ed it now. He wanted to paint it--again. It was not
too large for beauty nor too small for strength. It curved delightfully,
and the lower lip had just the fullness and the color that he liked--to
paint, he said to himself.

William, too, was watching Billy's mouth; in fact--though he did not
know it--one never was long near Billy without noticing her mouth, if
she talked. William thought it pretty, merry, and charmingly kissable;
but just now he wished that it would talk to him, and not to Calderwell
any longer. Cyril--indeed, Cyril was paying little attention to Billy.
He had turned to Aunt Hannah. To tell the truth, it seemed to Cyril
that, after all, Billy was very much like other merry, thoughtless,
rather noisy young women, of whom he knew--and disliked--scores. It had
occurred to him suddenly that perhaps it would not be unalloyed bliss to
take this young namesake of William's home with them.

It was not until an hour later, when Billy, Aunt Hannah, and the
Henshaws had reached the hotel where they were to spend the night, that
the Henshaw brothers began really to get acquainted with Billy. She
seemed then more like their own Billy--the Billy that they had known.

"And I'm so glad to be here," she cried; "and to see you all. America IS
the best place, after all!"

"And of America, Boston is the Hub, you know," Bertram reminded her.

"It is," nodded Billy.

"And it hasn't changed a mite, except to grow better. You'll see
to-morrow."

"As if I hadn't been counting the days!" she exulted. "And now what have
you been doing--all of you?"

"Just wait till you see," laughed Bertram. "They're all spread out for
your inspection."

"A new 'Face of a Girl'?"

"Of course--yards of them!"

"And heaps of 'Old Blues' and 'black basalts'?" she questioned, turning
to William.

"Well, a--few," hesitated William, modestly.

"And--the music; what of that?" Billy looked now at Cyril.

"You'll see," he shrugged. "There's very little, after all--of
anything."

Billy gave a wise shake of her head.

"I know better; and I want to see it all so much. We've talked and
talked of it; haven't we, Aunt Hannah?--of what we would do when we got
to Boston?"

"Yes, my dear; YOU have."

The girl laughed.

"I accept the amendment," she retorted with mock submission. "I suppose
it is always I who talk."

"It was--when I painted you," teased Bertram. "By the way, I'll LET you
talk if you'll pose again for me," he finished ea