Billy smiled radiantly. It was the first time she had ever seen Alice Greggory's haughtily cold reserve break into anything like naturalness--the astonished incredulity of that “Miss Neilson!” was plainly straight from the heart; so, too, were the amazed words that followed. “_You_--will stand _here?_” “Certainly; I will keep your place. Don't worry. You sha'n't lose it.” Billy spoke with a smiling indifference that was meant to convey the impression that standing in line for a twenty-five-cent seat was a daily habit of hers. “There's a restaurant only a little way--right down there,” she finished. And before the dazed Alice Greggory knew quite what was happening she found herself outside the line, and the other in her place. “But, Miss Neilson, I can't--you mustn't--” she stammered; then, because of something in the unyieldingness of the square young chin above the sealskin coat, and because she could not (she knew) use actual force to drag the owner of that chin out of the line, she bowed her head in acquiescence. “Well, then--I will, long enough for some coffee and maybe a sandwich. And--thank you,” she choked, as she turned and hurried away. Billy drew the deep breath of one who has triumphed after long struggles--but the breath broke off short in a gasp of dismay: coming straight up the Avenue toward her was the one person in the world Billy wished least to see at that moment--Bertram Henshaw. Billy remembered then that she had twice lately heard her lover speak of calling at the Boston Opera House concerning a commission to paint an ideal head to represent “Music” for some decorative purpose. The Opera House was only a short distance up the Avenue. Doubtless he was on his way there now. He was very near by this time, and Billy held her breath suspended. There was a chance, of course, that he might not notice her; and Billy was counting on that chance--until a gust of wind whirled a loose half-sheet of newspaper from the hands of the man in front of her, and naturally attracted Bertram's eyes to its vicinity--and to hers. The next moment he was at her side and his dumfounded but softly-breathed “_Billy!_” was in her ears. Billy bubbled into low laughter--there were such a lot of funny situations in the world, and of them all this one was about the drollest, she thought. “Yes, I know,” she gurgled. “You don't have to say it-your face is saying even more than your tongue _could!_ This is just for a girl I know. I'm keeping her place.” Bertram frowned. He looked as if he were meditating picking Billy up and walking off with her. “But, Billy,” he protested just above his breath, “this isn't sugarplums nor frosting; it's plain suicide--standing out in this wind like this! Besides--” He stopped with an angrily despairing glance at her surroundings.