Mr. Arkwright_ came," she said with reproving
emphasis.

Billy laughed and threw a mischievous glance over her shoulder.

"All right," she nodded. "I'll go and tell _Mr. Arkwright_ you'll be
down directly."

In the living-room Billy greeted her visitor with a frankly cordial
hand.

"How did you know, Mr. Arkwright, that I was feeling specially restless
and lonesome to-day?" she demanded.

A glad light sprang to the man's dark eyes.

"I didn't know it," he rejoined. "I only knew that I was specially
restless and lonesome myself."

Arkwright's voice was not quite steady. The unmistakable friendliness in
the girl's words and manner had sent a quick throb of joy to his heart.
Her evident delight in his coming had filled him with rapture. He could
not know that it was only the chill of the snowstorm that had given
warmth to her handclasp, the dreariness of the day that had made her
greeting so cordial, the loneliness of a maiden whose lover is away that
had made his presence so welcome.

"Well, I'm glad you came, anyway," sighed Billy, contentedly; "though I
suppose I ought to be sorry that you were lonesome--but I'm afraid I'm
not, for now you'll know just how I felt, so you won't mind if I'm a
little wild and erratic. You see, the tension has snapped," she added
laughingly, as she seated herself.

"Tension?"

"The wedding, you know. For so many weeks we've been seeing just
December twelfth, that we'd apparently forgotten all about the
thirteenth that came after it; so when I got up this morning I felt
just as you do when the clock has stopped ticking. But it was a lovely
wedding, Mr. Arkwright. I'm sorry you could not be here."

"Thank you; so am I--though usually, I will confess, I'm not much
good at attending 'functions' and meeting strangers. As perhaps you've
guessed, Miss Neilson, I'm not particularly a society chap."

"Of course you aren't! People who are doing things--real things--seldom
are. But we aren't the society kind ourselves, you know--not the capital
S kind. We like sociability, which is vastly different from liking
Society. Oh, we have friends, to be sure, who dote on 'pink teas
and purple pageants,' as Cyril calls them; and we even go ourselves
sometimes. But if you had been here yesterday, Mr. Arkwright, you'd have
met lots like yourself, men and women who are doing things: singing,
playing, painting, illustrating, writing. Why, we even had a poet,
sir--only he didn't have long hair, so h