Alice was there. She had an appointment at quarter of eleven with the leading tenor, and another later with the alto. After breakfast, therefore, Billy said decisively: “Now, if you please, Miss Greggory, I'm going to put you up-stairs on the couch in the sewing-room for a nap.” “But I've just got up,” remonstrated Miss Greggory. “I know you have,” smiled Billy; “but you were very late to bed last night, and you've got a hard day before you. I insist upon your resting. You will be absolutely undisturbed there, and you must shut the door and not come down-stairs till I send for you. Mr. Johnson isn't due till quarter of eleven, is he?” “N-no.” “Then come with me,” directed Billy, leading the way up-stairs. “There, now, don't come down till I call you,” she went on, when they had reached the little room at the end of the hall. “I'm going to leave Aunt Hannah's door open, so you'll have good air--she isn't in there. She's writing letters in my room, Now here's a book, and you _may_ read, but I should prefer you to sleep,” she nodded brightly as she went out and shut the door quietly. Then, like the guilty conspirator she was, she went down-stairs to wait for Arkwright. It was a fine plan. Arkwright was due at ten o'clock--Billy had specially asked him to come at that hour. He would not know, of course, that Alice Greggory was in the house; but soon after his arrival Billy meant to excuse herself for a moment, slip up-stairs and send Alice Greggory down for a book, a pair of scissors, a shawl for Aunt Hannah--anything would do for a pretext, anything so that the girl might walk into the living-room and find Arkwright waiting for her alone. And then--What happened next was, in Billy's mind, very vague, but very attractive as a nucleus for one's thoughts, nevertheless. All this was, indeed, a fine plan; but--(If only fine plans would not so often have a “but”!) In Billy's case the “but” had to do with things so apparently unrelated as were Aunt Hannah's clock and a negro's coal wagon. The clock struck eleven at half-past ten, and the wagon dumped itself to destruction directly in front of a trolley car in which sat Mr. M. J. Arkwright, hurrying to keep his appointment with Miss Billy Neilson. It was almost half-past ten when Arkwright finally rang the bell at Hillside. Billy greeted him so eagerly, and at the same time with such evident disappointment at his late arrival, that Arkwright's heart sang with joy. “But there's a rehearsal at quarter of eleven,” exclaimed Billy, in answer to his hurried explanation of the delay; “and this gives so little time for--for--so little time, you know,” she finished in confusion, casting frantically about in her mind for an excuse to hurry up-stairs and send Alice Greggory down before it should be quite too late.