The girl laughed, but almost instantly she fell silent.
“I've been wondering,” she began musingly, after a time, “why some one of those three men does not—marry.”
“You wouldn't wonder—if you knew them better,” declared Calderwell. “Now think. Let's begin at the top of the Strata—by the way, Bertram's name for that establishment is mighty clever! First, Cyril: according to Bertram Cyril hates 'all kinds of women and other confusion'; and I fancy Bertram hits it about right. So that settles Cyril. Then there's William—you know William. Any girl would say William was a dear; but William isn't a MARRYING man. Dad says,”—Calderwell's voice softened a little—“dad says that William and his young wife were the most devoted couple that he ever saw; and that when she died she seemed to take with her the whole of William's heart—that is, what hadn't gone with the baby a few years before. There was a boy, you know, that died.”
“Yes, I know,” nodded Billy, quick tears in her eyes. “Aunt Hannah told me.”
“Well, that counts out William, then,” said Calderwell, with an air of finality.
“But how about Bertram? You haven't settled Bertram,” laughed Billy, archly.
“Bertram!” Calderwell's eyes widened. “Billy, can you imagine Bertram's making love in real earnest to a girl?”
“Why, I—don't—know; maybe!” Billy tipped her head from side to side as if she were viewing a picture set up for her inspection.
“Well, I can't. In the first place, no girl would think he was serious; or if by any chance she did, she'd soon discover that it was the turn of her head or the tilt of her chin that he admired—TO PAINT. Now isn't that so?”
Billy laughed, but she did not answer.