t home to
greet him.

"Well, then, of course, my boy, she'd never think of your coming here
to-night; and when she found Mr. Arkwright was going to sing--"

"Arkwright!" There was no listlessness in Bertram's voice or manner now.

"Yes. Didn't you see it in the paper? Such a splendid chance for him!
His picture was there, too."

"No. I didn't see it."

"Then you don't know about it, of course," smiled Aunt Hannah. "But he's
to take the part of Johnson in 'The Girl of the Golden West.' Isn't that
splendid? I'm so glad! And Billy was, too. She hurried right off this
morning to get the tickets and to ask the Greggorys."

"Oh!" Bertram got to his feet a little abruptly, and held out his hand.
"Well, then, I might as well say good-by then, I suppose," he suggested
with a laugh that Aunt Hannah thought was a bit forced. Before she could
remind him again, though, that Billy was really not to blame for not
being there to welcome him, he was gone. And Aunt Hannah could only go
up-stairs and meditate on the unreasonableness of lovers in general, and
of Bertram in particular.

Aunt Hannah had gone to bed, but she was still awake, when Billy came
home, so she heard the automobile come to a stop before the door, and
she called to Billy when the girl came upstairs.

"Billy, dear, come in here. I'm awake! I want to hear about it. Was it
good?"

Billy stopped in the doorway. The light from the hall struck her face.
There was no brightness in her eyes now, no pink in her cheeks.

"Oh, yes, it was good--very good," she replied listlessly.

"Why, Billy, how queer you answer! What was the matter? Wasn't Mary
Jane--all right?"

"Mary Jane? Oh!--oh, yes; he was very good, Aunt Hannah."

"'Very good,' indeed!" echoed the lady, indignantly. "He must have
been!--when you speak as if you'd actually forgotten that he sang at
all, anyway!"

Billy had forgotten--almost. Billy had found that, in spite of her
getting away from the house, she had not got away from herself once, all
day. She tried now, however, to summon her acting powers of the morning.

"But it was splendid, really, Aunt Hannah," she cried, with some show
of animation. "And they clapped and cheered and gave him any number of
curtain calls. We were so proud of him! But you see, I _am_ tired," she
broke off wearily.

"You poor child, of course you are, and you look like a ghost! I won't
keep you another minute. Run along to bed. Oh--Bertram didn't go to that
banque