enly, with a peculiar flash in her eyes.

"Hugh, I don't believe Bertram himself could make love any more
nonsensically than you can!"

Calderwell laughed, but he frowned, too; and again he threw into
Billy's face that keenly questioning glance. He said something--a light
something--that brought the laugh to Billy's lips in spite of herself;
but he was still frowning when he left the house some minutes later, and
the shadow was not gone from his eyes.

CHAPTER XXIII

BERTRAM DOES SOME QUESTIONING

Billy's time was well occupied. There were so many, many things she
wished to do, and so few, few hours in which to do them. First there was
her music. She made arrangements at once to study with one of Boston's
best piano teachers, and she also made plans to continue her French and
German. She joined a musical club, a literary club, and a more strictly
social club; and to numerous church charities and philanthropic
enterprises she lent more than her name, giving freely of both time and
money.

Friday afternoons, of course, were to be held sacred to the Symphony
concerts; and on certain Wednesday mornings there was to be a series of
recitals, in which she was greatly interested.

For Society with a capital S, Billy cared little; but for sociability
with a small s, she cared much; and very wide she opened her doors to
her friends, lavishing upon them a wealth of hospitality. Nor did
they all come in carriages or automobiles--these friends. A certain
pale-faced little widow over at the South End knew just how good Miss
Neilson's tea tasted on a crisp October afternoon and Marie Hawthorn, a
frail young woman who gave music lessons, knew just how restful was Miss
Neilson's couch after a weary day of long walks and fretful pupils.

"But how in the world do you discover them all--these forlorn specimens
of humanity?" queried Bertram one evening, when he had found Billy
entertaining a freckled-faced messenger-boy with a plate of ice cream
and a big square of cake.

"Anywhere--everywhere," smiled Billy.

"Well, this last candidate for your favor, who has just gone--who's he?"

"I don't know, beyond that his name is 'Tom,' and that he likes ice
cream."

"And you never saw him before?"

"Never."

"Humph! One wouldn't think it, to see his charming air of nonchalant
accustomedness."

"Oh, but it doesn't take much to make a little fellow like that feel at
home," laughed Billy.

"And are you in the habit of feedi