Then, too, it pleased her to think that she was furthering the pretty love story between Alice and Mr. Arkwright. And she _was_ furthering it. She was sure of that. Already she could see how dependent the man was on Alice, how he looked to her for approbation, and appealed to her on all occasions, exactly as if there was not a move that he wanted to make without her presence near him. Billy was very sure, now, of Arkwright. She only wished she were as much so of Alice. But Alice troubled her. Not but that Alice was kindness itself to the man, either. It was only a peculiar something almost like fear, or constraint, that Billy thought she saw in Alice's eyes, sometimes, when Arkwright made a particularly intimate appeal. There was Calderwell, too. He, also, worried Billy. She feared he was going to complicate matters still more by falling in love with Alice, himself; and this, certainly, Billy did not want at all. As this phase of the matter presented itself, indeed, Billy determined to appropriate Calderwell a little more exclusively to herself, when the four were together, thus leaving Alice for Arkwright. After all, it was rather entertaining--this playing at Cupid's assistant. If she _could_ not have Bertram all the time, it was fortunate that these outside interests were so pleasurable. Most of the mornings Billy spent in the kitchen, despite the remonstrances of both Pete and Eliza. Almost every meal, now, was graced with a palatable cake, pudding, or muffin that Billy would proudly claim as her handiwork. Pete still served at table, and made strenuous efforts to keep up all his old duties; but he was obviously growing weaker, and really serious blunders were beginning to be noticeable. Bertram even hinted once or twice that perhaps it would be just as well to insist on his going; but to this Billy would not give her consent. Even when one night his poor old trembling hands spilled half the contents of a soup plate over a new and costly evening gown of Billy's own, she still refused to have him dismissed. “Why, Bertram, I wouldn't do it,” she declared hotly; “and you wouldn't, either. He's been here more than fifty years. It would break his heart. He's really too ill to work, and I wish he would go of his own accord, of course; but I sha'n't ever tell him to go--not if he spills soup on every dress I've got. I'll buy more--and more, if it's necessary. Bless his dear old heart! He thinks he's really serving us--and he is, too.” “Oh, yes, you're right, he _is!_” sighed Bertram, with meaning emphasis, as he abandoned the argument. In addition to her “Talk to Young Wives,” Billy found herself encountering advice and comment on the marriage question from still other quarters--from her acquaintances (mostly the feminine ones) right and left. Continually she was hearing such words as these: “Oh, well, what can you expect, Billy? You're an old married woman, now.”