“Yes, and I'm glad. I shall tell Marie she needn't leave Cyril on _my_ hands again. Bertram says that at home Cyril hasn't played a dirge since his engagement; but I notice that up here--where Marie might be, but isn't--his tunes would never be mistaken for ragtime. By the way,” she added, as she rose from the table, “that's another surprise in store for Hugh Calderwell. He always declared that Cyril wasn't a marrying man, either, any more than Bertram. You know he said Bertram only cared for girls to paint; but--” She stopped and looked inquiringly at Rosa, who had appeared at that moment in the hall doorway. “It's the telephone, Miss Neilson. Mr. Bertram Henshaw wants you.” A few minutes later Aunt Hannah heard Billy at the piano. For fifteen, twenty, thirty minutes the brilliant scales and arpeggios rippled through the rooms and up the stairs to Aunt Hannah, who knew, by the very sound of them, that some unusual nervousness was being worked off at the finger tips that played them. At the end of forty-five minutes Aunt Hannah went down-stairs. “Billy, my dear, excuse me, but have you forgotten what time it is? Weren't you going out with Bertram?” Billy stopped playing at once, but she did not turn her head. Her fingers busied themselves with some music on the piano. “We aren't going, Aunt Hannah,” she said. “Bertram can't.” “_Can't!_” “Well, he didn't want to--so of course I said not to. He's been painting this morning on a new portrait, and she said he might stay to luncheon and keep right on for a while this afternoon, if he liked. And--he did like, so he stayed.” “Why, how--how--” Aunt Hannah stopped helplessly. “Oh, no, not at all,” interposed Billy, lightly. “He told me all about it the other night. It's going to be a very wonderful portrait; and, of course, I wouldn't want to interfere with--his work!” And again a brilliant scale rippled from Billy's fingers after a crashing chord in the bass. Slowly Aunt Hannah turned and went up-stairs. Her eyes were troubled. Not since Billy's engagement had she heard Billy play like that. Bertram did not find a pensive Billy awaiting him that evening. He found a bright-eyed, flushed-cheeked Billy, who let herself be kissed--once--but who did not kiss back; a blithe, elusive Billy, who played tripping little melodies, and sang jolly little songs, instead of sitting before the fire and talking; a Billy who at last turned, and asked tranquilly: “Well, how did the picture go?” Bertram rose then, crossed the room, and took Billy very gently into his arms.