William laughed fondly. Aunt Hannah and Marie gave an indulgent smile. Cyril actually chuckled. Bertram only still wore a puzzled expression as he laid aside the canvas in his hands.
Billy examined intently a sketch she had found with its back to the wall. It was not a pretty sketch; it was not even a finished one, and Billy did not in the least care what it was. But her lips cried interestedly:
“Oh, Bertram, what is this?”
There was no answer. Bertram was still engaged, apparently, in putting away some sketches. Over by the doorway leading to the den Marie and Aunt Hannah, followed by William and Cyril, were just disappearing behind a huge easel. In another minute the merry chatter of their voices came from the room beyond. Bertram hurried then straight across the studio to the girl still bending over the sketch in the corner.
“Bertram!” gasped Billy, as a kiss brushed her cheek.
“Pooh! They're gone. Besides, what if they did see? Billy, what was the matter with the tilt of that chin?”
Billy gave an hysterical little laugh—at least, Bertram tried to assure himself that it was a laugh, though it had sounded almost like a sob.
“Bertram, if you say another word about—about the tilt of that chin, I shall scream!” she panted.
“Why, Billy!”
With a nervous little movement Billy turned and began to reverse the canvases nearest her.