“Well, to begin with, Kate said—”
“Good heavens! Is Kate in this, too?” Bertram's voice was savage now.
“Well, she wrote a letter.”
“I'll warrant she did! Great Scott, Billy! Don't you know Kate by this time?”
“Y-yes, I said so, too. But, Bertram, what she wrote was true. I found it everywhere, afterwards—in magazines and papers, and even in Marie.”
“Humph! Well, dearie, I don't know yet what you found, but I do know you wouldn't have found it at all if it hadn't been for Kate—and I wish I had her here this minute!”
Billy giggled hysterically.
“I don't—not right here,” she cooed, nestling comfortably against her lover's arm. “But you see, dear, she never has approved of the marriage.”
“Well, who's doing the marrying—she, or I?” “That's what I said, too—only in another way,” sighed Billy. “But she called us flyaway flutterbudgets, and she said I'd ruin your career, if I did marry you.”
“Well, I can tell you right now, Billy, you will ruin it if you don't!” declared Bertram. “That's what ailed me all the time I was painting that miserable portrait. I was so worried—for fear I'd lose you.”