Billy tried valiantly these days not to mind that Bertram's work was so absorbing. She tried not to mind that his business dealt, not with lumps of coal and chunks of ice, but with beautiful women like Marguerite Winthrop who asked him to luncheon, and lovely girls like his model for “The Rose” who came freely to his studio and spent hours in the beloved presence, being studied for what Bertram declared was absolutely the most wonderful poise of head and shoulders that he had ever seen.
Billy tried, also, these days, to so conduct herself that not by any chance could Calderwell suspect that sometimes she was jealous of Bertram's art. Not for worlds would she have had Calderwell begin to get the notion into his head that his old-time prophecy concerning Bertram's caring only for the turn of a girl's head or the tilt of her chin—to paint, was being fulfilled. Hence, particularly gay and cheerful was Billy when Calderwell was near. Nor could it be said that Billy was really unhappy at any time. It was only that, on occasion, the very depth of her happiness in Bertram's love frightened her, lest it bring disaster to herself or Bertram.
Billy still went frequently to the Annex. There were yet two unfilled rooms in the house. Billy was hesitating which two of six new friends of hers to choose as occupants; and it was one day early in March, after she had been talking the matter over with Aunt Hannah, that Aunt Hannah said:
“Dear me, Billy, if you had your way I believe you'd open another whole house!”
“Do you know?—that's just what I'm thinking of,” retorted Billy, gravely. Then she laughed at Aunt Hannah's shocked gesture of protest. “Oh, well, I don't expect to,” she added. “I haven't lived very long, but I've lived long enough to know that you can't always do what you want to.”
“Just as if there were anything you wanted to do that you don't do, my dear,” reproved Aunt Hannah, mildly.
“Yes, I know.” Billy drew in her breath with a little catch. “I have so much that is lovely; and that's why I need this house, you know, for the overflow,” she nodded brightly. Then, with a characteristic change of subject, she added: “My, but you should have tasted of the popovers I made for breakfast this morning!”
“I should like to,” smiled Aunt Hannah. “William says you're getting to be quite a cook.”
“Well, maybe,” conceded Billy, doubtfully. “Oh, I can do some things all right; but just wait till Pete and Eliza go away again, and Bertram brings home a friend to dinner. That'll tell the tale. I think now I could have something besides potato-mush and burned corn—but maybe I wouldn't, when the time came. If only I could buy everything I needed to cook with, I'd be all right. But I can't, I find.”
“Can't buy what you need! What do you mean?”