The young man started violently, and looked up.
“I’ve come back, Billy,” he said, tenderly.
“So I see,” replied Billy, ungraciously.
He was stung to the quick, but he controlled his pain; he saw this was part of his atonement.
“I’ve come to make it up with Rosina. I’m not going away again,” he went on gently, his hand on Billy’s shoulder.
“And what’s the use of that?” Billy snapped. “Even if she makes it up with you, she’ll break out again in a few days. I know her.”
He set down the child with a sigh, and drew a chair to his brother’s side. Davie climbed trustfully on his knee. The kettle was singing, and a plump gray cat purred in the fender.
“Besides,” Billy went on, “you’ve always said you couldn’t live here—it was necessary to live at your studio.”
“I know; but I am giving up the studio.”