John Thomas made no reply, but went stubbornly on putting the packages into the clothes baskets, and Miss Billy sat flat on the grass to think the matter over.
"Now you are the second one," she went on, "that has an unreasonable grudge against Francis. There is Beatrice,—she treats him horridly. To-day when we were getting things ready, if she had to hand him a nail, she'd draw up her lips and give it to him as if he were a cat. It's horrid of Bea,—and I've had to take her to task about it more than once. And do you know, in spite of it all, I believe Francis likes her immensely."
"He seems to like other girls immensely, too," said John Thomas, from the depths of the basket.
"Oh, but not like that!" said Miss Billy with conviction. "When she is out of the room, he watches for her return,—and when she is in the room, though he talks to me, he looks at her. But you must never—never breathe it, John Thomas. Beatrice would faint at the very idea, and she'd never forgive me! It must be a dead secret between you and me."
"Is this straight goods you're giving me?" demanded John Thomas, rising to his full height and gazing down at Miss Billy, seated on the grass.
"Why, I've never had any love affairs of my own. I never had anybody look hard at me, or take snubs cheerfully, or anything of that kind, you know. But as I said before, it's my conviction it is true."
"Well," said John Thomas, going down on his knees before the baskets again, "if it is true,—if it is Miss Beatrice he fancies, why, then, he won't find no rival in me."
"Miss Billy, where are you?" called Beatrice, around the corner of the house. "Margaret is here, and looking everywhere for you."
Miss Billy hurried away, and in another moment, in the full glare of a headlight, had her arms around the neck of a tall handsome girl, who was returning the salutation with interest.