ome, nor dreamed it possible that she
could ever look as she did tonight. But then Billy had thought little of
Vera's appearance, or of that of any other girl. He had simply cared for
her with a curious boyish selfishness and affection. Unconsciously he
always planned his future with Vera beside him to hear of his trials and
conquests, but had never thought of how this could be managed.

Yet tonight Vera paid no attention to his unusual flattery.

Her expression suggested annoyance and reproach.

"Wait here, Billy, I'll find you something to eat. I made your mother go
to bed and she and Mrs. Burton agreed that I might wait for you."

But Billy would not let her go. "I'm not hungry, Vera. Besides you look
like a queen, not a kitchen maid. What's up? Fire away."

"That is what I wish to have you tell _me_," Vera returned, with the
deep and abiding gentleness, which usually overcame Billy's obstinacy
where other people and other methods failed.

He laughed. "I thought as much. Nothing doing, Vera. I am not going to
tell anybody anything. Yes, I know I promised not to get into mischief
again, after that last escapade of mine. But what did it amount to,
going to jail for a little while, it was merely an interesting
experience!"

Billy took Vera's hand in his own almost equally slender one, since
Vera's was the hand of a peasant ancestry and Billy's the opposite.

"See here, dear, I am not sorry to have you and mother and Tante begin
worrying about me, fearing I am going to do something foolish. You never
seem to think me capable of anything else. But this time, between you
and me, Vera, if I could tell you what is interesting me right now--and
I confess it is not only my work at the war camp, although it has a
close connection--well, I don't believe you would consider me foolish."

"Then, why won't you tell me what is interesting you, Billy? You know I
don't always think ideas are foolish, but oftentimes I don't think your
judgment wise. Besides, I am afraid something may happen to you!"

Billy shook his head, still holding her hand with boyish affection.

"These are war times, Vera. You and I used to disagree on the
subject--one of the first questions we have ever seriously disagreed
upon since we were little children. Anyhow, what I am interested in at
present has something to do with the war. I cannot tell you details, as
I must not confide in any one just now. Only promise me you'll see that
mother does not wo