“There!” breathed Billy, as soon as she had Aunt Hannah to herself again. “What did I tell you? Did you see Miss Greggory's start and blush and hear her sigh just over the _name_ of M. J. Arkwright? Just as if--! Now I want them to meet; only it must be casual, Aunt Hannah--casual! And I'd rather wait till Mary Jane hears from his mother, if possible, so if there _is_ anything good to tell the poor girl, he can tell it.” “Yes, of course. Dear child!--I hope he can,” murmured Aunt Hannah. (Aunt Hannah had ceased now trying to make Billy refrain from the reprehensible “Mary Jane.” In fact, if the truth were known, Aunt Hannah herself in her thoughts--and sometimes in her words--called him “Mary Jane.”) “But, indeed, my dear, I didn't see anything stiff, or--or repelling about Miss Greggory, as you said there was.” “There wasn't--to-day,” smiled Billy. “Honestly, Aunt Hannah, I should never have known her for the same girl--who showed me the door that first morning,” she finished merrily, as she turned to go up-stairs. It was the next day that Cyril and Marie came home from their honeymoon. They went directly to their pretty little apartment on Beacon Street, Brookline, within easy walking distance of Billy's own cozy home. Cyril intended to build in a year or two. Meanwhile they had a very pretty, convenient home which was, according to Bertram, “electrified to within an inch of its life, and equipped with everything that was fireless, smokeless, dustless, and laborless.” In it Marie had a spotlessly white kitchen where she might make puddings to her heart's content. Marie had--again according to Bertram--“a visiting acquaintance with a maid.” In other words, a stout woman was engaged to come two days in the week to wash, iron, and scrub; also to come in each night to wash the dinner dishes, thus leaving Marie's evenings free--“for the shaded lamp,” Billy said. Marie had not arrived at this--to her, delightful--arrangement of a “visiting acquaintance” without some opposition from her friends. Even Billy had stood somewhat aghast. “But, my dear, won't it be hard for you, to do so much?” she argued one day. “You know you aren't very strong.” “I know; but it won't be hard, as I've planned it,” replied Marie, “specially when I've been longing for years to do this very thing. Why, Billy, if I had to stand by and watch a maid do all these things I want to do myself, I should feel just like--like a hungry man who sees another man eating up his dinner! Oh, of course,” she added plaintively, after Billy's laughter had subsided, “I sha'n't do it always. I don't expect to. Of course, when we have a house--I'm not sure, then, though, that I sha'n't dress up the maid and order her to receive the calls and go to the pink teas, while I make her puddings,” she finished saucily, as Billy began to laugh again.