So sure, indeed, was she now that her fears had been groundless, that she flung caution to the winds.
``Ho! My dear Alice, you can't expect us all to be blind,'' she teased. ``Besides, we all think it's such a lovely arrangement that we're just glad to see it. He's such a fine fellow, and we like him so much! We couldn't ask for a better husband for you than Mr. Arkwright, and--'' From sheer amazement at the sudden white horror in Alice Greggory's face, Billy stopped short.
``Why, Alice!'' she faltered then.
With a visible effort Alice forced her trembling lips to speak.
``My husband--_Mr. Arkwright!_ Why, Billy, you couldn't have seen--you haven't seen--there's nothing you _could_ see! He isn't--he wasn't--he can't be! We--we're nothing but friends, Billy, just good friends!''
Billy, though dismayed, was still not quite convinced.
``Friends! Nonsense! When--''
But Alice interrupted feverishly. Alice, in an agony of fear lest the true state of affairs should be suspected, was hiding behind a bulwark of pride.
``Now, Billy, please! Say no more. You're quite wrong, entirely. You'll never, never hear of my marrying Mr. Arkwright. As I said before, we're friends--the best of friends; that is all.
We couldn't be anything else, possibly!''
Billy, plainly discomfited, fell back; but she threw a sharp glance into her friend's flushed countenance.
``You mean--because of--Hugh Calderwell?''
she demanded. Then, for the second time that afternoon throwing discretion to the winds, she went on plaintively: ``You won't listen, of course. Girls in love never do. Hugh is all right, and I like him; but there's more real solid worth in Mr. Arkwright's little finger than there is in Hugh's whole self. And--'' But a merry peal of laughter from Alice Greggory interrupted.
``And, pray, do you think I'm in love with Hugh Calderwell?'' she demanded. There was a curious note of something very like relief in her voice.
``Well, I didn't know,'' began Billy, uncertainly.
``Then I'll tell you now,'' smiled Alice. ``I'm not. Furthermore, perhaps it's just as well that you should know right now that I don't intend to marry--ever.''
``Oh, Alice!''
``No.'' There was determination, and there was still that curious note of relief in the girl's voice. It was as if, somewhere, a great danger had been avoided. ``I have my music. That is enough. I'm not intending to marry.''
``Oh, but Alice, while I will own up I'm glad it isn't Hugh Calderwell, there _is_ Mr. Arkwright, and I did hope--'' But Alice shook her head and turned resolutely away. At that moment, too, Aunt Hannah came in from the street, so Billy could say no more.
Aunt Hannah dropped herself a little wearily into a chair.
``I've just come from Marie's,'' she said.
``How is she?'' asked Billy.
Aunt Hannah smiled, and raised her eyebrows.
``Well, just now she's quite exercised over another rattle--from her cousin out West, this time. There were four little silver bells on it, and she hasn't got any janitor's wife now to give it to.''
Billy laughed softly, but Aunt Hannah had more to say.
``You know she isn't going to allow any toys but Teddy bears and woolly lambs, of which, Ibelieve, she has already bought quite an assortment.
She says they don't rattle or squeak. I
declare, when I see the woolen pads and rubber hushers that that child has put everywhere all over the house, I don't know whether to laugh or cry. And she's so worried! It seems Cyril must needs take just this time to start composing a new opera or symphony, or something; and never before has she allowed him to be interrupted by anything on such an occasion. But what he'll do when the baby comes she says she doesn't know, for she says she can't--she just can't keep it from bothering him some, she's afraid. As if any opera or symphony that ever lived was of more consequence than a man's own child!''
finished Aunt Hannah, with an indignant sniff, as she reached for her shawl.
