Billy, too, was smiling, though wistfully. The frightened questioning had gone from her eyes, leaving only infinite tenderness.
“You are sure it—it is all right—now?” she stammered.
“Very sure, little girl; and it's the first time it has been right for weeks. Billy, that was very dear of you, and I love you for it; but think how near—how perilously near you came to lifelong misery!”
“But I thought—you wanted me—so much,” she smiled shyly.
“And I did, and I do—for a daughter. You don't doubt that NOW?”
“No, oh, no,” laughed Billy, softly; and to her face came a happy look of relief as she finished: “And I'll be so glad to be—the daughter!”
For some minutes after the man had gone, Billy stood by the steps where he had left her. She was still there when Bertram came to the veranda door and spoke to her.
“Billy, I saw William go by the window, so I knew you were alone. May I speak to you?”
The girl turned with a start.
“Why, of course! What is it?—but I thought you were playing. Where is Marie?”