“There certainly is.”
“It must be because I'm so happy, then,” sighed Marie; “because you're so good to me.”
“Is that all?”
“Isn't that enough?” Marie's tone was evasive.
“No.” Billy shook her head mischievously. “Marie, what is it?”
“It's nothing—really, it's nothing,” protested Marie, hurrying out of the room with a nervous laugh.
Billy frowned. She was suspicious before; she was sure now. In less than twelve hours' time came her opportunity. She was alone again with Marie.
“Marie, who is he?” she asked abruptly.
“He? Who?”
“The man who is to wear the stockings and eat the pudding.”