ce, 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,