His guest laughed.
“Well, I fancy you DO know her, or you wouldn't have answered like that,” he retorted. “For you just begin to know Miss Billy when you find out that you DON'T know her. She is a charming girl—a very charming girl.”
“She is my namesake,” announced William, in what Bertram called his “finest ever” voice that he used only for the choicest bits in his collections.
“Yes, she told me,” smiled Calderwell. “'Billy' for 'William.' Odd idea, too, but clever. It helps to distinguish her even more—though she doesn't need it, for that matter.”
“'Doesn't need it,'” echoed William in a puzzled voice.
“No. Perhaps you don't know, Mr. Henshaw, but Miss Billy is a very popular young woman. You have reason to be proud of your namesake.”
“I have always been that,” declared William, with just a touch of hauteur.
“Tell us about her,” begged Bertram. “You remember I said that we wished we did know her.”
Calderwell smiled.
“I don't believe, after all, that you do know much about her,” he began musingly. “Billy is not one who talks much of herself, I fancy, in her letters.”