Miss Billy - Eleanor Hodgman Porter (read dune .txt) š
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āBut you donāt have to have it backāthat is, you donāt have to have it at all,ā stammered Billy, flushing adorably. She, too, was on her feet now.
āBilly, what do you mean?ā
āDonāt you see? IāI HAVE turned,ā she faltered breathlessly, holding out both her hands.
Even then, in spite of the great light that leaped to his eyes, Bertram advanced only a single step.
āButāWilliam?ā he questioned, unbelievingly.
āIt WAS a mistake, just as you thought. We know nowāboth of us. We donāt either of us care for the otherāthat way. AndāBertram, I think it HAS been youāall the time, only I didnāt know!ā
āBilly, Billy!ā choked Bertram in a voice shaken with emotion. He opened his arms then, wideāand Billy walked straight into them.
It was two days after Billyās new happiness had come to her that Cyril came home. He went very soon to see Billy.
The girl was surprised at the change in his appearance. He had grown thin and haggard looking, and his eyes were somber. He moved restlessly about the room for a time, finally seating himself at the piano and letting his fingers slip from one mournful little melody to another. Then, with a discordant crash, he turned.
āBilly, do you think any girl would marryāme?ā he demanded.
āWhy, Cyril!ā
āThere, now, please donāt begin that,ā he begged fretfully. āI realize, of course, that Iām a very unlikely subject for matrimony. You made me understand that clearly enough last winter!ā
āLastāwinter?ā
Cyril raised his eyebrows.
āOh, I came to you for a little encouragement, and to make a confession,ā he said. āI made the confessionābut I didnāt get the encouragement.ā
Billy changed color. She thought she knew what he meant, but at the same time she couldnāt understand why he should wish to refer to that conversation now.
āAāconfession?ā she repeated, hesitatingly.
āYes. I told you that Iād begun to doubt my being such a woman-hater, after all. I intimated that YOUāD begun the softening process, and that then Iād found a certain other young woman who hadāwell, who had kept up the good work.ā
āOh!ā cried Billy suddenly, with a peculiar intonation. āOh-h!ā Then she laughed softly.
āWell, that was the confession,ā resumed Cyril. āThen I came out flat-footed and said that I wanted to marry herābut there is where I didnāt get the encouragement!ā
āIndeed! Iām afraid I wasnāt very considerate,ā stammered Billy.
āNo, you werenāt,ā agreed Cyril, moodily. āI didnāt know but nowāā his voice softened a littleāāwith this new happiness of yours and Bertramās thatāyou might find a little encouragement for me.ā
āAnd I will,ā cried Billy, promptly. āTell me about her.ā
āI didālast winter,ā reproached the man, āand you were sure I was deceiving myself. You drew the gloomiest sort of picture of the misery I would take with a wife.ā
āI did?ā Billy was laughing very merrily now.
āYes. You said sheād always be talking and laughing when I wanted to be quiet, and that sheād want to drag me out to parties and plays when I wanted to stay at home; andāoh, lots of things. I tried to make it clear to you thatāthat this little woman wasnāt that sort. But I couldnāt,ā finished Cyril, gloomily.
āBut of course she isnāt,ā declared Billy, with quick sympathy. āIāI didnāt knowāWHATāI wasātalking about,ā she added with emphatic distinctness. Then she smiled to think how little Cyril knew how very true those words were. āTell me about her,ā she begged again. āI know she must be very lovely and brilliant, and of course a wonderful musician. YOU couldnāt choose any one else!ā
To her surprise Cyril turned abruptly and began to play again. A nervous little staccato scherzo fell from his fingers, but it dropped almost at once into a quieter melody, and ended with something that sounded very much like the last strain of āHome, Sweet Home.ā Then he wheeled about on the piano stool.
āBilly, thatās exactly where youāre wrongāI DONāT want that kind of wife. I donāt want a brilliant one, andānow, Billy, this sounds like horrible heresy, I know, but itās trueāI donāt care whether she can play, or not; but I should prefer that she shouldnāt playāmuch!ā
āWhy, Cyril Henshaw!āand you, with your music! As if you could be contented with a woman like that!ā
āOh, I want her to like music, of course,ā modified Cyril; ābut I donāt care to have her MAKE it. Billy, do you know? Youāll laugh, of course, but my picture of a wife is always one thing: a room with a table and a shaded lamp, and a little woman beside it with the light on her hair, and a great, basket of sewing beside her. You see I AM domestic!ā he finished a little defiantly.
āI should say you were,ā laughed Billy. āAnd have you found her?ā this little woman who is to do nothing but sit and sew in the circle of the shaded lamp?ā
āYes, Iāve found her, but Iām not at all sure sheās found me. Thatās where I want your help. Oh, I donāt mean, of course,ā he added, āthat sheās got to sit under that lamp all the time. Itās only thatāthat I hope she likes that sort of thing.ā
āAndādoes she?ā
āYes; that is, I think she does,ā smiled Cyril. āAnyhow, she told me once thatāthat the things she liked best to do in all the world were to mend stockings and to make puddings.ā
Billy sprang to her feet with a little cry. Now, indeed, had Cyril kept his promise and made āmany things clearā to her.
āCyril, come here,ā she cried tremulously, leading the way to the open veranda door. The next moment Cyril was looking across the lawn to the little summerhouse in the midst of Billyās rose garden. In full view within the summerhouse sat Marieāsewing.
āGo, Cyril; sheās waiting for you,ā smiled Billy, mistily. āThe lightās only the sun, to be sure, and maybe there isnāt a whole basket of sewing there. ButāSHEāS there!ā
āYouāveāguessed, then!ā breathed Cyril.
āIāve not guessedāI know. Andāitās all right.ā
āYou meanā?ā Only Cyrilās pleading eyes finished the question.
āYes, Iām sure she does,ā nodded Billy. And then she added under her breath as the man passed swiftly down the steps: āāMarie Henshawā indeed! So ātwas Cyril all the timeāand never Bertramā who was the inspiration of that bit of paper give-away!ā
When she turned back into the room she came face to face with Bertram.
āI spoke, dear, but you didnāt hear,ā he said, as he hurried forward with outstretched hands.
āBertram,ā greeted Billy, with surprising irrelevance, āāand they all lived happily ever afterāāthey DID! Isnāt that always the ending to the storyāa love story?ā
āOf course,ā said Bertram with emphasis;āāOUR love story!ā
āAnd theirs,ā supplemented Billy, softly; but Bertram did not hear that.
End of Project Gutenberg Etext of Miss Billy, by Eleanor H. Porter
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