Miss Billie's Decision [47]
himself.''
``Fiddlededee!'' bristled Aunt Hannah.
``What did she mean by that?''
Billy smiled ruefully.
``Well, probably I did need it. She said it night before last just before she went home with Uncle William. She declared that I seemed to forget entirely that Bertram belonged to his Art first, before he belonged to me; and that it was exactly as she had supposed it would be--a perfect absurdity for Bertram to think of marrying anybody.''
``Fiddlededee!'' ejaculated the irate Aunt Hannah, even more sharply. ``I hope you have too much good sense to mind what Kate says, Billy.''
``Yes, I know,'' sighed the girl; ``but of course I can see some things for myself, and I suppose I did make--a little fuss about his going to New York the other night. And I will own that I've had a real struggle with myself sometimes, lately, not to mind--his giving so much time to his portrait painting. And of course both of those are very reprehensible--in an artist's wife,'' she finished, a little tremulously.
``Humph! Well, I don't think I should worry about that,'' observed Aunt Hannah with grim positiveness.
``No, I don't mean to,'' smiled Billy, wistfully. ``I only told you so you'd understand that it was just as well if I did have something to take up my mind--besides Bertram. And of course music would be the most natural thing.''
``Yes, of course,'' agreed Aunt Hannah.
``And it seems actually almost providential that Mary--I mean Mr. Arkwright is here to help me, now that Cyril is gone,'' went on Billy, still a little wistfully.
``Yes, of course. He isn't like--a stranger,'' murmured Aunt Hannah. Aunt Hannah's voice sounded as if she were trying to convince herself --of something.
``No, indeed! He seems just like one of the family to me, almost as if he were really--your niece, Mary Jane,'' laughed Billy.
Aunt Hannah moved restlessly.
``Billy,'' she hazarded, ``he knows, of course, of your engagement?''
``Why, of course he does, Aunt Hannah everybody does!'' Billy's eyes were plainly surprised.
``Yes, yes, of course--he must,'' subsided Aunt Hannah, confusedly, hoping that Billy would not divine the hidden reason behind her question. She was relieved when Billy's next words showed that she had not divined it.
``I told you, didn't I? He's coming up this afternoon. He can't get here till five, though; but he's so interested! He's about as crazy over the thing as I am. And it's going to be fine, Aunt Hannah, when it's done. You just wait and see!'' she finished gayly, as she tripped from the room.
Left to herself, Aunt Hannah drew a long breath.
``I'm glad she didn't suspect,'' she was thinking. ``I believe she'd consider even the _question_ disloyal to Bertram--dear child! And of course Mary''--Aunt Hannah corrected herself with cheeks aflame--``I mean Mr. Arkwright does --know.''
It was just here, however, that Aunt Hannah was mistaken. Mr. Arkwright did not--know. He had not reached Boston when the engagement was announced. He knew none of Billy's friends in town save the Henshaw brothers. He had not heard from Calderwell since he came to Boston. The very evident intimacy of Billy with the Henshaw brothers he accepted as a matter of course, knowing the history of their acquaintance, and the fact that Billy was Mr. William Henshaw's namesake. As to Bertram being Billy's lover-- that idea had long ago been killed at birth by Calderwell's emphatic assertion that the artist would never care for any girl--except to paint. Since coming to Boston, Arkwright had seen little of the two together. His work, his friends, and his general mode of life precluded that. Because of all this, therefore, Arkwright did not-- know; which was a pity--for Arkwright, and for some others.
Promptly at five o'clock that afternoon, Arkwright rang Billy's doorbell, and was admitted by Rosa to the living-room, where Billy was at the piano.
Billy sprang to her feet with a joyous word of greeting.
``I'm so glad you've come,'' she sighed happily. ``I want you to hear the
``Fiddlededee!'' bristled Aunt Hannah.
``What did she mean by that?''
Billy smiled ruefully.
``Well, probably I did need it. She said it night before last just before she went home with Uncle William. She declared that I seemed to forget entirely that Bertram belonged to his Art first, before he belonged to me; and that it was exactly as she had supposed it would be--a perfect absurdity for Bertram to think of marrying anybody.''
``Fiddlededee!'' ejaculated the irate Aunt Hannah, even more sharply. ``I hope you have too much good sense to mind what Kate says, Billy.''
``Yes, I know,'' sighed the girl; ``but of course I can see some things for myself, and I suppose I did make--a little fuss about his going to New York the other night. And I will own that I've had a real struggle with myself sometimes, lately, not to mind--his giving so much time to his portrait painting. And of course both of those are very reprehensible--in an artist's wife,'' she finished, a little tremulously.
``Humph! Well, I don't think I should worry about that,'' observed Aunt Hannah with grim positiveness.
``No, I don't mean to,'' smiled Billy, wistfully. ``I only told you so you'd understand that it was just as well if I did have something to take up my mind--besides Bertram. And of course music would be the most natural thing.''
``Yes, of course,'' agreed Aunt Hannah.
``And it seems actually almost providential that Mary--I mean Mr. Arkwright is here to help me, now that Cyril is gone,'' went on Billy, still a little wistfully.
``Yes, of course. He isn't like--a stranger,'' murmured Aunt Hannah. Aunt Hannah's voice sounded as if she were trying to convince herself --of something.
``No, indeed! He seems just like one of the family to me, almost as if he were really--your niece, Mary Jane,'' laughed Billy.
Aunt Hannah moved restlessly.
``Billy,'' she hazarded, ``he knows, of course, of your engagement?''
``Why, of course he does, Aunt Hannah everybody does!'' Billy's eyes were plainly surprised.
``Yes, yes, of course--he must,'' subsided Aunt Hannah, confusedly, hoping that Billy would not divine the hidden reason behind her question. She was relieved when Billy's next words showed that she had not divined it.
``I told you, didn't I? He's coming up this afternoon. He can't get here till five, though; but he's so interested! He's about as crazy over the thing as I am. And it's going to be fine, Aunt Hannah, when it's done. You just wait and see!'' she finished gayly, as she tripped from the room.
Left to herself, Aunt Hannah drew a long breath.
``I'm glad she didn't suspect,'' she was thinking. ``I believe she'd consider even the _question_ disloyal to Bertram--dear child! And of course Mary''--Aunt Hannah corrected herself with cheeks aflame--``I mean Mr. Arkwright does --know.''
It was just here, however, that Aunt Hannah was mistaken. Mr. Arkwright did not--know. He had not reached Boston when the engagement was announced. He knew none of Billy's friends in town save the Henshaw brothers. He had not heard from Calderwell since he came to Boston. The very evident intimacy of Billy with the Henshaw brothers he accepted as a matter of course, knowing the history of their acquaintance, and the fact that Billy was Mr. William Henshaw's namesake. As to Bertram being Billy's lover-- that idea had long ago been killed at birth by Calderwell's emphatic assertion that the artist would never care for any girl--except to paint. Since coming to Boston, Arkwright had seen little of the two together. His work, his friends, and his general mode of life precluded that. Because of all this, therefore, Arkwright did not-- know; which was a pity--for Arkwright, and for some others.
Promptly at five o'clock that afternoon, Arkwright rang Billy's doorbell, and was admitted by Rosa to the living-room, where Billy was at the piano.
Billy sprang to her feet with a joyous word of greeting.
``I'm so glad you've come,'' she sighed happily. ``I want you to hear the