“Why, Bertram, you aren't going—now—like this!” cried the girl. “You've just come!”
The man turned almost impatiently.
“And do you think I can stay—like this? Billy, won't you say good-by?” he asked in a softer voice, again with outstretched hand.
Billy shook her head. She ignored the hand, and resolutely backed away.
“No, not like that. You are angry with me,” she grieved. “Besides, you make it sound as if—if you were going away.”
“I am going away.”
“Bertram!” There was terror as well as dismay in Billy's voice.
Again the man turned sharply.
“Billy, why are you making this thing so hard for me?” he asked in despair. “Can't you see that I must go?”
“Indeed, I can't. And you mustn't go, either. There isn't any reason why you should,” urged Billy, talking very fast, and working her fingers nervously. “Things are just the same as they were before—for you. I'm just going to marry William, but I wasn't ever going to marry you, so that doesn't change things any for you. Don't you see? Why, Bertram, you mustn't go away! There won't be anybody left. Cyril's going next week, you know; and if you go there won't be anybody left but William and me. Bertram, you mustn't go; don't you see? I should feel lost without—you!” Billy was almost crying now.