Billy understood the flush, and struggled for self-control. “Please--please, forgive me!” she choked. “But you see--you couldn't, of course, know that Mary Jane and Peggy aren't _girls_. They're just a man and an automobile!” An unwilling smile trembled on Alice Greggory's lips; but she still stood her ground. “After all, girls, or men and automobiles, Miss Neilson--it makes little difference. They're--charity. And it's not so long that we've been objects of charity that we quite really enjoy it--yet.” There was a moment's hush. Billy's eyes had filled with tears. “I never even _thought_--charity,” said Billy, so gently that a faint red stole into the white cheeks opposite. For a tense minute Alice Greggory held herself erect; then, with a complete change of manner and voice, she released her mother's hand, dropped into her own chair again, and said wearily: “I know you didn't, Miss Neilson. It's all my foolish pride, of course. It's only that I was thinking how dearly I would love to meet girls again--just as _girls!_ But--I no longer have any business with pride, of course. I shall be pleased, I'm sure,” she went on dully, “to accept anything you may do for us, from automobile rides to--to red flannel petticoats.” Billy almost--but not quite--laughed. Still, the laugh would have been near to a sob, had it been given. Surprising as was the quick transition in the girl's manner, and absurd as was the juxtaposition of automobiles and red flannel petticoats, the white misery of Alice Greggory's face and the weary despair of her attitude were tragic--specially to one who knew her story as did Billy Neilson. And it was because Billy did know her story that she did not make the mistake now of offering pity. Instead, she said with a bright smile, and a casual manner that gave no hint of studied labor: “Well, as it happens, Miss Greggory, what I want to-day has nothing whatever to do with automobiles or red flannel petticoats. It's a matter of straight business.” (How Billy blessed the thought that had so suddenly come to her!) “Your mother tells me you play accompaniments. Now a girls' club, of which I am a member, is getting up an operetta for charity, and we need an accompanist. There is no one in the club who is able, and at the same time willing, to spend the amount of time necessary for practice and rehearsals. So we had decided to hire one outside, and I have been given the task of finding one. It has occurred to me that perhaps you would be willing to undertake it for us. Would you?” Billy knew, at once, from the quick change in the other's face and manner, that she had taken exactly the right course to relieve the strain of the situation. Despair and lassitude fell away from Alice Greggory almost like a garment. Her countenance became alert and interested. “Indeed I would! I should be glad to do it.”