"That's what you said, last Saturday, and week before. It's a fine morning, and I do wish you'd come. I've a headache, and I want to ride it off, if I can." Billy took off his cap, and brushed away his hair, with a little weary gesture which went to Theodora's heart. She was not discerning enough to discover that Billy's headache had developed under the inspiration of the moment, so sure was he that this was the most certain method of bringing his friend to do his will.
"I'm so sorry, Billy," she said gently. "I do want to go; but I must go somewhere else this morning."
"Let me go, too," he suggested. "I'd as soon ride one way as another."
"Oh, no," she said hastily; "and I'm not ready yet. Does your head ache very badly, Billy?"
"Very," answered the deceiver, assuming the look of a martyr. "And I didn't sleep any, last night."
"What a shame! Aren't you well?" Theodora sat down on the steps and gazed so steadily at him that he blushed.
"I believe you're shamming, Billy," she said sternly. "You've no more headache than Mulvaney."
He laughed, with conscious pleasure in his guilt.
"Well, what if I haven't? I shall have, some day. Really, Ted, what is the reason you won't ride with me?"
"I can't, Billy; that's all there is about it. I've something else I must do."