“'Brush up against other interests,'” she admonished herself sternly, as she reached for her pen.
Theoretically it was beautiful; but practically—
Billy began at once to be that oak. Not an hour after she had first seen the fateful notice of “When the Honeymoon Wanes,” Bertram's ring sounded at the door down-stairs.
Bertram always let himself in with his latchkey; but, from the first of Billy's being there, he had given a peculiar ring at the bell which would bring his wife flying to welcome him if she were anywhere in the house. To-day, when the bell sounded, Billy sprang as usual to her feet, with a joyous “There's Bertram!” But the next moment she fell back.
“Tut, tut, Billy Neilson Henshaw! Learn to cultivate a comfortable indifference to your husband's comings and goings,” she whispered fiercely. Then she sat down and fell to work again.
A moment later she heard her husband's voice talking to some one—Pete, she surmised. “Here? You say she's here?” Then she heard Bertram's quick step on the stairs. The next minute, very quietly, he came to her door.
“Ho!” he ejaculated gayly, as she rose to receive his kiss. “I thought I'd find you asleep, when you didn't hear my ring.”
Billy reddened a little.
“Oh, no, I wasn't asleep.”
“But you didn't hear—” Bertram stopped abruptly, an odd look in his eyes. “Maybe you did hear it, though,” he corrected.