see it. It's going to be a great
success--I can say that because my part is only a small one, you know.
We shall make lots of money for the Home, too, I'm sure."

"But you're wearing yourself all out with it, dear," scowled Bertram.

"Nonsense! I like it; besides, when I'm doing this I'm not telephoning
you to come and amuse me. Just think what a lot of extra time you have
for your work!"

"Don't want it," avowed Bertram.

"But the _work_ may," retorted Billy, showing all her dimples. "Never
mind, though; it'll all be over after the twentieth. _This_ isn't an
understudy like Marie's wedding, you know," she finished demurely.

"Thank heaven for that!" Bertram had breathed fervently. But even as he
said the words he grew sick with fear. What if, after all, this _were_
an understudy to what was to come later when Music, his rival, had
really conquered?

Bertram knew that however secure might seem Billy's affection for
himself, there was still in his own mind a horrid fear lest underneath
that security were an unconscious, growing fondness for something he
could not give, for some one that he was not--a fondness that would one
day cause Billy to awake. As Bertram, in his morbid fancy pictured it,
he realized only too well what that awakening would mean to himself.

CHAPTER XXIV. THE ARTIST AND HIS ART

The private view of the paintings and drawings of the Brush and Pencil
Club on the evening of the fifteenth was a great success. Society sent
its fairest women in frocks that were pictures in themselves. Art
sent its severest critics and its most ardent devotees. The Press sent
reporters that the World might know what Art and Society were doing, and
how they did it.

Before the canvases signed with Bertram Henshaw's name there was always
to be found an admiring group representing both Art and Society with
the Press on the outskirts to report. William Henshaw, coming unobserved
upon one such group, paused a moment to smile at the various more or
less disconnected comments.

"What a lovely blue!"

"Marvellous color sense!"

"Now those shadows are--"

"He gets his high lights so--"

"I declare, she looks just like Blanche Payton!"

"Every line there is full of meaning."

"I suppose it's very fine, but--"

"Now, I say, Henshaw is--"

"Is this by the man that's painting Margy Winthrop's portrait?"

"It's idealism, man, idealism!"

"I'm going to have a dress just that shade of blue."

"Isn't tha