“Marie!”
Marie stirred uneasily at the obvious disappointment and reproach in her friend's voice.
“But, dear, it wouldn't be wise, I'm sure,” she argued hastily. “There will be you and Bertram—”
“We sha'n't be there for a year, nearly,” cut in Billy, with swift promptness. “Besides, I think it would be lovely—all together.”
Marie smiled, but she shook her head.
“Lovely—but not practical, dear.”
Billy laughed ruefully.
“I know; you're worrying about those puddings of yours. You're afraid somebody is going to interfere with your making quite so many as you want to; and Cyril is worrying for fear there'll be somebody else in the circle of his shaded lamp besides his little Marie with the light on her hair, and the mending basket by her side.”
“Billy, what are you talking about?”
Billy threw a roguish glance into her friend's amazed blue eyes.