CHAPTER XXXIII. BERTRAM TAKES THE REINS
With stiffly pompous dignity Pete opened the door. The next momenthe fell back in amazement before the impetuous rush of a starry-eyed,flushed-cheeked young woman who demanded:
"Where is he, Pete?"
"Miss Billy!" gasped the old man. Then he saw Aunt Hannah--Aunt Hannahwith her bonnet askew, her neck-bow awry, one hand bare, and the otherhalf covered with a glove wrong side out. Aunt Hannah's cheeks, too,were flushed, and her eyes starry, but with dismay and anger--the lastbecause she did not like the way Pete had said Miss Billy's name. It wasone matter for her to object to this thing Billy was doing--but quiteanother for Pete to do it.
"Of course it's she!" retorted Aunt Hannah, testily. "As if you yourselfdidn't bring her here with your crazy messages at this time of night!"
"Pete, where is he?" interposed Billy. "Tell Mr. Bertram I am here--or,wait! I'll go right in and surprise him."
"_Billy!_" This time it was Aunt Hannah who gasped her name.
Pete had recovered himself by now, but he did not even glance towardAunt Hannah. His face was beaming, and his old eyes were shining.
"Miss Billy, Miss Billy, you're an angel straight from heaven, youare--you are! Oh, I'm so glad you came! It'll be all right now--allright! He's in the den, Miss Billy."
Billy turned eagerly, but before she could take so much as one steptoward the door at the end of the hall, Aunt Hannah's indignant voicearrested her.
"Billy-stop! You're not an angel; you're a young woman--and a crazyone, at that! Whatever angels do, young women don't go unannounced andunchaperoned into young men's rooms! Pete, go tell your master that _we_are here, and ask if he will receive _us_."
Pete's lips twitched. The emphatic "we" and "us" were not lost on him.But his face was preternaturally grave when he spoke.
"Mr. Bertram is up and dressed, ma'am. He's in the den. I'll speak tohim."
Pete, once again the punctilious butler, stalked to the door ofBertram's den and threw it wide open.
Opposite the door, on a low couch, lay Bertram, his head bandaged, andhis right arm in a sling. His face was turned toward the door, but hiseyes were closed. He looked very white, and his features were pitifullydrawn with suffering.
"Mr. Bertram," began Pete--but he got no further. A flying figurebrushed by him and fell on its knees by the couch, with a low cry.
Bertram's eyes flew open. Across his face swept such a radiant look ofunearthly joy that Pete sobbed audibly and fled to the kitchen. DongLing found him there a minute later polishing a silver teaspoon witha fringed napkin that had been spread over Bertram's tray. In the hallabove Aunt Hannah was crying into William's gray linen duster that hungon the hall-rack--Aunt Hannah's handkerchief was on the floor back atHillside.
In the den neither Billy nor Bertram knew or cared what had become ofAunt Hannah and Pete. There were just two people in their world--twopeople, and unutterable, incredible, overwhelming rapture and peace.Then, very gradually it dawned over them that there was, after all,something strange and unexplained in it all.
"But, dearest, what does it mean--you here like this?" asked Bertramthen. As if to make sure that she was "here, like this," he drew hereven closer--Bertram was so thankful that he did have one arm that wasusable.
Billy, on her knees by the couch, snuggled into the curve of the one armwith a contented little sigh.
"Well, you see, just as soon as I found out to-night that you wanted me,I came," she said.
"You darling! That was--" Bertram stopped suddenly. A puzzled frownshowed below the fantastic bandage about his head. "'As soon as,'" hequoted then scornfully. "Were you ever by any possible chance thinking I_didn't_ want you?"
Billy's eyes widened a little.
"Why, Bertram, dear, don't you see? When you were so troubled thatthe picture didn't go well, and I found out it was about me you weretroubled--I--"
"Well?" Bertram's voice was a little strained.
"Why, of--of course," stammered Billy, "I couldn't help thinking thatmaybe you had found out you _didn't_ want me."
"_Didn't want you!_" groaned Bertram, his tense muscles relaxing. "May Iask why?"
Billy blushed.
"I wasn't quite sure why," she faltered; "only, of course, I thoughtof--of Miss Winthrop, you know, or that maybe it was because you didn'tcare for _any_ girl, only to paint--oh, oh, Bertram! Pete told us," shebroke off wildly, beginning to sob.
"Pete told you that I didn't care for any girl, only to paint?" demandedBertram, angry and mystified.
"No, no," sobbed Billy, "not that. It was all the others that toldme that! Pete told Aunt Hannah about the accident, you know, and hesaid--he said--Oh, Bertram, I _can't_ say it! But that's one of thethings that made me know I _could_ come now, you see, because I--Iwouldn't hinder you, nor slay your Art, nor any other of those dreadfulthings if--if you couldn't ever--p-paint again," finished Billy in anuncontrollable burst of grief.
"There, there, dear," comforted Bertram, patting the bronze-gold headon his breast. "I haven't the faintest idea what you're talkingabout--except the last; but I know there _can't_ be anything that oughtto make you cry like that. As for my not painting again--you didn'tunderstand Pete, dearie. That was what they were afraid of atfirst--that I'd lose my arm; but that danger is all past now. I'mloads better. Of course I'm going to paint again--and better than everbefore--_now!_"
Billy lifted her head. A look that was almost terror came to her eyes.She pulled herself half away from Bertram's encircling arm.
"Why, Billy," cried the man, in pained surprise. "You don't mean to sayyou're _sorry_ I'm going to paint again!"
"No, no! Oh, no, Bertram--never that!" she faltered, still regardinghim with fearful eyes. "It's only--for _me_, you know. I _can't_ go backnow, and not have you--after this!--even if I do hinder you, and--"
"_Hinder me!_ What are you talking about, Billy?"
Billy drew a quivering sigh.
"Well, to begin with, Kate said--"
"Good heavens! Is Kate in _this_, too?" Bertram's voice was savage now.
"Well, she wrote a letter."
"I'll warrant she did! Great Scott, Billy! Don't you know Kate by thistime?"
"Y-yes, I said so, too. But, Bertram, what she wrote was true. I foundit everywhere, afterwards--in magazines and papers, and even in Marie."
"Humph! Well, dearie, I don't know yet what you found, but I do know youwouldn't have found it at all if it hadn't been for Kate--and I wish Ihad her here this minute!"
Billy giggled hysterically.
"I don't--not _right_ here," she cooed, nestling comfortably againsther lover's arm. "But you see, dear, she never _has_ approved of themarriage."
"Well, who's doing the marrying--she, or I?" "That's what I said,too--only in another way," sighed Billy. "But she called us flyawayflutterbudgets, and she said I'd ruin your career, if I did marry you."
"Well, I can tell you right now, Billy, you will ruin it if you don't!"declared Bertram. "That's what ailed me all the time I was painting thatmiserable portrait. I was so worried--for fear I'd lose you."
"Lose me! Why, Bertram Henshaw, what do you mean?"
A shamed red crept to the man's forehead.
"Well, I suppose I might as well own up now as any time. I was scaredblue, Billy, with jealousy of--Arkwright."
Billy laughed gayly--but she shifted her position and did not meet herlover's eyes.
"Arkwright? Nonsense!" she cried. "Why, he's going to marry AliceGreggory. I know he is! I can see it as plain as day in her letters.He's there a lot."
"And you never did think for a minute, Billy, that you cared for him?"Bertram's gaze searched Billy's face a little fearfully. He had not beenslow to mark that swift lowering of her eyelids. But Billy looked himnow straight in the face--it was a level, frank gaze of absolute truth.
"Never, dear," she said firmly. (Billy was so glad Bertram had turnedthe question on _her_ love instead of Arkwright's!) "There has neverreally been any o
ne but you."
"Thank God for that," breathed Bertram, as he drew the bright headnearer and held it close.
After a minute Billy stirred and sighed happily.
"Aren't lovers the beat'em for imagining things?" she murmured.
"They certainly are."
"You see--I wasn't in love with Mr. Arkwright."
"I see--I hope."
"And--and you didn't care _specially_ for--for Miss Winthrop?"
"Eh? Well, no!" exploded Bertram. "Do you mean to say you really--"
Billy put a soft finger on his lips.
"Er--'people who live in _glass houses_,' you know," she reminded him,with roguish eyes.
Bertram kissed the finger and subsided.
"Humph!" he commented.
There was a long silence; then, a little breathlessly, Billy asked:
"And you don't--after all, love me--just to paint?"
"Well, what is that? Is that Kate, too?" demanded Bertram, grimly.
Billy laughed.
"No--oh, she said it, all right, but, you see, _everybody_ said that tome, Bertram; and that's what made me so--so worried sometimes when youtalked about the tilt of my chin, and all that."
"Well, by Jove!" breathed Bertram.
There was another silence. Then, suddenly, Bertram stirred.
"Billy, I'm going to marry you to-morrow," he announced decisively.
Billy lifted her head and sat back in palpitating dismay.
"Bertram! What an absurd idea!"
"Well, I am. I don't _know_ as I can trust you out of my sight till_then!_ You'll read something, or hear something, or get a letter fromKate after breakfast to-morrow morning, that will set you 'saving me'again; and I don't want to be saved--that way. I'm going to marry youto-morrow. I'll get--" He stopped short, with a sudden frown. "Confoundthat law! I forgot. Great Scott, Billy, I'll have to trust you fivedays, after all! There's a new law about the license. We've _got_ towait five days--and maybe more, counting in the notice, and all."
Billy laughed softly.
"Five days, indeed, sir! I wonder if you think I can get ready to bemarried in five days."
"Don't want you to get ready," retorted Bertram, promptly. "I saw Marieget ready, and I had all I wanted of it. If you really must have allthose miles of tablecloths and napkins and doilies and lace rufflingswe'll do it afterwards,--not before."
"But--"
"Besides, I _need_ you to take care of me," cut in Bertram, craftily.
"Bertram, do you--really?"
The tender glow on Billy's face told its own story, and Bertram's eagereyes were not slow to read it.
"Sweetheart, see here, dear," he cried softly, tightening his good leftarm. And forthwith he began to tell her how much he did, indeed, needher.
"Billy, my dear!" It was Aunt Hannah's plaintive voice at the doorway,a little later. "We must go home; and William is here, too, and wants tosee you."
Billy rose at once as Aunt Hannah entered the room.
"Yes, Aunt Hannah, I'll come; besides"--she glanced at Bertrammischievously--"I shall need all the time I've got to prepare for--mywedding."
"Your wedding! You mean it'll be before--October?" Aunt Hannah glancedfrom one to the other uncertainly. Something in their smiling faces senta quick suspicion to her eyes.
"Yes," nodded Billy, demurely. "It's next Tuesday, you see."
"Next Tuesday! But that's only a week away," gasped Aunt Hannah.
"Yes, a week."
"But, child, your trousseau--the wedding--the--the--a week!" Aunt Hannahcould not articulate further.
"Yes, I know; that is a good while," cut in Bertram, airily. "We wantedit to-morrow, but we had to wait, on account of the new license law.Otherwise it wouldn't have been so long, and--"
But Aunt Hannah was gone. With a low-breathed "Long! Oh, my grief andconscience--_William!_" she had fled through the hall door.
"Well, it _is_ long," maintained Bertram, with tender eyes, as hereached out his hand to say good-night.
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