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 h