Miss Billie's Decision [87]
said. Before I could even choke out an answer he was gone. Gorry! talk about his having a `heart of stone'! I don't believe another man in the country would have done that--and done it in the way he did--in the face of all this talk,'' finished Bertram, his eyes luminous with feeling.
Billy hesitated.
``Perhaps--his daughter--influenced him--some.''
``Perhaps,'' nodded Bertram. ``She, too, has been very kind, all the way through.''
Billy hesitated again.
``But I thought--it was going so splendidly,'' she faltered, in a half-stifled voice.
``So it was--at the first.''
``Then what--ailed it, at the last, do you suppose?'' Billy was holding her breath till he should answer.
The man got to his feet.
``Billy, don't--don't ask me,'' he begged. ``Please don't let's talk of it any more. It can't do any good! I just flunked--that's all. My hand failed me. Maybe I tried too hard. Maybe I was tired. Maybe something--troubled me. Never mind, dear, what it was. It can do no good even to think of that--now. So just let's --drop it, please, dear,'' he finished, his face working with emotion.
And Billy dropped it--so far as words were concerned; but she could not drop it from her thoughts--specially after Kate's letter came.
Kate's letter was addressed to Billy, and it said, after speaking of various other matters:
``And now about poor Bertram's failure.'' (Billy frowned. In Billy's presence no one was allowed to say ``Bertram's failure''; but a letter has a most annoying privilege of saying what it pleases without let or hindrance, unless one tears it up--and a letter destroyed unread remains always such a tantalizing mystery of possibilities! So Billy let the letter talk.) ``Of course we have heard of it away out here. I do wish if Bertram _must_ paint such famous people, he would manage to flatter them up--in the painting, I mean, of course--enough so that it might pass for a success!
``The technical part of all this criticism I don't pretend to understand in the least; but from what I hear and read, he must, indeed, have made a terrible mess of it, and of course I'm very sorry --and some surprised, too, for usually he paints such pretty pictures!
``Still, on the other hand, Billy, I'm not surprised. William says that Bertram has been completely out of fix over something, and as gloomy as an owl, for weeks past; and of course, under those circumstances, the poor boy could not be expected to do good work. Now William, being a man, is not supposed to understand what the trouble is. But I, being a woman, can see through a pane of glass when it's held right up before me; and I can guess, of course, that a woman is at the bottom of it--she always is!--and that you, being his special fancy at the moment'' (Billy almost did tear the letter now--but not quite), ``are that woman.
``Now, Billy, you don't like such frank talk, of course; but, on the other hand, I know you do not want to ruin the dear boy's career. So, for heaven's sake, if you two have been having one of those quarrels that lovers so delight in--do, please, for the good of the cause, make up quick, or else quarrel harder and break it off entirely--which, honestly, would be the better way, I think, all around.
``There, there, my dear child, don't bristle up! I am very fond of you, and would dearly love to have you for a sister--if you'd only take William, as you should! But, as you very well know, I never did approve of this last match at all, for either of your sakes.
``He can't make you happy, my dear, and you can't make him happy. Bertram never was-- and never will be--a marrying man. He's too temperamental--too thoroughly wrapped up in his Art. Girls have never meant anything to him but a beautiful picture to paint. And they never will. They can't. He's made that way. Listen! I can prove it to you. Up to this winter he's always been a care-free, happy, jolly fellow, and you _know_ what beautiful work he has done. Never before has he tied himself to any one girl till last fall. Then you two
Billy hesitated.
``Perhaps--his daughter--influenced him--some.''
``Perhaps,'' nodded Bertram. ``She, too, has been very kind, all the way through.''
Billy hesitated again.
``But I thought--it was going so splendidly,'' she faltered, in a half-stifled voice.
``So it was--at the first.''
``Then what--ailed it, at the last, do you suppose?'' Billy was holding her breath till he should answer.
The man got to his feet.
``Billy, don't--don't ask me,'' he begged. ``Please don't let's talk of it any more. It can't do any good! I just flunked--that's all. My hand failed me. Maybe I tried too hard. Maybe I was tired. Maybe something--troubled me. Never mind, dear, what it was. It can do no good even to think of that--now. So just let's --drop it, please, dear,'' he finished, his face working with emotion.
And Billy dropped it--so far as words were concerned; but she could not drop it from her thoughts--specially after Kate's letter came.
Kate's letter was addressed to Billy, and it said, after speaking of various other matters:
``And now about poor Bertram's failure.'' (Billy frowned. In Billy's presence no one was allowed to say ``Bertram's failure''; but a letter has a most annoying privilege of saying what it pleases without let or hindrance, unless one tears it up--and a letter destroyed unread remains always such a tantalizing mystery of possibilities! So Billy let the letter talk.) ``Of course we have heard of it away out here. I do wish if Bertram _must_ paint such famous people, he would manage to flatter them up--in the painting, I mean, of course--enough so that it might pass for a success!
``The technical part of all this criticism I don't pretend to understand in the least; but from what I hear and read, he must, indeed, have made a terrible mess of it, and of course I'm very sorry --and some surprised, too, for usually he paints such pretty pictures!
``Still, on the other hand, Billy, I'm not surprised. William says that Bertram has been completely out of fix over something, and as gloomy as an owl, for weeks past; and of course, under those circumstances, the poor boy could not be expected to do good work. Now William, being a man, is not supposed to understand what the trouble is. But I, being a woman, can see through a pane of glass when it's held right up before me; and I can guess, of course, that a woman is at the bottom of it--she always is!--and that you, being his special fancy at the moment'' (Billy almost did tear the letter now--but not quite), ``are that woman.
``Now, Billy, you don't like such frank talk, of course; but, on the other hand, I know you do not want to ruin the dear boy's career. So, for heaven's sake, if you two have been having one of those quarrels that lovers so delight in--do, please, for the good of the cause, make up quick, or else quarrel harder and break it off entirely--which, honestly, would be the better way, I think, all around.
``There, there, my dear child, don't bristle up! I am very fond of you, and would dearly love to have you for a sister--if you'd only take William, as you should! But, as you very well know, I never did approve of this last match at all, for either of your sakes.
``He can't make you happy, my dear, and you can't make him happy. Bertram never was-- and never will be--a marrying man. He's too temperamental--too thoroughly wrapped up in his Art. Girls have never meant anything to him but a beautiful picture to paint. And they never will. They can't. He's made that way. Listen! I can prove it to you. Up to this winter he's always been a care-free, happy, jolly fellow, and you _know_ what beautiful work he has done. Never before has he tied himself to any one girl till last fall. Then you two