“But _this_ one isn't bad,” stormed Billy. “It's splendid! I'm sure, I think it's a b-beautiful portrait, and I don't see _what_ people mean by talking so about it!” Bertram shook his head. His eyes grew sombre again. “Thank you, dear. But I know--and you know, really--that it isn't a splendid portrait. I've done lots better work than that.” “Then why don't they look at those, and let this alone?” wailed Billy, with indignation. “Because I deliberately put up this for them to see,” smiled the artist, wearily. Billy sighed, and twisted in her chair. “What does--Mr. Winthrop say?” she asked at last, in a faint voice. Bertram lifted his head. “Mr. Winthrop's been a trump all through, dear. He's already insisted on paying for this--and he's ordered another.” “Another!” “Yes. The old fellow never minces his words, as you may know. He came to me one day, put his hand on my shoulder, and said tersely: 'Will you give me another, same terms? Go in, boy, and win. Show 'em! I lost the first ten thousand I made. I didn't the next!' That's all he said. Before I could even choke out an answer he was gone. Gorry! talk about his having a 'heart of stone'! I don't believe another man in the country would have done that--and done it in the way he did--in the face of all this talk,” finished Bertram, his eyes luminous with feeling. Billy hesitated. “Perhaps--his daughter--influenced him--some.” “Perhaps,” nodded Bertram. “She, too, has been very kind, all the way through.” Billy hesitated again. “But I thought--it was going so splendidly,” she faltered, in a half-stifled voice. “So it was--at the first.” “Then what--ailed it, at the last, do you suppose?” Billy was holding her breath till he should answer. The man got to his feet. “Billy, don't--don't ask me,” he begged. “Please don't let's talk of it any more. It can't do any good! I just flunked--that's all. My hand failed me. Maybe I tried too hard. Maybe I was tired. Maybe something--troubled me. Never mind, dear, what it was. It can do no good even to think of that--now. So just let's--drop it, please, dear,” he finished, his face working with emotion. And Billy dropped it--so far as words were concerned; but she could not drop it from her thoughts--specially after Kate's letter came. Kate's letter was addressed to Billy, and it said, after speaking of various other matters: “And now about poor Bertram's failure.” (Billy frowned. In Billy's presence no one was allowed to say “Bertram's failure”; but a letter has a most annoying privilege of saying what it pleases without let or hindrance, unless one tears it up--and a letter destroyed unread remains always such a tantalizing mystery of possibilities! So Billy let the letter talk.) “Of course we have heard of it away out here. I do wish if Bertram _must_ paint such famous people, he would manage to flatter them up--in the painting, I mean, of course--enough so that it might pass for a success!