Bravely he had battled to forget this wonderful creature, or, rather, his hopeless love for her--her he could never forget. But the note from her, and the sight of her had but served to rekindle the old fire within his breast. He thought quickly. His own life or happiness did not count. Nothing counted now but Barbara. He had seen the lovelight in her eyes. He thanked God that he had realized what it all would have meant, before he let her see that he had seen it. “I've been back several months,” he said presently, in answer to her question; “but I got sense enough to stay where I belong. Gee! Wouldn't I look great comin' up here buttin' in, wit youse bunch of highlifes?” Billy slapped his thigh resoundingly and laughed in stentorian tones that caused the eyebrows of the sensitive Smith on the floor above to elevate in shocked horror. “Den dere was de mills. I couldn't break away from me work, could I, to chase a bunch of skirts?” Barbara felt a qualm of keen disappointment that Billy had fallen again into the old dialect that she had all but eradicated during those days upon distant “Manhattan Island.” “I wouldn't o' come up atal,” he went on, “if I hadn't o' read in de poiper how youse an' Mallory had busted. I t'ought I'd breeze in an' see wot de trouble was.” His eyes had been averted, mostly, as he talked. Now he swung suddenly upon her. “He's on de square, ain't he?” he demanded. “Yes,” said Barbara. She was not quite sure whether to feel offended, or not. But the memory of Billy's antecedents came to his rescue. Of course he didn't know that it was such terribly bad form to broach such a subject to her, she thought. “Well, then,” continued the mucker, “wot's up? Mallory's de guy fer youse. Youse loved him or youse wouldn't have got engaged to him.” The statement was almost an interrogation. Barbara nodded affirmatively. “You see, Billy,” she started, “I have always known Mr. Mallory, and always thought that I loved him until--until--” There was no answering light in Billy's eyes--no encouragement for the words that were on her lips. She halted lamely. “Then,” she went on presently, “we became engaged after we reached New York. We all thought you dead,” she concluded simply. “Do you think as much of him now as you did when you promised to marry him?” he asked, ignoring her reference to himself and all that it implied. Barbara nodded. “What is at the bottom of this row?” persisted Billy. He had fallen back into the decent pronunciation that Barbara had taught him, but neither noticed the change. For a moment he had forgotten that he was playing a part. Then he recollected.