n 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,