ightness. Yet a minute
later, confronted by Miss Billy's astonished eyes, the stars and the
roses fled, and a very white-faced girl fell over in a deathlike faint
in Cyril Henshaw's arms.

Marie was put to bed in the little room next to Billy's, and was
peremptorily hushed when faint remonstrance was made. The next morning,
white-faced and wide-eyed, she resolutely pulled herself half upright,
and announced that she was all well and must go home--home to Marie was
a six-by-nine hall bed-room in a South End lodging house.

Very gently Billy pushed her back on the pillow and laid a detaining
hand on her arm.

"No, dear. Now, please be sensible and listen to reason. You are my
guest. You did not know it, perhaps, for I'm afraid the invitation got a
little delayed. But you're to stay--oh, lots of weeks."

"I--stay here? Why, I can't--indeed, I can't," protested Marie.

"But that isn't a bit of a nice way to accept an invitation,"
disapproved Billy. "You should say, 'Thank you, I'd be delighted, I'm
sure, and I'll stay.'"

In spite of herself the little music teacher laughed, and in the laugh
her tense muscles relaxed.

"Miss Billy, Miss Billy, what is one to do with you? Surely you
know--you must know that I can't do what you ask!"

"I'm sure I don't see why not," argued Billy. "I'm merely giving you an
invitation and all you have to do is to accept it."

"But the invitation is only the kind way your heart has of covering
another of your many charities," objected Marie; "besides, I have to
teach. I have my living to earn."

"But you can't," demurred the other. "That's just the trouble. Don't
you see? The doctor said last night that you must not teach again this
winter."

"Not teach--again--this winter! No, no, he could not be so cruel as
that!"

"It wasn't cruel, dear; it was kind. You would be ill if you attempted
it. Now you'll get better. He says all you need is rest and care--and
that's exactly what I mean my guest shall have."

Quick tears came to the sick girl's eyes.

"There couldn't be a kinder heart than yours, Miss Billy," she murmured,
"but I couldn't--I really couldn't be a burden to you like this. I shall
go to some hospital."

"But you aren't going to be a burden. You are going to be my friend and
companion."

"A companion--and in bed like this?"

"Well, THAT wouldn't be impossible," smiled Billy; "but, as it happens
you won't have to put that to the test, for you'll soon be up and
dres