.

"But you don't love me--not ME, Bertram. It's only the turn of my head
or--or the tilt of my chin that you love--to paint," she protested,
unconsciously echoing the words Calderwell had said to her weeks before.
"I'm only another 'Face of a Girl.'"

"You're the only 'Face of a girl' to me now, Billy," declared the man,
with disarming tenderness.

"No, no, not that," demurred Billy, in distress. "You don't mean it. You
only think you do. It couldn't be that. It can't be!"

"But it is, dear. I think I have loved you ever since that night long
ago when I saw your dear, startled face appealing to me from beyond
Seaver's hateful smile. And, Billy, I never went once with Seaver
again--anywhere. Did you know that?"

"No; but--I'm glad--so glad!"

"And I'm glad, too. So you see, I must have loved you then, though
unconsciously, perhaps; and I love you now."

"No, no, please don't say that. It can't be--it really can't be. I--I
don't love you--that way, Bertram."

The man paled a little.

"Billy--forgive me for asking, but it's so much to me--is it that there
is--some one else?" His voice shook.

"No, no, indeed! There is no one."

"It's not--Calderwell?"

Billy's forehead grew pink. She laughed nervously.

"No, no, never!"

"But there are others, so many others!"

"Nonsense, Bertram; there's no one--no one, I assure you!"

"It's not William, of course, nor Cyril. Cyril hates women."

A deeper flush came to Billy's face. Her chin rose a little; and an odd
defiance flashed from her eyes. But almost instantly it was gone, and a
slow smile had come to her lips.

"Yes, I know. Every one--says that Cyril hates women," she observed
demurely.

"Then, Billy, I sha'n't give up!" vowed Bertram, softly. "Sometime you
WILL love me!"

"No, no, I couldn't. That is, I'm not going to--to marry," stammered
Billy.

"Not going to marry!"

"No. There's my music--you know how I love that, and how much it is to
me. I don't think there'll ever be a man--that I'll love better."

Bertram lifted his head. Very slowly he rose till his splendid six feet
of clean-limbed strength and manly beauty towered away above the low
chair in which Billy sat. His mouth showed new lines about the corners,
and his eyes looked down very tenderly at the girl beside him; but
his voice, when he spoke, had a light whimsicality that deceived even
Billy's ears.

"And so it's music--a cold, senseless thing of spidery marks on clean
white pape