“Oh, yes, they can. I can hear them. 'What, _she_--Bertram Henshaw's wife?--a frivolous, inconsequential “Billy” like that?' Bertram!”--Billy turned fiercely despairing eyes on her lover--“Bertram, sometimes I wish my name were 'Clarissa Cordelia,' or 'Arabella Maud,' or 'Hannah Jane'--anything that's feminine and proper!” Bertram's ringing laugh brought a faint smile to Billy's lips. But the words that followed the laugh, and the caressing touch of the man's hands sent a flood of shy color to her face. “'Hannah Jane,' indeed! As if I'd exchange my Billy for her or any Clarissa or Arabella that ever grew! I adore Billy--flame, nature, and--” “And naughtiness?” put in Billy herself. “Yes--if there be any,” laughed Bertram, fondly. “But, see,” he added, taking a tiny box from his pocket, “see what I've brought for this same Billy to wear. She'd have had it long ago if she hadn't insisted on waiting for this announcement business.” “Oh, Bertram, what a beauty!” dimpled Billy, as the flawless diamond in Bertram's fingers caught the light and sent it back in a flash of flame and crimson. “Now you are mine--really mine, sweetheart!” The man's voice and hand shook as he slipped the ring on Billy's outstretched finger. Billy caught her breath with almost a sob. “And I'm so glad to be--yours, dear,” she murmured brokenly. “And--and I'll make you proud that I am yours, even if I am just 'Billy,'” she choked. “Oh, I know I'll write such beautiful, beautiful songs now.” The man drew her into a close embrace. “As if I cared for that,” he scoffed lovingly. Billy looked up in quick horror. “Why, Bertram, you don't mean you don't--care?” He laughed lightly, and took the dismayed little face between his two hands. “Care, darling? of course I care! You know how I love your music. I care about everything that concerns you. I meant that I'm proud of you _now_--just you. I love _you_, you know.” There was a moment's pause. Billy's eyes, as they looked at him, carried a curious intentness in their dark depths. “You mean, you like--the turn of my head and the tilt of my chin?” she asked a little breathlessly. “I adore them!” came the prompt answer. To Bertram's utter amazement, Billy drew back with a sharp cry. “No, no--not that!” “Why, _Billy!_” Billy laughed unexpectedly; then she sighed. “Oh, it's all right, of course,” she assured him hastily. “It's only--” Billy stopped and blushed. Billy was thinking of what Hugh Calderwell had once said to her: that Bertram Henshaw would never love any girl seriously; that it would always be the turn of her head or the tilt of her chin that he loved--to paint. “Well; only what?” demanded Bertram. Billy blushed the more deeply, but she gave a light laugh. “Nothing, only something Hugh Calderwell said to me once. You see, Bertram, I don't think Hugh ever thought you would--marry.”