King was younger than his years, as are most Southerners, but he was sensitive to delicate influences. Without analysis, he knew that this girl had touched an atmosphere of refinement and was educated. And she had traveled. But what was so poor a girl doing in Charleston and Savannah and Macon? It sounded like a theatrical route. One day, on impulse, he consulted a theatrical agency and learned that “Naughty Marietta” had been in Macon on the 23d of December and Jacksonville on the 24th. He knew the opera and had seen its array of beauties and yet he could not figure out why, being of the Marietta company should keep her from marrying him. But--and there came the devil’s hand in his affairs--but these theater girls marry so recklessly! King sat up in bed when this thought arrived and uttered a word he had learned from his grandfather’s overseer. It was not a nice word. And yet--and here a gentler voice intervened--and yet, don’t you know the girl isn’t married? Don’t you know? Of course he knew, the girl was not married! Then what the thunder was all the row about? Father in the penitentiary? Mother scrubbing office buildings for a living? Brother a pickpocket? Sister gone to the bad? Tuberculosis? Pellagra? Not these latter, certainly. And what had the others to do with her marrying him? Nothing, if he had a say so. He dismissed them with a mental finger-snap, and put his faith again in destiny. She was his woman. He would win her in spite of herself. Then on the fifth day came a little note. He was to be at the entrance to the Metropolitan Museum at one hour past high noon. He was there promptly. She descended from a bus at the corner and came to him rapidly. “Inside,” she said, smiling but passing. He followed. Inside she fell back with him. Then came the quick, characteristic upward look. The gentian eyes were troubled. “What have you been doing to yourself, little boy? Are you working too hard?” “Scarcely that,” he laughed, “but possibly sleeping less than usual. And you?--but why ask! You are the same radiant, beautiful girl as when I first saw you.” “Don’t, please. I detest flattery.” “The word ‘beautiful’ doesn’t flatter you. But I think I understand. However, if I’m not to call you that, what am I to do for a name? Can’t you trust me with some little old name?” “My uncle calls me Billee, when he finds me amiable; Bill, when he is displeased, and William, when he is out of all patience. You can take them all three. You’ll need them later.” “Miss Billee will do for me.” “Billee, or nothing, sir!” “All right. Now then, Billee, listen to me. You’ve been through this place?” “Dozens of times. I suggested it because at this hour it is not frequented by--because it is apt to be uncrowded, and I wanted to be alone with you. Forgive me if I shock you.” “Forgive you! Come, I know a place where few people will be passing. It is both public and private.” “All right. Let’s go sit down and tell glad stories of live kings.”