“Not that I've heard,” smiled Billy; “but she is going to wear a pink.”
“Not really, Billy?”
“Of course she is! I told her to. How do you suppose we could know her when we saw her, if she didn't?” demanded the girl, indignantly. “And what is more, sir, there will be two pinks worn this time. I sha'n't do as Uncle William did, and leave off my pink. Only think what long minutes—that seemed hours of misery—I spent waiting there in that train-shed, just because I didn't know which man was my Uncle William!”
Bertram laughed and shrugged his shoulders.
“Well, your Mary Jane won't probably turn out to be quite such a bombshell as our Billy did—unless she should prove to be a boy,” he added whimsically. “Oh, but Billy, she can't turn out to be such a dear treasure,” finished the man. And at the adoring look in his eyes Billy blushed deeply—and promptly forgot all about Mary Jane and her pink.
CHAPTER IV. FOR MARY JANE
“I have a letter here from Mary Jane, my dear,” announced Aunt Hannah at the luncheon table one day.
“Have you?” Billy raised interested eyes from her own letters. “What does she say?”
“She will be here Thursday. Her train is due at the South Station at four-thirty. She seems to be very grateful to you for your offer to let her come right here for a month; but she says she's afraid you don't realize, perhaps, just what you are doing—to take her in like that, with her singing, and all.”