“Oh, didn't he?” bridled Bertram. “Well, that only goes to show how much he knows about it. Er--did you announce it--to him?” Bertram's voice was almost savage now. Billy smiled. “No; but I did to his sister, and she'll tell him. Oh, Bertram, such a time as I had over those notes,” went on Billy, with a chuckle. Her eyes were dancing, and she was seeming more like her usual self, Bertram thought. “You see there were such a lot of things I wanted to say, about what a dear you were, and how much I--I liked you, and that you had such lovely eyes, and a nose--” “Billy!” This time it was Bertram who was sitting erect in pale horror. Billy threw him a roguish glance. “Goosey! You are as bad as Aunt Hannah! I said that was what I _wanted_ to say. What I really said was--quite another matter,” she finished with a saucy uptilting of her chin. Bertram relaxed with a laugh. “You witch!” His admiring eyes still lingered on her face. “Billy, I'm going to paint you sometime in just that pose. You're adorable!” “Pooh! Just another face of a girl,” teased the adorable one. Bertram gave a sudden exclamation. “There! And I haven't told you, yet. Guess what my next commission is.” “To paint a portrait?” “Yes.” “Can't. Who is it?” “J. G. Winthrop's daughter.” “Not _the_ J. G. Winthrop?” “The same.” “Oh, Bertram, how splendid!” “Isn't it? And then the girl herself! Have you seen her? But you haven't, I know, unless you met her abroad. She hasn't been in Boston for years until now.” “No, I haven't seen her. Is she so _very_ beautiful?” Billy spoke a little soberly. “Yes--and no.” The artist lifted his head alertly. What Billy called his “painting look” came to his face. “It isn't that her features are so regular--though her mouth and chin are perfect. But her face has so much character, and there's an elusive something about her eyes--Jove! If I can only catch it, it'll be the best thing yet that I've ever done, Billy.” “Will it? I'm so glad--and you'll get it, I know you will,” claimed Billy, clearing her throat a little nervously. “I wish I felt so sure,” sighed Bertram. “But it'll be a great thing if I do get it--J. G. Winthrop's daughter, you know, besides the merit of the likeness itself.” “Yes; yes, indeed!” Billy cleared her throat again. “You've seen her, of course, lately?” “Oh, yes. I was there half the morning discussing the details--sittings and costume, and deciding on the pose.” “Did you find one--to suit?” “Find one!” The artist made a despairing gesture. “I found a dozen that I wanted. The trouble was to tell which I wanted the most.” Billy gave a nervous little laugh. “Isn't that--unusual?” she asked. Bertram lifted his eyebrows with a quizzical smile. “Well, they aren't all Marguerite Winthrops,” he reminded her. “Marguerite!” cried Billy. “Oh, is her name Marguerite? I do think Marguerite is the dearest name!” Billy's eyes and voice were wistful.