“Again of course--if it's interesting.” Billy laughed mischievously, but she flushed a little. “Still, the man doesn't amount to much, after all, perhaps. I might as well own up at the beginning--I'm the man.” “That will do for you to say, as long as you're telling the story,” smiled Billy. “We'll let it pass for proper modesty on your part. But I shall say--the personal touch only adds to the interest.” Arkwright drew in his breath. “We'll hope--it'll really be so,” he murmured. There was a moment's silence. Arkwright seemed to be hesitating what to say. “Well?” prompted Billy, with a smile. “We have the hero and the heroine; now what happens next? Do you know,” she added, “I have always thought that part must bother the story-writers--to get the couple to doing interesting things, after they'd got them introduced.” Arkwright sighed. “Perhaps--on paper; but, you see, my story has been _lived_, so far. So it's quite different.” “Very well, then--what did happen?” smiled Billy. “I was trying to think--of the first thing. You see it began with a picture, a photograph of the girl. Mother had it. I saw it, and wanted it, and--” Arkwright had started to say “and took it.” But he stopped with the last two words unsaid. It was not time, yet, he deemed, to tell this girl how much that picture had been to him for so many months past. He hurried on a little precipitately. “You see, I had heard about this girl a lot; and I liked--what I heard.” “You mean--you didn't know her--at the first?” Billy's eyes were surprised. Billy had supposed that Arkwright had always known Alice Greggory. “No, I didn't know the girl--till afterwards. Before that I was always dreaming and wondering what she would be like.” “Oh!” Billy subsided into her chair, still with the puzzled questioning in her eyes. “Then I met her.” “Yes?” “And she was everything and more than I had pictured her.” “And you fell in love at once?” Billy's voice had grown confident again. “Oh, I was already in love,” sighed Arkwright. “I simply sank deeper.” “Oh-h!” breathed Billy, sympathetically. “And the girl?” “She didn't care--or know--for a long time. I'm not really sure she cares--or knows--even now.” Arkwright's eyes were wistfully fixed on Billy's face. “Oh, but you can't tell, always, about girls,” murmured Billy, hurriedly. A faint pink had stolen to her forehead. She was thinking of Alice Greggory, and wondering if, indeed, Alice did care; and if she, Billy, might dare to assure this man--what she believed to be true--that his sweetheart was only waiting for him to come to her and tell her that he loved her. Arkwright saw the color sweep to Billy's forehead, and took sudden courage. He leaned forward eagerly. A tender light came to his eyes. The expression on his face was unmistakable. “Billy, do you mean, really, that there is--hope for me?” he begged brokenly.