and for a moment. "My head aches shockingly,
but I've got to go this minute and instruct little Jennie Knowls how to
play the wonderful scale of G with a black key in it. Besides, you do
help me, you have helped me, you are always helping me, dear," she added
remorsefully; "and it's wicked of me to make that shadow come to your
eyes. Please don't think of it, or of me, any more." And with a
choking little sob she hurried from the room, followed by the amazed,
questioning, sorrowful eyes of Billy.

CHAPTER XXVIII

"I'M GOING TO WIN"

Nearly all of Billy's friends knew that Bertram Henshaw was in love with
Billy Neilson before Billy herself knew it. Not that they regarded it
as anything serious--"it's only Bertram" was still said of him on almost
all occasions. But to Bertram himself it was very serious.

The world to Bertram, indeed, had come to assume a vastly different
aspect from what it had displayed in times past. Heretofore it had been
a plaything which like a juggler's tinsel ball might be tossed from hand
to hand at will. Now it was no plaything--no glittering bauble. It
was something big and serious and splendid--because Billy lived in it;
something that demanded all his powers to do, and be--because Billy was
watching; something that might be a Hades of torment or an Elysium of
bliss--according to whether Billy said "no" or "yes."

Since Thanksgiving Bertram had known that it was love--this consuming
fire within him; and since Thanksgiving he had known, too, that it
was jealousy--this fierce hatred of Calderwell. He was ashamed of the
hatred. He told himself that it was unmanly, unkind, and unreasonable;
and he vowed that he would overcome it. At times he even fancied that
he had overcome it; but always the sight of Calderwell in Billy's little
drawing-room or of even the man's card on Billy's silver tray was enough
to show him that he had not.

There were others, too, who annoyed Bertram not a little, foremost of
these being his own brothers. Still he was not really worried about
William and Cyril, he told himself. William he did not consider to be a
marrying man; and Cyril--every one knew that Cyril was a woman-hater.
He was doubtless attracted now only by Billy's music. There was no
real rivalry to be feared from William and Cyril. But there was always
Calderwell, and Calderwell was serious. Bertram decided, therefore,
after some weeks of feverish unrest, that the only road to peace lay
through