“I'm writing to Belle Calderwell, now,” she announced musingly, dropping herself again on the hassock. “I suppose she'll tell Hugh.”
“Poor boy! He'll be disappointed.”
Billy sighed, but she uptilted her chin a little.
“He ought not to be. I told him long, long ago, the very first time, that—that I couldn't.”
“I know, dear; but—they don't always understand.” Aunt Hannah sighed in sympathy with the far-away Hugh Calderwell, as she looked down at the bright young face near her.
There was a moment's silence; then Billy gave a little laugh.
“He will be surprised,” she said. “He told me once that Bertram wouldn't ever care for any girl except to paint. To paint, indeed! As if Bertram didn't love me—just me!—if he never saw another tube of paint!”
“I think he does, my dear.”
Again there was silence; then, from Billy's lips there came softly:
“Just think; we've been engaged almost four weeks—and to-morrow it'll be announced. I'm so glad I didn't ever announce the other two!”