Billy showed unmistakable
evidence at all of being in love with his brother. The more he thought
of it, in fact, the more he dreaded the carrying out of his promise to
speak to his namesake.

What should he say, he asked himself. How could he word it? He could not
very well accost her with: "Oh, Billy, I wish you'd please hurry up and
marry Bertram, because then you'd come and live with me." Neither could
he plead Bertram's cause directly. Quite probably Bertram would prefer
to plead his own. Then, too, if Billy really was not in love with
Bertram--what then? Might not his own untimely haste in the matter
forever put an end to the chance of her caring for him?

It was, indeed, a delicate matter, and as William pondered it he wished
himself well out of it, and that Kate had not spoken. But even as
he formed the wish, William remembered with a thrill Kate's positive
assertion that a word from him would do wonders, and that now was the
time to utter it. He decided then that he would speak; that he must
speak; but that at the same time he would proceed with a caution that
would permit a hasty retreat if he saw that his words were not having
the desired effect. He would begin with a frank confession of his
grief at her leaving him, and of his longing for her return; then very
gradually, if wisdom counseled it, he would go on to speak of Bertram's
love for her, and of his own hope that she would make Bertram and all
the Strata glad by loving him in return.

Mrs. Hartwell had returned to her Western home before William found just
the opportunity for his talk with Billy. True to his belief that only
hushed voices and twilight were fitting for such a subject, he waited
until he found the girl early one evening alone on her vine-shaded
veranda. He noticed that as he seated himself at her side she flushed a
little and half started to rise, with a nervous fluttering of her hands,
and a murmured "I'll call Aunt Hannah." It was then that with sudden
courage, he resolved to speak.

"Billy, don't go," he said gently, with a touch of his hand on her arm.
"There is something I want to say to you. I--I have wanted to say it for
some time."

"Why, of--of course," stammered the girl, falling back in her seat. And
again William noticed that odd fluttering of the slim little hands.

For a time no one spoke, then William began softly, his eyes on the
distant sky-line still faintly aglow with the sunset's reflection.

"Billy, I want to