nd again a
brilliant scale rippled from Billy's fingers after a crashing chord in
the bass.

Slowly Aunt Hannah turned and went up-stairs. Her eyes were troubled.
Not since Billy's engagement had she heard Billy play like that.

Bertram did not find a pensive Billy awaiting him that evening. He
found a bright-eyed, flushed-cheeked Billy, who let herself be
kissed--once--but who did not kiss back; a blithe, elusive Billy, who
played tripping little melodies, and sang jolly little songs, instead
of sitting before the fire and talking; a Billy who at last turned, and
asked tranquilly:

"Well, how did the picture go?"

Bertram rose then, crossed the room, and took Billy very gently into his
arms.

"Sweetheart, you were a dear this noon to let me off like that," he
began in a voice shaken with emotion. "You don't know, perhaps, exactly
what you did. You see, I was nearly wild between wanting to be with you,
and wanting to go on with my work. And I was just at that point
where one little word from you, one hint that you wanted me to come
anyway--and I should have come. But you didn't say it, nor hint it. Like
the brave little bit of inspiration that you are, you bade me stay and
go on with my work."

The "inspiration's" head drooped a little lower, but this only brought
a wealth of soft bronze hair to just where Bertram could lay his cheek
against it--and Bertram promptly took advantage of his opportunity. "And
so I stayed, Billy, and I did good work; I know I did good work. Why,
Billy,"--Bertram stepped back now, and held Billy by the shoulders at
arms' length--"Billy, that's going to be the best work I've ever done. I
can see it coming even now, under my fingers."

Billy lifted her head and looked into her lover's face. His eyes were
glowing. His cheeks were flushed. His whole countenance was aflame with
the soul of the artist who sees his vision taking shape before him. And
Billy, looking at him, felt suddenly--ashamed.

"Oh, Bertram, I'm proud, proud, _proud_ of you!" she breathed. "Come,
let's go over to the fire-and talk!"

CHAPTER V. MARIE SPEAKS HER MIND

Billy with John and Peggy met Marie Hawthorn at the station. "Peggy"
was short for "Pegasus," and was what Billy always called her luxurious,
seven-seated touring car.

"I simply won't call it 'automobile,'" she had declared when she bought
it. "In the first place, it takes too long to say it, and in the second
place, I don't want to add one mo