Bertram was to come up in the evening, and Billy was anticipating that, too, particularly: it had been so long since they had known a really free, comfortable evening together, with nothing to interrupt. Doubtless, too, after Arkwright's visit of the afternoon, she would be in a position to tell Bertram the story of the suspended romance between Arkwright and Miss Greggory, and perhaps something, also, of her own efforts to bring the couple together again. On the whole, life did, indeed, look decidedly worth the living as Billy, with a contented sigh, turned over to go to sleep. CHAPTER XXVI. ARKWRIGHT TELLS ANOTHER STORY Promptly at the suggested hour on the day after the operetta, Arkwright rang Billy Neilson's doorbell. Promptly, too, Billy herself came into the living-room to greet him. Billy was in white to-day--a soft, creamy white wool with a touch of black velvet at her throat and in her hair. The man thought she had never looked so lovely: Arkwright was still under the spell wrought by the soft radiance of Billy's face the two times he had mentioned his “story.” Until the night before the operetta Arkwright had been more than doubtful of the way that story would be received, should he ever summon the courage to tell it. Since then his fears had been changed to rapturous hopes. It was very eagerly, therefore, that he turned now to greet Billy as she came into the room. “Suppose we don't have any music to-day. Suppose we give the whole time up to the story,” she smiled brightly, as she held out her hand. Arkwright's heart leaped; but almost at once it throbbed with a vague uneasiness. He would have preferred to see her blush and be a little shy over that story. Still--there was a chance, of course, that she did not know what the story was. But if that were the case, what of the radiance in her face? What of--Finding himself in a tangled labyrinth that led apparently only to disappointment and disaster, Arkwright pulled himself up with a firm hand. “You are very kind,” he murmured, as he relinquished her fingers and seated himself near her. “You are sure, then, that you wish to hear the story?” “Very sure,” smiled Billy. Arkwright hesitated. Again he longed to see a little embarrassment in the bright face opposite. Suddenly it came to him, however, that if Billy knew what he was about to say, it would manifestly not be her part to act as if she knew! With a lighter heart, then, he began his story. “You want it from the beginning?” “By all means! I never dip into books, nor peek at the ending. I don't think it's fair to the author.” “Then I will, indeed, begin at the beginning,” smiled Arkwright, “for I'm specially anxious that you shall be--even more than 'fair' to me.” His voice shook a little, but he hurried on. “There's a--girl--in it; a very dear, lovely girl.” “Of course--if it's a nice story,” twinkled Billy. “And--there's a man, too. It's a love story, you see.”