Miss Billie's Decision [88]
entered into this absurd engagement.
``Now what has it been since? William wrote me himself not a fortnight ago that he'd been worried to death over Bertram for weeks past, he's been so moody, so irritable, so fretted over his work, so unlike himself. And his picture has _failed_ dismally. Of course William doesn't understand; but I do. I know you've probably quarrelled, or something. You know how flighty and unreliable you can be sometimes, Billy, and I don't say that to mean anything against you, either-- that's _your_ way. You're just as temperamental in your art, music, as Bertram is in his. You're utterly unsuited to him. If Bertram is to marry _anybody_, it should be some quiet, staid, sensible girl who would be a _help_ to him. But when I think of you two flyaway flutterbudgets marrying--!
``Now, for heaven's sake, Billy, _do_ make up or something--and do it now. Don't, for pity's sake, let Bertram ever put out another such a piece of work to shame us all like this. Do you want to ruin his career? ``Faithfully yours, ``KATE HARTWELL.
``P. S. _I_ think William's the one for you. He's devoted to you, and his quiet, sensible affection is just what your temperament needs. I _always_ thought William was the one for you. Think it over.
``P. S. No. 2. You can see by the above that it isn't you I'm objecting to, my dear. It's just _you- and-Bertram_. ``K.''
CHAPTER XXX
``I'VE HINDERED HIM''
Billy was shaking with anger and terror by the time she had finished reading Kate's letter. Anger was uppermost at the moment, and with one sweeping wrench of her trembling fingers she tore the closely written sheets straight through the middle, and flung them into the little wicker basket by her desk. Then she went down-stairs and played her noisiest, merriest Tarantella, and tried to see how fast she could make her fingers fly.
But Billy could not, of course, play tarantellas all day; and even while she did play them she could not forget that waste-basket up-stairs, and the horror it contained. The anger was still uppermost, but the terror was prodding her at every turn, and demanding to know just what it was that Kate had written in that letter, anyway. It is not strange then, perhaps, that before two hours passed, Billy went up-stairs, took the letter from the basket, matched together the torn half-sheets and forced her shrinking eyes to read every word again-just to satisfy that terror which would not be silenced.
At the end of the second reading, Billy reminded herself with stern calmness that it was only Kate, after all; that nobody ought to mind what Kate said; that certainly _she_, Billy, ought not--after the experience she had already had with her unpleasant interference! Kate did not know what she was talking about, anyway. This was only another case of her trying ``to manage.'' She did so love to manage--everything!
At this point Billy got out her pen and paper and wrote to Kate.
It was a formal, cold little letter, not at all the sort that Billy's friends usually received. It thanked Kate for her advice, and for her ``kind willingness'' to have Billy for a sister; but it hinted that perhaps Kate did not realize that as long as Billy was the one who would have to _live_ with the chosen man, it would be pleasanter to take the one Billy loved, which happened in this case to be Bertram--not William. As for any ``quarrel'' being the cause of whatever fancied trouble there was with the new picture-- the letter scouted that idea in no uncertain terms. There had been no suggestion of a quarrel even once since the engagement.
Then Billy signed her name and took the letter out to post immediately.
For the first few minutes after the letter had been dropped into the green box at the corner, Billy held her head high, and told herself that the matter was now closed. She had sent Kate a courteous, dignified, conclusive, effectual answer, and she thought with much satisfaction of the things she had said.
``Now what has it been since? William wrote me himself not a fortnight ago that he'd been worried to death over Bertram for weeks past, he's been so moody, so irritable, so fretted over his work, so unlike himself. And his picture has _failed_ dismally. Of course William doesn't understand; but I do. I know you've probably quarrelled, or something. You know how flighty and unreliable you can be sometimes, Billy, and I don't say that to mean anything against you, either-- that's _your_ way. You're just as temperamental in your art, music, as Bertram is in his. You're utterly unsuited to him. If Bertram is to marry _anybody_, it should be some quiet, staid, sensible girl who would be a _help_ to him. But when I think of you two flyaway flutterbudgets marrying--!
``Now, for heaven's sake, Billy, _do_ make up or something--and do it now. Don't, for pity's sake, let Bertram ever put out another such a piece of work to shame us all like this. Do you want to ruin his career? ``Faithfully yours, ``KATE HARTWELL.
``P. S. _I_ think William's the one for you. He's devoted to you, and his quiet, sensible affection is just what your temperament needs. I _always_ thought William was the one for you. Think it over.
``P. S. No. 2. You can see by the above that it isn't you I'm objecting to, my dear. It's just _you- and-Bertram_. ``K.''
CHAPTER XXX
``I'VE HINDERED HIM''
Billy was shaking with anger and terror by the time she had finished reading Kate's letter. Anger was uppermost at the moment, and with one sweeping wrench of her trembling fingers she tore the closely written sheets straight through the middle, and flung them into the little wicker basket by her desk. Then she went down-stairs and played her noisiest, merriest Tarantella, and tried to see how fast she could make her fingers fly.
But Billy could not, of course, play tarantellas all day; and even while she did play them she could not forget that waste-basket up-stairs, and the horror it contained. The anger was still uppermost, but the terror was prodding her at every turn, and demanding to know just what it was that Kate had written in that letter, anyway. It is not strange then, perhaps, that before two hours passed, Billy went up-stairs, took the letter from the basket, matched together the torn half-sheets and forced her shrinking eyes to read every word again-just to satisfy that terror which would not be silenced.
At the end of the second reading, Billy reminded herself with stern calmness that it was only Kate, after all; that nobody ought to mind what Kate said; that certainly _she_, Billy, ought not--after the experience she had already had with her unpleasant interference! Kate did not know what she was talking about, anyway. This was only another case of her trying ``to manage.'' She did so love to manage--everything!
At this point Billy got out her pen and paper and wrote to Kate.
It was a formal, cold little letter, not at all the sort that Billy's friends usually received. It thanked Kate for her advice, and for her ``kind willingness'' to have Billy for a sister; but it hinted that perhaps Kate did not realize that as long as Billy was the one who would have to _live_ with the chosen man, it would be pleasanter to take the one Billy loved, which happened in this case to be Bertram--not William. As for any ``quarrel'' being the cause of whatever fancied trouble there was with the new picture-- the letter scouted that idea in no uncertain terms. There had been no suggestion of a quarrel even once since the engagement.
Then Billy signed her name and took the letter out to post immediately.
For the first few minutes after the letter had been dropped into the green box at the corner, Billy held her head high, and told herself that the matter was now closed. She had sent Kate a courteous, dignified, conclusive, effectual answer, and she thought with much satisfaction of the things she had said.