Miss Billie's Decision [66]
she plays, and all that. I'm pretty sure, though, from what I hear, that that part will be all right. Then the operetta will give us a chance to see a good deal of her, and to bring about a natural meeting between her and Mary Jane. Oh, Aunt Hannah, I couldn't have _planned_ it better--and there the whole thing just tumbled into my hands! I knew it had the minute I remembered about the operetta. You know I'm chairman, and they left me to get the accompanist; and like a flash it came to me, when I was wondering _what_ to say or do to get her out of that awful state she was in--`Ask her to be your accompanist.' And I did. And I'm so glad I did! Oh, Aunt Hannah, it's coming out lovely!--I know it is.''
CHAPTER XXII
PLANS AND PLOTTINGS
To Billy, Alice Greggory's first visit to Hillside was in every way a delight and a satisfaction. To Alice, it was even more than that. For the first time in years she found herself welcomed into a home of wealth, culture, and refinement as an equal; and the frank cordiality and naturalness of her hostess's evident expectation of meeting a congenial companion was like balm to a sensitive soul rendered morbid by long years of superciliousness and snubbing.
No wonder that under the cheery friendliness of it all, Alice Greggory's cold reserve vanished, and that in its place came something very like her old ease and charm of manner. By the time Aunt Hannah--according to previous agreement --came into the room, the two girls were laughing and chatting over the operetta as if they had known each other for years.
Much to Billy's delight, Alice Greggory, as a musician, proved to be eminently satisfactory. She was quick at sight reading, and accurate. She played easily, and with good expression. Particularly was she a good accompanist, possessing to a marked degree that happy faculty of _accompanying_ a singer: which means that she neither led the way nor lagged behind, being always exactly in sympathetic step--than which nothing is more soul-satisfying to the singer.
It was after the music for the operetta had been well-practised and discussed that Alice Greggory chanced to see one of Billy's own songs lying near her. With a pleased smile she picked it up.
``Oh, you know this, too!'' she cried. ``I played it for a lady only the other day. It's so pretty, I think--all of hers are, that I have seen. Billy Neilson is a girl, you know, they say, in spite of--``She stopped abruptly. Her eyes grew wide and questioning. ``Miss Neilson--it can't be--you don't mean--is your name--it _is--you!_'' she finished joyously, as the telltale color dyed Billy's face. The next moment her own cheeks burned scarlet. ``And to think of my letting _you_ stand in line for a twenty-five-cent admission!'' she scorned.
``Nonsense!'' laughed Billy. ``It didn't hurt me any more than it did you. Come!''--in looking about for a quick something to take her guest's attention, Billy's eyes fell on the manuscript copy of her new song, bearing Arkwright's name. Yielding to a daring impulse, she drew it hastily forward. ``Here's a new one--a brand- new one, not even printed yet. Don't you think the words are pretty?'' she asked.
As she had hoped, Alice Greggory's eyes, after they had glanced half-way through the first page, sought the name at the left side below the title.
`` `Words by M. J.--' ''--there was a visible start, and a pause before the `` `Arkwright' '' was uttered in a slightly different tone.
Billy noted both the start and the pause--and gloried in them.
``Yes; the words are by M. J. Arkwright,'' she said with smooth unconcern, but with a covert glance at the other's face. ``Ever hear of him?''
Alice Greggory gave a short little laugh.
``Probably not--this one. I used to know an M. J. Arkwright, long ago; but he wasn't--a poet, so far as I know,'' she finished, with a little catch in her breath that made Billy long to take her into a warm embrace.
Alice Greggory turned then to the music. She had much to say of this--very much; but she had nothing
CHAPTER XXII
PLANS AND PLOTTINGS
To Billy, Alice Greggory's first visit to Hillside was in every way a delight and a satisfaction. To Alice, it was even more than that. For the first time in years she found herself welcomed into a home of wealth, culture, and refinement as an equal; and the frank cordiality and naturalness of her hostess's evident expectation of meeting a congenial companion was like balm to a sensitive soul rendered morbid by long years of superciliousness and snubbing.
No wonder that under the cheery friendliness of it all, Alice Greggory's cold reserve vanished, and that in its place came something very like her old ease and charm of manner. By the time Aunt Hannah--according to previous agreement --came into the room, the two girls were laughing and chatting over the operetta as if they had known each other for years.
Much to Billy's delight, Alice Greggory, as a musician, proved to be eminently satisfactory. She was quick at sight reading, and accurate. She played easily, and with good expression. Particularly was she a good accompanist, possessing to a marked degree that happy faculty of _accompanying_ a singer: which means that she neither led the way nor lagged behind, being always exactly in sympathetic step--than which nothing is more soul-satisfying to the singer.
It was after the music for the operetta had been well-practised and discussed that Alice Greggory chanced to see one of Billy's own songs lying near her. With a pleased smile she picked it up.
``Oh, you know this, too!'' she cried. ``I played it for a lady only the other day. It's so pretty, I think--all of hers are, that I have seen. Billy Neilson is a girl, you know, they say, in spite of--``She stopped abruptly. Her eyes grew wide and questioning. ``Miss Neilson--it can't be--you don't mean--is your name--it _is--you!_'' she finished joyously, as the telltale color dyed Billy's face. The next moment her own cheeks burned scarlet. ``And to think of my letting _you_ stand in line for a twenty-five-cent admission!'' she scorned.
``Nonsense!'' laughed Billy. ``It didn't hurt me any more than it did you. Come!''--in looking about for a quick something to take her guest's attention, Billy's eyes fell on the manuscript copy of her new song, bearing Arkwright's name. Yielding to a daring impulse, she drew it hastily forward. ``Here's a new one--a brand- new one, not even printed yet. Don't you think the words are pretty?'' she asked.
As she had hoped, Alice Greggory's eyes, after they had glanced half-way through the first page, sought the name at the left side below the title.
`` `Words by M. J.--' ''--there was a visible start, and a pause before the `` `Arkwright' '' was uttered in a slightly different tone.
Billy noted both the start and the pause--and gloried in them.
``Yes; the words are by M. J. Arkwright,'' she said with smooth unconcern, but with a covert glance at the other's face. ``Ever hear of him?''
Alice Greggory gave a short little laugh.
``Probably not--this one. I used to know an M. J. Arkwright, long ago; but he wasn't--a poet, so far as I know,'' she finished, with a little catch in her breath that made Billy long to take her into a warm embrace.
Alice Greggory turned then to the music. She had much to say of this--very much; but she had nothing