ing and more than I had pictured her."

"And you fell in love at once?" Billy's voice had grown confident again.

"Oh, I was already in love," sighed Arkwright. "I simply sank deeper."

"Oh-h!" breathed Billy, sympathetically. "And the girl?"

"She didn't care--or know--for a long time. I'm not really sure she
cares--or knows--even now." Arkwright's eyes were wistfully fixed on
Billy's face.

"Oh, but you can't tell, always, about girls," murmured Billy,
hurriedly. A faint pink had stolen to her forehead. She was thinking of
Alice Greggory, and wondering if, indeed, Alice did care; and if she,
Billy, might dare to assure this man--what she believed to be true--that
his sweetheart was only waiting for him to come to her and tell her that
he loved her.

Arkwright saw the color sweep to Billy's forehead, and took sudden
courage. He leaned forward eagerly. A tender light came to his eyes. The
expression on his face was unmistakable.

"Billy, do you mean, really, that there is--hope for me?" he begged
brokenly.

Billy gave a visible start. A quick something like shocked terror came
to her eyes. She drew back and would have risen to her feet had the
thought not come to her that twice before she had supposed a man was
making love to her, when subsequent events proved that she had been
mortifyingly mistaken: once when Cyril had told her of his love for
Marie; and again when William had asked her to come back as a daughter
to the house she had left desolate.

Telling herself sternly now not to be for the third time a "foolish
little simpleton," she summoned all her wits, forced a cheery smile to
her lips, and said:

"Well, really, Mr. Arkwright, of course I can't answer for the girl, so
I'm not the one to give hope; and--"

"But you are the one," interrupted the man, passionately. "You're the
only one! As if from the very first I hadn't loved you, and--"

"No, no, not that--not that! I'm mistaken! I'm not understanding what
you mean," pleaded a horror-stricken voice. Billy was on her feet now,
holding up two protesting hands, palms outward.

"Miss Neilson, you don't mean--that you haven't known--all this
time--that it was you?" The man, now, was on his feet, his eyes hurt and
unbelieving, looking into hers.

Billy paled. She began slowly to back away. Her eyes, still fixed on
his, carried the shrinking terror of one who sees a horrid vision.

"But you know--you _must_ know that I am not yours to win!" she
repr