“Mine,” he said, at length. Billee sat in strained silence. The information was for the moment beyond her comprehension. Her voice was a whisper when she spoke:
“You mean—it is your work—you designed that window?”
“Yes. I am a draughtsman with Beeker, Toomer & Church, as you know. Did I never mention that art glass designs is my specialty there? Yes, it is my work. The little faces are half memory, half dream. One prays, one sleeps.”
“Yours! Yours!” Her hand tightened in the hand that again clasped it, and shook. “You—you—furnished the memorial for my—my little girl’s mother!—for Agnes Vandilever! Then you were the boy—the little girl loved! You’ve been carrying the face that was lifted above you that night—the face that slept on your breast—in your heart, all these years? Oh, King! King! it’s true! it’s true!—isn’t it?” She was trembling. Her hands tightened on his and her eyes were beseeching him.
“Yes,” he answered, at length. “I was that boy. The little faces have been with me all these years. I rather think they may have kept me out of bad company sometimes, and from loneliness.” A sob shook Billee and suddenly she slipped forward to her knees and buried her face in her arms on the pew rail. Presently King reached out and laid his hand on her shoulder.
“It doesn’t change anything Billee. There’s but one girl in the world for me—one grown-up girl. I am sorry for Miss Vandilever’s romance, but some day she will meet and marry a real man. They always do—these story girls. My little dream girls wouldn’t know her now, nor she them. It is you, who are the older vision of them, not the painted society belle.”
“Thank you, King,” she sobbed, “that is good of you.” And then, with a wistful little smile, “Oh, King, you must succeed! Do something great! Don’t let another man steal your talents, your fame—and your sweetheart!”
Chapter VI
IN the months that followed the meeting in the church, King saw Billee frequently. She came to him at places below Twenty-third Street usually, and he could not help but notice that she was at times a little nervous. She developed a fancy for downtown picture shows, and he began to be concerned for her. Her dress was not always what it should have been, her gloves alternated between holes and darns. Once, admitting that she was hungry, she had let him take her into one of the white restaurants scattered throughout the city and served by girls. She enjoyed it all unaffectedly, the only drawback being that her beauty made her conspicuous. Their presence in the lunch-house raised a little storm of excitement among the girls, which King noticed with uneasiness. He arrived at the conclusion, unwillingly, that he was dressed too well for the girl he was escorting.
And once, face to face with her, a gentleman paused and half raised his hat. He blocked the way. Billee’s little chin went into the air ignoring him, but King roughly shoved the fellow into the gutter.