“I shall make sure, and I shall know,” said Billy, firmly—so firmly that it sounded almost as if she were trying to convince herself as well as others.
There was a long pause, then the man asked diffidently:
“And so you are very sure that—that you want me to—stay?”
“Indeed I do! Besides,—don't you remember?—there are all my people to be entertained. They must be taken to places, and given motor rides and picnics. You told me last week that you'd love to help me; but, of course, if you don't want to—”
“But I do want to,” cried Bertram, heartily, a gleam of the old cheerfulness springing to his eyes. “I'm dying to!”
The girl looked up with quick distrust. For a moment she eyed him with bent brows. To her mind he had gone back to his old airy, hopeful light-heartedness. He was once more “only Bertram.” She hesitated, then said with stern decision:
“Bertram, you know I want you, and you must know that I'm delighted to have you drop this silly notion of going away. But if this quick change means that you are staying with any idea that—that I shall change, then—then you must go. But if you will stay as WILLIAM'S BROTHER then—I'll be more than glad to have you.”
“I'll stay—as William's brother,” agreed Bertram; and Billy did not notice the quick indrawing of his breath nor the close shutting of his lips after the words were spoken.