CYRIL HAS SOMETHING TO SAY
Long before spring Billy was forced to own to herself that her fancied security from lovemaking on the part of Cyril no longer existed. She began to suspect that there was reason for her fears.
Cyril certainly was "different." He was more approachable, less reserved, even with Marie and Aunt Hannah. He was not nearly so taciturn, either, and he was much more gracious about his playing.
Even Marie dared to ask him frequently for music, and he never refused her request. Three times he had taken Billy to some play that she wanted to see, and he had invited Marie, too, besides Aunt Hannah, which had pleased Billy very much. He had been at the same time so genial and so gallant that Billy had declared to Marie afterward that he did not seem like himself at all, but like some one else.
Marie had disagreed with her, it is true, and had said stiffly:
"I'm sure I thought he seemed very much like himself." But that had not changed Billy's opinion at all.
To Billy's mind, nothing but love could so have softened the stern Cyril she had known. She was, therefore, all the more careful these days to avoid a tete-a-tete with him, though she was not always successful, particularly owing to Marie's unaccountable perverseness in so often having letters to write or work to do, just when Billy most wanted her to make a safe third with herself and Cyril. It was upon such an occasion, after Marie had abruptly left them alone together, that Cyril had observed, a little sharply:
"Billy, I wish you wouldn't say again what you said ten minutes ago when Miss Marie was here.""What was that?"
A very silly reference to that old notion that you and every one else seem to have that I am a 'woman-hater.'"Billy's heart skipped a beat. One thought, pounded through her brain and dinned itself into her ears--at all costs Cyril must not be allowed to say that which she so feared; he must be saved from himself.
"Woman-hater? Why, of course you're a woman-hater," she cried merrily. "I'm sure, I--I think it's lovely to be a woman-hater."The man opened wide his eyes; then he frowned angrily.
"Nonsense, Billy, I know better. Besides, I'm in earnest, and I'm not a woman-hater.""Oh, but every one says you are," chattered Billy. "And, after all, you know it IS distinguishing!"With a disdainful exclamation the man sprang to his feet. For a time he paced the room in silence, watched by Billy's fearful eyes;then he came back and dropped into the low chair at Billy's side.
His whole manner had undergone a complete change. He was almost shamefaced as he said:
"Billy, I suppose I might as well own up. I don't think I did think much of women until I saw--you."Billy swallowed and wet her lips. She tried to speak; but before she could form the words the man went on with his remarks; and Billy did not know whether to be the more relieved or frightened thereat.
"But you see now it's different. That's why I don't like to sail any longer under false colors. There's been a change--a great and wonderful change that I hardly understand myself.""That's it! You don't understand it, I'm sure," interposed Billy, feverishly. "It may not be such a change, after all. You may be deceiving yourself," she finished hopefully.
The man sighed.
