“No, nothing definite. Yet there was a little. Friends are still trying to clear his name, and I believe are meeting with increasing success. I don't know, of course, whether he'll say anything about it to-day--_now_. To think I had to be right round under foot like that when they met!” went on Billy, indignantly. “I shouldn't have been, in a minute more, though. I was just trying to think up an excuse to come up and send down Miss Greggory, when Mary Jane began to tell me something--I haven't the faintest idea what--then _she_ appeared, and it was all over. And there's the doorbell, and the tenor, I suppose; so of course it's all over now,” she sighed, rising to go down-stairs. As it chanced, however, it was not the tenor, but a message from him--a message that brought dire consternation to the Chairman of the Committee of Arrangements. The tenor had thrown up his part. He could not take it; it was too difficult. He felt that this should be told--at once rather than to worry along for another week or two, and then give up. So he had told it. “But what shall we do, Miss Greggory?” appealed Billy. “It _is_ a hard part, you know; but if Mr. Tobey can't take it, I don't know who can. We don't want to hire a singer for it, if we can help it. The profits are to go to the Home for Crippled Children, you know,” she explained, turning to Arkwright, “and we decided to hire only the accompanist.” An odd expression flitted across Miss Greggory's face. “Mr. Arkwright used to sing--tenor,” she observed quietly. “As if he didn't now--a perfectly glorious tenor,” retorted Billy. “But as if _he_ would take _this!_” For only a brief moment did Arkwright hesitate; then blandly he suggested: “Suppose you try him, and see.” Billy sat suddenly erect. “Would you, really? _Could_ you--take the time, and all?” she cried. “Yes, I think I would--under the circumstances,” he smiled. “I think I could, too, though I might not be able to attend all the rehearsals. Still, if I find I have to ask permission, I'll endeavor to convince the powers-that-be that singing in this operetta will be just the stepping-stone I need to success in Grand Opera.” “Oh, if you only would take it,” breathed Billy, “we'd be so glad!” “Well,” said Arkwright, his eyes on Billy's frankly delighted face, “as I said before--under the circumstances I think I would.” “Thank you! Then it's all beautifully settled,” rejoiced Billy, with a happy sigh; and unconsciously she gave Alice Greggory's hand near her a little pat. In Billy's mind the “circumstances” of Arkwright's acceptance of the part were Alice Greggory and her position as accompanist, of course. Billy would have been surprised indeed--and dismayed--had she known that in Arkwright's mind the “circumstances” were herself, and the fact that she, too, had a part in the operetta, necessitating her presence at rehearsals, and hinting at a delightful comradeship impossible, perhaps, otherwise. CHAPTER XXIII. THE CAUSE AND BERTRAM