to? Very seriously one day Billy
asked herself these questions; very calmly she argued the matter in her
mind--as was Billy's way.

She was proud, certainly, of what her influence had apparently done for
Cyril. She was gratified that to her he was showing the real depth and
beauty of his nature. It WAS flattering to feel that she, and only she,
had thus won the regard of a professional woman-hater. Then, besides
all this, there was his music--his glorious music. Think of the bliss
of living ever with that! Imagine life with a man whose soul would be so
perfectly attuned to hers that existence would be one grand harmony!
Ah, that, truly, would be the ideal marriage! But she had planned not to
marry. Billy frowned now, and tapped her foot nervously. It was, indeed,
most puzzling--this question, and she did not want to make a mistake.
Then, too, she did not wish to wound Cyril. If the dear man HAD come
out of his icy prison, and were reaching out timid hands to her for
her help, her interest, her love--the tragedy of it, if he met with
no response!.... This vision of Cyril with outstretched hands, and of
herself with cold, averted eyes was the last straw in the balance with
Billy. She decided suddenly that she did care for Cyril--a little; and
that she probably could care for him a great deal. With this thought,
Billy blushed--already in her own mind she was as good as pledged to
Cyril.

It was a great change for Billy--this sudden leap from girlhood and
irresponsibility to womanhood and care; but she took it fearlessly,
resolutely. If she was to be Cyril's wife she must make herself fit
for it--and in pursuance of this high ideal she followed Marie into the
kitchen the very next time the little music teacher went out to make one
of her dainty desserts that the family liked so well.

"I'll just watch, if you don't mind," announced Billy.

"Why, of course not," smiled Marie, "but I thought you didn't like to
make puddings."

"I don't," owned Billy, cheerfully.

"Then why this--watchfulness?"

"Nothing, only I thought it might be just as well if I knew how to make
them. You know how Cyril--that is, ALL the Henshaw boys like every kind
you make."

The egg in Marie's hand slipped from her fingers and crashed untidily
on the shelf. With a gleeful laugh Billy welcomed the diversion. She had
not meant to speak so plainly. It was one thing to try to fit herself
to be Cyril's wife, and quite another to display those effo