“You would--if you didn't hear him any oftener than I do,” laughed Billy. “But then, of course you do hear him oftener.” “I? Oh, no, indeed. Not so very much oftener.” Alice had turned back to her music. There was a slight embarrassment in her manner. “I wonder--where--that new song--is,” she murmured. Billy, who knew very well where the song lay, was not to be diverted. “Nonsense! As if Mr. Arkwright wasn't always telling how Alice liked this song, and didn't like that one, and thought the other the best yet! I don't believe he sings a thing that he doesn't first sing to you. For that matter, I fancy he asks your opinion of everything, anyway.” “Why, Billy, he doesn't!” exclaimed Alice, a deep red flaming into her cheeks. “You know he doesn't.” Billy laughed gleefully. She had not been slow to note the color in her friend's face, or to ascribe to it the one meaning she wished to ascribe to it. So sure, indeed, was she now that her fears had been groundless, that she flung caution to the winds. “Ho! My dear Alice, you can't expect us all to be blind,” she teased. “Besides, we all think it's such a lovely arrangement that we're just glad to see it. He's such a fine fellow, and we like him so much! We couldn't ask for a better husband for you than Mr. Arkwright, and--” From sheer amazement at the sudden white horror in Alice Greggory's face, Billy stopped short. “Why, Alice!” she faltered then. With a visible effort Alice forced her trembling lips to speak. “My husband--_Mr. Arkwright!_ Why, Billy, you couldn't have seen--you haven't seen--there's nothing you _could_ see! He isn't--he wasn't--he can't be! We--we're nothing but friends, Billy, just good friends!” Billy, though dismayed, was still not quite convinced. “Friends! Nonsense! When--” But Alice interrupted feverishly. Alice, in an agony of fear lest the true state of affairs should be suspected, was hiding behind a bulwark of pride. “Now, Billy, please! Say no more. You're quite wrong, entirely. You'll never, never hear of my marrying Mr. Arkwright. As I said before, we're friends--the best of friends; that is all. We couldn't be anything else, possibly!” Billy, plainly discomfited, fell back; but she threw a sharp glance into her friend's flushed countenance. “You mean--because of--Hugh Calderwell?” she demanded. Then, for the second time that afternoon throwing discretion to the winds, she went on plaintively: “You won't listen, of course. Girls in love never do. Hugh is all right, and I like him; but there's more real solid worth in Mr. Arkwright's little finger than there is in Hugh's whole self. And--” But a merry peal of laughter from Alice Greggory interrupted. “And, pray, do you think I'm in love with Hugh Calderwell?” she demanded. There was a curious note of something very like relief in her voice. “Well, I didn't know,” began Billy, uncertainly.