“No, you haven't,” disputed Billy, blinking teary eyes; “but—” she paused, then went on spiritedly, “but, anyhow, I—I don't believe any one—not even Kate—can say now that—that I've been a hindrance to you in your c-career!”
“Hindrance!” scoffed Bertram, in a tone that left no room for doubt, and with a kiss that left even less, if possible.
Billy, for still another minute, was silent; then, with a wistfulness that was half playful, half serious, she sighed:
“Bertram, I believe being married is something like clocks, you know, 'specially at the first.”
“Clocks, dear?”
“Yes. I was out to Aunt Hannah's to-day. She was fussing with her clock—the one that strikes half an hour ahead—and I saw all those quantities of wheels, little and big, that have to go just so, with all the little cogs fitting into all the other little cogs just exactly right. Well, that's like marriage. See? There's such a lot of little cogs in everyday life that have to be fitted so they'll run smoothly—that have to be adjusted, 'specially at the first.”
“Oh, Billy, what an idea!”
“But it's so, really, Bertram. Anyhow, I know my cogs were always getting out of place at the first,” laughed Billy. “And I was like Aunt Hannah's clock, too, always going off half an hour ahead of time. And maybe I shall be so again, sometimes. But, Bertram,”—her voice shook a little—“if you'll just look at my face you'll see that I tell the right time there, just as Aunt Hannah's clock does. I'm sure, always, I'll tell the right time there, even if I do go off half an hour ahead!”
“As if I didn't know that,” answered Bertram, very low and tenderly. “Besides, I reckon I have some cogs of my own that need adjusting!”