gs she had said.
Very soon, however, she began to think--not so much of what _she_
had said--but of what Kate had said. Many of Kate's sentences were
unpleasantly vivid in her mind. They seemed, indeed, to stand out in
letters of flame, and they began to burn, and burn, and burn. These were
some of them:
"William says that Bertram has been completely out of fix over
something, and as gloomy as an owl for weeks past."
"A woman is at the bottom of it--... you are that woman."
"You can't make him happy."
"Bertram never was--and never will be--a marrying man."
"Girls have never meant anything to him but a beautiful picture to
paint. And they never will."
"Up to this winter he's always been a carefree, happy, jolly fellow,
and you _know_ what beautiful work he has done. Never before has he tied
himself to any one girl until last fall."
"Now what has it been since?"
"He's been so moody, so irritable, so fretted over his work, so unlike
himself; and his picture has failed, dismally."
"Do you want to ruin his career?"
Billy began to see now that she had not really answered Kate's letter at
all. The matter was not closed. Her reply had been, perhaps, courteous
and dignified--but it had not been conclusive nor effectual.
Billy had reached home now, and she was crying. Bertram _had_ acted
strangely, of late. Bertram _had_ seemed troubled over something. His
picture _had_--With a little shudder Billy tossed aside these thoughts,
and dug at her teary eyes with a determined hand. Fiercely she told
herself that the matter _was_ settled. Very scornfully she declared that
it was "only Kate," after all, and that she _would not_ let Kate make
her unhappy again! Forthwith she picked up a current magazine and began
to read.
As it chanced, however, even here Billy found no peace; for the first
article she opened to was headed in huge black type:
"MARRIAGE AND THE ARTISTIC TEMPERAMENT."
With a little cry Billy flung the magazine far from her, and picked up
another. But even "The Elusiveness of Chopin," which she found here,
could not keep her thoughts nor her eyes from wandering to the discarded
thing in the corner, lying ignominiously face down with crumpled,
out-flung leaves.
Billy knew that in the end she should go over and pick that magazine
up, and read that article from beginning to end. She was not surprised,
therefore, when she did it--but she was not any the happier for having
done it.
The
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