illy was not at arm's length now.

Billy smiled, but she drew away with gentle firmness.

"And now I must go back to my sewing," she said.

Bertram's arms did not loosen. His eyes had grown mutinous again.

"That is," she amended, "I must be practising my part of--the
understudy, you know."

"You darling!" breathed Bertram again; this time, however, he let her
go.

"But, honestly, is it all necessary?" he sighed despairingly, as she
seated herself and gathered the table-cloth into her lap. "Do you have
to do so much of it all?"

"I do," smiled Billy, "unless you want your brother to run the risk of
leading his bride to the altar and finding her robed in a kitchen apron
with an egg-beater in her hand for a bouquet."

Bertram laughed.

"Is it so bad as that?"

"No, of course not--quite. But never have I seen a bride so utterly
oblivious to clothes as Marie was till one day in despair I told her
that Cyril never could bear a dowdy woman."

"As if Cyril, in the old days, ever could bear any sort of woman!"
scoffed Bertram, merrily.

"I know; but I didn't mention that part," smiled Billy. "I just singled
out the dowdy one."

"Did it work?"

Billy made a gesture of despair.

"Did it work! It worked too well. Marie gave me one horrified look,
then at once and immediately she became possessed with the idea that
she _was_ a dowdy woman. And from that day to this she has pursued every
lurking wrinkle and every fold awry, until her dressmaker's life isn't
worth the living; and I'm beginning to think mine isn't, either, for I
have to assure her at least four times every day now that she is _not_ a
dowdy woman."

"You poor dear," laughed Bertram. "No wonder you don't have time to give
to me!"

A peculiar expression crossed Billy's face.

"Oh, but I'm not the _only_ one who, at times, is otherwise engaged,
sir," she reminded him.

"What do you mean?"

"There was yesterday, and last Monday, and last week Wednesday, and--"

"Oh, but you _let_ me off, then," argued Bertram, anxiously. "And you
said--"

"That I didn't wish to interfere with your work--which was quite true,"
interrupted Billy in her turn, smoothly. "By the way,"--Billy was
examining her stitches very closely now--"how is Miss Winthrop's
portrait coming on?"

"Splendidly!--that is, it _was_, until she began to put off the sittings
for her pink teas and folderols. She's going to Washington next week,
too, to be gone nearly a fortnight," fini