“Sweetheart, you were a dear this noon to let me off like that,” he began in a voice shaken with emotion. “You don't know, perhaps, exactly what you did. You see, I was nearly wild between wanting to be with you, and wanting to go on with my work. And I was just at that point where one little word from you, one hint that you wanted me to come anyway--and I should have come. But you didn't say it, nor hint it. Like the brave little bit of inspiration that you are, you bade me stay and go on with my work.” The “inspiration's” head drooped a little lower, but this only brought a wealth of soft bronze hair to just where Bertram could lay his cheek against it--and Bertram promptly took advantage of his opportunity. “And so I stayed, Billy, and I did good work; I know I did good work. Why, Billy,”--Bertram stepped back now, and held Billy by the shoulders at arms' length--“Billy, that's going to be the best work I've ever done. I can see it coming even now, under my fingers.” Billy lifted her head and looked into her lover's face. His eyes were glowing. His cheeks were flushed. His whole countenance was aflame with the soul of the artist who sees his vision taking shape before him. And Billy, looking at him, felt suddenly--ashamed. “Oh, Bertram, I'm proud, proud, _proud_ of you!” she breathed. “Come, let's go over to the fire-and talk!” CHAPTER V. MARIE SPEAKS HER MIND Billy with John and Peggy met Marie Hawthorn at the station. “Peggy” was short for “Pegasus,” and was what Billy always called her luxurious, seven-seated touring car. “I simply won't call it 'automobile,'” she had declared when she bought it. “In the first place, it takes too long to say it, and in the second place, I don't want to add one more to the nineteen different ways to pronounce it that I hear all around me every day now. As for calling it my 'car,' or my 'motor car'--I should expect to see a Pullman or one of those huge black trucks before my door, if I ordered it by either of those names. Neither will I insult the beautiful thing by calling it a 'machine.' Its name is Pegasus. I shall call it 'Peggy.'” And “Peggy” she called it. John sniffed his disdain, and Billy's friends made no secret of their amused tolerance; but, in an astonishingly short time, half the automobile owners of her acquaintance were calling their own cars “Peggy”; and even the dignified John himself was heard to order “some gasoline for Peggy,” quite as a matter of course. When Marie Hawthorn stepped from the train at the North Station she greeted Billy with affectionate warmth, though at once her blue eyes swept the space beyond expectantly and eagerly. Billy's lips curved in a mischievous smile. “No, he didn't come,” she said. “He didn't want to--a little bit.” Marie grew actually pale. “Didn't _want_ to!” she stammered. Billy gave her a spasmodic hug.