The door was opened at once.
“Why—Billy!” cried the man in surprise.
“Yes, it's Billy. I—I came up to—to get acquainted,” she smiled winningly.
“Why, er—you are very kind. Will you—come in?”
“Thank you; yes. You see, I didn't bring Spunk. I—remembered.”
Cyril bowed gravely.
“You are very kind—again,” he said.
Billy fidgeted in her chair. To her mind she was not “getting on” at all. She determined on a bold stroke.
“You see, I thought if—if I should come up here, where there wouldn't be so many around, we might get acquainted,” she confided; “then I would get to like you just as well as I do the others.”
At the odd look that came into the man's face, the girl realized suddenly what she had said. Her cheeks flushed a confused red.