Miss Billie's Decision [69]
fine plans would not so often have a ``but''!) In Billy's case the ``but'' had to do with things so apparently unrelated as were Aunt Hannah's clock and a negro's coal wagon. The clock struck eleven at half-past ten, and the wagon dumped itself to destruction directly in front of a trolley car in which sat Mr. M. J. Arkwright, hurrying to keep his appointment with Miss Billy Neilson. It was almost half-past ten when Arkwright finally rang the bell at Hillside. Billy greeted him so eagerly, and at the same time with such evident disappointment at his late arrival, that Arkwright's heart sang with joy.
``But there's a rehearsal at quarter of eleven,'' exclaimed Billy, in answer to his hurried explanation of the delay; ``and this gives so little time for--for--so little time, you know,'' she finished in confusion, casting frantically about in her mind for an excuse to hurry up-stairs and send Alice Greggory down before it should be quite too late.
No wonder that Arkwright, noting the sparkle in her eye, the agitation in her manner, and the embarrassed red in her cheek, took new courage. For so long had this girl held him at the end of a major third or a diminished seventh; for so long had she blithely accepted his every word and act as devotion to music, not herself--for so long had she done all this that he had come to fear that never would she do anything else. No wonder then, that now, in the soft radiance of the strange, new light on her face, his own face glowed ardently, and that he leaned forward with an impetuous rush of eager words.
``But there is time, Miss Billy--if you'd give me leave--to say--''
``I'm afraid I kept you waiting,'' interrupted the hurried voice of Alice Greggory from the hall doorway. ``I was asleep, I think, when a clock somewhere, striking eleven-- Why, Mr.--Arkwright!''
Not until Alice Greggory had nearly crossed the room did she see that the man standing by her hostess was--not the tenor she had expected to find--but an old acquaintance. Then it was that the tremulous ``Mr.-Arkwright!'' fell from her lips.
Billy and Arkwright had turned at her first words. At her last, Arkwright, with a half- despairing, half-reproachful glance at Billy, stepped forward.
``Miss Greggory!--you _are_ Miss Alice Greggory, I am sure,'' he said pleasantly.
At the first opportunity Billy murmured a hasty excuse and left the room. To Aunt Hannah she flew with a woebegone face.
``Oh, Aunt Hannah, Aunt Hannah,'' she wailed, half laughing, half crying; ``that wretched little fib-teller of a clock of yours spoiled it all!''
``Spoiled it! Spoiled what, child?''
``My first meeting between Mary Jane and Miss Greggory. I had it all arranged that they were to have it _alone_; but that miserable little fibber up-stairs struck eleven at half-past ten, and Miss Greggory heard it and thought she was fifteen minutes late. So down she hurried, half awake, and spoiled all my plans. Now she's sitting in there with him, in chairs the length of the room apart, discussing the snowstorm last night or the moonrise this morning--or some other such silly thing. And I had it so beautifully planned!''
``Well, well, dear, I'm sorry, I'm sure,'' smiled Aunt Hannah; ``but I can't think any real harm is done. Did Mary Jane have anything to tell her--about her father, I mean?''
Only the faintest flicker of Billy's eyelid testified that the everyday accustomedness of that ``Mary Jane'' on Aunt Hannah's lips had not escaped her.
``No, nothing definite. Yet there was a little. Friends are still trying to clear his name, and I believe are meeting with increasing success. I don't know, of course, whether he'll say anything about it to-day--_now_. To think I had to be right round under foot like that when they met!'' went on Billy, indignantly. ``I shouldn't have been, in a minute more, though. I was just trying to think up an excuse to come up and send down Miss Greggory, when Mary Jane began to tell me something--I haven't the faintest idea what --then _she_ appeared, and it was all over.
``But there's a rehearsal at quarter of eleven,'' exclaimed Billy, in answer to his hurried explanation of the delay; ``and this gives so little time for--for--so little time, you know,'' she finished in confusion, casting frantically about in her mind for an excuse to hurry up-stairs and send Alice Greggory down before it should be quite too late.
No wonder that Arkwright, noting the sparkle in her eye, the agitation in her manner, and the embarrassed red in her cheek, took new courage. For so long had this girl held him at the end of a major third or a diminished seventh; for so long had she blithely accepted his every word and act as devotion to music, not herself--for so long had she done all this that he had come to fear that never would she do anything else. No wonder then, that now, in the soft radiance of the strange, new light on her face, his own face glowed ardently, and that he leaned forward with an impetuous rush of eager words.
``But there is time, Miss Billy--if you'd give me leave--to say--''
``I'm afraid I kept you waiting,'' interrupted the hurried voice of Alice Greggory from the hall doorway. ``I was asleep, I think, when a clock somewhere, striking eleven-- Why, Mr.--Arkwright!''
Not until Alice Greggory had nearly crossed the room did she see that the man standing by her hostess was--not the tenor she had expected to find--but an old acquaintance. Then it was that the tremulous ``Mr.-Arkwright!'' fell from her lips.
Billy and Arkwright had turned at her first words. At her last, Arkwright, with a half- despairing, half-reproachful glance at Billy, stepped forward.
``Miss Greggory!--you _are_ Miss Alice Greggory, I am sure,'' he said pleasantly.
At the first opportunity Billy murmured a hasty excuse and left the room. To Aunt Hannah she flew with a woebegone face.
``Oh, Aunt Hannah, Aunt Hannah,'' she wailed, half laughing, half crying; ``that wretched little fib-teller of a clock of yours spoiled it all!''
``Spoiled it! Spoiled what, child?''
``My first meeting between Mary Jane and Miss Greggory. I had it all arranged that they were to have it _alone_; but that miserable little fibber up-stairs struck eleven at half-past ten, and Miss Greggory heard it and thought she was fifteen minutes late. So down she hurried, half awake, and spoiled all my plans. Now she's sitting in there with him, in chairs the length of the room apart, discussing the snowstorm last night or the moonrise this morning--or some other such silly thing. And I had it so beautifully planned!''
``Well, well, dear, I'm sorry, I'm sure,'' smiled Aunt Hannah; ``but I can't think any real harm is done. Did Mary Jane have anything to tell her--about her father, I mean?''
Only the faintest flicker of Billy's eyelid testified that the everyday accustomedness of that ``Mary Jane'' on Aunt Hannah's lips had not escaped her.
``No, nothing definite. Yet there was a little. Friends are still trying to clear his name, and I believe are meeting with increasing success. I don't know, of course, whether he'll say anything about it to-day--_now_. To think I had to be right round under foot like that when they met!'' went on Billy, indignantly. ``I shouldn't have been, in a minute more, though. I was just trying to think up an excuse to come up and send down Miss Greggory, when Mary Jane began to tell me something--I haven't the faintest idea what --then _she_ appeared, and it was all over.