Something in his expression touches me with remorse. I run up to him and lay my hand upon his arm.
"Thank you for bringing him," I say, earnestly, "and for letting him have the reins. I noticed that. You have made me very happy to-day."
"Have I? It was easily done. I am glad to know I have made you happy for even one short day."
He smiles, but draws his arm gently from my grasp as he speaks, and I know by the line across his forehead some painful thought has jarred upon him.
I am feeling self-reproachful and sorry, when Billy's voice recalls me to the joy of the present hour.
"Are you coming?" says that autocrat, impatiently, from the first step of the stairs, with about six bulging brown-paper parcels in his arms, that evidently no human power could have induced to enter the portmanteau that stands beside him. "Come," he says, again; and, forgetful of everything but the fact of his presence near me, I race him up the stairs and into the bedroom my own hands have made bright for him, while the elegant Thomas and the portmanteau follow more slowly in our rear.
"What a capital room!" says my Billy, "and lots of space. I like that. I hate being cramped, as I always am at home."
"I am glad you like it," I reply, bubbling over with satisfaction. "I settled it myself, and had the carpet taken off, because I knew you would prefer the room without it. But I desired them to put that narrow piece all round the bed, lest your feet should be cold. You won't object to that?"
"Oh, no; it may remain, if you have any fancy for it."
I am about to suggest that as it is not intended for my bare feet it does not affect me one way or the other; but, knowing argument with Billy to be worse than useless, I refrain.