In the automobile some minutes later, Billy and Mr. M. J. Arkwright were speeding toward Corey Hill. It was during a slight pause in the conversation that Billy turned to her companion with a demure:
“I telephoned Aunt Hannah, Mr. Arkwright. I thought she ought to be—warned.”
“You are very kind. What did she say?—if I may ask.”
There was a brief moment of hesitation before Billy answered.
“She said you called yourself 'Mary Jane,' and that you hadn't any business to be a big man with a brown beard.”
Arkwright laughed.
“I'm afraid I owe Aunt Hannah an apology,” he said. He hesitated, glanced admiringly at the glowing, half-averted face near him, then went on decisively. He wore the air of a man who has set the match to his bridges. “I signed both letters 'M. J. Arkwright,' but in the first one I quoted a remark of a friend, and in that remark I was addressed as 'Mary Jane.' I did not know but Aunt Hannah knew of the nickname.” (Arkwright was speaking a little slowly now, as if weighing his words.) “But when she answered, I saw that she did not; for, from something she said, I realized that she thought I was a real Mary Jane. For the joke of the thing I let it pass. But—if she noticed my letter carefully, she saw that I did not accept your kind invitation to give 'Mary Jane' a home.”
“Yes, we noticed that,” nodded Billy, merrily. “But we didn't think you meant it. You see we pictured you as a shy young thing. But, really,” she went on with a low laugh, “you see your coming as a masculine 'Mary Jane' was particularly funny—for me; for, though perhaps you didn't know it, I came once to this very same city, wearing a pink, and was expected to be Billy, a boy. And only to-day a lady warned me that your coming might even things up. But I didn't believe it would—a Mary Jane!”
Arkwright laughed. Again he hesitated, and seemed to be weighing his words.
“Yes, I heard about that coming of yours. I might almost say—that's why I—let the mistake pass in Aunt Hannah's letter,” he said.