it. I shouldn't have come here, either, this morning. But
I--had to. Good-by!" His face, as he held out his hand, was tragic with
renunciation.

"Why, Bertram, you aren't going--now--like this!" cried the girl.
"You've just come!"

The man turned almost impatiently.

"And do you think I can stay--like this? Billy, won't you say good-by?"
he asked in a softer voice, again with outstretched hand.

Billy shook her head. She ignored the hand, and resolutely backed away.

"No, not like that. You are angry with me," she grieved. "Besides, you
make it sound as if--if you were going away."

"I am going away."

"Bertram!" There was terror as well as dismay in Billy's voice.

Again the man turned sharply.

"Billy, why are you making this thing so hard for me?" he asked in
despair. "Can't you see that I must go?"

"Indeed, I can't. And you mustn't go, either. There isn't any reason
why you should," urged Billy, talking very fast, and working her fingers
nervously. "Things are just the same as they were before--for you. I'm
just going to marry William, but I wasn't ever going to marry you, so
that doesn't change things any for you. Don't you see? Why, Bertram, you
mustn't go away! There won't be anybody left. Cyril's going next week,
you know; and if you go there won't be anybody left but William and
me. Bertram, you mustn't go; don't you see? I should feel lost
without--you!" Billy was almost crying now.

Bertram looked up quickly. An odd change had come to his face. For a
moment he gazed silently into Billy's agitated countenance; then he
asked in a low voice:

"Billy, did you think that after you and William were married I should
still continue to live at--the Strata?"

"Why, of course you will!" cried the girl, indignantly. "Why, Bertram,
you'll be my brother then--my real brother; and one of the very chiefest
things I'm anticipating when I go there to live is the good times you
and I will have together when I'm William's wife!"

Bertram drew in his breath audibly, and caught his lower lip between
his teeth. With an abrupt movement he turned his back and walked to
the window. For a full minute he stayed there, watched by the amazed,
displeased eyes of the girl. When he came back he sat down quietly in
the chair facing Billy. His countenance was grave and his eyes were a
little troubled; but the haggard look of misery was quite gone.

"Billy," he began gently, "you must forgive my saying this, but--are you
qu