rts so openly
before the world.

The pudding was made at last, but Marie proved to be a nervous teacher.
Her hand shook, and her memory almost failed her at one or two critical
points. Billy laughingly said that it must be stage fright, owing to
the presence of herself as spectator; and with this Marie promptly, and
somewhat effusively, agreed.

So very busy was Billy during the next few days, acquiring her new
domesticity, that she did not notice how little she was seeing of Cyril.
Then she suddenly realized it, and asked herself the reason for it.
Cyril was at the house certainly, just as frequently as he had been; but
she saw that a new shyness in herself had developed which was causing
her to be restless in his presence, and was leading her to like better
to have Marie or Aunt Hannah in the room when he called. She discovered,
too, that she welcomed William, and even Bertram, with peculiar
enthusiasm--if they happened to interrupt a tete-a-tete with Cyril.

Billy was disturbed at this. She told herself that this shyness was not
strange, perhaps, inasmuch as her ideas in regard to love and marriage
had undergone so abrupt a change; but it must be overcome. If she was to
be Cyril's wife, she must like to be with him--and of course she really
did like to be with him, for she had enjoyed his companionship very
much during all these past weeks. She set herself therefore, now,
determinedly to cultivating Cyril.

It was then that Billy made a strange and fearsome discovery: there were
some things about Cyril that she did--not--like!

Billy was inexpressibly shocked. Heretofore he had been so high, so
irreproachable, so god-like!--but heretofore he had been a friend.
Now he was appearing in a new role--though unconsciously, she knew.
Heretofore she had looked at him with eyes that saw only the delightful
and marvelous unfolding of a coldly reserved nature under the warmth of
her own encouraging smile. Now she looked at him with eyes that saw only
the possibilities of that same nature when it should have been unfolded
in a lifelong companionship. And what she saw frightened her. There was
still the music--she acknowledged that; but it had come to Billy with
overwhelming force that music, after all, was not everything. The man
counted, as well. Very frankly then Billy stated the case to herself.

"What passes for 'fascinating mystery' in him now will be plain
moroseness--sometime. He is 'taciturn' now; he'll be--cross,