if you hadn't,
+I should.  Yes, there is--and I'm looking to
+you, old man, to get them out of it.''
+
+``I?'' Arkwright sat erect now.
+
+``Yes.''
+
+``What do you mean?''
+
+``In a way, the expected has happened--
+though I know now that I didn't really expect
+it to happen, in spite of my prophecies.  You may
+remember I was always skeptical on the subject
+of Bertram's settling down to a domestic hearthstone. 
+I insisted 'twould be the turn of a girl's
+head and the curve of her cheek that he wanted
+to paint.''
+
+Arkwright looked up with a quick frown.
+
+``You don't mean that Henshaw has been cad
+enough to find another--''
+
+Calderwell threw up his hand.
+
+``No, no, not that!  We haven't that to deal
+with--yet, thank goodness!  There's no woman
+in it.  And, really, when you come right down to
+it, if ever a fellow had an excuse to seek diversion,
+Bertram Henshaw has--poor chap!  It's just
+this.  Bertram broke his arm again last October.''
+
+``Yes, so I hear, and I thought he was looking
+badly.''
+
+``He is.  It's a bad business.  'Twas improperly
+set in the first place, and it's not doing well
+now.  In fact, I'm told on pretty good authority
+that the doctor says he probably will never use
+it again.''
+
+``Oh, by George!  Calderwell!''
+
+``Yes.  Tough, isn't it?  'Specially when you
+think of his work, and know--as I happen to--
+that he's particularly dependent on his right
+hand for everything.  He doesn't tell this
+generally, and I understand Billy and the family
+know nothing of it--how hopeless the case is,
+I mean.  Well, naturally, the poor fellow has
+been pretty thoroughly discouraged, and to get
+away from himself he's gone back to his old
+Bohemian habits, spending much of his time with
+some of his old cronies that are none too good
+for him--Seaver, for instance.''
+
+``Bob Seaver?  Yes, I know him.''  Arkwright's
+lips snapped together crisply.
+
+``Yes.  He said he knew you.  That's why I'm
+counting on your help.''
+
+``What do you mean?''
+
+``I mean I want you to get Henshaw away
+from him, and keep him away.''
+
+Arkwright's face darkened with an angry
+flush.
+
+``Great Scott, Calderwell!  What are you
+talking about?  Henshaw is no kid to be toted
+home, and I'm no nursery governess to do the
+toting!''
+
+Calderwell laughed quietly.
+
+``No; I don't think any one would take you
+for a nursery governess, Arkwright, in spite of
+the fact that you are still known to some of your
+friends as `Mary Jane.'  But you can sing a song,
+man, which will promptly give you a through
+ticket to their innermost sacred circle.  In fact,
+to my certain knowledge, Seaver is already planning
+a jamboree with you at the right hand of
+the toastmaster.  There's your chance.  Once
+in, stay in--long enough to get Henshaw
+out.''
+
+``But, good heavens, Calderwell, it's impossible! 
+What can I do?'' demanded Arkwright,
+savagely.  ``I can't walk up to the man, take
+him by the ear, and say:  `Here, you, sir--march
+home!'  Neither can I come the `I-am-holier-
+than-thou' act, and hold up to him the mirror
+of his transgressions.''
+
+``No, but you can get him out of it _some_ way. 
+You can find a way--for Billy's sake.''
+
+There was no answer, and, after a moment,
+Calderwell went on more quietly.
+
+``I haven't seen Billy but two or three times
+since I came back to Boston--but I don't need
+to, to know that she's breaking her heart over
+something.  And of course that something is--
+Bertram.''
+
+There was still no answer.  Arkwright got up
+suddenly, and walked to the window.
+
+``You see, I'm helpless,'' resumed Calderwell. 
+``I don't paint pictures, nor sing songs, nor write
+stories, nor dance jigs for a living--and you
+have to do one or another to be in with that set. 
+And it's got to be a Johnny-on-the-spot with
+Bertram.  All is, something will have to be done
+to get him out of the state of mind and body
+he's in now, or--''
+
+Arkwright wheeled sharply.
+
+``When did you say this jamboree was going
+to be?'' he demanded.
+
+``Next week, some time.  The date is not settled. 
+They were going to consult you.''
+
+``Hm-m,'' commented Arkwright.  And,
+though his next remark was a complete change
+of subject, Calderwell gave a contented sigh.
+
+
+If, when the proposition was first made to him,
+Arkwright was doubtful of his ability to be a
+successful ``Johnny-on-the-spot,'' he was even
+more doubtful of it as the days passed, and he
+was attempting to carry out the suggestion.
+
+He had known that he was undertaking a most
+difficult and delicate task, and he soon began to
+fear that it was an impossible one, as well.  With
+a dogged persistence, however, he adhered to his
+purpose, ever on the alert to be more watchful,
+more tactful, more efficient in emergencies.
+
+Disagreeable as was the task, in a way, in
+another way it was a great pleasure to him.  He
+was glad of the opportunity to do anything for
+Billy; and then, too, he was glad of something
+absorbing enough to take his mind off his own
+affairs.  He told himself, sometimes, that this
+helping another man to fight his tiger skin was
+assisting himself to fight his own.
+
+Arkwright was trying very hard not to think
+of Alice Greggory these days.  He had come back
+hoping that he was in a measure ``cured'' of his
+``folly,'' as he termed it; but the first look into
+Alice Greggory's blue-gray eyes had taught him
+the fallacy of that idea.  In that very first meeting
+with Alice, he feared that he had revealed
+his secret, for she was plainly so nervously distant
+and ill at ease with him that he could but
+construe her embarrassment and chilly dignity as
+pity for him and a desire to show him that she
+had nothing but friendship for him.  Since then
+he had seen but little of her, partly because he
+did not wish to see her, and partly because his
+time was so fully occupied.  Then, too, in a round-
+about way he had heard a rumor that Calderwell
+was engaged to be married; and, though no feminine
+name had been mentioned in connection
+with the story, Arkwright had not hesitated
+to supply in his own mind that of Alice Greggory.
+
+Beginning with the ``jamboree,'' which came
+off quite in accordance with Calderwell's prophecies,
+Arkwright spent the most of such time as
+was not given to his professional duties in
+deliberately cultivating the society of Bertram and
+his friends.  To this extent he met with no difficulty,
+for he found that M. J. Arkwright, the
+new star in the operatic firmament, was obviously
+a welcome comrade.  Beyond this it was not so
+easy.  Arkwright wondered, indeed, sometimes,
+if he were making any progress at all.  But still
+he persevered.
+
+He walked with Bertram, he talked with Bertram,
+unobtrusively he contrived to be near Bertram
+almost always, when they were together
+with ``the boys.''  Gradually he won from him
+the story of what the surgeon had said to him,
+and of how black the future looked in
+consequence.  This established a new bond between
+them, so potent that Arkwright ventured to test
+it one day by telling Bertram the story of the
+tiger skin--the first tiger skin in his uncle's
+library years ago, and of how, since then, any
+difficulty he had encountered he had tried to treat
+as a tiger skin.  In telling the story he was careful
+to draw no moral for his listener, and to preach
+no sermon.  He told the tale, too, with all possible
+whimsical lightness of touch, and immediately
+at its conclusion he changed the subject. 
+But that he had not failed utterly in his design
+was evidenced a few days later when Bertram
+grimly declared that he guessed _his_ tiger skin
+was a lively beast, all right.
+
+The first time Arkwright went home with
+Bertram, his presence was almost a necessity. 
+Bertram was not quite himself that night.  Billy
+admitted them.  She had plainly been watching
+and waiting.  Arkwright never forgot the look
+on her face as her eyes met his.  There was a
+curious mixture of terror, hurt pride, relief, and
+shame, overtopped by a fierce loyalty which almost
+seemed to say aloud the words:  ``Don't
+you dare to blame him!''
+
+Arkwright's heart ached with sympathy and
+admiration at the proudly courageous way in
+which Billy carried off the next few painful
+minutes.  Even when he bade her good night a little
+later, only her eyes said ``thank you.''  Her lips
+were dumb.
+
+Arkwright often went home with Bertram after
+that.  Not that it was always necessary--
+far from it.  Some time, indeed, elapsed before
+he had quite the same excuse again for his presence. 
+But he had found that occasionally he
+could get Bertram home earlier by adroit
+suggestions of one kind or another; and more and
+more frequently he was succeeding in getting
+him home for a game of chess.
+
+Bertram liked chess, and was a fine player. 
+Since breaking his arm he had turned to games
+with the feverish eagerness of one who looks for
+something absorbing to fill an unrestful mind. 
+It was Seaver's skill in chess that had at first
+attracted Bertram to the man long ago; but Bertram
+could beat him easily--too easily for much
+pleasure in it now.  So they did not play chess
+often these days.  Bertram had found that, in
+spite of his injury, he could still take part in
+other games, and some of them, if not so intricate
+as chess, were at least more apt to take his
+mind off himself, especially if there were a bit
+of money up to add zest and interest.
+
+As it happened, however, Bertram learned
+one day that Arkwright could play chess--and
+play well, too, as he discovered after their first
+game together.  This fact contributed not a
+little to such success as Arkwright was having
+in his efforts to wean Bertram from his undesirable
+companions; for Bertram soon found out
+that Arkwright was more than a match for himself,
+and the occasional games he did succeed in
+winning only whetted his appetite for more. 
+Many an evening now, therefore, was spent by
+the two men in Bertram's den, with Billy
+anxiously hovering near, her eyes longingly
+watching either her husband's absorbed face or the
+pretty little red and white ivory figures, which
+seemed to possess so wonderful a power to hold
+his attention.  In spite of her joy at the chessmen's
+efficacy in keeping Bertram at home, however,
+she was almost jealous of them.
+
+``Mr. Arkwright, couldn't you show _me_ how to
+play, sometime?'' she said wistfully, one evening,
+when the momentary absence of Bertram
+had left the two alone together.  ``I used to
+watch Bertram and Marie play years ago; but
+I never knew how to play myself.  Not that I
+can see where the fun is in just sitting staring at
+a chessboard for half an hour at a time, though! 
+But Bertram likes it, and so I--I want to learn
+to stare with him.  Will you teach me?''
+
+``I should be glad to,'' smiled Arkwright.
+
+``Then will you come, maybe, sometimes
+when Bertram is at the doctor's?  He goes every
+Tuesday and Friday at three o'clock for treatment. 
+I'd rather you came then for two reasons:
+first, because I don't want Bertram to know
+I'm learning, till I can play _some_; and, secondly,
+because--because I don't want to take you
+away--from him.''
+
+The last words were spoken very low, and were
+accompanied by a painful blush.  It was the
+first time Billy had ever hinted to Arkwright,
+in words, that she understood what he was trying
+to do.
+
+``I'll come next Tuesday,'' promised Arkwright,
+with a cheerfully unobservant air.  Then Bertram
+came in, bringing the book of Chess Problems,
+for which he had gone up-stairs.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIX
+
+CHESS
+
+
+Promptly at three o'clock Tuesday afternoon
+Arkwright appeared at the Strata, and for the
+next hour Billy did her best to learn the names
+and the moves of the pretty little ivory men. 
+But at the end of the hour she was almost ready
+to give up in despair.
+
+``If there weren't so many kinds, and if they
+didn't all insist on doing something different, it
+wouldn't be so bad,'' she sighed.  ``But how can
+you be expected to remember which goes diagonal,
+and which crisscross, and which can't go
+but one square, and which can skip 'way across
+the board, 'specially when that little pawn-thing
+can go straight ahead _two_ squares sometimes,
+and the next minute only one (except when it
+takes things, and then it goes crooked one square)
+and when that tiresome little horse tries to go
+all ways at once, and can jump 'round and hurdle
+over _anybody's_ head, even the king's--how can
+you expect folks to remember?  But, then, Bertram
+remembers,'' she added, resolutely, ``so I
+guess I can.''
+
+Whenever possible, after that, Arkwright came
+on Tuesdays and Fridays, and, in spite of her
+doubts, Billy did very soon begin to ``remember.'' 
+Spurred by her great desire to play with Bertram
+and surprise him, Billy spared no pains to learn
+well her lessons.  Even among the baby's books
+and playthings these days might be found a
+``Manual of Chess,'' for Billy pursued her study
+at all hours; and some nights even her dreams
+were of ruined, castles where kings and queens
+and bishops disported themselves, with pawns
+for servants, and where a weird knight on horseback
+used the castle's highest tower for a hurdle,
+landing always a hundred yards to one side of
+where he would be expected to come down.
+
+It was not long, of course, before Billy could
+play a game of chess, after a fashion, but she
+knew just enough to realize that she actually
+knew nothing; and she knew, too, that until she
+could play a really good game, her moves would
+not hold Bertram's attention for one minute. 
+Not at present, therefore, was she willing Bertram
+should know what she was attempting to do.
+
+Billy had not yet learned what the great
+surgeon had said to Bertram.  She knew only that
+his arm was no better, and that he never voluntarily
+spoke of his painting.  Over her now seemed
+to be hanging a vague horror.  Something was
+the matter.  She knew that.  But what it was
+she could not fathom.  She realized that Arkwright
+was trying to help, and her gratitude,
+though silent, knew no bounds.  Not even to
+Aunt Hannah or Uncle William could she speak
+of this thing that was troubling her.  That they,
+too, understood, in a measure, she realized.  But
+still she said no word.  Billy was wearing a proud
+little air of aloofness these days that was heart-
+breaking to those who saw it and read it aright
+for what it was: loyalty to Bertram, no matter
+what happened.  And so Billy pored over her
+chessboard feverishly, tirelessly, having ever
+before her longing eyes the dear time when Bertram,
+across the table from her, should sit happily
+staring for half an hour at a move she had
+made.
+
+Whatever Billy's chess-playing was to signify,
+however, in her own life, it was destined to play
+a part in the lives of two friends of hers that was
+most unexpected.
+
+During Billy's very first lesson, as it chanced,
+Alice Greggory called and found Billy and Arkwright
+so absorbed in their game that they did
+not at first hear Eliza speak her name.
+
+The quick color that flew to Arkwright's face
+at sight of herself was construed at once by Alice
+as embarrassment on his part at being found
+t<e^>te-<a!>-t<e^>te with Bertram Henshaw's wife.  And
+she did not like it.  She was not pleased that he
+was there.  She was less pleased that he blushed
+for being there.
+
+It so happened that Alice found him there
+again several times.  Alice gave a piano lesson
+at two o'clock every Tuesday and Friday afternoon
+to a little Beacon Street neighbor of Billy's,
+and she had fallen into the habit of stepping in
+to see Billy for a few minutes afterward, which
+brought her there at a little past three, just after
+the chess lesson was well started.
+
+If, the first time that Alice Greggory found
+Arkwright opposite Billy at the chess-table, she
+was surprised and displeased, the second and third
+times she was much more so.  When it finally
+came to her one day with sickening illumination,
+that always the t<e^>te-<a!>-t<e^>tes were during Bertram's
+hour at the doctor's, she was appalled.
+
+What could it mean?  Had Arkwright given
+up his fight?  Was he playing false to himself
+and to Bertram by trying thus, on the sly, to win
+the love of his friend's wife?  Was this man,
+whom she had so admired for his brave stand,
+and to whom all unasked she had given her heart's
+best love (more the pity of it!)--was this idol
+of hers to show feet of clay, after all?  She could
+not believe it.  And yet--
+
+Sick at heart, but imbued with the determination
+of a righteous cause, Alice Greggory resolved,
+for Billy's sake, to watch and wait.  If
+necessary she should speak to some one--though
+to whom she did not know.  Billy's happiness
+should not be put in jeopardy if she could help it. 
+Indeed, no!
+
+As the weeks passed, Alice came to be more
+and more uneasy, distressed, and grieved.  Of
+Billy she could believe no evil; but of Arkwright
+she was beginning to think she could believe
+everything that was dishonorable and despicable. 
+And to believe that of the man she still loved--
+no wonder that Alice did not look nor act like
+herself these days.
+
+Incensed at herself because she did love him,
+angry at him because he seemed to be proving
+himself so unworthy of that love, and genuinely
+frightened at what she thought was the fast-
+approaching wreck of all happiness for her dear
+friend, Billy, Alice did not know which way to
+turn.  At the first she had told herself confidently
+that she would ``speak to somebody.''  But, as
+time passed, she saw the impracticability of that
+idea.  Speak to somebody, indeed!  To whom? 
+When?  Where?  What should she say?  Where
+was her right to say anything?  She was not
+dealing with a parcel of naughty children who had
+pilfered the cake jar!  She was dealing with grown
+men and women, who, presumedly, knew their
+own affairs, and who, certainly, would resent
+any interference from her.  On the other hand,
+could she stand calmly by and see Bertram lose
+his wife, Arkwright his honor, Billy her happiness,
+and herself her faith in human nature, all
+because to do otherwise would be to meddle in other
+people's business?  Apparently she could, and
+should.  At least that seemed to be the r<o^>le which
+she was expected to play.
+
+It was when Alice had reached this unhappy
+frame of mind that Arkwright himself unexpectedly
+opened the door for her.
+
+The two were alone together in Bertram
+Henshaw's den.  It was Tuesday afternoon.  Alice
+had called to find Billy and Arkwright deep in
+their usual game of chess.  Then a matter of
+domestic affairs had taken Billy from the room.
+
+``I'm afraid I'll have to be gone ten minutes,
+or more,'' she had said, as she rose from the table
+reluctantly.  ``But you might be showing Alice
+the moves, Mr. Arkwright,'' she had added, with
+a laugh, as she disappeared.
+
+``Shall I teach you the moves?'' he had smiled,
+when they were alone together.
+
+Alice's reply had been so indignantly short
+and sharp that Arkwright, after a moment's
+pause, had said, with a whimsical smile that yet
+carried a touch of sadness:
+
+``I am forced to surmise from your answer
+that you think it is _you_ who should be teaching
+_me_ moves.  At all events, I seem to have been
+making some moves lately that have not suited
+you, judging by your actions.  Have I offended
+you in any way, Alice?''
+
+The girl turned with a quick lifting of her head. 
+Alice knew that if ever she were to speak, it must
+be now.  Never again could she hope for such
+an opportunity as this.  Suddenly throwing
+circumspect caution quite aside, she determined
+that she would speak.  Springing to her feet she
+crossed the room and seated herself in Billy's
+chair at the chess-table.
+
+``Me!  Offend me!'' she exclaimed, in a low
+voice.  ``As if I were the one you were offending!''
+
+``Why, _Alice!_'' murmured the man, in obvious
+stupefaction.
+
+Alice raised her hand, palm outward.
+
+``Now don't, _please_ don't pretend you don't
+know,'' she begged, almost piteously.  ``Please
+don't add that to all the rest.  Oh, I understand,
+of course, it's none of my affairs, and I wasn't
+going to speak,'' she choked; ``but, to-day, when
+you gave me this chance, I had to.  At first I
+couldn't believe it,'' she plunged on, plainly hurrying
+against Billy's return.  ``After all you'd
+told me of how you meant to fight it--your
+tiger skin.  And I thought it merely _happened_
+that you were here alone with her those days I
+came.  Then, when I found out they were _always_
+the days Mr. Henshaw was away at the doctor's,
+I had to believe.''
+
+She stopped for breath.  Arkwright, who, up
+to this moment had shown that he was completely
+mystified as to what she was talking
+about, suddenly flushed a painful red.  He was
+obviously about to speak, but she prevented him
+with a quick gesture.
+
+``There's a little more I've got to say, please. 
+As if it weren't bad enough to do what you're
+doing _at all_, but you must needs take it at such
+a time as this when--when her husband _isn't_
+doing just what he ought to do, and we all know
+it--it's so unfair to take her now, and try to--
+to win--  And you aren't even fair with him,''
+she protested tremulously.  ``You pretend to
+be his friend.  You go with him everywhere.  It's
+just as if you were _helping_ to--to pull him down. 
+You're one with the whole bunch.''  (The blood
+suddenly receded from Arkwright's face, leaving
+it very white; but if Alice saw it, she paid no
+heed.)  ``Everybody says you are.  Then to
+come here like this, on the sly, when you know
+he can't be here, I--  Oh, can't you see what
+you're doing?''
+
+There was a moment's pause, then Arkwright
+spoke.  A deep pain looked from his eyes.  He
+was still very pale, and his mouth had settled
+into sad lines.
+
+``I think, perhaps, it may be just as well if I
+tell you what I _am_ doing--or, rather, trying to
+do,'' he said quietly.
+
+Then he told her.
+
+``And so you see,'' he added, when he had
+finished the tale, ``I haven't really accomplished
+much, after all, and it seems the little I have
+accomplished has only led to my being misjudged
+by you, my best friend.''
+
+Alice gave a sobbing cry.  Her face was scarlet. 
+Horror, shame, and relief struggled for mastery
+in her countenance.
+
+``Oh, but I didn't know, I didn't know,'' she
+moaned, twisting her hands nervously.  ``And
+now, when you've been so brave, so true--for
+me to accuse you of--  Oh, can you _ever_ forgive
+me?  But you see, knowing that you _did_ care for
+her, it did look--''  She choked into silence,
+and turned away her head.
+
+He glanced at her tenderly, mournfully.
+
+``Yes,'' he said, after a minute, in a low voice. 
+``I can see how it did look; and so I'm going to
+tell you now something I had meant never to tell
+you.  There really couldn't have been anything in
+that, you see, for I found out long ago that it was
+gone--whatever love there had been for--
+Billy.''
+
+``But your--tiger skin!''
+
+``Oh, yes, I thought it was alive,'' smiled
+Arkwright, sadly, ``when I asked you to help me
+fight it.  But one day, very suddenly, I discovered
+that it was nothing but a dead skin of dreams
+and memories.  But I made another discovery,
+too.  I found that just beyond lay another one,
+and that was very much alive.''
+
+``Another one?'' Alice turned to him in
+wonder.  ``But you never asked me to help you fight
+--that one!''
+
+He shook his head.
+
+``No; I couldn't, you see.  You couldn't have
+helped me.  You'd only have hindered me.''
+
+``Hindered you?''
+
+``Yes.  You see, it was my love for--you,
+that I was fighting--then.''
+
+Alice gave a low cry and flushed vividly; but
+Arkwright hurried on, his eyes turned away.
+
+``Oh, I understand.  I know.  I'm not asking
+for--anything.  I heard some time ago of your
+engagement to Calderwell.  I've tried many
+times to say the proper, expected pretty speeches,
+but--I couldn't.  I will now, though.  I do. 
+You have all my tenderest best wishes for your
+happiness--dear.  If long ago I hadn't been
+such a blind fool as not to know my own
+heart--''
+
+``But--but there's some mistake,'' interposed
+Alice, palpitatingly, with hanging head. 
+``I--I'm not engaged to Mr. Calderwell.''
+
+Arkwright turned and sent a keen glance into
+her face.
+
+``You're--not?''
+
+``No.''
+
+``But I heard that Calderwell--''  He stopped
+helplessly.
+
+``You heard that Mr. Calderwell was engaged,
+very likely.  But--it so happens he isn't engaged--
+to me,'' murmured Alice, faintly.
+
+``But, long ago you said--''  Arkwright
+paused, his eyes still keenly searching her face.
+
+``Never mind what I said--long ago,'' laughed
+Alice, trying unsuccessfully to meet his gaze. 
+``One says lots of things, at times, you know.''
+
+Into Arkwright's eyes came a new light, a
+light that plainly needed but a breath to fan it
+into quick fire.
+
+``Alice,'' he said softly, ``do you mean that
+maybe now--I needn't try to fight--that other
+tiger skin?''
+
+There was no answer.
+
+Arkwright reached out a pleading hand.
+
+``Alice, dear, I've loved you so long,'' he begged
+unsteadily.  ``Don't you think that sometime,
+if I was very, very patient, you could just _begin_
+--to care a little for me?''
+
+Still there was no answer.  Then, slowly, Alice
+shook her head.  Her face was turned quite away
+--which was a pity, for if Arkwright could have
+seen the sudden tender mischief in her eyes, his
+own would not have become so somber.
+
+``Not even a little bit?''
+
+``I couldn't ever--begin,'' answered a half-
+smothered voice.
+
+``Alice!'' cried the man, heart-brokenly.
+
+Alice turned now, and for a fleeting instant
+let him see her eyes, glowing with the love so
+long kept in relentless exile.
+
+``I couldn't, because, you see-I began--
+long ago,'' she whispered.
+
+``Alice!''  It was the same single word, but
+spoken with a world of difference, for into it now
+was crowded all the glory and the wonder of a
+great love.  ``Alice!'' breathed the man again;
+and this time the word was, oh, so tenderly whispered
+into the little pink and white ear of the girl
+in his arms.
+
+``I got delayed,'' began Billy, in the doorway.
+
+``Oh-h!'' she broke off, beating a hushed, but
+precipitate, retreat.
+
+Fully thirty minutes later, Billy came to the
+door again.  This time her approach was heralded
+by a snatch of song.
+
+``I hope you'll excuse my being gone so long,''
+she smiled, as she entered the room where her
+two guests sat decorously face to face at the chess-
+table.
+
+``Well, you know you said you'd be gone ten
+minutes,'' Arkwright reminded her, politely.
+
+``Yes, I know I did.''  And Billy, to her credit,
+did not even smile at the man who did not know
+ten minutes from fifty.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXX
+
+BY A BABY'S HAND
+
+
+After all, it was the baby's hand that did it,
+as was proper, and perhaps to be expected; for
+surely, was it not Bertram, Jr.'s place to show
+his parents that he was, indeed, no Wedge, but
+a dear and precious Tie binding two loving, loyal
+hearts more and more closely together?  It
+would seem, indeed, that Bertram, Jr., thought
+so, perhaps, and very bravely he set about it;
+though, to carry out his purpose, he had to turn
+his steps into an unfamiliar way--a way of pain,
+and weariness, and danger.
+
+It was Arkwright who told Bertram that the
+baby was very sick, and that Billy wanted him. 
+Bertram went home at once to find a distracted,
+white-faced Billy, and a twisted, pain-racked
+little creature, who it was almost impossible to
+believe was the happy, laughing baby boy he
+had left that morning.
+
+For the next two weeks nothing was thought
+of in the silent old Beacon Street house but the
+tiny little life hovering so near Death's door that
+twice it appeared to have slipped quite across
+the threshold.  All through those terrible weeks
+it seemed as if Billy neither ate nor slept; and
+always at her side, comforting, cheering, and
+helping wherever possible was Bertram, tender,
+loving, and marvelously thoughtful.
+
+Then came the turning point when the universe
+itself appeared to hang upon a baby's
+breath.  Gradually, almost imperceptibly, came
+the fluttering back of the tiny spirit into the
+longing arms stretched so far, far out to meet and
+hold it.  And the father and the mother, looking
+into each other's sleepless, dark-ringed eyes,
+knew that their son was once more theirs to love
+and cherish.
+
+When two have gone together with a dear one
+down into the Valley of the Shadow of Death,
+and have come back, either mourning or rejoicing,
+they find a different world from the one they
+had left.  Things that were great before seem
+small, and some things that were small seem
+great.  At least Bertram and Billy found their
+world thus changed when together they came
+back bringing their son with them.
+
+In the long weeks of convalescence, when the
+healthy rosiness stole bit by bit into the baby's
+waxen face, and the light of recognition and
+understanding crept day by day into the baby's
+eyes, there was many a quiet hour for heart-to-
+heart talks between the two who so anxiously
+and joyously hailed every rosy tint and fleeting
+sparkle.  And there was so much to tell, so much
+to hear, so much to talk about!  And always,
+running through everything, was that golden
+thread of joy, beside which all else paled--that
+they had Baby and each other.  As if anything
+else mattered!
+
+To be sure, there was Bertram's arm.  Very
+early in their talks Billy found out about that. 
+But Billy, with Baby getting well, was not to be
+daunted, even by this.
+
+``Nonsense, darling--not paint again,
+indeed!  Why, Bertram, of course you will,'' she
+cried confidently.
+
+``But, Billy, the doctor said,'' began Bertram;
+but Billy would not even listen.
+
+``Very well, what if he did, dear?'' she
+interrupted.  ``What if he did say you couldn't use
+your right arm much again?''  Billy's voice broke
+a little, then quickly steadied into something very
+much like triumph.  ``You've got your left one!''
+
+Bertram shook his head.
+
+``I can't paint with that.''
+
+``Yes, you can,'' insisted Billy, firmly.  ``Why,
+Bertram, what do you suppose you were given
+two arms for if not to fight with both of them? 
+And I'm going to be ever so much prouder of
+what you paint now, because I'll know how splendidly
+you worked to do it.  Besides, there's Baby. 
+As if you weren't ever going to paint for Baby! 
+Why, Bertram, I'm going to have you paint Baby,
+one of these days.  Think how pleased he'll be
+to see it when he grows up!  He's nicer, anyhow,
+than any old `Face of a Girl' you ever did. 
+Paint?  Why, Bertram, darling, of course you're
+going to paint, and better than you ever did before!''
+
+Bertram shook his head again; but this time
+he smiled, and patted Billy's cheek with the tip
+of his forefinger.
+
+``As if I could!'' he disclaimed.  But that
+afternoon he went into his long-deserted studio and
+hunted up his last unfinished picture.  For some
+time he stood motionless before it; then, with a
+quick gesture of determination, he got out his
+palette, paints, and brushes.  This time not until
+he had painted ten, a dozen, a score of strokes,
+did he drop his brush with a sigh and carefully
+erase the fresh paint on the canvas.  The next
+day he worked longer, and this time he allowed
+a little, a very little, of what he had done to
+remain.
+
+The third day Billy herself found him at his
+easel.
+
+``I wonder--do you suppose I could?'' he
+asked fearfully.
+
+``Why, dearest, of course you can!  Haven't
+you noticed?  Can't you see how much more you
+can do with your left hand now?  You've _had_ to
+use it, you see.  _I've_ seen you do a lot of things
+with it, lately, that you never used to do at all. 
+And, of course, the more you do with it, the more
+you can!''
+
+``I know; but that doesn't mean that I can
+paint with it,'' sighed Bertram, ruefully eyeing
+the tiny bit of fresh color his canvas showed for
+his long afternoon's work.
+
+``You wait and see,'' nodded Billy, with so
+overwhelming a cheery confidence that Bertram,
+looking into her glowing face, was conscious of a
+curious throb of exultation, almost as if already
+the victory were his.
+
+But it was not always of Bertram's broken
+arm, nor even of his work that they talked.  Bertram,
+hanging over the baby's crib to assure himself
+that the rosiness and the sparkle were really
+growing more apparent every day, used to wonder
+sometimes how ever in the world he could
+have been jealous of his son.  He said as much
+one day to Billy.
+
+To Billy it was a most astounding idea.
+
+``You mean you were actually jealous of your
+own baby?'' she gasped.  ``Why, Bertram, how
+could--  And was that why you--you sought
+distraction and--  Oh, but, Bertram, that was
+all my f-fault,'' she quavered remorsefully.  ``I
+wouldn't play, nor sing, nor go to walk, nor
+anything; and I wore horrid frowzy wrappers all the
+time, and--''
+
+``Oh, come, come, Billy,'' expostulated the
+man.  ``I'm not going to have you talk like that
+about _my wife!_''
+
+``But I did--the book said I did,'' wailed
+Billy.
+
+``The book?  Good heavens!  Are there any
+books in this, too?'' demanded Bertram.
+
+``Yes, the same one; the--the `Talks to
+Young Wives,' '' nodded Billy.  And then,
+because some things had grown small to them, and
+some others great, they both laughed happily.
+
+But even this was not quite all; for one
+evening, very shyly, Billy brought out the chessboard.
+
+``Of course I can't play well,'' she faltered;
+``and maybe you don't want to play with me at
+all.''
+
+But Bertram, when he found out why she had
+learned, was very sure he did want very much
+to play with her.
+
+Billy did not beat, of course.  But she did
+several times experience--for a few blissful minutes
+--the pleasure of seeing Bertram sit motionless,
+studying the board, because of a move she had
+made.  And though, in the end, her king was
+ignominiously trapped with not an unguarded
+square upon which to set his poor distracted
+foot, the memory of those blissful minutes when
+she had made Bertram ``stare'' more than paid
+for the final checkmate.
+
+By the middle of June the baby was well
+enough to be taken to the beach, and Bertram
+was so fortunate as to secure the same house
+they had occupied before.  Once again William
+went down in Maine for his fishing trip, and the
+Strata was closed.  In the beach house Bertram
+was painting industriously--with his left hand. 
+Almost he was beginning to feel Billy's enthusiasm. 
+Almost he was believing that he _was_ doing
+good work.  It was not the ``Face of a Girl,'' now. 
+It was the face of a baby: smiling, laughing, even
+crying, sometimes; at other times just gazing
+straight into your eyes with adorable soberness. 
+Bertram still went into Boston twice a week for
+treatment, though the treatment itself had
+changed.  The great surgeon had sent him to
+still another specialist.
+
+``There's a chance--though perhaps a small
+one,'' he had said.  ``I'd like you to try it, anyway.''
+
+As the summer advanced, Bertram thought
+sometimes that he could see a slight improvement
+in his injured arm; but he tried not to
+think too much about this.  He had thought
+the same thing before, only to be disappointed
+in the end.  Besides, he was undeniably interested
+just now in seeing if he _could_ paint with
+his left hand.  Billy was so sure, and she had
+said that she would be prouder than ever of him,
+if he could--and he would like to make Billy
+proud!  Then, too, there was the baby--he had
+no idea a baby could be so interesting to paint. 
+He was not sure but that he was going to like to
+paint babies even better than he had liked to
+paint his ``Face of a Girl'' that had brought
+him his first fame.
+
+In September the family returned to the Strata. 
+The move was made a little earlier this year on
+account of Alice Greggory's wedding.
+
+Alice was to be married in the pretty living-
+room at the Annex, just where Billy herself had
+been married a few short years before; and
+Billy had great plans for the wedding--not
+all of which she was able to carry out, for
+Alice, like Marie before her, had very strong
+objections to being placed under too great
+obligations.
+
+``And you see, really, anyway,'' she told Billy,
+
+``I owe the whole thing to you, to begin with--
+even my husband.''
+
+``Nonsense!  Of course you don't,'' disputed
+Billy.
+
+``But I do.  If it hadn't been for you I should
+never have found him again, and of _course_ I
+shouldn't have had this dear little home to be
+married in.  And I never could have left mother
+if she hadn't had Aunt Hannah and the Annex
+which means you.  And if I hadn't found Mr.
+Arkwright, I might never have known how--
+how I could go back to my old home (as I am
+going on my honeymoon trip), and just know that
+every one of my old friends who shakes hands
+with me isn't pitying me now, because I'm my
+father's daughter.  And that means you; for you
+see I never would have known that my father's
+name was cleared if it hadn't been for you. 
+And--''
+
+``Oh, Alice, please, please,'' begged Billy,
+laughingly raising two protesting hands.  ``Why
+don't you say that it's to me you owe just breathing,
+and be done with it?''
+
+``Well, I will, then,'' avowed Alice, doggedly. 
+``And it's true, too, for, honestly, my dear, I
+don't believe I would have been breathing to-day,
+nor mother, either, if you hadn't found us that
+morning, and taken us out of those awful rooms.''
+
+``I? Never!  You wouldn't let me take you
+out,'' laughed Billy.  ``You proud little thing! 
+Maybe _you've_ forgotten how you turned poor
+Uncle William and me out into the cold, cold
+world that morning, just because we dared to
+aspire to your Lowestoft teapot; but I haven't!''
+
+``Oh, Billy, please, _don't_,'' begged Alice, the
+painful color staining her face.  ``If you knew
+how I've hated myself since for the way I acted
+that day--and, really, you did take us away
+from there, you know.''
+
+``No, I didn't.  I merely found two good
+tenants for Mr. and Mrs. Delano,'' corrected Billy,
+with a sober face.
+
+``Oh, yes, I know all about that,'' smiled Alice,
+affectionately; ``and you got mother and me
+here to keep Aunt Hannah company and teach
+Tommy Dunn; and you got Aunt Hannah here
+to keep us company and take care of Tommy
+Dunn; and you got Tommy Dunn here so Aunt
+Hannah and we could have somebody to teach
+and take care of; and, as for the others,--'' 
+But Billy put her hands to her ears and fled.
+
+The wedding was to be on the fifteenth.  From
+the West Kate wrote that of course it was none
+of her affairs, particularly as neither of the
+interested parties was a relation, but still she should
+think that for a man in Mr. Arkwright's position,
+nothing but a church wedding would do at all,
+as, of course, he did, in a way, belong to the
+public.  Alice, however, declared that perhaps he
+did belong to the public, when he was Don Somebody-
+or-other in doublet and hose; but when he
+was just plain Michael Jeremiah Arkwright in
+a frock coat he was hers, and she did not propose
+to make a Grand Opera show of her wedding. 
+And as Arkwright, too, very much disapproved
+of the church-wedding idea, the two were married
+in the Annex living-room at noon on the fifteenth
+as originally planned, in spite of Mrs. Kate
+Hartwell's letter.
+
+It was soon after the wedding that Bertram
+told Billy he wished she would sit for him with
+Bertram, Jr.
+
+``I want to try my hand at you both together,''
+he coaxed.
+
+``Why, of course, if you like, dear,'' agreed
+Billy, promptly, ``though I think Baby is just
+as nice, and even nicer, alone.''
+
+Once again all over Bertram's studio began
+to appear sketches of Billy, this time a glorified,
+tender Billy, with the wonderful mother-love in
+her eyes.  Then, after several sketches of trial
+poses, Bertram began his picture of Billy and
+the baby together.
+
+Even now Bertram was not sure of his work. 
+He knew that he could not yet paint with his old
+freedom and ease; he knew that his stroke was
+not so sure, so untrammeled.  But he knew, too,
+that he had gained wonderfully, during the summer,
+and that he was gaining now, every day. 
+To Billy he said nothing of all this.  Even to
+himself he scarcely put his hope into words; but in
+his heart he knew that what he was really painting
+his ``Mother and Child'' picture for was the
+Bohemian Ten Club Exhibition in March--if
+he could but put upon canvas the vision that was
+spurring him on.
+
+And so Bertram worked all through those
+short winter days, not always upon the one picture,
+of course, but upon some picture or sketch
+that would help to give his still uncertain left
+hand the skill that had belonged to its mate. 
+And always, cheering, encouraging, insisting on
+victory, was Billy, so that even had Bertram
+been tempted, sometimes, to give up, he could
+not have done so--and faced Billy's grieved,
+disappointed eyes.  And when at last his work
+was completed, and the pictured mother and
+child in all their marvelous life and beauty seemed
+ready to step from the canvas, Billy drew a long
+ecstatic breath.
+
+``Oh, Bertram, it _is_, it is the best work you
+have ever done.''  Billy was looking at the baby. 
+Always she had ignored herself as part of the
+picture.  ``And won't it be fine for the Exhibition!''
+
+Bertram's hand tightened on the chair-back
+in front of him.  For a moment he could not
+speak.  Then, a bit huskily, he asked:
+
+``Would you dare--risk it?''
+
+``Risk it!  Why, Bertram Henshaw, I've
+meant that picture for the Exhibition from the
+very first--only I never dreamed you could get
+it so perfectly lovely.  _Now_ what do you say
+about Baby being nicer than any old `Face of a
+Girl' that you ever did?'' she triumphed.
+
+And Bertram, who, even to himself, had not
+dared whisper the word exhibition, gave a tremulous
+laugh that was almost a sob, so overwhelming
+was his sudden realization of what faith and
+confidence had meant to Billy, his wife.
+
+If there was still a lingering doubt in Bertram's
+mind, it must have been dispelled in less than
+an hour after the Bohemian Ten Club Exhibition
+flung open its doors on its opening night.  Once
+again Bertram found his picture the cynosure
+of all admiring eyes, and himself the center of an
+enthusiastic group of friends and fellow-artists
+who vied with each other in hearty words of
+congratulation.  And when, later, the feared critics,
+whose names and opinions counted for so much
+in his world, had their say in the daily press and
+weekly reviews, Bertram knew how surely indeed
+he had won.  And when he read that ``Henshaw's
+work shows now a peculiar strength, a sort of
+reserve power, as it were, which, beautiful as was
+his former work, it never showed before,'' he
+smiled grimly, and said to Billy:
+
+``I suppose, now, that was the fighting I did
+with my good left hand, eh, dear?''
+
+But there was yet one more drop that was to
+make Bertram's cup of joy brim to overflowing. 
+It came just one month after the Exhibition in the
+shape of a terse dozen words from the doctor. 
+Bertram fairly flew home that day.  He had no
+consciousness of any means of locomotion.  He
+thought he was going to tell his wife at once his
+great good news; but when he saw her, speech
+suddenly fled, and all that he could do was to
+draw her closely to him with his left arm and hide
+his face.
+
+``Why, Bertram, dearest, what--what is it?''
+stammered the thoroughly frightened Billy. 
+``Has anything-happened?''
+
+``No, no--yes--yes, everything has happened. 
+I mean, it's going to happen,'' choked
+the man.  ``Billy, that old chap says that I'm
+going to have my arm again.  Think of it--my
+good right arm that I've lost so long!''
+
+``_Oh, Bertram!_'' breathed Billy.  And she, too,
+fell to sobbing.
+
+Later, when speech was more coherent, she
+faltered:
+
+``Well, anyway, it doesn't make any difference
+_how_ many beautiful pictures you p-paint, after
+this, Bertram, I _can't_ be prouder of any than I
+am of the one your l--left hand did.''
+
+``Oh, but I have you to thank for all that,
+dear.''
+
+``No, you haven't,'' disputed Billy, blinking
+teary eyes; ``but--'' she paused, then went on
+spiritedly, ``but, anyhow, I--I don't believe
+any one--not even Kate--can say _now_ that--
+that I've been a hindrance to you in your c-career!''
+
+``Hindrance!'' scoffed Bertram, in a tone that
+left no room for doubt, and with a kiss that left
+even less, if possible.
+
+Billy, for still another minute, was silent; then,
+with a wistfulness that was half playful, half
+serious, she sighed:
+
+``Bertram, I believe being married is something
+like clocks, you know, 'specially at the
+first.''
+
+``Clocks, dear?''
+
+``Yes.  I was out to Aunt Hannah's to-day. 
+She was fussing with her clock--the one that
+strikes half an hour ahead--and I saw all those
+quantities of wheels, little and big, that have to
+go just so, with all the little cogs fitting into all
+the other little cogs just exactly right.  Well,
+that's like marriage.  See?  There's such a lot
+of little cogs in everyday life that have to be
+fitted so they'll run smoothly--that have to be
+adjusted, 'specially at the first.''
+
+``Oh, Billy, what an idea!''
+
+``But it's so, really, Bertram.  Anyhow, I
+know my cogs were always getting out of place
+at the first,'' laughed Billy.  ``And I was like
+Aunt Hannah's clock, too, always going off half
+an hour ahead of time.  And maybe I shall be so
+again, sometimes.  But, Bertram,''--her voice
+shook a little--``if you'll just look at my face
+you'll see that I tell the right time there, just as
+Aunt Hannah's clock does.  I'm sure, always,
+I'll tell the right time there, even if I do go off
+half an hour ahead!''
+
+``As if I didn't know that,'' answered
+Bertram, very low and tenderly.  ``Besides, I reckon
+I have some cogs of my own that need adjusting!''
+
+
+
+
+
+End of The Project Gutenberg Etext of Miss Billy Married
+
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