Billy laughed and dimpled her appreciation; but down in her heart she was conscious of a vague unrest. Billy wished, sometimes, that she did not so often seem to Bertram—a picture.
She turned to Cyril with outstretched hand.
“Oh, yes, Marie's coming,” she smiled in answer to the quick shifting of Cyril's eyes to the hall doorway. “And Aunt Hannah, too. They're up-stairs.”
“And Mary Jane?” demanded William, a little anxiously
“Will's getting nervous,” volunteered Bertram, airily. “He wants to see Mary Jane. You see we've told him that we shall expect him to see that she doesn't bother us four too much, you know. He's expected always to remove her quietly but effectually, whenever he sees that she is likely to interrupt a tête-á-tête. Naturally, then, Will wants to see Mary Jane.”
Billy began to laugh hysterically. She dropped into a chair and raised both her hands, palms outward.
“Don't, don't—please don't!” she choked, “or I shall die. I've had all I can stand, already.”
“All you can stand?”
“What do you mean?”
“Is she so—impossible?” This last was from Bertram, spoken softly, and with a hurried glance toward the hall.