"Gosh! Yes."
"Are you happy, dear?" The gentlest of hands touched the red head.
"Happy?" Billy blubbered; "I'm busting with it."
"Billy!" and now Constance spoke slowly, impressively, "I want to tell you—something. It's something we have all thought out. It is, perhaps, another Christmas gift for you, dear. I—am—going—away!"
"Going away?" Poor Billy accepted this Christmas offering with horrified anguish.
"Going—"
"Wait, Billy, boy. When Christmas is all over and done with, I am—going back to my other—home until next—summer. But Billy—I want a part of St. Angé with me"—her eyes shone—"I have—been—so happy here—so glad—and so different. I want something to make me remember—if I ever could forget. Billy, I want you to come with me. There are schools there, dear. Hard work, and a bigger life—but it will make a man of you, Billy, if the thing is in you, that I believe is in you. It's your chance down there, Billy, your best chance, I think, dear—and I'll be there to help you—and to have you help me. Billy, will you come?"
Then Billy dropped the red tie and the be-flowered vest. Everything seemed to fall from him, but a radiance that grew and grew. He tried to speak, but failed. He put his hands out, but they trembled shamefully. Then all in a heap Billy sank at Constance Drew's feet and hid his throbbing head in the folds of her white silk gown.
The pale moon peeped through the wide window, and cast a strange gleam over the tousled red head snuggled under the little, caressing hand. It transformed a girlish face that was looking far, far beyond St. Angé's calm and peace. The vision the girl saw was battle. Life's battle. Not little Billy's alone, though God knew that was to be no light matter. Not even Filmer's lonely struggle, but her own. Her fight against Convention and Preconceived Ideas. Against all that Always Had Been with What Was Now To Be.
But as the far-seeing eyes gazed into the future, they softened until the tears mingled with Billy's on the already much-stained silken gown.