“Very sure,” smiled Billy.
Arkwright hesitated. Again he longed to see a little embarrassment in the bright face opposite. Suddenly it came to him, however, that if Billy knew what he was about to say, it would manifestly not be her part to act as if she knew! With a lighter heart, then, he began his story.
“You want it from the beginning?”
“By all means! I never dip into books, nor peek at the ending. I don't think it's fair to the author.”
“Then I will, indeed, begin at the beginning,” smiled Arkwright, “for I'm specially anxious that you shall be—even more than 'fair' to me.” His voice shook a little, but he hurried on. “There's a—girl—in it; a very dear, lovely girl.”
“Of course—if it's a nice story,” twinkled Billy.
“And—there's a man, too. It's a love story, you see.”
“Again of course—if it's interesting.” Billy laughed mischievously, but she flushed a little.
“Still, the man doesn't amount to much, after all, perhaps. I might as well own up at the beginning—I'm the man.”
“That will do for you to say, as long as you're telling the story,” smiled Billy. “We'll let it pass for proper modesty on your part. But I shall say—the personal touch only adds to the interest.”