“Oh!” Billy subsided into her chair, still with the puzzled questioning in her eyes.
“Then I met her.”
“Yes?”
“And she was everything and more than I had pictured her.”
“And you fell in love at once?” Billy's voice had grown confident again.
“Oh, I was already in love,” sighed Arkwright. “I simply sank deeper.”
“Oh-h!” breathed Billy, sympathetically. “And the girl?”
“She didn't care—or know—for a long time. I'm not really sure she cares—or knows—even now.” Arkwright's eyes were wistfully fixed on Billy's face.
“Oh, but you can't tell, always, about girls,” murmured Billy, hurriedly. A faint pink had stolen to her forehead. She was thinking of Alice Greggory, and wondering if, indeed, Alice did care; and if she, Billy, might dare to assure this man—what she believed to be true—that his sweetheart was only waiting for him to come to her and tell her that he loved her.
Arkwright saw the color sweep to Billy's forehead, and took sudden courage. He leaned forward eagerly. A tender light came to his eyes. The expression on his face was unmistakable.