ite
what was happening she found herself outside the line, and the other in
her place.

"But, Miss Neilson, I can't--you mustn't--" she stammered; then, because
of something in the unyieldingness of the square young chin above the
sealskin coat, and because she could not (she knew) use actual force
to drag the owner of that chin out of the line, she bowed her head in
acquiescence.

"Well, then--I will, long enough for some coffee and maybe a sandwich.
And--thank you," she choked, as she turned and hurried away.

Billy drew the deep breath of one who has triumphed after long
struggles--but the breath broke off short in a gasp of dismay: coming
straight up the Avenue toward her was the one person in the world Billy
wished least to see at that moment--Bertram Henshaw. Billy remembered
then that she had twice lately heard her lover speak of calling at the
Boston Opera House concerning a commission to paint an ideal head to
represent "Music" for some decorative purpose. The Opera House was only
a short distance up the Avenue. Doubtless he was on his way there now.

He was very near by this time, and Billy held her breath suspended.
There was a chance, of course, that he might not notice her; and Billy
was counting on that chance--until a gust of wind whirled a loose
half-sheet of newspaper from the hands of the man in front of her, and
naturally attracted Bertram's eyes to its vicinity--and to hers. The
next moment he was at her side and his dumfounded but softly-breathed
"_Billy!_" was in her ears.

Billy bubbled into low laughter--there were such a lot of funny
situations in the world, and of them all this one was about the
drollest, she thought.

"Yes, I know," she gurgled. "You don't have to say it-your face is
saying even more than your tongue _could!_ This is just for a girl I
know. I'm keeping her place."

Bertram frowned. He looked as if he were meditating picking Billy up and
walking off with her.

"But, Billy," he protested just above his breath, "this isn't sugarplums
nor frosting; it's plain suicide--standing out in this wind like
this! Besides--" He stopped with an angrily despairing glance at her
surroundings.

"Yes, I know," she nodded, a little soberly, understanding the look and
answering that first; "it isn't pleasant nor comfortable, in lots of
ways--but _she's_ had it all the morning. As for the cold--I'm as warm
as toast. It won't be long, anyway; she's just gone to get something to
eat. The