terly indifferent to her trousseau as
Marie Hawthorn--and her wedding less than a month away!"

"But she's been shopping with you once or twice, since she came back,
hasn't she? And she said it was for her trousseau."

Billy laughed.

"Her trousseau! Oh, yes, it was. I'll tell you what she got for her
trousseau that first day. We started out to buy two hats, some lace for
her wedding gown, some crepe de Chine and net for a little dinner
frock, and some silk for a couple of waists to go with her tailored
suit; and what did we get? We purchased a new-style egg-beater and a
set of cake tins. Marie got into the kitchen department and I simply
couldn't get her out of it. But the next day I was not to be inveigled
below stairs by any plaintive prayer for a nutmeg-grater or a soda
spoon. She _shopped_ that day, and to some purpose. We accomplished
lots."

Aunt Hannah looked a little concerned.

"But she must have _some_ things started!"

"Oh, she has--'most everything now. _I've_ seen to that. Of course her
outfit is very simple, anyway. Marie hasn't much money, you know, and
she simply won't let me do half what I want to. Still, she had saved
up some money, and I've finally convinced her that a trousseau doesn't
consist of egg-beaters and cake tins, and that Cyril would want her to
look pretty. That name will fetch her every time, and I've learned to
use it beautifully. I think if I told her Cyril approved of short hair
and near-sightedness she'd I cut off her golden locks and don spectacles
on the spot."

Aunt Hannah laughed softly.

"What a child you are, Billy! Besides, just as if Marie were the only
one in the house who is ruled by a magic name!"

The color deepened in Billy's cheeks.

"Well, of course, any girl--cares something--for the man she loves. Just
as if I wouldn't do anything in the world I could for Bertram!"

"Oh, that makes me think; who was that young woman Bertram was talking
with last evening--just after he left us, I mean?"

"Miss Winthrop--Miss Marguerite Winthrop. Bertram is--is painting her
portrait, you know."

"Oh, is that the one?" murmured Aunt Hannah. "Hm-m; well, she has a
beautiful face."

"Yes, she has." Billy spoke very cheerfully. She even hummed a little
tune as she carefully selected a needle from the cushion in her basket.

"There's a peculiar something in her face," mused Aunt Hannah, aloud.

The little tune stopped abruptly, ending in a nervous laugh.

"Dear me! I w