The hair still curled distractingly behind the pretty ears, and fluffed into burnished bronze where the wind had loosened it. The cheeks were paler now, though the rose-flush still glowed warmly through the clear, smooth skin. The mouth--Billy's mouth had always been fascinating, Bertram suddenly decided, as he watched it now. He wanted to paint it--again. It was not too large for beauty nor too small for strength. It curved delightfully, and the lower lip had just the fullness and the color that he liked--to paint, he said to himself.
William, too, was watching Billy's mouth; in fact--though he did not know it--one never was long near Billy without noticing her mouth, if she talked. William thought it pretty, merry, and charmingly kissable; but just now he wished that it would talk to him, and not to Calderwell any longer. Cyril--indeed, Cyril was paying little attention to Billy. He had turned to Aunt Hannah.
To tell the truth, it seemed to Cyril that, after all, Billy was very much like other merry, thoughtless, rather noisy young women, of whom he knew--and disliked--scores. It had occurred to him suddenly that perhaps it would not be unalloyed bliss to take this young namesake of William's home with them.
It was not until an hour later, when Billy, Aunt Hannah, and the Henshaws had reached the hotel where they were to spend the night, that the Henshaw brothers began really to get acquainted with Billy. She seemed then more like their own Billy--the Billy that they had known.
"And I'm so glad to be here," she cried; "and to see you all.
America IS the best place, after all!"
"And of America, Boston is the Hub, you know," Bertram reminded her.
"It is," nodded Billy.
"And it hasn't changed a mite, except to grow better. You'll see to-morrow.""As if I hadn't been counting the days!" she exulted. "And now what have you been doing--all of you?""Just wait till you see," laughed Bertram. "They're all spread out for your inspection.""A new 'Face of a Girl'?"
"Of course--yards of them!"
"And heaps of 'Old Blues' and 'black basalts'?" she questioned, turning to William.
"Well, a--few," hesitated William, modestly.
"And--the music; what of that?" Billy looked now at Cyril.
"You'll see," he shrugged. "There's very little, after all--of anything."Billy gave a wise shake of her head.
"I know better; and I want to see it all so much. We've talked and talked of it; haven't we, Aunt Hannah?--of what we would do when we got to Boston?""Yes, my dear; YOU have."
The girl laughed.
"I accept the amendment," she retorted with mock submission. "Isuppose it is always I who talk."
"It was--when I painted you," teased Bertram. "By the way, I'll LET you talk if you'll pose again for me," he finished eagerly.
Billy uptilted her nose.
"Do you think, sir, you deserve it, after that speech?" she demanded.
"But how about YOUR art--your music?" entreated William. "You have said so little of that in your letters."Billy hesitated. For a brief moment she glanced at Cyril. He did not appear to have heard his brother's question. He was talking with Aunt Hannah.
"Oh, I play--some," murmured the girl, almost evasively. "But tell me of yourself, Uncle William, and of what you are doing." And William needed no second bidding.
It was some time later that Billy turned to him with an amazed exclamation in response to something he had said.
"Home with you! Why, Uncle William, what do you mean? You didn't really think you'd got to be troubled with ME any longer!" she cried merrily.
William's face paled, then flushed.
"I did not call it 'trouble,' Billy," he said quietly. His grieved eyes looked straight into hers and drove the merriment quite away.
"Oh, I'm so sorry," she said gently. "And I appreciate your kindness, indeed I do; but I couldn't--really I couldn't think of such a thing!""And you don't have to think of it," cut in Bertram, who considered that the situation was becoming much too serious. "All you have to do is to come."Billy shook her head.
"You are so good, all of you! But you didn't--you really didn't think I WAS--coming!" she protested.
"Indeed we did," asserted Bertram, promptly; "and we have done everything to get ready for you, too, even to rigging up Spunkie to masquerade as Spunk. I'll warrant that Pete's nose is already flattened against the window-pane, lest we should HAPPEN to come to-night; and there's no telling how many cakes of chocolate Dong Ling has spoiled by this time. We left him trying to make fudge, you know."Billy laughed--but she cried, too; at least, her eyes grew suddenly moist. Bertram tried to decide afterward whether she laughed till she cried, or cried till she laughed.
"No, no," she demurred tremulously. "I couldn't. I really have never intended that.""But why not? What are you going to do?" questioned William in a voice that was dazed and hurt.
The first question Billy ignored. The second she answered with a promptness and a gayety that was meant to turn the thoughts away from the first.
"We are going to Boston, Aunt Hannah and I. We've got rooms engaged for just now, but later we're going to take a house and live together. That's what we're going to do."
