In the sober second thought of the morning, Billy was not sure now of a possible romance in connection with Arkwright and the daughter, Alice; but she had by no means abandoned the idea, and she meant to keep her eyes open--and if there should be a chance to bring such a thing about--! Meanwhile, of course, she should not mention the matter, even to Bertram. Just what would be her method of procedure this first morning, Billy had not determined. The pretty potted azalea in her hand would be excuse for her entrance into the room. After that, circumstances must decide for themselves. Mrs. Greggory was found to be alone at home as before, and Billy was glad. She would rather begin with one than two, she thought. The little woman greeted her cordially, gave misty-eyed thanks for the beautiful plant, and also for Billy's kind thoughtfulness Friday afternoon. From that she was very skilfully led to talk more of the daughter; and soon Billy was getting just the information she wanted--information concerning the character, aims, and daily life of Alice Greggory. “You see, we have some money--a very little,” explained Mrs. Greggory, after a time; “though to get it we have had to sell all our treasures--but the Lowestoft,” with a quick glance into Billy's eyes. “We need not, perhaps, live in quite so poor a place; but we prefer--just now--to spend the little money we have for something other than imitation comfort--lessons, for instance, and an occasional concert. My daughter is studying even while she is teaching. She hopes to train herself for an accompanist, and for a teacher. She does not aspire to concert solo work. She understands her limitations.” “But she is probably--very good--at teaching.” Billy hesitated a little. “She is; very good. She has the best of recommendations.” A little proudly Mrs. Greggory gave the names of two Boston pianists--names that would carry weight anywhere. Unconsciously Billy relaxed. She did not know until that moment how she had worried for fear she could not, conscientiously, recommend this Alice Greggory. “Of course,” resumed the mother, “Alice's pupils are few, and they pay low prices; but she is gaining. She goes to the houses, of course. She herself practises two hours a day at a house up on Pinckney Street. She gives lessons to a little girl in return.” “I see,” nodded Billy, brightly; “and I've been thinking, Mrs. Greggory--maybe I know of some pupils she could get. I have a friend who has just given hers up, owing to her marriage. Sometime, soon, I'm going to talk to your daughter, if I may, and--” “And here she is right now,” interposed Mrs. Greggory, as the door opened under a hurried hand. Billy flushed and bit her lip. She was disturbed and disappointed. She did not particularly wish to see Alice Greggory just then. She wished even less to see her when she noted the swift change that came to the girl's face at sight of herself.