“A call, sir, at the private phone.” And that maid was Billee. She saw him as he swayed to his feet, and drew back timidly, lifting a warning hand behind the banker’s vanishing form. “Billee!” he gasped. “You! You!” He rushed toward her, but she side-stepped hurriedly, whispering: “Don’t, King! Think of what you are doing! This house, a waiting maid! It’s ruin for you! Don’t spoil all! And think of me!” He hesitated and sank groaning into a chair. “I was thinking of you,” he said weakly. “Are you so sorry for me as that?” she said, standing with downcast eyes. “Sorry? Sorry for you? Just wait till I get you outside. Sorry? Child, we’ve got the biggest thing coming you ever dreamed of! I am full partner in the firm now. It’s Beeker, Toomer & Dubignon. I’ve made good! Have you seen the evening papers? Every notable piece of work I have done for New York is mentioned; there is a picture of my office building, and all about my family. Billee, the world is mine, and you are the most wonderful thing in it!” “But I--I am only--” she glanced down at her dress. “Oh, King, you are beyond me now. You won’t need Billee any more.” “Need you! I’ve made good for two,” he shouted, “and Billee is the other one.” Billee’s hands were behind her. Now, slowly they were withdrawn, bringing away the apron and revealing the simple short dress of a child. The little cap of the housemaid was lifted, and from beneath it fell down a long plait of hair, ribboned at the end. She came slowly and kneeled by him and lifted her face. Upon it the window shed its tints. She seemed to float in a golden mist. “The little dream girl--praying!” he whispered in awe. Then with closed eyes she laid her cheek on his breast, her arms half enfolding him. “And this one, King?” But King was beyond further speech. Doubtingly, reverently he touched the little head. His lips parted for one long, deep breath, while the furniture in the room whirled about him in a most absurd manner. “Well!” she said, at length, her eyes opening and mouth curving into the challenging smile. “I did it of my own free will. Why don’t you?” Again the inevitable happened, but this time Billee did not struggle nor King ask forgiveness. “Oh, King!” she whispered gently, freeing herself at length and taking his face between her soft hands, “my splendid boy-man, you said you’d come back when you were famous, didn’t you? King, all that my father, my mother had are mine--this house--everything--mine and yours. It’s our Christmas! Let’s always be ‘just sweethearts’.” An old man who was peeping in at the door drew a deep breath, smiled and went back to his den and chair to pick up a paper wherein was a noble building of thirty-five stories. But his eyes closed over it, the room blurred, and his head sank back among the cushions. It was May in New England and the bees and apple blossoms were there, and green fields and the song birds and a little sister with the lovelight in her eyes.