“And it hasn't changed a mite, except to grow better. You'll see to-morrow.”
“As if I hadn't been counting the days!” she exulted. “And now what have you been doing—all of you?”
“Just wait till you see,” laughed Bertram. “They're all spread out for your inspection.”
“A new 'Face of a Girl'?”
“Of course—yards of them!”
“And heaps of 'Old Blues' and 'black basalts'?” she questioned, turning to William.
“Well, a—few,” hesitated William, modestly.
“And—the music; what of that?” Billy looked now at Cyril.
“You'll see,” he shrugged. “There's very little, after all—of anything.”
Billy gave a wise shake of her head.