“Well, they're lovely, perfectly lovely, of course, Mrs. Henshaw,” said this lady, coming up to say good-night. “But, all the same, I'm glad my husband is just a plain lawyer. Look out, my dear, that while Mr. Henshaw is stealing all those pretty faces for his canvases--just look out that the fair ladies don't turn around and steal his heart before you know it. Dear me, but you must be so proud of him!” “I am,” smiled Billy, serenely; and only the jagged split that rent the glove on her hand, at that moment, told of the fierce anger behind that smile. “As if I couldn't trust Bertram!” raged Billy passionately to herself, stealing a surreptitious glance at her ruined glove. “And as if there weren't ever any perfectly happy marriages--even if you don't ever hear of them, or read of them!” Bertram was not home to luncheon on the day following the opening night of the Bohemian Ten Club. A matter of business called him away from the house early in the morning; but he told his wife that he surely would be on hand for Miss Winthrop's call at half-past three o'clock that afternoon. “Yes, do,” Billy had urged. “I think she's lovely, but you know her so much better than I do that I want you here. Besides, you needn't think _I'm_ going to show her all those Billys of yours. I may be vain, but I'm not quite vain enough for that, sir!” “Don't worry,” her husband had laughed. “I'll be here.” As it chanced, however, something occurred an hour before half-past three o'clock that drove every thought of Miss Winthrop's call from Billy's head. For three days, now, Pete had been at the home of his niece in South Boston. He had been forced, finally, to give up and go away. News from him the day before had been anything but reassuring, and to-day, Bertram being gone, Billy had suggested that Eliza serve a simple luncheon and go immediately afterward to South Boston to see how her uncle was. This suggestion Eliza had followed, leaving the house at one o'clock. Shortly after two Calderwell had dropped in to bring Bertram, as he expressed it, a bunch of bouquets he had gathered at the picture show the night before. He was still in the drawing-room, chatting with Billy, when the telephone bell rang. “If that's Bertram, tell him to come home; he's got company,” laughed Calderwell, as Billy passed into the hall. A moment later he heard Billy give a startled cry, followed by a few broken words at short intervals. Then, before he could surmise what had happened, she was back in the drawing-room again, her eyes full of tears. “It's Pete,” she choked. “Eliza says he can't live but a few minutes. He wants to see me once more. What shall I do? John's got Peggy out with Aunt Hannah and Mrs. Greggory. It was so nice to-day I made them go. But I must get there some way--Pete is calling for me. Uncle William is going, and I told Eliza where she might reach Bertram; but what shall _I_ do? How shall I go?” Calderwell was on his feet at once.