For answer he impetuously swept the offending linen into the nearest chair and drew the girl into his arms. “Oh! And see how you've crushed poor Marie's table-cloth!” she cried, with reproachful eyes. Bertram sniffed imperturbably. “I'm not sure but I'd like to crush Marie,” he alleged. “Bertram!” “I can't help it. See here, Billy.” He loosened his clasp and held the girl off at arm's length, regarding her with stormy eyes. “It's Marie, Marie, Marie--always. If I telephone in the morning, you've gone shopping with Marie. If I want you in the afternoon for something, you're at the dressmaker's with Marie. If I call in the evening--” “I'm here,” interrupted Billy, with decision. “Oh, yes, you're here,” admitted Bertram, aggrievedly, “and so are dozens of napkins, miles of table-cloths, and yards upon yards of lace and flummydiddles you call 'doilies.' They all belong to Marie, and they fill your arms and your thoughts full, until there isn't an inch of room for me. Billy, when is this thing going to end?” Billy laughed softly. Her eyes danced. “The twelfth;--that is, there'll be a--pause, then.” “Well, I'm thankful if--eh?” broke off the man, with a sudden change of manner. “What do you mean by 'a pause'?” Billy cast down her eyes demurely. “Well, of course _this_ ends the twelfth with Marie's wedding; but I've sort of regarded it as an--understudy for one that's coming next October, you see.” “Billy, you darling!” breathed a supremely happy voice in a shell-like ear--Billy was not at arm's length now. Billy smiled, but she drew away with gentle firmness. “And now I must go back to my sewing,” she said. Bertram's arms did not loosen. His eyes had grown mutinous again. “That is,” she amended, “I must be practising my part of--the understudy, you know.” “You darling!” breathed Bertram again; this time, however, he let her go. “But, honestly, is it all necessary?” he sighed despairingly, as she seated herself and gathered the table-cloth into her lap. “Do you have to do so much of it all?” “I do,” smiled Billy, “unless you want your brother to run the risk of leading his bride to the altar and finding her robed in a kitchen apron with an egg-beater in her hand for a bouquet.” Bertram laughed. “Is it so bad as that?” “No, of course not--quite. But never have I seen a bride so utterly oblivious to clothes as Marie was till one day in despair I told her that Cyril never could bear a dowdy woman.” “As if Cyril, in the old days, ever could bear any sort of woman!” scoffed Bertram, merrily. “I know; but I didn't mention that part,” smiled Billy. “I just singled out the dowdy one.” “Did it work?” Billy made a gesture of despair.