Miss Billie's Decision [28]
me to say I `like' any of this,'' she scolded, with a wave of her hands toward the omnipresent Billy. ``Why, I feel as if I were in a room with a thousand mirrors, and that I'd been discovered putting rouge on my cheeks and lampblack on my eyebrows!''
William laughed fondly. Aunt Hannah and Marie gave an indulgent smile. Cyril actually chuckled. Bertram only still wore a puzzled expression as he laid aside the canvas in his hands.
Billy examined intently a sketch she had found with its back to the wall. It was not a pretty sketch; it was not even a finished one, and Billy did not in the least care what it was. But her lips cried interestedly:
``Oh, Bertram, what is this?''
There was no answer. Bertram was still engaged, apparently, in putting away some sketches. Over by the doorway leading to the den Marie and Aunt Hannah, followed by William and Cyril, were just disappearing behind a huge easel. In another minute the merry chatter of their voices came from the room beyond. Bertram hurried then straight across the studio to the girl still bending over the sketch in the corner.
``Bertram!'' gasped Billy, as a kiss brushed her cheek.
``Pooh! They're gone. Besides, what if they did see? Billy, what was the matter with the tilt of that chin?''
Billy gave an hysterical little laugh--at least, Bertram tried to assure himself that it was a laugh, though it had sounded almost like a sob.
``Bertram, if you say another word about-- about the tilt of that chin, I shall _scream!_'' she panted.
``Why, Billy!''
With a nervous little movement Billy turned and began to reverse the canvases nearest her.
``Come, sir,'' she commanded gayly. ``Billy has been on exhibition quite long enough. It is high time she was turned face to the wall to meditate, and grow more modest.''
Bertram did not answer. Neither did he make a move to assist her. His ardent gray eyes were following her slim, graceful figure admiringly.
``Billy, it doesn't seem true, yet, that you're really mine,'' he said at last, in a low voice shaken with emotion.
Billy turned abruptly. A peculiar radiance shone in her eyes and glorified her face. As she stood, she was close to a picture on an easel and full in the soft glow of the shaded lights above it.
``Then you _do_ want me,'' she began, ``--just _me!_--not to--'' she stopped short. The man opposite had taken an eager step toward her. On his face was the look she knew so well, the look she had come almost to dread--the ``painting look.''
``Billy, stand just as you are,'' he was saying. ``Don't move. Jove! But that effect is perfect with those dark shadows beyond, and just your hair and face and throat showing. I declare, I've half a mind to sketch--'' But Billy, with a little cry, was gone.
CHAPTER X
A JOB FOR PETE--AND FOR BERTRAM
The early days in December were busy ones, certainly, in the little house on Corey Hill. Marie was to be married the twelfth. It was to be a home wedding, and a very simple one--according to Billy, and according to what Marie had said it was to be. Billy still serenely spoke of it as a ``simple affair,'' but Marie was beginning to be fearful. As the days passed, bringing with them more and more frequent evidences either tangible or intangible of orders to stationers, caterers, and florists, her fears found voice in a protest.
``But Billy, it was to be a _simple_ wedding,'' she cried.
``And so it is.''
``But what is this I hear about a breakfast?''
Billy's chin assumed its most stubborn squareness.
``I don't know, I'm sure, what you did hear,'' she retorted calmly.
``Billy!''
Billy laughed. The chin was just as stubborn, but the smiling lips above it graced it with an air of charming concession.
``There, there, dear,'' coaxed the mistress of Hillside, ``don't fret. Besides, I'm sure I should think you, of all people, would want your guests _fed!_''
``But this is so elaborate, from what I hear.''
``Nonsense! Not a bit of it.''
``Rosa says there'll be salads and cakes and ices--and
William laughed fondly. Aunt Hannah and Marie gave an indulgent smile. Cyril actually chuckled. Bertram only still wore a puzzled expression as he laid aside the canvas in his hands.
Billy examined intently a sketch she had found with its back to the wall. It was not a pretty sketch; it was not even a finished one, and Billy did not in the least care what it was. But her lips cried interestedly:
``Oh, Bertram, what is this?''
There was no answer. Bertram was still engaged, apparently, in putting away some sketches. Over by the doorway leading to the den Marie and Aunt Hannah, followed by William and Cyril, were just disappearing behind a huge easel. In another minute the merry chatter of their voices came from the room beyond. Bertram hurried then straight across the studio to the girl still bending over the sketch in the corner.
``Bertram!'' gasped Billy, as a kiss brushed her cheek.
``Pooh! They're gone. Besides, what if they did see? Billy, what was the matter with the tilt of that chin?''
Billy gave an hysterical little laugh--at least, Bertram tried to assure himself that it was a laugh, though it had sounded almost like a sob.
``Bertram, if you say another word about-- about the tilt of that chin, I shall _scream!_'' she panted.
``Why, Billy!''
With a nervous little movement Billy turned and began to reverse the canvases nearest her.
``Come, sir,'' she commanded gayly. ``Billy has been on exhibition quite long enough. It is high time she was turned face to the wall to meditate, and grow more modest.''
Bertram did not answer. Neither did he make a move to assist her. His ardent gray eyes were following her slim, graceful figure admiringly.
``Billy, it doesn't seem true, yet, that you're really mine,'' he said at last, in a low voice shaken with emotion.
Billy turned abruptly. A peculiar radiance shone in her eyes and glorified her face. As she stood, she was close to a picture on an easel and full in the soft glow of the shaded lights above it.
``Then you _do_ want me,'' she began, ``--just _me!_--not to--'' she stopped short. The man opposite had taken an eager step toward her. On his face was the look she knew so well, the look she had come almost to dread--the ``painting look.''
``Billy, stand just as you are,'' he was saying. ``Don't move. Jove! But that effect is perfect with those dark shadows beyond, and just your hair and face and throat showing. I declare, I've half a mind to sketch--'' But Billy, with a little cry, was gone.
CHAPTER X
A JOB FOR PETE--AND FOR BERTRAM
The early days in December were busy ones, certainly, in the little house on Corey Hill. Marie was to be married the twelfth. It was to be a home wedding, and a very simple one--according to Billy, and according to what Marie had said it was to be. Billy still serenely spoke of it as a ``simple affair,'' but Marie was beginning to be fearful. As the days passed, bringing with them more and more frequent evidences either tangible or intangible of orders to stationers, caterers, and florists, her fears found voice in a protest.
``But Billy, it was to be a _simple_ wedding,'' she cried.
``And so it is.''
``But what is this I hear about a breakfast?''
Billy's chin assumed its most stubborn squareness.
``I don't know, I'm sure, what you did hear,'' she retorted calmly.
``Billy!''
Billy laughed. The chin was just as stubborn, but the smiling lips above it graced it with an air of charming concession.
``There, there, dear,'' coaxed the mistress of Hillside, ``don't fret. Besides, I'm sure I should think you, of all people, would want your guests _fed!_''
``But this is so elaborate, from what I hear.''
``Nonsense! Not a bit of it.''
``Rosa says there'll be salads and cakes and ices--and