Miss Billy's Decision

  CHAPTER V. MARIE SPEAKS HER MIND

  Billy with John and Peggy met Marie Hawthorn at the station. "Peggy"was short for "Pegasus," and was what Billy always called her luxurious,seven-seated touring car.

  "I simply won't call it 'automobile,'" she had declared when she boughtit. "In the first place, it takes too long to say it, and in the secondplace, I don't want to add one more to the nineteen different ways topronounce it that I hear all around me every day now. As for calling itmy 'car,' or my 'motor car'--I should expect to see a Pullman or oneof those huge black trucks before my door, if I ordered it by either ofthose names. Neither will I insult the beautiful thing by calling it a'machine.' Its name is Pegasus. I shall call it 'Peggy.'"

  And "Peggy" she called it. John sniffed his disdain, and Billy's friendsmade no secret of their amused tolerance; but, in an astonishingly shorttime, half the automobile owners of her acquaintance were calling theirown cars "Peggy"; and even the dignified John himself was heard to order"some gasoline for Peggy," quite as a matter of course.

  When Marie Hawthorn stepped from the train at the North Station shegreeted Billy with affectionate warmth, though at once her blue eyesswept the space beyond expectantly and eagerly.

  Billy's lips curved in a mischievous smile.

  "No, he didn't come," she said. "He didn't want to--a little bit."

  Marie grew actually pale.

  "Didn't _want_ to!" she stammered.

  Billy gave her a spasmodic hug.

  "Goosey! No, he didn't--a _little_ bit; but he did a great _big_ bit.As if you didn't know he was dying to come, Marie! But he simplycouldn't--something about his concert Monday night. He told me over thetelephone; but between his joy that you were coming, and his rage thathe couldn't see you the first minute you did come, I couldn't quite makeout what was the trouble. But he's coming to dinner to-night, so he'lldoubtless tell you all about it."

  Marie sighed her relief.

  "Oh, that's all right then. I was afraid he was sick--when I didn't seehim."

  Billy laughed softly.

  "No, he isn't sick, Marie; but you needn't go away again before thewedding--not to leave him on my hands. I wouldn't have believed CyrilHenshaw, confirmed old bachelor and avowed woman-hater, could have actedthe part of a love-sick boy as he has the last week or two."

  The rose-flush on Marie's cheek spread to the roots of her fine yellowhair.

  "Billy, dear, he--he didn't!"

  "Marie, dear--he--he did!"

  Marie laughed. She did not say anything, but the rose-flush deepenedas she occupied herself very busily in getting her trunk-check from thelittle hand bag she carried.

  Cyril was not mentioned again until the two girls, veils tied and coatsbuttoned, were snugly ensconced in the tonneau, and Peggy's nose wasturned toward home. Then Billy asked:

  "Have you settled on where you're going to live?"

  "Not quite. We're going to talk of that to-night; but we _do_ know thatwe aren't going to live at the Strata."

  "Marie!"

  Marie stirred uneasily at the obvious disappointment and reproach in herfriend's voice.

  "But, dear, it wouldn't be wise, I'm sure," she argued hastily. "Therewill be you and Bertram--"

  "We sha'n't be there for a year, nearly," cut in Billy, with swiftpromptness. "Besides, I think it would be lovely--all together."

  Marie smiled, but she shook her head.

  "Lovely--but not practical, dear."

  Billy laughed ruefully.

  "I know; you're worrying about those puddings of yours. You're afraidsomebody is going to interfere with your making quite so many as youwant to; and Cyril is worrying for fear there'll be somebody else in thecircle of his shaded lamp besides his little Marie with the light on herhair, and the mending basket by her side."

  "Billy, what are you talking about?"

  Billy threw a roguish glance into her friend's amazed blue eyes.

  "Oh, just a little picture Cyril drew once for me of what home meant forhim: a room with a table and a shaded lamp, and a little woman beside itwith the light on her hair and a great basket of sewing by her side."

  Marie's eyes softened.

  "Did he say--that?"

  "Yes. Oh, he declared he shouldn't want her to sit under that lamp allthe time, of course; but he hoped she'd like that sort of thing."

  Marie threw a quick glance at the stolid back of John beyond the twoempty seats in front of them. Although she knew he could not hear herwords, instinctively she lowered her voice.

  "Did you know--then--about--me?" she asked, with heightened color.

  "No, only that there was a girl somewhere who, he hoped, would sit underthe lamp some day. And when I asked him if the girl did like that sortof thing, he said yes, he thought so; for she had told him once thatthe things she liked best of all to do were to mend stockings and makepuddings. Then I knew, of course, 'twas you, for I'd heard you say thesame thing. So I sent him right along out to you in the summer-house."

  The pink flush on Marie's face grew to a red one. Her blue eyes turnedagain to John's broad back, then drifted to the long, imposing line ofwindowed walls and doorways on the right. The automobile was passingsmoothly along Beacon Street now with the Public Garden just behind themon the left. After a moment Marie turned to Billy again.

  "I'm so glad he wants--just puddings and stockings," she began a littlebreathlessly. "You see, for so long I supposed he _wouldn't_ wantanything but a very brilliant, talented wife who could play and singbeautifully; a wife he'd be proud of--like you."

  "Me? Nonsense!" laughed Billy. "Cyril never wanted me, and I neverwanted him--only once for a few minutes, so to speak, when I thought,I did. In spite of our music, we aren't a mite congenial. I like peoplearound; he doesn't. I like to go to plays; he doesn't. He likes rainydays, and I abhor them. Mercy! Life with me for him would be one longjangling discord, my love, while with you it'll be one long sweet song!"

  Marie drew a deep breath. Her eyes were fixed on a point far ahead upthe curveless street.

  "I hope it will, indeed!" she breathed.

  Not until they were almost home did Billy say suddenly:

  "Oh, did Cyril write you? A young relative of Aunt Hannah's is comingto-morrow to stay a while at the house."

  "Er--yes, Cyril told me," admitted Marie.

  Billy smiled.

  "Didn't like it, I suppose; eh?" she queried shrewdly.

  "N-no, I'm afraid he didn't--very well. He said she'd be--one more to bearound."

  "There, what did I tell you?" dimpled Billy. "You can see what you'recoming to when you do get that shaded lamp and the mending basket!"

  A moment later, coming in sight of the house, Billy saw a tall,smooth-shaven man standing on the porch. The man lifted his hat andwaved it gayly, baring a slightly bald head to the sun.

  "It's Uncle William--bless his heart!" cried Billy. "They're all comingto dinner, then he and Aunt Hannah and Bertram and I are going down tothe Hollis Street Theatre and let you and Cyril have a taste of whatthat shaded lamp is going to be. I hope you won't be lonesome," shefinished mischievously, as the car drew up before the door.