CHAPTER IV. FOR MARY JANE
"I have a letter here from Mary Jane, my dear," announced Aunt Hannah atthe luncheon table one day.
"Have you?" Billy raised interested eyes from her own letters. "Whatdoes she say?"
"She will be here Thursday. Her train is due at the South Station atfour-thirty. She seems to be very grateful to you for your offer to lether come right here for a month; but she says she's afraid you don'trealize, perhaps, just what you are doing--to take her in like that,with her singing, and all."
"Nonsense! She doesn't refuse, does she?"
"Oh, no; she doesn't refuse--but she doesn't accept either, exactly, asI can see. I've read the letter over twice, too. I'll let you judge foryourself by and by, when you have time to read it."
Billy laughed.
"Never mind. I don't want to read it. She's just a little shy aboutcoming, that's all. She'll stay all right, when we come to meet her.What time did you say it was, Thursday?"
"Half past four, South Station."
"Thursday, at half past four. Let me see--that's the day of theCarletons' 'At Home,' isn't it?"
"Oh, my grief and conscience, yes! But I had forgotten it. What shall wedo?"
"Oh, that will be easy. We'll just go to the Carletons' early and haveJohn wait, then take us from there to the South Station. Meanwhile we'llmake sure that the little blue room is all ready for her. I put in mywhite enamel work-basket yesterday, and that pretty little blue case forhairpins and curling tongs that I bought at the fair. I want the room tolook homey to her, you know."
"As if it could look any other way, if _you_ had anything to do withit," sighed Aunt Hannah, admiringly.
Billy laughed.
"If we get stranded we might ask the Henshaw boys to help us out, AuntHannah. They'd probably suggest guns and swords. That's the way theyfixed up _my_ room."
Aunt Hannah raised shocked hands of protest.
"As if we would! Mercy, what a time that was!"
Billy laughed again.
"I never shall forget, _never_, my first glimpse of that room when Mrs.Hartwell switched on the lights. Oh, Aunt Hannah, I wish you could haveseen it before they took out those guns and spiders!"
"As if I didn't see quite enough when I saw William's face that morninghe came for me!" retorted Aunt Hannah, spiritedly.
"Dear Uncle William! What an old saint he has been all the way through,"mused Billy aloud. "And Cyril--who would ever have believed that theday would come when Cyril would say to me, as he did last night, that hefelt as if Marie had been gone a month. It's been just seven days, youknow."
"I know. She comes to-morrow, doesn't she?"
"Yes, and I'm glad. I shall tell Marie she needn't leave Cyril on _my_hands again. Bertram says that at home Cyril hasn't played a dirge sincehis engagement; but I notice that up here--where Marie might be, butisn't--his tunes would never be mistaken for ragtime. By the way," sheadded, as she rose from the table, "that's another surprise in store forHugh Calderwell. He always declared that Cyril wasn't a marrying man,either, any more than Bertram. You know he said Bertram only cared forgirls to paint; but--" She stopped and looked inquiringly at Rosa, whohad appeared at that moment in the hall doorway.
"It's the telephone, Miss Neilson. Mr. Bertram Henshaw wants you."
A few minutes later Aunt Hannah heard Billy at the piano. For fifteen,twenty, thirty minutes the brilliant scales and arpeggios rippledthrough the rooms and up the stairs to Aunt Hannah, who knew, by thevery sound of them, that some unusual nervousness was being worked offat the finger tips that played them. At the end of forty-five minutesAunt Hannah went down-stairs.
"Billy, my dear, excuse me, but have you forgotten what time it is?Weren't you going out with Bertram?"
Billy stopped playing at once, but she did not turn her head. Herfingers busied themselves with some music on the piano.
"We aren't going, Aunt Hannah," she said.
"Bertram can't."
"_Can't!_"
"Well, he didn't want to--so of course I said not to. He's been paintingthis morning on a new portrait, and she said he might stay to luncheonand keep right on for a while this afternoon, if he liked. And--he didlike, so he stayed."
"Why, how--how--" Aunt Hannah stopped helplessly.
"Oh, no, not at all," interposed Billy, lightly. "He told me all aboutit the other night. It's going to be a very wonderful portrait; and,of course, I wouldn't want to interfere with--his work!" And again abrilliant scale rippled from Billy's fingers after a crashing chord inthe 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. Hefound a bright-eyed, flushed-cheeked Billy, who let herself bekissed--once--but who did not kiss back; a blithe, elusive Billy, whoplayed tripping little melodies, and sang jolly little songs, insteadof sitting before the fire and talking; a Billy who at last turned, andasked tranquilly:
"Well, how did the picture go?"
Bertram rose then, crossed the room, and took Billy very gently into hisarms.
"Sweetheart, you were a dear this noon to let me off like that," hebegan in a voice shaken with emotion. "You don't know, perhaps, exactlywhat 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 pointwhere one little word from you, one hint that you wanted me to comeanyway--and I should have come. But you didn't say it, nor hint it. Likethe brave little bit of inspiration that you are, you bade me stay andgo on with my work."
The "inspiration's" head drooped a little lower, but this only broughta wealth of soft bronze hair to just where Bertram could lay his cheekagainst it--and Bertram promptly took advantage of his opportunity. "Andso 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 atarms' length--"Billy, that's going to be the best work I've ever done. Ican see it coming even now, under my fingers."
Billy lifted her head and looked into her lover's face. His eyes wereglowing. His cheeks were flushed. His whole countenance was aflame withthe soul of the artist who sees his vision taking shape before him. AndBilly, 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!"