ed on
the floor.

"And so, Billy, I've come to tell you. I'm going away," he continued,
after a moment. "I've got to go. I thought once, when I first talked
with you of William, that you didn't know your own heart; that you
didn't really care for him. I was even fool enough to think that--that
it would be I to whom you'd turn--some day. And so I stayed. But I
stayed honorably, Billy! YOU know that! You know that I haven't once
forgotten--not once, that I was only William's brother. I promised you
I'd be that--and I have been; haven't I?"

Billy nodded silently. Her face was turned away.

"But, Billy, I can't do it any longer. I've got to ask for my promise
back, and then, of course, I can't stay."

"But you--you don't have to go--away," murmured the girl, faintly.

Bertram sprang to his feet. His face was white.

"Billy," he cried, standing tall and straight before her, "Billy, I
love every touch of your hand, every glance of your eye, every word that
falls from your lips. Do you think I can stay--now? I want my promise
back! When I'm no longer William's brother--then I'll go!"

"But you don't have to have it back--that is, you don't have to have it
at all," stammered Billy, flushing adorably. She, too, was on her feet
now.

"Billy, what do you mean?"

"Don't you see? I--I HAVE turned," she faltered breathlessly, holding
out both her hands.

Even then, in spite of the great light that leaped to his eyes, Bertram
advanced only a single step.

"But--William?" he questioned, unbelievingly.

"It WAS a mistake, just as you thought. We know now--both of us. We
don't either of us care for the other--that way. And--Bertram, I think
it HAS been you--all the time, only I didn't know!"

"Billy, Billy!" choked Bertram in a voice shaken with emotion. He opened
his arms then, wide--and Billy walked straight into them.

CHAPTER XLII

THE "END OF THE STORY"

It was two days after Billy's new happiness had come to her that Cyril
came home. He went very soon to see Billy.

The girl was surprised at the change in his appearance. He had grown
thin and haggard looking, and his eyes were somber. He moved restlessly
about the room for a time, finally seating himself at the piano and
letting his fingers slip from one mournful little melody to another.
Then, with a discordant crash, he turned.

"Billy, do you think any girl would marry--me?" he demanded.

"Why, Cyril!"

"There, now, please don't begin that," he