"Probably not--this one. I used to know an M. J. Arkwright, long ago;
but he wasn't--a poet, so far as I know," she finished, with a little
catch in her breath that made Billy long to take her into a warm
embrace.

Alice Greggory turned then to the music. She had much to say of
this--very much; but she had nothing more whatever to say of Mr. M. J.
Arkwright in spite of the tempting conversation bait that Billy dropped
so freely. After that, Rosa brought in tea and toast, and the little
frosted cakes that were always such a favorite with Billy's guests. Then
Alice Greggory said good-by--her eyes full of tears that Billy pretended
not to see.

"There!" breathed Billy, as soon as she had Aunt Hannah to herself
again. "What did I tell you? Did you see Miss Greggory's start and blush
and hear her sigh just over the _name_ of M. J. Arkwright? Just as if--!
Now I want them to meet; only it must be casual, Aunt Hannah--casual!
And I'd rather wait till Mary Jane hears from his mother, if possible,
so if there _is_ anything good to tell the poor girl, he can tell it."

"Yes, of course. Dear child!--I hope he can," murmured Aunt Hannah.
(Aunt Hannah had ceased now trying to make Billy refrain from the
reprehensible "Mary Jane." In fact, if the truth were known, Aunt Hannah
herself in her thoughts--and sometimes in her words--called him "Mary
Jane.") "But, indeed, my dear, I didn't see anything stiff, or--or
repelling about Miss Greggory, as you said there was."

"There wasn't--to-day," smiled Billy. "Honestly, Aunt Hannah, I should
never have known her for the same girl--who showed me the door that
first morning," she finished merrily, as she turned to go up-stairs.

It was the next day that Cyril and Marie came home from their honeymoon.
They went directly to their pretty little apartment on Beacon Street,
Brookline, within easy walking distance of Billy's own cozy home.

Cyril intended to build in a year or two. Meanwhile they had a very
pretty, convenient home which was, according to Bertram, "electrified
to within an inch of its life, and equipped with everything that
was fireless, smokeless, dustless, and laborless." In it Marie had a
spotlessly white kitchen where she might make puddings to her heart's
content.

Marie had--again according to Bertram--"a visiting acquaintance with a
maid." In other words, a stout woman was engaged to come two days in the
week to wash, iron, and scrub; also to come in each night to wa