“You poor dear,” laughed Bertram. “No wonder you don't have time to give to me!”
A peculiar expression crossed Billy's face.
“Oh, but I'm not the only one who, at times, is otherwise engaged, sir,” she reminded him.
“What do you mean?”
“There was yesterday, and last Monday, and last week Wednesday, and—”
“Oh, but you let me off, then,” argued Bertram, anxiously. “And you said—”
“That I didn't wish to interfere with your work—which was quite true,” interrupted Billy in her turn, smoothly. “By the way,”—Billy was examining her stitches very closely now—“how is Miss Winthrop's portrait coming on?”
“Splendidly!—that is, it was, until she began to put off the sittings for her pink teas and folderols. She's going to Washington next week, too, to be gone nearly a fortnight,” finished Bertram, gloomily.
“Aren't you putting more work than usual into this one—and more sittings?”
“Well, yes,” laughed Bertram, a little shortly. “You see, she's changed the pose twice already.”