“But why not now?”
“I'm afraid Billy is not quite—ready.”
“Nonsense! A young girl like that does not know her own mind lots of times. Just press the matter a little. Love will work wonders—sometimes.”
William blushed like a girl. To him her words had but one meaning—Bertram's love for Billy. William had never spoken of this suspected love affair to any one. He had even thought that he was the only one that had discovered it. To hear his sister refer thus lightly to it came therefore in the nature of a shock to him.
“Then you have—seen it—too?” he stammered
“'Seen it, too,'” laughed Kate, with her confident eyes on William's flushed face, “I should say I had seen it! Any one could see it.”
William blushed again. Love to him had always been something sacred; something that called for hushed voices and twilight. This merry discussion in the sunlight of even another's love was disconcerting.
“Now come, William,” resumed Kate, after a moment; “speak to Billy, and have the matter settled once for all. It's worrying you. I can see it is.”
Again William stirred uneasily.
“But, Kate, I can't do anything. I told you before; I don't believe Billy is—ready.”