Miss billys decision

TheProjectGutenbergEBookofMissBilly'sDecision,byEleanorH.Porter
ThiseBookisfortheuseofanyoneanywhereatnocostandwith
almostnorestrictionswhatsoever.Youmaycopyit,giveitawayor
re-useitunderthetermsoftheProjectGutenbergLicenseincluded
withthiseBookoronlineatwww.gutenberg.org

Title:MissBilly'sDecision
Author:EleanorH.Porter
ReleaseDate:July8,2008[EBook#362]
LastUpdated:March9,2018
Language:English

***STARTOFTHISPROJECTGUTENBERGEBOOKMISSBILLY'SDECISION***

ProducedbyCharlesKeller,andDavidWidger


MISSBILLY'SDECISION


ByEleanorH.Porter
Authorof“MissBilly,”etc.

TO
MyCousinHelen

CONTENTS
MISSBILLY'SDECISION

CHAPTERI.CALDERWELLDOESSOMETALKING
CHAPTERII.AUNTHANNAHGETSALETTER

CHAPTERIII.BILLYANDBERTRAM
CHAPTERIV.FORMARYJANE
CHAPTERV.MARIESPEAKSHERMIND
CHAPTERVI.ATTHESIGNOFTHEPINK
CHAPTERVII.OLDFRIENDSANDNEW


CHAPTERVIII.M.J.OPENSTHEGAME
CHAPTERIX.ARUG,APICTURE,ANDAGIRLAFRAID
CHAPTERX.AJOBFORPETE—ANDFORBERTRAM
CHAPTERXI.ACLOCKANDAUNTHANNAH
CHAPTERXII.SISTERKATE
CHAPTERXIII.CYRILANDAWEDDING
CHAPTERXIV.M.J.MAKESANOTHERMOVE
CHAPTERXV."MR.BILLY”AND“MISSMARYJANE”
CHAPTERXVI.AGIRLANDABITOFLOWESTOFT
CHAPTERXVII.ONLYALOVESONG,BUT—
CHAPTERXVIII.SUGARPLUMS
CHAPTERXIX.ALICEGREGGORY
CHAPTERXX.ARKWRIGHTTELLSASTORY
CHAPTERXXI.AMATTEROFSTRAIGHTBUSINESS
CHAPTERXXII.PLANSANDPLOTTINGS
CHAPTERXXIII.THECAUSEANDBERTRAM
CHAPTERXXIV.THEARTISTANDHISART
CHAPTERXXV.THEOPERETTA
CHAPTERXXVI.ARKWRIGHTTELLSANOTHERSTORY
CHAPTERXXVII.THETHINGTHATWASTHETRUTH


CHAPTERXXVIII.BILLYTAKESHERTURN

CHAPTERXXIX.KATEWRITESALETTER
CHAPTERXXX."I'VEHINDEREDHIM”
CHAPTERXXXI.FLIGHT
CHAPTERXXXII.PETETOTHERESCUE
CHAPTERXXXIII.BERTRAMTAKESTHEREINS


MISSBILLY'SDECISION


CHAPTERI.CALDERWELLDOESSOME
TALKING
CalderwellhadmetMr.M.J.ArkwrightinLondonthroughacommonfriend;
sincethentheyhadtrampedhalfoverEuropetogetherinacomradeshipthatwas
asdelightfulasitwasunusual.AsCalderwellputitinalettertohissister,Belle:
“Wesmokethesamecigaranddrinkthesametea(he'sjustasmuchofanold
woman on that subject as I am!), and we agree beautifully on all necessary
points of living, from tipping to late sleeping in the morning; while as for
politics and religion—we disagree in those just enough to lend spice to an
otherwisetameexistence.”
Farther along in this same letter Calderwell touched upon his new friend
again.
“I admit, however, I would like to know his name. To find out what that
mysterious'M.J.'standsforhasgottobeprettynearlyanobsessionwithme.I
am about ready to pick his pocket or rifle his trunk in search of some lurking
'Martin'or'John'thatwillsetmeatpeace.Asitis,IconfessthatIhaveogledhis
incomingmailandhisoutgoingbaggageshamelessly,onlytobeslappedinthe
face always and everlastingly by that bland 'M. J.' I've got my revenge, now,
though. To myself I call him 'Mary Jane'—and his broad-shouldered, brownbeardedsixfeetofmuscularmanhoodwouldsoliketobecalled'MaryJane'!By
the way, Belle, if you ever hear of murder and sudden death in my direction,

bettersetthesleuthsonthetrailofArkwright.Sixtooneyou'llfindIcalledhim
'MaryJane'tohisface!”
Calderwellwasthinkingofthatletternow,ashesatatasmalltableinaParis
café. Opposite him was the six feet of muscular manhood, broad shoulders,
pointed brown beard, and all—and he had just addressed it, inadvertently, as
“MaryJane.”
Duringthebrief,sickeningmomentofsilenceafterthenamehadlefthislips,
Calderwell was conscious of a whimsical realization of the lights, music, and
laughterallabouthim.
“Well,IchoseassafeaplaceasIcould!”hewasthinking.ThenArkwright
spoke.
“How long since you've been in correspondence with members of my


family?”
“Eh?”
Arkwrightlaughedgrimly.
“Perhapsyouthoughtofityourself,then—I'lladmityou'recapableofit,”he
nodded, reaching for a cigar. “But it so happens you hit upon my family's
favoritenameforme.”
“MaryJane!Youmeantheyactuallycallyouthat?”
“Yes,”bowedthebigfellow,calmly,ashestruckalight.“Appropriate!—don't
youthink?”
Calderwelldidnotanswer.Hethoughthecouldnot.
“Well,silencegivesconsent,theysay,”laughedtheother.“Anyhow,youmust
havehadsomereasonforcallingmethat.”
“Arkwright,whatdoes'M.J.'standfor?”demandedCalderwell.
“Oh, is that it?” smiled the man opposite. “Well, I'll own those initials have
beensomethingofapuzzletopeople.Onemandeclaresthey're'MerelyJokes';
but another, not so friendly, says they stand for 'Mostly Jealousy' of more

fortunatechapswhohaverealnamesforahandle.Mysmallbrothersandsisters,
discovering, with the usual perspicacity of one's family on such matters, that I
neversigned,orcalledmyselfanythingbut'M.J.,'dubbedme'MaryJane.'And
thereyouhaveit.”
“MaryJane!You!”
Arkwrightsmiledoddly.
“Oh, well, what's the difference? Would you deprive them of their innocent
amusement? And they do so love that 'Mary Jane'! Besides, what's in a name,
anyway?”hewent on,eyeing theglowingtip ofthe cigarbetweenhis fingers.
“'Arosebyanyothername—'—you'veheardthat,probably.Namesdon'talways
signify,mydearfellow.Forinstance,Iknowa'Billy'—buthe'sagirl.”
Calderwellgaveasuddenstart.
“Youdon'tmeanBilly—Neilson?”
Theotherturnedsharply.
“DoyouknowBillyNeilson?”
Calderwellgavehisfriendaglancefromscornfuleyes.
“Do I know Billy Neilson?” he cried. “Does a fellow usually know the girl
he'sproposedtoregularlyonceinthreemonths?Oh,IknowI'mtellingtalesout
ofschool,ofcourse,”hewenton,inresponsetothelookthathadcomeintothe


browneyesopposite.“Butwhat'stheuse?Everybodyknowsit—thatknowsus.
Billyherselfgotsoshetookitasamatterofcourse—andrefusedasamatterof
course,too;justasshewouldrefuseaservingofapplepieatdinner,ifshehadn't
wantedit.”
“Applepie!”scoutedArkwright.
Calderwellshruggedhisshoulders.
“Mydearfellow,youdon'tseemtorealizeit,butforthelastsixmonthsyou
havebeenassistingattheobsequiesofadeadromance.”
“Indeed!Andisit—buried,yet?”

“Oh,no,”sighedCalderwell,cheerfully.“Ishallgobackoneofthesedays,I'll
warrant,andbeginthesameoldgameagain;thoughIwillacknowledgethatthe
lastrefusalwassoverydecidedthatit'sbeenayear,almost,sinceIreceivedit.I
think I was really convinced, for a while, that—that she didn't want that apple
pie,”hefinishedwithawhimsicallightnessthatdidnotquitecoincidewiththe
sternlinesthathadcometohismouth.
Foramomenttherewassilence,thenCalderwellspokeagain.
“Wheredidyouknow—MissBilly?”
“Oh,Idon'tknowheratall.Iknowofher—throughAuntHannah.”
Calderwellsatsuddenlyerect.
“AuntHannah!Issheyouraunt,too?Jove!Thisisalittleoldworld,afterall;
isn'tit?”
“Sheisn'tmyaunt.She'smymother'sthirdcousin.Noneofushaveseenher
for years, but she writes to mother occasionally; and, of course, for some time
now, her letters have been running over full of Billy. She lives with her, I
believe;doesn'tshe?”
“She does,” rejoined Calderwell, with an unexpected chuckle. “I wonder if
youknowhowshehappenedtolivewithher,atfirst.”
“Why,no,Ireckonnot.Whatdoyoumean?”
Calderwellchuckledagain.
“Well,I'lltellyou.You,beinga'MaryJane,'oughttoappreciateit.Yousee,
Billy was named for one William Henshaw, her father's chum, who promptly
forgotallabouther.Ateighteen,Billy,beingleftquitealoneintheworld,wrote
to'UncleWilliam'andaskedtocomeandlivewithhim.”
“Well?”
“Butitwasn'twell.Williamwasaforty-year-oldwidowerwholivedwithtwo


younger brothers, an old butler, and a Chinese cook in one of those funny old
Beacon Street houses in Boston. 'The Strata,' Bertram called it. Bright boy—

Bertram!”
“TheStrata!”
“Yes. I wish you could see that house, Arkwright. It's a regular layer cake.
Cyril—he'sthesecondbrother;mustbethirty-fourorfivenow—livesonthetop
floor in a rugless, curtainless, music-mad existence—just a plain crank. Below
himcomesWilliam.Williamcollectsthings—everythingfromtenpennynailsto
teapots,Ishouldsay,andthey'reallthereinhisrooms.Fartherdownsomewhere
comesBertram.He'stheBertramHenshaw,youunderstand;theartist.”
“Notthe'Face-of-a-Girl'Henshaw?”
“Thesame;onlyofcoursefouryearsagohewasn'tquitesowellknownashe
isnow.Well,toresumeandgoon.Itwasintothishouse,thismasculineparadise
ruledoverbyPeteandDongLinginthekitchen,thatBilly'snaïverequestfora
homecame.”
“GreatScott!”breathedArkwright,appreciatively.
“Yes.Well,theletterwassigned'Billy.'Theytookherforaboy,naturally,and
after something of a struggle they agreed to let 'him' come. For his particular
delectationtheyfixeduparoomnexttoBertramwithgunsandfishingrods,and
suchladylikespecialties;andWilliamwenttothestationtomeettheboy.”
“Withneverasuspicion?”
“Withneverasuspicion.”
“Gorry!”
“Well,'he'came,and'she'conquered.Iguessthingswerelivelyforawhile,
though.Oh,therewasakitten,too,Ibelieve,'Spunk,'whoaddedtothegayety
ofnations.”
“ButwhatdidtheHenshawsdo?”
“Well,Iwasn'tthere,ofcourse;butBertramsaystheyspunaroundliketops
gone mad for a time, but finally quieted down enough to summon a married
sisterforimmediatepropriety,andtoestablishAuntHannahforpermanencythe
nextday.”
“Sothat'showithappened!Well,byGeorge!”criedArkwright.

“Yes,” nodded the other. “So you see there are untold possibilities just in a
name.Rememberthat.Justsupposeyou,asMaryJane,shouldbegahomeina
femininehousehold—sayinMissBilly's,forinstance!”


“I'dliketo,”retortedArkwright,withsuddenwarmth.
Calderwellstaredalittle.
Theotherlaughedshamefacedly.
“Oh,it'sonlythatIhappentohaveadevouringcuriositytomeetthatspecial
younglady.Isinghersongs(youknowshe'swrittensomedandies!),I'vehearda
lot about her, and I've seen her picture.” (He did not add that he had also
purloined that same picture from his mother's bureau—the picture being a gift
fromAuntHannah.)“SoyouseeIwould,indeed,liketooccupyacornerinthe
fairMissBilly'shousehold.IcouldwritetoAuntHannahandbegahomewith
her,youknow;eh?”
“Ofcourse!Whydon'tyou—'MaryJane'?”laughedCalderwell.“Billy'dtake
youallright.She'shadalittleMissHawthorn,amusicteacher,thereformonths.
She's always doing stunts of that sort. Belle writes me that she's had a dozen
forlornites there all this last summer, two or three at a time-tired widows,
lonesomeoldmaids,andcrippledkids—justtogivethemaroyalgoodtime.So
you see she'd take you, without a doubt. Jove! what a pair you'd make: Miss
BillyandMr.MaryJane!You'ddrivethesuffragettesintoconniptionfits—just
bythesoundofyou!”
Arkwrightlaughedquietly;thenhefrowned.
“But how about it?” he asked. “I thought she was keeping house with Aunt
Hannah.Didn'tshestayatallwiththeHenshaws?”
“Oh,yes,afewmonths.Ineverknewjustwhyshedidleave,butIfancied,
from something Billy herself said once, that she discovered she was creating
rathertoomuchofanupheavalintheStrata.Soshetookherselfoff.Shewentto
school,andtravelledconsiderably.ShewasoverherewhenImetherfirst.After

thatshewaswithusallonesummerontheyacht.Acoupleofyearsago,orso,
shewentbacktoBoston,boughtahouseandsettleddownwithAuntHannah.”
“Andshe'snotmarried—orevenengaged?”
“Wasn't the last I heard. I haven't seen her since December, and I've heard
from her only indirectly. She corresponds with my sister, and so do I—
intermittently.IheardamonthagofromBelle,andshehadaletterfromBillyin
August.ButIheardnothingofanyengagement.”
“HowabouttheHenshaws?Ishouldthinktheremightbeachancetherefora
romance—acharminggirl,andthreeunattachedmen.”
Calderwellgaveaslowshakeofthehead.
“I don't think so. William is—let me see—nearly forty-five, I guess, by this


time; and he isn't a marrying man. He buried his heart with his wife and baby
yearsago.Cyril,accordingtoBertram,'hateswomenandallotherconfusion,'so
that ought to let him out. As for Bertram himself—Bertram is 'only Bertram.'
He's always been that. Bertram loves girls—to paint; but I can't imagine him
makingseriouslovetoanyone.Itwouldalwaysbethetiltofachinortheturn
ofacheekthathewasadmiring—topaint.No,there'snochanceforaromance
there,I'llwarrant.”
“Butthere's—yourself.”
Calderwell'seyebrowsrosethefractionofaninch.
“Oh, of course. I presume January or February will find me back there,” he
admitted with a sigh and a shrug. Then, a little bitterly, he added: “No,
Arkwright.IshallkeepawayifIcan.Iknowthere'snochanceforme—now.”
“Thenyou'llleavemeaclearfield?”banteredtheother.
“Ofcourse—'MaryJane,'”retortedCalderwell,withequallightness.
“Thankyou.”
“Oh, you needn't,” laughed Calderwell. “My giving you the right of way
doesn'tinsureyouathoroughfareforyourself—thereareothers,youknow.Billy

NeilsonhashadsighingswainsaboutIher,Iimagine,sinceshecouldwalkand
talk.Sheisawonderfullyfascinatinglittlebitoffemininity,andshehasaheart
of pure gold. All is, I envy the man who wins it—for the man who wins that,
winsher.”
There was no answer. Arkwright sat with his eyes on the moving throng
outsidethewindownearthem.Perhapshehadnotheard.Atallevents,whenhe
spokesometimelater,itwasofamatterfarremovedfromMissBillyNeilson,
orthewaytoherheart.Norwastheyoungladymentionedbetweenthemagain
thatday.
Longhourslater,justbeforepartingforthenight,Arkwrightsaid:
“Calderwell,I'msorry,butIbelieve,afterall,Ican'ttakethattriptothelakes
withyou.I—I'mgoinghomenextweek.”
“Home!Hangit,Arkwright!I'dcountedonyou.Isn'tthisrathersudden?”
“Yes,andno.I'llownI'vebeendriftingaboutwithyoucontentedlyenoughfor
the last six months to make you think mountain-climbing and boat-paddling
weretheendandaimofmyexistence.Buttheyaren't,youknow,really.”
“Nonsense!Atheartyou'reasmuchofavagabondasIam;andyouknowit.”
“Perhaps.ButunfortunatelyIdon'thappentocarryyourpocketbook.”


“Youmay,ifyoulike.I'llhanditoveranytime,”grinnedCalderwell.
“Thanks.YouknowwellenoughwhatImean,”shruggedtheother.
Therewasamoment'ssilence;thenCalderwellqueried:
“Arkwright,howoldareyou?”
“Twenty-four.”
“Good!Thenyou'remerelytravellingtosupplementyoureducation,see?”
“Oh, yes, I see. But something besides my education has got to be
supplementednow,Ireckon.”
“Whatareyougoingtodo?”
Therewasanalmostimperceptiblehesitation;then,alittleshortly,camethe

answer:
“HitthetrailforGrandOpera,andbringup,probably—invaudeville.”
Calderwellsmiledappreciatively.
“Youcansinglikethedevil,”headmitted.
“Thanks,”returnedhisfriend,withupliftedeyebrows.“Doyoumindcallingit
'anangel'—justforthisoccasion?”
“Oh,thematinée-girlswilldothatfastenough.But,Isay,Arkwright,whatare
yougoingtodowiththoseinitialsthen?”
“Let'emalone.”
“Oh, no, you won't. And you won't be 'Mary Jane,' either. Imagine a Mary
Jane in Grand Opera! I know what you'll be. You'll be 'Señor Martini Johnini
Arkwrightino'!Bytheway,youdidn'tsaywhatthat'M.J.'reallydidstandfor,”
hintedCalderwell,shamelessly.
“'MerelyJokes'—inyourestimation,evidently,”shruggedtheother.“Butmy
goingisn'tajoke,Calderwell.I'mreallygoing.AndI'mgoingtowork.”
“But—howshallyoumanage?”
“Timewilltell.”
Calderwellfrownedandstirredrestlesslyinhischair.
“But,honestly,now,to—tofollowthattrailofyourswilltakemoney.And—
er—”afaintredstoletohisforehead—“don'ttheyhave—er—patronsforthese
young and budding geniuses? Why can't I have a hand in this trail, too—or
maybeyou'dcallitafoot,eh?I'dbenoendgladto,Arkwright.”
“Thanks, old man.” The red was duplicated this time above the brown silky
beard. “That was mighty kind of you, and I appreciate it; but it won't be


necessary. A generous, but perhaps misguided bachelor uncle left me a few
thousandsayearorsoago;andI'mgoingtoputthemalldownmythroat—or
rather,intoit—beforeIgiveup.”
“Whereyougoingtostudy?NewYork?”

Againtherewasanalmostimperceptiblehesitationbeforetheanswercame.
“I'mnotquitepreparedtosay.”
“Whynottryithere?”
Arkwrightshookhishead.
“Ididplanto,whenIcameoverbutI'vechangedmymind.IbelieveI'drather
workwhilelongerinAmerica.”
“Hm-m,”murmuredCalderwell.
Therewasabriefsilence,followedbyotherquestionsandotheranswers;after
whichthefriendssaidgoodnight.
In his own room, as he was dropping off to sleep, Calderwell muttered
drowsily:
“ByGeorge!Ihaven'tfoundoutyetwhatthatblamed'M.J.'standsfor!”


CHAPTERII.AUNTHANNAHGETSALETTER
Inthecozyliving-roomatHillside,BillyNeilson'sprettyhomeonCoreyHill,
Billyherselfsatwritingatthedesk.Herpenhadjusttracedthedate,“October
twenty-fifth,”whenMrs.Stetsonenteredwithaletterinherhand.
“Writing,mydear?Thendon'tletmedisturbyou.”Sheturnedasiftogo.
Billydroppedherpen,sprangtoherfeet,flewtothelittlewoman'ssideand
whirledherhalfacrosstheroom.
“There!”sheexclaimed,assheplumpedthebreathlessandscandalizedAunt
Hannahintothebiggesteasychair.“Ifeelbetter.Ijusthadtoletoffsteamsome
way.It'ssolovelyyoucameinjustwhenyoudid!”
“Indeed!I—I'mnotsosureofthat,”stammeredthelady,droppingtheletter
intoherlap,andpattingwithagitatedfingershercap,hercurls,thetwoshawls
abouthershoulders,andthelaceatherthroat.“Mygriefandconscience,Billy!
Wors'tyouevergrowup?”
“Hopenot,”purredBillycheerfully,droppingherselfontoalowhassockat
AuntHannah'sfeet.

“But,mydear,you—you'reengaged!”
Billybubbledintoachucklinglaugh.
“AsifIdidn'tknowthat,whenI'vejustwrittenadozennotestoannounceit!
And,oh,AuntHannah,suchatimeasI'vehad,tellingwhatadearBertramis,
andhowIlove,love,lovehim,andwhatbeautifuleyeshehas,andsuchanose,
and—”
“Billy!”AuntHannahwassittingerectinpalehorror.
“Eh?”Billy'seyeswereroguish.
“Youdidn'twritethatinthosenotes!”
“Writeit?Oh,no!That'sonlywhatIwantedtowrite,”chuckledBilly.“What
Ireallydidwritewasasstaidandproperas—here,letmeshowyou,”shebroke
off,springingtoherfeetandrunningovertoherdesk.“There!thisisaboutwhat
I wrote to them all,” she finished, whipping a note out of one of the unsealed
envelopes on the desk and spreading it open before Aunt Hannah's suspicious
eyes.
“Hm-m;thatisverygood—foryou,”admittedthelady.


“Well,Ilikethat!—afterallmysternself-controlandself-sacrificetokeepout
allthosethingsIwantedtowrite,”bridledBilly.“Besides,they'dhavebeenever
somuchmoreinterestingreadingthanthesewillbe,”shepouted,asshetookthe
notefromhercompanion'shand.
“Idon'tdoubtit,”observedAuntHannah,dryly.
Billylaughed,andtossedthenotebackonthedesk.
“I'm writing to Belle Calderwell, now,” she announced musingly, dropping
herselfagainonthehassock.“Isupposeshe'lltellHugh.”
“Poorboy!He'llbedisappointed.”
Billysighed,butsheuptiltedherchinalittle.
“Heoughtnottobe.Itoldhimlong,longago,theveryfirsttime,that—thatI
couldn't.”

“I know, dear; but—they don't always understand.” Aunt Hannah sighed in
sympathywiththefar-awayHughCalderwell,asshelookeddownatthebright
youngfacenearher.
Therewasamoment'ssilence;thenBillygavealittlelaugh.
“Hewillbesurprised,”shesaid.“HetoldmeoncethatBertramwouldn'tever
careforanygirlexcepttopaint.Topaint,indeed!AsifBertramdidn'tloveme
—justme!—ifheneversawanothertubeofpaint!”
“Ithinkhedoes,mydear.”
Againtherewassilence;then,fromBilly'slipstherecamesoftly:
“Just think; we've been engaged almost four weeks—and to-morrow it'll be
announced.I'msogladIdidn'teverannouncetheothertwo!”
“Theothertwo!”criedAuntHannah.
Billylaughed.
“Oh,Iforgot.Youdidn'tknowaboutCyril.”
“Cyril!”
“Oh, there didn't anybody know it, either not even Cyril himself,” dimpled
Billy,mischievously.“Ijustengagedmyselftohiminimagination,youknow,to
seehowI'dlikeit.Ididn'tlikeit.Butitdidn'tlast,anyhow,verylong—justthree
weeks, Ibelieve.ThenIbrokeitoff,”shefinished,with unsmiling mouth,but
dancingeyes.
“Billy!”protestedAuntHannah,feebly.
“ButIamgladonlythefamilyknewaboutmyengagementtoUncleWilliam
—oh,AuntHannah,youdon'tknowhowgooditdoesseemtocallhim'Uncle'


again.Itwasalwaysslippingout,anyhow,allthetimewewereengaged;andof
courseitwasawfulthen.”
“That only goes to prove, my dear, how entirely unsuitable it was, from the
start.”
AbrightcolorfloodedBilly'sface.

“Iknow;butifagirlwillthinkamanisaskingforawifewhenallhewantsis
adaughter,andifsheblandlysays'Yes,thankyou,I'llmarryyou,'Idon'tknow
whatyoucanexpect!”
“You can expect just what you got—misery, and almost a tragedy,” retorted
AuntHannah,severely.
AtenderlightcameintoBilly'seyes.
“Dear Uncle William! What a jewel he was, all the way through! And he'd
havemarchedstraighttothealtar,too,withneveraflickerofaneyelid,Iknow
—self-sacrificingmartyrthathewas!”
“Martyr!” bristled Aunt Hannah, with extraordinary violence for her. “I'm
thinking that term belonged somewhere else. A month ago, Billy Neilson, you
didnotlookasifyou'dliveouthalfyourdays.ButIsupposeyou'dhavegoneto
thealtar,too,withneveraflickerofaneyelid!”
“ButIthoughtIhadto,”protestedBilly.“Icouldn'tgrieveUncleWilliamso,
afterMrs.Hartwellhadsaidhowhe—hewantedme.”
AuntHannah'slipsgrewsternatthecorners.
“Therearetimeswhen—whenIthinkitwouldbewiserifMrs.KateHartwell
wouldattendtoherownaffairs!”AuntHannah'svoicefairlyshookwithwrath.
“Why-AuntHannah!”reprovedBillyinmischievoushorror.“I'mshockedat
you!”
AuntHannahflushedmiserably.
“There,there,child,forgetIsaidit.Ioughtnottohavesaidit,ofcourse,”she
murmuredagitatedly.
Billylaughed.
“You should have heard what Uncle William said! But never mind. We all
foundoutthemistakebeforeitwastoolate,andeverythingislovelynow,even
to Cyril and Marie. Did you ever see anything so beatifically happy as that
couple are? Bertram says he hasn't heard a dirge from Cyril's rooms for three
weeks; and that if anybody else played the kind of music he's been playing, it
wouldbejustcommongardenragtime!”

“Music!Oh,mygriefandconscience!Thatmakesmethink,Billy.IfI'mnot
actuallyforgettingwhatIcameinherefor,”criedAuntHannah,fumblinginthe
foldsofherdressfortheletterthathadslippedfromherlap.“I'vehadwordfrom
ayoungniece.She'sgoingtostudymusicinBoston.”
“Aniece?”
“Well,notreally,youknow.Shecallsme'Aunt,'justasyouandtheHenshaw
boysdo. ButIreallyamrelatedtoher,forhermother andIarethirdcousins,
whileitwasmyhusbandwhowasdistantlyrelatedtotheHenshawfamily.”
“What'shername?”
“'MaryJaneArkwright.'Whereisthatletter?”
“Hereitis,onthefloor,”reportedBilly.“Wereyougoingtoreadittome?”
sheasked,asshepickeditup.
“Yes—ifyoudon'tmind.”
“I'dlovetohearit.”
“ThenI'llreadit.It—itratherannoysmeinsomeways.Ithoughtthewhole
family understood that I wasn't living by myself any longer—that I was living
withyou.I'msureIthoughtIwrotethemthat,longago.Butthissoundsalmost
asiftheydidn'tunderstandit—atleast,asifthisgirldidn't.”
“Howoldisshe?”
“Idon'tknow;butshemustbesomeold,tobecomingheretoBostontostudy
music,alone—singing,Ithinkshesaid.”
“Youdon'trememberher,then?”
Aunt Hannah frowned and paused, the letter half withdrawn from its
envelope.
“No—but that isn't strange. They live West. I haven't seen any of them for
years. I know there are several children—and I suppose I've been told their
names. I know there's a boy—the eldest, I think—who is quite a singer, and
there'sagirlwhopaints,Ibelieve;butIdon'tseemtoremembera'MaryJane.'”

“Nevermind!SupposeweletMaryJanespeakforherself,”suggestedBilly,
dropping her chin into the small pink cup of her hand, and settling herself to
listen.
“Very well,” sighed Aunt Hannah; and she opened the letter and began to
read.
“DEARAUNTHANNAH:—Thisistotellyou
thatI'mcomingtoBostontostudysingingin
theschoolforGrandOpera,andI'mplanningto
lookyouup.Doyouobject?Isaidtoafriend


theotherdaythatI'dhalfamindtowritetoAunt
Hannahandbegahomewithher;andmyfriend
retorted:'Whydon'tyou,MaryJane?'But
that,ofcourse,Ishouldnotthinkofdoing.
“ButIknowIshallbelonesome,AuntHannah,
andIhopeyou'llletmeseeyouonceina
while,anyway.Iplannowtocomenextweek
—I'vealreadygotasfarasNewYork,asyousee
bytheaddress—andIshallhopetoseeyou
soon.
“Allthefamilywouldsendlove,Iknow.
“M.J.ARKWRIGHT.”

“GrandOpera!Oh,howperfectlylovely,”criedBilly.
“Yes, but Billy, do you think she is expecting me to invite her to make her
home with me? I shall have to write and explain that I can't—if she does, of
course.”
Billyfrownedandhesitated.
“Why, it sounded—a little—that way; but—” Suddenly her face cleared.

“AuntHannah,I'vethoughtoftheverything.Wewilltakeher!”
“Oh, Billy, I couldn't think of letting you do that,” demurred Aunt Hannah.
“You'reverykind—but,oh,no;notthat!”
“Why not? I think it would be lovely; and we can just as well as not. After
MarieismarriedinDecember,shecanhavethatroom.Untilthenshecanhave
thelittleblueroomnexttome.”
“But—but—wedon'tknowanythingabouther.”
“Weknowshe'syourniece,andshe'slonesome;andweknowshe'smusical.I
shallloveherforeveryoneofthosethings.Ofcoursewe'lltakeher!”
“But—Idon'tknowanythingaboutherage.”
“Allthemorereasonwhysheshouldbelookedoutfor,then,”retortedBilly,
promptly.“Why,AuntHannah,justasifyoudidn'twanttogivethislonesome,
unprotectedyounggirlahome!”
“Oh,Ido,ofcourse;but—”
“Thenit'sallsettled,”interposedBilly,springingtoherfeet.
“Butwhatifwe—weshouldn'tlikeher?”
“Nonsense!Whatifsheshouldn'tlikeus?”laughedBilly.“However,ifyou'd
feelbetter,justaskhertocomeandstaywithusamonth.Weshallkeepherall
right,afterwards.Seeifwedon't!”
SlowlyAuntHannahgottoherfeet.


“Verywell,dear.I'llwrite,ofcourse,asyoutellmeto;andit'slovelyofyou
todoit.NowI'llleaveyoutoyourletters.I'vehinderedyoufartoolong,asit
is.”
“You'verestedme,”declaredBilly,flingingwideherarms.
AuntHannah,fearingaseconddizzyingwhirlimpelledbythosesameyoung
arms, drew her shawls about her shoulders and backed hastily toward the hall
door.
Billylaughed.

“Oh,Iwon'tagain—to-day,”shepromisedmerrily.Then,astheladyreached
thearcheddoorway:“TellMaryJanetoletusknowthedayandtrainandwe'll
meether.Oh,andAuntHannah,tellhertowearapink—awhitepink;andtell
herwewill,too,”shefinishedgayly.


CHAPTERIII.BILLYANDBERTRAM
Bertramcalledthatevening.Beforetheopenfireintheliving-roomhefound
a pensive Billy awaiting him—a Billy who let herself be kissed, it is true, and
whoevenkissedback,shyly,adorably;butaBillywholookedathimwithwide,
almostfrightenedeyes.
“Why,darling,what'sthematter?”hedemanded,hisowneyesgrowingwide
andfrightened.
“Bertram,it's—done!”
“What'sdone?Whatdoyoumean?”
“Our engagement. It's—announced. I wrote stacks of notes to-day, and even
now there are some left for to-morrow. And then there's—the newspapers.
Bertram,rightaway,now,everybodywillknowit.”Hervoicewastragic.
Bertramrelaxedvisibly.Atenderlightcametohiseyes.
“Well,didn'tyouexpecteverybodywouldknowit,mydear?”
“Y-yes;but—”
Atherhesitation,thetenderlightchangedtoaquickfear.
“Billy,youaren't—sorry?”
Thepinkglorythatsuffusedherfaceansweredhimbeforeherwordsdid.
“Sorry!Oh,never,Bertram!It'sonlythatitwon'tbeoursanylonger—thatis,
itwon'tbelongtojustourtwoselves.Everybodywillknowit.Andthey'llbow
andsmileandsay'Howlovely!'toourfaces,and'Didyouever?'toourbacks.
Oh,no,I'mnotsorry,Bertram;butIam—afraid.”
“Afraid—Billy!”
“Yes.”

Billysighed,andgazedwithpensiveeyesintothefire.
AcrossBertram'sfacesweptsurprise,consternation,anddismay.Bertramhad
thoughtheknewBillyinallhermoodsandfancies;buthedidnotknowherin
thisone.
“Why,Billy!”hebreathed.
Billy drew another sigh. It seemed to come from the very bottoms of her
small,satin-slipperedfeet.


“Well,Iam.You'retheBertramHenshaw.Youknowlotsandlotsofpeople
thatIneverevensaw.Andthey'llcomeandstandaroundandstareandlifttheir
lorgnettesandsay:'Isthattheone?Dearme!'”
Bertramgavearelievedlaugh.
“Nonsense,sweetheart!IshouldthinkyouwereapictureI'dpaintedandhung
onawall.”
“IshallfeelasifIwere—withallthosefriendsofyours.Bertram,whatifthey
don'tlikeit?”Hervoicehadgrowntragicagain.
“Likeit!”
“Yes.Thepicture—me,Imean.”
“Theycan'thelplikingit,”heretorted,withthepromptcertaintyofanadoring
lover.
Billyshookherhead.Hereyeshadgonebacktothefire.
“Oh,yes,theycan.Icanhearthem.'What,she—BertramHenshaw'swife?—a
frivolous, inconsequential “Billy” like that?' Bertram!”—Billy turned fiercely
despairing eyes on her lover—“Bertram, sometimes I wish my name were
'Clarissa Cordelia,' or 'Arabella Maud,' or 'Hannah Jane'—anything that's
feminineandproper!”
Bertram'sringinglaughbroughtafaintsmiletoBilly'slips.Butthewordsthat
followed the laugh, and the caressing touch of the man's hands sent a flood of
shycolortoherface.

“'HannahJane,'indeed!AsifI'dexchangemyBillyforheroranyClarissaor
Arabellathatevergrew!IadoreBilly—flame,nature,and—”
“Andnaughtiness?”putinBillyherself.
“Yes—iftherebeany,”laughedBertram,fondly.“But,see,”headded,taking
atinyboxfromhispocket,“seewhatI'vebroughtforthissameBillytowear.
She'd have had it long ago if she hadn't insisted on waiting for this
announcementbusiness.”
“Oh, Bertram, what a beauty!” dimpled Billy, as the flawless diamond in
Bertram's fingers caught the light and sent it back in a flash of flame and
crimson.
“Now you are mine—really mine, sweetheart!” The man's voice and hand
shookasheslippedtheringonBilly'soutstretchedfinger.
Billycaughtherbreathwithalmostasob.
“AndI'msogladtobe—yours,dear,”shemurmuredbrokenly.“And—andI'll


make you proud that I am yours, even if I am just 'Billy,'” she choked. “Oh, I
knowI'llwritesuchbeautiful,beautifulsongsnow.”
Themandrewherintoacloseembrace.
“AsifIcaredforthat,”hescoffedlovingly.
Billylookedupinquickhorror.
“Why,Bertram,youdon'tmeanyoudon't—care?”
Helaughedlightly,andtookthedismayedlittlefacebetweenhistwohands.
“Care, darling? of course I care! You know how I love your music. I care
about everything that concerns you. I meant that I'm proud of you now—just
you.Iloveyou,youknow.”
There was a moment's pause. Billy's eyes, as they looked at him, carried a
curiousintentnessintheirdarkdepths.
“Youmean,youlike—theturnofmyheadandthetiltofmychin?”sheasked
alittlebreathlessly.

“Iadorethem!”camethepromptanswer.
ToBertram'sutteramazement,Billydrewbackwithasharpcry.
“No,no—notthat!”
“Why,Billy!”
Billylaughedunexpectedly;thenshesighed.
“Oh, it's all right, of course,” she assured him hastily. “It's only—” Billy
stoppedandblushed.BillywasthinkingofwhatHughCalderwellhadoncesaid
toher:thatBertramHenshawwouldneverloveanygirlseriously;thatitwould
alwaysbetheturnofherheadorthetiltofherchinthatheloved—topaint.
“Well;onlywhat?”demandedBertram.
Billyblushedthemoredeeply,butshegavealightlaugh.
“Nothing, only something Hugh Calderwell said to me once. You see,
Bertram,Idon'tthinkHugheverthoughtyouwould—marry.”
“Oh,didn'the?”bridledBertram.“Well,thatonlygoestoshowhowmuchhe
knowsaboutit.Er—didyouannounceit—tohim?”Bertram'svoicewasalmost
savagenow.
Billysmiled.
“No;butIdidtohissister,andshe'lltellhim.Oh,Bertram,suchatimeasI
hadoverthosenotes,”wentonBilly,withachuckle.Hereyesweredancing,and
shewasseemingmorelikeherusualself,Bertramthought.“Youseetherewere


suchalotofthingsIwantedtosay,aboutwhatadearyouwere,andhowmuchI
—Ilikedyou,andthatyouhadsuchlovelyeyes,andanose—”
“Billy!”ThistimeitwasBertramwhowassittingerectinpalehorror.
Billythrewhimaroguishglance.
“Goosey! You are as bad as Aunt Hannah! I said that was what I wanted to
say. What I really said was—quite another matter,” she finished with a saucy
uptiltingofherchin.
Bertramrelaxedwithalaugh.

“Youwitch!”Hisadmiringeyesstilllingeredonherface.“Billy,I'mgoingto
paintyousometimeinjustthatpose.You'readorable!”
“Pooh!Justanotherfaceofagirl,”teasedtheadorableone.
Bertramgaveasuddenexclamation.
“There!AndIhaven'ttoldyou,yet.Guesswhatmynextcommissionis.”
“Topaintaportrait?”
“Yes.”
“Can't.Whoisit?”
“J.G.Winthrop'sdaughter.”
“NottheJ.G.Winthrop?”
“Thesame.”
“Oh,Bertram,howsplendid!”
“Isn't it? And then the girl herself! Have you seen her? But you haven't, I
know,unlessyoumetherabroad.Shehasn'tbeeninBostonforyearsuntilnow.”
“No,Ihaven'tseenher.Isshesoverybeautiful?”Billyspokealittlesoberly.
“Yes—and no.” The artist lifted his head alertly. What Billy called his
“paintinglook”cametohisface.“Itisn'tthatherfeaturesaresoregular—though
hermouthandchinareperfect.Butherfacehassomuchcharacter,andthere's
anelusivesomethingabouthereyes—Jove!IfIcanonlycatchit,it'llbethebest
thingyetthatI'veeverdone,Billy.”
“Will it? I'm so glad—and you'll get it, I know you will,” claimed Billy,
clearingherthroatalittlenervously.
“IwishIfeltsosure,”sighedBertram.“Butit'llbeagreatthingifIdogetit
—J.G.Winthrop'sdaughter,youknow,besidesthemeritofthelikenessitself.”
“Yes;yes,indeed!”Billyclearedherthroatagain.“You'veseenher,ofcourse,
lately?”


“Oh, yes. I was there half the morning discussing the details—sittings and
costume,anddecidingonthepose.”

“Didyoufindone—tosuit?”
“Find one!” The artist made a despairing gesture. “I found a dozen that I
wanted.ThetroublewastotellwhichIwantedthemost.”
Billygaveanervouslittlelaugh.
“Isn'tthat—unusual?”sheasked.
Bertramliftedhiseyebrowswithaquizzicalsmile.
“Well,theyaren'tallMargueriteWinthrops,”heremindedher.
“Marguerite!”criedBilly.“Oh,ishernameMarguerite?IdothinkMarguerite
isthedearestname!”Billy'seyesandvoicewerewistful.
“I don't—not the dearest. Oh, it's all well enough, of course, but it can't be
comparedforamomentto—well,say,'Billy'!”
Billysmiled,butsheshookherhead.
“I'mafraidyou'renotagoodjudgeofnames,”sheobjected.
“Yes,Iam;though,forthatmatter,Ishouldloveyourname,nomatterwhatit
was.”
“Evenif'twas'MaryJane,'eh?”banteredBilly.“Well,you'llhaveachanceto
findouthowyoulikethatnameprettyquick,sir.We'regoingtohaveonehere.”
“You're going to have a Mary Jane here? Do you mean that Rosa's going
away?”
“Mercy!Ihopenot,”shudderedBilly.“Youdon'tfindaRosaineverykitchen
—and never in employment agencies! My Mary Jane is a niece of Aunt
Hannah's,—orrather,acousin.She'scomingtoBostontostudymusic,andI've
invitedherhere.We'veaskedherforamonth,thoughIpresumeweshallkeep
herrightalong.”
Bertramfrowned.
“Well, of course, that's very nice for—MaryJane,” he sighed with meaning
emphasis.
Billylaughed.
“Don'tworry,dear.Shewon'tbotherusany.”
“Oh, yes, she will,” sighed Bertram. “She'll be 'round—lots; you see if she

isn't.Billy,Ithinksometimesyou'realmosttookind—tootherfolks.”
“Never!” laughed Billy. “Besides, what would you have me do when a